summary: bored on the journey to erid, you and ryland have to find a way to entertain yourselves. who would have thought that roleplay and a pair of latex gloves was the way to do it?
CWs: 18+ MDNI!!!!! explicit sexual content!!!!! fem!pilot!reader x ryland grace, no use of y/n, established relationship, inappropriate use of a doctor title, use of pet names, Dr. Grace, medical play, roleplay, choking, finger sucking, fingering (f!receiving), dirty talk, praise praise and more praise, edging (f!receiving), is this manhandling?, is this also soft!dom!grace? who knows? better safe than sorry?, he's really nice while he's doing all the groping, he's a little bit of a sassy smartass (as he should be). i think that's most of it! this is nasty, yall! heed the warnings!
word count: around 7k!
author's note: time to let ryland's freak flag fly!!!! this was 100% spurred on by that gif up there. don't look at me. very special thanks to @kryptidfiles for this one btw bc she helped me with the choking part + encouraged me to let grace's freak flag fly. jae, i love you and your smart brain. im gonna kiss you. with your permission of course.
Exploration.
A natural thing that every couple does. Something that they do when events in the bedroom have gotten stale after they're together for a while. Different kinks will be brought up and played around with. A new area of the house will be conquered. Maybe a new position will be thrown into the usual rotation.
Sometimes a new person will be thrown into the usual rotation.
Those people are not you and Ryland. Not because neither of you aren't interested in it, but because it's a little hard for you to throw a new person into the rotation when all of the people you know are approximately 12 lightyears away from you. AndâŠpotentially dead.
And also because you're just not interested in it.
But being on the Hail Mary has gotten a little static. Especially now, when you're a couple months in to the three year journey to Erid and have nothing to do. Your mission has been completed. Ryland and Rocky saved their stars. You course corrected Mary to high-tail it out of Her return to Earth and toward Erid instead.
All you have is time and each other, now.
Entertaining each other isn't hard, but you can only do the same thing in the same bunk so many times before you start itching for a change in the routine.
Plus, it's not easy to talk about doing something new in the "bedroom." When your extraterrestrial guest has the most incredible hearing of any living creature you've ever met, it's borderline impossible to get two minutes into the conversation before it gets shut down.
"What about roleplay? You ever tried it?"
"Ryland Grace!"
"What? It's fun!"
"No, I haven't tried it. Have you ever done anything in public?"
"You had the audacity to freak out over roleplay, but asking if I've had sex in public is totally fine?"
"Just answer the question!"
"No, I haven't done anything in public! WellâŠin college, I had this girlfriend, and we'd sneak into a section of the library no one ever went to so that we couldâ"
"Grace and mate discussing mating rituals, question?"
"Nope! No, we're not! When did you even get here?!"
"Ry, it's not like we actually were havingâ"
"We aren't doing or talking about anything!"
"Grace is bad liar."
Grace, indeed, is bad liar.
He got so flustered that you thought he'd never return to normalâwhich is weird, because Ryland's usually an open book with him. But, for some reason, he could hardly look at Rocky for the rest of the day after that one. From that point on, discussions surrounding anything intimate were restricted to whenever Rocky fell into one of his food comas. Doesn't happen often, but you know you've got a solid few hours to yourselves at the very least.
Right now, you're in hour two of one of those food comas. Time's ticking.
You're perched on one of the lab tables that hasn't been used in forever now that the mission's over, your legs gently swinging back and forth while boredom takes you hostage. Ryland's sitting on a stool at the table next to yours, eyes practically glued to a microscope where he's examining the star-saving Taumoeba he bred.
Sometimes he just likes to look at it. You understand why. It's a mix of pride and anxiety. Checking in on it and yet admiring it at the same time. You like to let him do it as much as he needs to, butâŠit does get a little boring when you're not busy elsewhere.
Mary's dependable despite all She's been through. She doesn't really need to be piloted all that much.
You sigh.
"Uh oh," Ryland pipes up, practically speaking into the Taumoeba when he does. "I know that sound."
"You don't know that sound."
"I do know that sound." Ryland briefly pulls back from the microscope. Just long enough to raise an eyebrow and look up at you. The overhead light casts a glare on the lens of his glasses. You could pout; all you wanted was to see those pretty baby blues.
"I've been around you for months in the closest quarters imaginable. You think I don't know all your sounds?"
You roll your eyes, but there's a smile teasing the corners of your mouth. It's impossible to get annoyed with him. It's even harder to feign that annoyance. You gesture toward him with one handâa tiny challenge. He straightens. Challenge accepted, apparently.
"Fine, genius. Go ahead and tell me what that sound was."
He just stares at you. Crosses his arms. You try not to think about his biceps or his forearms when he does it. Without a single shred of hesitation, he very confidently says, "It's boredom. You're bored."
Shit.
You lean back on the lab table, careful to not knock anything over as you press your palms into the cold aluminum surface of it. It's first nature for you to want to act like he's wrong. He'd get all squeaky, and then he'd get pissy when you'd laugh at him for getting all squeaky. That's always fun to do, butâŠonly when Rocky's helping you do it.
"Well," you trail off, staring into the glare where his eyes are hidden and trying to come up with some smart assed remark that'll give you the upper hand.
Then you let your head fall backward and you push out a groan.
"Okay. You got me."
Ryland's laugh echoes off the lab walls. He reaches over to grab and squeeze your knee that's closest to him, then returns to looking into the microscope.
"Should've said something, hun. What do you wanna do? We've got all the time in the world."
You lift your head back up. While you're thinking of a response, Ryland starts to slowly rub his thumb back and forth over your leg. Your eyes drift down to his hand, down to his thumb, down to the soft sweeping notion he's doing. It's as if it's nothing to him, and yet everything to you.
The warmth of his palm is bleeding through your sweatpants. Bleeding through that glove he's got on. Why he put gloves on to look at a sample in a microscope, you aren't sure, butâŠthere's a fire being stoked in your belly while you're looking at the soft blue color of it.
Maybe it's time for a little bit of that exploration you'd been thinking about.
"Rocky's out for a few more hours. Probably."
His grip tightens on your knee and you have to bite back a laugh. Sometimes he reacts like a dog does when you've just said its favorite word.
When he pulls off of the microscope this time, there's a glint in his eye that you only see when you've finally got a pinch of privacy. Could be the glare from the light, of course, but you know it's there anyway. He opens his mouth, then closes it, then rubs the back of his neck with his other hand. After he gives your knee another squeeze, he attempts to speak again.
"What's on your mind?"
Your thoughts drift to his thumb still gently sweeping over your knee. Then to his free hand, and the glove tightly wrapped around it, as it pulls his glasses down so he can hang them on his jaw in that weird way he always does. A soft, wispy sigh slips from between your lips, and you gnaw on your bottom lip a little, then you let out a breathy, slightly nervous laugh.
"I," you pause. Then you clear your throat. Rylandâalways obedient and attentiveâsimply waits. Sits silently while his eyes not-so-subtly attempt to devour you.
"You mentioned roleplay a couple days ago," you spit out. That fire in your belly is still roaring; somehow, though, it's traveled up to your cheeks as well. Borderline uncomfortable, but not as uncomfortable as the ache between your legs when you see the little smirk playing on his lips.
"Yeah? I piqued your curiosity with that one, huh?"
"A little," you squeak out. He nods his head. Only takes a second for him to rise off of the stool he was perched on and slot himself between your legs instead. He runs his hands up your thighs before clutching your hips in a gentle, reverent grip. Your arms instinctively slide around his neck.
"I just," you begin, voice low and a little shy, "I haven't done it, andâŠ"
You gasp when he tugs on your hips, pulling you closer to him and closer to the edge of the lab table. It cut your sentence off completely. Made you lose your train of thought. His newly tightened grip is intoxicating. He's closer, now, but not close enough for you to kiss him.
When he slips his hands beneath your shirt (his, a button upâŠwhy'd they send a button up to space?) and the latex-covered pads of his fingertips brush over your waist, you shiver. Why the feeling of that latex against your skin is giving you the filthiest thoughts, you're not sure.
Boredom's a crazy motivator.
"I hadâŠan idea," you whisper. "It just came to me. Only if you're up for it."
"Always up to it with you," he whispers back.
The soft push of his forehead against yours just a few seconds later makes you smile. You get what you want because of that; as soon as you close in and press your lips against his, you finally feel whole. Your hands tangle in his messy hair at the nape of his neck, giving it a gentle, experimental tug that has him groaning into your mouth.
That little noise gives you a chance to slip your tongue into the kiss. A tilt of your head deepens it. Ryland leans into you a little more. Enough to press himself against you. It isn't long before he's cradling your body with one arm, slipping it around your waist while he presses his other hand into the lab table behind you. Keeps both of you steady.
He's good at that. Can hardly walk on his own two feet if he's doing something on his own, but when he's got you weak and pliable in front of him like this, he's invincible. It's actually quite admirable.
It's unfortunate that you have to breathe. Your need for oxygen makes you pull back. While you're panting and trying your best to catch your breath, Ryland's dipping his head down into your neck. His stubble tickles, prickly and a little overgrownâhis usual look that you haven't gotten tired of once. Makes you squirm. The soft drag of his teeth against your skin before he nips at it yanks a moan out of you that you didn't even know you were hoarding.
"You're distracting me," you playfully scold him, laughing through a heaving breath and patting his chest. He smiles against your skin and pulls back to get a good look at you. Takes a little step back and removes his hands from your body; the equivalent of a death sentence for you.
It gets worse when, through his muttered apology, he goes to take his gloves off. You frantically reach forward to lay your hands over his when he slips his fingers beneath the elastic band tightened around one of his wrists.
"Wait, don't take those off!"
Ryland does as you say when he completely stops in his tracks. His brow knits together and he looks down at his hands. Confusion is always so adorably physical on him.
"Don'tâŠtake these off?"
"Don't take them off," you confirm. There's a beat. You stare at each other; him still lost, you still a little shy. But you've already made it weird by reacting like that, soâŠmight as well go all the way.
Your hands slip away from his. He leaves them suspended in the air between you, still gloved. It's like he's too lost to move. Makes you giggle. Eases some of the tension. Your fingers find the buttons at the bottom of his shirt you're wearing, but they don't move. You don't wanna give him anything just yet.
You clear your throat and shrug your shoulders. Let out a very dramatic, very pathetic little sigh. Ryland hasn't lost that confusion he got well-acquainted with. Eyes widened, and cheeks flushed pink, and lips in the beginning stage of being kiss-swollen while his mouth hangs open just a bit.
"It's been so long since I've had any sort of physical exam," you purr. His eyes somehow get wider. His face somehow flushes deeper. You laugh at him.
"Maybe you could help me with that. Make sure everything's in tip-top shape. What do you think, Dr. Grace?"
He punches out a laugh of utter disbelief, but he smiles at you. A tiny shiver rushes down your spine. It's instinctual, honestly; happens every time he has his eyes on you.
"I absolutely can help you with that."
Your hands gently lunge toward his jaw so you can put his glasses on correctly. As you're settling them on his face and slowly pushing them up the bridge of his nose, you whisper, "Need to be able to see to get a good look at me, right?"
He laughs. Winks at you from behind his lenses. Now that he's standing above you, you can see his eyes clear as day. No more overhead light glare. Just a soft, steadily darkening pair of eyes that makes your heart race.
"Maybe you should be the doctor," he whispers back. Steals a quick kiss from you that sees you grinning at him. Then, he clears his throat and gestures toward the table you're sitting on.
"Can you sit back, ma'am? Y'know, so I can get that good look at you?"
You slowly lean back for him. The steel table is cold beneath your palms when you press them into the empty space behind you. Grounds you and cools you off just a bit.
Ryland's eyes trail over you now that you're a little stretched out. You see them linger on the familiar places he always does. Over your thighs and hips, over your sides, over the gentle curve of your breasts and up your neck.
The area over your collarbones is the only sliver of your skin he can see right now; everything else is covered by his shirt you're wearing and the pair of sweatpants you haven't ditched yet. That tiny bit of skin's basically an oasis in some sort of desert.
You huff before you look him in the eyes. He meets them soon after, face flooded pink but his gaze stillâŠhungry.
"Do you look at all of your patients like this, Dr. Grace?" you tease. He rests his left hand on your hip.
"I assure you," he begins, voice deep and raspy and definitely full of need, "this is all part of the exam. You're in good hands."
"I like when my doctor is good with his hands," you purr. Was that too on the nose for this little game you're playing? Sure. But it's what makes this fun. It gets him to huff out a laugh through his nose and give your hip a little squeeze.
You gnaw on your bottom lip to keep yourself from laughing, too, but only for a moment. Ryland's too busy bringing one hand up to your face and cradling your jaw. As soon as his thumb brushes over your chin, you release your lip from your teeth. His eyes land on your mouth and stay there for a beat longer than they should.
The soft scent of latex gently creeps up to your nose as he holds your face still. That scent gets a little stronger, lingering and pushing into your skin when his thumb runs over your bottom lip.
Why is that doing something for you? Why does it have you making a mess in your panties? What the hell will this awaken in you? Why did it only take two months to get here?
Questions to address later.
"First thing we need to do," he rumbles while still eyeing your lips, "is a temperature check."
His thumb remains on your lip. It isn't long before he slowly, softly pushes it a little forward. Aiming for the inside of your mouth, clearly.
"I'm so sorry, but our themometer is broken, so," he pauses. Lets out a fake apologetic scoff. Then he shrugs and looks you in the eyes to continue hedging with, "I'll have to use my hand instead."
Said it with his whole chest. Completely devoid of jest. Seems like he's really hitting his stride here. How many times has he done this with someone else?
You add that one to the bank of questions to be answered later. You need to up your game if he's bringing this much to the table.
"Do you need me to open wide, Dr. Grace?"
Although your words are muffled from his grip on your jaw and his thumb playing at your lips, you get them out clearly. Clearly enough to make him flush a soft pink that bleeds over the bridge of his nose and threatens to reach his ears.
He doesn't stumble, though. If you guys hadn't been shot up into space against your will, he might have been able to pursue a career in acting. You know, after the whole "Sun's dying" thing got fixed.
Instead, Ryland straightens.
"Mhm," he hums his answer. "Now, open wide."
So you do as he says and you drop your mouth open. Real wide. Until you can't open it any more. Time for that temperature check.
Ryland shoots you a sly little grin. Nods his head and blesses you with a whispered, "Very good."
The raw, deep rasp in his voice when he bestows that praise on you is enough to shoot a jolt of need straight to your pussy. Enough to make you squirm, to make your body physically ache for him. It's his most effective form of temptation. Has you wanting to ditch this fun little game and just let him fuck you.
But he's so enamored with this that you let it continue. You swallow your impatience, you still your writhing hips, and you let it go on.
His thumb gently pushes beyond your lips, brushing at the tip of your tongue. That heat blooming in your lower half deepens. Simmers a little more. Makes you think you might be sitting on an oven instead of a freezing cold lab table.
"Close," he instructs seconds later. Seems like you're not the only impatient one here. You've never followed directions faster in your entire life. Your lips encircle his thumb almost immediately. The skin-tight latex surrounding his hand takes away the joy of his thumbprint pressing against your tongue. Should be considered a crime.
"Perfect."
Ryland presses his thumb a little deeper into your mouth. You gently suck on the thick digit while looking directly into his eyes through your lashes. He's always been a sucker for the way you look at him while you're trying to tease him.
It breaks his concentration; an incredibly brief flash of need when he pinches his eyebrows together and he punches out a shaky sigh. His knees might have buckled, actuallyâbut he plays it off like he's just shuffling to get closer to you. Like it actually was his intention to tighten his hold on your hip and pull you near the edge of this table.
When you push a little further and circle your tongue around his thumb, he actually shuts his eyes. Hangs his head for a second before he mutters, "Yeah, like that."
You indulge him. Suck a little harder. Tease with your tongue a little more. Give his thumb just enough attention to make him shudder in front of you. He reopens his eyes and reluctantly forces them back up and on you. It's not long before he's pulling his thumb out of your mouth. The quick action forces a lewd little pop to ring out into the tight space around you. Whether it's because he was about to come in his pants or not is beyond you.
Solid chance that it was, though.
"Did that feel good?"
Your cheeky question makes him chuckle. His face turns even more pink.
"My temperature, I mean," you clarify. "Did it feel good?"
"Yes," he answers through a smile that mangles the general casualness he was trying to upkeep. His hand slides down to your neck. His thumb, still damp with your saliva, braces against your jaw. You lean into his touch. How could you not?
"It was just right," he coos while he positions his fingers around the side of your neck, palm softly pressed against your throat. His thumb hovers on your quickened pulse on one side of your neck, just beneath your jaw, while his index and middle fingers dig into the pulse on the other side in the same spot.
You hum and try to ignore the thrumming between your legs when he gives your neck a single, firm little squeeze. When his fingers dig a little deeper into the soft give of your pulse points, when you can feel your own heartbeat hammering against your jaw from how hard he's grabbing you. It's not enough to take your breath away, but it's just enough to make you weak. To force a head rush when he releases his grip but leaves his hand there.
Your teeth find your bottom lip. You gnaw on it so hard that the taste of copper spreads over your tongue, metallic and abrasive as opposed to his softness. You look up at him through your lashes againâin that exact way that kills him every timeâand your voice is breathy when you find it. Struggling from the gentle firmness of his grip and the fog of your own lust.
"What's this for, Dr. Grace?"
He gives your throat another squeeze. You shut your eyes and whine softly, head tilting back just a bit. There's something so intoxicating about the rough dig of his fingers into that sensitive, soft skin beneath your jaw. Did your hips buck up toward his? Probably. Not like you have time to focus on it, though; he's too busy giving you another fucking head rush when he relaxes his grip.
"For checking your heartrate."
When your eyes flutter open again, you find him smirking at you. He follows it up with another squeeze on your neck. One of your hands beelines for his where it rests at your hip. The way you borderline stab your nails into his wrist is almost as instinctual as the whimper that leaves your mouth when he relaxes his grip again and inundates you with a euphoric rush you're coming to adore. Your hold on him grounds you, but not for long.
"Seems to get quicker when I do this," he mutters, then he gives your neck another fucking squeeze. A little harder this time. Lasts a little longer, cuts off your blood flow just enough to make you deliciously woozy. Has your pussy fluttering and clenching around nothing. You'd be surprised if your arousal wasn't seeping through your sweats at this point.
You sink your nails deeper into his skin. He doesn't even flinch. Just laughs, soft and sweet despite how he's putting you through the ringer.
"What's that about? Are you nervous?"
"Yes! Yes, I'mâI'm just a little nervous. That's all," you stutter out. Total lie. Wasn't even convincing in the slightest. You run your tongue over your bottom lip and try to ignore the remnants of your own blood lingering there.
"No need for that," he reassures you, all saccharine and sickeningly comforting.
"You're in good hands, remember?"
Punctuates that one with another squeeze of your throat. That means another head rush a few seconds later when he releases it. You moan this time. Close your eyes tightly and tilt your head back a little. It was impossible to keep any part of that reaction in.
"Good hands," you eventually choke out. Whiny. Impatient. Breathy and embarrassingly pathetic. A parroting of only a fraction of his own question. Like you're giving him an excuse to call it quits and tear into you like you desperately want him to.
But Ryland doesn't break. Seems like he's actually capable of teasing you when he doesn't have his thumb in your mouth. It'd be admirable if you weren't so needy. All he does is hum to himself. Your bliss depletes when that soft, silky latex of his glove glides down your throat and toward your shirt.
"Got a strong, steady pulse aside from those nerves. Feels healthy to me," he mumbles. Does a good job at ignoring the frustrated groan that you punch out. You could have came from the "heartrate check" alone if he had done it a few more times.
Then, he drops his voice. It's a whisper, now. Confident, but so hardly-there that you consider leaning in when he tells you, "Let's keep going."
His fingers tease at the top button you've got fastened on his shirt. He taps it once, twice, three times. Gentle, and maybe a little teasing, but that's just your judgment from the hint of a smirk painted on his lips.
"I'm gonna need you to open your shirt, ma'am."
He clears his throat and shoots you a half-grin.
"So we can continue with your physical examination, that is."
It's right after that sentence that his hands leave you completely. No more teasing the buttons on your shirt. No more palm pressed against and fingers curling around your hip. He even takes a step backâdistances himself from you until you can't feel his hips against the inside of your knees. Can't feel the warmth of his body flooding into yours even through all your layers. All you can do is deflate.
Months of close contact without even a second of personal space, and you're at your most miserable when you finally get a little bit of it.
The desperation to get it back is what pushes you to lift your fingers up to the buttons of your shirt. While you find each button and fumble with it, Ryland keeps his gaze glued on you. On your trembling fingers, on the heave of your chest, on the way you've got nothing but lust clouding your half-lidded eyes.
"Need some help?" he asks, soft and genuine, when he sees you slipping and fumbling over the third button on your shirt. You nod. Immediately. Quickly enough to have you feeling a hot, embarrassed flush in your cheeks. But it's only for a momentâhe overshadows it by closing in on you again.
His massive hands are nothing but delicate as they close in on your shirt buttons. Slow and steady. Precision that gets your shirt completely unbuttoned within a matter of a few seconds. Why is that turning you on even more?
"There you go. Lean back and relax for me," he murmurs while in the process of undoing that final button. Instead of shrugging your shirt off, he simply pushes it open. The loose fabric billows around your waist. Brushes over your collarbones and your ribs. Hangs onto your shoulders as if it's only a brief look away from falling off of them.
By the time you press your hands back into the steel table, you're much more exposed. You'd conveniently forgotten to put on a bra this morning. WellâŠif it was morning when you woke up. Time doesn't exist here.
You chest is bare. Breasts on full display now that this shirt of his you've got on is open wide for his viewing pleasure. He looked directly at them, because even in the midst of his dedication to this roleplay, he's still a man.
Why not torture him a little?
"Is this where you want to start, Dr. Grace?" you purr. The hitched breath in his throat is audible when you gently arch your back and lift your chest in his direction. He tries to play it off with a fake cough but falters when he looks up at you. His pupils are so blown out that you should probably be concerned for him.
"Want me to take some deep breaths for you?"
Your teasing question makes Ryland hum. His hands have already returned to your hips. His thumbs, still enveloped in latex, are buttery soft when they gently trace back and forth over the skin just above your waistband. Almost as soft as the hold he's got on you. The gentle dig of his fingers into your body remind you of home. Maybe he is your home now.
"Go ahead," he commands. Nods when you do just as he says. One big, deep inhaleâenough to make your lungs burnâfollowed by a full exhale.
"Very good. Just like that. Give me another one."
He trails one hand up your stomach, over your abdomen, toward your ribs. His touch merges with his praise. Leaves a path of goosebumps in its wake and a shiver shooting down your spine.
You manage to pull in another breath. Breathing is an automatic process for the brain, but when Ryland Grace is pawing at you this well, this hypnotically, it kicks that automatic process into manual. So when you draw it in, it's shaky. Hesitant, in a way. Unfocused.
All you can think about is the way he's inching closer and closer to your chest and how he's looking at you like he would devour you if you so much as thought about giving him permission to do so.
After that pathetic attempt at a breath, Ryland clicks his tongue at you. Very quiet. A little disappointed. Maybe even an attempt at humiliating you because he knows you like it. There's something mischievous in his eyes. Something a little playful behind all the lust.
He runs his tongue over his bottom lip. Curls his fingers around a section of your ribs and gives you a gentle squeeze. Finds his voice a few seconds later, and gifts it to you in a low, rich rumble.
"I'm afraid that wasn't sufficient enough. I need you to take a big, deep breath, ma'am."
You whine. You squirm. You let your head fall back for some brief, momentary relief from his still-hungered gaze. It's the only set of actions you could muster, especially with his hand sliding up and toward the valley of your breasts.
His large palm splays out over your sternum, steady and grounding despite how miserable you feel right now. He's great at bullshitting this. There's no way that this is actually how breathing is supposed to be measured.
Not that you care.
"C'mon. Just give me one more," he firmly instructs. Gives you a gentle tap on your sternum and lowers his velvety tone to a whisper.
"You're my best patient. If you wanna keep that title, I suggest you take a deep breath."
That gentle, cooed compliment really gets you going. Does its job, although it's a bit difficult to get there. After you push out the remaining whisper of a breath you had in your chest, you inhale. It's still a little shaky, but it's full-bodied; enough to make him smile at you and pat your chest.
"Perfect."
He continues with the "exam" in a way that's actually familiar to you. Because, instead of doing it like an actual medical doctor, he's doing it like himself: As a scientist. His hands glide up to and over your chest, his fingers tease, pinch, and tug on your nipples, and he gropes your breasts. His expert hands slide down your abdomen while his tongue sings soft praises to you for obeying the good doctor's orders.
He's not examining you like a doctor, though. He's exploring you like a scientistâand you're a fool for it. Staring up at him through lidded eyes, sucking in stilted breaths, releasing soft little whines and whimpers and moans spurred on from being poked and prodded.
So much for a physical exam. This borders on a lab test. And being the test subject of the brilliant, world-saving Dr. Ryland Grace? That's even better than being his patient at this makeshift doctor's office.
But he knocks you back down into your roleplay as his fingers tease over the waistband of your sweatpants.
"Can you take these off? Pelvic exam's the final step before we wrap up here."
"How about you do it for me?" you plead through feigned innocence. "You're just so good with your hands. Much better than I am."
He laughs. Then he blushes. And when he starts to untie that knot at the front of your sweats, he sends you a grin that'd make you swoon if you weren't so desperate to have him all over you.
"I'd love to help you with that, ma'am," he purrs while he slips his fingertips into your pants and slowly pulls them down your thighs. Only takes a second or two for you to kick them off and let them fall onto the floor in a heap. Takes even less time than that for him to pull your panties down.
"Lay back," Ryland tells you. A gruff little command. Definitely not as professional as a doctor would be. He's gotta be hurting as much as you are if he's starting to break like this, as subtle as it was.
But you do as he says. The lab lights cascading all over your body as soon as you lie down are extremely bright. Almost fluorescent.
Here you are: Illuminated by the harshest light possible, all spread out on this cold steel table, a lab rat for him to test on. Fully exposed. It should be embarrassing. It should make you want to cover up. To run and hide.
Instead, you spread your legs. And it makes Ryland turn a much darker shade of red than he was earlier. He covers up his blush with a smile. His hands meet your calves. They slowly run up your legs and toward your thighs, smooth latex gliding against your skin and making you shiver. Part of you misses the feeling of his bare skin against yours.
Ryland's hands glide up and up and up, slow and teasing, before they rest at your hips. His thumbs gently press into the soft skin there, and his fingers tighten their grip on you, and his eyes do a little gliding of their own. Up and down your entire body, lingering on every inch of skin he can get them on.
His tongue runs over his bottom lip before he softly coos, "You're so pretty."
You gasp. Act offended. Try to hide your genuine adoration and glee for his compliment behind a fake, snippy attitude.
"Are you flirting with your patient, Dr. Grace?"
"Making an objective observation, actually," he sasses back. It's almost hard to believe this guy could barely look at you the first time you slept together. What an honor it is to witness someone coming out of their shell.
"If I'm so pretty, can this exam be on the house?"
Ryland throws both of his eyebrows up.
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves."
You scoff. A quip forms on your tongue, but dies almost immediately. You lose your ability to speak as soon as Ryland's hands slink away from your hips and toward your inner thighs. As his big, warm palms pin your legs down onto the table you're basically spread eagle on, he asks, "Can you keep your legs spread for me?"
You can't come up with the single, affirmative word. You just nod.
"I'm gonna trust you," he murmurs, thumbs getting to work by gently spreading your folds open. You keen. Your body jolts, and he's barely even touched youâbut any sort of attention to your aching, needy pussy will do that to you.
"Especially since you've been doing so well for me," he adds. Although your head is swimming, clouded with nothing but wanton need that makes you want to lunge at him, you keep your word. Your hips squirm, but your legs stay open.
He smiles. His eyes flit up to yours when he glides one thumb through your folds. When you gasp and let out an actual moan, he laughs. Sweet and full of adoration for you.
"Easy. Sit still," he whispers. His other hand finds your stomach, big, warm palm splayed out over it so he can keep you still. You squeeze your eyes shut, and you toss your head back, and your jaw tenses so roughly that you're worried it might shatter.
But when Ryland's thumb finds your clit, the combination of the soft latex and his warmth makes it a little easier to relax. Finally, some fucking relief.
He starts rubbing slow, heavy circles on the sensitive bud. Enough to make your head loll to the side and your chest heave. Ryland's other fingers trace random shapes into your abdomen. It's soothing enough to keep you from squirming.
"Looks real good," he says while adding a little more pressure to the circles he's drawing on your clit. You moan again. It might be loud enough to wake up Rocky. You know that's not possible, butâŠthere's a first time for everything.
"Reacting very well to stimulation."
"Fuck," you hiss, hips stuttering and one hand flying down to his wrist. Your nails dig into his exposed skin just above the elastic band of the glove on his hand. You want to stay in character; unfortunately for you, he's managed to wind you up so much with his poking and prodding that you're already about to come.
"Is something wrong, ma'am? Do you need a break?"
"IâNo! I'm fine!" you squeak out, back arching, pussy fluttering around nothing and probably dripping onto the table beneath you already. He clicks his tongue against his teeth and, after getting you so close to your orgasm that you were seeing stars in your clouded vision, takes his thumb away.
"Why don't I try something else?"
Tears begin to pool in your eyes. You fall back down onto the table with a defeated, earth-shattering groan and let go of his arm. If you weren't so tired, you'd have fired off a string of insults his way. That's no way to get what you want, though. Ryland can be quite withholding when he's in the driver's seat.
He chuckles. Drums his fingers against your stomach for a moment, then gently mutters, "We're almost done. Take a deep breath for me."
With the last semblance of your mental awareness, you do it. The breath you suck in is deep. It burns your chest when you hold onto it. Luckily for you, though, it doesn't stick for longâRyland pushes two of his gloved fingers into your pussy and your breath leaves you as a loud, guttural moan.
"Feels so good," he whispers to himself, as if he's the one struggling to keep it together.
There's no resistance. You're soaked from all the teasing and touching, so he slips in with ease. You cover your mouth with your own hand, teeth digging into your palm as you whimper into it and try to keep it together.
Truth be told, though, you didn't have a chance. Ryland's already thrusting them in and out of you, slow and deep and just how you like it. He's curling them up and hitting that soft, spongy spot that almost makes you black out each time he touches it.
"Dr. Grace!" you roughly pant, whimpering and hips roughly bucking up to meet his hand. He doesn't stop you. He probably wants to see you come more than you want to come.
"Is this part of the exam?"
He smirks up at you. Speeds up his fingers and presses his thumb against your clit again. Clears his throat and announces, "Of course it is. Just making sure everything's working how it's supposed to."
What a pervert. A beautiful, incredibly-skilled-with-his-hands pervert.
Something about that makes it impossible for you to keep it together. You throw your head back, your legs tremble, your lower half roughly and involuntarily twitches. The worst part is that you can't keep your mouth shut; you let go with a slew of almost unintelligible babbles and a set of moans so loud that you're worried your vocal cords will be torn to shreds.
When you come back down to Earthâor, rather, MaryâRyland's got a shit eating grin on his face. It's a little crooked. Somehow, that makes it even more perfect. He clears his throat and straightens between your legs. Pulls his fingers out of you and presses both hands into the table, bracketing you in without a chance to escape.
Not that you'd want to.
"I think that test was inconclusive," he lies through his teeth. When you roll your eyes and lean up on your elbows because you want to shoot him a smart-assed response, you end up falling silent. His fingers are undoing the knot at the front of his own sweats, and he's taking you in like a starved man.
You giggle at him. At the way he's enamored with you despite you not doing anything. Then you simply ask, "What on Earth are we gonna do about that?"
He shrugs. Pushes his sweats down before he reaches forward, grabs your hips, and pulls you closer to the edge of the table you're still laid out on.
synopsis: Everyone knows that yourself and Steve should never have been put on the same team; you fight like dogs and spark like live-wires. But maybe not all of that tension is hate.
warnings: enemies to lovers, smut smut smut (fingering, oral - f receiving, unprotected p in v, creampie, size kink, mild spitting, rough sex, hate sex but add yearning, slight exhibitionism & public sex & risk of getting caught - fawking in the workplace), canon-typical violence (nothing graphic), description of gunshot, a lot of fighting but they are closeted cutiepies, cursing, steve rogers is a MUNCH and that's canon (to me),
word count: 12.3k words (literally 5k is smut. i wish i was joking. i have no impulse control)
a/n: i tried to do a bit of an inverse on the whole 'steve rogers is a golden retriever' thing in this so there are way too many references to dogs lmao (see: title). i physically cannot write hate sex without yearning bc i am a lover girl. someone release me from these shackles.
Steve has a big fucking issue with you.
You canât remember exactly when it started but you do know that you liked each other just fine before you joined his team. Back then, youâd thought his unyielding, boy-scout-adjacent sense of duty and honour was kind of cute. Heâd hold doors, call you maâam, talk about doing the right thing as if it was just easy in a job like this. As if it was always clear as day what the right thing to do was.
Now, his virtue is just exhausting.
Youâre watching him spar with Sam from the corner of the training floor as dusk descends outside the window and the training room becomes a sort of cave. Dim yellow light is spilling over the room, drowning it in a blurry smog. People are clearing out for the day, but not Steve. Each of his punches are pulled, each strike carefully calculated to inflict just the right amount of force in order to win but not injure. Steve could have Sam pinned in two minutes flat and both of them know it. The frustration in Samâs expression is tickling you - you recognise it well.Â
You used to taunt Steve for this kind of thing during training runs and team building events, and heâd tease you right back. That boyish smile would give way to something a bit more wicked and an unnamed heat would pool low in your stomach at his crack in composure. You had been sure he was only days away from asking you out - some very proper invitation to the pictures with an assurance that he would drop you back by a reasonable hour, most likely. But then you got a promotion and came under his leadership.
He moves through missions like heâs got some do-gooder checklist in his head, and you can feel him watching every corner you cut. He doesnât have to say a word (though he often does); the disapproval is baked into the air between you. Whatever spark had been building between the two of you got buried somewhere between all his rules and all the ways youâd break them.
A side-mission from Fury here, a refusal to wait for backup there - and suddenly you two are enemies. Or adversaries, at the least
You remind him frequently, in the throes of fiery screaming matches that make the rest of the team avert their eyes, that this is the way SHIELD trained you. He is the one going against the grain, not you. But it doesnât seem to matter to him because his trusty moral compass never points him wrong, it would seem.Â
Things have gotten so bad by now that you think Steve, patient and tolerant as he is, might have even considered requesting that you be transferred if you werenât so damn good at your job.Â
And you are good. That canât be denied.
But thereâs something about working with Steve that makes you great. When youâre not at each otherâs throats.
You move around each other on missions as if performing choreography that only you two have rehearsed. Youâve saved his ass more times than he has ever acknowledged or thanked you for, but he has done the same for you. You have a deep understanding of how he works, mind and body. He keeps his moves varied as a rule, but you have learned to read the minute shift in his centre of gravity before he strikes, the smallest drop in his hips that means heâs about to duck, the tightening of his frame before he lunges. Equally, you know when heâs running multiple scenarios behind his eyes, when heâs processing angles before he commits.
It makes you his best possible partner on the field and the biggest pain in his ass in training.
âYouâre up,â Steve mutters to you while Sam limps to the corner of the room, grumbling something about how next time Steve needs to stop dragging this shit out before he gets a leg cramp.
You haul yourself up slowly, moving to the centre of the gym with exaggerated languor just to piss him off, rolling your shoulders as you go. His sweat is making his white t-shirt entirely transparent, the thin fabric sticking to his defined pectorals and torso. He shakes his head, spraying sweat over the mat. It should be kind of gross, really, so youâre a bit disgusted by how hot it is. You see his jaw tick with impatience, and you begin to stretch your calves, too.
âYou couldnât have done this while you were waiting?â
âAnd risk seizing up again while you played with your food?â
âJust because I donât use full force, it doesnât mean Iâm âplaying with my foodâ,â he says, frowning at you in that disappointed-teacher way of his âEvery time you all fight a super soldier, it makes you better. I use more force every time.â
You say nothing, only because youâre cautious about baiting him too much ahead of the ass-whooping youâre about to get. You roll your shoulders one more time, looking up at him.
âLetâs go.â
Steve lunges, coming at you hard and fast. A blur of muscle flies past your eye-line, fist cutting into the air where your jaw had been just half a second before. The force of it sends a gust that moves wisps of your hair and the speed of your dodge sends your boots skidding across the mat. You raise an astounded eyebrow at him and he shrugs with a tight smile.Â
On days like this, when his restraint is frayed and he is too irritated to be sanctimonious, you are reminded that he can be a little bit fun.
When you slide by his guard again, your eyes catch his for a fraction of a second before he lands a surprise hit to your abdomen that pummels the wind right out of your pipes. You groan but stop yourself from bowling over right into his knee that comes shooting up for you. You see him bear left and you glide away in the opposite direction.
âTesty today,â you say, but you canât hit the patronising tone you are aiming for. Your voice comes out scratchy from the knock you took. He says nothing but leaps at you again.
You lean back and dodge the hit but go sprawling to the floor. Before he can pin you, you sweep a foot under his. Itâs not enough to knock him in itself but he blunders for a bit and with one more kick, you send him to his ass. You get a foot in his side and hear Sam hoot in delight as he clears out of the training room with the remaining agents.
Steveâs on his feet in a flash, but by then, so are you. Thereâs a glimmer of something on his face, like surprise or maybe excitement. You try not to get too arrogant.
And itâs a good thing you donât. Because after five minutes of hits and dodges, he has you on the ropes again. Youâre giving it as good as youâre getting but you donât have his stamina or pain tolerance. You can feel your equilibrium slipping, movements getting sloppy. Youâre over-balancing, tumbling instead of landing.
Thereâs something about the current between the two of you today that makes you want to win in a way you never do with Steve. You had never even really seen it as a competition before, safe in the conclusion that he and all his serum-amplified testosterone will have you beat eventually. It was always a matter of if, rather than when.
But Steve is coming at you properly today, not pulling his punches (as much), not giving you the space to recover before heâs on you again like a hound on fresh blood and itâs making a sort of swooping adrenaline sing in your blood.Â
You donât think too much about it, sweeping behind his back and hooking a leg over his. The serum means you donât have enough strength to bring him down, but the confusion makes him stumble. With two hands on his shoulders, you climb his broad frame, boots digging into flesh, hands ploughing through his hair. He reaches a hand back to peel you off with bruising strength, but you have an iron clasp. His fingers dig into your t-shirt with almost enough force to pull it clean off.
You eventually reach the peak of him with immense difficulty. You are able to lock your thighs around his broad neck and curl your knee around his throat, squeezing hard. Itâs not enough. His hands are pulling at your legs, but heâs not tapping out. You can only hold this grip for a matter of seconds, before your muscles loosen, and Steve will have your tired body pinned.
Impulsively, you dive backwards, head swooping down towards the floor. The force of it sends Steve flying back with you and you vaguely feel three taps - a victory - against your thigh before you both hit the floor.Â
You crash hard on your back. Your head takes a small bump to the mat and black dots dance behind your eyes for just a second, but your ass and shoulder blades take the brunt of it. Itâs far from the worst injury youâve received in training, but itâs been a while since youâve received more than a hit. You take a few deep breaths to centre yourself, groaning once air returns to your body. Only then do you realise that Steveâs head is planted firmly on your lower stomach, neck still pressed up between your thighs. You scramble away with what you hope is a collected suavity, all bones and muscles shrieking in opposition to the sudden movement.Â
When Steve spins around, you know youâre in for it.
âWhat the hell was that?â he spits, picking himself up from the floor. His eyes are blazing, hands on his hips while he looks down at you where you are sprawled out on the mat. You close your eyes and let out a long, deliberate sigh - precisely the response you know will drive him crazy.
âThat was me winning, Steve,â you say, ignoring your groaning limbs to pull yourself up. He does not offer you a hand up.
âNo,â he said, voice strained and thick with irritation. âThat was you trying to get yourself killed. Are you insane? You could have a concussion.â
âI know a concussion from a small bump,â you say, brushing him off with a limp hand. You move over to get your water, trying not to stagger. âDonât be dramatic.â
âThis is your problem, you know that? You always think you know best and everyone else is just dramatic or not seeing your vision, or whatever it is. Youâre a good agent, but thatâs not enough. Youâre going to get yourself killed some day and it wonât be some great, heroic gesture like you probably think. It will be something stupid like this.â
His speech might have made a mark on you if it had been the first time you had heard it. As it stands, you just roll your eyes and take a sip from your bottle to look busy. The water mixes with blood from where you had bitten the inside of your cheek. It tastes bitter and metallic going down.
âGod, youâre-â
You glance warily at Steve, wondering whether he is about to curse at you for the first time since that mission in Moscow. He swallows it. âYou donât listen.â
You shrug with a smile, watching his face go from a blushing red to a deep crimson. His eyes narrow and he spins around, broad back tensing as he storms out of the gym.
âSteve?â
He stops, twisting ever-so-slightly.
âYou not gonna congratulate me on my first ever win?â
You think he might have given you the finger if he was anyone but himself.
You do end up grumbling your way over to the med bay eventually, but only because Steve threatens to suspend you from any further missions. You turn out to not have a concussion so you feel perfectly justified in scowling at him days later from across the quinjet the whole way to the shipyard two states away.
The air is warm despite the February frost splotched on the grass below. The hour is getting late; the setting sun turns the lakes and rivers a deep orangey red.
You hadnât expected Steve to bow down or apologise, but you did expect him to ignore you. Instead, heâs watching you with a detached curiosity, like youâre some rare lab specimen or an interesting insect.Â
âI know youâre not seriously mad at me for sending you to the med bay,â he says. âBecause that would be insane.â
âThey did a whole medical evaluation, Steve,â you snap at him. âI was in there well over an hour. All for fuckinâ nothing because Iâm healthy as a horse, apparently.â
âWell you missed your last mandatory check-up. So youâre welcome,â he says, his lips stretching into a handsome little smirk.
You frown. You are usually the one provoking him and youâre not overly fond of how it feels to be on the receiving end. You can feel Steveâs eyes on you, heady and pleased. Heâs leaning back with his arms crossed, lofty thighs spread open with an abnormal arrogance. One that would not be on display if the rest of the team were with you.
You can fully appreciate his size from this angle, the fabric of his t-shirt straining against his biceps, his wide shoulders holding strong like an impenetrable wall of muscle and brawn. He looks particularly good when he smiles - even if itâs at your expense. He could have passed for a Gladiator, or some Greek god in another universe - the kind whose likeness would be captured in marble for future generations to marvel at and admire. It wracks you how unfair it is that he can be so irritating but still look like that.Â
Have you thought about him bending you over? Sure. Many a time. But you still canât stand the guy.
âYou still seeing that guy in R&D? Uh- Mark, or whatever.â
You give him a side-glance. Steve doesnât forget anyoneâs name. He is the kind of guy to be introduced to a hundred-man team and be asking Lucy for a debrief and thanking Jim for the coffee the very next day. You think he might be on a first-name basis with everyone heâs ever met. So you know that he knows his name his Mike.
âNo,â you mumble. âWe broke up last month.â
âWhy?â
âNone of your business, Rogers,â you say. Youâre trying to appear unbothered, but youâre a little rattled. Your teeth are grinding. âWhat about you? Any dates recently?â
âA couple.â
âAnd how were they?â
âGood.â
You scoff. âYou talk this much with them? Your chattiness might scare them off.â
âThe ladies I take on dates might not have the same preferences as you, you know,â he says with a raised eyebrow. Your lips twitch at that term - âladiesâ. How old-school.
âNo, Iâm sure they love one-word answers and taciturn grumbles.â
âIâve had no complaints.â
Your mouth opens and closes stupidly. The shells of your ears prickle with heat as Steve just grins wider, shifting his hips to lean further back. He looks so goddamn cocky, so punchable. You wish you could take a picture and show him to all those trainees you had heard refer to him as a âgolden retrieverâ. He seems more like a Mastiff to you; huge, stubborn, impossible to deal with.
You purse your lips together, eyes dropping to his army dog tags. The chain droops down his tanned, fabric-clad chest, the tags sitting neatly in the deep groove between his pectoral muscles.Â
âWhy did you and Mike break up?â
Your cheek twitches up. âSo you do know his name.â
âTell me.â
You turn your gaze away from him to watch the sun set out the window, even if it makes your retinae burn. âMy fault, mostly. I donât really, uh- know how to do it.â
âWhat? Relationships?â
âYeah, I guess. Iâm not used to having to let someone know when Iâll be home or making sure I have time for them between back-to-back missions. I blame my career choice.â
âMaybe you just didnât care enough.â
Your eyes snap back over to him, eyebrows shooting straight to your hairline. âWhat?â
âIâm just saying. Itâs not your career choice. Lots of people in this line of work have relationships that they prioritise.â
âWhat, youâre suddenly Dr Phil or something? Itâs not like you know the ins and outs so donât-â
âDr Phil?â A cute little line forms between his brows.
âHe was this-â You pause, heaving a frustrated breath out your nose. âYou know what? Never mind.â
âMy point is,â Steve continues. âI think you would want to do all those things for someone you cared enough about, even when itâs difficult. It wouldnât be some tick-the-box.â
All traces of arrogance are gone from Steveâs expression, only genuine interest remaining as he scans your face like heâs trying to solve some puzzle. It makes you uncomfortable - you would prefer for him to laugh at you or lecture you.
âI could be dating Brad Pitt and I still would not care enough to answer a text about whatâs for dinner when Iâm busy.â
He frowns. âWho is Brad Pitt?â
âDonât worry about it.â
The walk to the shipyard is quiet. Silent, if not for the steady scratch of Steveâs boots grinding against the gravel. The hum of the quinjet dulls the farther you walk.
You may not particularly like Steve, but you appreciate him at times like these. You couldn't be more perfect mission partners for each other if you tried. The way you fall into your posts quickly and seamlessly, giving each other the space and silence to focus on preparing for the mission while also trusting that you will speak up if the situation calls for it.Â
Your methods and routines are practically identical. Itâs almost a shame that the moment things break open, that quiet alignment shatters.
Steve holds a fist up, signalling you to stop. You do, falling in behind him. Youâre not sure what heâs hearing, but you trust him implicitly when he makes the motion for you to duck behind a flatbed truck. You press yourself against the cool metal and Steve plunges in after you, his warm chest and stomach caging you. Hardly a second later, you hear what he had - a door clanging open, boisterous voices spilling out, all speaking over each other in Russian.
Steve meets your eyes, gives you a silent signal and you nod, moving out from behind the truck as silently as a deer and blending into the night. You weave through the shipping containers with practiced alacrity. You donât need to look to know Steve is right behind you; you can feel him.
You split angles without having to speak. Steve covers the high runways while you sweep the lower lanes between cargo. The night has cooled and the wind is vicious now, needling the hulls of the half-empty freighters and blowing the hook block of the crane overhead until it swings like an unsteady pendulum over the flooded pier. Steve is keeping close. His hot breath feels sharp on your neck against the biting wind.Â
You get within five hundred feet of the main electrical substation before youâre spotted. A pair of guards open fire from the building behind you, spraying an uncoordinated bouquet of bullets in your direction. You find cover effortlessly and huff with humour at the sloppy execution. They had just revealed that they are aware of your presence without allowing you to get close enough for a good shot.
âIdiots,â Steve mutters, as if heâs genuinely disappointed. You smile up at him, almost expecting him to say something about how he expected better from them.
You easily dodge their fire as you advance leisurely and safely, winding in and out from behind shipping containers. You decide that youâre not in the mood to go at it with Steve today, so you take his lead even if itâs significantly slower than how you would choose to do this yourself. You donât worry about the shots that get too close - whatever you canât dodge, Steve fends off with his shield.
You are out of the gunmenâs range when you make it to the ladder that leads up to the platform you need to get to, but you have no doubt they are headed your way. You go first, taking your gun from its holster, aiming it upwards, and heaving yourself onto the ladder. The iron bars are slick with seawater and heavy fuel oil; you have to grip tight so you donât slip.Â
Youâre making careful progress up the ladder with Steve behind you, eyes pointed upwards for any sign of unwanted company. The metal feels slithery beneath your fingers and it takes you an extra few seconds to climb each step. Itâs shuddering under each step and you wonder vacantly whether Steveâs weight will make it collapse.
You donât have much time to prepare for the gunman that approaches above you. Your fingers are still clumsily fidgeting, trying to aim your gun while also grasping the slippy bar of metal. You get your shots off at the same time; yours hits, his does not.
What it does do, though, is make you dodge. Your body bears left, foot skidding on a rung of the ladder and suddenly youâre slipping downward, stomach swooping as your body collides with Steveâs.
He scarcely reacts, catching you with one arm, using little to no exertion. His fingers clamp around your waist, steadying you. For a fraction of a second you both freeze - your breath catching, his jaw tensing, bodies flush together, faces inches apart. Every hard plane of his body is pressed up against you. There is a throbbing warmth low in your stomach.
âYou good?â he asks, breathy and deep.
âMove,â you say, voice tight, shaking out of his grasp and climbing up once more. He sighs and mutters something under his breath but you canât make it out. Your heart is galloping, your pulse thundering in your ears.
You barrel over the platform, and go running towards the tower just as another guard reaches the door, attempting to get to the breaker panel before you have the chance to disable it. He locks the door behind him but Steve kicks it in with a crash. You slide low, sweeping the guardâs legs. Steve disarms him before he can even hit the floor.Â
Thereâs no need for discussion as you both fall into your respective roles. The room is oppressively grey and layered with multiple wires, but you find your way to the breaker panel. You work on planting the shutdown device on the primary switchgear while Steve holds off reinforcements, laying enough suppressive fire to keep three guards pinned behind a forklift.
Youâre more aware of his presence than usual while you work. He sits like some nagging instinct in your head, telling you to look. You know if you do, all you will see is his back, a heavy fortification of muscle and hard lines and sweat. You donât need that kind of distraction. Your nerves are already fried from the uncomfortable consciousness of how his body felt pressed tight against yours.
You step back, watching the disruptor activate and the power shut down around you with a whining drone. The grey space becomes black and for just a split-second, yourself and Steve stand alone in the dark, no sounds pervading the room except your laboured breaths. The street lamps outside have extinguished - the bullets outside pause while the gunmen assess their situation.
Steve moves, shattering the stillness. He grips your wrist and pads quietly out the door, taking full advantage of the blackness to make a discreet getaway. You grab your wrist violently out of his grip but you follow him silently. You canât see anything very well, but you think he might roll his eyes.
The shipyard is drowned in darkness, the only light the thin silver sheen of rain on metal. You move with Steve between the towering containers, keeping low. Every small sound seems deafening now - the clink of a loose cable swaying in the wind, even your own breaths.
A pair of guards drift close, their flashlights slicing through the blackout. You flatten against the cold steel wall, willing yourself still as the beams skim past, bright enough to catch the rivets beside your cheek. When the voices fade, Steve breaks across an open stretch at a quick, silent sprint. You follow.Â
Youâre not sure why you do it. Itâs usually Steveâs job to scan the high ground. His serum-enhanced eyesight can catch movement long before you can. But Steve is preoccupied with sweeping for guards on ground level, so you do it instead out of pure intuition. And you see it: a sharp, unmoving glint on the crane platform above.
Your pulse spikes.
Thereâs a shooter.Â
You had caught sight of him too late to find cover. You are out in the open. You canât see the shooter well, but you know who their target will be and itâs not you. Steve is too far ahead to be able to warn him in any sufficient way.
In a moment of complete and utter instinct, and maybe more than a little stupidity, you raise your gun and shoot. You miss.Â
The shooter turns their attention to you now. You fire another, miss again.Â
The hit slams into your shoulder so hard, it immediately steals your breath. You stagger forward, fingers going numb. The gun drops from your clasp.
You try to breathe, but the pain is sharp and choking. Your vision wavers from blood loss and the sheer, overwhelming burn tearing through you. Steveâs gun cracks somewhere to your left but the sound bends around the pain, distant and warped. You canât lift your arm. You canât even unclench your jaw.
You wait to feel the blood clot around your wound but itâs slow and reluctant. You hold on for one more second, and then blackness swallows you.
The only thing that youâre aware of when you open your eyes is the pain. Not the cold, harsh light of the hospital. Not your family and team members that sit around you, looking morosely at the floor and bouncing their legs. Not even that Steve is absent.
For some length of time that feels very long, you exist in that state; slinking in and out of consciousness. But the pain never disappears, not even the bouts of darkness. In those moments of oblivion, the pain goes behind a cloud, but it always returns with a violence. You get to know this in a vague sort of way, feeling dumbly grateful when the pain is at bay but never being so naive as to think yourself free of it.
Although you will later find out it is only two days, it feels like a small eternity before you can clear the film that feels like scum from your throat and croak anything out. You must not be of fully sound mind yet or maybe the painkillers are making you loopy, because the first thing you say to the room, crammed with familiar faces, is; âSteve?â
Youâre assured by someone - Maria? Natasha? - that he got you out. That heâs ok.
And then that grey cloud descends once again. The pain and the haze return.
Itâs not that you care that Steve doesnât come to visit.Â
It turns out that your wound is just a through-and-through shot to the top of your shoulder. One centimetre in any direction and the bullet might have lodged itself firmly into your neck or paralysed your arm for good. The area is packed densely with muscles and nerves so you are wreaked with pain, but as it stands, it did no permanent damage.
So, really, there is no need for him to visit. And you definitely donât care. You just think itâs bad leadership is all. You would have showed up for him if the roles were reversed, no matter how much of a pest he is. Would have sent a card. Even a text, at the very fucking least.Â
You leave the hospital after the dullest week of your life. You hadnât, until that point, realised how tangled your life purpose is with your career. You feel rabid after just a day or two of consciousness, restricted to your bed with no files to review, no cases to crack open. Just you, a few beat-up novels you had been meaning to get around to reading, and whoever decides to drop by to see how you were doing.
Maria lets you know that you are required to take another two weeks of leave before returning to work. Standard policy. Your requests to be forwarded files related to your ongoing cases are rejected. You canât even enter the building to go to the gym.
In the absence of anything better to do, you watch films back-to-back. Try some recipes you had earmarked. Visit the new museum that had opened in the next block over. Wait to hear from family, friends and colleagues. But not Steve. Youâre definitely not waiting to hear from Steve.Â
Youâre not usually great for following orders but you follow the doctorâs instructions closer than you have abided by anything in your entire life. By the time you return to HQ, the pain in your shoulder has flattened to a dull ache and you have formed a resolution to try to find some sort of hobby outside of work. You had no idea your real life is that grim.
Maria meets you with a distant smile at reception.
âWelcome back,â she says pleasantly, turning to walk with you through the building. Quiet conversation, the rustling of paper and the heavy clicks of agents suiting up covers the space you walk through. âWeâll do a mini induction and then Iâll let you get to it.â
Mariaâs office is pristine. The door clicks shut behind you, muting all murmured voices outside. Everything looks recently straightened, recently dusted, recently organised. Sticky notes, task lists and cables are perfectly spaced out into their correct positions. The files stacked on the shelves are bound and appear to be in alphabetical order. You picture your home office space with a dim sort of shame as you sit down in front of her.
âHow is your shoulder?â she asks without much interest.
âMuch better, thank you. Should be able to get back out there now.â
She opens a cabinet in her desk and pulls a bloated yellow file. âThat wonât be possible. We have made the decision to transfer you to another team. Youâll need a few weeks to catch up on the ongoing cases.â
âAnother- what?â
Your brain is whirring, trying to catch up with what Maria just said. She doesnât reply, just watches you buffer.
âYouâre really taking me off the team on my first day back? Am I being punished for getting shot?â
âNot punished, no,â she assures you patiently. âYouâre not being demoted, your day-to-day wonât even change very much but youâll be working under Romanoff now. It was just decided that you would be a better fit somewhere else.â
âDecided by who?â you ask, even though you know the answer.
âBy the leadership team,â she replies diplomatically.
Your gaze narrows on her but she is unperturbed. The sound of the seconds ticking by on the clock are suddenly deafening. Youâre engaging in a sort of silent stand-off with her and youâre certainly not winning.Â
âWhere is he?â you ask at last.
âOn assignment.â
âWhen will he be back?â
She smiles at you tightly and you realise she can no longer tell you. Youâre not on his team anymore.
A wild instinct runs through you; you feel you might be a few seconds away from stomping your feet like a child, shouting at her that itâs not fair! and he started it!Â
Instead, you huff out a harsh breath and snatch the file up from the desk.Â
The hour is late and night is spilling through the windows. Yourself and Nat are the only ones left in the room; maybe the only ones left in the building. She lounges against the opposite row of lockers, boot propped up, grinning like you hadnât just run a mission that by all rights shouldâve ended in a four-page incident report and at least one formal reprimand.
âWe are a match made in heaven,â she says with a dreamy sigh.
You snort. âTell that to the clean-up team.â
âLet them file a complaint,â Nat says, waving a dismissive hand. âClean exit, no casualties, minimal property damage. Made decent time too.â
âMm.â
It had gone well. Better than well. Nat works like you do - zippy, instinctive, a little unhinged when the situation calls for it. There had been no questioning glances when you made a split-second decision, no screaming matches in lieu of a debrief. Your third mission back was a big fat success. You should be overjoyed.
But as you wipe the shower-water from your skin and peel your top on, all you can summon is a hot, directionless anger. Or, maybe not entirely directionless.
Because for the most part, you can direct it towards Steve. Your shoulder has mostly recovered with only a mild stiffness left to show for it but youâre still suffering from a wounded pride. The fact that he didn't bother to check up on you and requested a transfer after you quite literally risked your life for him is bad enough. But heâs been a ghost to you in the three weeks since you returned to work.Â
That first week, he had been on assignment in Hungary. You had gone on a hunt for him as soon as word got around that he was back, but he was nowhere to be found. All his usual conference rooms were vacant and he had clearly started training elsewhere. You have not been able to track him down in the weeks since and you have no doubt in your mind that his sole intention is to avoid you.
Because he feels guilty for what had happened? Or maybe because he doesnât want to have to thank you? Youâre not sure. But youâre pissed.
And not just at him either. At yourself too.Â
Because, alongside that anger, thereâs an uncomfortable hollowness tugging at you. You bring it with you everywhere you go. It weighs you down like a chain. He wonât vacate your brain no matter what you do and you canât quite deny that maybe you might miss him. Just a little.
The anger is not the worst of it; itâs that other thing - the tiny, shameful spark fluttering under your ribs when Natasha lets you rove free instead of testing you, challenging you, making you better. Itâs the way your life feels just a bit emptier without someone to tease and provoke.
And itâs humiliating, because - seriously? How original. You really had to go and join the queue of people pining after the tall, hot, golden-boy with perfect manners and stupidly earnest eyes and muscles so perfect that only scientists could have sculpted them. Brilliant. Groundbreaking. As if you donât already hate him enough without adding that to the mix.
âI was gonna drag you for a drink but the energy youâre giving off right now is rancid,â Nat says, walking towards you with her towel in hand. She snaps it at you but you jump out of the way before she can make contact. âYouâre so pissy all the time since you got transferred.â
âIâm not pissy,â you snap, obscurely aware that youâre proving her point.
âWhy do you even care? You and Rogers fight like dogs. You never wanted to be part of his team in the first place.â
Youâre purposely avoiding her gaze, but you know the exact look that Nat is giving you based on her tone alone and you hate it with a burning passion.
âI donât care. Itâs just not fair, but itâs whatever.â
She sighs, picking up her duffle bag and flinging it over her shoulder. âIâm gonna leave you to whatever this is,â she says, waving her hand vaguely in your direction. âGet eight hours tonight and try to come back less cranky.â
She walks out, hips swinging, and you wait another moment or two before following suit.Â
HQ feels different at this time of night. The overhead lights seem a shade too bright without bodies moving through them and your footsteps sound sharper against the floor. The whir of a printer on standby and the buzz of a monitor stand out more. Clean, white light is shining on empty desks.Â
There is a weight on you as your make your way through the carpeted corridors, passing empty offices and meeting rooms. Nat is right - you are pissy. Youâre so goddamn angry and mortifyingly upset, crucifying yourself with mental images and memories you would do anything to be rid of. You had always been mildly curious about those feelings that you observed in movies, the ones all your friends used to rave about when they met someone they fell head over heels for. You have dated, have even been in a few serious relationships. But you always knew there was a big gap between what you had witnessed and what you had experienced.
You wish someone had told you how stupidly painful and embarrassing it could be. You would have tried harder to steer clear of it.
You almost think that youâre imagining the picture of Steve in the meeting room to your right, framed by the semi-frosted window in the door. For just a split-second, you think it might be another one of those humiliating daydreams. But no - heâs burning the midnight oil; his neck is craned over a file, a small lamp pouring light over his handsome features.
Youâre not one to question your instincts. You hurl the door open with an aggression that has Steveâs head snapping up in shock, pen falling from his hand, mouth parting. You listen to the door tumble closed before you realise dimly that you have no idea what to say to him. Youâre floundering a little, but you keep your expression steady.
He breaks the silence first.
âYouâre here late.â
âJust wrapped an assignment with Nat,â you say, hand on hip. âTurns out we make a pretty solid team. Itâs refreshing.â
His jaw ticks, but he gives nothing else away. He looks back to his papers, as if dismissing you. âGlad to hear it.â
Thatâs it? Thatâs really all heâs giving you?
You can feel fiery heat crawling up your neck and you try to stop the furious shake in your hands. Composure is becoming more difficult to maintain and you know that youâre about a second away from bursting but his gall is astounding. He really has nothing else to say? After everything?
âYou got me kicked off the team.â
âYou didnât get kicked off anything,â he sighs, leaning back in his seat. His eyes are travelling your form warily, like he isnât quite sure where youâre going with this. âYou got transferred.â
âYeah, transferred out of the team.â
âI thought you would be happy,â he says wryly. âYou were always complaining about having to work with me. I think you even said youâd rather work with Natasha a few times.â
âI am happy!â It comes out as a bark. Youâre embarrassed by your petulance even though you canât cork it. You know that youâre acting like a child. Steveâs lips are creaking upwards, his eyes lit up in amusement.
You clear your throat. âI am happy,â you repeat, in a low, controlled voice this time around. âIt just feels a bit ungrateful is all.â
The way Steveâs poise breaks, superior grin twisting itself into a snarl, is hugely satisfying. You are self-aware enough to know that youâre being hugely immature, but it just feels so good to drag him down to your level.Â
âYou think I should be grateful that you almost got yourself killed on a mission?â he snaps, standing up from the meeting room table and walking towards you. You meet him half-way, until you are inches from each other. Your neck stiffens with how it bends up to meet his enraged eyes. Your body is humming with this familiar rhythm, as if fighting with Steve is the only thing that makes you feel alive.
âWell, I got shot saving you, so yes - I would say thatâs a pretty good reason to be grateful,â you snap back, eyes narrow.
âDonât be dense.â His voice is tight and poisonous in a way you have rarely ever heard before. âThat was a really fuckinâ stupid decision and you know it. You took a bullet for the super-soldier with accelerated regenerative healing and a vibranium shield. Does that sound like a good decision to you?â
He sounds more furious than you have ever heard him in your life - and you have made him mad more times than you can count. He had cursed at you. He hasnât done that since Moscow.
âI knew what I was doing,â you spit back with equal fury. âThat shooter had all the time in the world to get into position; they would have been aiming for your head and they would have hit their mark, too because you werenât paying enough attention to raise your shield. I knew that pulling them over in my direction meant that they would shoot me but they would have less time to aim. Just because you think Iâm stupid doesnât mean I am, you jerk.â
He is struck dumb momentarily, brows furrowing and lips pursing in thought. You are close enough to see the twitch of his mouth, to feel his disgruntled puffs of breath against your skin. Contentment slithers up your spine. Seconds tick by in silence; Steve pensive and stoic, you smug and satisfied. You have won this round and decide to go out with a bang.
âBut I guess I should be thanking you because I have a new team lead now who trusts my judgement and doesnât pick a fight every five minutes. So thank you. And go to hell.â
You turn on your heel, already halfway into your stride, and his hand shoots out so fast it must be instinct - large, calloused fingers closing around your arm before youâre even finished the pivot.
There is a second where he just glares hard. His blue eyes eat up every inch of your face.Â
And then your body meets his chest and his lips are instantly on yours in a heady explosion of fire - itâs a violent, fervid thing and you surprise yourself with how quickly you return his passion. You had imagined this moment in the last few weeks - in all your dirtiest daydreams, you made him sweat it out a bit, even beg. But maybe you can make him beg later - you had missed him too much to turn him away now.
Your lips move like itâs another one of your fights, faces pressed against each other in a messy battle of lips, tongues and teeth. His hands travel to your hips and pull you flush against him while you fist his crisp blue shirt, folding wrinkles into the perfectly ironed fabric.Â
Your feet leave the ground as he lifts you with irritating strength, pushing you onto the meeting room table and settling himself between your legs. His sheer power - the way he can lift you like youâre absolutely nothing - makes heat pool in your tummy, something stirring low. Youâre pushing your lips against his fiercely, channeling all the pent up anger from the past number of weeks.
He isnât gentle. Heâs rabid as a stray dog. His fingers grasp harshly onto your hips with bruising strength. Despite the fact that youâre already pressed up against him, he tugs you tighter to his body, like close is not close enough. You can feel the large swell of his cock against your thigh, hard as a rock, and you have to stop yourself from adjusting your position and grinding down on him. Youâre eager enough to do it, but he can't know that.
Your hands travel around his chest and shoulders, fingers delving into every curve of muscle there. He feels so big and broad against your touch and it turns you on so much that it almost pisses you off.
âYouâre such a dick,â you gasp, the sound muffled against his lips.
âI know,â he says back between kissing, his mouth not moving from yours.
âDidnât even visit me in the hospital.â
âI know.â
âI hate you,â you say, aiming for a sharp tone. It comes out breathy. Heâs still kissing at your mouth, lips moving wildly - out of sync and jumbled.
âShut up,â he grunts, hand going to your lower back and pushing your pelvis forward so you grind against him. An embarrassing whine rips itself from your throat as pleasure sparks through you, lighting up your body. You grind down again, addicted to the feeling, and Steve groans against your lips, hips jerking up.
It prompts something filthy; the two of you still fully clothed, bucking and grinding against each other like feral animals. There is a delicious throbbing in your core, your entire body crying out for more of him. His left hand is still on your hip, encouraging your body to continue grounding down against his hard cock through layers of cotton, but his right hand moves up to grab your jaw with a possessive force. You are giving it back to him too, hands clutching and grasping at him with a brutality.
He pulls away to lift your top over your head, eyes levelled at you with a burning intensity. His pretty blues are darker now, less earnest.
âSteve, weâre in the office,â you object, fingers reaching out to grab it back. He tosses it to the floor before you can.
âDonât care,â he says, reattaching his lips to yours, fingers crawling to the waistband of your trousers. âGonna fuck you right here.â
Your stomach clenches. Itâs a strange role reversal. Youâre not accustomed to being the one who stops and thinks about things before acting - thatâs always Steveâs remit. You should be concerned that his perfectly constructed control has been tossed out the window, but it only makes you more excited. You know that there is something dangerous deep underneath each layer of restraint that Steve exercises. You have always known youâre better at digging it out than anyone else in this world. When you do, itâs a beautiful thing.
How can you do anything but give in?
Steveâs fingers play with the button of your jeans, popping it open with an effortless tug before he slides them down your legs along with your shoes. Youâre left in just your underwear, splayed open before a fully-clothed Steve Rogers like youâre some sort of offering. He watches you with dark eyes, something between worship and hunger enveloping his features.
His eyes zero in on your bra-clad breasts. âTake it off,â he says, voice strained, and you reach up with urgency to unclip it, tossing it carelessly somewhere across the table.
âSuddenly so good at taking orders.â His hand reaches up to palm your breast, the other playing with the waistband of your panties. Your body arches to his touch involuntarily. âShould have done this months ago. Might have made you behave.â
He can probably tell youâre about to say something snarky, because his lips meet yours ferociously yet again and what would have been a rude retort turns into a moan when his thumb presses down on you over your panties.
Steve pulls away, eyes catching yours with surprise before dropping down to your core, covered in a thin layer of now-transparent fabric. âYouâre soaked through,â he breathes, awe colouring his tone. âSee how wet you are for me?â
Hot humiliation floods your face. âFuck you.â
He gives you a slow smirk, eyes glinting. His tongue pokes out to wet his lips, leaving them glossy and shiny, and you realise he enjoys this as much as you do. His head dips down, lips just brushing over your neck, breath caressing your skin, before heâs lathering kisses there. He hooks his fingers over your underwear and yanks it down aggressively. You watch it cascade down your legs pathetically, chest heaving with the pressure of his lips under your ear and his fingers sliding down your stomach torturously slow.Â
His fingers just graze over your wet heat and your blood is singing in your veins. You feel overpowered by him in the most mouth-watering way; his large frame trapping you, caging you in. He presses two fingers in, harsh and sudden, and you gasp.
âYou get so turned on fighting with me, donât you sweetheart? I knew it. Knew you were getting all wet every time I raised my voice at you. You pretend you donât like me but you love when I boss you around.â
You want to slap him, but heâs right. And you consider that if you do, he will stop. His fingers are so big and calloused inside you and it simply feels too good to ever stop. Youâre breaking into a sweat while he pumps in and out of you, your slick spilling onto his perfectly tailored work slacks while your walls clench around him.
When his other hand reaches down to grind down on your clit with vigorous strokes, a burst of white-hot pleasure works its way through you, licking up your spine. You pull hard at his hair, looking for anything to anchor yourself and hear him hiss a moan against your neck. The sound makes you clench around him and his fingers pump into you with renewed roughness in response.
Youâre absolutely ruined. He has turned you into a complete wreck. You can no longer deny how badly you want him nor how much you need this; you donât even try anymore. Your hips are wiggling down, trying to take him deeper. You have lost all semblance of shame, too taken up by the pleasure that his fingers are delivering you.
âLook how desperate you are,â he says, eyes caught where he is filling you. You donât want to look down, shame working its cruel way through you at his taunting, but he grasps your jaw, tilting your head downwards. His fingers are warm and wet with your slick.
His two fingers are enough to stretch you out - they almost look too big for your hole. You shudder at the sight of them sliding in and out, knowing his cock will stretch you out all the more. Steveâs staring at your pussy like a man who is starving.
His fingers pull out from your heat quite suddenly. Youâre hazy and confused until he lowers to his knees on the ground in front of where you are perched on the table. Your eyes connect in a moment of explosive intensity. His pupils are blown wide and when yours begin to flutter shut, he pinches your thigh gently in warning. You are forced to stare while he lowers his face between your thighs, eyes gleaming.
âGotta taste you,â he says, almost to himself, and then that stupid fucking mouth that pisses you off so much every single day meets your cunt.
The sound that comes out of your mouth is unintentional and would be entirely mortifying if you were thinking straight. Your head falls back, eyes shutting. He pinches your thigh again, harder this time.Â
âEyes on me, sweetheart.â
You eyes spring back open, twitching as you fight the instinct to squeeze them shut. He holds your gaze captive while licking a messy stripe up your folds. You can feel sweat collecting at the top of your forehead at the sensation. He is ravenous and unrelenting, sucking on your clit before soothing it with soft kisses. Exploring your folds with his lips. Dipping his tongue inside and gently nipping, testing your limits.Â
Heâs eating you out in a way you never have been before; itâs not some repetitive flick of the tongue against the clit, picked up from porn and designed to make you cum as fast as possible so he can get the hell up and get his own rocks off. Steve is learning you, watching your expression closely to see what makes your breath catch. You feel him grin against your pussy as a moan slips out reluctantly when he drags his teeth over the hood of your clit, offsetting the pleasure with the tiniest bit of pain. He groans when you lose control and your eyes roll back in your skull.
He pulls back just a few inches and you watch him spit a thick glob of saliva straight onto your cunt. Heâs still holding intense eyee-contact with you when he runs his fingers through your slit, mixing your wetness with his own. Itâs sliding down through your ass and onto the table, reminding you exactly where you are. The fact that you are doing this in a meeting room in your place of work makes it seem even dirtier.Â
He shoves two fingers back into you without warning and your hips buck. He continues to mouth at your clit in the most beautiful patterns and you truly feel like he is doing this purely for himself, like heâs enjoying it as much as you are.
He sucks hard, sliding your clit into his mouth and youâre not in control of the words or sounds that spill out of you. Youâre telling him how amazing you feel and how fucking good heâs eating you, but you realise you might have fucked up because you can just feel his arrogance. Itâs pissing you off. You need to remedy it quick.
âMaybe I should keep you down here like this all the time, Steve. What do you think? Canât bitch at me when your mouth is busy. And youâre just so good at it too.â
You can feel the smug smile melt into something more sinister. His eyes grow darker, but he never moves them from yours. He continues to lap at you, but his mouth is more aggressive now - a stormy sort of warning. You ignore it.Â
âBet youâd let me put you on your knees after every mission if I wanted.â Your voice is coming out a bit too breathy for the sort of control youâre aiming for, but you continue regardless. âKeep you there for hours if I need to.â
Steve is standing up faster than you can register, a rough scowl painting his face. âFucking brat,â he grunts, voice low. Your pride does not allow you to complain about how close you were to coming on his tongue.
Heâs unbuttoning his shirt with rapidity and you get the message, part terrified and part exhilarated by whatâs to come. You go to work on his belt in the meantime, clumsy fingers frantically unbuckling so you can yank his trousers down his legs.Â
Steve shrugs out of the sleeves of his shirt, you almost groan. It is just so utterly unfair. Itâs not like youâve never seen him in this state before - missions sometimes require you both change clothes in less-than-ideal settings. But seeing him in this context, a thin sheen of sweat coating his pecks, an enormous bulge in his underwear that you know you have inspired; itâs unearthly. Itâs only for you. You want him in wicked, sinful ways. And youâre determined to have him.
You try to hide the shake in your hands as you reach towards his underwear. Time slows down as you pull down it down to reveal his cock - what had been a frenzied blur of limbs and clothes patters off into cautious movements, heavy breaths.
You actually groan when you see it; standing tall and fucking huge, slightly curved, subtle veins running lines up to the tip. A pearl of liquid has collected at the tip, smudged on the swollen head. Itâs so pretty, you can feel your eyes becoming a bit hazy. The light in the room seems to ripple and bend around it.
Your fingers reach out tentatively, dragging down his length. He hisses, hips jerking up to your touch when you wrap your fingers around him. You can barely wrap your hand around it and youâre startled by how small your hand looks in comparison.
âYou think you can take it?â Steve asks you.
âI can,â you confirm with certainty.
âLetâs see about that, sweetheart. I think I might break you,â he returns and you wonder vaguely whether Steve is just baiting you, taking advantage of all your stubbornness to make sure you push yourself past your limit.
His body brackets yours again, leaning over your body to give you a filthy kiss. His mouth is absolutely dripping with the evidence of your arousal and his own spit. You can taste yourself on his tongue, mixed with something that is pleasant and categorically Steve Rogers. His lips move hot and dirty against yours, tongue pressing in on yours while his cock nudges your entrance. You gasp against his lips.
âYeah?â he murmurs against your lips. âYou ready for me?â
You nod furiously and he reaches down to fist his cock. You feel his thick length begin to nudge at your entrance, the head slipping in slowly. Your cunt pulses with anticipation as you feel the sweet ache of him breaching you. You let out a low whine, caught somewhere between pain and pleasure, as he pushes in further, the thickness of him stretching your walls.
Itâs a tight fit. He gets just less than half-way, before your pride breaks and your hips jump away from his at the burn. His jaw twitches, blue eyes fluttering closed for just a second.
Steve reaches down to stroke at your clit and the rush of pleasure makes you loosen up just enough for him to notch in a few inches further. âCâmon, sweetheart. Thought you said you could take me.â
âI can,â you say, the words pattering off into a whine. âJust big, is all.â
âSure is,â he says, pushing in further and smiling wickedly at you. âAnd Iâm gonna make you take it all, baby. Gonna make you feel it here.â His fingers press down hard on your tummy.
His cock is stressing its size inside you, hitting places previously untouched. You canât quit believe that he still has more to give you but he does. Youâve never felt anything like this before, never had anything this big inside you and it hurts in the most delicious way.
âFuck,â Steve spits, breathless. âYeah, okay, I think you can take me all the way. Just a little bit more, sweetheart. Let me in.âÂ
If he hadnât eaten you out until you were an inch from nirvana, youâre not sure this would be possible. But as it stands, he bottoms out and you feel like youâre floating. Your hips are twitching, unsure whether to escape or grind down harder.
âSqueezing me so tight, baby. Think you were made for my cock,â he hisses, his face tightening with a primal need. âYou okay?â
Youâre not sure that your vocal cords are still working so you just nod and listen to his deep breaths. Your back arches when he presses sloppy kisses to your neck while you adjust to him. It feels as if he is moulding you around him.
Your fingertips drag down his back and he shivers, jerking his hips forward involuntarily. âSorry- ah, fuck-â he groans, face clenched tight.
He withdraws a couple of inches, cock dragging through your walls, before slamming himself back in. He looks down at you like a kicked puppy when he hears your strangled gasp. âFeels too good. Gotta- agh. Canât help it, sweetheart. Iâm sorry.â
You like this side of him, you think idly. You had seen Steve in many different moods, but never like this. Apologetic and pleading. He is a boulder above you; 6 foot something of pure brawn, but begging you so nicely to take his cock. âI know itâs big but youâre such a pretty little thing for me. Have to move.â
You still canât talk so you nod at him in encouragement and watch relief pour over his face. He kisses you again with intention, bucking his hips into yours with beautiful friction. You are stuffed so full, it feels like heâs everywhere at once. This whole thing is becoming far sweeter than you were expecting.
Steve finds a leisurely, pulsing rhythm as he rocks himself into you, lathering kisses over your lips in a way that is entirely too romantic for the setting. He rubs tantalising circles on your clit, helping your walls to relax into him - helping you let him in until you find your voice, babbling about how much you want him and how good heâs making you feel.
Youâre becoming aware that he owns you now; that maybe he always had. He thrusts into you with a beautiful sort of reverence and you know that you are ruined. Sleeping with anyone else would feel like a brutal punishment after you felt him like this.Â
A noise from outside - the faint tread of boots on the ground - makes you both stop cold. Steve freezes completely, his dick coming to a stand-still inside of you. They are faint but getting closer by the second. Your eyes meet Steveâs wide ones. He starts looking around the room. at your intertwined bodies. You can see him assessing the situation, working out solutions, but a smug part of you notes that he still doesnât pull out of you. He dick doesnât soften; you actually feel it twitch inside you.
Your pussy jumps at the realisation that heâs excited by it. Maybe he doesn't even know it yet, but he is. You know it by the way his hips give involuntary, shallow thrusts. By the way his pupils grow impossibly darker.
So you do what any sane woman would do with Captain Americaâs cock buried deep inside her. You grind down.Â
Steve eyes snap back to yours with astonishment. He looks wild; entirely out of control and somewhat furious. He brings a hand to your hair, tugs it with a warning that you donât pay any heed to.
You grind down again, this time removing your right hand from his broad shoulders and bringing it slowly down to your clit. You rub and squeeze there, using his cock to get yourself off. The way his eyes are burning as he watches you only makes it so much hotter. You feel yourself approaching your peak.Â
The steps get louder until you see a flash of cherry red pass the window and you know itâs Natasha. Sheâs on her way back to the locker room, perhaps to check if youâre still there. You donât stop moving on his cock even as she passes by you and the locker room door swings open and shut.
âAre you insane?â Steve spits in a low whisper. âWhat the fuck is wrong with you?â
You just smile back at him because you can see his eyes growing hazy. You not sure he even realises that he himself has begun to thrust into you again. A flush is working its way up his neck and you wonder whether itâs anger or arousal. Maybe both.
Youâre halfway through a moan when the door to the locker room swings back open and Natasha begins walking out again with a huff. Steveâs hand goes up to cover your mouth, so large it almost envelopes your entire face. Heâs giving you look like heâs disapproving of this development but he doesnât stop fucking you.
Natashaâs footsteps stop for a split-second. You feel a disinterested sort of confusion, too wrapped up in the way Steveâs cock feels as it drags through your walls.Â
Something spasms between your legs and you realise youâre about to cum. Your blood freezes. You feel Steve tense, breath snagging in his throat. Youâre sweating now - praying that all those gasps you canât mute are not audible from outside.
You hear Nat let out a long, irritated sigh from outside, but youâre too far gone to even care about the consequences anymore. You squeeze around Steveâs length once and then your eyes are rolling back into your head while she resumes moving down the hall. As she approaches the glass window of the door, you try to crouch, as if that would prevent her from seeing your and Steveâs very naked bodies as he fucks you through your orgasm. You can see the faint shadow of her figure sliding across the frosted glass. For one horrifying second, youâre sure Nat will glance in.
But she doesnât. She keeps walking, footsteps fading with distance until the hallway is left silent again and your pussy is squeezing with aftershocks.
âYouâre seriously fucked up, you know that?â Steve asks, but thereâs more awe in his tone than malice. âYou really get off knowing someone could walk in here and see me fucking you?â
You donât even know how to answer him. Heâs given you no time to recover from your orgasm, fucking into you again with a renewed vitality. Youâre overly sensitive, the pressure of his massive cock inside you bullying your sensitive hole. It shouldnât feel good, it should be too much too soon - but itâs not because itâs Steve. And you donât think you could dislike anything that he chooses to do to you.
âYou wanna be fucked like a whore? Fine,â he says, pulling his cock out of you with lightning speed and flipping you around on the table so your ass is arched up for him. He takes a second to look at you, squeezing at the skin of your ass, dragging his thumb all the way up from your clit, past your wet heat and through your ass. Heâs mumbling something unintelligible. You clench and shudder, a moan breaking out through your lips.
When he fists his cock and presses into you again, all that slow romanticism from earlier is gone. He is fucking you hard and fast, his thick cock pressing into a heavenly spongey spot that you didnât even know existed. âFuck Steve!â you cry out, ass working its way back on him of its own volition.
âSuch a fucking brat. Couldnât even wait patiently for me to fuck you for one minute. Too desperate for my cock.â
You want to argue that he was also fucking you, but your brain is not working fast enough to come up with the words. All you can focus on are his dirty words, the obscene squelching noises of him filling you, and how it feels to be taken by him.
âMaybe I should punish you for that. Always so disobedient. Maybe Iâll leave you high and dry here, fill you up and not let you cum.â
âTry it,â you growl, brain suddenly fully operational. âIâll make you regret it.â
You hear him huff a laugh from behind you. âYouâre adorable. Fucked out on my cock and still think youâre in charge. Iâll make you cum sweetheart, but only because I want to see you fall apart. Next time you wonât get this lucky.â
His cock hits a spot inside you that almost makes you see god. His hands are so tight on your hips as he fucks himself into your body that youâre sure youâll have bruises tomorrow. You hope you do.
âThatâs it, isnât it baby? Thatâs your spot. Fuck. Maybe I should reward you, now that I think of it. All my sweet girl wanted was to get caught getting fucked by me. You just wanted to show everyone that youâre mine. Want everyone to see me fucking that attitude right outta you.â
Being called his coils your stomach in a way youâd rather not examine. Instead, you twist your head back and scowl.
âFuck you,â you spit, voice strangled.
He chuckles again, but itâs strained. Heâs pounding you with a force that you feel all the way up to your belly, all the way up to your teeth. You know youâre not far from coming again and neither is he.
âIs my pretty girl gonna cum on my cock again?â he asks, patting and squeezing your ass encouragingly. You nod, eyes squeezed shut, not even sure that he can see it from his angle. A desperate whine escapes.
âGood fucking girl. âCause Iâm about to come inside you. Want you walking out of here with me dripping out of you. Gonna fill you up so good, keep you topped up for every mission. Make you mine.â
That sends you tumbling over the edge, white-hot pleasure soaring through you. Your cunt clenches down hard on him and you feel him burst, spilling sticky ropes of cum into you. He groans loud, telling you how good you are for him while holding your hips with a bruising power, fucking into you violently. He shudders behind you, and eventually his aggressive thrusts patter out and slow into shallow jerks.Â
Dark spots are exploding behind your eyes for a while as you come down, chest heaving as Steve drives his cum back into you slowly. You feel your mixed spend dripping down your thighs, spilling onto the wooden floors below. Steve hisses as he steadily pulls himself from your tight heat. He stops momentarily while he, presumably, watches his cum drip out of your hole.Â
And then he reaches down to grab his underwear. He wipes it across your privates and thighs as a makeshift towel. It is decidedly not romantic, but the fact that heâs willing to go home in soggy underwear just to clean you up makes your chest tighten with affection regardless.
Steve begins to dress but it takes you another minute to gather the strength in your limbs to haul yourself up. Your hands are shaking as you yank up your panties and try to buckle your bra. Steve is fully dressed now, watching you intensely, thighs spread out on an office chair.
Youâre feeling slightly awkward in a way you never do around Steve. Youâve never been short of quips or insults to throw at him, but the air has changed now and youâre not sure where you stand or how to navigate this.
You have just tugged on your jeans when Steve leans forward to grab your hips, pulling you onto his lap. You hadnât realised that you were waiting for him to do it until he does. You go with no objection, curling into his chest. It feels strangely natural for how combative youâve always been with him. He nuzzles his face into your neck with a shy affection.Â
âIâm sorry for requesting the transfer. I regretted it immediately after if Iâm honest.â
âWhy did you? It was kinda fucked up, Steve. And you didnât even come to visit me when I got shot. It hurt my feelings because I would have been there for you.â You canât even look at him when you say it. You are vastly uncomfortable being this vulnerable with him, but you suppose if thereâs ever a time for venturing into uncharted territory, itâs now. Steve was right about what he said regarding your past relationships - you just never cared enough before. But you do now.
âI stayed there until you were stable,â he says. âI was just so angry that I couldnât even look at you. The idea that you risked your life for me killed me. I hate the way you risk so much on missions. It makes me feel like I canât protect you.â
âBut sometimes you canât, Steve. I know I should be less reckless. Being away from you for the last few weeks made me realise that. But I have to be able to make my own decisions too.â
âI know. I know itâs just part of what happens on missions but I canât deal with you getting hurt for me. Not with you. Because IâŠâ
He swallows hard, eye downturned. He fidgets against your thigh and it makes your heart ache. Youâre feeling embarrassingly gushy, watching him be this fragile and open. Youâre taken off guard by it.
âBecause you want me?â
He gives you a tight, sad sort of smile.
âI want you so bad, Iâm not even sure âwantâ is the right word for it anymore.â
Youâre fighting a goofy grin but itâs beaming out of you like sunshine. You kiss him nice and slow, feel his lips move ardently and reverently against your own. Your heart flutters where it presses against his chest, as if trying to fly its way closer to him.
You pour every ounce of your adoration into the kiss and feel Steve's grin against your lips as a response.
You pull away only when your phone buzzes with a text.
NAT: so i see youâre out of the doghouse
NAT: and now i need to find a new partner. goddamn.
a/n: initially this had bucky instead of nat but i kept accidentally creating sexual tension between him and reader lmao i can't help myself with that man
description: eddie thinks steve gets every girl heâs ever wanted, so when he finds out steve likes robinâs new roommate too, he backs off before he can get his heart broken. the only problem? you've been hopelessly in love with eddie since the moment you met him.
pairing: eddie x farirycore!reader (fem!reader)
tags: eddie x you, no y/n, mutual pining, jealous eddie, friends to lovers, slow burn if you squint, fluff with mild angst, love triangle (?), self conscious eddie, cottagecore!reader
TW: NSFW (18+) minors do not interact!!, PiV, unprotected
WC: 5.6k
A/N: requested by @carolinaclouds i hope you enjoy!! <33 i proofread as best as i could, i've been studying for some stupid exam so my brain is in PAIN. anyway...reblogs are always appreciated, my loves:)) enjoyyyyyyyyyyy<3
The apartment is quiet when Robin unlocks the door, quiet enough that she immediately freezes. Because the apartment is never quiet.
Usually, thereâs the hum of the refrigerator, or the upstairs neighbors stomping around like theyâre rehearsing for Riverdance, or music coming from somewhere down the hall. But tonight thereâs something different underneath it all, soft music drifting faintly from the bedroom sheâs supposed to be sharing with a complete stranger.
Robin tightens her grip on her keys. Right, she thinks, New roommate day.
Sheâd almost forgotten about Keith being insufferable for eight straight hours and Steve pretending not to care about his hair getting rained on. Robin nudges the door shut behind her and kicks off her shoes, already preparing herself for awkward small talk and forced introductions.
Instead, she walks into what looks like an enchanted forest, and she actually stops dead in the hallway.
The bedroom door is open just enough for warm golden light to spill out across the carpet. Fairy lights twinkle along the walls, tangled through hanging ivy vines that drape across the ceiling. Little paper stars sway lazily overhead whenever the fan turns. Your side of the room is all soft blankets and patchwork quilts and stacks of books and tiny trinkets tucked into every possible corner.Â
Robin stares for a full five seconds before blurting: âWhat the fuck?â
Your head immediately pops up from the floor where youâre sitting cross-legged beside an open box. âOh my God, hi!â
And there you are. Youâre wearing this oversized sweater thatâs practically swallowing your hands, hair messy from unpacking, surrounded by candles and records and enough decorative mushrooms to concern the average person.
Robin blinks. âYouâre real,â she says.
You laugh softly. âI think so?â
âNo, because I thought maybe the apartment got cursed while I was at work.â
That makes you laugh harder, bright and pretty and completely unembarrassed. Robin feels herself relax instantly.
âSorry,â you say, standing up quickly. âI didnât mean to completely fill the room. I just started unpacking, and then I kinda blacked out.â
Robin looks around again. Honestly? The room looks amazing, like one of those bedrooms in magazines that people pretend they casually threw together when in reality it probably took seventeen hours and emotional warfare.
âAre those stars hanging from the ceiling?â
You beam immediately, like youâve been waiting for someone to ask.
âYes! Okay, so technically theyâre supposed to be Christmas ornaments, but I thought they looked magical, soââ
And thatâs it. Thatâs the beginning of the end for Robin Buckley. Because ten minutes later, sheâs sitting cross-legged on your bed while you excitedly explain every little thing you unpacked.
The moon-shaped lamp you thrifted for three dollars. The pressed flowers tucked into frames. The tiny ceramic frog named Ferdinand.
âNamed?â Robin repeats.
You look at her like thatâs the stupidest question sheâs ever asked. âObviously.â Robin snorts so hard she almost chokes.
You ramble when youâre excited, words tumbling over themselves while your hands move animatedly through the air, and Robin finds herself completely locked in. You talk about books you love like they personally changed your life. You tell stories with your whole body. Every emotion crosses your face so openly that itâs impossible not to get swept up in it.
Most people make Robin feel too loud.
You make her feel matched. At some point, you end up sitting on the floor together, eating vending machine snacks from Robinâs backpack while music hums softly through the room.
âYou know,â Robin says after a while, âI was terrified Iâd get assigned someone horrifying.â
You gasp dramatically. âRobin!â
âIâm serious! One time, Steve had a roommate who clipped his toenails in the living room.â
You stare at her in horror.
âSee?â she says. âExactly my reaction.â
You laugh again, smiling so hard your nose scrunches a little, and Robin decides right then she likes you, a lot. Like enough that sheâs already mentally preparing how to introduce you to the rest of the group. Which, honestly, might turn out to be a mistake. Because if Robin thinks youâre charming now, she has absolutely no idea whatâs about to happen when Eddie and Steve meet you.
Robin calls it an apartment warming party even though itâs really just: cheap beer, frozen pizza, three folding chairs, and whoever happened to answer their phones. Which means by seven-thirty, the apartment is full of loud voices and wet shoes piled by the door from the rain outside.
Youâre in the kitchen trying to separate paper plates that are aggressively sticking together when the front door swings open. Steve Harrington walks in first. And unfortunately, heâs very pretty.
Tall, broad shoulders shoved into seemingly too-tight tan jacket, hair still annoyingly perfect from the rain somehow. Heâs carrying a case of beer under one arm while arguing with Robin before heâs even fully inside.
âIâm telling you, this is not enough food.â
âThere are twelve people here, Steve, not the population of Indiana.â
âThat doesnât matterââ
Then he sees you and stops talking mid-sentence. You blink back at him, and Robin immediately notices the exact moment Steve Harrington develops a crush on you. Itâs physically visible.
âOh,â Steve says.
You smile politely. âHi.â
Robin groans quietly into her drink. âSteve,â she says flatly, âdonât.â
âWhat? I didnât even do anything.â
âYouâre doing the face.â
âI have no idea what that means.â
Before Robin can roast him alive, another figure shoves through the doorway behind him.
âMove your gigantic hair outta the way, Harrington, some of us are carrying important cargoââ
And then he walks in. Leather jacket damp from the rain, dark curls pushed messily out of his face, and a cigarette tucked behind one ear despite Robin threatening murder every time he smokes near the building.
Eddie looks up, sees you, and completely loses his train of thought. ââŠholy shit.â
Robin closes her eyes. âOh no,â she mutters, because she recognizes that look too.
Youâre still standing by the kitchen counter holding a stack of paper plates, but suddenly you feel oddly frozen under Eddieâs attention. Not in a bad way, but in a terrifying way. Like your entire nervous system just sat up straight. Eddie stares at you for half a second too long before Robin finally speaks.
âEddie,â she says slowly, âthis is my new roommate.â
You say your name softly. Eddie repeats it immediately, like heâs testing how it sounds in his mouth. God. And then he smiles at you, crooked, warm, a little shy underneath all the theatrics. And you are done for instantly.
âNice to meet you, sweetheart.â
Robin physically watches your soul leave your body. Steve notices too, which is unfortunate for everybody involved. The night only gets worse from there, because Eddie is everywhere.
Sprawled across the couch, telling dramatic stories that make you laugh so hard your stomach hurts. Talking with his hands when he gets excited, grinning every time he catches you already looking at him. And the thing is, you can tell immediately heâs smart.
Not school smart, necessarily. But passionate smart, the kind of person that collects knowledge simply because he loves things deeply.
At one point, he starts passionately ranting about some fantasy campaign heâs writing while Gareth and Jeff argue with him from across the room, and you swear you could listen to him talk for the rest of your life. Which apparently becomes very obvious, because Robin leans against your shoulder at some point and whispers:
âOh, you are gone.â
You shove her lightly. âShut up.â
âYou have not stopped staring at him for twenty minutes.â
âI have absolutely stopped staring at him.â
Across the room, Eddie glances over at you instantly as if he felt it, then grins. You almost choke on your drink.
Later, after more people show up and the apartment gets louder, you slip away to your room for a breather because your room is softer than the chaos outside. Youâre fixing one of the strings of stars above your bed when thereâs a knock against the open door.
You turn, and thereâs Eddie, leaning against the doorway carefully, like heâs not sure if heâs intruding. âWhoa,â he says quietly.
You smile a little. âHi.â
âRobin said your room was cool, but she severely undersold this.â
You laugh softly. âYou think?â
âThink?â Eddie steps inside slowly, eyes darting everywhere at once. âSweetheart, this looks like a woodland creature got accepted into art school.â
You burst out laughing, and the sound alone visibly delights him.
âOh my God,â you say. âThat is the nicest thing anyoneâs ever said to me.â
âIâm serious!â Eddie says, already wandering toward your shelves. âYouâve got little potions and shit in here.â
âTheyâre crystals.â
âAh. Magic rocks. My mistake.â
You shake your head, smiling helplessly while he picks up one of your tiny ceramic frogs with absolute reverence. âThis guy rules.â
âThatâs Ferdinand.â
Eddie looks at you immediately. âHe has a name?â
âObviously.â
Eddie presses a hand dramatically to his chest. âYou get me.â
And thatâs it, thatâs the exact moment you fall hopelessly, stupidly in love with Eddie Munson. Because instead of making fun of you, he lights up.
Every little thing in your room fascinates him. He asks questions about every trinket and listens to your answers like theyâre genuinely important. Gets excited when you explain the meanings of your crystals. Tells you your room feels âsafe in a really cool way.â
At some point, the two of you end up sitting cross-legged on your bedroom floor, talking while the party carries on without you.Â
The party finally dies sometime after one in the morning.
Jeff and Gareth leave first, still arguing over something stupid. Robin disappears into the apartment, muttering about cleaning tomorrow because âfuture Robin deserves to suffer, not current Robin.â And somehow that leaves Steve and Eddie alone, hauling empty pizza boxes down the apartment stairs toward Steveâs BMW.
Rainwater glistens across the pavement outside as Eddie lights a cigarette the second they step outside, leaning against the passenger door while Steve tosses the trash into the dumpster nearby.
For a minute, neither of them says anything. But Eddieâs brain is still upstairs, still stuck in your room. Your laugh. Your stupid little fairy lights. The way your eyes lit up every time he asked about something on your shelves like nobody had ever cared before. Jesus Christ.
He takes a long drag from his cigarette while Steve shuts the trunk. âSo.â
Eddie immediately narrows his eyes. âWhy do you sound like that?â
âLike what?â
âLike a man about to say something deeply irritating.â
Steve rolls his eyes, but thereâs this weird grin pulling at his mouth. And Eddie suddenly knows, his stomach dropping in an instant. âOh no,â Eddie mutters.
Steve leans against the car beside him. âWhat?â
âYou like her.â
Steve pauses, then laughs once under his breath. âIs it that obvious?â
Eddie stares out at the wet parking lot instead of answering. Because yeah, yeah, it is. Of course it is. Why wouldnât Steve Harrington like you?
Youâre pretty and sweet and charming, and you looked at people like they mattered when they talked. You had this soft, dreamy thing about you that made people want to lean closer without realizing it. And Steve? Steve always got the girl.
Not because he was a bad guy. Honestly, that almost made it worse. Steve was good-looking, kind, and dependable in a way Eddie never felt he could compete with. Eddie flicks ash onto the pavement.
âDude,â Steve says carefully, âyou okay?â
âMhm.â
âThat sounded fake.â
âKinda was.â
Steve snorts quietly, then he says, âI dunno. I just really liked her.â
Eddieâs chest physically aches because he really liked you, too. Pathetically fast, honestly. The kind of fast that should concern medical professionals.
But the second Steve says it out loud, Eddie can practically feel himself shoving the whole thing down into his ribs where it canât embarrass him. He laughs once instead, forcing casualness into his voice.
âYeah,â he says lightly. âSheâs cool.â The words taste awful immediately.
Steve glances over at him, and Eddie knows Steveâs looking for something there. Some reaction. Some claim. But Eddie just shrugs and opens the passenger door. Because whatâs he supposed to say?
âActually, Steve, I think I fell in love with her in approximately four minutes while she explained the lore behind a ceramic frog collection?â No fucking thank you.
Steve hesitates before climbing into the driverâs seat. âYou sure?â
Eddie forces a grin. âHarrington, if I fought you every time we liked the same girl, weâd both be dead by now.â
Steve laughs at that, thankfully. But Eddie turns toward the window before he can see his face. The whole drive home hurts. Steve keeps talking about you absentmindedly, not even realizing that each thing he says is basically another nail in Eddieâs coffin.
âSheâs funny.â
âMhm.â
âAnd smart.â
âTragic, really.â
âAnd did you see her room? It looked like a fairy exploded in there.â
That one almost makes Eddie smile despite himself. âYeah,â he says quietly. âIt was nice.â
Steve glances over at him again. âYou really think so?â
Eddie thinks about you sitting cross-legged on the floor under warm golden lights, looking at him like every word out of his mouth mattered.
He swallows hard. âYeah,â he says softly. âI really think so.â
But by the time Steve drops him off at the trailer, Eddieâs already making up his mind. Heâs not doing this again. Heâs not letting himself get stupid over someone whoâs obviously gonna realize Steve Harrington is the better option eventually.
So whatever this thing is blooming in his chest, heâs gonna kill it before it gets embarrassing.
The next time everyone hangs out is at Steveâs place. Robin drags you there after work with the promise of free food and âat least three people getting into an argument dramatic enough to count as entertainment.â You spend almost the entire drive fixing your hair in the passenger mirror while pretending not to.
âOh my God,â she says. âYouâre nervous.â
âI am not nervous.â
âYouâve checked your lip gloss four times.â
âI just like to look nice.â
âFor Eddie.â
You groan and shove her shoulder while she laughs all the way into the parking lot. And honestly? Youâre excited to see him. Pathetically excited. Ever since the apartment party, Eddieâs been stuck in your head constantly. The way he listened to you. The way he smiled when you talked. The softness underneath all the theatrics.
Youâve spent an embarrassing amount of time replaying that night in your mind. Which is why the disappointment hits so hard when you walk into Steveâs living room, and Eddie barely looks at you. Not barely looks at you because heâs distracted, but barely looks at you on purpose.
âHey,â you say softly when your eyes meet his.
Eddie gives you a quick smile from where heâs sitting in the armchair. âHey, sweetheart.â
And then he looks away, thatâs it. No wandering over to talk to you. No easy teasing. No immediate gravitational pull toward you like before. Your stomach sinks a little.
Meanwhile, Steve lights up the second you walk in. âThere she is,â he says dramatically from the kitchen. âThank God. Robin almost bought generic chips.â
âI did buy generic chips,â Robin calls back.
You laugh despite yourself, and Steve stays beside you basically the entire night. At first, you donât think much of it because Steve is naturally affectionate and attentive, but after an hour, it becomes impossible not to notice the contrast between him and Eddie.
Steve sits beside you on the couch. Steve hands you drinks before you ask. Steve remembers tiny details you mentioned in passing. While across the room, Eddie barely speaks to you at all. And every time you try to talk to him, he gives you these short, polite answers before redirecting himself somewhere else. It hurts more than it should.
By the time the movie starts, youâre curled into the corner of the couch trying not to visibly mope while Steve talks animatedly beside you.
Robin notices everything immediately; her eyes narrowing toward Eddie across the room. Eddie pointedly avoids looking over. Coward.
Halfway through the movie, Steve leans closer to whisper some joke in your ear that makes you laugh. And from the recliner across the room, Eddie finally glances over. Then he stands up.
âI should head out,â he says suddenly.
Everyone looks over. Robin frowns. âAlready?â
âEarly shift.â
âThatâs literally a lie,â Gareth says.
âWow,â Eddie says flatly. âDidnât know you knew work my schedule better than I did.â But heâs already grabbing his jacket.Â
âOh,â you say quietly. âOkay.â
Eddie finally looks at you directly for the first time all night. And for one awful second, something vulnerable flickers across his face, something almost guilty.
âNight, sweetheart.â Then he leaves.
A week later, Steve asks you out. Not dramatically or arrogantly, he actually looks kind of nervous. The two of you are walking back toward the apartment after grabbing coffee while Robin is in class, and Steve suddenly rubs the back of his neck before blurting:
âSo⊠would you maybe wanna go out sometime?â
You stop walking. Steve immediately winces. âJesus, that bad?â
âNo!â you say quickly. âNo, Steve, oh my God.â
He laughs awkwardly. You feel terrible instantly because Steve is wonderful, truly wonderful. But heâs not Eddie. And unfortunately for you, every stupid thought in your head still somehow circles back to Eddie Munson.
You exhale softly. âSteveâŠâ
âYeah?â
âI really, really like somebody.â
His face falls a little, though he tries to hide it. âOh.â
âAnd itâsââ You hesitate. âItâs Eddie.â
Steve stares at you, then blinks. ââŠEddie?â
âIâm sorry,â you say softly.
âDonât be.â Steve nudges your shoulder lightly. âCanât exactly control who you like.â
Then your face brightens suddenly. âWait.â
Steve eyes you cautiously. âThat look concerns me.â
âNo, listen, I have a friend.â
âOh no.â
âSheâs in one of my lit classes.â
âYouâre trying to set me up?â
âSheâs gorgeous.â
âDangerous opening statement.â
âAnd she loves dumb movies and rambling and stupidly nice people.â
Steve narrows his eyes. âAre you calling me stupid?â
You grin. âA little.â
And somehow Steve agrees to meet her at the next group hangout. Which turns out to be the best decision of his life. Because the second your friend walks into the diner and immediately starts arguing with Steve about whether Die Hard counts as a Christmas movie, Steve falls catastrophically in love. Like, immediately.
Robin watches it happen in real time. âOh my God,â she whispers to you from across the booth. âHeâs gone.â
Steve is sitting there staring at your friend like she personally invented happiness. Meanwhile, your friend is laughing so hard at one of his jokes that sheâs nearly crying.
âYou know what?â Robin says thoughtfully. âTheyâre gonna get married.â
And honestly? You kind of think so, too. Which would all be great news if Eddie hadnât spent the last three weeks completely disappearing from your life.
Eddie sees them completely by accident, which somehow makes it worse. Heâs cutting through downtown after leaving the record store, headphones hanging around his neck and a cigarette tucked between his lips, when he glances across the street and nearly walks directly into a parking meter.
Eddie stops dead on the sidewalk, and his stomach twists immediately. âWhat the fuck,â he says out loud.
Because no. No no no. Steve Harrington did not spend weeks following you around like a lovesick puppy just to immediately start dating another girl. Eddieâs chest burns hot, and before he can think better of it, heâs already crossing the street.
Steve notices him halfway there and grins automatically. âMunson!â
Eddie does not grin back. Steveâs smile slowly fades. âUh oh.â
Eddie walks right up to the table, pointing accusingly. âWhat the hell, man?â
The girl blinks between them. Steve looks genuinely confused. âWhat are you talking about?â
âYou know exactly what Iâm talking about!â
âI literally donât.â
Eddie gestures wildly at the girl sitting across from him. âThis!â
Steve stares, the girl stares, and Eddie looks personally betrayed.
âYou spent all that time chasing after her, and now youâre out here cheating on her in broad daylight?â
The girl chokes on her drink. Steveâs eyes widen in horror. âWhat?!â
âDonât what me, Harrington!â
âEddie,â the girl says carefully, trying not to laugh, âI think maybeââ
âNo, because this is insane behavior!â Eddie continues. âYou were obsessed with her!â
Steve suddenly realizes. And then, unbelievably, he starts laughing. Like full-body laughing.
Eddie glares at him. âOh, cool. Awesome. Glad infidelity is hilarious to you.â
Steve physically puts his head in his hands. âOh my God,â he groans through laughter. âYou are so stupid.â
âExcuse me?â
The girl beside Steve is openly giggling now. Steve looks up, finally, still laughing. âShe turned me down, dumbass.â
Eddie blinks. âWhat?â
âShe turned me down because she likes you.â
Silence, actual complete silence. Even the traffic noise suddenly feels far away. Eddie just stares at him. ââŠwhat?â
Steve looks at him like heâs witnessing a medical emergency. âShe likes you,â he repeats slowly. âShe literally told me she had feelings for you.â
Eddieâs brain completely short-circuits. âNah,â he says automatically.
âYes.â
âNo, sheââ
âEddie.â Steve points at him. âThe girl spent an entire party staring holes into your head.â
Eddie opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. âShe⊠what?â
Steve looks genuinely offended now. âHow did you not notice?!â
Because Eddie had been so busy convincing himself Steve would win again that he never even considered the possibility that youâd wanted him back. You wanted him. Oh my God.
Ohhhhhhh, shit.
Every interaction over the last month slams into him at once. You laughing at all his jokes. You always gravitate toward him. The way your face fell every time he pulled away. The hurt in your eyes the last night everyone hung out. Eddie physically pales.
Steve watches as the realization hits him in real time. âThere it is,â Steve says flatly. âThatâs the face of a man realizing he ruined his own life.â
âOh my God,â Eddie breathes.
âYou stopped talking to her!â
âI know!â
âYou idiot!â
âI KNOW!â
The girl across from Steve is laughing so hard sheâs wiping tears from her eyes. Eddie runs both hands through his hair frantically. âOh my God,â he repeats. âShe probably thinks I hate her.â
âProbably, yeah.â
âJesus Christ.â
Steve points down the sidewalk dramatically. âGo fix it!â
Eddie doesnât even argue; he turns so fast he nearly trips over the curb before sprinting back down the street.
Eddie almost falls up the stairs to your apartment, seriously. He misses the second step entirely because his brain is moving faster than the rest of his body, heart pounding so hard it feels painful.
You like him. You liked him the whole fucking time. And he spent the last month acting like a wounded puppy instead of just talking to you like a normal person. âJesus Christ,â he mutters to himself, shoving a hand through his curls as he reaches your door.
The lights are on inside. Good, good. Eddie knocks once. Then, immediately again, louder this time because he suddenly cannot breathe properly. And the door swings open. Oh. Oh, he is so unbelievably screwed.
Youâre standing there fresh out of the shower, hair still damp around your shoulders, oversized sleep shirt slipping off one side slightly. No makeup. No jewelry except the tiny rings you always wear, soft skin still a little damp.
You look sleepy. Comfortable. Beautiful in this terrifyingly effortless way that makes Eddieâs brain go completely blank. Your eyes widen when you see him standing there looking half feral. âEddie?â
His name leaves your mouth softly, confused. Your brows knit together a little. âHi.â
And God, that almost kills him too, because even after heâs been avoiding you for weeks, you still sound happy to see him.
âIâm an idiot,â Eddie blurts immediately.
You blink. âWhat?â
âIâm, like, a catastrophic idiot, actually.â
âOkayâŠâ
âI thought you liked Steve.â
You stare at him for a second. âOh, my God.â
âI KNOW.â
âYou thought I liked Steve?â
âHe asked you out!â
âAnd I said no!â
âYeah, apparently everybody knew that except me!â
Despite yourself, a tiny laugh escapes you. Eddie looks so distressed standing there that itâs honestly a little adorable. His cheeks are flushed pink from running over here, his curls are windblown, and his chest is still rising too fast.
âI thought,â he says breathlessly, softer now, âI thought for one second maybe I actually had a shot with you, and then Harrington told me he liked you and I justâŠâ He laughs once at himself. âI donât know. I got weird.â
You stare at him because suddenly everything makes sense. The distance. The avoiding you. The weird tension every time Steve sat beside you.
âOh my God,â you whisper.
âI know, sweetheart, trust me, I know.â
âYou thought I wanted Steve Harrington over you?â
Eddie grimaces. âWhen you say it out loud, it sounds stupid.â
âIt is stupid.â
âIâm aware.â
You shake your head, smiling despite yourself now. And Eddie looks at you like the sight of that smile physically revives him. âI really hurt your feelings, didnât I?â he asks quietly.
You hesitate, which is an answer enough. Eddie closes his eyes briefly like he hates himself for it. âShit.â
Before you can respond, he suddenly steps closer. âYou have any idea,â he murmurs, voice rough, âhow hard itâs been not to talk to you? See you?â
Your breath catches instantly while Eddieâs gaze drops to your mouth, then back to your eyes. And when you donât move away, thatâs it. His hand slides gently against your jaw, and suddenly, heâs kissing you. Like heâs been starving for it. Like heâs been thinking about it for weeks, which, to be fair, he has.Â
You make this tiny, surprised sound against his mouth before immediately melting into him, hands sliding up his chest to the back of his neck as he kisses you harder. Eddie groans softly the second you kiss him back.
âJesus Christ,â he breathes against your lips. âThank fucking God.â
Youâre laughing a little now between kisses, dizzy from how fast this is happening. âYou are insane,â you whisper.
His hands slide carefully to your waist, pulling you closer as he kisses you again, slower this time, savoring every ounce of attention you're gracing him with. He walks you backward into the apartment without breaking the kiss, one hand still cradling your jaw like you might disappear if he lets go.Â
The door clicks shut behind him, and he spins you gently, pressing your back against it. âBeen losing my mind over you,â he murmurs against your lips, voice rough. âEvery fucking night.â
You make a soft, overwhelmed sound and pull him closer by his jacket. He shrugs it off in one messy motion, letting it hit the floor, then his hands are back on you, sliding under the hem of your shirt, palms greedy against your bare waist.
âEddieââ
âYeah, sweetheart?â He kisses down your neck, open-mouthed and reverent, like heâs memorizing the taste of you. âTell me what you need.â
You donât even know how to answer. You just tug at his shirt until he yanks it over his head, revealing all that pale skin and dark ink. Your hands explore him immediately, tracing over every tattoo and piece of him that you can get ahold of.Â
He walks you toward your bedroom, never letting you get more than a breath away. When the backs of your knees hit the bed, he eases you down like youâre something precious, then follows, crawling over you.
âLook at you,â he whispers, eyes dragging over your body. Your shirt has ridden up; he pushes it higher, exposing your stomach, your ribs, the curve of your breasts. âJesus Christ, youâre gonna kill me.â
You laugh breathlessly, a little shy under the intensity of his stare, but he leans down and kisses the sound right out of your mouth. Then lower, your collarbone, the swell of your chest, the soft underside of one breast. When his mouth closes around your nipple, tongue teasing, you arch with a broken moan. He hums in satisfaction.Â
Eddie takes his time, like heâs making up for every second he wasted avoiding you. He maps your body with his mouth and hands, murmuring filthy-sweet things the whole time.
When he finally hooks his fingers in your panties and tugs them down, he actually curses under his breath at how wet you are. Two long fingers slide through your folds, circling your clit with devastating patience until your thighs start shaking.
âEddie, pleaseââ
âI got you.â He kisses the inside of your thigh, then looks up at you through those dark curls, eyes almost black with want.
He doesnât tease for long. The first slow drag of his tongue has your back bowing off the bed. He groans like youâre the best thing heâs ever had in his mouth, licking and sucking with messy enthusiasm, two fingers curling inside you just right.
One of your hands fists in his hair; the other clutches at the patchwork quilt beneath you.
You come hard, thighs clamping around his head, crying out his name in a broken whimper. He keeps going through it, gentling you down with soft licks until youâre trembling and oversensitive.
When he finally crawls back up, his mouth is shiny, pupils blown. You pull him into a deep kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue, and reach between you to palm him through his jeans.
He hisses, hips jerking. âYou sure?â he rasps, already sounding wrecked. You nod, helping him as he desperately tries to take his belt off.Â
He hovers over you for a second, then smirks as he reaches to your shelf and turns Ferdinand around. âLook away, buddy,â he mumbles.Â
He leans back into you, kissing you gently as he settles between your thighs. He braces one forearm beside your head and looks down at you, suddenly serious beneath the hunger.
âYou sure?â he whispers. âWe can slow down. Iâll wait as long asââ
You cut him off with a kiss and guide him to your entrance. âI want you. Now.â
He sinks in slowly, inch by inch, forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged. When he bottoms out, he stays there, buried deep, just panting against your mouth.
âFuck⊠you feel like heaven, baby.â
Then he starts moving, slow rolling thrusts that drag against that spot inside you with every stroke. Eddieâs mouth stays on yours, on your neck, on your chest, wherever he can reach. His hand finds yours, lacing your fingers together beside your head while he fucks you harder.
âLook at me,â he breathes. âWant to see you when you come again.âÂ
You do; staring into those big brown eyes while the pleasure coils tighter and tighter. He angles his hips just right, and you shatter around him with a sharp cry, clenching so hard he curses and follows right after, hips stuttering as he buries himself deep and groans your name, followed by a couple of âfuuucksâ for good measure.Â
For a long minute, the only sound is your mingled breathing and Eddieâs rabbiting heart. Eddie collapses half on top of you, face tucked into your neck, arms wrapped around you like he never plans to let go. Youâre both smiling in that dazed, exhausted kind of way, the kind that feels a little unreal.
Eddie presses one slow kiss against your shoulder. âYou alive there, sweetheart?â
You giggle softly into your pillow. âBarely.â
âYeah?â he murmurs smugly.
You snort immediately. âDonât start.â
âI earned starting.â
âYou are so annoying.â
âAnd yet,â Eddie says dramatically, motioning to the predicament the two of you are currently in.Â
You laugh again, turning your head slightly, and then you notice it. Your tiny ceramic frog statue is still sitting on the bookshelf, facing the wall.
You go completely silent, Eddie noticing instantly. âWhat?â
Slowly, you point toward the shelf. Eddie follows your gaze and physically freezes.
âOh my God,â you whisper.
Eddie immediately starts laughing. Not a cute laugh either, a full body, wheezing, face-in-your-neck laugh.
âI cannot believe you turned Ferdinand around!â
âHe didnât need to see all that!â
You burst into helpless laughter beneath him. âEddie!â
âWhat?!â he says between laughs. âYou said he had feelings!â
âHe is ceramic!â
âYeah, and he could have been a traumatized ceramic!â
Youâre laughing so hard your stomach hurts now, trying to shove at his shoulder while he grins down at you completely unashamed. âI cannot believe you did that.â
âI was respecting the sanctity of your weird little frog son.â
âThat is actually insane behavior.â
âSays the woman with an emotionally significant amphibian collection.â
You groan loudly into your hands while Eddie keeps laughing. Then suddenly, he pushes himself up just enough to glance toward the shelf again.
ââŠdo you think heâs mad at me?â
You stare at him for half a second before dissolving all over again, while Eddie looks absolutely lovestruck watching you laugh beneath him.
summary: abbotâs hand shouldâve never ended up between your thighsâbecause now youâre both trying to pretend it meant nothing, and neither of you is getting very far. [can be read as a standalone, but it's a loose pt 2 of this fic]
warnings: smut! car sex, panties being ripped, abbot yearns to the point of concern because he's down BAD for reader, reader cheats at beer pong & UNO because she can, a lil bit of angst but they fuck nasty so it's ok! thumb sucking, a lil bit of drooling, BITING, age gap implied, bad decisions being made, creampie (dont be like them), sexual tension, reader can't decide what she wants so abbot natrually fucks the decision into her á°.á
wc: 7.9k
Abbot was certain you were avoiding him. It was the only explanation that made any kind of sense. Itâd be impressive if it werenât so annoying, the way you kept managing to be somewhere else the second he came into view. Turning corners like youâd just remembered something urgent, suddenly very invested in literally any patient that wasnât his.Â
He could stop it. Heâs your superior, he could just tell you to assist him with a patient, heâd even take the scraps of your attention if it was just to discuss something medical. All heâd have to do is say your name in that tone and youâd come over, all professional and tight around the edges, and help him like youâre supposed to.Â
He doesnât, though.
Which is its own kind of pathetic.
Because apparently the possibility of you looking at him like heâs something youâd rather not touch is enough to keep him quiet. Enough to have him standing there, fully aware of whatâs happening, and letting it happen anyway.
He knows why youâre doing it. Thereâs no mystery there, no confusion or theories he could hide behind. He crossed a line. A very clear, very avoidable line, and he crossed it like he wasnât thinking.Â
His hand shouldâve never ended up between your thighs.Â
For a lot of reasons. One, because heâs had the temptation for months and somehow managed to keep it under control until now, which makes this feel less like a mistake and more like a failure of character. And two, because he knewâknewâit was never going to be a one-off for him, no matter what the two of you said at the time.
Youâre not the kind of girl who should settle for something casual, and heâs too damn old to be the kind of man who makes you come and sends you on your way, like thatâs all there is to it. Heâd want to make you breakfast, take you out to dinner, make space for you. Literally. A drawer at the very least.Â
Which, when he actually thinks about it, is a problem in itself.
The whole thing was a bad idea from the start.
And judging by the way youâve been treating him since, youâve come to your own conclusion about it. Pretend it didnât happen, and hope it quietly dies if you starve it of attention.Â
And it pains him that you seem to be doing that so effortlessly.Â
Because he canât get away from it. Not at work, especially not at home, not even in the stupid in between moments where his brain should be empty for once.Â
His kitchen, for example, is now completely unusable in any normal, mentally stable way. Even when heâs making his coffee, all he can seem to hear are the breaths and whimpers of you coming on his fingers, and not at all the beans being ground.
His shower is something else entirely. He canât even wash in peace anymore, which feels like a new low. All it takes is one stray thought and heâs right back there, stuck on you admitting that you touched yourself in there.Â
He canât even pretend these thoughts are occasional either. Theyâre constant. Always there. Even when he tries his hardest to drown them out. Which, again, is not ideal, given his job requires a baseline level of focus he is currently failing to maintain.
âEarth to Abbot. What do you want to do?â Shen asks, eyebrows raised, elbows and gown smeared with blood. âYouâve just completely dissociated on me, man.â
Abbot blinks. âRight,â he clears his throat. âOkayâno, weâre not happy with that. Suction.â
Shen passes it without comment, though thereâs a look there. Curiosity? Mild concern?Â
âBP?â Abbot asks.
âEighty-five systolic and dropping.â
He exhales through his nose, refocusing. âWeâve still got a slow bleed somewhere. Pack that for a secondâno, properly, youâre not putting enough pressure on it. There.â He adjusts Shenâs hand without thinking. âHold it like you mean it.â
Abbot was getting increasingly irritated as the night dragged on.Â
Usually that irritation worked in his favour, making him quicker and more precise, less tolerant of mistakes, including his own. It was useful.Â
Not tonight though.Â
Tonight that irritation sat under his skin, and refused to morph into anything productive. He wasnât doing anything wrong, but nothing felt right either. And on top of that, there was an endless stream of patients, the usual rotation of problems that should be routine by now, but somehow tonight they felt entirely foreign. His hands didnât even feel like they were attached to him properly.Â
And his thoughts, all they seemed to do was circle back to you.Â
The worst part of it all was that you were the one who said it was a one-off, implying you could both return to some sense of normalcy after that night, but you were doing everything that made him feel the opposite.
âCome get me if anything changes,â he says, voice clipped enough that Diaz doesnât even try to say anything back, just nods like he knows better.Â
His gown comes off in a rough pull, fabric sticking slightly before it gives, not even close to white anymore. Gloves go next, snapped off quick, dropped wherever.
He doesnât even really think about where heâs going until he spots you. Your backâs turned, which means you havenât had the chance to clock him and disappear yet. Thereâs a second where he considers leaving it. Just walking the other way. But heâs never really been particularly good at making sensible decisions when it comes to you.Â
âYou got a sec?â he calls out.Â
You turn, distracted at first, and then do a double take when it clicks that, yes, heâs actually talking to you. âMe?â you ask, pointing at yourself. âSurgery has already been paged twice for my patient in bay one.â
He almost sighs at that. Not because itâs wrong, but because of course itâs something thatâs already spiralled into multiple specialties and escalating calls and everyone pretending theyâre not responsible for it.
âYeah,â he says anyway, stepping closer before he can overthink it, then lowers his voice. âNot about that.â
âRight,â you drag out slowly, like youâre trying to decide whether thatâs better or worse.Â
A trolley clatters somewhere behind you, someone swears, an alarm rings before itâs quickly switched off. The department keeps on moving like it always does, indifferent to anything happening between the two of you.Â
Abbot looks down the corridor, exhales through his nose and looks back at you. âJustâfive minutes. Somewhere that isnât here.â
You nod, fingers drifting up without thinking, fidgeting with a necklace tucked under your scrubs. Youâre wearing a yellow undershirt today. He tries not to think about that too much.
âBathroom?âÂ
You nod again. âYeah, okay. Lead the way.â
He does just that, hoping you donât vanish the second he turns his back to you.
You donât.
That alone feels like a small victory.Â
He pushes the door open, holds it long enough for you to slip in first, then follows after you, turning the lock.Â
Suddenly it feels a lot more intimate than Abbot intended, especially considering what happened the last time the two of you were left to your own devices. Youâre leaning against the sink and counter, thighs shifting slightly from the pressure of it, filling out your scrubs in a way that makes his mouth go dry for a second before he can stop it.
He drags his eyes back up to your face, hand scratching at his stubble. âYouâve been avoiding me.â Itâs meant to sound like an accusation, but it doesnât land as one. Instead it sounds like something heâs been holding in his mouth too long, wrong shaped and stripped of any pride.Â
âIânot intentionally. Itâs just been a busy week.â
âPlease donât lie to me.â
You break eye contact, hand falling from your necklace as you let out a small sigh.Â
âOkay,â you admit eventually, softer. âMaybe I have been.â
âWhy?â
âYou know why.â
He nods, swallowing. âDo you regret what happened that night?â he asks and you still canât quite meet his gaze.Â
You bite the inside of your cheek.Â
âDo you?â he presses, a little quicker now, like if he doesnât keep moving the question forward itâll get stuck in him. âBecause thatâs the only reason I can think of you going out of your way to avoid me. We canât even act professional at work?â
âI have been professional,â you argue reflexively.Â
âAre you going to answer my first question?â
He watches your face like he can find the answer there before you say it, like heâs already halfway convinced heâs not going to like it but needs you to say it anyway.
âBecause if you do,â he adds reluctantly, âthen I need to know. So I can stop making it worse for you.â
âOf course I donât regret it,â you answer like itâs the most obvious thing and he feels his chest loosen. âWe said itâd be a one-off and Iâm just trying to find the best way to work around that.â
âAnd you think this is the best solution?â
âObviously not if youâre cornering me in the bathroom.â
Itâs meant to be a joke but neither of you laugh.Â
âIâm sorry,â he says immediately. âI crossed a line that night and I shouldnât have done it and itâs completely my fault for even putting us in this position, Iââ
âDonât do that,â you cut him off and he raises his brow at the interruption. âDonât make this out to be something itâs not. It wasnât just you that crossed a line, I did too, more than you. Please stop making it sound like something I was forced into.â You pause, taking in a breath, wiping your palms on your thighs. âI donât regret what happened. The only regret I have is that it clearly canât happen again. And I'm sorry that Iâve been avoiding you. It's obviously not working in the way I intended.â
Clearly canât happen again.
Youâre not wrong. Youâre not. It canât happen, there are actual rules about this, policies written in language so dry it makes your eyes glaze over but still very real, still very much enforceable, and it would completely jeopardise your future if anyone got wind of the two of you. Whether it turned into something serious or stayed exactly what it was that night in his kitchen two weeks ago, it wouldnât matter. It would still be a problem. A big one.
He knows that. Of course he knows that.
Yet his brain doesnât quiteâŠstop there. Doesnât neatly file it under sensible and move on like it should. Instead it lingers on the wording, on the way you said it.
Canât.
Not donât want to. Not even shouldnât.
Your only regret is that you canât do it again.Â
Which might actually make him go clinically insane. Manic. Deranged. Because itâs clear now, isnât itâthe both of you want this, but canât have it without consequences that would only land on you.Â
âYeahâŠyouâre right.â Is all he manages at first, then scratches the back of his neck, and when he looks back up youâre actually meeting his gaze and holding it properly. Longer than you have in the past two weeks. âCan we find a way to move past it without you ignoring me?â
Your face warps slightly, an immediate telltale thing you do when youâre trying to bite back a smile.
âWhat is it?â he asks, narrowing his eyes.Â
You shake your head. âNothing.â
âYouâre laughing at me.â
You shrug. âIf Iâd known giving you the silent treatment was this effective, I wouldâve enforced it months ago.â
âGood to see youâre back to making jokes at my expense again.â
âClearly you missed it.â
Thereâs silence again, and if heâs serious about getting the two of you back to something resembling normal, heâs going to have to stop doing thatâletting every word you say lodge somewhere in his head and sit there, overanalysed to death. Because he did miss it, and he needs to stop acting soâŠweird about it.Â
âMaybe.â
You smile at him, pushing yourself off the sink. âYou going to Ellisâs housewarming this weekend?â
âWasnât planning to.â
âWhy not?â
He pulls a face, turning towards the door. âNot really my thing.â
âWell why donât you come,â you press lightly, âwe could hang. Be normal about things.â
His head tilts a fraction, like heâs checking he heard you right and also like heâs trying not to read into it at the same time. âHang?âÂ
âYes. Hang. Thatâs what friends slash work colleagues do. Hang out socially with other people.â
He nods, fingers finding the lock. âIâll try and stop by.âÂ
Even as he says it, thereâs still a brief sliver of doubt, because itâs probably not wise, but then again, what could possibly go wrong this time? What line could the two of you cross in a house full of people, full of noise and movement, nowhere private, nowhere for anything to accidentally tip into something else?
When Saturday finally came, Abbot didnât really get a chance to second-guess going because Shen was already outside his place, leaning on the horn like he couldnât cope with even a second of silence. Which would make sense if they were running late. They werenâtâŠShen just got the time wrong.Â
Ellis didnât seem to mind when the two of them turned up an hour before everyone else was meant to arrive though, not with how quickly she put both men to work helping her set up.
In fact, when people did start showing up, it sort of worked in Abbotâs favour. He could stay long enough for you to see heâd made an appearance, then slip out early with a perfectly reasonable excuse of being there early and helping set up.Â
Itâs a win-win, all thanks to Shenâs poor time management for once lining up in his favour.Â
Heâs halfway through nursing a lukewarm beer thatâs gone as flat as a puncture by the time you show up, a large basket balanced in your hands.
Everyone else had brought the usual, bottles and more bottles, nothing you have to think about too hard. But from where Abbotâs standing your basket was filled to the brim with actual things youâd need when moving into a new place. Blanket, food, cleaning supplies, probably an overpriced scented candle nestled somewhere in there.Â
Heâs not surprised. Youâre always showing up over-prepared for even the smallest of things. He takes another sip of the beer and quickly regrets it, eyes drifting back to you before he can stop them.
You donât notice him straight away, too busy unpacking the basket and explaining everything you brought to Ellis. She looks genuinely grateful, keeps nodding along, but about halfway through she cuts you off, takes the basket from you and dumps it on the counter, then grabs your wrist and drags you towards the drinks like sheâs saving you from yourself.
And he justâŠwatches.Â
Not in a weird way. He tells himself that at record speed. He just canât seem to help the habit thatâs formed of tracking you in every room.Â
Ellis pours you a glass of whatever Shenâs attempted to pass off as sangria, watching you take a sip, face scrunching up almost immediately.Â
He huffs quietly to himself, shifting his weight, fully aware of how this must look from the outside. Him standing off to the side, completely blanking Robby whoâs right there, still talking, mouth moving, hands doing something vaguely animated, and Abbot hasnât caught a single word of it. Not one.Â
âWe donât sleep with the residents, man.âÂ
Abbot does a double take, like heâs been caught mid-thought and dragged back too fast. âWhat?â
Robby doesnât even look at him, just tips his beer in your direction. âYouâre practically fucking her with your eyes and she hasnât even put her bag down.â
He scoffs, taking a sip of beer to buy him some time.Â
âIâve already got Gloria breathing down my neck about budgets and patient satisfaction,â Robby goes on, âI donât need her adding fraternisation to the list.â
âNothingâs happening.â
âYeah?â
âYeah.â
âShame,â Robby adds, almost idly. âBecause if this is you not doing anything, Iâd hate to see what it looks like when you actually are.â
âWhat, now youâre encouraging me?âÂ
Robby snorts, shaking his head. âNo. Iâm just sayingâif there is anything happening, keep it the hell out of the ER.â
âThereâs nothing going on, man. You can drop it,â he mutters, knocking back the rest of his beer as he spots you walking over, unsure whether thatâs the best decision with what Robbyâs currently insinuating.Â
âOkay, well, I donât need to be privy to this conversation,â Robby sighs, noticing you heading their way. âIâd like some plausible deniability.â
Robby gives you a quick nod as you pass him, then veers off towards Dana without another word, leaving Abbot standing there with absolutely nothing to hide behind, nowhere to look except you.Â
Youâre wearing a sundress again.Â
And his brain justâŠmalfunctions for a second. Thereâs a slight lag when his eyes fixate on the way the material sits against your hips, the neckline lower, the hem shorter than the one heâs seen you in before. Itâs stupid how quickly he notices it, how it registers before he can even think to stop it.
This is exactly what Robby was talking about, and heâs stood here proving him right, fully incapable of acting like a normal person for five seconds when youâre in front of him.
âEllis said you helped set up,â you say, coming up beside him. âThat was nice of you.â
âDidnât really have a choice, she had us working the second we stepped through the front door. Didnât even get a tour or anything.â
âIs that why you decided to give everyone alcohol poisoning with the sangria?â
Abbot laughs, setting his drink down on the fireplace. âThat was all Shen.â
Thereâs a stench of silence and it makes him realise how bad the two of you are now at this whole normalcy thing. There never used to be silences like this, not ones that felt like either person was thinking about something else. The obvious elephant in the room, even to Robby apparently.
âWeâre setting up a round of beer pong,â Shen announces, appearing out of nowhere with a red cup filled to the brim with his sangria. âNext round is me and Ellis against you twoââ he points between you and Abbot. âBe there or be square.â
Abbot glances at the cup, then back at Shen. âHow about you be sober since youâre my ride?â
âYou can just catch a ride with Robby,â Shen shrugs. âHe drove.â
He shakes his head because he knew this would happen. Shen is the least reliable method of transport known to man. Abbotâs half surprised he even makes it to his shifts on time.
âYou playing?â you ask, glancing between him and Shen.
âI wasnât planning on it.â
Shen groans. âYouâre both playing. Iâve already decided.â
Abbot has come to realise that youâre actually really good at beer pong. Whether thatâs down to your aim or just sheer desperation to avoid drinking whatever the hell Shenâs made, heâs not entirely sure. Either way, the two of you are winning.
Which should be what heâs focusing on.
It isnât.
Because you keep leaning forward to line up your shots, bending over the table, one hand braced against the edge, the other hovering with the ball, squinting like itâs a matter of life or death. And itâs endearing how focused you get, how your tongue presses against your teeth, how you donât even seem aware of anything else when youâre aiming.
And heâs meant to be watching the cups. The game. Literally anything else.Â
Instead his eyes keep catching on the same things. The way the hem of your dress shifts when you bend, the brief flash of skin at the back of your thighs when you straighten and then lean again, the way your legs move when you step forward to grab the ball.Â
He drags his gaze back to the table just as you release the ball. It arcs cleanly and drops straight into one of Shenâs cups with a splash.Â
âNo fucking way,â Shen scoffs. âWe need to step our game up.â He nudges Ellis like sheâs personally responsible.
âYou need to step your game up,â she shoots back, grabbing the cup. âIâve been carrying you this whole time.â
Abbot can feel eyes burning into the side of his head. He turns enough to see Robby watching him with a smirk, shaking his head, as though Abbotâs hitting every milestone on a very predictable recovery plan, like a patient progressing exactly as expected. Which is irritating, because Abbot is not, in fact, improving.
He rolls his eyes at him and turns back to face you. âNice shot.â
âYeah?â You glance over at him, mouth tipping at the corner. âYou sure you saw it? You seem a little distracted.â
âDistracted? No, not at all,â he manages, which makes him sound like he was, indeed, distracted.Â
You donât comment though, just take a small step back so youâre beside him, shoulder brushing his as the two of you watch Ellis down the drink with visible regret before sheâs reaches for another ball.Â
âJesus,â you mumble under your breath. âSheâs going to hate us in the morning.â
âI already hate you,â she calls back, giving herself a dramatic shake like that might undo the damage. Ellis aims her ball like sheâs about to shoot, but Abbot sees you stepping to the side.Â
âEl, your footâs over the line,â you call out, all sweet and helpful.
She freezes mid-aim. âWhat?â
âYour foot,â you repeat, pointing vaguely. âYouâre fully cheating.â
âI am notââ Ellis glances down, shifting her stance to check.
The second she looks away from the cups, you go still beside him, lips pressing together like youâre trying not to laugh.
âI was about toââ Ellis snaps, readjusting, rushing it now. She throws the ball too quickly. It hits the rim and bounces straight off the table.
âYouâre full of shit,â Abbot mutters, just to you, eyes still on the table. âHer foot was not over the line.â
âIâm driving tonight.â You shrug, giving him a smile. âA girlâs got to do what she has to do.â
Ellis and Shen argue in front of you two, voices overlapping, something about angles, and you rushed me and you distracted me.Â
Abbot scoffs, looking at you. âI donât think Iâve ever seen anyone cheat at beer pong.â
âItâs okay to say youâre impressed. I wonât tell anyone.â
âI prefer to win fairly.â
âOh yeah,â you hum tauntingly. âI forgot youâre such a rule stickler. Always doing the right thing. Never crossing any lines.â
âOuch,â he clicks his tongue. âYou always get like this when youâre caught cheating at frat boy games?â
âLike what?â
He tilts his head, crossing his arms as he studies you. âI think thereâs a vein of rage popping on your forehead.â
âYeah? Nice of you to notice instead of trying to look up my dress all evening.â You give him a bratty smile, grabbing a ball and pressing it to his chest.Â
âThere she is,â Abbot hums, satisfied, because this version of you is exactly what he was waiting for. With this version thereâs no awkward push to get back to normal, no weird pauses where it feels like one of you should say something just to prove everythingâs fine. This is easier. You push, he pushes back. You get sharp, he gets worse.
Youâre too nice at work. Too polite. Too put together, all neat edges and carefully chosen words and that calm voice you use with patients that makes everything sound under control even when itâs not. And he likes that, he does, but thisâŠthis is better. This is you slipping a little, dropping it, letting him see the part that doesnât behave, doesnât follow the rules you keep going on about.Â
âYour turn,â you say, pressing the ball into his chest again. âTry not to miss.â
He takes it from you, hand covering yours before the ball settles in his grip. âLots of attitude for someone who needed to cheat two minutes ago.â
âI didnât need to,â you correct promptly, following him as he steps up to the table. âI just wanted to.â
âRight. That definitely makes it better.âÂ
âMy eyes are up here,â you remind him, tapping two fingers from your chest up to your face.
He wasnât actually gawking this time, but thatâs a weak defence considering every other time he has been, so he doesnât bother arguing with you.
âWouldnât want you getting distracted and making us lose.â
Several hours later, youâre pulling into Abbotâs driveway, the solar lights along the path flicking on like theyâve been waiting for him specifically. The engine idles for a second before you switch it off.Â
âThere you go.â
He unclips his seatbelt, keeping a hold of it as it slides back into the mechanism, his thumb pressing into the fabric. âThanks,â he says, glancing at you. âYou didnât have to.â
âWell it wouldâve been rude not to. Shenâs asleep on Ellisâs kitchen floor and Robby disappeared without saying goodbye.â
âYeah. Hope Ellis doesnât trip over him in the morning.â
It was meant to be quick. In and out. Show face, have a drink and leave early. But the opposite of that ended up happening, the majority of the night crew sticking around longer than the day shift. Now itâs later than he planned, and youâre here, in his driveway, with neither of you moving.
He should get out.
But youâre genuinely smiling at him, and heâs not sure he has the willpower to leave.Â
âYou had fun,â he notes, quieter than before.
âI did,â you confirm blithely. âYou?â
âMm.â He nods once, like thatâs enough of an answer. He glances down without meaning to, tracking the line of your milkmaid neckline where it dips as you move in your seat, and thatâs when he catches it.Â
A black card with a white outline peeking above the fabric. Something that looks suspiciously like one of the UNO cards Whitaker had insisted everyone play with. A game you somehow won three times in a row.Â
He huffs out a breath, not sure whether to be amused or surprised that youâd go that far to win a cards game meant for eight year olds. âYouâre unbelievable.â
 âWhat?â
âYouâre absolutely unbelievable,â he laughs dryly, turning towards you in the passenger seat. âYou cheated.â
You raise your brows, and he watches you physically fight the grin trying to break through. âAt beer pong?â
âYes, that too.â he replies, narrowing his eyes. âDonât play dumb.â
âI donât quite know what you mean.â
He gestures vaguely towards you, unsure how to phrase it without sounding insane. âYouâve got a card tucked in yourââ he cuts himself off, dragging a hand over his jaw. âYou know what I mean.â
âBra?â you supply for him.
âYes.â
âFunny, I don't seem to be wearing one.â
âJesus Christ you need to stop doing that,â he hisses, words coming out harsher than he intends. You have to be doing it on purpose at this point, thereâs no way youâre not aware of what youâre saying, what that does to him, how it lands and then just sits there in his head, repeating, expanding, getting worse the more he tries to ignore it.
Because now thatâs all he can think about, not the card, not the game, not anything remotely normal, just that. The fact you said it so casually, like itâs nothing, like it doesnât drag his attention right back down again, like he hasnât already had to physically pull his eyes back up to your face several times tonight.
âYouâre accusing me of hiding cards in a piece of clothing Iâm not wearing.â
âI saw it. Donât try and twist it.â
âIâm not twisting anything,â you reply, but thereâs that look again that tells him you know exactly what youâre doing to him. And, frankly, it's cruel.Â
âYou cheated,â he repeats, leaning in. âEveryone thinks youâre all nice and polite andââ he lets out a short, disbelieving breath, shaking his head. âYouâre a cheater. A serial cheater.â
Your brows lift, but instead of being offended, thereâs something else there, something that almost looks like interest. You undo your seatbelt, tilting your head. âYeah? What else?â
âYouâre manipulative.â
âWhat are you going to do? Pull my dress down and check?â
âIs that what you want?â
âI donât think thatâs a normal activity friends slash work colleagues doââ
âYou know damn well nothingâs been normal between us since that night. Youâre the one who said it was a one-off,â he goes on, because itâs been sitting there waiting to come out. âBut then you look at me like this and say things like that and expect me to justâwhat, ignore it?â
Your tongue darts out to wet your bottom lip and his hand tightens where itâs resting against his leg, fingers pressing into his own palm. âI didnât say ignore it.â
âThen what did you say?â
âThat it couldnât happen again.â
âRight. And this is you⊠sticking to that?â
You donât answer him, but youâre breathing has picked up.Â
âYeah,â he mutters to himself. âThought so.â
And then he just moves, like a car running every red light. His hand comes up, fingers firm at your jaw as he pulls you in, rougher than he means to be. The kiss lands messily, noses knocking, teeth catching because neither of you slow down enough to make it neat. It starts all wrong, rushed and badly aimed, with no patience from either of you to do it properly.
Thereâs a moment where he registers what heâs doing, where his brain catches up enough to go this is a bad idea, but then youâre kissing him back, deepening it, and that thought doesnât stand a chance.Â
He exhales against your mouth, thumb pressing into your jaw as he pulls you closer, like the extra inch matters, and it does, because the angle changes and your mouths fit better this time.Â
âCome here,â he murmurs, one hand sliding from your jaw to your neck while the other drops to your waist as he shifts, pulling you towards him. You let him, moving over the console, the whole thing awkward and uncoordinated, things getting knocked in the process, your knee bumping into him, his elbow catching against the door.
He makes a frustrated sound when you finally settle into his lap, like the movement wasnât fast enough, like even now heâs impatient, still pulling you closer once youâre there, his cock aching for friction.Â
âStill think this is a one-off?â he mumbles, words uneven, breaking between kisses as they drop from your mouth to your jaw, then lower.
Your fingers bunch in the fabric of his shirt, tugging it up, chasing the heat of his skin. You pull it over his head, your hands coming to rest on his shoulders as his dig into your hips.
âYouâre not very good at sticking to your own rules,â he adds, leaning in to press another wet kiss beneath your jaw. He sucks at the delicate skin before swiping his tongue over it to soothe.Â
âWeâwe bothââ you start, breath catching when his hand comes to palm your breast, ââagreed itâd be a one off.â
âNu-uh,â he tuts. âYou said youâd be able to move past it. I told you I couldnât.â His fingers hook into your dress, tugging it down, the off-the-shoulder sleeves giving just enough for the fabric to slip, exposing your chest to him.
Heâs imagined you like this more times than heâd ever admit, and heâs almost surprised he even registers the small cascade of UNO cards slipping free. The cards hit him, light taps against his stomach before theyâre sliding down between the both of you.Â
âYouâre fucking joking.âÂ
You just shrug, like itâs nothing, like youâre not currently straddling him with evidence of your cheating scattered in his lap. You shift to reposition yourself, and he feels it immediately, his cock aching to be inside of you.
âUnbelievable.â His hand lifts, coming up to your chest, fingers closing around your nipple as he pinches it between his thumb and index finger, his eyes dragging over you, taking you in like he doesnât know where to look first, like he wants all of it at once. âYou cheat, you lie, and then you justâwhatâsit here like this?â
You tip your head back at the feeling, and he follows, bringing his mouth closer, tongue swiping over the nub as he watches you through his lashes.
âYou donât seem that upset,â you slur, hand digging into his shoulder as you roll your hips against him.
âBaby, with the view I have right now, I donât think Iâd notice if someone dropped dead in front of me.â
A soft sound slips out of you, half laugh, half moan, and it only makes his jeans tighten. He swears under his breath, pressing his forehead against your shoulder like that might help. He needs to control himself. He has to. Heâs already finished in his pants prematurely like some horny teenager once before, and he really doesnât fancy doing it again unless itâs inside you.
âNeed your jeans off,â you mumble, hands reaching for his waistband, fingers deftly working the buttons.Â
âYeah? Think we might struggle in here.â
You shake your head, lifting yourself, balancing on your knees, the absence hitting him, a brief void he feels but doesnât dwell on, not when your hands are right there, working each button open one by one.
Without warning, your hand dips under the denim, and Abbot inhales sharply as you palm him through his boxers.
âHuh,â you breathe, a smug edge to it, and he already knows what youâre about to say, can feel it in the way his precum has soaked through the fabric. âHave you been this worked up the whole night?â
He lets out a strained laugh because heâs been caught out and doesnât have the energy or focus to deny it. His head tips back against the seat, eyes squeezing shut before he looks back at you.Â
âAnswer the question,â you press, your hand slipping underneath his boxers. Thereâs not much room for you to move, but the second your hand wraps around his cock, his breathing turns frantic, his hands digging harder into your hips.
âYeah,â he grunts. âBeen like this since you walked in.â
Your brows lift, impressed, like you werenât expecting him to actually say it. âGood.âÂ
You lean in to kiss him, and he tries his best to reciprocate, but all he manages are sloppy pants because your hand is still doing its best to pump him and he canât concentrate.
âHelp me out,â you murmur, biting his lip as you pull away. Your hands move to the waistband at his hips as you tug, and Abbot pushes himself up, giving you just enough space to drag his jeans and boxers down halfway to his thighs.
Your hand grips him properly now, sliding up and down his length, your thumb brushing over the tip. Your mouth parts as you do it, like youâre getting drunk on the sight of it, on getting him off. He finds himself thinkingâbriefly, unhelpfullyâabout what it would feel like to have your mouth on him instead. Whether youâd look the same. Whether youâd get that same faraway, intent expression.
But thereâs no space for that in your cramped car.
And heâd rather feel your pussy swallowing his cock instead.Â
His hand closes around your wrist, stopping your ministrations in one decisive move. âWait,â he says, though he doesnât actually give you time to respond.
Because then his mouth is on you instead.
Your dress is already pushed up, bunched carelessly at your waist, and his hands follow without needing to think about it, sliding underneath the fabric, mapping their way upward along your thighs with a familiarity that feelsâŠearned.
He finds what heâs looking for.
Hooks his fingers into it.
Then pulls.
It gives immediately, the rip louder than it should be in the enclosed space.Â
âAbbot!â you gasp. âWhat the hell?â
âThey were in my way. Sorry, baby.â
You blink at him, still catching up. âThey were expensive.â
âIâll get you new ones.â
âHow am I meant to drive home?â
Thatâapparentlyâis the wrong question.
He pulls back to look at you, and then he scoffs, quiet and disbelieving, like youâve said something so wildly off-base it doesnât even deserve a serious response.
âDrive home?â he repeats.
Thereâs a beat.
âYou think you get to just leave?â The question isnât really a question. âNot a chance.â His thumb finds your clit, applying light, deliberate pressure. His mouth follows, pressing a tender kiss to your neck. âYouâre spending the night,â he murmurs against your skin. âIâve got plenty of boxers.â
Another kiss. Slower this time.
âOr,â he adds, like heâs genuinely considering alternatives, âyou can walk around without anything at all.â His thumb circles your clit again. âI donât mind.â
You wither against him, your body registering the touch before your brain has had a chance to catch up. âJack,â you start, but it falls apart halfway through, the rest of it never quite assembling into anything usable.
He hums delicately against your neck, like heâs listening, like he might even care.
He doesnât stop, his thumb moving in an achingly slow rhythm. âYouâre thinking too much.â
âMânotââ
âYou are.â
You shake your head anyway and he doesnât accept that. His free hand comes up to your face, settling at your jaw, thumb just beneath your cheekbone. Not rough but not optional either. âLook at me.â
You do. A little slower than usual. A little softer around the edges. Like youâre already halfway gone somewhere else and heâs pulling you back just enough to see it.
âYou are,â he repeats, nodding once like that settles it. As though itâs something observable, not arguable. His thumb picks up the pace and he watches the moment it lands. The way your expression shifts around it. The delay. The way your focus slips, then tries to come back.
Interesting.Â
Thereâs something almost clinical in the way he tracks it, the small details, the cause and effect. Detached, if it werenât for the fact that his own breathing has started to change, slower but heavier, like heâs not as removed from it as heâd maybe prefer to be.
âThat feel good?â
You nod.Â
âSee?â he says, voice dropping. His other thumb drags slowly across your lips, catching on the slight part of them. He stops there, just for a second, feeling the warmth of your breath, the softness of it, like heâs deciding something.
âStop arguing with me.â
Thereâs a pause.
Then he presses his thumb into your mouth.
He feels the moment you take it, the way your lips close around it, the faint pressure of your teeth as you bite down.
âSit up for me, baby.â He reluctantly pulls his hand away from your warmth, only for it to settle on your hip instead, guiding you up gently. You meet him halfway, lifting yourself and grabbing him again, both of you glancing down as you line him up.
You press the head of his cock against your clit, rocking yourself against it.Â
âJesus,â he bites out, his thumb slipping out from your mouth with a thin string of drool stretching between. âSlowlyâgo slow.â
You nod, as you ease down, taking him in bit by bit.
Your nails dig into his shoulders, sharp enough to make him suck in a breath, and for a second he thinks about telling you to keep going until you draw blood but heâs not sure thatâs wise in your dazed state.Â
âFuck,â you grit, stopping yourself before youâre even halfway down him.
âToo much?â
âMhm.â
âSâokay,â he slurs, focusing on your puffy clit again, drawing slow circles, helping you take all of him. âYou can do it.â
His grip tightens at your hip, thumb pressing in harder as he watches you, completely locked in, like if he looks away for even a second he might miss something important. The way your face pinches. The way your breathing shifts.Â
âThatâs it,â he murmurs, softer now, coaxing more than anything. âYouâve got it.â He watches every inch of it, the slow give, the way your body takes him, the hesitation that never quite turns into stopping.
âYeah⊠there you go.â
Youâve bottomed out now, all of him deep inside you, gripping him so tight heâs not even sure how much longer he can last, and you havenât even started moving yet. He goes still, in an attempt to chase composure.
âDonâtââ he starts when he feels you shift, then stops, jaw tightening as he recalibrates. âJustâstay there a second.â
His forehead dips forward, almost brushing yours, his eyes half-lidded as he tries to steady himself through it.
âTell me when,â you whisper.Â
That nearly undoes him more than anything else.
Thereâs something about the way you say it. Gentle. Willing. Like youâre handing the control back to him without even thinking about it. Trusting him with it.Â
He leans in for a kiss, and itâs slower than the ones before. Thought-out. Intentional. All that earlier hunger still there, but pulled tight beneath the surface now, tempered by the fact that heâs already inside you.
It changes things.
Makes it heavier.
He presses in deeper, tongue sliding against yours, and you let out a broken whimper into his mouth. âGo ahead,â he says, pulling back enough to take in the way youâre looking at him now.Â
You lift your hips, then lower yourself again, and he can feel the way your body adjusts around himâyour walls clinging to his cock as you start to find a pace that works for you.Â
Abbot searches for your hips, guiding you, pushing you down onto him when you reach the base again, the curls there brushing against your clit.Â
Your eyes are screwed shut and he takes this time to watch you shamelessly, The sheen of sweat starting to gather along your forehead, the way your breath hitches every time he pushes you down just a bit further.
Itâs fucking euphoric.Â
You keep moving, whiningâhalf-words, curses, his name slipping in and outâas you pick up the pace, losing whatever rhythm you started with in favour of something needier.
âSuch a greedy girl,â he mutters, watching the way a slick ring of wetness gathers and drags along his cock as you bounce up and down, your cunt squeezing him so tight heâs grasping at straws to make sure you finish before him.
His thumb finds that sweet spot, making you go limp against him, your forehead sprawling against his shoulder.
âYesâkeep doing that,â you mewl, and heâs the kind of man who follows orders, even when heâs not sure heâs got anything left to give.
Your teeth sink into his shoulder, and it pulls a husked sound out of him.
âYeah? Thatâs what you do?â His hips meet yours, as he plunges in and out of you, feeling your thighs tighten and shake around him. âDidnât take you for a biter,â he mocks, but thereâs no surprise in it, in fact he sounds pleased.Â
You say something incoherent back and he just laughs. âGo on,â he encourages, tilting his head to the side to give you better access. âIf youâre going to do it, donât halfââ
He cuts himself off with a sharp exhale when you do, the pressure of it shutting him up completely.
âChristââ
âMâclose, Jackâso close.â
His head drops again, eyes finding you like he needs to see it, needs to confirm itâs actually happening and not something heâs made up to torture himself with later. âYou like that? Thatâs what gets you going?â
âYesâfuck, yes.âÂ
Abbot feels you tense around him, your movements losing whatever shape they had, turning messy as the two of you dissolve into nothing but a tangle of limbs and half-formed sentences. Fragments of words, sounds that donât even belong to language anymore.
You come undone with a cry, muffled against his skin thatâs probably raw and marked now, something heâll notice later. Your whole body tightens, then gives, your grip on him turning desperate while it rushes through you.Â
It hardly takes Abbot a minute before he follows, the sight of youâlike this, because of himâpushing him past whatever control he thought he still had. His hips jerk with a force that pulls a string of curses from him that are grunted into your hair, his cock twitching inside you as he thrusts into you one last time.
Thereâs no other sound for a few minutes, other than the two of you trying to catch your breath. Abbot can hear your heartbeat where youâre pressed against him, feel his own still thudding hard in his chest.
He leans back, resting his head against the seat, eyes closing.
âFuck, Iâm so sorry.â
His eyes open immediately at that because you sound horrified, like somethingâs gone wrong, and his stomach drops at the off chance youâre regretting all of this already.
âWhat?â he starts, already bracing for the worst.Â
He then follows your line of sight, your gaze fixed on his shoulder and immediately relaxes. â...That?â he asks, glancing back at you.Â
You wince, reaching up like youâre not sure whether to touch it or not. âI didnât mean toâI justââ
âHeyâitâs fine.â
You look unconvinced.
âItâs not fine, IâJack, I think I actually made you bleedââ
âI know. I was there.â
That earns him an embarrassed huff. âI didnât even realise I was doing it.â
âI did,â he replies smugly. âDidnât hate it either.â
Thereâs a pause as you study him, like youâre trying to figure out if heâs serious or just trying to make you feel better. â...Youâre weird.â
âYeah, says the one who was doing all the chomping.â
Your mouth drops open. âOkay. Iâm leaving.â You pull your dress back up over your chest and try to shift up, since heâs still inside you, but Abbotâs hands clamp around your hips, holding you in place.
âNot a chance. I already told you youâre spending the night.â
You catch the inside of your cheek between your teeth. âDo you think thatâs wise?â
âProbably not,â he admits. âBut Iâm still not changing my mind.â He leans in, placing a kiss on your shoulder. âPlus youâre not exactly in a state to go anywhere.â
âI could,â you mutter.
He raises a brow.
ââŠI could try.â
He shakes his head, an amused exhale leaving him âStay. Just for tonight. Weâll figure the rest out tomorrow.â
Your body sags against him, the fight easing out of you as your fingers brush lightly over the his raw skin. âJust for tonight,â you repeat.
Though neither of you can really pretend this is just a one-off anymore.
ïœĄđŠč°â§â” Robby thought gifting you a sex toy for Valentineâs day was a silly idea, until one night he finds you in bed, with a buzz humming between your thighs.
ïœĄđŠč°â§â” tags/warnings: smut, minors DNI, porn with plot, unprotected piv, masturbation, fingering, use of sex toys, creampie, voyeurism, established relationship.
Robby couldnât take full credit for the idea of getting you a sex toy for Valentineâs day.
It had started at the pitt, of all places. He was walking toward the nursesâ station to do a quick chart update, his body moving while his mind was miles away. Valentineâs day was three days away. Three days, and he still had nothing.
For the past week, his thoughts had been stuck in the same frustrating loop. Every idea he came up with felt either lazy or predictable. He didnât want to show up with a last-minute bouquet and a box of chocolates heâd grabbed from the corner store. That wasnât you. And it wasnât the kind of effort he wanted to give.
The problem was, you made it difficult in the most infuriating way possible, you had everything. Or, worse, if you wanted something, you didnât hesitate to get it yourself. Last year, heâd been so sure heâd nailed it. Weeks earlier, youâd mentioned that you loved a designer purse. It wasnât even a request, just a comment, and Robby had tracked it down, paid more than he probably should have, and spent days feeling smug about how thoughtful he was being. Then heâd come home early one evening and found you in the kitchen, with that exact same purse hanging from your shoulder. âI work so hard,â youâd said with a shrug and a smile when you noticed his expression. âI decided to treat myself and get it.â
He found Dana perched on a stool, typing on the computer while munching on a granola bar. "Robby," she, glancing up with a mischievous grin. "You look like shit. Valentineâs coming up, right? What're you getting Mrs. Robinavitch? You better treat my girl the way she deserves."
Mrs. Robinavitch. Well, technically you werenât. Not yet, at least. There were no wedding plans on the horizon, no proposal tucked away in a drawer waiting for the right moment. Neither of you was in any rush. What you had worked as it was. Still, in the ED, everyone called you that anyway.
They knew you far too well not to. Youâd rushed in more times than you could count to deliver something Robby had inevitably forgotten at home, his phone, his ID badge, his wallet. And every time, you were met with smiles, teasing comments, and someone inevitably calling out his name just loud enough to embarrass him.
They loved you there. Loved the way you remembered people. Loved the cookies you baked and dropped off on special occasions like National Doctorsâ Day or Public Health Thank You Day, any excuse, really. You never showed up empty-handed, and you never stayed long enough to be in the way. Just long enough to make the place feel a little lighter.
Robby rubbed the back of his neck, leaning against the counter and picking up some files. "Yeah, three days. Iâve got no clue."
Dana laughed, shaking her head. âOh, come on, Robby. Donât be a cheap ass. Get her some jewelry, something nice. Diamonds.â
Robby didnât even look up from the files, turning the pages without paying much attention to the chatter. âDiamonds? Oh-ho-ho, that woman already maxes out my credit card like itâs her hobby,â he said dryly. âShe has more stuff in her closet than it can physically hold.â
Perlah, who was organizing supplies a few feet away, immediately chimed in. âYeah,â she said, not even glancing up. âYou could give her a diamond ring. Itâd be about time.â
Princess appeared at his side a second later, leaning against the counter like sheâd been waiting for her cue. âBetter do it now, before your backâs too screwed for you to get down on one knee.â
Robby finally glanced up, unimpressed but faintly amused. âIâm really touched by the collective interest in my relationship, ladies,â he said. âBut there wonât be any ring for now.â
All three nurses booed in dramatic unison.
âYeah, yeah,â Robby went on, smirking. âCry it out. Iâm sorry, I know all of you are just hoping for the catering and the open bar.â
Behind him, Princess and Perlah immediately launched into a rapid exchange in Tagalog. Robby didnât understand a single word of it, but he didnât need to. The tone alone told him everything he needed to know. He was fairly certain idiot and asshole made an appearance somewhere in there.
âI know what your girl needs.â Cassieâs voice cut in as she approached the desk. Sheâd clearly been listening to the entire conversation.
Robby glanced up. âShould I be concerned?â
âProbably,â she said lightly. âYouâve been working almost fifteen-hour shifts. That poor woman needs something practical. Ever heard of a Satisfyer?â The reaction was immediate. Eyebrows shot up across the nursesâ station. Cassie lifted her hands defensively. âWhat? Too much?â She looked around at their faces and scoffed. âPlease. Donât look at me like that. Iâve been single for a long time.â
âIâm just saying,â Cassie continued, completely unfazed. âA Satisfyer? A Womanizer? Air-pulse toys?â
Princessâs eyes lit up with amusement. "Oh my God, you're terrible. But... she's not wrong. If your girl's dealing with your crazy hours, Robby, it might be just what she needs."
Dana looked up from her screen, pushing her glasses back. "Iâve heard they work wonders.â
âTrust me, after a long shift here, it's a lifesaver. Your girlfriend would thank you. Or, you know, thank it." Princesses winked. âBut donât get her the cheap rose one. Buy her an expensive one, donât be a cheapskate.â
Robby stared at them, his mouth agape, but there was a spark of curiosity in his eyes now. He wasnât prudish, far from it, but this caught him off guard. "You are serious? All of you?"
Dana shrugged, utterly unfazed. âDead serious. Itâs 2026, Robby. Women have needs.â She tilted her head at him. âStop with the macho act. What, you scared a little toyâs gonna replace you and sheâll dump your sorry ass?â
âFragile ego much?â Princess crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow at him. âHow many times do you get home and sheâs already asleep? Or how many nights are you so exhausted you do nothing but collapse into bed?â
Robby shook his head, scratching the back of his neck. âI will not be discussing my sex life in a packed emergency department, thank you very much.â He straightened. âIâll just get her some new shoes or something.â
The words had barely left his mouth when the ambulance bay doors flew open. Robby was on his feet instantly. âThirty-four-year-old woman,â one of the paramedics called out as they rushed in. âGunshot wound to the left upper abdomen. Entry only, no exit wound noted. BP ninety over sixty, heart rate one-twenty.â
Robby was already moving, stepping in to assess the patient. But even as he worked, he could still hear them behind him.
âThink about it, Robby.â âListen to us women.â âMake your girl happy.â
It was close to nine by the time Robby finally got home. You had disappeared into the bathroom to take a shower. Robby kicked off his shoes, shed his jacket, and collapsed onto the couch with a tired sigh. The TV was already on, some true-crime documentary you were watching before played softly in the background. He opened his laptop and stared at the screen for a long moment.
Then, after a brief hesitation, he typed Womanizer sex toy into the search bar. The official site was the first result. He clicked it before he could second-guess himself.
The Perfect Gift this Valentineâs, the banner read. Robby huffed quietly, rubbing a hand over his face, but he kept scrolling. Product descriptions blurred together as he read: extra stimulation head. Fourteen intensity levels. Pulsating air pressure designed to mimic natural suction.
He read the reviews next. Women and husbands alike, raving with alarming enthusiasm. Words like leg-shaking, out of this world, life-changing. Some talked about edging for hours, others about finishing in seconds. Robby leaned back into the couch, scanning the seemingly endless options. How different could clit suckers really be? Apparently⊠very.
After another minute of overthinking, he added the most expensive one to the cart, the one with the best reviews. He chose it in pink without hesitation, already knowing youâd love the color.
As he typed in his card information, a strange mix of nerves and excitement settled in his chest.
What if you thought it was a terrible gift? You two had never really used toys in bed before, never been into anything too experimental. He paused as the doubt creeped in. But then he remembered the ED, Danaâs certainty, Cassieâs confidence. Women who knew what they were talking about. So he exhaled and clicked purchase. A confirmation email appeared in his inbox seconds later.
Three days later, Robby had gone all out for Valentineâs day. A massive bouquet of flowers had been delivered first thing in the morning, so big it barely fit through the door. Breakfast in bed followed before he had to leave for work. Even then, heâd managed to pull off something rare: leaving work early. Early enough to take you to that new rooftop restaurant youâd been talking about nonstop for the past month.
Dinner was everything youâd hoped for. The food was incredible, and the view stole your breath. And Robby⊠Robby looked unfairly good with that dark button-up shirt you loved so much because it fit him perfectly, with the sleeves rolled just enough to make you restless. Youâd already decided you couldnât wait to get him home and take it off him yourself.
A long night. No interruptions. Just you and him, alone at last.
Back at your place, you kicked off your heels by the door, and he shrugged out of his coat, hanging it carefully like he did everything. The gifts waited at the coffee table, it was tradition to open them at the end of the night.
"You first," you said, nudging him toward the couch.
He sat, pulling you down beside him. You handed him the smaller package first. He tore the paper with the enthusiasm of a kid, revealing the white box.
âAirPods,â he read aloud, lifting an eyebrow. âThe Pros?â Just the week before, an unfortunate incident had claimed his old pair, forgotten in the back pocket of his scrubs, tossed into the washing machine, and declared officially dead. Robby looked up at you, clearly pleased, turning the box over in his hands. âYou didnât have to do this,â he said, though the small smile tugging at his mouth said he very much appreciated it.
"Figured you'd need replacements before you kept complaining about having to listen to the sounds of traffic instead of your podcast on the way to work."
He gave you a genuine laugh, opening the case to see the charging light blink on. "Baby... thank you. These are perfect." He leaned in, kissing you slowly, still tasting the chocolate from before.
Then, Robby opened the bigger one, a hardcover of the philosophy book about Socrates he'd mentioned wanting months ago. "And this," you added, "because you deserve something that's not a chart or a consult note."
He flipped through the pages, thumbing the edges slowly. A soft laugh escaped him as he looked up at you. âYou remembered,â he said quietly. âGod, I love you so much.â
Then it was your turn. Robby reached for the box, hesitating for just a beat before handing it over to you, a nervous breath leaving him as he did.
"Okay," he started, rubbing the back of his neck like he did every time he was nervous or stressed. "Before you open it... I know it's silly. Dana, and Princess, and McKay kind of brainwashed me at the nurses' station the other day. All of them were joking, mostly, talking about how great these things are. I figured... With my shifts, the long hours... Maybe it was a good idea. But if you donât want it, we can return it."
You raised an eyebrow, your curiosity had piqued dramatically. You peeled back the paper carefully. And inside was a box that read: âWomanizer Next, 3D Pleasure Air Stimulator with Climax Control.â The gadget, the clit sucker, was in deep pink, slightly curvy, lighter than youâd imagined it. You couldnât help it, you giggled a little, the sound bubbling up. "Oh my God, Robby."
He winced. "See? Told you. McKayâs fault. She said you probably need it with me being gone all the time, and the others backed her. I read itâs waterproof, so I thought maybe you could use it in the tub, or something. But yeah. If it's dumbâ"
"It's not dumb," you interrupted him, still laughing softly as you set the box aside and crawled into his lap, straddling him. He settled his hands on your hips automatically, steadying you. "It's actually... Very useful.."
He searched your face, his tension finally easing. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." You leaned in, kissing him slowly, threading your fingers through his hair. "Think Iâm gonna put it to use while youâre busy at the pitt."
He exhaled against your lips. "Good. Because I hate leaving you hanging. You better put it to use on a⊠solo mission."
âSolo mission,â your giggles turned into something softer. "I like that plan."
He kissed you again, deeper this time, sliding his hands up your back. âBut you have to promise me youâll be thinking of me when you do.â
This evening, you stir in bed, the sheets tangled around your legs, the faint scent of Robbyâs cologne still lingering on the pillow. And you have a deep and persistent ache between your legs that's been building since morning.
You've been horny all day. It started innocently enough, with a dream about him last night, his hands pinning you down, pressing between your shoulder blades as he pounded into you relentlessly. You woke up wet, feeling your pussy throbbing, but Robby was already gone, and you had a busy day ahead.
You tried to shake it off during your meetings, crossing your legs under the desk, but every shift in your chair sent sparks through you. And as the day progressed, the need became impossible to ignore. Your mind kept drifting to the nightstand drawer, to the pink toy he'd gifted you.
Now, as the clock ticks toward 7 p.m, you give in. You propped yourself against the headboard with pillows, quickly shimming out of your pants and underwear. The toy is cool in your hand when you retrieve it. You've got time, he wonât be home until at least 8 p.m., and waiting until he gets home to get some relief feels impossible. You need to take care of yourself right now.
You switch the toy on, the soft hum vibrates through your palm as you cycle through the intensities. Starting low, with just a gentle pulse. You part your thighs, and the cool air kisses your exposed skin. You press the head against your clit, and the first contact sends a jolt through you. The suction feels unique, itâs not Robbyâs mouth, it doesnât feel like his warm tongue flicking over your clit, like his wet lips nibbling over it as he devours you. But it still feels so good, like a thousand tiny kisses building pressure.
You flutter your eyes closed, tipping your head back against the pillows. "Mmm," you murmur to the empty room, imagining Robby's voice in your ear, murmuring those filthy words you love hearing. âYouâre doing so good, baby.â âJust let go for me.â âLook at how wet this pussy is.â
The sensation builds slowly at first, with lazy waves of pleasure pulsing from your soaked cunt outward. You twist the dial higher, and the vibrations slam into you instantly, matching the exact filthy rhythm Robby uses when heâs greedy for it, with sloppy flicks of his tongue followed by long and hungry drags. Your free hand wanders greedily, shoving under your shirt to palm your tit, pinching and rolling the stiff peak of your nipple between your thumb and forefinger until itâs swollen and aching. The heat explodes through you. Youâve been teasing your dripping pussy with dirty thoughts all fucking day, and now youâre finally letting it ruin you.
You start grinding your hips in slow, nasty circles against the buzzing toy as your arousal coats it. Memories crash over you: Robby pinning your thighs wide and high, his veins standing out on his forearms as he stares down at the obscene way your tits bounce and slap together with every brutal thrust. His voice coming out wrecked: âGoddamn, you look gorgeous like this.â You picture his dark brown hair between your spread legs while he devours you, his beard completely drenched and shining with your juices, and his lips glossy. as he pulls back just enough to smirk up at you with that smug look, âFuck, your pussy tastes so good. I could live with my face buried between your thighs.â
Youâre completely lost in it now, the room is blurring out until nothing exists except the obscene throb between your legs. The pulses drill deeper, your soaked cunt is making wet noises as your arousal drips down the slick pink silicone. You crank the setting higher, way higher, and the air-pulsing waves slam directly against your swollen clit, each one like a dirty little tongue flicking you exactly how Robby does when heâs starving for it. A broken moan spills out of you, âRobbyâŠâ
You twist your nipple harder between your fingers, almost cruelly, the sting shooting straight to your pulsing core while you buck your hips faster, grinding your pussy against the toy in frantic circles.
Unbeknownst to you, the front door clicks open quietly downstairs. Robby takes off his shoes in the entryway. "Baby?" he calls your name softly, but thereâs no answer. Maybe you're already asleep.
He ascends the stairs, drawn by a faint sound⊠a hum? A gasp? A moan? The bedroom door is ajar, and pushes it open a crack, intending to surprise you, but freeze at the sight.
There you are, on the bed, with the sheets rumpled, and your body arched in pleasure.
The Womanizer, his gift, is nestled between your thighs, as your hand guides it with ease. Your shirt had ridden up, exposing the curve of your plump breasts, as one of your hands teases a nipple.
Your face is a picture of ecstasy, your lips parted, your eyes squeezed shut, your brows furrowed like you canât handle so much pleasure. Soft moans punctuate the air, and your hips undulate in a mesmerizing rhythm. He watches, transfixed, as heat pools in his gut.
God, you're beautiful like this, so unaware, completely uninhibited. He's seen you cum many times, but this, solo, lost in your own world⊠It's intoxicating.
Robby feels his cock twitch and thicken in his pants the second he sees you, swelling hard until the fabric is stretched tight over the fat outline of his erection. He braces one shoulder against the doorframe, staying dead quiet so you wonât notice him yet. The way your gorgeous body writhes, rolling your hips like your soaked cunt canât get enough of that toy, those soft little whimpers spilling from your lips⊠itâs fucking destroying him.
âFuck,â he mutters under his breath, palming his throbbing dick through the scrub pants to try and relieve the aching pressure. Itâs been days since heâs buried himself inside you, long shifts, bone-deep exhaustion, stolen kisses that never went anywhere. But now, seeing you spread out and shameless, grinding on the pink vibrator he bought you, slicking it with your own dripping arousal⊠it makes heat coils tight in his gut.
âThatâs my girl,â he thinks, locking his eyes on the obscene way your pussy lips cling to the toy with every roll of your hips. âUsing the gift I gave her. Getting herself off because of me.â
Minutes stretch, he doesn't know how long he stands there, but it's long enough to memorize every detail. The sheen of sweat on your collarbone, the way your thighs tremble, the increasing urgency in your movements. You're close, he can tell by the hitch in your breath, the way you arch your back off the bed. His own need throbs, straining against his pants as beads of pre-cum dampen the fabric. He could touch himself, but no, he wants to savor this, the voyeuristic thrill. Your moans grow louder, more desperate. "Oh God, yes..." and he has to bite his lip to stay quiet. âYes, Robby⊠please, Robby!â
Hearing his name leave your mouth in the shape of a moan pushes him to the edge. His voice comes out low, full of desire: "Don't stop on my account, baby."
You snap your eyes open, a gasp tearing from your throat, itâs half-surprise, and half-climax as the orgasm crashes over you anyway. The toy's pulses tip you over, the waves of pleasure rippling through your core. Your muscles clench, and you curl your toes tight. The orgasm makes you shudder, crying out his name, "Robby!" as the release floods you, leaving you trembling in its wake.
He's across the room in seconds, the door swinging shut behind him. His pants are tented obviously, you notice his evident erection, and the wet patch from how much pre-cum heâs been leaking.
"Fuck, that was hot," he growls, climbing onto the bed, his weight dipping the mattress. He hovers over you, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss.
His hand replaces yours on the toy, still buzzing softly, pressing it gently against your oversensitive clit to draw out aftershocks.
You whimper into his mouth, jerking. "How long were you watching?" you manage to say, breathless, tugging at his shirt.
"Long enough," he admits, nipping at your jaw. "Couldn't help it. You looked... incredible." He grinds against your thigh, letting you feel his hardness. "See what you do to me?"
You reach down, palming him through the fabric, earning a groan from his mouth. "All day," you confess. "Been thinking about you all day."
He chuckles, stripping off his scrub top to reveal the soft planes of his chest. "Good. Maybe I can join you on your⊠solo mission." He turns off the toy, setting it aside, but his fingers take over, sliding through your wetness, circling your clit with expert precision. "Tell me what you were thinking about. I want the details."
You arch into his touch, the words spilling out between gasps. âYou⊠between my thighs, eating me out. Fucking me deep.. grunting like you always do when youâre about to cum inside me.â
âThat's my girl," he slides two fingers inside you, burying them deep, curling them just right. He shifts his weight, using one knee to nudge your legs wider apart.âFuck, youâre soaked. All this just from thinking about me?â
You nod, breathless. âCouldnâtâcouldnât stop. I was so horny⊠I wanted you here.â
He drags his fingers out of your dripping cunt with a loud squelch that has you both groaning. Without breaking eye contact, he reaches for the toy left abandoned on the sheets. He flicks his thumb over the power button once, setting it to the lowest. Then he presses it down right over your swollen, perky clit, watching the way your hips jerk violently as the gentle thrum latches onto your oversensitive nub.
Your whole body arches off the mattress like youâve been electrocuted. âRobbyâ!â
âShh,â he soothes, though thereâs nothing gentle in the way his free hand pins your hip to the bed. âCan you take it, baby? You were taking it so beautifully when I walked in.â
The air-pulse is merciless even on the lowest setting, your oversensitive nerves scream in the best way possible⊠Itâs almost too much, the pleasure is so sharp it borders on pain. You try to snap your thighs closed instinctively, but Robby wedges his hips between them, keeping you spread.
He keeps his eyes locked on your face the whole time, watching the way you fall apart under him. Then, with one hand, he unzips his pants, yanking them down just enough to free his cock. The tip is so red it looks almost angry, like the skin is stretched too tight, aching with the pressure of holding back. A single bead of translucent pre-cum wells at the slit, spilling over and sliding down the underside of the shaft, until it disappears into the coarse mat of dark hair at the base.
He wraps his hand around himself, and give himself one long stroke from the flushed head all the way down to the root, dragging that slick bead along his length until it soaks into the curls that cradle his heavy balls.
Robby lines himself up, gripping the thick base of his member and dragging the blunt head through your folds, coating himself in your creamy mess
He doesnât slam in, not yet. Instead, he rocks forward in torturous little grinds, just the fat tip breaching your tight entrance, stretching that fluttering ring of muscle wide around him before pulling back out with an obscene pop. Each shallow tease has your cunt clenching greedily around nothing, trying to suck him deeper, while the Womanizer hums against your clit in perfect sync with every roll of his hips, driving you insane with the double torment of almost being filled and never quite getting it.
Youâre babbling now, a bunch of incoherent little pleas. âPleaseâplease, Robby, deeperâneed youâplease.â
Hearing you beg is enough for him to give you what you ask for.
It takes one long and relentless slide for him to be buried to the hilt inside you. The stretch exquisite, filling every aching inch of you. You cry out, digging your nails into the meat of his shoulders.
He holds himself there for a heartbeat, buried to the hilt, letting you feel every throbbing inch stretching your soaked cunt wide. Your walls flutter and clench greedily around him like theyâre trying to milk him dry.. Then he starts to move with deep strokes at first, dragging his cock almost all the way out until just the head catches at your entrance, making your pussy gape and drip, before slamming back in with a slap that echoes in the room.
He rolls his hips in that slow rhythm he knows ruins you every time, grinding the ridged head of his dick right over your front wall on every pass, hammering that spongy spot until your vision whites out and stars explode behind your eyes. Each thrust forces a fresh gush of your arousal to coat his shaft, dripping down his balls as he fucks you open, owning every inch of you.
The toy stays glued to your clit the entire time, and youâre drowning in sensation. You can hear the wet slap of skin on skin, the creak of the mattress, his ragged breathing against your neck, and he relentless suction on your clit, now climbing to the second intensity level without you even noticing heâd adjusted it.
âGoddamn, listen to you,â he growls. âSo fucking wet. You like how it sucks on your clit, huh? Like me fucking you while it works you?â
You can only whine in response, thrashing your head on the pillow. All that exists is the building pressure, the tingling heat in your lower belly, the way every nerve ending feels lit up and screaming.
He shifts his hips, hooking one of your thighs high over the crook of his elbow, spreading you wide open. The new angle lets him sink even deeper. You dig your heel into the small of his back, right above the firm curve of his ass, and shove him forward with desperate force, trying to force every thick inch deeper until heâs splitting you in half.
Robby lets out a low growl as your greedy push drives him balls-deep, and your slick walls clamping down like theyâre never letting him go. âFuck, thatâs it,â he rasps, âpull me in, baby⊠Take it allâ
Your second orgasm builds fast, dangerously fast. âR-robbyâIâmâfuck, Iâm g-gonnaââ
âDo it,â he orders, snapping his hips forward with bruising force. âCum around me. Let me feel it.â
The command tips you over. You shatter violently, bowing your back, your thighs shaking uncontrollably, a broken cry tearing from your throat as your walls clamp down around him in rhythmic spasms. The toy doesnât let up, the vibrations drag the climax out impossibly long, turning one peak into rolling aftershocks that leave you sobbing with pleasure.
Your slick gushes out around his cock, dripping in thick rivulets down the crack of your ass to puddle on the sheets beneath you. He stares down between your spread thighs, mesmerized by the sight: your tight little hole stretched and flushed around his girth, clinging desperately to every veined inch as he pulls out, then plunges back in deep. Each thrust leaves creamy white rings of your arousal smeared along his shaft.
âJesus, look at that mess,â he keeps his eyes locked on the way your pussy lips grip him. Hs rhythm is faltering for the first time. âFuckâthatâs it, babyâfuckââ
He drops the toy onto the bed, and it keeps buzzing uselessly against the mattress. Robby grips both your hips with bruising force. The gentleness is gone, now itâs pure need, fast thrusts that punch the air out of your lungs, chasing his own release inside the still-pulsing grip of your body.
Youâre oversensitive, almost crying from how good it feels, how too much it is. Your scrabble your hands on his back until your nails leave red lines.
He buries his face in your neck, grazing his teeth over your pulse point. âGonna cumâfuck! Iâm cumming, baby.â
âI-insideâpleaseâfuck, I want it insideââ you beg, clawing at his back as you plead for him to flood your pussy with every drop. âRobbyâfill me up, pleaseââ
Three more brutal thrusts, deep enough to bruise your cervix, and he slams one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he cums. His hips jerk and stutter uncontrollably while he unloads inside you with thick and hot ropes of cum erupting in endless pulses, painting your walls, flooding your womb until you can feel the warmth. Every twitch of his cock, every fat spurt, sends shivers through your overstimulated body as he pumps you full.
For long moments, neither of you moves. All you can hear are your ragged breaths combined and the faint, continued hum of the forgotten toy somewhere on the bed.
His cock finally starts to soften inside you, it gives your stretched cunt just enough room to let his load begin leaking out. Pearly ropes of his cum slowly ooze from your used and puffy pussy, sliding in trails down your slick folds, dripping in globs that coat his balls, matting the dark hair there with white.
Eventually, he eases out, carefully, both of you hissing at the loss. Robby collapses half on top of you, tucking his face into the crook of your neck, scratching it with his beard. His hand finds yours, and he laces your fingers together.
âShit, baby,â he mutters after a while. âI think you killed me.â
You laugh weakly, still trembling. âYou started it with your little voyeuristic act.â
He huffs a tired laugh against your skin. âNot my fault if you look like that when you're having some alone time,â he presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your collarbone. âRemind me to thank McKay,â he mumbles, already half-asleep, one arm slung across your waist.
You smile into his hair, your body still humming, full of him, marked by him. âYeah,â you whisper. âThink she deserves some freshly baked cookies.â
I was so excited to write this one because Iâve been stuck on the idea of Robby watching his s/o touch herself while he watches⊠itâs been living in my head rent-freeđ By the way, this is the toy Robby got the reader in the fic, hehe. Iâd love to have a Womanizer, Iâve heard theyâre way better than the Satisfyer. Maybe someone who works there is reading this and wants to give me a deal for the free publicity, lol.
synopsisrobby went away hoping to catch peace in his three months get away but he caught sight of something else instead. now he's coming back after watching you for months over a camera, desperate for the real thing but what you don't know won't hurt you, right? (7.5k words)
warningssmut MDNI, voyerism, phone sex, watching masturbation through cameras, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, praise kink, smell play if thats a thing, fingering, oral (f and m receiving) finger sucking, handjob, slight chocking? unprotected p in v
authornotesby popular demand a part two to camera on me baby! but it can also kind of be read as a standalone. on a side note, I hate the word 'panties' I don't know why. In britain i'm pretty sure we call them knickers but that also sounds way less sexy. and i know Noah said in an interview he doesn't have chest hair but Robby does, I don't make the rules. (gif credit to @emziess :)
pitt masterlist! part one 'camera on me baby'
It was Duke's fault, really. The reason why you found out about the camera's in the first place. Although the blame on Duke can be run back down to Robby again for asking his friend to help instal the damn things.
You'd got home after a typical gruelling day, dumping your bag at the kitchen counter and rolling out the tension in your shoulders. There wasn't even anything special about the day that made it feel so long. You'd all been so sure (well, almost everyone, you had not been sure) that the place could run without Robby, so much so many felt they needed to prove that fact.
The wrong blood was hooked up to a patient, realised in just a nick of time.
Two diagnosis were switched up so a poor old man thought he was dying a lot sooner than he was. Jack smoothed that one out.
And a man with heart palpations just couldn't leave his cat so had to bring him in and Gloria just had to come down at that same time.
So you were ready to crash when there was a knock on the door.
Something you learnt living in Robby's space was the lack of visitors he had. You'd bumped into Mrs Hathaway who lived two doors down and had a bad habit of smoking a pack a day and carried the smell with her and explained that Robby was away so you were looking after his one house plant and bringing in his male.
But Mrs Hathaway never came around.
You wondered if you'd been so tired you'd called yourself a take-away and forgot as you looked through the peep hole.
Long grey hair and stormy eyes looked back at you. A denim vest and tattoos standing out against the canvas of skin. Before you wouldn't have known the guy; would've debated crashing Robby's peace to ask who this guy was but now he was a frequent flyer at PTMC.
âHey, Duke,â you greeted, holding the door open.
Duke grinned and went in for a hug. âHey.â
He smelt like bike oil and leather but you patted his back. You didn't know if he was deep down an affectionate guy or if it was the diagnosis but every time he visited the hospital for check ups or meds for his pain who was asking for particular nurses and buying up their time with idle chatter.
Nobody seemed to mind.
âRobby's still not back,â you said, pulling away and following him into Robby's place.
âOh yeah, I know, just needed to pick up some tools I left here,â he said.
You watched him move around, flicking on lights as he went that you hadn't had the chance to turn on yet. He moved around Robby's place like he knew every nook and cranny. Maybe he did. Slowly, you were learning Robby had a life outside of the Pitt.
âSo, how's the bachelor pad treating you?â Duke called as he wondered around the space.
âIt's nice, it's good,â you said, following behind a pace or two and just hoping the tools weren't in Robby's room. Then he might see your bag you'd slowly let spill out over the place and a coffee mug you'd left from this morning. He might see the rumpled sheets and thrown over cover and realise you were sleeping in your bosses bed and not the provided spare room.
The guest room bed hadn't been made and you'd been so tired coming back that you'd just crashed in his bed, for one night. You were going to clean the sheets but then his bed was so comfortable you struggled even getting up in the morning.
It felt like an embrace from him.
âThe wi-fi playing up or anything?â he asked, searching through kitchen cupboards.
âNo, it's been fine.â
âBeen eating? Punk has a good kitchen.â
âDid Robby ask you to check on me, or something?â you asked, hoping Robby didn't think he'd made a mistake in asking you to house sit. His one plant was very well cared for and mail organised by what you think required his upmost attention first. You'd even kept a pile of junk mail just in case he was particular in the sort he got rid of.
âNo,â Duke chuckled. âI just know I'll get bonus points if I check in on you.â
Before you could ask what he meant by that there was a triumphant cheer as he started to pull out so many tools and a tool box you wondered if he was robbing Robby.
âDid Robby tell you he has a parking spot reserved out front? Parking can be a bitch here.â
âOh, I don't drive I catch the bus.â
âHe tell you about the camera's.â
The sleep that had been invading your every sense ebbed away. âCameras?â
âYeah,â he said. âAround the place. Installed them a couple months back.â
Cameras. All around the place.
You searched high around in places you'd never thought to scrutinise before. There, looming like a bird of prey in the corner of the kitchen was what could be assumed a camera. It was just a black dot to you with the high ceilings but when you glanced over at the living area there was a better view of the camera sat in the corner, aimed right where you stood at the kitchen island.
Cameras. About the place. The place you'd been living for weeks.
You'd been sleeping in Robby's bed, you'd been flaunting around in your shirt and nothing else. You had Trinity around to eat pizza and drink wine in your bras. You'd looked through Robby's stuff, you'd-
You'd done un-speakable things to yourself in that bed.
Were they a security measure? Did the tapes end up anywhere? And if they did, could you find them and burn them.
âThe camera's,â said Duke, standing with tool box full in hand. âHe mentioned them right.â
No. Robby hadn't mentioned anything of the sort. Hadn't even let onto the fact you might want to be on your guard. He'd welcomed you into his place, told you to treat it like yours while he was gone.
âOh, yeah, cameras. He-he told me about the camera's,â you lied, gulping down the truth.
What if you said no he hadn't and it was written all over your face that you were guilty of.... of something. What if Duke thought it was Robby's fault? He was probably just tired, or forgot they were even there.
âYeah, took us ages to get up. We were no good at it, you know, old men and technology,â he said, heading toward the door already.
âYeah, yeah... totally.â
âOkay, see ya soon, doc!â
âYou too, Duke.â As distracted as you were, Duke let himself out. The door closed and you were left alone with the cameras.
Maybe they weren't working all the time. Maybe, since Robby knew it was just you and he could trust you he'd turned off the cameras. Maybe he really had just forgot they were there and no longer used them.
Maybe's chased you into Robby's ensuite, sat you down on the of the counter. You scanned the corners subtly in case you were being watched but found only clean tiles and sterile walls. Safe.
As for the rest of the place, you dreaded to think.
You had almost forgot all about the cameras again. The first night you slept stiff, still un-able to drag yourself from the comfort of Robby's bed but you found the camera, tucked away in a corner. You'd watched for a flashing light but found none, so did that not mean it was off?
You thought about texting Robby, asking him about the cameras but you looked back at the last texts. He'd sent you a picture of a lake he was at, said it was peaceful, said he was enjoying his time. You didn't want to freak him out or accuse him of anything.
You knew the kind of guy Robby was. If he remembered the cameras, he'd tell you.
Moving on from that catastrophe was easy when you worked in the ED. Disasters came in and managed your time. You'd thought about asking Jack when you saw him at hand off but smiled him off.
Days later you were forgetting all about it.
âI mean, I've heard some pretty crazy stories before but a carrot, up the butt,â Trinity chuckled down the phone.
âIs it bad it's not even the first I've seen,â you said. âI had someone with a cucumber up there once.â
Santos hummed on the other end of the phone. âI get it, longer, smoother.â
You had been chopping up a carrot to make a ragu and thought different of it, putting it aside and forging any vegetable that could be seen as phallic. âYou're disgusting.â
âSay that to the patient with half a carrot stuck up there.â
A quick sear of pain made you jump as beads of blood found its way down to Robby's chopping board and the onion you'd been slicing.
âOh shit-â
âWhat happened? Found Robby's Viagra?â she said down the other line.
âHilarious,â you grit out. Without thinking you grabbed the tea towel and wrapped it around your hand, holding it up high. You cursed quietly again when you realised you'd just ruined one of his. âI just, er, dropped one of Robby's glasses, I gotta go, I'll call you back.â
You wedged your wrapped up hand into your chest and ended the call.
Being a doctor yourself you knew you could handle a cut, blood, a gash. Peeling it away and dabbing at the edges you found the wound, a clean cut, not too deep. Stitches, maybe.
If you kept it wrapped up you could just leave it till the morning for your shift-
Your phone rang again and you answered without looking. Most calls logged in your phone were Trinity anyway. âNo, I have not seen a banana in a vagina.â
âWell hello to you too,â said a striking and familiar deep rumble of a voice.
âRobby. Hey, sorry I-I thought you were Santos.â
He chuckled but it was curt. âExciting day in work?â
âYeah-yeah, you could say that,â you put down your phone on speaker and re-wrapped your hand. âSo what's up? What's with the call?â
âI just wanted to... check in, it's been a while.â
You squeezed your hand, trying to stop the bleeding. âEverything's fine. All fine. Place is still standing.â
âYeah, yeah, that's good, that's good,â he said with hesitation. âHow are you? Staying safe, no-no accidents around the place I hope. Sometimes that place is a death trap. Door can stick... and- and my knives can be... sharp.â
Suddenly you realised.
The camera's.
Robby hadn't called you while he'd been away. He'd text only oddly to see how things were or send pictures of where he was- that was a new development.
He'd texted you about the temp playing up in his shower after you made one too hot and had to lie bare on is bed with his fan on you.
He'd texted that he had extra blankets if you were cold when you were wrapped up in his dressing gown.
He knew about the camera's.
Robby had seen. Everything.
âStill there?â he asked.
âYeah, yeah, sorry just- funny you should bring up the knives, I just had a little accident.â
âAre you okay? Did you cut yourself?â
You tried not to eye the camera's. âJust a small cut.â
âYou wouldn't lie to me would you?â he asked, a dark tint to his voice.
You didn't know what worried you more. The fact he was watching you close enough to see and call you, or the fact the thought didn't creep you out as you supposed it should. âHow would you feel if I bloodied one of your tea towels.â
âRelieved, as long as you get your cut looked at.â
âAnd if I got blood on a chopping board.â
âChopping board- bit of wood, I can get some more wood up here.â
âAnd how is your trip?â
Robby chuckled. âOh no, no, no you're not distracting me from this. Got to the ER.â
âIt's not that deep.â
âIt loo-â
For a moment you were both silent, knowing what he was going to say. It looks bad. You felt burning in the back of your skull as you felt the camera's around you like his own gaze when he was watching your procedures in the ED.
âBetter safe than sorry,â he said with a clear of his throat.
âI'll be fine.â
âYeah, well, I've already texted Jack letting him know you're on your way in so you don't want to disappoint him do you. Or me. Do you, huh?â
You hoped the camera's didn't pick up on the blush rising to your cheeks. âNo, I do not, Doctor Robby.â
He hummed. âGood girl.â
Your breath caught in your throat and the sudden thump of pain in your hand moved somewhere lower. Was it normal to feel aroused by the idea of being watched, with a cut bloody hand and your boss down the line.
âI guess I better get going, I don't want to disappoint.â
âNo you don't.â
âSo, I should go.â
âYou should.â
He did not hang up and neither did you. At least you had the excuse of doing it all one handed.
âOkay, bye then,â you said, biting down on your lip to hide your smile.
âBye.â
âSpeak soon?â
âYeah, I'll call you.â
Finally you pulled the phone back and declined. You wondered if you could hide away in the bathroom but the camera...
How much time did he spend watching you? Did he just so happen to check in at the same time the knife sliced your palm? Was he watching and had been watching since he left?
Had he watched when you plunged your fingers into your own pussy, spreading your need around... and called his name?
What kind of person did it make you if you wanted him to see that?
You got your hand sorted, stropping into the ED like you were a petulant child. Jack had only laughed at you, all but waiting in a swivel stool and turning around like a James Bond villain just to say: âI've been expecting you.â
However, your hand did need stitches and as the slice was along your palm it made trauma procedures difficult. You were stuck ordering around Ogilvie which was about as fun as it sounded and charting.
There was only small reliefs.
Practically as soon as you got back to Robby's he was dropping you a text or calling you. Usually it was under the pretence of checking on your hand or that he was waiting on an important letter but you knew it wasn't that. He knew exactly when you were home, whether it was overtime or not.
The camera's became hard to ignore but you tried to. You didn't want to freak Robby out by telling him you know about them. You didn't want to scare him off from watching you. Shouldn't it have been the other way around? Shouldn't he know that what he was doing was wrong on so many levels? Borderline, stalker-ish.
Still, one night, one lonely night you were in his bed unable to sleep. You were too busy thinking about Robby and the cameras.
It was hard being single and lonely. You had your own devices but toys were back at yours (Trinity brought you them as a joke birthday present and it turned into an even bigger joke when you opened them up in front of Denis) and you didn't want to bring toys into Robby's room.
Porn videos could get you going. Maybe a smutty book.
But knowing the camera's were there made it all the more easier to slide your fingers in your panties and find your arousal pooling.
Maybe Robby wasn't watching. Maybe he could tell this was a private moment and he shouldn't have been watching. The thought had your fingers stilling over your clit, your mind racing ahead of you. Maybe he didn't look at the camera's... maybe this was you over thinking it all...
Your phone rang on the bedside table and you reached over to get it.
There was a flash of Robby's name so familiar to you know it was like your own phone background.
Your other hand was still down your panties when you answered.
âHey.â
âHey,â his voice was gruff, low in his throat like he'd just woken up. âWhat are you up to?â
So, he was watching.
You smirked to yourself, trying desperately not to look at the camera. âWhyyyy are you asking?â
You heard him shuffle around on the other end. âDunno, was just bored. Was thinking about you.â
âOh, really?â trying not to sound too delighted was not your specialty.
âYeah... seem to be doing that a lot these days.â
âYou must miss me, huh?â
âYeah. I must,â he hummed. âYou know, I think you'd like it up here. Heck, I actually think I could've used the company, too.â
You slid a finger through your entrance. You were wet before just thinking about him, his voice low and gruff, the way it fell when talking through a serious procedure made it so you were clenching with every rise and fall of his voice. âIf I was there with you who'd look after your place?â
âHmm, you make a good point,â he said, a small tick to his words. âSpeaking of my place, which bed you sleeping in?â
You felt your cheeks tint red as you pushed in another finger, pushing in and out slowly. Did he want to hear you were in his bed, even though he could see that you were? You toyed with him a little. It seemed only fair. âWhy? Didn't you say I could pick either?â
âI'm just curious. Tell me.â
You closed your eyes and inhaled the smell of him that still lingered around his bed, clouding the edges of your mind in desire. âYours.â
He chuckled. âMine, huh?â
âYeah. It's got the ensuite. It's bigger. It's comfy,â you said. You moved your fingers around your clit, drawing small circles and stretching your legs wider. You had some decency, let it be known, you were under the covers with an old and tattered T-shirt but you were sure it wasn't hard to tell what you were getting up to under there.
âComfy, you think so?â
âYeah,â you said. âSmells like you too.â
A breath caught down the line. âDo you like that it smells like me?â
You nodded, growing wetter as your eyes closed. âI do. I can wash it before you get back so it doesn't smell like me.â
âNo,â he said, an un-mistakable sound of a zipper being pulled down sat behind his words. âDon't wash them. Don't.â
You smirked to yourself, the circles you were drawing over your nerves growing lazy. âWhat are you doing, Robby?â
âNothing,â he said, a teasing lift to his voice and a rustle of clothes. âWhat are you doing?â
âNothing,â you said, sliding your fingers into yourself and out, spreading your arousal as your hole clenched around nothing. You shuffled, getting your shirt to ride higher, but not enough for him to tell.
âAre you doing nothing in my bed?â
âDo you want me to be?â
There was a small but shark intake of breath on the other end. âYeah. Yeah I do.â
You pictured Robby spread out on a sofa in a log cabin somewhere far away. His legs would be spread wide, jeans and boxers pulled down till his cock, hard, was against his stomach. His laptop out at the coffee table, phone to his ear. You wondered if he took things slow? You'd always pictured him the hot and heavy type. His fist wrapped around his cock and pumping, tickling the dark hairs you imagined lived at the base of him.
Your hips jutted up as you pictured him. Hot and heavy. You imagined him next to you in his bed, his coarse hand tracing up your body, finger pinching your nipple.
âWhat have you been doing... at my place?â he asked, a sudden breathless tone to him. âIn my bed.â
You bit back your lip. âSleeping,â you teased.
Robby groaned, almost a growl. âWhat-what else?â
âIs there supposed to be something else?â
âFuck, yes.â
Fuck yes. You pictured him spreading your legs, rubbing his mouth against you with the burn of his beard. Fuck yes. You imagined his cock heavy on your tongue, needy and groaning. Fuck yes. You pumped your fingers in and out and circled your clit imagining the plumpness of his fingers.
âWhatever- whatever you want me to be doing in your bed.â It was a dangerous sort of game you were playing, balancing over the line you weren't crossing with the cameras like it was a tightrope.
âWell... you know what a lonely, old man like me does in that bed, huh?â he said. âYou wanna know?â
You nodded and without asking for words he started to tell you, because of course he didn't have to hear your confirmation to see you it.
âAfter long and hard days, just come home, put the tv on low, maybe some music... drink a beer,â he listed as you impatiently waited for him to get to the exciting parts. Still, his voice was enough to have your legs stretched open, your fingers working yourself open. âSometimes it's tough to stop thinking about my pretty resident...â
âHope you're not talking about Whitaker,â you joked.
âYou know I'm not, baby,â said Robby with a shaky exhale. âYou know I go home... get so hard thinking about you...â
You moaned out a gasp.
âYou like me thinking about you?â he asked.
You thought of him spitting down on his cock, slowly rubbing it up and down. Or maybe he had pre-cum enough to lubricate it for him. âI do, I do.â
There was a puff of air on the other side. âYou ever think about me?â
Your back arched off the bed as you curled your fingers inside of you. âYes.â
âYou ever think about me in that big lonely bed, my cock hard for you. God, can you picture me and my hands running all over you. Would start at the bottom. Would you be wet for me, babygirl?â
âYes, Robby, yes, I am,â you gasped out.
There was a light chuckle.
âOh, you are?â he said with a seethe. Was he teasing the tip of himself? squeezing and thinking about your hand there instead? âYou thinking about me, baby?â
âYou know I am.â
Robby laughed, the sort one laughed when they knew something you didn't. It was cruel. It was mean. But was it worse you knew and liked it? âYeahhh, I know you are.â
You tilted your head into his pillow, shifting till you could breathe him in and careful not to drool. âThinking about- about your tongue,â you said, rubbing your clit with hard pressure, trembling with need.
âMy tongue, huh?â he said, a jangle of a belt. Was he pushing away his jeans and spreading his legs further? Were you framed on the counter, between his legs how he wanted you to be? âAre you thinking about my tongue in your needy pussy? Is it making you wet?â
âYes, yes, Robby. I really want you.â
âSpread your legs for me.â
âThey are.â
He grunted. âWider.â
Almost irritated that he wasn't here, you pushed the cover down till you knew the camera could see all of you. Still clothed. Still clad. But Robby would be able to see your hand down your black panties and how far your legs fell open.
He pretended like he heard the covers move instead of saw it happen. âFuck... yes, baby.â
âI wish you were here,â you said, eyes kept close to imagine him and to not give the camera a devilish wink. âWish I- your cock-â
âWhat about my cock?â he asked, voice strained. âYou want it? You want my cock? How'd you want it?â
You circled your fingers around you, jerking at every touch, desperate to come but even more desperate to keep it going. âWant to taste it. Lick it. I- I want to know what you taste like.â
Robby shuddered. It was like you could feel it through the phone and through you. âShit, you-you can't say things like that, baby.â
âBut really want it,â you moaned. âAlways wanted it down my throat.â
âOh fuck, always huh?â
âAlways.â
âWell... you've been such a good girl looking after my place for me, haven't you?â he teased. Listening closely, you thought you could hear the sound of skin on skin, the slick squelch of it. His hand working himself, maybe he was even sweating with desire. âSleeping in my bed, just like I wanted. Living in my space. Bathing in my shower. Maybe I should thank you...â
âPlease, please Robby.â
âAh, oh god,â he strained. âWould lay you out on my bed, clean up all your mess with my tongue. Think you'd have to suck on my fingers to stop all the moaning, I have neighbours, baby-â
You didn't care as you moaned out at that.
â- god I want to fuck you. Oh, I want to fuck you so bad.â
You put your phone on speaker, set it aside and worked your hand under your shirt to grope your breast, moving from one to the other.
âKeep playing with yourself, baby, keep playing with yourself,â he groaned.
âRobby, are you- are you close?â you asked. Every circle of your clit had you closer and closer to the edge, had your legs trembling and heart pounding. You could hear Robby mumbling to himself.
âShit- god- you're always so beautiful. Spread out, god I can picture you. Your skin so smooth, pussy so sweet. Want to bury myself in there, yeah, fuck, baby-â
âRobby-â
â-Yes baby! I'm close- I'm close, I wont last.â
âWanna hear you come,â you whined.
âYou first,â he said. âThink of me there. Press you into my bed, have you on your stomach, press allll of me into you. Cock just- just buried inside you there. Could just watch your ass go, shit, get it red.... you know how. Oh my god baby, please come for me.â
You pressed down with circles on your clit and came around your fingers, whining, moaning and you heard Robby over the phone groaning, heard his small exclamations as he came around his hand.
âOh baby, you did so good for me, so good,â he uttered as the both of you caught your breath.
You took your phone off speakerphone and placed it back to your ear. It was small but you felt closer to him with his voice deep down your ear.
âNow clean yourself up on my bed. When I come back, wanna smell yourself there with me.â
The Pitt swallowed you up the rest of the days that followed. As if it knew you had something to go home to, as if it knew you wanted to do nothing more than talk to Robby, think about Robby, dream about Robby, it kept you so busy with late nights and six am wake up calls you had little time to live in this new found lust.
Robby didn't push. You didn't speak about that night because you didn't have to. He still texted with regular check ups when you got home. Still send random pictures of lakes or trees but he knew the demands of work and he didn't prod.
âHave we got labs back on our guy in seven?â you asked Dana.
âNot yet, want me to chase them up?â she asked.
âPlease. I'm already behind on discharging two patients,â you muttered to her as Al-Hishimi walked by, head held high as she over saw the place. âBut all caught up on my charting!â you said loudly to assure her.
You got a nod back and that was enough for you.
âHow's Robby?â
You looked back to Dana, lips pursed, brows raised in question. âWhat?â
âYou heard from him? I guess you had, you stayin' in his place and all,â she said, looking at you through her glasses.
You checked down to your tablet and the patients in three and twelve you needed to discharge, hoping the glow of the screen wouldn't blow up your blush. âEr, yeah, he's doing good, I-I think. We don't talk... all the time.â
âYeah?â Dana smirked.
You glanced back up at her, catching the knowing glint in her eyes. You looked back down. âYeah.â
âOkay then.â
Dana moved around you from the counter, patting your hand lovingly before she stopped in her tracks. âOh. Looks like I can ask him myself.â
âWhat?â
There were already crowding voices, people calling out his name and nurses going in for fist bumps and high fives. There were questions about what he was doing back earlier than he said, if he'd brought back any gifts. You even heard Garcia who was passing about that promised butchers knife.
Robby stood in the middle of the group like he was some celebrity but his eyes found yours over all of them.
âHe returns!â cheered Dana, bringing her arms around him.
One of Robby's own arms snuck around her back. âAnd in one piece.â
She pulled away and slapped him in the chest. âHey, don't joke about that.â
Slowly, with Dana's coaching everyone moved back, got back to their jobs and their life. And slowly, Robby sauntered over to you.
You tried to look busy. Tried to wet your mouth that had run dry at the sight of him. A hip bumped into yours as Santos- an all too giddy Santos- slid up next to you.
âLooks like we're back to being room-mates, roomie,â she teased with a grin.
âIf I didn't know any better I'd say you'd missed me?â
Santos tried to brush it off but you saw the way she shifted her weight from foot to foot in discomfort. She usually only got so discomforted when emotions like love was involved. âPlease. Just want to out-weigh Denis with gender again.â
You smelt Robby before you heard him. He said Santo's name, then yours.
Trinity welcomed him back before she left just as quick as she'd arrived.
Robby let on the counter next to you. He was in jeans and the same coat he'd left it, his bag slung on his back with a helmet dangling off the side. He wasn't working, but he'd came by anyway.
âYou're back early,â you said, flicking between patient charts.
âSurprised?â
âVery,â you said, realising you weren't as confident as you'd been nights ago. âI can get my stuff out tonight.â
âI don't want you out,â he said, dropping his voice low. âYou know why I came here early, don't go shy on me now.â
âI'm not going shy,â you said, though you were.
âAre you blushing?â he teased, the graze of his knuckle brushing your neck and sending tingels over your body.
âNo.â
âYou are.â
You batted him away and turned to consider him. âWhy'd you come back early?â
Robby wet his lips, eyes casting over you. âBecause I had something to come back for.â
You eyes averted to his hands, reverting back to thinking of the coarse skin and imagining him dragging his fingers over you. âI don't get off my shift for another two hours.â
âI can wait.â
Waited he did and the two of you barley made it past his front door before he was grasping you and kissing you. There was no hesitation in his hands or your lips. He gripped and squeezed your hips as the door slammed shut behind you. Robby didn't waste a second in pulling off his jacket and grabbing you again, as if scared you'd disappear in the wind.
He didn't even glance around his place. The only thing he was honed in on was you.
Your lips worked against his furiously, hands gripping his shoulders. âHow was your trip?â you were breathless, pulling away to un-button his shirt.
Robby chased your lips, eyes closed, lips curling up into a drunken smile. âFine.â He kissed you again, mint on his tongue. His hands were warm as they traced up your scrub top, un-tucking your vest from your pants.
His rough hands on your skin woke something else in you. A need you thought you'd made friends with but clearly didn't even know. He kneaded the skin at your hips, working hard to leave red marks.
âDreamt about you,â he said, lips trailing down your jaw to your neck, nose nudging a path. âEvery night.â
âEvery night?â you gasped as he bit and licked up your neck.
âMornings. Afternoons. All the time.â
Your smiled to yourself, pushing off his shirt. âIt was supposed to be a relaxing break.â
âIt wasn't.â
The two of you had stumbled to his room and pulled off clothes. The both of you knew the way well. By the time you'd pushed the door open Robby's belt was discarded as well as your shirt.
With firm hands Robby turned you around till you were facing the headboard, till his hips flushed against your ass and the rough denim of his jeans rubbed against your ass.
Your head lulled back onto his shoulder and he licked up your skin.
âThis where you slept?â he muttered, nipping at your ear. âThis where you touched yourself, thinking 'bout me?â
âY-yes.â
You felt the scratch of his beard as he turned his head. You noticed, from the corner of his eyes that he looked up to the corner where the camera sat. He was delighting in this.
âShow me,â he demanded.
You wriggled against him, trying to turn and set yourself on the bed.
His hands gripped your hips. âNo, show me here... now.â
All you could do was shuffle down your scrub pants and panties while Robby un-clasped your bra, messaging your breasts. You groaned at the feel of him working at you while you slid a finger over your folds.
âThere we go, that's my girl,â he encouraged, chin resting on your shoulder and watching. âAnother finger, another finger.â
You slid two in just as you had the other night, imagining his weight on you, his hands. You thought you were wet then but now your need spread down you.
Robby made out with the skin of your neck, stretching his arm out to hold yours that worked inside of you. âGod, you're so beautiful. Could watch you like this all night.â
You whined, tilting your head back to give him more access. âRobby.â You thrust your ass back into his crotch and you could feel the hard outline of his cock.
âYou come in this bed, huh?â he uttered.
âY-yes.â
He hummed into your skin. âMore than once I bet.â
âYes, Robby!â
His hand snaked down to yours, helping move your fingers in and out of you. âGod, you're so wet, so wet for me.â
Your hand flew up, grasping the back of his neck. âRobby, please... can I have your fingers inside of me?â
Robby smiled against you. âYou asked so nicely. Such a good girl,â he said. His fingers wrapped around your wrist and brought out your fingers, leading your hand up to his mouth. âBet you're not always though, huh?â
Two of his thick fingers pushed into your easily and he moaned.
âFuck baby, you're warm... tight-â
You groaned at the feel of his fingers working inside of you and his tongue licking up the mess of your on his fingers. He brought your fingers into his mouth, groaning.
In moments you were withering, a moaning mess and grinding down on his hand while his tongue swirled around your fingers, sucking and nipping at your finger pads while his beard scraped your hand.
If those cameras kept a log somewhere, you were dying to see Robby. The feel of his hips rocking into you, him moaning around your fingers.
âCan you come on my fingers?â he asked, voice muffled by where he wouldn't release you in his mouth.
You shook your head in defiance. âI want- I want more.â
âYou can have more, you can have more,â he said, finally taking your fingers from his mouth and licking up them. âBut you have to come first.â
His thumb pressed down on your clit in small circles and your caved into his body, coming over his hand. Robby helped you ride against his hand.
Only when your body stopped moving and your chest calmed its heaving did Robby pull away from you.
He pushed you down on the bed, ass up and dropped to his knees, shoving his face between your folds.
You cried out at the feel of his tongue splitting your fold and soaking up your arousal and orgasm. His hands spread your thighs, pulling at the skin till you were spread, till his nose ran up and down. âOh fuck, Robby!â
âHold onto the sheets, baby,â he said, muffled inside of you.
There was little anything else for you to do. Your hands curled around the sheets, pulling. You thrust your ass up into his face but Robby welcomed it, chuckling into you. His beard scratched between your legs, deliciously.
He slurped once before pulling back, crowding over you till all of him was pressed against you. âKiss me.â
And you did. You tasted yourself on his tongue, on his lips. He turned you down over onto your back and you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into you till his weight was crushing you.
It could have been hours of breathing in each other, of licking into each others mouths, of sucking on each others bottom lips, of feeling each other up and mapping what made each other tingle and shake.
Robby stepped back and made a slow show of popping the button on his jeans and pushing them down slow with his boxers.
You crawled over the bed till you were at the edge, staring at his cock. There was dark hair over his chest, leading down to himself where he curved, hard up to his stomach.
Robby stared down at you, staring at him. âYou want it? You want my cock?â
âYeah... please...â
Robby stroked back your hair. âDid you think about my cock, in my bed?â
You looked up to him and smirked. âAll the time.â
You took him into your mouth, slow and watched as Robby threw his head back. You could feel him tense before letting go, shoulders sagging, body melting as you slowly worked up and down his length, savouring the taste of him.
Robby kept on hand stroking back your hair tenderly but didn't push you down to his cock. He let you set the pace. âOh my god,â he groaned as you licked the tip, circling it.
You learnt every tell of him. The tick of his jaw when you licked over him, the small pressure from his finger tips, his groans about how good you were doing that all went straight down to your core.
Whatever you'd imagined, this was better than any dream.
âDeeper... deeper.... there we go, baby, there we go... take me so good.â
You moaned around him and Robby chocked on a moan before pulling you off.
You knelt on the bed, hands running over the plumpness of his stomach. You peppered kisses along his chest as his hands pushed back your hair.
You glanced up at him, something wicked curling in your stomach as you saw him eye the camera again. âRobby...â
âYeah, baby?â
âWere you ever gonna tell me about the cameras?â
He froze. You felt his heart pound under your hand, his eyes levelled on you. âYou knew?â
âDuke told me.â
Robby scoffed, leaving you to figure Duke's visit did not capture Robby's attention over the camera's. âDuke.â
âHe didn't mean to tell me... like you didn't.â
His breath stuttered, eyes peering at you like he was trying to read you. âI forgot.â
âForgot?â your fingers curled around his cock.
He seethed in a breath. âYou set the fire alarm off, fuck I saw you. Couldn't stop, but you knew didn't you?â
Your hand may have been wrapped around his cock but you didn't have the upper hand. He looked down at you with a knowing glint, his hand cupping your chin and forcing you to look up at him as you slowly stroked him.
âYou got yourself off on it, put on a show for me,â he said, his fingers slowly stroking your chin. âWanted this dirty old man to watch, didn't you?â
You swiped your thumb over the tip of his cock.
Robby seethed. âYeah you did.â
A couple strokes later and Robby was moving away from you, leaving you to watch with wide eyes.
You watched as he pulled his phone out and set it in front of you before he climbed up on his bed behind you. Steadying himself on his arms he braced and slowly sank on top of you, the tip of himself rubbing between your folds.
The app.
The screen lit up with a HD video of you lying on the bed, Robby's body curving over you. You could see himself lowering himself into your folds.
âFuck,â you moaned, eyeing the camera.
Robby kissed down your neck, bruises forming there. âYou wanna watch yourself? You wanna watch yourself come on my cock, baby?â
You looked back at his phone. âYes.â
âDirty girl.â
Slowly, Robby pushed himself. He pushed in and pushed in and pushed in till he was groaning and his hips flushed yours. In the camera, you had become one.
âRo-Robby,â you mewled.
His head comes down to your shoulder, kissing it gently as he looked down at the camera too. âLook at us, baby, look at us.â
Slowly Robby started to rock his hips, enough to set a tortuous pace.
âI watched you moan my name, while you pumped your fingers inside of you, you wanted me, didn't you?â
âY-yes!â
Your body slowly moved with his thrusts, his arms tensing at your sides as he tried, desperately, to not give in. To not bite down on your shoulder and thrust harder. To not have his bedroom echoing with the thump of the bed and skin on skin.
âPlease, please go harder,â you begged, reaching around to claw at his ass.
âCan't,â he grunted.
âPlease!â
Robby's hand was firm around your neck as he leant over you. âI'll come baby, I'll come.â He thrust in deep, till you could feel the slap of his balls against your ass.
âFuck!â
âYeah, yeah,â he moaned, drawing the camera in closer. âYou're so tight baby, taking it so well... just like I wanted you to.â
His thrusts grew faster, harder, his body plopping on yours leaving you a moaning mess. His hands couldn't settle, running over your hips, gripping and spreading the skin of your ass. He grunted and groaned and the two of you started to bounce on his bed.
âTell me you liked me watching you,â he moaned.
âI- I liked you watching me come.â
âI heard you moan for me, in my bed.... breathing me in... you wanted me so bad.â
âY-yes, Robby, so bad- so bad!â
Robby groaned and slid out of you, leaving you empty. He spared a minute to licking up the mess from the both of your arousal between your thighs before he turned you over, lying you flat and chucking his phone aside. He guided himself back into you and gripped your hips hard as he thrusted in.
He kept his lips close to you, brushing your lips against yours, taking your tongue as his.
âThought of you every day,â he said, nose nudging yours. âI missed you so much.â
âI-I missed you too,â you moaned, holding his shoulders.
Your walls clamped around him.
âArg, baby-baby-baby,â he babbled, lying his mouth flat open on yours, his tongue tasting yours and swapping spit.
A hand trailed between your bodies and ran over your clit.
âS'too-too much,â you cried.
âNo it's not.â
âI can't, I can't,â you moaned, your walls tighter around him. âI'm gonna come, I'm gonna come-â
Robby bit down on the sweet spot around your ear and you released around him, back arching into him and leaving him moaning into your neck. âThere we go, there we go- squeeze me, squeeze me!â
In one powerful thrust you felt his release shooting up your walls, painting you in him. His body sagged with stuttering thrusts as he spent himself.
Only once the both of you had calmed down did you catch your breath, sweaty skin on sweaty skin and lips swollen and red, bruises littering your neck.
Still inside of you, Robby reaches over and tilts your head back, the two of you grinning like love sick idiots.
âSmile for the camera, baby.â
taglist: @oldbaddies, @mafercita101, @florenceandthemechanism, (I thought you'd like to be tagged for this one!)
A year has passed since you and Eris fulfilled your bargain, bringing lots of changes with it. Despite your life looking different than it once did, you find yourself on one final journey of self explorationâleading you right back to the very male that started it all.
Pairing: Eris Vanserra x f!reader
Word Count: 18.8k
Warnings: eventual smut, p in v, mutual oral(m&f), rough sex, Archeron sister reader, a bit of angst, longing, reader has some other sexual experiences, eventual fluff
A/N: Thank you again @harvest-bunny for all the inspiration, brainstorming help and shaping ideas and all the help youâve provided from creation to writing and editing. Youâre always a gem. đ„°
Weâve finally reached the last part and these two have got one last adventure to go on. I hope yall enjoy this as much as I did while writing it!
Four entire seasons came and wentâalong with it came many changes.
Spring warmed into summer, summer cooling into rainy autumn days. Autumn bled into frosty, snowy winter weather only to succumb to the birth of everything anewâwhen spring bloomed once again.
The tiny flame tattoo on your wrist had disappeared the moment Eris winnowed you back to Velarisâthe bargain fulfilled. Simultaneously, his had disappeared too, the skin on both yours and his right wrists bare as if there had been no touch of Night Court black ink on either of you.
You could still remember that day like it had just occurred.
Nearly the second you materialized in the sitting room of the River House, you had people on you.
Youâd never learned how Eris had gained access to be able to winnow directly into the River House. It had always been amusing to you how Rhys could trust Eris to be their ally, trust him with visits to Velaris, trust him to winnow directly into his private residence, but you were where he drew a line.
âMother above, youâre back!â
You didnât even have time to process who had spoken before you were launched at by Elain, whoâd thrown herself at you, arms wrapping around you in a hug.
âDid he hurt you?â
âWhat happened?â
Nesta and Feyre had soon joined you and Elain, each of them throwing their arms around you too. Cassian and Azriel were next to approach you, pulling you into hugs and surrounding you with even more people.
You peered over themâthrough themâseeing Eris at the edge of the room with Rhys.
The more people that crowded you, the further you became separated from Eris. It was as if when the bargain tattoo disappeared, it cut the last tether that kept the two of you connected.
His eyes found yours, briefly. You werenât sure how, but you knew that whatever had happened between you and Eris had just come to a bittersweet end. You werenât entirely sure why you felt such a deep sadness at the fact. Perhaps because you and he hadâeven brieflyâshared something special. Honest, even.
âItâs gone!â Elain gasped.
Sheâd grabbed your arm, pushing up the lavender sleeve of the gossamer two piece set youâd left Velaris in a few days ago. Youâd changed back into it before leaving, earlier.
After the sexâafter the declaration of what you intended to do when you returned, Eris had allowed you to stay for two more days. He knew any longer would raise his familyâs suspicion.
There had been no more intimacy after that second day. Youâd taken another walk in the forest with himâwith Smokey in towâand you both had many long conversations.
Youâd talked about what you envisioned for your futureâif you could wish for anything. It had been simple, but all you had said was freedom and happiness. You wanted the privilege to find your own pathâlike each of your sisters hadâand whatever happiness that came with that, that was all you could ask for.
Heâd helped you articulate your thoughts, work though long shoved down feelings regarding the situation with your sisters. Heâd assisted you in ensuring you had a better idea of all the things you wanted to say to them.
Heâd even talked about things he hoped to change when he became High Lord. Youâd been surprised to hear how many great ideas he had. Not that it was shocking per seâhe was such a smart male, was equally gifted in book smarts, but also knew how to handle court affairs and people in general. You had no doubt in your mind that when he put his heart, soul and mind into it, heâd accomplish great things.
Though youâd been eager to have the conversation with your sisters, youâd also dreaded leaving. It was as if you knew once the two of you left the little bubble youâd created, things would never be the same.
By the looks of things now, your gut told you that you hadnât been too far off.
âSo the bargain is truly fulfilled then?â Feyre asked, more than a touch of suspicion in her tone.
âIt is. You will not have to worry that I will target your sister for any sort of nefarious plans you think I have.â
His deep voice filled the room and you fought every instinct in you not to look at him. Unfortunately your eyes slid his way, anyways. You were surprised to find what looked like sorrow behind the eyes youâd grown so accustomed to. But it was gone before you knew it, his attention turning back to Rhys.
âCome, I can make you some tea,â Elain said, gently tugging on your arm, âIâm sure youâre still shaken from the exciting few days youâve had.â
You were dragged away before you had a chance to protest.
âRhys will be changing the wards so Eris canât get in. In case he tries to pull something sneaky,â Feyre said, following the two of you.
âAnd Nuala and Cerridwen know what to be on the lookout for. Az made sure to inform them,â Nesta included, tagging along, âWe want you to be safe here.â
âYouâre seriously still going to keep me prisoner here? Even after all of this?â you asked, aghast, âI thought you said only until this was over. Well guess what? Itâs over.â
You could not go back to the hole youâd fallen in. You refused toârefused to let this happen any longer.
âAt least until Rhys can make sure itâs all clear. That Beron isnât going to tryââ Feyre began.
âNo,â you said so forcefully it actually stopped all of the older three Archerons midstep.
You squared your shoulders, spine stiffening as you decided to finally take the step youâd been needing to, for so incredibly long.
âI think itâs time for some changes.â
It had been a fight.
A days long fightâfour different wills battling against one another.
Butâsurprisnglyâit had led to a string of events youâd never ever expected to happen.
It had been a few days after youâd returned to Velaris when Rhys and Feyre requested to see you.
Things were still tenuous after the days long arguments and fighting with your sisters. Everyone was keen on letting you remain at the River Houseâas if they were afraid you were going to run off or worse, Eris would come to snatch you away again.
You spent those next few days terrified youâd walked back into the same situation youâd left and had briefly escaped. You didnât think youâd have it in you if you had to endure the same treatment all over again. An immortal lifetime of just sitting aroundâbeing kept from things that were happening all around you, constantlyâsounded like nothing but pure torture.
It made your restlessness that much more apparent, the itch to be helpful somehow even greater.
So when Elain had come to fetch you, your stomach twisted in dread, reminding you all too much of the last time this had happened. The worst sort of thoughts plagued you as you followed behind your second eldest sister, all the way to the study.
It was too eerily similar to that morning that started this allâeven if the behavior and patterns had started long before Feyre had even first stepped a foot into Prythian.
Rhys sat behind his desk just like last time, Feyre leaning a hip on the side of the deskâat his side just as beforeâthough at least she was standing and not sitting like before.
This time, one of the only differences was that your sisterâs matesâminus Rhysâand Azriel weren't in presence. It was only you, Nesta, Feyre, Elain and Rhys.
Which couldnât mean anything good if there werenât to be any other witnesses to watch what was about to happen.
âGo ahead and sit down,â Rhys motioned to one of the velvet chairs that was pulled from near the fireplace to in front of his desk.
In fact, there were three. One for Nesta to sit on your left, Elain on your right. Neither said anything as you all settled.
Your eyes drifted upwards to the self portrait of your next to youngest sisterâthe one Feyre had painted for Rhys. Heâd hung it in here behind his head, Feyre teasing him that sheâd always be looking over him.
Feyre, the sister that had taken care of not only you, but all four of you and your fatherâwhen he was still alive.
The girl that had gone outâat only fourteen years oldâfor the first time to hunt for food for her poor and starving family. Youâd been weeks shy of turning thirteen at that point, still such a child in your sistersâ eyes.
But Feyre had been a child too. Then only five years later sheâd made one decision that led all of you to where you were todayânot just Feyre being fae, but you, Elain and Nesta as well.
Your strong and brave sister had dealt with cruelties you knew youâd never truly understand. Had fallen in love, found her mate and became the High Lady of the Night Courtâall while coming into her own person, her own strength.
Sheâd become the strong female she was today because of those trials and tribulations.
Nesta had battled her trauma as much as sheâd battled the Cauldron when she had been tossed in. Had run from it, using other forms of distraction to ignore her powers and the broken soul that had shattered from the depravity war had exposed her to.
Youâd been kept from much of the war with Hybern, left back here in Velaris with a friendly family who ran one of the stores in the Palace of Thread and Jewels. Theyâd been a well meaning family and youâd appreciated their hospitality and kindness.
What you hadnât appreciated was how you were the only one not allowed to be present. Elain was far from the warrior typeâgentle and caringâand even she had been allowed to go with them. You had been left behind like an actual child they couldnât trust not to wander off.
That had only been the beginning of you feeling alienated by your own sisters.
But even with all of those horrendous events sheâd faced, Nesta had dug herself out of that holeâfought back with the wolfâs determination thatâd always laid within her, reclaiming her life. Sheâd trained, become a Valkyrie, made friends of her own that she survived the Blood Rite with. She, too, had stopped fighting the natural instinct that had warred in her for nearly two years, falling hard for Cassian, finding her true love and accepting her mate.
She, as well, had gone through a messyânot entirely linearâjourney and came out of it stronger and better than sheâd gone into it.
Even Elain had struggled with accepting her life as a fae, thrashed and chafed against a mating bond and mate sheâd never asked for. Sheâd avoided everything to do with it, to do with Lucien for over two years, going off on side explorations in an attempt to avoid something she couldnât forever. But then came a time that she could no longer run from itâespecially when her work as an emissary and traveling to different courtsâhad put her in direct contact and proximity to Lucien.
You werenât entirely sure where they stood currently, but it was a lot better than they once had been. She was clearly more open to giving him a chance, getting to know him. She certainly didnât seem as torn on whether to reject the bond as some seemed to wonder for a while.
But you? What did you have to show for anything?
Youâd been the last Archeron to be thrown in the Cauldron. It was no secret that while the Cauldron adored Elain and considered your eldest sister a thief, you had been an afterthought for it, too. Similarly how youâd felt to everyone in your life.
Maybe the Cauldron had given all it had in gifting something to Elain, had expelled too much in fighting back against Nesta that by the time youâd gone in, it hadnât bothered to be concerned with you.
Sure, youâd become fae, but youâd come out of the situation with no special powers akin to Nestaâs or Elainâs. Youâd been overlooked and underestimated your entire lifeâit was no surprise that even a magical fae entity such as the Cauldron hadnât spared you much thought.
But Eris hadnât treated you like that though. Youâd never felt that way with him either.
Which was why it was so hard to accept that the one thing that had been different, had been good in your life was something you could never truly have.
Youâd already begun preparing yourself for the worstâmore punishment, more confinement, more overprotectivenessâwhen Rhys finally cleared his throat, obviously eager to get to the matter at hand.
âFirstly, I think itâs important to discuss what happened at the Autumn Court,â Rhys said, cutting to the chase.
Your eyes fell to your lap.
You felt a gentle hand on your arm and you knew without looking it was Elain.
Even if youâd been treated similarly by all your sisters, Elain had been the one to have the tendency to be the most like a little mother to you. Maybe just due to her natural gentle and caring nature.
You knew she meant wellâknew that they all did. But right now, it grated on your already worn nerves.
âItâs okay. Youâre safe now. Can you please tell us what happened while you were in Autumn?â she uttered, softly.
Images flashed before your eyes.
Anger, arguing, exploration. Peaceful walks in the woods, a kind and energetic hound.
Kindness, sincerity.
Heat. Insistent lips on yours, intentional touch along your body, your mouth on Erisâs cock.
You in his lap, moving with reckless abandon.
Moans, kisses, utterly debauched groans of pleasure.
Recognition. Understanding.
So much had happened in four days, but you knew you would only tell them the things you knew they needed to hear.
When you finally lifted your head to face them, you knew you would never tell them what had happened between you and Eris. It wasnât any of their business anyways.
Thankfully the scent of him had been erased days ago before youâd even arrived back in Velaris, thanks to a few days and a couple of baths.
âI stayed in his room. I read. I ate. I went on walks in the forest with him and one of his smokehounds. Thatâs all that happened.â
Feyre and Rhys seemed to eye you carefully. You didnât look to see what Nesta or Elainâs reactions were.
âYou didnât see anyone else? He didnât take you to Beron? Or his brothers?â Feyre asked, trying to remain calm, though you saw panic swimming in her blue gray eyes.
You shook your head emphatically.
âEris and Smokey were the only ones I saw. I didnât even see a servant.â
âSmokey?â
You turned to Nesta, seeing her brows furrowed.
âSorryâthe smokehound,â you clarified for them.
âAnd thatâs truly all that happened?â Rhys asked.
You nodded.
âI thinkâŠI think he was trying to help me. In the best way he knew how to,â you said gently.
Your heart twisted at the words, knowing that it was the truth and how much youâd appreciated what Eris had done for youâall the way back to the beginning of your encounters with him.
âHelp you? When has Eris Vanserra ever helped anyone?â Nesta snorted.
You reigned in your temper that flared. But you still said your next words firmly.
âHe offers Rhys and Feyreâthe Night Courtâaid whenever they need it. He wants to overthrow his father one day because he knows the people of the Autumn Court deserve better. He knows Prythian will never truly be a place of peace until Beron is dead. You may hate him for whatever reasons you choose to, but it is not the entire truth to say he has never helped anyone.â
Rhys was studying youâwith enough scrutiny that it made you tempted to squirm. Added on to the fact that you couldnât tell what was going on behind those assessing violet eyes.
âSo you readâŠand went on walksâŠfor four days?â Nesta asked disbelievingly.
âMostly, yes. We also talked. I was angry the first day because I thought heâd taken me there to force me into a situation that was no better than when I was here.â
You winced internally, not meaning that to come out so abruptly or so soon. You had planned out what you wanted to say days ago, but now you wondered if youâd even get to say them.
Rhys was still studying you, still havenât yet to have spoken. But Nesta bristled.
âThat is not fair. You know we did that to protect you. Itâs not like we kidnapped you like he did.â
You looked at your eldest sister, straight in the eye, not backing down. You did not shout, you didnât cry. You didnât show an ember of temper like you had in the past. It was possible that was why other times youâd tried to articulate this same sentiment had gone unheardâsimply because all parties had been too emotional at the time to listen, to digest what you were saying.
âEris Vanserra did not kidnap me,â you said calmly, âI went willingly and it was to fulfill the bargain. The matter is now finished. I am in no further danger and it would not be fair to continue to punish me by smothering me into nonexistence.â
Nesta actually seemed stunned, actually blinked at your calm yet serious tone.
âWe would never smother you,â Feyre insisted.
Despite the urge to snort or make some sarcastic remark, you remained level headed.
âBut you have. You wondered why I became a ghost in this huge, lovely manor for six weeks? It wasnât simply because of a male, it wasnât simply because of being punished. I had given up hope on ever finding a place for myself in this world.â
âBut you do have a place here,â Elain rushed to reassure you.
âPlease, let me speak,â you insisted, firmly.
Elain fell silent but nodded.
âYou have given me no choice in anything. Not even before we were turned fae. When we were human I was happy to let it slide. I needed to be taken care of then. But Iâm not the same female I was. You wonât let me do anything for this court, wonât involve me in anything thatâs happeningâand when you have itâs because Iâve had to fight for every inch youâve allowed me. It is not fair that I still have to endure this treatment. It is one thing to be concerned for me but it is a completely different thing to coddle me, stifle me and protect me from the world.â
âThis is ridiculous. You donât get to make the orders around here,â came Nestaâs scathing retort.
âNesta,â Feyre said softly.
Whatever Feyre held in her tone softened the bite in Nestaâs own tone significantly.
You knew this conversation would be a fightâmostly with Nesta who was the most strong willed of the four of you. But youâd been prepared for this.
âWe only try to protect you because we know of the dangers weâve each faced. Weâd do anything to keep you from having to endure the same.â
This time Nestaâs voice came out more broken, agony laced in her voice. Sheâd been the first to run to you when youâd been dumped out of that Cauldron, skin glowing unnaturally, limbs longer than you were used to, arched ears under your fingers when youâd blindly felt for them.
Elain had been traumatized enough in her own right, held in the arms of the same male whoâd been revealed only moments later to be her mate.
Besides the icy chill of the Cauldron that had slowly choked the mortal life out of you, all youâd remembered most nights from your nightmares was Nestaâs petrified face at seeing her baby sister also forcefully turned fae. The image flashed behind your eyes even now, haunting and agonizing. You knew you had no idea what sheâd gone through in those moments.
Pure fearâlike in that momentâhad been the driving force for your sistersâ behavior, but despite their well meaning intentions, you still pushed forward with the discussion.
âWhat life is worth living if one doesnât take a chance or two? How will I ever learn if you donât let me encounter danger occasionally? Iâm not asking to go out and fight in a war tomorrow. I just need room to grow, to breatheâŠto find myself. Who I am besides the baby Archeron sister.â
Eris had been somethingâsomeoneâfor yourself. Something that had been wholly yours, if only for a short amount of time. He had been something that wasnât automatically related to you being an Archeron sister, but just you, yourself.
âYou truly think that lowly of us?â Elainâs voice shook and your heart ached at her wounded tone.
Youâd been so angry with all three of your sisters for so long, but youâd never intended to hurt herâhurt any of them.
âNo, but Iâve felt like youâve thought that lowly of me,â you said matter-of-factly.
Rhys had been monitoring the conversation for some time now. He finally sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers.
âWell Iâm glad this is all finally coming to the surface because Iâve been wanting to bring this subject up for some time.â
âMe and Rhys have argued over it plenty,â Feyre winced.
You were surprised to know that Rhysâyour brother in a senseâhad actually been fighting in your defense all this time.
âYou have?â
Rhys looked solemn.
âWe had many disagreements over you, yes. I thought you showed promise for more, could do more. Feyre disagreed. We often didnât get far.â
You tried not to let it sting that your sister had thought so little of you that she didnât find you worthy enough to even give you a chance. Feyre mustâve seen your crestfallen face because she quickly jumped in to explain.
âItâs not that I didnât agree with him, but I was scared. Scared to let you experience things I didnât know if you were ready for. But maybeâŠthatâs never been my call.â
You couldnât disagree with her.
âYou three need to stop treating her like a child. She is grown and capable of making her own decisions,â Rhys said, looking at each of your sisters, âIâve watched her try to tell you this time and time again and you refused to listen.â
âNow listen here, this is between us and our sister. It is none of your business,â Nesta snapped, clearly not appreciative of being scolded.
âNesta,â you chided gently, giving her a look.
While Nesta and Rhys hadnât always seen eye to eye, theyâd gotten better when it came to most things. It would do no good to start an argument though.
âWhile I understand your desire for privacy, it actually is my business because I have a proposition of my own for her. Itâs something Iâve been discussing for quite some time with Feyre and Iâm curious if sheâll be interested.â
Rhysâs eyes landed on yours again as he spoke the last part of that sentence. You straightened, not having expected this turn in the conversation.
âWhatâs that?â you questioned, curious.
âWell you know Cassian has been my temporary courtier for some time now, but itâs not a position he wants to hold forever. Would it be something you might be interested in? It would come with the opportunity to get out of the court, visit other courts, meet new people. I happen to think youâd excel at the position.â
You blinked, trying to process the barrage of information.
âButâŠI have no training in such an area. Why do you think itâd be a good fit for me?â
âBecause you have a sharp wit and an even sharper tongueâone you do not hesitate to use on your sisters. Or Eris,â Rhys answered with a grin before becoming serious once again, âHe let me into his mind to show me what happened during your visit to the Autumn Court.â
Your breath caught in your chest. Had he seen everything? Was he going to tell the others? Or had Eris only showed him the same parts youâd told them?
Rhysâs face gave nothing away, leaving you wondering just the extent of what heâd seen.
âYou were always quick on your feet with him,â Rhys continued, âDidnât let him outsmart you. Which is rather impressive since itâs Eris weâre talking about.â
You relaxed a fraction when it seemed like he didnât know the full truth, especially when he didnât bring it up to your sisters. It was more likely that Eris hadnât shown him that memory and Rhys had no knowledge of it.
âEven though Iâm completely inexperienced?â
Rhys lips twitched upwards in a genuine smile.
âWell thatâs the entire purpose of training under Cassian, is it not? That is, if youâre interested in the position.â
You remembered Elainâs words from a few weeks agoâhow Feyre mentioned the possibility of finding something for you to do. Had this been what she meant?
Shockingly, none of your sisters jumped in to speak for you. There were no raised voices, no shouting, no hysterics like there had been in past rounds.
For once, your sisters let you speak for yourself.
Something tugged at your heart, the sadness that came with the strange feeling that though youâd gained your freedom, youâd sacrificed something special to achieve it. You gave Rhys a small smile.
âSomeone once told me that the world is mine, I just have to pursue it. I think Iâm finally ready to do just that.â
Now, a year later, you were the official courtier of the Night Court.
Your first few times accompanying Cassian on different tasks made you a nervous wreckâalways afraid youâd stumble on your words. You spent too much time second guessing everything you said or did, wondering if it was Rhys, your sisters or you that was the most out of their minds to think you could do this.
âI spent my first task from Rhys second guessing every move I made. My first task also involved me being sent to meet with Vassa, Jurian and Lucien. Eris was also there, so talk about throwing me in the deep end almost instantly.â
Cassian had reassured you with that tale, assuring you that even if heâd fumbled half of his first mission, heâd soon learn to grow better at itâeven if he still didnât consider himself as great at it as Rhys was.
But youâd continued shadowing Cassian, the Illyrian soon letting you take the lead.
Before you knew it, youâd officially taken Cassianâs place and were truly on your own to command a room as you saw fit. While your first few solo missions had made you anxious, initially, you soon learned the best approaches, learned to read the individuals you dealt with the most.
True to Rhysâs word, your work as a courtier took you to different courts, giving you the opportunity to explore and discover things youâd once only dreamed of. You met new people, made new connections, both personally and for the benefit of the Night Court.
You attended banquets, events, meetings with other High Lords and their councils. You learned how to foster relations, always leaving people with the planted seed of an idea of working with the Night Court, allying with them, or even simply being on better terms.
With each and every mission successfully accomplished, your confidence grew. Somehow you had quickly developed a reputation across Prythian, too, even coming with your own moniker.
The Dove of the Night Court is what you were playfully nicknamedâironically started by Helion, High Lord of Day. Ironic considering you were sure youâd been told heâd created his own surname of Spell-Cleaver.
But it had stuck, as you were known to come in with a sharp mind and tongue, but always managed to leave even the most complicated and tense situation with a wave of peace in your wake. Maybe it had to do with you knowing how to keep a level head and even tone that meant business while still remaining respectful and open to listening to any and all parties.
Who knew you had a penchant for settling difficulties? It was as if all your conflict with your sisters had trained you for this, alone.
It was also quite ironic that your nickname was exactly what Eris Vanserra had once called you.
The last time youâd truly encountered Eris was the day heâd winnowed you home to the Night Court.
Of course, it was impossible not to see him occasionally, but you hadnât spoken to him since that day. At most youâd receive a polite nod of the head before one of you inevitably were pulled away or had to move along.
You werenât sure if he purposely had managed to avoid you the majority of the time, but heâd also l been through a significant amount of changes himself over the last year.
About seven months ago, Eris Vanserra became the High Lord of Autumn.
Following an intense period of time of inner conflict across the land of Prythianâwhen you were still training under CassianâBeron Vanserra had tried to incite a war against the other courts. It had begun with him trying to acquire lands from the Spring Court. Tamlin had still been at his worst, letting the court fall to ruin and not bothering to rule his own court or people anymore.
Not many had resided in the Spring Court at that point anyways, most having relocated to other courts or even across the sea to the Continent. It had been a messânot even including the fact that the wall that had separated the mortal lands from the faerie lands had been destroyed in the war with Hybern. That alone had been a precarious situation between mortals and fae alike.
Beron clearly had more bad intentions than he did sense though. When Eris had secretly relayed to Rhys of Beronâs plans, Rhys had started readying to go on the defense, gathering intel and potential forces to protect the Spring Court.
Until Beron Vanserra had attacked the Spring Court in an attempt to conquer it.
Thus leading to weeks of Eris secretly working with the Night Court against his fatherâsomething heâd been doing for years, but this time it was far riskier, far deadlier.
Beronâs plans? Heâd wanted to become High King of Prythian, even if it meant he attacked each and every court to conquer their land.
Fortunately no one was gravely injured in the attack on Spring, Tamlin managing to protect his court and the people he had left. Though the damage had been done to an already destroyed land. Though thereâd been no fatalities, there were still many left injured. Many had been left unhappy with their High Lord.
It would take a long time and hard work to rebuild the court to its former grandeur, even longer for the people to fully trust their High Lordâbut at least that was currently still ongoing, looking more positive than it had in a long time.
The final blow came when Beron discovered the extent of his eldest sonâs treachery, while his troops launched a surprise attack on their neighbor, the Winter Court.
Kallias, High Lord of Winter had called for help from his allies. Rhys and the Night Court showed up from the North, Tarquin and the Summer from the South.
It had been brutal and bloody according to Feyre. Several died from the Summer Courtâs armies and some of the Autumn Court soldiers had also perished in the attack.
You hadnât been there, which youâd understood this time as to whyâyou knew youâd have been no help since you possessed no fighting skills. Frankly, you were glad you had been saved from the brutality as youâd felt sick just from the stories your family had relayed.
Later, Rhys told you, heâd found Beron just as he was about to put his sword through Erisâs chestâlikely for his treachery at the bare minimum. Rhys had had excellent timing, apparently, blasting the High Lord away with his night-kissed power, enough to stun and disorient.
Rhys had added heâd been tempted to mist Beron on sight, but figured Eris deserved to have the killing blow.
Which heâd gotten.
Eris had been the one who put the sword through Beronâs chest insteadâafter he beheaded him with one sharp slice of his sword. A true general as much as he was an heir.
When youâd said youâd felt sickâit hadnât been from the gruesome and graphic details, no. It had been from the raw fear of knowing how close Eris had come to death.
How dangerously close heâd come to being completely eliminated from this world.
And that thought alone made you nearly want to vomit.
You didnât know exactly what youâd say to Eris if you were facing him right now, but when youâd heard how close heâd come to death, you had been fearful that youâd never get the opportunity to thank him for saving you. It was strange how it needled you time and time againâas if something was unfinished that you were being urged to complete.
Eris had saved you in so many ways that you didnât think you could even put in words how much it meant to you, anyhow.
But, he hadnât died. Heâd become High Lord, the power instantly transferring to him, as did the heavy weight of all of the responsibilities ruling a court came with. Especially one as corrupt and twisted as Autumn.
You remembered all the dreams Eris had once told youâthe wishes and hopes he wanted to make a reality for his court. You knew with time and determination only he had, he would make those dreams into a reality.
In the months since, the relationship between Autumn and Night had strengthened significantly, your entire family realizing what you had once long agoâthat Eris wasnât as horrible as theyâd all come to believe. Though, Rhys seemed to handle most of the dealings with Autumn himself.
You tried not to take it personally, but you figured you dealing with Erisâdespite the fact that theyâd come to have a higher opinion of himâwas still a deal breaker for your sisters. At least with Feyre.
Youâd been pleasantly surprised at how supportive they were with your life changes.
Ironically, staying busy meant you all werenât always in the same place at the same timeâyou didnât see them all the time as you once did. But, somehow, it seemed to help your relationship with them.
You and Elain had fallen into the habit of grabbing little gifts for one another in your respective travelsâmeant to exchange with one another the next time you saw each other. Sometimes it was decorative items, sometimes it was practical items, others it was candies or other little treats.
You and Nesta often exchanged book recommendations, though you didnât find as much time to read as she still managed to, despite her busy days. Her and the Valkyries were considering starting a book club just so they could introduce you to all the best Sellyn Drake novels. Ironically, considering the situation with Eris in the past, Nesta didnât seem to balk at you reading the same steamy romances she did. After all, it wasnât like you hadnât done some of that stuff by now.
You and Feyre typically spent time sipping tea, going over reports. Even if it was work related, it was nice to spend time with the sister that was closest to you in age. You were still able to catch up and chat in between all the courtly matters.
But with the newly strengthened relationships came a new developmentâyour sisterâs eagerness to set you up with eligible males across Prythian.
Youâd been hesitant at firstâhaunted for far too long by the image of flaming red hair, burning amber eyes and constellations of freckles across a face that knew how to be soft.
But after they kept hounding you, you eventually gave in.
Elain was first to present you with a maleâFlorian. He was a younger sentry from the Spring Court that Lucien had taken under his wing.
âHeâs only three hundred.â Elain had said cheerfully, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
âWay to sell it,â youâd mumbled.
But youâd been pleasantly surprised. Florian was definitely attractiveâunsurprisingly so as all males in Prythian were.
Florian had blonde hair, roughly a shade and a half darker than his High Lordâs, leaning more between a brunette and blonde hue. His eyes were as green as Tamlinâs, though not unusual considering green was a prominent eye color in individuals from the Spring Court.
But oh was he charming.
Not in the way Eris was charming though. No, Florian was ever the gentlemanâor gentlemale as was the term used in Prythian. That was one thing youâd yet to get used to, too often falling back on the mortal term out of habit.
Florian was well spoken, chivalrous, attentive and polite. He was so polite he made Erisâeven when he was at his most pleasantâlook utterly crass.
He would kiss your hand in greeting, pull out chairs for you, open doors for you, offer his arm for you to take, on a stroll.
Youâd been on such a high, especially when an afternoon tea with himâin Elainâs garden at the River Houseâhad gone incredibly well. You had definitely anticipated seeing more of him.
Which you had.
Maybe youâd gotten your hopes up too high and too fastâtoo excited too soon.
For when the opportunity had presented itselfâafter only a short time of seeing himâwhere heâd wanted to take you to bed, youâd been thrilled.
After all, itâd beenâŠawhile.
The sex had beenâŠnothing like youâd expected. To the point youâd been left so disappointed and dissatisfied that youâd wondered what the fuck that even was.
Youâd worried something was wrong with you. Or if maybe you werenât as good at sex as youâd assumedâat least without Erisâs tutelage.
Florian had spent the entire time treating you like you were made of glass, afraid to touch you too firmly even as he thrust into you. You couldnât help but wonder the entire time you laid there if he was too apprehensive because of who you wereâthe youngest sister of his mentorâs mate.
Not to mention the High Lady of the Night Courtâs sister. It had been a double whammy against you.
Which even more bizarrelyâdespite him going overboard with the gentlenessâheâd wanted you to take charge. Youâd only ever done that once before with Eris and you hadnât felt like you even knew what Florian wanted you to do, anyways.
So youâd let him take over, trying to enjoy itâhad tried to do more than just lay there. But it had seemed like a futile effort when heâd hardly touch you, despite his cock literally being inside you.
Then there had been the fact heâd tried to attempt some filthy language. That had been so disastrous, you still cringed, remembering it.
The entire experience had been so different than how itâd been with Erisâwho was always so sure of himself, so confident. But it hadnât been just about comparing to how itâd been with Erisâfrankly youâd been just trying to survive the situation most importantlyâbut it had been the fact that it felt subpar, as if something had been missing.
Needless to say, you hadnât seen Florian after that.
Youâd let him down easily, though with as relieved as heâd seemed, you hadnât been sure if you had been more offended or relieved, yourself.
Youâd simply told Elain that it turned out you and Florian had little in common.
After Florian had come Alban, a Winter Courter courtier introduced to you by Feyre.
Youâd crossed paths with the male several times before in your work as courtier but had yet to really talk to him.
He was more stoic and quiet than you were used to, but he was good-looking. Similar to most that hailed from the icy Winter Court, he had snow white hair and striking blue eyes. So striking theyâd definitely captured your attention instantly, drawing you to the male.
His skin was the palest skin tone in all of Prythianâeven paler than Erisâsâindividuals from Winter having an almost frozen appearance to their complexion.
Youâd quickly bonded over courtier work, having long discussions over certain aspects of the job and trading stories.
It had been an easy sort of friendship that formed, making you happy that things seemed to be going wellâas he was a gentle spirit with such knowledge to him, too.
So when the time rolled around that you and he had taken that next step, inviting him to your bed, youâd thought youâd been prepared. Thought youâd tampered your expectations enough to not be disappointed.
You couldnât have been more wrong.
It had been a disaster from the start.
For oneâthough you had no idea just how old he wasâas an immortal that had been alive longer than you, he hadn't even been able to get his cock inside you properly for the first few minutes.
That really shouldâve been your first warning sign right there.
When he had actually been able to meet your rhythmâthe few seconds he had in the entire experienceâit had felt good. But Alban would move one way just as youâd moved another.
Youâd even made a sarcastic and witty remark in an attempt to ease the obvious awkwardnessâa remark that Eris for sure wouldâve tossed an equally sassy one back.
It had completely eluded him and youâd received no comment in return.
The entire experience had felt hollow and performatory, only a means to an end.
Not like there had been an end for you. At least youâd somewhat enjoyed Florian better, even if there hadnât been an end in sight for you there, either.
Afterwards, when heâd pulled out of you, your thighs had been slick and warm from his release.
Gods, youâd sometimes wondered how males had it so easy, able to still reach completion even if they wouldnât deem the encounter good.
But that hadnât even been the worst part. No, after heâd pulled his cock from you, heâd started discussing a trade routes deal that Kallias had been currently working on.
Youâd had no desire to continue to see him after that.
Meanwhile, Feyre had had the hopes of potentially arranging a marriage between you and Albanâas Kallias had told her that Alban was in search of a wife.
Youâd politely and firmly shut that idea down right that momentâespecially when you no longer heard from him after your night spent together.
Clearly it hadnât been very special to him either. At least itâd saved you from another awkward conversation Ă la Florian.
Nestaâs pick had come last and by this point, youâd been understandably wary.
But when youâd seen who sheâd presented you with, youâd changed your tune quickly, a thrill of excitement shooting through you.
Youâd heard whispers from some of his own conquests in passingsâat how good in the bedroom he truly was. Youâd had half the hope youâd get to find out for yourself.
Balthazar was one of the more decent Illyrians. He had been the male Nestaâd told you and the others that sheâd encountered in the Blood Riteâ long ago nowâand how kind heâd been to her and Emerie.
Balthazar was extremely handsomeâto the point youâd found yourself practically preening in his presence. He was all powerful body, golden brown skin and dark hair, brown eyes to round out the appealing package. Not to mention the leathery wings at his back.
Youâd never stopped to wonder what having an Illyrian in your bed would be like. Of course, you were sure Nesta and Feyre knew all about that.
You couldnât help but stare at him when heâd talked to you, though your mind had kept thinking of how those deep brown eyes just werenât the same as amber ones youâd once been so used to.
Your entanglement with Balthazar truly couldâve been labeled as nothing more than a fling, though.
Heâd been nice, but truly only interested in a tangle in the sheets, which if youâd been honest, you hadnât minded in the slightest.
If it had been any good, you mightâve convinced yourself it wouldâve been something youâd been interested in doing casually.
Balthazarâadmittedlyâhad been the best of the three males though, having managed to pull some measure of pleasure from you.
For one, heâd been huge. But not in a good way.
Whereas Eris was gifted, heâd never seemed to be too much for you to handleâheâd fit you perfectly.
Balthazarâs cock had been too overwhelming, hitting deep enough that it hit your cervixâand not in a pleasant way, in a painful way.
Heâd basically been wound tight, ready for a rutting and nothing else.
Heâd been rougher than the other two, gripping your legs and pushing them open just so as heâd pounded into you. Heâd also been pretty inconsiderate, too far gone in his own pleasure that he hadnât been paying attention to your body or picking up on your cues.
Whereas Eris wouldâve known when to slow down, when to give you more, Balthazar had been all about the finishing goal.
It had been almost disappointing to admit how much of a let down it was. And while the encounter had been the most pleasurable of the threeâyou had to admit the male did know how to use his cock well, just not exactly in the way youâd needed him toâit had been painfully obvious that it was no more than a quick release for him.
Which again had made you truly question how and why it was so easy for the males to find their pleasure.
Heâd left nearly immediately with the parting of if you were ever interested in his company again, just to let him know.
You definitely hadnât been.
When Nesta had questioned you on what had happened to Balthazar, youâd simply told her there were already too many bats in the family.
You were sure that Balthazar was a fine maleâlikely a wonderful one to treat a female amazingly. All of the males had been perfectly fine, all of them you sure would be wonderful to someone.
But that someone just hadnât been you. You had lacked something with each of themânot only in bed, but in their general company. That easy comfort one had with someoneâsimilar to what you saw Feyre have with Rhys or Nesta with Cassian.
You even saw it sometimes shine through with Elain and Lucien.
It had been the kind of ease youâd had with only one other male before.
Between the time of Florian and Alban though, you actually had encountered Eris for the first time in a while.
Your mind drifted as you thought back to the memory, only a few months ago now.
Four months after Eris took his throne, he was invited to the Hewn Cityâs Solstice ball for the first time since becoming High Lord.
Heâd looked absolutely resplendent in Night Court blackâvery reminiscent of the time youâd first met him at this same ball, two years ago now.
It was astonishing to think how all of this had started in this same room two years ago. The curiosity that led to the proposition, the bargain, the favor, the sex. You tried not to think too hard about it with him in such close proximity, though.
Youâd been at the refreshments table, refilling your wine goblet, trying to avoid the curious, wandering amber eyes that had kept finding yours all night. But you were weak and you looked up as you took a sip. Your gaze met his and he held it for a few, intense seconds before it slid back to whoever he was conversing with.
âYouâre staring,â Rhys murmured, coming up beside you, under the guise of acquiring something to eat.
âYou act like staring is a war crime,â you mumbled, feeling the inquisitive gaze burning on you again.
âIt is when you and Eris are practically setting fires to a room from looks alone,â Rhys drawled, taking a bite of one of the sugar dusted confectioneries heâd nabbed.
âI thought you were supposed to be on your throne observing your courtâs festivities,â you retorted dryly, eyes sliding sidelong to him.
He motioned to the head of the room at the dais where Feyre sat, talking with some dignitaries from other courts whoâd been invited to the ball this year.
âMy mate has it covered.â
That she did.
You hummed noncommittally, eyes scanning the sea of peopleâsome dancing to the lovely pieces the musicians had been performing all night, others content to stay in groups and converse on an array of topics.
As if by magic, your gaze snaggedâwas pulled his way againâand you found Erisâs gaze on you, a small, familiar smile on his lips.
âCauldron, you two are insufferable,â Rhys murmured.
You pulled your gaze away first, turning to look at Rhys, finding amusement in that violet gazeâlining his handsome face.
You contemplated deflecting, but when youâd looked back Erisâs way, heâd returned to his conversation. His face was contemplative as he listened to the individual, crossing those strong arms across his chest. His pale pink lips pursed in thought as he nodded, shifting a few long strands of his hair into his face. A pale hand came up, absentmindedly brushing it out of his face before he tucked it back under his folded arm.
Your eyes, the traitors, had tracked every movement.
It was then you realized you couldnât do anything but be honest to your friend, your brother. He wouldâve likely seen right through any sort of deflection anyways.
âHeâll always be the one who got away,â you uttered softly, a touch wistfully.
You didnât know whether Rhys would retort with a smart remark or something profound, but you hadnât expected what he did end up saying.
âI suppose there are worse choices you could make. Perhaps one of these days I may look the other way long enoughâmerely out of curiosity of course.â
You huffed a laugh, trying to make sense of his statement.
âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â
He just gave you a knowing grin, those stars twinkling in his eyes.
âFor as long as Iâve known you, youâve been a female to always fight for what youâve wanted. Donât let that practice stop now.â
Much later, after Rhys had returned to his mate and High Ladyâafter youâd spent time milling about, making polite conversation with many people youâve encountered due to your courtier workâyou heard a familiar voice behind you.
Smooth, deep and always filled with an air of amusement. One that was always as cocky as it was arrogant.
âWell doesnât this feel familiar? Seems like weâve been here once before, but my, how things have changed since our first meeting, have they not?â
Your heart instantly lifted, the familiar push and pull youâd always easily had with him seeming like a breath of fresh air.
Unlike the first Solstice ball where the two of you had met, he had approached you this time.
You turned, a smile already on your lips.
âHigh Lord,â you greeted, warmly.
âDove,â he greeted back, lips twitching in a smirk.
âI apologize that I have yet to extend my congratulations on your newly acquired throne.â
Your fingers tightened on the stem of the goblet that youâd been carrying around with you all nightâsavoring the cup of rich and velvety smooth wine youâd poured for yourself hours ago before speaking with Rhys.
âOne does stay busy being courtier to the Night Court,â Eris mused, eyes taking you in.
You were in a simple dress of Night Court blackâactually quite similar in shape to some of Morâs dresses, just a tad more modest.
This yearâs dress was a floor length gown made of midnight velvet, two thin straps resting along your shoulders. Accompanying it was a sharp dip in the neckline, in the shape of a veeâenough to show off a small amount of the swell of your breasts. The only other addition was the thigh high slit on one side, exposing your bare legâappearing even longer thanks to Mor lending you some of her sexiest black heels, ones that youâd donned tonight.
If there had been any time to face Eris, at least it was when you looked and felt good.
âAll thanks to you,â you pointed out.
His head tilted as he took you inâlikely noting the difference in the individual that stood in front of him from the female heâd taken for a walk in the Autumn Court woods nine months ago.
The female heâd taken in general.
âIâve seen your workâheard of it, mostlyâI must say Iâm rather impressed.â
âQuite the compliment coming from a High Lord,â you grinned.
âYou forget I spent many centuries mastering the games of courtier, too,â he said smoothly, a brow flicking upwards in amusement.
You hummed, smiling. Those all knowing amber eyes took you in, never missing anything.
âYouâre not the same female I once knew,â he observed, thoughtfully.
âI was never a broke bird,â you reminded him, âI believe you once told me that.â
He smiled, soft, as if meant just for you alone.
âNo, you never were. Although,â he chuckled, sliding his hands into his pockets casually, âThe Dove of the Night Court, hm? Seems I was a step ahead of Prythian and they never even realized it.â
You grinned, ducking your headânot out of shyness, but the flattery in his not entirely straightforward compliment. The sentiment had been there enough for you to pick up, though.
âYouâve always been smarter than most give you credit for, Eris,â you said simply.
You meant it though. People had underestimated him for plenty over the yearsâover centuries if truth be told. You were glad he was finally getting recognition he, too, deserved greatly.
âThough if I were smart, I might find the need to consider bargaining with a High Lord.â
He looked curiousâbrows furrowing in slight confusionânot quite picking up your meaning.
âA bargain to fuck a High Lord,â you said plainly.
Youâd never been shy to express what youâd wantedâsomething youâd displayed when you made that bargain with Eris long agoâbut youâd also grown more bold in the months thatâd passed since youâd last stood in front of him like this.
âBut not just any High Lord,â you smiled coyly, peering at him through your lashes, âThe High Lord of Autumn, specifically.â
You mightâve been mistaken, but you thought you saw him swallow hard. For a change, Eris Vanserra seemed to be at a loss for words.
âSounds like youâve developed quite an appetite for danger, dove,â he rumbled, voice low.
Ignoring his remark, your eyes flicked to the top of his head, his red hair perfectly placed and smooth as always.
âNo crown tonight?â
That infamous smirk returned.
âIt felt pretentious.â
Either youâd grown bolder than youâd ever anticipated or the wine youâd consumed had truly loosened your tongue and gave you courage beyond your comprehension.
âIâd be interested in seeing you in it someday. In your crown and only your crown, that is.â
You bit your lip, biting back the grin that threatened. You saw his eyes flicker, heat in them from the little game the two of you had fallen into.
He chuckled deeply.
âYouâve got a sharper tongue than most in these faerie lands know.â
You grinned wickedly.
âYouâd know that best, wouldnât you, Eris?â
His eyes remained sharp on you, jaw working as if he was trying to keep a hold on his restraint in such a public place.
You had no idea how a simple conversation had taken this turnâand so organically too.
Over his shoulder you saw an individual from the Day Courtâthatâd been meaning to speak with you all nightâattempt to get your attention.
âIf youâll excuse me, High Lord, Iâm needed elsewhere. I hope you enjoy the festivities,â you dipped your head to him, respectfully, before stepping away, but paused a moment.
His eyes watched your every movement.
âIf your throne ever gets too lonely, you know where to find me.â
You shot him a playful wink, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing at his brief but stunned expression. The last thing you saw before walking away completely was the way his shoulders straightened, that insanely attractive smug smile of his crossing his face.
And similarly to last time, you left Eris staring after youâlong after youâd parted from him.
After the Solstice ball had come your underwhelming experiences with Alban and Balthazar. Maybe such a disappointing experience with Florian had motivated the way youâd spoken to Eris that nightâas if youâd been testing to see if something in you really was wrong. Though you still werenât sure what it had proved since youâd gone on to have two more dull and lackluster experiences.
Eris had always had an effortless way of making you feel confident and sexyâeven in times when youâd felt the furthest thing from that. It was even more ironic, too, when he was intimidating to many.
You hadnât seen Eris since the Solstice ball, now three months agoâspring now beginning to dawn on Velaris.
Courtly duties had kept you busy and you knew him being so new to the position of High Lord had to have kept him busy. Days bled into one another as you bounced from court to court, mission to mission.
Until one afternoon, Rhys summoned you to his study.
It was during an unusually slow period for youâwhen youâd spent an extended amount of time back home in Velaris with a lighter work load.
Youâd been so used to staying busy that you were itching to do something again.
When youâd knocked on Rhysâs heavy wooden door, you couldnât help but think of how different it was from the time youâd been summoned here, this time a year ago.
How different life looked now.
âYou wanted to see me?â you asked, walking in, resting your hands against the back of the chair that sat in front of his desk.
âI have an assignment for you, if youâre interested,â Rhys said, looking up from whatever heâd been writing.
You nearly bounced on your toes in excitement and he chuckled, already sensing your eagerness. He knew he wouldnât have to ask you twice.
âIâd like you to visit the Autumn Court.â
Your brows lifted in surprise.
âSince Iâve been kept rather busy lately, I thought Iâd send you to meet with Eris. I want to maintain and strengthen our alliance with Autumn, even more so now that Eris is High Lord.â
âYouâre sending meâŠâ you trailed off dubiously.
Rhys had yet to do such a thing, especially since Eris had become High Lord.
âYou handle Eris well,â Rhys said simply.
You couldâve laughed. He didnât know the half of it.
âBesides, our relationship with the Autumn Court is the best itâs ever beenâat least in all the time Iâve been High Lord.â
âSo Iâm supposed to do what, exactly?â
âJust be a point of contact between the Night Court and him. I just want to ensure that he and I are on the same page when it comes to our alliance.â
âI can do that,â you nodded firmly, knowing the topics youâd need to highlight in a discussion of this kind.
âYou should probably get going then, I sent a letter earlier this morning telling him to expect you. Also, take as long as you need. If you need to take the entire rest of the day, thatâs fine. These things take time.â
That was what truly sparked your suspicion. You could tell he was talking with quite a heavy amount of double meaning to his words.
âYouâre sending me off to visit Eris and telling me to take all the time I need,â you said bluntly, disbelievingly.
Rhys merely shrugged.
âI just want to make sure youâre thorough in ironing out any issues.â
Your eyes narrowed in suspicion, growing more so with each passing second. Rhys mustâve decided to quit with the cryptic talk for he finally spoke freely.
âI know what happened in the Autumn Court last year,â he said neutrally, âAll of it.â
You were positive all the blood drained from your face.
âIn a gesture of good faith, when Eris let me into his mind the day he brought you home, he showed me everything. He wanted me to trust his word.â
Your face colored, the blood rushing backâbut all to your cheeks. In embarrassment and vulnerability. At knowing that all this time Rhys had known, had seen what had taken place.
âHe didnât show me everything, but enough to get the gist of what occurred,â Rhys rushed to assure you.
âDid you tell Feyre?â you asked, in a much smaller voice than you cared to admit.
âNo,â he said adamantly, âIt wasnât my place to tell her something like that. If she were to find out, I wanted it to come from you or Eris aloneâpreferably you.â
You found yourself at a loss for words, trying to process the fact that your year long relief in thinking Rhys hadnât known everything, had been a lie. You werenât ashamed of what youâd done with Eris, but knowing Rhys had seen even a little of it made you feel vulnerable in ways youâd never expected to feel.
âSoâŠyouâre sending meâŠright to himâŠâ you said slowly.
Rhys studied you, as if trying to settle on just what exactly to say to you.
âSometimes things need to be worked outâsettledâto see where people stand when the dust finally settles,â Rhys responded, then added as if it was an afterthought, âBetween courts of course.â
âOf course,â you nodded, sounding dubious.
Rhysâs mouth turned up in a smileânot one of his sly or deceptively charming ones, but a genuine one, as he gazed at you. A female that had become part of his family, even if it had come to be from complicated and twisted situations.
You meant a lot to Feyre, so by default you meant a lot to Rhys too.
Youâd been surrounded by a circle of people whoâd loved and cared for you so much that theyâd do anything to keep you safeâeven if it hadnât been in the healthiest of ways. Though those days were long past, you couldnât help but feel appreciation and love for the unusual family youâd made, along with your own sisters.
Rhysâs voice sounded contemplative and more than a little curious when he spoke again.
âI always knew somethingâŠunique existed between the two of you.â
Your brow raised and he chuckled.
âIâll see you whenever then?â
âIâll make sure Iâll do my job thoroughly, Rhys.â
He smirked, that wicked amusement sparking in his eyes, along with the stars that often twinkled in those violet eyes of his.
âIâm sure you will.â
Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, had essentially given you permission to do whatever it was you needed to do.
And just as you had once been told to pursue the world, you winnowed to the Autumn Courtâready to pursue the one thing youâd never been certain was truly yours.
âąâąâą
You appeared directly in Erisâs study, finding the male standing in front of his desk, flipping through some papers, clearly reading them.
In the half second before he was alerted of your presence, your eyes took in the side profile of him. Head bent to read, pale face contemplative as he took in whatever was on the page, a few strands of his long red hair falling into his face that he hadnât bothered to move.
Today he was in an appropriately colored russet jacket with gold embroidery.
Eris had always been devastatingly gorgeous. Ironically, that had seemed to amplify even more since heâd become High Lordâas if the surge in his power after taking the throne had only aided in making him that much more ethereal.
He turned, sensing your arrival and sat the papers down with a wicked grin.
âAh, if it isnât my favorite Archeron sister.â
âPretty sure that was Nesta at one point. Itâs also improper to play favorites.â
âIâm High Lord. Whoâs to stop me?â he smirked.
You rolled your eyes, but it was good-naturedly, as you smiled.
âAlways a pleasure to see you, Eris.â
He turned to the decanter he had sitting on a side table, pouring himself some wine.
âCan I get you anything?â he peered back over his shoulder.
âIâm fine, thanks.â
You fiddled with the long sleeve of your sweater, feeling nervous and out of place with the more casual attireâin comparison to his courtly finest. Youâd taken after Feyre, preferring the more comfortable clothes like oversized sweaters and leggingsâat least for at home. You often wore ensembles much more appropriate for whichever court you were traveling to or whatever event you were to appear at.
It just so happened that you hadnât considered even changing before youâd winnowed here.
You also couldnât say why you were so nervous. Youâd been in much more compromising positions with him before with less nerves.
But you couldnât help the way being around him made your stomach constantly flip and your heart to flutter.
âRhysand said you had some business to discuss with me?â
You straightened, shaking off any apprehension and instead became more professional and serious.
âYes, heâd like to continue to discuss and strengthen Autumnâs relationship with the Night Court.â
You approached him as he sat in the low backed, tufted chair, the color a deepest burgundy. You eyed it enviously as it happened to look rather comfortable.
You might have to talk Rhys into getting something similar for your room back in Velaris.
You also forced yourself not to think of the last time youâd seen him sitting in a chair in his private residenceâor just what you and he had done in it.
âIâm listening.â
For the next hour, you and Eris spent a good amount of time discussing court politics. Since you were technically the official representative for Rhys and the Night Court, you made sure to relay the variety of subjects Rhys would want you to cover and keep Eris updated on.
For instance, you made sure to include reports on other courtsâ allegiancesâwho would be the strongest and best for Autumn to ally with, who would be the most cooperative.
Other menial topics such as trade agreements and trade routes between courts were discussed, along with other important matters you knew would be wise to cover in this meeting.
When the conversation had lulled, you found yourself leaning a hip against the edge of his desk, standing in front of where heâd remained sitting. You watched as a fingertip traced the rim of his cup. You assumed he was turning matters over in his headâfigured he was sifting through the information youâd provided him with and was trying to determine if there were any other subjects he wanted to cover.
What you hadnât expected is what he actually ended up saying.
âRumor has it youâve benefitted from some entertainmentâof the male varietyâhere lately.â
You snorted, amused, even if you were thrown off by his out of the blue statement.
âAlways the nosy bastard arenât you?â
âI make it my business to have the utmost intel and knowledge on people.â
You lifted a brow.
âYouâve been keeping tabs on me?â
He merely shrugged.
âPeople talk.â
âThis isnât exactly appropriate courtly talk,â you quipped, lips twitching in a smirk, though you tried to sound more exasperated than you currently felt.
âOur official business is done,â he waved a hand dismissively, âWeâre allowed to speak beyond our titles.â
âWhich is a slick way of saying youâre morbidly curious,â you shot back, easily.
His amusement radiated from him as he reclined further back in his chair, drink in hand. He leaned an arm across the back of it as he stared at you. You turned to fully face him, resting your backside against his desk, arms still crossed, trying to temper your curiosity at his questioning.
âPerhaps. Though I did hear through the grapevine you had quite the sampling of malesâfrom an array of territories, too.â
You snorted.
âAre you merely curious or are you actually jealous?â
His eyes sharpened, that cultivated smile revealing nothing of what he was truly thinking or feeling. He swirled the wine in his goblet, watching the dark liquid eddy.
âIf my intel was correct thereâs been a male sentry from the Spring Court, a courtier from Winter and an Illyrian.â
You swore softly, mildly impressed. He peered up at you, amber eyes unreadable as he spoke, coollyâthough not cruelly. More as if he was attempting to hide any sort of reaction that could give him away.
âI assume you enjoyed their company in all the thorough ways then?â he drawled.
Your brows really rose at that.
âThis is definitely not an appropriate line of conversation,â you pointed out, chuckling weakly.
He took a slow sip of his wine, watching you before he responded. His intense gaze never left yoursâall consumingâcausing your stomach to flip.
âHumor me.â
You sighed deeply, rolling your eyes, knowing he would stop at nothing to satisfy his curiosity.
âYes, I enjoyed them thoroughly.â
A muscle in his jaw ticked.
Interesting.
You grimaced, remembering the encounters though. You were sure Eris likely picked up on it instantly, so you went ahead and told him the truth.
âEither I just got lucky the first few times or sex is actuallyâabsolutelyâhorrible.â
He actually blinked a few timesâthe only sign of his surprise.
âIâmâŠsorry?â
He wasnât apologizing, he was clarifying heâd just heard you correctly.
âYou heard me,â you scowled, âItâs awful.â
âAwful,â he repeated, still sounding stunned.
You were already in it this deep, so you kept talking.
âFlorianâthatâs the Spring Court male by the wayâtreated me like I was made of glass. Simultaneously, he wanted me to take charge, yet would barely touch me. Talk about mixed signals!â
Now Eris looked fully invested, mild amusement sparking in his eyes.
âOh, this is bound to be good,â he mumbled, taking another sip.
âOh it gets worse,â you huffed, âHe also tried out some filthy language, but he was so polite it would come out awful.â
Eris raised a brow, but let you continue.
âI swear on the Cauldron every remark he made came out sounding like a question. âYouâd blush if I said what I was thinking?â âWould you like me to fuck you harder?â âDo you want me to put it here?â Eris, I wanted to melt through the bed, it was so horrible.â
The High Lord of Autumn looked like he was trying extremely hard not to laugh.
You pointed a finger at him, scolding him.
âYou think thatâs bad, wait until you hear about Alban.â
It was as if once youâd started talking, you couldnât stop. It all came spilling out. After all, this was the first time youâd spoken about this. You hadnât even told your sisters.
Erisâs shoulders shook with silent laughter, but he motioned for you to continue talkingâlikely not trusting himself to speak right now.
âAlban is the courtier from Winter and wouldnât know rhythm if it slapped him in the face,â you deadpanned.
âI fear my morbid curiosity is winning here, please, elaborate,â Eris smirked.
âShould I start with how he couldnât even get his cock inside me properly, how he had no idea how to get a good rhythm going or how afterwards, he pulled out of me, immediately rolled over and started talking about a trades route deal?â
Erisâs eyebrows couldâve disappeared into his hair from the way they kept raising higher and higher, the longer you talked.
âMother above,â he mumbled, âItâs as if youâve lived the handbook of what not to do.â
âIt was painfully awkward so I decided to go something like âWellâŠsince this is going so smoothly now would be the perfect time to drop something devastatingly charmingââyou know just to break the tension? I figured we could laugh it off or something. He just looks at me blankly! All I could think of is how at least you wouldâve said something witty.â
âAw, you were thinking of me, dove?â Eris flashed you a smoldering grin, tilting his head slightly.
You ignored his taunting remark.
âPlus, his hands were freezing. I know, I know, Winter Court and all. But it was unbearable.â
âThis is far more delightful than I thought itâd be,â Eris noted, crossing an ankle over a knee.
âStop enjoying this,â you glowered.
Once again he wordlessly motioned for you to continue.
âBalthazar I was actually pretty excited for,â you admitted, tilting your head thoughtfully.
That made Eris sit up straighterâperhaps even grip his gilded cup a bit tighter, though you mightâve just imagined that part.
âYou have a wing fetish I donât know about?â
His voice was definitely terse.
You rolled your eyes.
âYou are incorrigible and insufferable.â
He grimaced at you, body still unnaturally rigid.
âThat didnât answer my question.â
You decided to test a theory, curious to his reaction.
âHe mightâve beenâŠparticularly gifted.â
Erisâs jaw clenched like he was gritting his teeth to prevent himself from saying more than he should.
âHow fantastic for you,â he gritted out.
âIâm talking there were more stars behind my eyes than in a Velaris night sky,â you fibbed.
He shifted, displeasure radiating from him in very obvious waves.
âComing from an Illyrian brute, thatâs shocking,â he grumbled.
You decided to give him a break, sighing as you tucked some hair behind your arched ear.
âAlright, you want the truth? There were whispers about himâstories. That he was amazing in the bedroom. Life changing experience, apparently.â
That seemed to get his attention and he eyed you, likely wondering if you were being honestâwhich was fair. You probably shouldnât have toyed with him. But the temptation had been so great.
He continued eyeing you warily before speaking.
âI take it he was not,â Eris responded dryly.
âNot even close.â
Eris snorted.
âOf course it was a miserable experienceâheâs a brute born to rut.â
You sighed again, pinching the bridge of your nose.
âThatâs basically what it was. He was roughârougher than Iâd been used to or expected.â
His eyes flashed.
âDid he hurt you?â
âNo!â you rushed to answer, âWell I mean yes, a little, but not really.â
Eris didnât look convinced.
âHe was uncomfortably big? I mean getting your cervix slammed into every other thrust isnât what itâs chalked up to be.â
You had no idea how youâd ended up discussing your sexual encounters with Erisâhad no idea how you were so casually candid with him.
âAn Illyrian just looking for a fuckâwhy am I not surprised?â
You noted how Eris seemed more relaxed than he had a minute earlier, filing away that intriguing tidbit for later.
âSo, that was my grand foray into the wildâif you will,â you shrugged, âThough Iâm still amazing how easy males are able to find their pleasure. Iâm half amazed they even managed to come.â
A spluttering sound followed your comment, along with coughing, indicating heâd just been in the middle of sipping his wine when youâd spoken.
âCauldron, warn a male before making a comment like that,â Eris wheezed, halfway between laughing and coughing.
You gazed unamusedly at him.
âPlease donât dieâitâd be rather inconvenient to have to tell Rhys I accidentally killed a High Lord,â you said dryly.
He just shot you a look.
âIâm so glad you find my grievances amusing,â you deadpanned.
âI donât find it amusing, I find it sad.â
âYou and me both,â you mumbled.
He finally sat his goblet on the desk in front of him, standing from his chair. You looked up at him as he straightened to his full height in front of you. Your backside still leaned against the desk, fingers curled neatly around the edge, anchoring yourself there.
âSounds as if your body just missed me,â he smirked down at you, the infamous cocky charm once again making an appearance.
You scoffed, a sharp remark on the tip of your tongueâlikely having to do with just how highly he thought of himself. It died the moment you saw his features soften, taking you in.
âIâm proud of you, you know,â he murmured.
You were momentarily thrown off at the abrupt change of topic.
âYou are?â
His lips turned up in a small, soft smileâone of the ones heâd only ever seemed to share with you.
âYes. You went out and pursued the worldâjust like I knew you would. Made a name for yourself, found yourself, learned and grew as an individual.â
Eris had drifted closer to you and your head tilted slightly so you could look into that pretty pale face youâd seen display so many emotions, wear so many masks.
âThatâs all Iâve ever wanted for you, dove.â
He swallowed hard, eyes roaming your face as if there were more he wanted to say and was either trying to figure out how to say it or whether he should.
âWhat is it?â you murmured, brows pinching in concern.
âI would beâŠlying if I told you I havenât missed you though.â
Your heart did something funny at his confession.
âYou have?â
He took a beat before nodding his headâjust barely.
âIâve never known anyone quite like you. My little doveâthe female that was never a broken bird, but was just desperate for freedom, for the peace that came with that. For some reason, you stuck with me and I couldnât forget you.â
Your breath caught in your chest. You felt his touch skim your sides, gently. Then his hands were at your waist, lifting you to set you on his desk in one swift movement, coming to stand between your legs.
You leaned closer into him as if it were a response as natural as breathing.
âBut then,â Eris continued, voice low and serious, âYou were suddenly everyone elseâs and you no longer belonged to just me.â
Before you could say anything, he continued on.
âWhich is ridiculous, I know. You donât belong to meâyou donât belong to anyone but yourself. But some days Iâd find myself wistful, wishing for how things were before.â
You knew he didnât mean the way your sisters had treated you, but in the moments the two of you had shared. Moments meant only for the two of you.
âWhen my fatherâŠâ
He trailed off, anger and more complex emotions flashing across his face, in those eyes. You instantly bristled, somehow knowing exactly where this conversation was leading.
âAs I laid there, staring down my fatherâs sword, the only regret I had was that I hadnât told you how proud of you I was. How all I wanted to see was you happy. I made a vow to the Mother that day that if I lived, I would one day tell you that.â
You didnât know what to say. Your breath had been stolen from your lungsâas if a fist had reached into your chest, snuffing it out like one would the flame of a candle.
âItâs funny you say that,â you huffed a breathless laugh, overwhelmed, âBecause the moment I learned how close youâd been to death, the only thing I could think of was I came so close to never getting to thank you.â
Now it was his turn to look confounded, puzzlement filling his face.
âThank me? For what?â
âFor saving my life.â
He shook his head.
âI did no such thing.â
âYou did,â you insisted gently, âYou believed in me, you gave a truly absurd idea a chanceâyou actually went through with it, too. You taught me how to be bold in my choices, you inspired me, pushed me to make the necessary changes I needed to.â
Your gaze had drifted down as youâd spoken, lingering somewhere around the intricately gold stitched pattern of his jacket. But your eyes lifted before you could voice the last part of your sentiment.
âYou saw me, Eris.â
You were mere inches from his mouth and your eyes dropped to the lips youâd definitely missed. The same ones that had been on yours, on your body in the past.
The same ones you ached to kiss again.
When your eyes found his once more, you knew heâd taken in the way your gaze had dipped.
âOne more question.â
His breath fanned over your face, his voice dropping to a deep rasp.
âYes?â you breathed, inching closer to his lips.
So close, but so far away.
âDid you feel anything with themâany of those males?â
âI think weâve circled back to you sounding jealous,â you whispered, lips curling in a smug smile.
âAnswer me,â he said tersely, hand coming up to grip your chin between his thumb and forefinger.
Your eyes flickered up to his, your face turning serious.
âNo,â you answered honestly.
His eyes searched your face.
âTruly?â
âI spent so much time trying to figure out why I didnâtâwhy those experiences were so lackluster. Itâs because they werenât you.â
He groaned lowly, face finally dipping, letting his lips finally meet yours.
You met him eagerly, relieved to no longer have a necessity to hold back these conflicting feelings heâd always evoked in you. It wasnât a gentle kiss either, but a heated one, filled with so much left unsaid for far too long.
He whispered your name against your lips and you sighed in response, head tilting as he chased your lips with such fervor. This time, instead of letting him be in charge, your teeth sunk into his bottom lip just sharply enough for his lips to part. Your tongue swept effortlessly forward, tangling and brushing his.
His hands had settled on your thighs, spreading across them as he kissed you like his life depended on it. His mouth moved with yours with such rapid intent it made your head spin. Your hands glided along his chest, fingers curling in the lengths of his hair, the other sliding to the back of his neck.
The longer you kissed him, the hungrier it seemed to become. Your breath tangled with his as youâor heâparted long enough for a breath, never straying far before kissing again.
While your lips were preoccupied with his own, your hands couldnât stay stillâwanting to touch every inch of him. They slid along his shoulders before dropping and dragging down his chest.
He finally parted from your mouthâmuch to your disappointmentâlips relocating to your jaw. His touch dipped beneath your sweater, warm hand meeting your bare skin and you moaned, desperate for more of his touch. He nipped along your jaw towards your ear where his teeth gently pulled the lobe in a playful tug.
âTell me,â he said, in a low, seductive timber, thumb brushing high on your ribcageâjust under where you ached for his touch.
You waited for whatever it was he had to say, tilting your head to give him more access. He dropped a kiss to the side of your neck before murmuring in your ear.
âDid any of those males make you come like I have?â
You bit your lip, momentarily embarrassed. He instantly pulled back enough to look at your face, instantly picking up on your silence. You winced slightly at the truth on the tip of your tongue.
âI didnât even get that far.â
Something flashed in his eyesâdetermination perhaps, likely satisfaction that no one but him had ever been able to please you.
âTragic,â he mumbled, âYouâre at your most stunning when youâre unraveling.â
Disappointingly, his warm hand left your bare skin, retreating from under your shirt. His thumb brushed your lower lip as he studied you.
Your lips parted, wrapping them around the digit, so incredibly similar to that first time heâd pulled your finger into his own mouthâdemonstrating what it felt like for him to be inside of you. His gaze heated, flame sparking to life as you sucked on it gently, tongue flicking over the pad of it.
When you released it, you grinned sweetly, innocently up at him.
But Eris knew you well. You hadnât been innocent for quite some time.
âPerhaps you can make up for lost time,â you taunted lightly.
âOh, I intend to,â he purred.
Fingertips tilted your jaw just right before he kissed you again. You whimpered slightly, keen on not wasting any more time, fingers quickly busying themselves by undoing the buttons down his jacket.
He nibbled your bottom lip playfully, roaming hand brushing your clothed breast enough to make you moan and press closer to his touch. It also made your fingers speed upâdesire beginning to blaze within you.
When the last button was pushed through the hole and his jacket gaped open, your hands slid over the smooth skin, fingers tracing the dips and grooves of his impressively muscled stomach.
You didnât stay there long, fingers working the button of his pants, mouth hot against his. Then your hand dropped further.
The moment your hand pressed against the hardened length in his pants, everything in you went molten. He groaned into the kiss and you pulled back, a wicked gleam in your eyes.
You leaned forward, lips tracing his jaw as your fingers curled around the bulge in his pants.
âSeems like someone came to call in their bargain today, huh?â Eris rasped, fingertips of one hand digging into your hip.
You bit back a giggle as your palm pressed harder, pulling upwards to the tip. You knew he meant your loaded remark from the Solstice ball months agoâa bargain to fuck a High Lord.
But not just any High Lord.
Eris.
âOnly if thereâs enough interest,â you stated carefully, sitting back, hand falling from him.
For all you knew, this was just a moment of weaknessâfor both of you. He was still close to you, standing in front of you, chest heaving, hair askew, with both his jacket and top of his pants gaping open.
He looked like a dream.
He didnât break his smoldering gaze from you though and you sat, resisting the urge to fidget, the fear that youâd completely overstepped and misread the situation completely growing until it pressed tight against your ribs.
He swallowed hard, eyes narrowing infinitesimally.
âDove, no one has ever compared to you,â he uttered, sounding as devastated as he looked.
You chewed your lip nervously, not knowing if it was the right thing to say, but knowing it was the truth.
âAnd no one could ever replace you, Eris.â
His hand curved around your waist, pulling you close again, his lips hovering over yours.
âWe only do this if you want this. If you choose to.â
For that had always been important to himâheâd always given you a choice. Especially during a time when youâd seemed to have little of it. You tilted your chin, showing that spark of defiance that had always been within youâthe one heâd always known existed. Your lips curved upward in an alluring smile.
âItâs your lucky day, High Lordâbecause yes, I choose this.â
âThank the Mother,â he mumbled, hands diving for your face.
His hands had clutched your face, your lips just joining with his when you felt the sensation of a quick free fallâand then your back was hitting a mattress.
Your mouth fell from his in a gasp as you tried to orient yourself and realize heâd just winnowed the two of you from his study to his own personal chambersâhis High Lord chambers.
And directly into his bed.
A quick peek around revealed it was a differentâeven largerâbedroom than the one youâd been in a year prior.
âShow off,â you mumbled.
A deep chuckle rumbled from him as his lips traced your neck, stopping to briefly suck on a spot.
âI do tend to enjoy displaying what Iâm capable of from time to time.â
âYou have little difficulty with that, Eris,â you mumbled.
He just hummed as the bed shifted, his mouth still exploring, coming around to your throat. You gasped as he pressed a knee between your legs, the friction exactly what youâd needed. His hands bunched your sweater, pushing it up, lips parting from your body long enough to pull the garment over your head.
He wasted no time ridding you of the rest of your clothes, hands tracing your body like you were his own sort of masterpiece.
âHave you seen yourself lately?â you mumbled, in return.
He chuckled against your skin, lips curving in a smile. Then his mouth brushed one breast, making heat curl in you, drawing a soft breath from you as you arched into his touch. The touch was much more tender here, surprisingly filled with more devotion than hungerâthough that was still there, too.
He took his time, lips tracing over the mound like he was memorizing it, kissing the tightened bud at the peak of your breast. You watched him, breath deepening at the reverent gestures.
Then, he turned more playful, tongue flicking it before covering it with his mouth. His other hand came up, thumb brushing the peaked nipple of your other breast as he gave a gentle squeeze, providing both with stimulation.
You moaned appreciatively at the attention and he shifted after a moment, worshipping the other breast with his lipsâas if it was his lifeâs mission to do. The desire grew hotter within you, flushing your body and warming you as if heâd summoned a fire in you with the magical fire in his blood.
You hated to compare in the moment, but no one had ever worshipped your body the way Eris had.
As he kissed a path of hot, open mouth kisses down the center of your stomach, amber eyes flicking up to you in the process, you realized another dangerous truth.
No one had made you feel like Eris hadâand not just in the bedroom either.
Your eyes tracked every movement as he sat back, finally pulling off the jacket thatâd been hanging from his frame since youâd tore the buttons open earlier. Your gaze took in the shift of every muscle as his arms bent backwards to remove it, strong shoulders flexing with the movement.
Your eyes fell over the pale toned form, mouth already beginning to water.
He was a work of art.
âYou test every ounce of my restraint when you stare at me like that, dove,â he murmured, fingers at the waist of his pants, pushing them down.
âHow can I resist when the view is so appealing?â you gave him a saucy grin from where you lay against the pillows.
Your teasing tone instantly died the moment his cock came in view. The sight alone had your arousal doubling and you shifted impatiently. Your eyes took in the sight as your teeth sunk into your bottom lip.
âSuch a pretty cock,â you cooed, fingers wrapping around the base of him as you sat up fully.
He hissed, arching into your touch, a smug smirk curling his lips though.
âYou flatter me, sweetheart.â
His fingers tipped your chip up and kissed you as you stroked him slowlyâcausing him to groan into the kiss. But despite his words, he pulled your hand away as he broke the kiss.
âCome here,â he murmured, shifting you with him.
He laid back, reaching for you, making you instantly go to him. You gasped as he pulled you to the point you were straddling his chest. Your hair fell forward as you peered down at him, but his eyes only gleamed wickedly as he smirked up at you.
âIâm in the mood for a feast and it just so happens that feast is you.â
You didnât even have a chance to respond before he was gripping you under your thighs, moving you closer to hover over his face. Your gasp of surprise turned into a moan when his tongue immediately licked one drawn out path along your slit.
You reached out, hands gripping the headboard for balance and stability. You felt gentle fingers parting you, making a low noise of approval as he lapped at your entrance, never fully committing, never giving you too much before moving on.
He dragged his tongue upwards, playfully flicking your clit. You moaned again, your hips jerking, inadvertently grinding against his tongue.
âEris,â you whimpered, one hand reaching down to thread through his hair.
All you heard was a satisfied hum as your eyes slid closed, enjoying the way he worshipped you.
Then an idea popped in your headâone far too tempting to ignore. Your eyes opened and you peeked over your shoulder, a plan forming. You allowed him only a few licks more before you were twisting and bending, reaching down the length of his body.
You felt his grip tighten on your thighs, holding you steady so you wouldnât topple over. His voice was deep and raspy, edged with his own arousal.
âWhat are you up to, dove?â
Your answer was simple.
âFeasting.â
Repositioning yourself, you bent down, tongue gliding over the length of his cock as his hands gripped your ass, his mouth getting to work on you, simultaneously.
Your tongue coated him, swirling around the tip like he was the sweetest concoction youâd ever tastedâthough he mightâve been close to being the best. You wasted no time, knowing you were on limited time. As skilled as his tongue was, you knew it wouldnât be long until youâd fall over the edge.
You wanted to make sure he went first.
Your hand wrapped around his cock as your lips finally slid onto him, taking him into your mouth. You moaned around himâboth at the feel of him between your lips and the way his tongue had just plunged into your entrance.
He groaned against you as your hand and mouth worked in tandem, intention lacing your every move. His tongue flicked your clit then pressed flat against it.
You felt the vibration of his moan as his fingers dug into your ass, pulling you closer to his mouth. You grinded against him, trying hard to focus on your own task, especially as his own hips bucked upwards, sending his cock deeper into your mouth.
Every lick and suck you gave him, he answered with a pointed suck or flick of his tongue.
His mouth was deadlyâin more ways than oneâand you were quickly losing this battle.
You inevitably came on his mouth seconds before he exploded in yours.
You were already panting and trembling by the time he gently pulled you upwards, back towards him. But you still werenât anywhere near satisfied, you still had the deep desire to be filled by him.
His pale, freckled face was flushed, mouth still slick from you. You bypassed his mouth though and licked along the top of one of his cheeks, running your tongue over the splattering of freckles, over the blush that stained his cheeks.
You were out of control and you couldnât help it.
His hands gripped your hips as he leaned his face upwards to kiss you. The minute your lips met his, he was rolling the both of you until you were under him, mouth still hot on yours as his tongue dragged against yours sensually.
His hair fell around the two of you like a curtain and you gripped it in one fist, your other hand anchored on his bicep. His touch slid high on your leg, pulling it up to his waist as he pressed hisâonce againâhardened cock against you. You moaned into his mouth, lifting your hips in invitation.
âI never thought Iâd get to do this again,â he breathed hotly against your throat, mouth moving on to other areas of your body.
âIâm glad you are,â you panted, body like a livewire, craving him desperately.
You were burning so hot for him you thought you might combust. He nudged your entrance and you whimpered pitifully, tired of waiting.
âEris, please,â you whined.
There was no teasing remark or smug response, he instantly gave you what you needed, pushing into you with such little effortâunlike that first time youâd taken him to your bed.
How far youâd come since thenâhow far both of you had.
The instant he pushed into you, you were already reacting. Your moan mixed with his groanâas if you were coming home, as if you were back where you always belonged.
You didnât think youâd ever tire of the way he seemed to fit youâseemed to stretch you perfectly. His hips pressed flush against yours and you reveled in the closeness to him, your leg sliding higher on his waist.
âGods, you alway feel so fucking perfect,â he groaned, head dropping forward.
You couldnât argue.
You pushed strands of his hair back, palm cupping his jaw as you brought his face back to yours, kissing him as he began to move in you. Unfortunately, the kiss didnât last long for the moment he thrust back into you, your lips fell away from his in a moan.
âCauldron,â you breathed.
His hips jerked forward again on a rough thrust and you delighted in the incredible feeling. A part of you had half convinced yourself that youâd made it all upâhow amazing being with him had beenâbut you definitely hadnât.
His hand planted on the mattresses by your head, peering down to watch as his cock slid in and out of you. Your eyes dropped to the sight as well, observing how he was already drenched with your arousal.
âLook at us, dove,â he smirked, eyes flicking downwards again, watching as he pulled his cock out of you again, âAlready making such a mess on me.â
He thrust back in causing you to whimper at the sensationâand his words.
But it wasnât enough. You wanted to see just what he was fully capable of. You didnât know how to convey it though. Luckily, Eris seemed to sense your train of thoughtâor maybe he, too, no longer wanted to hold back when it came to you.
And you no longer wanted him to.
âDo you trust me?â he asked, tone momentarily serious as he pulled out of you.
You answered instantly, practically before he could get the question out entirely.
âImmensely.â
His command came immediately.
âTurn over.â
You were half scampering, half being aided by Erisâs hands as you flipped over on your stomach. You balanced your weight on your hands and knees, figuring thatâs how heâd want you, until you felt him shift behind you.
âNot quite, sweetheart,â he purred with what sounded like a healthy dose of amusement.
You werenât sure you understood his statement enough to respond though.
You felt him reach towards the front of you, taking one of your wrists, lifting it from the bed. He held you with his opposite hand, making sure you didnât lose your balance. He pulled your hand up to his lips, kissing the back of your hand softly before moving it forward and placing it on the sturdy oak headboard.
Your breathing became more labored and you watched his every movement as he repeated the action with your remaining handâbringing it to his lips and setting it on the headboard. Your grip instantly tightened, anticipating whatever he had in store for you.
His large palms slid from your hands, down your arms and up to your shoulders. He brushed your hair to the side, placing a lone kiss on your neck before sitting back, hands gliding down your bare back. You instantly arched into the touch.
âThatâs right, arch for me, dove.â
One hand traced up your spine as he bent, leaving a kiss on your back. Then your hips were in his grip and he was entering you so sharply it took your breath away.
âFuck,â he groaned lowly.
His thumbs smoothed circles into the skin of your hips, a silent question, checking on you.
âMore,â you demanded, still trying to catch your breathâbut not from pain, but from being so overwhelmed.
He grunted in response, pulling his hips back and thrusting back into you roughly. You responded with a moan you didnât even realize you could make.
He gave a breathless laugh from behind you.
âI always knew you could handle a little wildness.â
âJust shut up and fuck me,â you snapped, aching for things you hadnât even realized youâd wanted until this moment.
And with that realization came an additional oneâhe couldnât give it to you fast enough for your liking right now. His laughter was strained but warm, familiar as he did just that.
Another choked moan fell from your lips at another deliciously rough thrust into you, enough for you to jerk forward. Your body took over before you could even have the thought to, hips moving backwards to meet his thrusts as the two of you quickly found a pleasing and perfect rhythm.
âGods,â you rasped, knuckles turning white from the way you were already gripping the headboard.
Eris repeatedly retreated to thrust back into you, harder, deeper until all you could feel was him everywhere. His fingers gripped your hips with such strength you knew itâd result in his mark being left behind. He pulled you back towards him with each and every movement to meet each rough thrust.
His hips slammed harder into you and you let go of any inhibitions.
âFuck!â you cried.
Your moans were raw, spilling free as his hips pistoned, slamming against yours, the sound of skin slapping filling the room. One shift of his hips had his cock hitting a particularly perfect spot that made you cry out, cunt clenching around him.
âHoly gods, sweetheart,â came his guttural groan, âThere, huh?â
âErisâ fuckâ yes, yes, yesââ came your whimpered chants.
He focused on that exact spot and you nearly screamed each and every time. His cock inside of you was a feeling of absolute fullnessânever too much and just rightâa sensation youâd only ever experienced with Eris.
It wasnât the same depth or discomfort youâd experienced with Balthazar thoughâit was just enough. Another perfect example of how in tune with youâand your bodyâEris had been from the very beginning.
Your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head with each and every brush of his cock against the spot. He pounded harder, each movement making your body rock forward and cling harder to the headboardâjust for the insurance you wouldnât collapse from sheer pleasure.
Then his hand was at your shoulder, grip firm as he yanked your body back towards him. Your hands fell from the headboard as you went willingly. One strong arm came around your middle holding your body to his, fingers curling around your hip. You felt his teeth scrape along your shoulder a second later.
âLouder,â he demanded, panting against your skin, âLet me hear how only I can make you feel.â
His hips were brutal, harsh thrusts accompanying his following words.
âWannaâ Hear my nameâ On those pretty lipsââ
âEris,â you panted, automatically giving in to his demand.
Your body was instantly answering his own without a single hesitationâas if he needed the reminder that the other males were nothing but a footnote in your history compared to him.
You could feel the press of his muscled form against your back, brushing it enough with every movement that it drove you wilder. You reached back, tangling your fingers in his hair as you tilted your head over your shoulder, pulling his head closer to you.
His eyes cut down to your face before his head dropped, covering his mouth with yours. Your fingers tightened in his hair, moaning into his mouth as he worked himself into you over and over.
You were spiraling, pleasure building and your lips parted from his, moans falling from you more than any intelligible words. His touch slid between your legs, face leaning forward to drag his tongue along your neck as his fingers flicked your clit.
You mewled at the added sensation, head falling back against his shoulder, letting him unravel you with each and every motion.
âWho makes you feel this good?â Eris growled against your ear.
Your pleasure was rising to levels you didnât think you could handle much longer.
âY-You,â you rasped, brain so fuzzy you could barely think straight.
All you could focus on was how deep his cock was, how he felt pounding into you, how you wanted him to spill into you and take you a second time, a third, a fourth.
âOnly me,â he grunted, affirming your statement.
As if proving his point, he thrust harder, rougher, plowing into you ruthlessly. You loved every second of it.
It didnât take much longer before the tension snapped and you were careening over the cliff, falling into your release with such a shriek of his name, you mightâve been horrified at yourselfâif you were in your right mind, that was.
All you could hear was his drawn out groan as your cunt clamped around him, your orgasm rocking through your body, making your vision nearly white. Then his teeth sank so hard into your shoulder it made you hiss. You felt the vibration of his groan against your skin as his own release rocked through him. You felt the warmth a beat later as he spilled into you, it already trickling out and down your thighs.
Your hand fell from his hair as he pulled out of you with a hiss. You were sure your body had turned to jelly by the way you swayed, trying to catch your breath, body absolutely limp from pleasure.
âEasy,â he murmured.
His hands were gentle on you as he lowered you to the bed and you collapsed onto your side, chest heaving. You were sweaty and spent, but still buzzing, body tingling from the orgasm heâd just wrung from you.
You felt the bed shift behind you and felt him situate himself at your back. Your eyes closed as you tried to slow your heart rate, your breathing, try to come back down from your high.
You felt fingertips tracing the hurt at your shoulder and you winced.
âThanks for the bite,â you commented wryly.
You felt his tongue run over the area where his teeth had broken through the skin. His voice was warm and low, soaked with the remnants of pleasure.
âItâll heal soon enough.â
His hand smooth over your hip until it slid down to your leg, lifting it until it tangled between his, cock pressing against you once again.
âGods, youâre insatiable,â you moaned.
âI donât hear any complaints coming from you,â he uttered, tilting his hips enough to push back into you.
No, you definitely werenât complainingâdefinitely not at the warmth, the feeling of being filled with him, the intimacy of it.
Which was what this wasâintimate. His hips tilted in a shallow thrust into you. You let out a content noise as his hand splayed over your stomach and you reached down, lacing your fingers with his. You automatically melted back into him, head tilting back and back arching into his body as he decided a second round was definitely what both of you needed.
You felt the brush of his mouth by your ear, breath warm against it.
âIf youâre gonna fuck a High Lord, one would think you should get the full experience,â he murmured against the shell of your ear.
You huffed a laugh, turning into a soft moan as his hips rocked gently. His mouth covered your neck with kisses, spread across your neck and shoulder as his hips moved languidly, a soft and smooth rhythm in and out of you.
You luxuriated in this sort of touch just as much as you did when he was rougher. His nose nudged your cheek and you arched back into him further.
His lips brushed a kiss to your cheek and you felt yourself melt at the simple gesture.
Your hips moved gently with his, enjoying the slower pace. This time was softer, less wild, but it was still as consuming as earlier had been. He squeezed your fingers laced with his as yours and his body moved, his lips tracing patterns only he could make out, on your skin.
âI think Iâve been yours for far longer than I realized,â he whispered.
The intimacyâhis wordsâmade goosebumps rise on your skin. The vulnerability that laced his tone.
The truth bubbled up from your chestâyour heartâbefore you could stop it.
You didnât want to though.
âIâve always been yours, Eris.â
You heard him heave a breath that sounded like it came from the depths of his very soul, his hips rocking a little faster. His hand slid down your stomach between your legs, fingers working to coax another release from you.
You mewled softly, body responding to him instantly, that building pressure already on the horizon.
Then came the two words that were your utter undoing.
âMy dove,â he groaned in your ear.
It sent you spiraling into another orgasm, this one less wild and untamed but nonetheless intense. You gasped, body arching, soft sounds falling from you as your body surrendered itself to him yet again.
His free hand pressed firmly to your stomach, pressing your body as close to his as he followed suit, falling victim to his own release. You felt the reverberation of his deep groan against your back, heard it fill your ears as he released all he had into youâphysically and emotionally.
When youâd both calmed, he eased out of you gently, maneuvering you so you could face each other. You went easily, looking up into his beautiful face. He slid one muscled arm underneath you and you rested your head on it, staring up at him, content.
His gaze was soft on your face but he looked just at a loss for words as you were. You brought the corner of your bottom lip between your teeth as you stared back at him, taking him in.
âI donât need to be anywhere for a while,â you smiled softly, âRhys knows not to expect me back for a while.â
âThank the Cauldron for that,â he mumbled.
You let out a breathy, happy laugh and the way Erisâs face warmedâlit upâat the sound of it did funny things to your heart. Your hand pressed against his warm chest, feeling the solid strength of it under your touch.
His gaze fell to the hand that youâd just rested against him. He took your wrist gingerly, studying itâthe smooth skinâwhere once a dark outline of a tattoo lay. He was likely reminiscing on the history that lay between the two of you.
He brought it to his lips, leaving a soft, slow kiss to your pulse pointâsimilarly to how he did when that bargain tattoo had first appeared. But this time the gesture held a lot more weightâmore meaningâthan it did back then.
âWhat would you say if I had a proposition for you this time?â he asked, voice softer, gentler.
âWhat do you have in mind?â you asked, humoring him, curiosity in your gaze as you looked up into his beautiful face.
âWell, I would propose that I get to see a lot more of you,â he murmured, âRegularly.â
You chuckled.
âAre you proposing making another bargain with me?â
His lips curled upward in a genuine smile.
âIf need be, yes.â
You just raised an amused brow.
âNo bargain needed for that, Eris.â
âNo?â
A fingertip began tracing patterns over your shoulder and across your collarbones, his eyes tracing the path it took. You simply shook your head in response to his inquiry.
âYou already have me.â
His wandering touch stopped and his amber eyes flicked up to yours, filled with such emotion that it made your breath catch. His hand cupped the back of your head, a genuine smile blooming across his face as he brought your face towards his, lips hovering right over yours.
His actions made your heart sing, a chord played that only he could hear, could recognize. A mark was currently being etched into your heartâakin to the one that had been marked upon the skin of your wrist once upon a time.
But this time, it wasnât from a magical bargain. This time it was from something much more powerful than any bargain magic.
It was from love.
His grin grew even more as he uttered the words that made that mark permanent on your heartâa bargain of another sort being struck between you and Eris.
âThat is one bargain I will happily accept, dove.â
When Azriel overhears something he most certainly wasnât supposed to, he canât resist the urge to have a little fun with it and you get a taste of just how much of a tease the shadowsinger can really be.
Pairing: Azriel x f!reader
Word Count: 9.2k
Warnings: eventual smut, p in v, sexual tension, some teasing, Az just being deadly in bed
A/N: I canât believe this fic finally came to fruition. Iâve had this idea for two months and just could never seem to make it come to life. But with a recent bout of inspiration, it finally happened. A big thanks to @garricktavisfanclub for helping me so much with brainstorming, details and proofreading too. If youâd like to be added to my fics tag list (I currently write mainly Azriel and Eris fics) let me know!
Wine. You were gonna need wine.
And lots of it.
âOkay, I know I asked for this, but now Iâm wondering if it was one of my worst ideas yet.â
Your best friend smirked as she sipped her cup of tea. Her gray blue eyes held mischief as she watched you take a rather large sip of your wine.
Sheâd been through a lot here recently, youâd learned.
Youâd only known Nesta Archeron for a short time, meeting her when she came into the bookstore in Velaris that you worked in, almost a year ago. You had no idea just what kind of journey she was on at that first meeting, the demons she was battling, the healing she was slowly working towards.
Itâd only been in the last few months that youâd grown closerâespecially when sheâd invited you to train with her, her other friends Gwyn and Emerie and other priestesses that lived in the library beneath the house you were currently in.
Nesta had seen something in you that she had in her other friends, apparently.
You hadnât experienced trauma like the other females, but you did deal with an overabundance of grief. Youâd lost your parents in the war with Hybern, a series of events leading you to end up in Velaris, though it hadnât been the home where youâd once lived with your parents.
Though the people of the city and its High Lord were kindhearted and friendly, youâd never felt like youâd fit in, wading through grief youâd never fully healed from. Youâd felt like youâd had no purpose. Youâd drifted through every day, doing the same things. Get up, go to work, eat, read and sleep. Nothing had ever changed.
Until the day youâd met Nesta and youâd been set on the path towards your life slowly changing.
Youâd been hesitant when sheâd asked if youâd like to train. Cassian and Azriel were great teachers, sheâd encouraged, but youâd still been wary. You were no warrior.
But the longer youâd thought about it, the more youâd realized that you had been presented with an opportunity that might not come around again. One that could potentially break you out of your rut, out of the haze of grief you had spent so much time in.
After all, youâd realized youâd never know if you didnât try.
But by accepting the offer, starting to train, youâd made more friends. Found a purpose. Felt useful. You were currently even at a girls night consisting of you and Nesta.
Gwyn and Emerie unfortunately hadnât been able to make it tonight, the former being tied up with helping her boss Merril, who was in deep research mode lately. The latter was also busy with work, having put off doing inventory for her store for far too long and needed to catch up.
While they were missed, it gave a rare opportunity for you to be a bit more outgoing, something youâd still felt hesitant about doing with the other two females. Not that they werenât welcoming or friendlyâthey wereâyou just sometimes happened to feel very much like the newcomer to the group.
It was a bit easier with Nesta, since youâd known her the longest.
It had helped greatly though when both females had been informed by Nesta that youâd enjoyed reading as well and they had recommendations upon recommendations for you to read. Working at a bookstore, youâd been surprised to find you hadnât read most of the ones they loved and immediately took up their offer of loaning you some.
The pair had even made plans to come visit you at the bookstore sometime soonâthough it hadnât come to fruition just yetâthey still intended to. Theyâd been absolutely delighted when theyâd heard that you worked at a bookstore. You knew there were plenty of different books the store carried that you could recommend to the females.
So, perhaps, training hadnât been a bad idea after all. You were learning a new skill and socializing a lot more than youâd once had been.
âI promise one glass is all Iâll have, I just need it to get through this conversation,â you mumbled into your glass.
âIf youâre worried about me, Iâm okay,â Nesta said evenly, âI wonât snatch the glass out of your hand.â
You didnât want to be insensitive to any of your friendâs past issues and you told her so, which she just gave you a cutting lookânot in a harsh wayâbut more to let you know that she was perfectly fine.
âBesides, you did ask about how Cassian was,â she smirked.
Sheâd recently mated with your training instructor and sort of friend, Cassian. You were extremely happy for them because anyone with eyes could tell there was chemistry between them and that they loved one another deeply.
But youâd had to open your big mouth and teasingly ask if he was as good with other things as he was his sword. You didnât think Nesta would divulge details, especially when you had to see the male nearly every day.
Thankfully, it was just the two of you at the House of Wind for the nightâCassian down at the River House meeting with Rhys for something and Azriel gone on a mission, spying somewhere. That had been the reason for this impromptu girls night.
Youâd made a teasing remark that sheâd seemed on edge, like she couldnât go long without her mate and had commented that the sex must be that good if she was so fidgety.
It was like Nesta was going through withdrawal. But if her face was any indicator, maybe there was a good reason she was.
âLetâs just say heâsâŠgood at what he does,â she murmured with a smirk.
You thought you were getting by with just that little detail. But, no, she wasnât finished.
You had to admit you were morbidly curious.
âOnce, we were so feral after weâd gone one round, he told me to put my hands on the headboard. Then took me all over again. Even rougher.â
You nearly choked on your sip of wine.
âBy the Cauldron,â you breathed, "Would you hate me if I said now I need to know more?â
âI was hoping youâd ask,â Nesta grinned.
âIs heâŠgifted?â
âOh definitely. To the point even I was surprised when I first saw it.â
She said it so nonchalantly your brows nearly rose to your hairline.
âItâs a wonder youâre still in one piece,â you mumbled.
âThe type?â she asked, taking another sip, brow raised.
âYou know, the type of male that knows how to use his cock well. Theyâre old enough, they oughta know how to use it well.â
Nesta snorted.
âYouâd think so, but Iâd been with plenty of males that still havenât managed to hone that skill despite immortality.â
âClearly you no longer have that problem,â you mused, smirking.
She made a noise low in her throat, indicating just how good it really must be.
âCassian knows how to keep me on my toesâŠwhile making them curl at the same time.â
You took another drink of your wine, the rich, potent flavor coating your tongue, debating how to put your next question.
âSoâŠbest youâve ever had?â
She just gave you another look. You figured the answer to that.
Good sex could be good sex, but you figured it had to be on a whole different level when one was mated and in love.
âPoint taken,â you mumbled.
âAnd thereâs this thing he does with his tongueââ
You gulped the rest of your wine in two large swallows, waving your hand.
âAlright, alright, Iâve heard enough.â
She looked amused.
âYou asked.â
You groaned at your own curiosity. You had.
âNow itâs my turn. What about you?â
You were the one snorting now.
âWhat about me, what?"
âAny males in your horizon that you care to share about?â Nesta prodded.
âI lied. Iâm gonna need another glass,â you grumbled, definitely not wanting to talk about this.
She put a hand over the empty glass, to prevent you from getting any more and stared you down.
You knew she wouldnât give up unless you divulged something.
Plus, she was probably right to not let you have another glass. Your head was slightly swimming from how quickly youâd consumed the last half of your previous glass, anyways.
âNo. Thereâs no one.â
You were too short, too abrupt. Nesta was not one to miss a slip up like that. Her keen attention missed little.
âUh huhâŠwhy donât I believe you?â
âBecause itâs nothing,â you emphasized.
âMhm,â she studied you, thinking, âItâs not like I know many eligible males other thanââ
She paused, eyes widening as she figured it out.
You scowled, mentally cursing yourself for even beginning this line of conversation.
Too late to run, you supposed.
Nesta looked absolutely delighted.
âAzriel?!â
You hushed her, your cheeks flaming.
âOh relax, you know itâs just us here.â
âI know, but itâs bad enough hearing you say it outloud. At least letting it stay in my head doesnât make it sound as pathetic.â
âIs that why you nearly dropped your sword during training last week?â Nesta grinned smugly.
âYes,â you replied, glumly.
The shadowsingerâtypically in charge of the priestessesâhad come over last week, offering you some pointers on how to hold your sword better so it would be easier to run through the drills with.
Youâd felt a strange pull to the male for some time, but youâd assumed it was the fact he was quiet and mysterious with deadly good looks. It was no secret the dark haired male was beautiful.
But youâd fumbled badly, nearly dropping the sharp blade. It was only with Azrielâs quick speed that heâd reached out, steadying it in your hands, keeping it from falling and embedding into your boot or worse, taking off a toe or something of the like.
Youâd suggested you switch back to a wooden blade after that to prevent any further injury or embarrassment, especially since you seemed to be pretty behind the other females. His face hadnât changed from the cool, stony expression he usually wore and youâd felt humiliated.
He probably thought you were a bumbling fool.
âOh this is delicious,â Nesta grinned widely.
âI am definitely gonna need more wine for this discussion,â you sighed.
Nesta finally moved her hand from your glass, picking up the bottle and only pouring half the amount youâd previously had, which was probably the wisest. Youâd take what you could get though.
âAlright, spill,â Nesta urged you on.
âSpill what? I find him attractive, thatâs the end of the story. Thereâs nothing to tell.â
Nesta looked amused.
âWhich explains why heâs always hovering. Or watching you train.â
âHe does not,â you gave her a look, âBesides I think he actually hates me.â
âThatâs just his face.â
âAnd heâs clearly not impressed with a frail fae female who canât even handle a sword well.â
You gulped your wine again, feeling your cheeks heat. This had definitely not been what you imagined tonightâs girls night would entail.
You also wished you hadnât eaten all the cookies earlier because you probably needed some food to soak up the alcohol you were consuming. It was never good when you got tipsy because you could never control your tongue.
âI imagine you could handle his sword.â
The wine came sputtering out of your mouth in a spray. Thank the Mother you hadnât been facing Nesta or your spewed wine wouldâve been all over your friend.
âNesta!â
She didnât seem the slightest bit ashamed.
âWhat? I mean there was a time I imagined it myself.â
Suddenly you were really glad you hadnât taken another drink as you gaped at her.
âBefore me and Cassian accepted the bond that is,â she clarified, âBut I just meant I wouldnât blame you if youâveâŠentertained those thoughts.â
Maybe you were just lonely. Maybe you were desperate. Maybe you were just too tipsy, but the words came out before you could stop them.
âLetâs just say Iâd let him do whatever he wants to me. Iâd happily spend all day on my knees.â
Nesta burst into delighted giggles and you took it as encouragement, the wine truly loosening your tongue, the truth coming spilling out. After all, you were with a friend whoâd never breathe a word of your secret.
âIâm not kidding! Itâs beenâŠa while. Iâm talking since before I moved to this court. Thereâd be nothing better than breaking my dry spell with a tall, dark, muscled shadowsinger. I would beg, Nesta.â
âOh I think I love this side of you,â Nesta mused, pouring herself more tea, âNo wonder youâre distracted during training.â
âI donât try to be! I start off strong, but every time he drifts closer, my brain malfunctions.â
âToo busy thinking of other swords,â Nesta chuckled.
âThereâs no point in denying it now, is there?â
âNope,â she said, amused, still grinning, âYou have heard the wing allegations havenât you?â
âThe what.â
Your question came out more like a monotone statement because the way Nesta looked couldnât mean anything good.
âWell there areâŠallegations that an Illyrian maleâs wings are indicative of the size ofâŠother parts.â
âSo has Cassian proved this to be true?â
She hummed, âAnd then some.â
You lifted a brow.
âWhat arenât you telling me?â
âAzriel has the biggest wingspan apparently,â Nesta replied, probably a tad too casually.
âCauldron bless whoever gets to experience that cock,â you said, perhaps too candidly.
You were definitely a smidge drunk.
âLike you?â Nesta teased.
âYeah, right,â you rolled your eyes.
âI say go for it,â she shrugged, âHe needs it. Heâs been broodier than normal lately.â
âIf I hadnât been sitting next to you this entire time watching you drink tea, Iâd think youâre the one thatâs drunk.â
She said nothing more, just gave you a devilish smile.
âJust try not to get distracted during our next sword lesson. Maybe, instead, you can think of all the things Iâve told you about Cassian.â
You threw a pillow at her head, squealing, bursting into giggles at the absurdity. She caught the pillow and you both descended into more laughter.
Neither your nor Nesta noticed the curl of a shadow in the darkened corner.
âąâąâą
AZRIEL
Azriel set his heavy pack down just inside the door, moments after his boots landed on the balcony outside the dining room of the House of Wind.
Heâd wrapped up the mission earlier than expected, already having retrieved the intel Rhys had needed from the mortal lands. Heâd left orders with his spies since his current task was completed and had decided to fly back home instead of waiting until morning. He was exhausted and in dire need of his bed.
His wings rustled as he stepped into the dining room, folding them closed after the flight.
He was so exhausted he felt like even his wings were drooping.
His shadows curled like smoke behind him, some twining around his boots. One wisp took off, scouring the House. He heard laughter down the hallway in the main sitting room, but was too tired to process much more than the fact that it was Nesta.
Probably her and her friends, he thought to himself.
He didnât spare it much thought as he walked to the stairs, ready to descend to his room. Heâd made it one level downâhalfway down the stairs to the level his room was onâwhen the errant wisp of shadow returned, curling by his ear, whispering secrets only he could hear.
Theyâre discussing you.
He let out a low hum, only half interested. Sleep was calling his name and he wasnât letting anything deter him from the goal of his soft bed.
He didnât even know exactly who they wereâbesides Nesta, of courseâbut he didnât have the energy to care.
Sometimes he wondered if his shadows could read his thoughts because then the same nosy little one whispered their names to him.
That was enough to get his attention, causing him to pause just outside his door, hand hovering over the doorknob.
He stayed rooted in place as the hiss and whispers of his shadows filled him in on what the lone one had discovered. His hazel eyes shot upwards to the ceiling, where just two levels away, the two females had definitely been discussing him in length.
A small smile curled on his lips as it whispered certain details itâd gathered.
And though Az was tired, he walked into his room, heading straight to his desk, an idea sparking. He picked up paper and something to write with.
This could be very interesting, indeed.
âąâąâą
Youâd spent the night at the House, by Nestaâs insistence.
You couldâve had Cassian fly you back down the mountain when heâd returned a few hours laterâafter the disastrous conversation youâd had about a certain shadowsingerâbut you were probably best off sleeping in one of the many guest rooms they had available anyway.
Besides, it was easier to be here for training anyways. Which is why you hadnât argued with your friend.
Miraculously, you hadnât woken up with a headacheâyouâd always been a lightweight with fae wineâbut you and Nesta had stayed up far too late talking and laughing. It was horrific, the need to wake at this early hour, especially after a long night.
Sleep still clouded your brain and you rubbed at your tired eyes. You yawned, trying to find motivation to get up and change into some old Illyrian leathers that Nesta had loaned you for this morning. Then youâd have breakfast before heading to the roof for training.
You turned your head then, spotting something out of the corner of your eye.
There, sat a note on the nightstand with your name on it. Your brows furrowed, knowing the slip of paper hadnât been there the previous night. You reached for it as you sat up, unfolding it.
Should I be flattered by all the things youâd like to do to me? -A
You gasped, the paper dropping from your hands like it was on fire. You were sure your face was, at least.
There was no possible way he couldâve heard. Was there?
You crumpled it up, figuring youâd dispose of it later.
Just what you needed, Azriel making fun of you.
You didnât know how you were going to make it through training.
After pulling on your leathers, you disposed of the note at the back of the nightstand drawer and went upstairs to get breakfast.
Either you were up early or were late to training because no one was at the breakfast table. But a plate of eggs were there for you, still steaming, like the House had made sure to keep them warm for you. You picked up your fork to eat, trying to make sure you got some food in you and hopefully not be too late, when you saw more paper sticking out from underneath the plate.
Your stomach twisted, hoping it was just a note from Nesta or even Cassian scolding you for being late or drinking last night, anything.
Unfolding it, you realized you had no such luck.
Was it just the wine or do you spend every girls night talking about my cock? :) -A
You nearly choked at the words and the smiley face.
You groaned aloud, face falling into your free hand. He was enjoying this.
You shoved forkfuls of eggs in your mouth while you desperately tried to think of an excuse to skip training. You thought of none.
Once again discarding the note, you walked up the stairs and headed out to the training ring where training was in full session already. So, you had been late.
Something was different today, though.
Your three friends were already doing their warm ups while Cassian watched them, arms crossed, Azriel next to him.
You grumbled, throwing him a lazy middle finger. Even if you only kinda considered him a friend at this point, youâd quickly opened up and responded to his teasing nature. Especially during training when you didnât shy away from telling him what you thought of his choice of exercises.
âWhereâs the priestesses?â you asked, heading to the weapons rack.
âGave them the day off since Az has been working them to the bone. Plus, I thought you could use the extra practice.â
You turned, having picked up the wooden practice sword, still unsure if you were ready for the real thing again.
âWell I canât argue with you there.â
Despite your hard work, you had started training a month or more later than the other females and still hadnât quite caught up.
âAlright, give me all you got. Iâm ready to catch up.â
The General pointed to the ground.
âWarm ups first. These three are almost done. You know the usual. Squats, crunches, sit ups and push ups. Donât forget to stretch.â
You saluted Cassian and moved to drop to the ground to start the exercises there. You nearly fell straight on your ass at his next words.
âOh, also. You wonât be partnered with me today, Az will oversee your training today. Heâll have you caught up in no time.â
In more ways than one.
The thought flitted across your mind and you tried to remain composed and give nothing away as you nodded, laying back to start with the sit ups.
On your fifth, as you came up towards your knees, your eyes caught the hazel ones of the shadowsinger. You willed yourself not to flush, not to think about what you knew he knew.
Or how that brief eye contact made you feel like heâd seen right into you and knew everything.
You made sure to finish the exercises while avoiding his gaze the rest of the time.
That was harder to do when you were faced one on one with Azriel, following your exercises.
Your friends had been so advanced that theyâd already moved on to learning combinations of maneuvers of striking with a sword after learning all eight maneuvers. The two Illyrians overseeing yours and your friendsâ training called it the eight pointed star.
Unfortunately, you were still struggling with the maneuversâpretty much still stuck on the first few. Hence why youâd switched back to the practice sword to save any further embarrassment.
For some reason, you just couldnât get the moves down perfectly and you huffed in frustration, watching your friends execute the moves with the real blades. The motions were as fluid as water, appearing like it came naturally to them.
âStop paying attention to them. Eyes on me,â Azriel said sternly and your eyes turned back to them.
âWhat am I doing wrong?â you grimaced.
Right now, the awkwardness was the furthest thing from your mind. His notes and what youâd said about him taking a backseat in your mind as you tried to channel all your concentration on training. You were determined to nail these moves, but it was like your body wouldnât cooperate.
âFor one, youâre letting your frustration override your concentration.â
His arms were crossed as he assessed you trying again.
âAgain,â he ordered.
You sighed, steeling yourself and your stance, trying the swipe and jab upward again.
His head tilted and you figured you definitely didnât nail it, by his expression.
Not that youâd be able to tell very much if you had as his expression wouldnât be likely to change from his usual cool and unreadable demeanor.
âYouâre putting too much weight on your back foot. Itâs throwing off your balance.â
He circled you, coming up behind you, hands coming to grab your hips, trying to demonstrate the position they should be in. You felt his breath on the back of your neck and your own caught, slightly.
Without warning, heat flared through you, your stomach swooping at the proximity. You chastised yourself mentally, trying to keep focused on training while in the training ring and definitely not distracting thoughts.
âYouâre too tense for one,â he murmured, âI can help loosen you up.â
You were sure you were the only one noticing the double entendre of that statement.
âYeah, okay.â
You nodded a bit too quickly.
He bent down, gently tapping the backs of your knees. They buckled slightly.
âRelax and spread your legs for me.â
You paused and absolutely blinked at that. You turned your head, probably looking wide eyed, to him. His face hadnât changed but you swore you saw a faint edge of amusement twitch the corners of his lips.
âOpen up your stance,â he elaborated.
âOh. Right.â
Your feet spread, even though your heart raced at the very coincidental and likely accidental suggestive words.
âAlright, try it again.â
You performed the maneuver again and his eyes shone when you excelled it.
âGood.â
You couldnât help the surge of pride you feltâmaybe a bit exacerbated because it was Azriel youâd performed well for.
âKeep this up and youâll be back to the real blade in no time. I know you know exactly how to grip a sword.â
Your eyes darted up to his and you felt a flash of humiliation all over again, remembering your conversation from last night with Nesta. You had no idea if it was an off handed comment that meant nothing or if heâd heard that too.
As he walked back in front of you to continue your lesson, you didnât miss the small smile on his face.
Or the way his eyes were even more intense on you when he requested you move on to the next maneuver.
All you knew was it was going to be a long morning.
âąâąâą
The following days were tense.
Not necessarily in a bad way, but youâd felt Azrielâs eyes on you constantly.
It had started at training the morning after yours and Nestaâs conversation, which miraculously youâd managed to make through the one on one with him. Even if every brush of his fingers when he corrected your hold or fixed your posture made chills break out across your skin, even in the warm morning sun.
Now, a few days after that, youâd stayed a little later after training, deciding to spend the day with Nesta since Cassian was going to be away. The two of you had sat in the kitchen chatting. You sat on the counter, munching on an apple as you two conversed.
Youâd been talking and laughing when Nesta got the idea to break out some of Rhysâs good wine. Sheâd left you there to go look for itâalso assuring you it was fine for her to drink a glass, which you were glad to hear.
The apple core vanished out of your hands almost the moment you finished it and you chuckled, looking up at the ceiling.
âThanks.â
You sat looking around the grand kitchen, not even hearing anyone else approach.
âIâd say itâs bad manners to leave company unattended, wouldnât you?â
You startled, head turning in the direction of the deep, smoky voice. You found Azriel leaning in the doorway.
You had no idea how heâd managed to sneak up on you. Then again, he was the spymaster, known for being sneaky and quiet.
âI am known to be capable of amusing myself,â you quipped with a smile.
He chuckled, walking in.
âYou did well at training earlier.â
You found yourself surprised. You didnât think it was often that the shadowsinger gave out compliments.
âThanks,â you said, watching him approach.
He made you nervous, but not because of his unreadable demeanor, but for the way he made you feel. Off balance and unsteady, like you werenât sure what to expect next.
Though you hadnât been paired with him for any individual lessons since that one morning, it hadnât stopped him from hovering during training every now and then in the days since. It was like you were keenly aware of his presence, your body buzzing with that awareness any time he was near.
Sort of like it was doing right now.
He stopped right in front of you and you eyed him warily, unsure of what he was going to do or sayâespecially as he stepped close enough to stand between your open legs.
âIn fact, youâre a quick learner. I could teach you moreâŠif youâre interested.â
Your pulse sped up and you were sure he noticed, though he didnât break eye contact with you. One of his hands came up and rested on your thigh and it took everything in you not to look down at it.
âIâm always eager to learn.â
You mightâve been more embarrassed at how breathy your comment came out, but you were too caught up in the moment. Especially as you saw his hazel eyes darken, his head dipping lower towards you.
âSpeaking of learningâŠI happened to learn something interesting here recently,â he said lowly.
âOh yeah? Whatâs that?â
You tilted your head just slightly and your breath caught as you felt his hand slide upwards toward your waist.
âThat you and Nesta seem to have some rather interesting conversations about me.â
âAnd what if we do?â you challenged.
Your chin tilted in defiance, inadvertently moving your face closer to his.
Azrielâs eyes dipped to your lips and your breathing became more shallow the closer your faces seemed to migrate. He seemed to be considering something before speaking again.
âThen consider me flattered.â
You felt his fingers flex on your waist, could feel his shadows tickling your calves with just the faintest brush. Your eyes stayed locked on his, the pull to him feeling the strongest it had yet and his eyes dipped again, watching your tongue peek out between your lips, wetting them.
Your head tilted upward, preparing in case he was going to kiss you andâ
âWeâre in luck! I found two bottles!â
You heard Nestaâs voice call out from down the hall and it was approaching quickly. You jerked back from Azriel and in one smooth maneuver, heâd stepped away, hand falling from your body. He moved just slightly to your left towards the cabinet next to you, like he was in the process of picking a piece of fruit from the bowl on the counter beside you.
Your heart slammed against your chest, trying to process what the hell had just happened. If Azriel had really been that close to you, if heâd really been about to kiss you.
âFigured we could open one now and save the other forââ
Nesta walked back into the kitchen, her sentence instantly dying on her lips the moment her eyes caught sight of Azriel.
She took him in where he stoodâstill rifling through apples, pears and bananas and then shot to youâwhere you still sat on the cabinet. Probably too close to him not to raise her suspicions.
And oh were they raised.
Her eyes narrowed on you, giving you a look that most any female could detect from another female.
It was a blatant you better tell me everything that just happened because I know something did, look.
Nesta perfected it well.
Azriel grabbed an apple, tossed it in the air and caught it before turning, dipping his head towards the both of you.
âLadies,â he said by way of exit.
When he was gone, Nesta whipped toward you, a bottle of wine in both hands and a look of both bewilderment and sheer delight on her face.
âNow what in the Motherâs name was that?â
âąâąâą
The kitchen incident had only been the beginning.
Azriel, of all people, was effectively teasing the life out of you.
And Cauldron damn him, if it wasnât working.
It only got worse when he showed up while you were at work. That fact being even more prominent in your mind because Azriel had never set foot in this bookstore.
At least while youâd been working there, that is.
âFancy seeing you here,â you quipped, a smile on your lips.
âApparently Nesta had a few books that she had on order that was coming in today. She was dying to get them but was tied up for the afternoon and couldnât swing by.â
Uh huh. You bet she was tied up.
It smelled more like Nestaâs scheming.
The male walked up to the counter, hands resting on the edge.
âShe said youâd know what I was talking about.â
âI sure do, they came in this morning. I think she single-handedly keeps this bookstore in business,â you chuckled.
His lips quirked in a smirk.
âItâs funny, Iâve seen you more in this last week than I think I have in the three months since Iâve started training,â you noted.
âMaybe you wished on a star and it came true.â
Damn, you never realized he was so smooth. All that silence and brooding could definitely hide some charm, thatâs for sure.
âMaybe,â you said, the corners of your mouth turning upwards in a smile.
âIâm interested in what you read though,â he said smoothly, âBooks, scrolls, notesâŠâ
Your cheeks flushed the slightest when you remembered the teasing, suggestive notes heâd left you. He was also clearly fishing for information, likely wondering if youâd gotten them.
âIt depends on whatâs recommended to me,â you hedged.
You gave him a crumb, curious if heâd pick it up.
âDo you now?â
You werenât one to play games, so you straightened, looking up at him, deciding to aim closer to the truth. Maybe without being too obvious, perhaps.
âQuite the poet you are.â
His eyes narrowed, but the smirk on his face gave him away instantly.
Heâd gotten your meaning.
âIâm the best type there isâan honest one.â
You lifted a brow, then realized youâd yet to get Nestaâs books.
âAh. The books, right. One minute.â
You held up a finger and turned, heading toward the back where her order sat. You picked up the pile of booksâat least half a dozenâand took them back to the counter where the Illyrian waited. His eyes didnât leave you and watched every step you took. You placed the books on the counter, not paying attention to where you were setting them.
âDonât worry, Iâll put it on her tab,â you assured.
âThanks, I know sheâll appreciate it.â
He picked up the stack, making it look much smaller in his arms.
âOh by the way, I may have left you a reading suggestion of my own.â
He stepped back with a wink and you blinked, watching him exit the store before he took off to the skies.
Looking down you found a folded piece of paper.
Well, this felt oddly familiar.
You unfurled it, reading the words written in the now familiar, elegant script.
I recall hearing something about you begging. I think itâd be a good look on you. Something tells me I could make you feel better than youâve ever dreamed. -A
Your body instantly reacted to what the note alluded to, to how tempting that sounded.
You were left gaping at the note even long after youâd initially read it.
The shadowsinger was going to be the death of you.
âąâąâą
You had been pleasantly surprised when Nesta had swung by the bookstore later that week, asking if youâd like to come have a sleepover.
It hadnât been all that longâjust a little over a weekâsince your girls night and you figured Gwyn and Emerie would be in attendance too. So, when you asked if you could bring anything, Nesta had just smiled and said for you to bring yourself and a good attitude.
You figured it would just be a night of snacks and reading booksâwhich if you were honest, sounded great to you.
Unfortunately, Rhysand was the only Illyrian around when youâd awkwardly stopped by the River House earlier asking if he could fly you up to the House. Cassian was nowhere to be found and youâd have even asked Azriel, even if that wouldâve been anâŠinteresting trip.
It didnât stop you from apologizing profusely for bothering him.
Yes, you were Nestaâs friend, but you werenât part of his Inner Circle and he was still your High Lord. It felt weird asking so much of him. Granted, either he or Cassian usually flew you to training everyday, but still.
After Rhysand had reassured that it was perfectly fine, youâd joked that this would be a whole lot easier if youâd been born with wings yourself to fly, just so you could get up to the House. Thatâd earned you a deep, rich laugh.
Heâd dropped you off at the back of the House and you approached one of the many doors the place had on the outside balconies. You knew this one led you indoors to a hall towards the front of the House, but you still felt weird about just walking into Nestaâs home.
So you stood on the balcony outside the large door and raised your fist, rapping your knuckles against the door.
You waited, hoping Nesta was nearby to hear and answer the door or else youâd be stuck out here for a while.
What you hadnât expected was a half naked Illyrian to open the door.
Your brows raised at the sight before you. Clad in only loose pants, a shirtless Azriel stood in the open doorway.
âOh. Uh, sorry, I didnât realize youâd be here,â you stammered unintelligently.
You tried hard not to focus on the expanse of golden brown skin on display, the swirls of dark Illyrian tattoos that covered the span of his upper arms. Against your will, your eyes cut to the well defined muscles, also on display.
The biceps, abs, the strong vee that dipped into his pants and led toâ
Cauldron, you needed to get a grip.
His wings were half open and you watched as he tucked them in, momentarily fascinated by the sight of the powerful wings.
âHey. Come on in,â he stepped aside.
âSorry. Hope Iâm not interrupting anything,â you said, hoping you sounded much more casual than you felt as you walked in.
âYouâre not. I was just sharpening some of my blades.â
You nodded, trying to ignore the buzzing that seemed to be vibrating along your skin at just being so close to himâespecially when he looked like that.
âWell, Iâll get out of your hair and go find Nesta.â
He blinked at you, seeming to process what youâd said.
âNesta and Cassian are gone for the night.â
It took you a moment for the words to sink in.
âShe invited me over for a sleepover tonightâŠâ you trailed off, the truth dawning on you.
Oh sheâd invited you for a sleepover, alright.
âNesta and her bright ideas,â you grumbled under your breath.
He cocked an amused brow, watching you.
âEverything okay?â
âYeah, yup,â you nodded, âI mustâve misunderstood her or something. Mixed up the day, probably. I should go.â
You motioned over your shoulder with your thumb, to the door, trying to ignore the fact you had no way of getting off this mountain. Though youâd be willing to stay out in the cold all night until Nesta and Cassian returned if it meant avoiding this embarrassingly awkward encounter.
âOr you could stay.â
You froze at his wordsâthem sounding calm, cool andâŠgenuine.
You werenât sure if he actually meant them.
âStay?â you croaked.
âYeah,â he shrugged, âI have no exciting plans for the night. But they mightâve just got a tad more exciting.â
His eyes raked down your body and you backed upânot in fear, but just at the intensity in his gaze. Your breath felt like it had caught in your chest.
Yes, youâd dreamed of having his attention like this, but youâd never imagined it be so consuming, as if the air around you both actually crackled. Those hazel eyes bore into yours and you felt heat pooling between your thighs at the smoldering gaze.
âStay,â he repeated, softer.
It was then you realized you were caught between the wall and the shadowsinger, especially as his hand lifted, to rest against the wall behind you.
âI can think of a few things we can entertain ourselves with,â he murmured, head dipping, eyes still on yours.
You were dreaming, that was it. Any moment now Nesta was going to be shaking you awake and youâd be waking up on that couch over there in the other room, drool all over the cushion.
Because surely this couldnât be your reality.
Youâd also realized you had yet to speak, so you nodded weakly, at a loss for words.
His other hand lifted upwards, tilting your chin up with his fingers.
âIf you havenât picked up the hints Iâve been dropping for more than a week now, maybe I should be a little more blatant.â
âI think you should,â you challenged, suddenly finding your voice, momentarily thinking he was bluffing.
But oh, he wasnât.
His head lowered swiftly and his lips met yours.
You mightâve once thought it would be a gentle, slow kiss, but maybe the two of you had been dancing around one another too much here lately. For the way his lips moved hotly against yours made your knees weaken.
Your hands came up, finding his bare chest, resting against the warm skin. His fingers on your chin dropped, hand coming up to cradle your cheek as he kissed you deeper, his tongue meeting yours just enough to make you whimper.
He kissed you then retreated, kissed then retreated, teasing you, leaving you aching for more. Each time he came back, your lips moved more urgently against his, like you couldnât get enough of the taste of him.
âIâm glad my shadows reported to me,â he whispered against your ear, his lips trailing kisses along your jaw, âIâm even more glad you said what you did, outloud.â
âReally?â you gasped as he nipped at your jaw.
His hand slid up the outside of your leg, curling it around the back of your thigh to lift against his hip. His own hips pressed forward, allowing you to perfectly feel his hardness pressing against where you wanted him most.
âFuck,â you cursed, eyes fluttering at the feel.
âYes, Iâm glad,â he responded to your earlier question, âTo know it wasnât just me feeling drawn to you, you were clearly feeling it too.â
He rocked his hips against yours slowly, causing his hardened cock to rub up against your throbbing core, even through your clothes. A desperate moan left your mouth as you clutched his shoulders.
âAzriel,â you groaned.
His tongue came out, licking a stripe up the side of your neck.
âFeel free to call me Az, sweet girl. I think youâve earned it.â
You had no idea how he managed to make two simple sentences sound so incredibly dirty, but he did.
Heat gathered in your belly, your arousal spiking with each rub of his cock against you. He groaned as he did it again, as if he couldnât stop himself from repeating the action.
Not that you necessarily wanted him to.
The hand not gripping your leg slid under your shirt, warm against your skin. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip when you felt the rough skin of his thumb brush over your nipple.
Youâd never once looked at him differently for the scars he bore on his hands, but the friction the roughened skin provided was so incredibly arousing.
You briefly wondered if he realized the thing he was most self conscious about could effortlessly bring so much pleasure. Which led to thoughts of how those fingers would feel inside of you.
He kissed you again, briefly, dropping your leg back to the ground. When his mouth separated from yours, his hand dropped to grab your own and without a word, he led you further down the hall and down the stairs without a word. You followed behind him down the two levels of stairs, anticipation mounting in you.
The moment his door was closed behind you, he was on you, tearing your clothes off. Your shirt and pants nearly evaporated off your frame, heâd discarded them so efficiently.
Not that you were complaining. In fact, you were a tad impressed. He couldnât have stoked a fire any faster in you if heâd tried.
Left in your underwear only, his hands hooked under the back of your thighs and he lifted you, lips connected to yours as he walked the two of you to his bed.
The bed dipped as he knelt on it, one knee on the mattress as he set you down against the pillows, climbing over youâall while impressively still managing to kiss you.
Your lips parted in a moan as you kissed him, sliding down against the pillows, laying flat against the mattress, your fingers curling in the dark hair at the back of his neck.
His own though, were quite busy as they traced over your throbbing, soaked core. You reacted immediately, breaking away from his mouth as he pressed down just enough to leave you wanting more.
You needed the last article of clothing off you. Him naked, tooâand preferably inside you as well.
You shouldâve expected nothing less from Azriel, the one who knew how to get down to business and quick because the male wasted no time. In a blink of an eye he had you fully naked and was already removing his own pants.
You might have to remember to mention at a later point just how impressed you were with his speedâif you happened to remember anything after this.
His wings spread wide behind him as he lowered over you again and your eyes took in the wondrous sight.
His forearms came to rest next to your head, caging you in as he fell further between your legs. You gasped, feeling the blunt head of his cock at your entrance. Instinctually, your legs raised to his waist, trying to pull him further in, to stop his teasing.
âAz, please,â you begged.
He growled against your throat. You had to hand it to him, his restraint was admirable because you were ready for him to slam all the way to the hilt.
âSweet girl, I want you begging before Iâm through with you. I will have you begging before this is over.â
âBig claim to make,â you panted, hips lifting, eager to have him sink all the way in.
He took his time though, contradictory to the heat and speed that led up until this moment. Each inch he pushed in only heightened the sensation of how he was stretching you, filling you.
âGods,â you gasped, head tipping back against the bed.
âNever dreamed you could feel this good,â he groaned when he finally pushed all the way in.
You could say the same thing.
It was on the brink of being too much, too overwhelming, yet at the same time it felt more amazing than you could comprehend. Youâd honestly let him fuck you silly, if he so desired.
His lips met yours again, briefly, as his hips experimentedâshallow thrusts and deeper, harder ones. Your breath caught when he rubbed against a particularly sensitive spot.
He took instant notice of it, angling his hips, simultaneously pulling your own in time to his thrusts.
He bent down, nose nudging your cheek.
âNotice how you feel like youâre made for me?â
âMaybe I am,â you grinned, already feeling like you were losing control.
And heâd hardly done anything yet.
There mightâve been more truth to the statements than either of you realized, though.
His pace picked up, his mouth hovering over yours, just close enough to kiss, but he didnâtânot yet at least. Nothing but yours and his shared erratic breathing came from both of you as he moved within you.
Once he fell into a rhythm, one of his hands fisted the sheets, the other coming up, to hold your wrists against the bed, above your head, as he thrust harder. You couldâve sworn you felt the cool chill of his shadows brushing your hips, along your breasts. You felt an icy nip against your clit and you moaned louder.
âHoly gods,â you whimpered, sensation hitting you from ten different directions.
âThatâs it sweet girl, I want to hear you,â he grunted, hips slamming into yours again.
âAz, fuck.â
Your words were jumbling, the pleasure mounting, starting to build deep within you. Every thrust of his cock, every movement sending you spiraling higher.
Just when you felt your climax building to the point it was closer in reach, he stopped chasing the high, causing you to cry out in frustration. His thrusts turned slower and shallower.
âAzriel,â you whimpered, frustration lacing your tone.
âYes?â
He sounded innocent, lips traveling your jawline.
âStop teasing,â you moaned desperately.
He groaned, head dropping to your neck in reaction to your pleading.
âYouâre so pretty when you beg.â
His hips pulled back, slamming all the way back in, in one smooth movement, causing you to keen. But he wasnât done yet. He paused, grinding against you as he was deep inside you, making you even louder.
He repeated the action, grinding closer, claiming you, as if he could erase any distance between the two of you. His hand released your wrists and they went flying to touch his body.
Your nails dug into his shoulders, your own hips moving against his, enhancing both yours and his pleasure. His thrusts became ruthless the closer he got to his own climax.
Your legs bracketed his hips, pulling him deeper with each thrust, moans falling from your lips at the overwhelming pleasure. You could easily stay here forever with Azriel buried in you and die a happy female.
His hips pistoned into you so steadily that with each and every thrust, the two of you rocked against the mattress in sync, chasing release.
âMmm, fuck, Az, Iââ
You were babbling, all coherent thought having gone out the window around the time heâd pressed his still covered cock against you, back in the hall.
He was unleashing pleasure in you so intensely, you werenât entirely sure you could take it. Release was a shimmering haze still too out of reach to fully embrace, but your thighs were already shaking, your breathing rapid and panting.
Even if you were apprehensive of its intensity, you still wanted it, the full force of it.
âYou take me so well,â he grunted, bending down, lips hovering over yours before he whispered against them.
âI always knew you would.â
You cried out, his cock hitting so wonderfully deep with his latest thrust that your eyes naturally rolled back, body arching into his as your hands gripped his biceps. He growled in response, connecting your lips once again.
It was more heated and messy than the previous ones, more pants and moans, but it only made it that more erotic. Your lips sidetracked though, pressing to the strong line of his jaw when the peek of his wings out of the corner of your eye sparked something in you.
You briefly remembered Nesta saying something about wings, once. Something Cassian had taught her.
Your hand reached out, two fingers sliding along the outer edge of his wing.
He actually shivered.
He also let out a guttural groan that sent a spike of heat directly to your cunt, causing you to tighten around him. He grunted at that too.
âYou keep doing that and I wonât be lasting much longer,â he growled.
âAnother day,â you promised, fully intending to take advantage of that opportunity.
His hand dropped between his and your bodies, fingertips rubbing tight circles over your clit. Despite the pleasured haze on his face, his voice still managed to be even when he spoke, even if it was brittle.
âYou want me to make you come, sweet girl?â
âYes, yes, gods yes.â
You didnât even care if you sounded pathetic, that you were begging. You wanted him to give you the overwhelming and blinding amount of pleasure that you knew he was capable of.
His voice was ragged, gravelly as he bent down, nipping your bottom lip as his cock thrust continuously into you, causing your vision to blur.
âSay please.â
You whimpered, your entire body on fire, your release building, surging closer and closer with every thrust, every flick of his fingers.
âAz, please, fucking Cauldron, please.â
At least youâd fulfilled your wish to beg him.
His free hand delved into your hair and turned your head firmly as his lips dominated yours. You broke away, on the cusp of your orgasm, your tongue loosening even further.
âOhhh, fuckfuckfuck,â your words ran together in a series of moans.
He groaned deeply at the feeling of you clenching around him as you came with a loud, pleasure filled moan, your vision whiting out as the sensation completely overtook your body. It arched completely into him as it trembled from the overwhelming feeling.
âGods. So good. Sweet girl. Fuck.â
His words came out in staccato grunts, his thrusts faltering, indicating how close he was. You were still flying high on your own pleasure and his hand reached up, covering one of yours over your head, fingers sliding in between yours. He squeezed it gently, face falling into the crook of your neck as he tensed, breathing ragged as he came with his own pleasure filled groan.
You could feel the vibration of the noise expelled from his lips against your skin, feel his warm breath against you, hear it so close to your own ears. It had you moaning in response just as much as the simultaneous feeling of his cock twitching within you, warmth filling you, did.
He expelled everything he had into you, still thrusting, until your highs had faded enough for you to return back to the planet. Your chest heaved with breath as the two of you finally stilled and you clung to him, body slick against his own, sweat coating your bodies.
He finally lifted his head, looking tired, but extremely satiated, a smirk blooming on his face.
âTold you weâd find a way to entertain ourselves.â
You giggled breathlessly, slapping his shoulder. He smiled, peering down as he pulled out of you, a groan rumbling deep in his chest at the sight. You felt your thighs further dampen as his release leaked from you and down your thighs. You noted his hazel gaze taking in the sight, jaw clenching in the possessive way a male probably would after staking such a claim.
He looked back up at you, where you laid, skin cooling, heart rate trying to return to normal. You felt an odd sense in your chest, more than just the rapid beat of your heart from the exertion. It was an odd buzz of happiness, of absolute contentment and you offered him a small smile, letting him know you definitely didnât regret what had just happened.
One hand cupped your cheek, his eyes serious and scanning yours. His following words left no room for argument.
Not that you had a desire to, anyway.
They were a statement and a promise.
âNext time, Iâm taking my time with you.â
Tag List: @harvest-bunny @garricktavisfanclub @kittiness12 @smol-grandpa @bxm-2121 @less-spice @alexof90s
âYou look nice,â Ryland says, smiling a little shy, as if the compliment had just slipped out and he was supposed to be embarrassed about that.
âI uh,â You pause, swallowing thickly.
Holy fuck he looks good in a suit.
in which: You need a date to the wedding you foolishly agreed to attend, luckily your co-worker is a willing sacrifice. Extremely willing.
[warnings: eventual nsfw 18+, a bit of fluff, excessively drawn out flirting]
wc: 14.2k (Whoops) [ Masterlist ] [ ao3 Link ]
Woe finds you on a Tuesday at the staffroom lunch table.Â
Picking apart the leftovers of a miserable thrown together attempt of fried rice that came to be after realising there were no better dinner options with the ingredients you had in the fridge two days ago and the determination to not get take out more than once a week that would surely fade come February. Alas, it is still January and all those new year resolutions are still sticking like cheap adhesive hooks that will eventually be weighed down enough to slip as time ticks on.Â
Eat take out once a week, maximum. Read one book a month, minimum. Sleep more. Stop turning down social invites
The last one is what leaves you particularly perturbed, as your lunch goes lukewarm and your thumb flicks about on the social media profile.
âI just⊠I canât say no.â You lament. âIt would be weird.â
âWeirder than going?â Margot asks, pulling her own container of lunch from the oven. Itâs also leftovers, but slices of impeccably cooked roast with what looks to be red wine sauce and vegetables- no doubt made by her smokeshow of a house husband (he just works from home, she insists. Youâre pretty sure the pair are sitting on a lofty investment profile because no man âworks from homeâ cooks roasts bi-weekly and buys his wife diamond earrings for her birthday).
âI donât know. Maybe.â You manage, the next bite of fired rice tasting like loneliness packed into an over-salted flavour profile.Â
âWhatâs weird?â Ryland asks, sitting down in the chair across from you.
The staff room of E-Block is near abandoned. Of the ten-odd teachers with rooms in the little block of aging brick, most tended to eat in their classrooms. Save for you, Margot and Ryland. Occasionally there will be another visitor, but most days, it is just the three of you.Â
âWedding.â Margot supplies, sitting down and shuffling her chair in with a sense of poise so rarely found in Middle-Schools. Sheâs older, somewhere in her early fifties, and still manages to approach the job with the same level of discipline as before ipads made their invasion into the classroom.Â
Ryland frowns. âYouâre already married.â
Heâs⊠well, Ryland's⊠actually youâre not sure how to put him into words, which is saying a lot considering the literature degree collecting mildew in the filing cabinet of your apartment.Â
Heâs in the same boat as you in terms of finding yourselves with a teaching career. Studied something else first, got your passion and love for it soured by morons and went back to college for a second round, dishing out more cash for a masters in teaching that has you trying to tame fourteen year olds all day. Delightful, truly. Although, Ryland had certainly lasted a lot longer with that first degree than you had. A doctorate. He hates the kids knowing that though. A handful of them had called him âDoctor Graceâ last year, after digging about online and getting their grubby fingers on his linkedin profile.Â
âMr Graceâ as he is now known, is awkward. A little socially inept at times, but not enough to come across as anything other than endearing. Now is one such time, as he looks over the frames of his glasses at Margo, the stack of pop quizzes heâd brought to mark and keep himself occupied momentarily forgotten. His eyes darted from her face to the ring on her finger.Â
âMm mm.â She hums, shaking her head as she chews, then levels her fork to point in your direction.
âYouâre not getting married.â Ryland states when he turns to look at you, like itâs a scientific fact, one heâs so assured of.Â
âThanks for the vote of confidence, Mr Grace.â You reply, still sort of wallowing at the photos on your phone.Â
His gaze flickers, a little less sure as the corner of his lips fall and, like he had with Margot, settles his eyes on your hands. Your lack of a ring. âYou arenât, are you?â
âNo. My ex is, though.â You sigh, despondent. The reminder glares back at you from the overly-bright phone screen.Â
âOh. That sucks.â He manages, clicking open a red pen to start circling and ticking the first sheet on his pile. âHappens to the best of us.â
The kettle rumbles away on the tiny kitchenette. You look at him for a long moment. The best of us. Like itâs happened to him. Rylandâs not one to discuss relationships beyond the occasional quip about quitting to be a house husband like Margotâs. Heâs never mentioned past romances, you donât think heâs been in a relationship in the three years since he started at Grover Cleveland Middle. Itâs such a bizarre glimpse at his life, that he doesn't even seem to register what he's revealed, marking as he waits for the boiling water to cook another lunch of instant ramen.Â
You sit up a little straighter in your chair, weary of knocking your shoes against where his long legs sprawl under the small table. The staff room is meant for ten but is cramped even with the three of you, nothing more than a little kitchenette and big whiteboard in the corner. Thereâs a shelf against one wall, just far enough away from the doorframe that the door doesn't crash into it when pushed open. Thereâs a long window the length of the wall on the doorâs other side, a good view of the eighth-grade outdoor lunch area. The other staff call it the fishbowl, itâs why they opt to eat in their classrooms, not keen on the kids' eyes on them when it is supposed to be one of the fleeting breaks during their day.
Thank god the door is closed- if the kids heard you whining about this, a wedding, theyâd never let up. âIâm considering the pros and cons of skipping it.â
âYou were invited?â He baulks, dropping his pen.
You try not to smile, focusing on your self pity instead of the three shoddy attempts Ryland takes to catch his pen from dropping out of his hand, rolling off the stack of paper then off the table. âI already said Iâd go too.â
âWhy?â Ryland sounds appalled, like that one time youâd caught him trying to explain that the five second rule is not an effective barrier against bacteria to a student.Â
âItâs complicated.â You say, biting at your cheek.Â
âBullshit.â Margot aptly calls. Looking over with the same expression she used to call students on their bullshit. You're not a big fan of having it directed at you.Â
âWe went out for maybe two months in college.â You sigh, setting your phone on the table face-down to stare at your lunch, contemplative. âHeâs engaged to one of the girls from my sorority. Weâre⊠friends.â
Margot watches. âWith your ex or the sorority girl?â
âSorority girl. Daisy.â That's the better option of the two at least. You think it is, not that there is much left to save you from the impending train wreck of discussing the relationship woes of your late teens and early twenties with the only two coworkers who care to eat lunch in a communal space. The company is nice, Ryalnd had said once, when youâd asked, gets me out of the classroom.Â
Margot screws her face up for a second, muttering it again under her breath as if the name offends her.Â
âYou were in a sorority?" Ryland asks, face a little blank as he looks at you from across the table.Â
It makes you falter, the way his thoughts seem to be buffering like the school's slow wifi. âI⊠Yeah? Thatâs the interesting part?â
He shakes his head, looking down at his marking sheets and pushes his glasses up from where theyâre slowly slipping down the bridge of his nose. âNo, I just canât picture it.â
You purse your lips, consider pulling up some photos from your sorority days, then remember the kind of outfits the lot of you wore and think better of it. âWell Daisy and I were roommates for a year and a half. Sheâs nice. Works in PR now.â
âBut sheâs marrying your ex?â Ryland asks, still kind of baffled.Â
You dismiss it with a lazy hand wave. âI mean, she asked before they went out and everything. I just think itâs a little weird. I donât even know why I said Iâd go. Itâs going to be embarrassing.â
Margot tuts twice, done with her lovingly made lunch that symbolises how successful she has been in the department of marriage when you have all but failed so far. âWhy is it embarrassing? Two months is nothing.â
âI was a little head over heels for this guy.â You admit, sheepish.Â
Ryland stands up, clears his throat as he turns away. âYeah? How so?â
His back is to you, as he peels the lid off his cup ramen and wrestles with the flavour packet. You come to the conclusion itâs easier to confess this sort of stuff with only one set of eyes on you. âI was sort of convinced he was my soulmate. He was doing pre-law, witty too.â
âHot?â Margot asks, always straightforward.
You feel a blush rise on your cheeks as you remember the early days of your sorority experience, flopped back on the bed as you made little love sick sighs at your ceiling. âGod, his jawline. And his hair- it was so⊠ugh!âÂ
The thud is dull when your forehead lands on the table, to the right of your now abandoned lunch. âI donât even know why I said Iâd go. Itâs dumb.â
You hate how you sound- petulant like the kids you prod for not searching for better words in their assignments, moping like your world is ending over something so trivial. Itâs not even the new years resolution that has you mulling this over so intently. Youâd agreed to go months ago- six months ago- and said yes to the offered plus one, adamant to yourself that youâd have someone by then, a partner or something. Someone of importance.Â
Attending alone is going to be even worse than if you had just RSVPâd for yourself in the first place. Itâs one thing to watch your college friend and ex-sort-of-boyfriend exchange vows alone, and a whole other monster to do it with a pointed empty seat beside you.Â
All of it tumbles out your lips in a hurried hurl of word vomit, followed by a few moments of silence that has you cautiously raising your head to peek over the wall of your forearms. Ryland is staring at you, cup noodles steaming in his hands where it hovers over the sink, like heâd been about to pour out the excess water. Margot is looking at you with a frown, the same one she wears when teaching senior mathematics and the children have drawn up an equation for her to solve with the foolish belief they could stump her for more than ten seconds.Â
And just as in class, Margot is not phased for more than a handful of moments. âThen find someone with a better jawline and better hair to go with you. You can borrow mine.â
You blink at her, mulling the words over before asking, âAre you trying to pimp your husband out to me?â
âOnly for aesthetic reasons, of course. Itâd be nice to have the house to myself for once. Not like you have better options.â
It would sting more if it wasnât so true. There were very few options and with the wedding only two weeks away, that was certainly not enough time to squeeze in enough dates with someone to justify taking them to a damn wedding.Â
âI mean, how good is his jawline?â Ryland finally says, walking over with his little cutlery box, plastic chopsticks he washes and reuses almost everyday, to set his lunch down on the table and settle back in across from you. âAre we aiming high?â
There is no way to un-dig this hole, not now that theyâve both decided to put their two cents in. You concede with another sigh and reach for your phone, arms and chin still on the table as you fish about Instagram for a photo. Itâs the one that had reminded you of this awful upcoming event, posted by Daisy. You all but toss your phone on the table between your coworkers, sinking a little lower into your folded arms, awaiting judgement.Â
The photos must be from a walk though of the venue, the pair of them posed together between some old marble arch where they were having the ceremony at. She was laughing, hand on his chest, showing off the ring on her finger while he looked at her, besotted. The caption made it worse. Only two weeks left till I get to marry my man on these very steps.
You like them both, you really do, but the thought of showing up by yourself, as the lonely friend whoâd never found âitâ, your own version of the love they were celebrating, well it was just nauseating.
Margot looks the photo over critically before humming in a sort of so-so tone. âYou can do better.â
Ryland looks kind of at a loss. âThis is your type?â
As if to emphasise the point, he lifts the phone up and turns it around to show you the image you were already being haunted by. âThis is the hair that had you allâŠâ
He doesn't find the words, just waves the hand with his chopsticks around in a messy motion, looks at you critically over the rims of his glasses.
âHe slicks it back now. It used to be⊠I donno. Messy? Fluffy? Good to run my fingers though.â He scoffs a little to himself, dissatisfied maybe with your excuse.
The only forgiving factor is that the photo does highlight the sharp cut of his jaw, which even Ryland concedes to. âHe does have a good jawline...â
Yours is better, you want to say. Immediate and impulsive, because it kind of is. Especially when the shadow of his stubble stretches a few extra days between shaves. Your ex is clean shaven- you used to think that was sexy, at least sexier than the patchy beards boys in college had back then. Now youâre kind of obsessed with the so-called â5-oâclock shadowâ Ryland sports on Fridays.Â
Itâs not something youâre likely to tell him though, especially not when you glance at the clock and realise you have a duty across campus in three minutes. Saved by the bell maybe, either way youâre able to liberate your phone from the pair of them and their conspiratory whispers, bin the scraps of your lunch and haul ass out of there.Â
By the end of the school day, you have reached the conclusion that you will blame it on work. That some mandatory day of âprofessional developmentâ as it is called nowadays, has come up and you will just have to miss the wedding, truly youâre devastated about it all.Â
Then Ryland corners you in your classroom. The bellâs long gone, as are the students. Heâs dressed like heâs on his way out, his green backpack tossed over one shoulder and bike helmet hanging by the strap in one hand. Youâre halfway through explaining your plan and the wording youâre going to use in the tragic text message to Daisy when he cuts you off.Â
âIâll go with you.â
Heâs a little breathless with it, like heâd been saving up all his oxygen to get the words out, leaving him in one big rush as they topple though the doorway of your classroom and splatter onto the linoleum floor between you both.Â
âI know that Iâm not Margotâs husband with a âbetter jawline and better hairâ but we can go and eat nice wedding food- If heâs a lawyer itâs gotta be fancy, right? And we can make fun of his stupid slicked back hair together and you donât have to be alone or make an excuse and feel guilty about it.â Rylandâs big speech is as flawed as it is heartwarming
Because he does have a better jawline and better hair. And Margot looks between you both during lunch hours and staff meetings like youâre her personal romance drama, there to occupy her during the day.Â
But the wedding food will be good, your ex will shill out for the best and Daisy has always had a taste for the finer things in life. Ryland is the best company you can think of to have by your side and he knows you well enough to understand how guilty lying about something makes you feel, how it churns your gut.Â
âYeah. Okay.â You smile, something warm and fuzzy in your chest.Â
His eyes donât move, maybe widen a little before he speaks again, still a little breathless. âYeah?â
âYeah.â
It isnât a hard thought to come around to, taking Ryland to a wedding. As a date is something that goes unsaid between the pair of you, not sure whether it could be classed as such for real, or if this is simply a favour between friends-slash-coworkers. It is certainly a date for show, to the many college friends youâre about to reunite with after a few years, for your Ex, Jack whoâs obsessed with his wife, for Daisy who youâd told years ago to âgo for it, heâs a nice guyâ working under the assumption that sheâd only last a few months by his side too.Â
Youâre not sure which answer youâd prefer, honestly; a date or a favour.Â
He texts you a lot- after school, on the weekend- asking about what he should wear, what youâre going to wear, how he should prepare for this sort of thing. Itâs sweet, cute in a way that has little butterflies flapping around in your stomach.Â
âOkay, Iâll show you. Wait, hold on.â You placate, setting your phone down on the bed, screen up.Â
âItâs a lovely ceiling fan, but I doubt it fits the dress code.â Ryland drawls, and you can hear the smile there.Â
âHa ha.â You reply, a little echo-y as you lean into your closet to pull the dress out.Â
Heâs up in arms about what to wear, says he needs to know what youâre wearing too so he can match. The inviteâs dress code called for formal attire in âdark coloursâ. On the facebook page sheâd made for the event, Daisy had a full post going into more detail, about how sheâd love any and all dark tones- forestry green, navy, even burgundy was fine. You had taken a firm stance against burgundy considering thereâs some old wedding traditions that state wearing red indicated youâd slept with the groom. Which you had, but you were not about to advertise that.Â
So navy it was.Â
Youâd sent Ryland a picture of the invite, where it was stuck to your fridge with letter magnets spelling out âwoeâ- it had felt fitting when youâd stuck it up there- and several screenshots of the lengthy dress-code post Daisy had made that went into excruciating detail. He wasnât satisfied though.Â
Even your attempts to describe the dress youâd bought didnât work well enough.
âI mean it! you expect me to know what any of those words apart from âfloor length' means?â he bemoans from your phone speakers, face time call crackling. âI need all the data.â
âOh listen to you, Mr. Science,â You drawl with a smile, pulling the dress out. Itâs too long to hang from a door knob so you have to stretch up on your tip toes to hang the coat hook over the curtain rod of your bedroom window.Â
âI was thinking of changing my name. Very to the point, donât you think?â He replies, still smiling as you collect your phone. His eyes are sparkling with something cheeky when you appear back in frame.Â
Rylandâs dressed down, in one of those dumb science t-shirts he wears on âCasual Fridaysâ as it is called in staff meetings. This oneâs dark blue and has the periodic table on it in worn down white transfer ink. Youâve seen it enough to know the punch line sprawled over his lower stomach even though itâs not in frame. I wear this shirt periodically. He finds an extra layer in humor that the shirt is factually correct as well, that he does in fact, wear the shirt in regular intervals as heâd explained to you during a free-period on one of those casual Fridays.Â
Heâs at his kitchen bench, phone propped up against something, while he taps away at his laptop. Youâve not actually been to Rylandâs apartment before, but it sorta feels like you have, the cramped studio always on display in the back of video calls like this one.Â
Itâs just one long rectangle. Kitchen by the front door, a bench, a gap that is probably intended for a kitchen table but heâs stuck a desk there instead, his bed thatâs almost always unmade with a tv wall mounted across from it, and a balcony. Like this, you can see the expanse of it behind him. The stacks of paper piled up on his desk, the extra monitors and little trinkets gifted from students, the sage green sheets of his bed, peeled back on one side, sun shining in through his big glass balcony doors. Honesty, you kind of want to see the view from his apartment in person, heâs a little higher up than you are, in a better part of the city too.Â
Rylandâs not brushed his hair, itâs all spiked up in different directions and you wonder if the mug heâs been sipping from, periodically, is his morning cup even though itâs just past ten. Heâs blinking slow behind his glasses, sitting a little too still for his brain to be fully functional yet.Â
âIâm sure the kids will love it. Harder to spell on their assessment sheets, though.â You can imagine it, the staff badge, the name on his board in fun bubble writing where it would stay untouched for a whole school term.Â
You flip the camera, showing him the dress heâs been complaining about not understanding for the last half hour over text before he gave up and called you.Â
Itâs cute, how his head tilts and he leans towards his phone for a second before just picking it up and holding it close enough so his eyes and forehead are just about all that is in frame. âIs that velvet?â
âItâs fake satin. I think.â
âFake satin?â He repeats, confused.
The dress was one you already owned, bought a year or so ago for another friendâs wedding that you had attended alone but not felt crappy about, even if it did seem like everyone your age was getting married nowadays. Itâs got a fitted bodice, but there fabric is a little drapey, looks like it pools over the chest and down towards the fluid skirt. "Wasn't expensive enough to be real satin.â
âOkay, I know what you mean by delicate straps now.â That had been his main hang up, whining about, What do you mean delicate straps? Like theyâre about to break?, swearing that the shit he was googling was just not helping the mental image considering there were about six different results for everything. Â
âYeah, and here, the lace up back.â You say, stepping up to twist the dress away from where it sat flush against the curtains to show the corset style back, with thin cord lace just a little thinner than the straps.Â
âIsnât that going to be a nightmare to put on?â He asks, squinting still.
âThereâs a zip.â You say, dragging the little hidden zipper down, showing him how the dress fabric parts and slips open. âSo itâs fairly easy to get on. The cords are about as tight as they should be anyway, it isn't hard to pull to fit.â
You fumble a little trying to get the zip back up but eventually just conceded to leave out like that until you put the dress away. When you glance down at your phone, Ryland has moved, no longer sitting down and if you had to guess, is now walking the length of his apartment instead. He looks a little distressed.Â
âCome on, youâve got the easy part.â You try, a little concerned heâs about to say he shouldnât go. âYou just have to put on a suit.â
âI canât just âput on a suitâ.â He whines, flopping down onto his bed like the world is ending. âIâm supposed to be like, your big âfuck youâ to the girl who got with your ex. Iâm supposed to look good with you. I donât know if I have a suit nice enough for that dress.â
âRyland. Itâs not about saying âfuck youâ to Daisy, or pulling some revenge stunt. I just didnât want to go alone like a loser when I said I was bringing someone.â You canât really help the little breathy laugh that weaves its way though his name, because he sounds like you did four days ago acting like the world was about to end, face down on the lunch table. âYou donât have to come.â
âNo, Iâm coming. I just need to go through my wardrobe.â Heâs cute, you decide, in a round-about sort of way. The determination to play this self elected role well, to perfect it and give it his all, like he does with everything else in his life. The whole situation was elevating your âaesthetic appreciationâ of Ryland that youâd been attempting to suppress, to a new sort of level.Â
You flop down on your own bed, roll over on your side and let him derail the conversation towards lesson planning, listen to him talk about the plans he has for the next weeks worth of classes, a couple of activities heâs got in the works. All while you consider the pros and cons of having him beside you instead.Â
Ryland was probably the teacher you got on best with at work, despite being from two very different teaching areas. When heâd first arrived, youâd assumed he would be a little pretentious, with his Phd and professional experience beyond the classroom. You weren't expecting him to be so awkward. The children took to him so quickly, and Ryland had told you time and time again that he doesn't understand why they think heâs cool.Â
Over the years youâve found that he can be cocky, in certain bouts of confidence seemingly appearing via divine-intervention. A local bar had run trivia nights for some six odd months, and it had unleashed a beast within him.
On Monday afternoon he sent you a photo. A little black bag with a logo youâd googled, realising it was a menswear store before the second photo had come though. A tie, sleek navy like your dress, rolled up neatly with a matching pocket square beside it, both nestled in a box that screamed expensive. Youâd sent back a random string of praise, imagining him lulling it over in the store. It was nearly five in the afternoon, heâd left work pretty much on the final bell. You wonder how long he spent comparing the seemingly endless ties the shopâs online store offered, considering what would match best to your dress.
It makes you a little giddy, to be honest, has you dreaming of a situation where youâd asked him to come to the wedding, or where youâd already been together long enough that it was simply a given when the invitation turned up in your mail box.Â
Neither of you mention it during school hours, not keen on the kids hearing whispers of you and Ryland doing anything outside work hours- students will take anything and run with it.
But he messages you about it constantly. Makes a plan; heâd come to your apartment and you would uber from there to the venue, it was a sunset ceremony and evening reception. He lived close enough that it was a brisk walk or quick bus trip. He pointedly mentions that he would not be cycling- âIn a suit? God, neverâ- and makes sure you know that the uber would also drop you both back to your flat and heâd walk home or take another separate uber.Â
Thereâs talk about your âbackstoryâ, which he takes as seriously as he does exam periods. You tell him itâs not super necessary, that saying you met at work is more than enough exposition for the gaggle of college friends youâd not seen in years. But he was never one to do things in halves.Â
âWe obviously would have met at school.â He says, like itâs a given. Ryland is laid out on the reading rug at the back of your classroom, staring at the ceiling. And the fake clouds that are actually just a hobby-fill glue gunned to paper and taped to the ceiling, heâd turned the fairy lights that are threaded though them on before heâd decided the floor was his resting place. âMaybe trivia is where it happened. We liked trivia.â
âWe did like trivia.â You agree, pointedly.Â
Itâs almost impossible to not just sit there and watch him, the student folders that youâre sorting worksheets into acting as a very inefficient distraction.Â
Heâs got a button down on, some pale blue that looks nice under his grey wool blazer. The pale wash jeans and white converse are a bit more casual, but he wears the combination well. Too well. Laid out like this, with one knee up, he looks far too attractive for you to swallow. Glasses pulled down to hang off his jaw, sitting there catching the afternoon light as it came through the windows, casting rainbow refractions onto the back wall.Â
âMaybe trivia was a date. What would you have done?â
âIf youâd asked me to trivia as a date?â You glance up. Heâs already looking at you, head tipped to the side, something soft, tentative there in his eyes.
âYeah.â You can see the way his throat bobs when he swallows, how his chest rises with each breath.Â
Ryland sounds⊠nervous, in a way that does remind you of the first trivia night youâd gone to. Heâd been dressed similarly there, you remember thinking he looked nice, polished up a little more than he did in the school day with dress shoes and what smelt like cologne. Handsome where he waited by the entrance, backlit by the barâs warm lighting. Heâd been a little twitchy for the first hour or so, but settled into himself by round two.Â
With the way heâs looking at you, now as he plans out the false scenario thatâs beginning to sound a lot more like a confession, youâre starting to get the idea that trivia could have been a date. If either of you had put it into words.Â
âEnjoyed it, probably.â
âReally?â He looks shy, a bit of a flush working its way up his cheeks.Â
You smile at him, thinking about how nice it would have been to kiss him in that bar with a sweet cocktail on your lips, dizzy from his flattery about your trivia skills. You hum, nodding a little as you look at the folders and sheets spread out over your desk, feeling a flush rise to your own cheeks.
He knocks when youâre halfway through lacing up the back of your dress, holding the cords with one hand as you open the door. Rylandâs not been to your apartment before, something youâd failed to realise until he called you and asked during his walk over, if youâd have to buzz him in.Â
He was appalled to find out the front door to your building was sporting a broken lock and had been tied back with a length of rope for the last two months while the landlords procrastinated fixing it.Â
âSee,â You say, opening the door for him, keeping it propped open with your foot as he shuffles in. âMy door locks.â
âStill one less lock that youâre supposed to have.â he grumbles, stepping out of his very nice dress shoes. They look expensive- black leather shined up propper.Â
Actually, Ryland looks expensive.Â
âYou look nice,â he says, smiling a little shy, as if the compliment had just slipped out and he was supposed to be embarrassed about that.Â
âI uh,â You pause, swallowing thickly.Â
Holy fuck he looks good in a suit. Itâs the only thought spinning around your head. Itâs a proper one, tailor made no doubt. Blazer, slacks and undershirt, all three of them a deep inky black. The navy tie heâd sent you a photo of is done up around his neck in a knot neater than youâve ever seen him wear to work. The pocket square is folded too, fluffed up with a little volume that suggests he did so intentionally.Â
Suddenly youâre reminded of all those times heâd complained about all the formal conferences and charity galaâs heâd attended during his days in academia. You realise you have made a grave error.Â
There have always been little parts about Ryland that oozed wealth, the glasses he wore for one, that he told you were antique when youâd asked. The watch on his wrist that you thought looked like some practical sporty thing but found out was actually worth three months rent when youâd googled it out of curiosity. These little things fall out of the spotlight and become footnotes that are often ignored when heâs in his classroom, or tiny apartment.Â
Dressed in such a nice suit, here in you apartment definitely wearing cologne- the same from that very first trivia night, something a little warm, woodsy like oaky bourbon, sharp and contrary to the fresh nothingness he smelt like at work- Ryland seemed so far beyond you.Â
âYou look good.â You manage, letting the door slip shut and dropping the lace of your dress, it loses its tension a little but stays in the same spot for the most part, to run a hand over the lapel of his blazer. âHow long have you had this?â
âAges. Dug it out of the back of my closet. A little tighter than when I last wore it, but it will do the trick. Right?â He tacks that last bit on, like heâs waiting with baited breath for your approval.Â
âIâll say.â You slide your hand down the lapel a little bit, down over the press of his chest. The tightness just shows the subtlety of his build, lean muscle that comes from idle exercise and good diet, maybe even a splash of genetics. Heâs tidied his facial hair up a little, slid the electric razor over all of it to make sure itâs the same length, no doubt. Ryalndâs still got his glasses on, you were a little worried he might have opted for contacts and are very relieved you get to see this outfit complete with the lenses that frame his face so well.Â
With a realisation you might be getting a little lost in your head, you drop your hand, turning to walk further into your apartment, towards the couch where your shoes for the night sat on the floor. âRight, we'll, I'm nearly ready. The uber will be here soon.â
âDo you need a hand?â Ryland asks, and youâre about to turn, ask him, âwith whatâ when you feel his fingertips against the small of your back. It sends a jolt though your skin, heâs cold. From the outside air, where as youâve been nice and cosy with the heat on while youâd done your hair and make up.Â
Goosebumps rise under his hands as they gather the ties for the back of your dress. Something low swoops in your gut, like the dip of a roller coaster, free falling as he chuckles a little behind you. âSorry, cold fingers.â
You swallow. âItâs.. itâs okay.â
âHow tight?â He asks, giving the strings a gentle tug. You almost sway with the moment, feeling a little swept off your feet already.Â
âBit tighter.â You manage, as he presses a flat palm against the small of your back, over the criss-crossing cord, and gathers both ties in one hand to pull slow and firm. It tugs you back into his hand, a steadier hold than youâd expected.Â
âThere?â He questions when the dress is pulled in to sit flush with your skin but not dig in. You get the feeling he might have done some research, when he plucks at each string to even them out and make sure none of them are too tight, on how these dresses are supposed to sit.Â
âYeah, perfect.â It leaves you like a sigh, as his palm dips, brushes where the zipper sits before pulling back to tie a neat bow, tugging the cords out carefully so both loops are even.Â
All of it has you lightheaded, directing more effort than necessary to get yourself to the couch and pull your heels on, black mary janes that are comfortable enough to walk in. As you fiddle with the buckles, you eye him.Â
Rylandâs hair is tousled, intentionally a little messy, not combed or slicked back. Looks like it would be nice to run your fingers though, and you find yourself wondering if thatâs why heâd opted for the style, if heâs here, dressed up as the guy with âbetter hair and a better jawlineâ that Margot had pitched, unaware that he already was exactly who heâs trying to be.Â
He holds an arm out for you to loop yours though, walking down the stairs in steady but slowed steps. You smile. âWow, full gentleman experience.â
âI told you, I can't just âput on a suitâ. Itâs more than that.â He chides jokingly, and you pity the version of you that didnât realise this was an option.Â
He opens the door for you- the car door, the door into the building door tied back by a rope (he glares at it when you pass it)- then rounds the back of the little toyota thatâs polished up to try and seem fancier than it was. You donât talk much on your way to the venue, comfortable silence that the driver thankfully settles into.Â
Itâs nearing sundown when you pull into the driveway, a big circular road thatâs already crammed with other cars and guests climbing out.
âYou can just let us out here.â Ryland says to the uber driver, unbuckling his seatbelt to hop out, then rounding the car again to open your door, hand held out like itâs necessary, when the car is nowhere near low or high enough to warrant such assistance.Â
You place your palm in his anyway, letting him pull you from the car, no more temperature disparity in your hands since youâve both been in the car for fifteen minutes, but it still makes your skin tingle. Heâs got cufflinks, the same pale gold as his glasses, in the shape of atoms. You flick one lightly. âI like these.â
He smiles, something a little smothered like heâs trying to stamp it down from a grin as he threads his arm though yours again, beginning the small walk to the venue's front steps. âWell I like your dress, so I think weâre even.â
Itâs a ballroom, with these big stained glass windows in the room they hold ceremonies in, youâd seen some lovely shots on the venueâs website of sunset light streaming through them. Imagining Ryland in the warm sunlight has you in a good mood, heâs always suited it, even if the cityâs never had much to offer.Â
âNot too much for our first date?â You tease.
Something like a laugh tumbles out of his lips, leaning down to whisper in your ear. âFirst date was trivia- and you were underdressed. Keep up.â
You flush, crowding a little closer to his side to make it through the entryway without shoulder checking anyone. Had you been? It was so long ago you could hardly remember anything other than jeans, tight ones that dug into your waist when you sat down- tight jeans hardly felt like being underdressed, they probably meant you wanted him to stare at your ass. Either way you let him have the win, as minute as it is.Â
Doesn't really matter what you wore back then when youâve got him like this now.Â
Together you sit about halfway down on the brideâs side, the pewâs nearly empty, only someone on the other end you donât know but looks vaguely enough like Daisy, that's youâd guess extended family.Â
âSo whyâd you like this guy so much?â Ryland asks, quiet enough for it to just stay between the two of you. Heâs glancing around, but his eyes keep bouncing back to Jack at the front of the venue, where heâs talking to gaggle of similarly dressed guys, his groomsmen.Â
âWhat?â
âHim,â Ryland says, tipping his head a little to gesture at Jack. âWhat had you talking about soulmates? Couldn't just be the hair, tons of guys have good hair.â
âThey do.â You answer, raising a hand to tangle one of the longer stands where itâs dangling over his forehead around your pointer finger and give it a light tug. Rylandâs eyes settle on you, like thereâs nothing else to look at. âHe made me feel like the only girl in the world.â
âThatâs a cliche.â He refutes. âAnd a song lyric.â
You smile. âIâm serious. Heâs like that with every girl he went out with. Heâs like it with Daisy. He just loses sight of every other woman, so attentive.â
Ryland stays silent for a moment, eyes searching for something in yours. Maybe permission, or a want, for him to keep digging, itâs almost as if heâs scared what he might find. âWhat'd he do? To make you feel like that?â
Itâs cute, how nervous he is, despite the fact it feels as though all week, the pair of you have been laying this ground work, a path to follow that will lead you somewhere inevitable, like a trivia date, or the messy sprawled sage green sheets or Rylandâs bed. You smile at him, wondering if heâs thought about you in them. You wonder if he knows how easily you could be, that you might just follow him to the edge of the universe.Â
Still, you answer his question, offering a peek into your brain, the way you used to operate when teenage giddiness was closer than adult yearning. "Took me dancing. Kissed me slowly, cared about how I wanted things to go. It was like he just couldnât stop looking at me, for me. It was intoxicating.â
âI canât.â Ryland blurts out, all reckless abandon, and heâs looking at you like youâve already kissed him breathless just by being here. You let your leg shift to press the length of your thigh against his, warm even through the layers of fabric.Â
You breathe in deep through your nose, the scent of his cologne sticking dizzyingly to the air, a scent you think is enough to get drunk on even without the assistance of wedding champagne. "Can't what?â
âStop looking at you.â He clarifies, eyes darting down to your lips. âI can do the other things though.â
A flutter knocks about your chest, unsteady and uncoordinated. âYeah, you like dancing Doctor Grace?â
âIf itâs with you.â He amends.Â
âAnd slow kissing? You like that too?â
âYeah I do.â Heâs not even trying to hide it now, gaze settled on the dusty pink line of your lips, his own a little slick with spit when he darts his tongue out to trace one quick line along them.Â
You almost asked him to prove it, but in your peripherals, down the aisle and pausing at the sight of you, was Macey, another one of your college friends, smiling. So you place a hand on Ryland's thigh, just above his knee. âGood. Really good.â
Ryland looks dizzy with the praise, like itâs all rushed straight to his head.Â
âHey Macey, good to see you.â You greet, using your hand on Ryland's knee to tip his legs towards you, making room for Macey to shuffle into the pew.Â
âOh my god, good to see you too! It's been awhile, hasnât it?â She leans down a little awkwardly to wrap you in a hug as you half stand, and itâs good to see someone after so long, to look at them and remember times when things were simpler and you were allowed to be a little stupid, a little dangerous. Itâs nice to see her here, for her to sit next to you- Maceyâs always encouraged you to be a little wild, and with the way Rylandâs been looking at you all night, you might need her ego-bosting tonight.Â
âIâm Macey, nice to meet you.â She extends a hand to Ryland over your lap and he shakes it curtly, offering his own introduction.Â
Thereâs a big rock on her finger, and you remember seeing it on an instagram post, some dreamy forest scenery with a âcoming soon to a theatre near youâ caption under it.Â
âI suppose it will be your wedding next then,â You tease, âWhereâs Jamie?â
âOh she had a work trip, couldn't avoid it. She wanted to come though.â Macey waves off. Her and her fiance met on some film set, both camera operators, at the time, although you faintly recall reading something about Jamieâs name working its way up to director for some upcoming project, amongst the throws of social media posts from people who once knew everything about you and now you only see once every few years.Â
âSo Ryland,â Macey starts with a glimmer in her eyes, something evil and mischievous that throws you back to seeing her in the living room with a bottle of tequila and monopoly board. âHowâd you two meet?â
âWe teach at the same school,â He grins, a hand sliding to your knee, just along the inside of it, where your dress fabric hangs low with slack, enough for his palm to press there, thumb drawing slow lines back and forth. âA little cliche but I donât mind.â
Macey smiles, fans her face a little like thatâs just soooo romantic. âWhat do you teach?â
âScience, opposites attract I guess.â
âPlease tell me you used that line.â She practically swoons.Â
Ryland huffs a little laugh. âNo, the kids threw that one at me actually.â
âReally?â You question, a raised eyebrow because that was not part of the backstory heâd been cooking up all week.
âOh yeah. You should hear them. âMr. Grace, you and Miss are ,like perfect for each other. You should ask her to the spring dance. Theyâre relentless, I swear.â
He pitches his voice a little, lazy tones and improper grammar leaking out in the way it did when he did impressions of your students and you canât help but giggle a little.Â
âTheir heads might explode when they find out.â Macey laughs too, then like a stroke of inspiration, slaps her hand against your arm a few times in pure, unrestrained excitement. âGod- remember when we found out Professor Morisaki and Professor Collins were married? Holy shit it was like our heads exploded.âÂ
You bark a laugh, muffling it under your hand considering the rather low level of idle chatter in the venue. âOh my god, I forgot about that.â
âProfessors of yours?â Ryland asks, this soft smile spread across his lips still.
âYeah, we were doing a car-wash fundraiser! They were kissing in the background of one of our photos!â Macey still whispers gossip like she did in college, like your students do now.Â
Ryland looks a little red in the face when he asks. âA car wash fundraiser?âÂ
Macey smirks, always too good at picking things up from others' words and you kind of want to stomp your heel over her toes to tell her off before you remember how this evening had been going so far. âOh? Donât you know? We were a little wild in college.â
You scoff. âA little?â
âOkay, a lot.â She corrects. âThe car wash was an annual thing. White tshirts, bikinis. Thereâs definitely pictures. I have pictures.â
âMacey.â You scold, mostly joking.Â
She shrugs, straightens up and sits to face the fronts, pointedly not looking at you with a smirk on her face. âHey- Iâm just reminiscing on good times. Donât you remember the kissing booth we ran? Of course you do you were the most requested-â
Now you stomp your foot onto hers, although she doesnât do anything but laugh to herself.Â
Ryland is back to that dazed look, like heâs on some far off planet in his mind, when he murmurs, "Kissing booth?â
You glare at Macey, for a sharp moment. Before patting one hand on Rylandâs chest, leaning in close when you say, loud enough for Macey to hear. âTell you about it later, handsome.â
He ducks his head a little close to you, a tiny little movement that stops as soon as it starts. His cheeks are the reddest youâd ever seen, looking a lot like heâs about to kiss you now, when thereâs a music cue somewhere further up the aisle and a hush falls over everyone. He doesn't look away at first, eyes glued to yours for a long second before he bites his lower lip, to stop himself saying something and reaches a hand up to lace his fingers together with yours over his chest. He pulls it gently to his lap, smothering it in between his warm palms, fiddling with your fingers as the ceremony starts.Â
Itâs beautiful, truly. The light lowered through the stained glass windows, reflecting and casting colour across the whole room, gentle music and teary vows. Picturesque really, and it reminded you of that time youâd all made âvision boardsâ as a bonding activity, and Daisy had a little corner on hers that outlined the life sheâd like to live, from a small sunset ceremony to the little white picket fence outside a cottage. Youâre happy sheâs finally arrived there, that she has a man whoâs willing to give her everything sheâd dreamed of.Â
You tell her as much, when you catch the pair of them in the reception hall. A warm hug for each of them and a firm hand shake between Jack and Ryland. Itâs a lot less daunting than you had thought it would be, seeing them with the knot tied, no bad blood lingering or awkwardness about what once was. Just contentedness, with where your lives had led you each.Â
The food is good and the atmosphere is better, seeing people from a previous life chapter all reunited, laughing and catching up. The reception is held in a ball room, with gorgeous polished hard wood floors and lovely low lighting that hangs from the ceiling in delicate chandeliers. Thereâs a classical band, a memento board for people to take polaroids and write well wishes on them, a corner with photos from Both Daisy and Jackâs lives, in albums and tacked up on walls, showing where they meet and things bleed together into their future. All of itâs beautiful.Â
Itâs heading into the later part of the night, when some people have excused themselves and cake has been cut, a hefty supply of the champagne depleted, that a nice slow song comes on.
You arenât really paying that much attention to it, until you see Ryland shift beside you, rising and holding out one hand, palm up, towards you. âCare to dance?â
Something warm spreads over your face, a flush probably, as you lay a hand in his and he ever so gently pulls you to your feet, right in close to him. He leans down again, lips pressing feather-light to your temple before he leads you towards the dance floor.Â
Itâs littered with other couples, celebrating the love they have for each other as well as the bride and groom.Â
All of it has you a little dizzy, settling a hand on Rylandâs shoulder as his palm slides around your waist, fingers slowing around the lace up back of your dress, pressing into your skin with gentle intent. Heâs warm, firm against you, breath fanning across your cheek as you look up at him. âI know this isnât the kind of dancing you meant, but itâs the best I can do for now.â
You humm, feet shifting in time with his, a slow waltz you werenât even aware he knew. âI think I prefer this kind of dancing nowadays.â
Rylandâs lips tick up into a smile. âYeah?â
He looks as good in the warm lamp light as he does in sunlight, kissing across his tanned skin and stubble, showing off the highlights of his hair. You want to run your hands through it, press a kiss to the scruff of his jaw. You settle on talking instead, worried heâs not one for such public displays of affection. âLeft my wild nights behind in college.â
He sighs, like this is a devastating blow, hanging his head slightly, glasses slipping a smidge down his nose. âA shame. I was looking forwards to an appearance.â
You purse your lips, lifting the hand from his shoulder to cup his jaw, tilting his head back up a little, the pad of your thumb pressing his glasses back up to where they're supposed to sit. âMight do a private showing. Just for you.â
âYou going to wash my car?â He asks, teasing. Eyes following the movement of your hand as it slips back down into place on his shoulder.Â
Your forehead falls, pressing against his collar bone as a furious blush blooms over your face, the worst it has been all night, murmuring, âYou donât have a car.â
He must have known what you were going to say, or some semblance of it because you certainly werenât speaking loud enough for him to catch all of it, but he still sighs, a little dramatic. âGuess weâll have to go with the kissing booth then.â
You lift your head a little, to look up at him where heâs smiling down, mirth dancing about in his eyes. âOh, what a shame.â
The drawl has him crack a grin, cheeks flushed as he looks away. Fingers dancing slowly along the skin of your back, between the cords heâd tied up so perfectly for you.Â
For you, all of it. His nice suit heâd dug out from the back of his closet, the smart shoes nudging against yours with every step of the waltz. Ryland would do a lot for you, the realisation comes a little late, considering everything. You lean forwards a little, resting your cheek on his chest, as the song slows right down, indulgent.Â
âYou got plans after this?â You ask, and it sounds so cheesy, so bland once itâs left your lips.Â
Still, when he answers, the smile is audible in Rylandâs voice. âThought I was getting a private show. Is that offer off the table?â
âThink I can manage it,â You murmur, listening to the final few chords echo about the ball room, basking in the way his voice had rippled and rumbled through his chest, low against your cheek.
He lingers for a few seconds in the quiet, holding you close against his chest. You wonder if he, too, is basking in it. The closeness, the idea of having something that youâve both been pretending couldnât happen, wasnât there in the air of exhaled breaths and weighted stares.Â
When he pulls back, there is nothing but adoration in his eyes, hand that holds yours falling low, but not releasing it, palm soft against your waist, almost as if he doesn't want to let you go just yet. âWanna get out of here?â
âBit forward, Ryland,â You tease, âweâve not even taken photos yet.â
His eyes follow yours to the polaroid board in the corner, considers it for a moment before heâs pulling you gently by the grasp of his hand around yours, towards it.Â
The polaroid camera is a little hand held thing, thereâs a stand for it, and poster board instructions on how to set a timer delay.Â
Ryland insists on taking one of just you, and while youâre grinning, trying to convince him to join you against the black fabric backdrop, the shutter goes off.Â
He rolls his eyes, but lets you drag him in beside you for the next photo. The timer is set, and just as youâre preparing to smile, something a little sweet and knowing, he gets one hand around the small of your back, knocks one of those very smart shoes against your heel and tilts you into a dip. It leaves you a little breathless, as he smiles, nose almost touching yours, shutter flashing off to the side.Â
He lets you choose which photo goes on the memo board. âWhichever one you donât put up there, Iâm keeping.â
You look a little silly in both, at least you think as much, caught off guard, and laughing a little out of breath. Ryland insists you look amazing in both. Something a bit selfish pulls at your gut, as you apprise both photos, and eventually, hand the one of you and Ryland to him- liking the idea of getting to see it again, of having a physical reminder of the night you two have spent together.Â
He grins like heâs won something, pulling his wallet out from his jacket pocket- a crisp brown leather that looks worn but well cared for- and to your mortification, tucks the photo into the clear slot. The one most people put their licences, or photos of loved ones, like heart-shaped lockets back in the old days. Ryland says nothing on the matter and he folds his wallet back up and slides it back into his pocket, waiting for you to write your message on the other polaroidâs back.Â
You scrawl some comment about happy endings and humble crazy beginnings, Signing your name on the bottom under the image of your laughter, and tack it up on the board next to the one Maceyâs left.Â
Rylandâs got his arm out, hooked there for you to loop yours through again.Â
You manage to catch Daisy by the bar on your way out, and give her a tight hug, telling her again how beautiful the wedding has been, how happy you were for her.Â
The night air is crisp and the second youâre outside, waiting for the uber thatâs just a few minutes away, Ryland strips off his suit jacket, draping it over your shoulders with a lack of hesitation that makes it seems as if heâs been waiting to do it all night.Â
You look at him and raise a brow, but donât say anything when you catch sight of his pleased smile. Itâs almost devastating to realise he looks even better in just the black button down and tie than he did in the full suit.Â
Again, the drive is mostly silent, but you notice pointedly, that youâre not going back to your apartment. And when you tilt Ryalndâs phone and tap the screen awake, you recognise his street name in the tripâs destination.Â
âPresumptious.â You smile.
He grins back, lets a warm palm wander to the curve of your knee, fingers curling around it then venturing to settle a little higher around your thigh. âHow are you going to wash my car if we donât go to my place?â
âYou donât have a car.â You repeat, curious where all this teasing confidence has come from, if perhaps your very clear signals have finally given Ryland the means to throw out all of that unnecessary nervousness and doubt.Â
âRight,â He hisses, patting his other hand on his leg, as if to say âdrat, there goes that planâ. Then he leans in close, whispers to you, âWhat was the back up plan again?â
âYou are much bolder after a few glasses of champagne.â
He hums, a considering sort of sound that rumbles in the minimal air between you. âMore so when I know I'm right.â
âAnd what, pray tell, are you right about?â
âThat you like-like me.â He teases, like a child on the playground and if you were a little less level-headed, you might have kissed him right there, leant across the middle seat to lock lips with him in an uber.Â
But you donât want the first time you kiss him to be viewed through a rear view mirror by a driver who looks very unimpressed by the conversation happening in the back seat. âYou gonna prove that hypothesis in your apartment?â
âThatâs very forwards of you.â He teases, head tipping down like he is going to kiss you.
Expect you turn your head, and his lips brush against your cheek, as you tut. âAll scientists say experiments are supposed to be conducted in controlled environments.â
He leans back, still close enough for his warm breath to fan across your face. âYouâve been seeing other scientists? Iâm heartbroken.â
âGive yourself some credit, your classes are very interesting.â
âEarsdropping, huh? Didnât think you were the type.â He looks far too pleased by the idea that youâve listened to him teach, like he doesn't know that when you come for something during class hours that you linger by the door and wait for him to finish whatever heâs saying, as if you could look at anything else when he was so captivating.
âIâll Tell you exactly what type I am in,â You glance down to tap his phone awake, checking the ride estimate. âfour minutes.â
He nods and you wonder if heâd get that head-rush distant expression on his face if you praised him for the patience. Itâs something you want to save for later, you decide, for private. Just for you.
Ryland manages to wait, even keep his hands to himself, once youâre both out of the car, leading you though his building with a sort of reverent silence, that you get the impression wouldnât return once broken. You stand across from each other in the elevator. With both his hands braced on the bar at hip height, Ryland fixes you with a look that echoes in the space, though the mirrors surrounding you and over the idle hum of machinery. Youâre still wearing his jacket, over your shoulders, a slight barrier between the handrail and the curve of your back, as you stand with your arms crossed smiling at him.Â
The giddiness that bubbles up and about inside you, as you huddle in close behind him through the hallway, as he unlocks his door and lets you squeeze in past him, is something youâve not felt in a long time. Thereâs not much room for childish excitement in the modern dating landscape, it feels as though everyone is in a rush, trying to get where they want to be with a relationship before itâs too late.Â
Ryland though, heâs here. You watch him latch the door, before he turns, standing there to let his eyes run up you again.Â
âSoooo,â He says, pursing his lips and tangling his hands together in front of him, like heâs suddenly nervous.Â
âSo?â You ask, taking a few steps forwards to run your hand down the plane of his chest again, feeling it under your palm just like you did when heâd turned up at your apartment that afternoon.Â
âItâs been four minutes.â He swallows, and this close you can see how his adams apple bobs. Your other hand reaches up to scratch feather light against the stubble of his jaw, hand on his chest catching on the silky soft fabric of his tie, the one heâd picked out just for you.Â
Rylands hands are slow, one moves to the dip of your waist, landing where it had during your waltz, if not a little more firm as it presses you close against him. He catches his jacket by the collar, lets it slide back off your shoulders and hang from his grip as it slides to settle on the curve of your hip.
âIt has.â You lick your lips.Â
Tuggin on his tie was not supposed to be a demanding thing, more so a gentle tease like you have been doing all night, stepping around that first move like it was a pitfall trap youâd never make it out of. Expect he pitches forwards much easier than you expected and Ryland's lips are pressed against yours.Â
Soft and still a little honeyed by the champagne, he moves slowly against you. He takes one step back, then another, pulling you with him and not letting his lips leave yours as he backs himself up against his apartment door.Â
Your teeth catch on his bottom lip, and a sharp inhale escapes him, almost a gasp, before he melts into the wood at his back, parting his lips and slipping his tongue up against yours.Â
Itâs slow kissing, itâs dizzying and itâs want. Everything heâd promised you hours ago, in the afternoon sun of that venue, looking like a dream come true.Â
For what could be hours, you stay there, pressed up against him, kissing at his skin, until he shifts his legs, just slightly, enough to press one somewhere between yours, a soft presence halted by the fabric of your dress.Â
Breathless, you break the kiss and he lays a sweet peck against your temple, an echo of earlier, before he begins to nose at the line of your jaw, your neck. Kissing then sucking at the divot along your collar while you pant. âRyland,â
He says your name, just as breathless against your skin, his hand dropping the jacket to pull at the chord of your dress.Â
âIs your doorway where you take all the girls?â
âThere are no other girls.â He murmurs like a confession, far more earnest than youâd been prepared for.Â
âJust me?â
He pulls back, pupils blow wide and face flushed blotchy and red. âYeah.â
Ryland leans forwards, crowds impossibly close until your feet begin to shuffle, back, back, back into his studio apartment. It passes in a blur as he presses in to kiss your lips again, glued to them until he deems itâs been enough backwards paces and presses another kiss to your jaw. Using his grip on your sides, Ryland turns you around, folds in around behind you.Â
His bedâs unmade, messy sheets splayed out in front of you, a pile of sage green cotton that feels like a promise, a sight youâve dreamed about far too many times.
Thereâs pressure there, against your ass, a hard length thatâs tight against his slacks and it makes your stomach swoop to know heâs so turned on by the slow kissing youâd been thinking about all night. His shuddering breath rushes like wind by your ear, as his fingers pull at the bow heâd tied himself. âBeen thinking about this for too long.â
âYeah?â You shudder when his lips find their place against your neck, sucking and biting at the skin there in a way that will probably result in a lasting reminder. âSince you laced it up?â
âSince you showed me this zipper." He pulls at it and the fabric gives, parting to sit low on your hips. Ryland kisses at the juncture of your throat, biting, and nipping.Â
The dress doesnât fall, not with the straps still hanging loosely from your shoulders, but itâs a damn near thing. One of Rylandâs hands winds around your waist, dragging you back against him as he presses up with one slow grind that has him choking on a groan. His cock, still trapped in his slacks, drags between the zip and against your underwear in a tease thatâs maddening with far too much still left to your imagination.Â
You try to turn but heâs got you wrapped up so firmly in his arms that itâs not plausible, so instead you reach a hand back, over your shoulder to tug at the knot of his tie, fingers slipping against the silky marital, catching in the bulk to it to tug. A particularly hard tug has him whining.Â
âOkay,â You huff out as he sucks a little harder just under your jaw that will definitely result in a hickey if you let him continue for much longer. âCome on, donât you wanna fuck me?â
You punctuate this by groping around between you both until you get a hand over his cock, giving it a gentle squeeze.Â
âNeed to remember this bit.â He mumbles, hand around your waist retreating to slip inside your dress from behind, curving back around so his fingers can skate over the soft skin of your stomach, tips slipping just under the waistband of your panties.Â
It has you clenching down on nothing and you become actually aware of how uncomfortably wet youâre beginning to get. You squeeze your thighs together, squirming in his grasp.Â
âNext time, Ry-â He splays his hand over your stomach, using it to press you back into him. âRyland, come on. Need you.â
It tumbles out in a breathy whine, and itâs like youâve said the magic words. Heâs turning you around in his grasp, hands reaching up to slip the straps off your shoulders and marvel at the sight.Â
He swallows as you reach for his tie again, loosening it gently now you can get your fingers into the knot properly. Rylandâs hands hover nervously before settling against your rib cage, fingers brushing anxiously against the underside of your breasts.Â
Your dress was not one that lent itself to a bra, so youâd gone without. You had assumed that heâd figured that one out, given how heâd both laced and un-laced the back of it, but now that itâs out of the way, heâs looking at your chest like he hadnât expected to see it so quickly.Â
âYou mean it?â He manages, sounding all tongue tied as you pry the tie off, letting it fall onto the floor, blending into the puddle of your dress- a perfect shade match. âI.. I get a next time?â
âYeah.â You breathe, working on his shirt buttons, one after the other, coming apart as easily as Ryland did under your gaze. âAs many as you want.â
When you get to the bottom of his shirt and reach for the belt buckle, Rylandâs hands move from where theyâve been gently nudging your breasts, to your wrists, snagging them gently as he pulls them back. His shoes nudged against yours, another one of those silent signals to step back that you didnât know you understood so well until tonight.Â
âLet me.â He says, one hand coming to your hip to push you gently back and down onto his bed.Â
You land softly, mattress springing underneath you as you shuffle back, leaning on your elbows to gaze up at him as he toes off his shoes and pulls off his socks, a little off balance like the whole path from the door has altered his centre of gravity.Â
Ryland is a sight, heaven-sent.Â
His hairâs spiked out in six different directions, and you want to scratch at his scalp and pull at the strands all over again. He slides his glasses down his nose and sets them on the nightstand. The skin of his chest is just as tanned as his arms, a wide expanse thatâs begging to be marked up with your teeth and nails.Â
The belt buckle clinks softly in the empty air as he slips it open, unbuttoning his slacks before he shrugs the black dress shirt off. God, you want to bite his shoulders.Â
Your teeth clamp down on your tongue at the thought, kind of wishing the tie was in the picture so you could pull him down on top of you. Just when youâre about to reach up, aiming for his shoulder or maybe even his cheek, Ryland surprises you by taking a knee.Â
His fingers are a little clumsy as they wrap around the heel of your left shoe, pulling it up onto his bent knee as he fumbles with the buckle. Heâs gentle with it, more careful than he was with his own shoes that are certainly worth more than your cheap pair, right shoe, then the left.
Still, it has your stomach tied up in knots to witness with just how much reverence heâs treating you. And the sight of Ryland between your legs is certainly one you could get used to.Â
He presses a kiss to the inside of your knee before blinking up at you. âAre you⊠Can I-â
Ryland cuts himself off and that same unwarranted nervousness from before takes over his face, fingers curling tightly around your ankle, as if to ground himself. You smile at him, something that feels a little too giddy and a little too much like your 20 year-old self from college, fumbling and laughing your way to bed. âWhat is it Ry? Youâve already got me on your bed, no need to be shy.â
He bites his bottom lip, rolling it between his teeth as he considers the words. âIf you say so.â
Then he gently leads your leg, by the ankle thatâs still gripped tightly in his palm, off his propped leg as he drops it to kneel, and hooks it over his shoulder. Ryland kisses a path up your calf and along the inside of your leg and with an overwhelming flood of realisation, you fall back against the bed, bracing for the moment where he presses a soft kiss on your clit, through the fabric of your underwear.Â
Despite his earlier hesitance, Ryland does not dilly-dally. Once he hears your shuddering breath that sounds more like a moan than anything else, he hooks a thumb though the crotch of your panties, pulls them to the side and presses another slow kiss against you.Â
Itâs maddening, has you gasping out his name as he licks a stripe up your cunt, sighing into it like itâs the best thing heâs ever tasted. Heâs been teasing you long enough that when he presses two fingers along your folds, teasing the resistance of it, they sink in easily. He hooks them up, pressing up against the spongy wall and pulls another moan from your lips.Â
You're not sure how long Ryland spends between your legs with your hands in his hair and name on your lips, but itâs got you dizzy, clenching around his fingers as he strokes them inside you, languid and slow as he lays gentle kisses over your clit. His stubble scratches against your thighs in a way youâd expected to hate, but are getting rather fond of.Â
Itâs a slow build that crests with you moaning his name and clenching around his fingers as his tongue slows, your hips twitching a little with overstimulation post-orgasm. He moves his kisses to the inside of your thigh, the one not hooked over his shoulder as you catch your breath and itâs highly plausible that heâs leaving another hickey there.
When he does pull back, Ryland is just as breathless as you. Cheeks flushed and chest stuttering as he licked his lips clean. His pupils are blown wide, so much so you can hardly see the blue as he gazes up at you. âYou said I could fuck you, right?â
âYeah,â you swallow, throat scratchy and dry. âYou can.â
With your head still spinning from the attention and care heâs taking with you, itâs a moment before you realise his hands are back at your hips as he shuffles you around the bed, up until he can fit his palm behind your head and lift it onto a pillow that smells like him.Â
Rylandâs above you, propped up on one elbow and a knee to keep his weight off your body. You can feel each heavy exhale on your cheek. âLike this?â
âJust like this.â You say, nodding hand reaching up for his cheek to pull him down into another slow, languid kiss.Â
He leans in close, whining against your mouth as you part your legs for him to set his between and get a hand on the small of his back, pressing until he gets the hint and grinds downs. It has you both moaning and panting against each other.Â
Youâre getting impatient, and while he must have ditched the pants somewhere between eating you out and repositioning you right side up on the mattress, heâs still got his briefs on and youâre still wearing your underwear.Â
âOff,â You grunt, hand pulling at the waistband of his briefs.Â
Rylandâs head drops to the space beside yours, just above your shoulder as he reaches a hand down to pull his underwear down over his cock and down his legs, kicking them off somewhere at the end of the bed.Â
He gasps, a shaky exhale hitting your skin as you wrap your hand around the length of him.Â
Warm and heavy in your palm, heâs bigger than youâd expected. When you slide your hand up, swiping a thumb over the head of his dick, thereâs so much precum that it pools on your thumb pad. You give him a slow pump, slide eased by the wetness.Â
Ryland mouths at the skin of your shoulder, and the hand heâs not using to keep himself above you finds its way to your hip, slipping under your panties, pulling at them.Â
âCondoms. I need-â He cuts himself off with another groan, biting into your skin then kissing it softly like an apology. âI need a condom.âÂ
His hand slips out from your underwear and he gets his knees up either side of your hips to reach over, straining for the nightstand. You take the moment to kiss along his collarbone, using the hand thatâs not wrapped around him to tug your panties down, wriggling them off and down your legs.Â
It doesnât go unnoticed, and he drops the condom wrapper somewhere beside your head as his gaze whips back to your face. âI was going to do that.â
He sounds a little bit thrown, like heâd really been looking forwards to pulling your panties off.Â
âYou were also going to fuck me.â You prod, giving his cock another languid stroke, watching his face contort with pleasure as he groans. He eases himself back over you, legs between yours and his weight pressing down in a way that has you sighing in contentment.Â
âNot fair.â He pants, forehead dropping against yours. A hand, so gentle and far too tender comes up to brush the hair by your temple, away from your eyes. âNext time, you let me take my time, okay?â
You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. âWeâll take turns.âÂ
The condom wrapper crinkles in your fingers and you pinch the edge of it between your teeth and rip the corner off, splitting it open with your thumb. Ryland whines, louder and needier than youâd heard him all night, when you roll it over his dick, hips bucking into your hand and cock bumping against your stomach.Â
He gets his hand down between your bodies, runs three of his fingers through your folds, making your breath hitch. Then he nudges your hand out of the way and runs his cock though them next. You whine, high pitched and stuttered.Â
Itâs a slow steady push when he slips inside you, one that draws out a long moan from your lips. Ryland moans your name, panting and kissing at your throat.
âGod,â he pants. âYou feel so good, baby.â
A broken whine sneaks past your lips, one hand reaching up to slide around the back of his neck, to lead his face back to yours so you can kiss him all over again.Â
This type of slow kissing might have been your new favorite, Rylandâs tongue teasing the seam of your lips before you slip them apart, tracing the line of his teeth with your own tongue. He rolls his hips, grinding down in a slow motion. The curve of his cock drags along your walls, along that spongy spot before bumping so deep inside that it must hit your cervix.Â
You hook a leg up around his waist and it has his stomach pressing up against your clit when he moves again. Moaning into his mouth, you see stars. âFuck, thatâs perfect- so good.â
Your fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling in a way that earns you a whine and a jerky thrust of his hips. âY-yeah?â
âYeah Ry- perfect. Feel so full.â The praise kicks him into gear and his slow occasional grinds turn into a building pace, hips pushing against yours and he buries himself to the hilt with every thrust.Â
You kiss at the line of his jaw, mouthing and biting at the stubble there. He moans, sharp exhale hitting your cheek. ââM not gonna last much longer, sw-swetheart.â
âSâokay. Let go, baby.â You murmur by his ear, free hand slipping down to press against your clit.Â
The pressure alone is almost enough to tip you over the edge, pussy spasming around him. Ryland groans, loud and unrestrained, his rhythm falling apart as you do.Â
When he does come, he manages a couple more thrusts, shallow as they nudge up against that perfect spot inside you. Ryland whines, shaking a little with over stimulation.Â
âCouple more.â You moan, fingers winding tight little circles over your clit. âAlmost there.â
Your spine goes stiff and a drawn-out whine slips out as you cum, clenching around the weight of him. Ryland stills inside, buried deep as he pants.Â
Slowly, he eases himself down over you, the gentle pressure of his weight relaxing. Ryland only takes a few moments there though, before sliding an arm under you and around your waist, slowly rolling you both, so heâs sprawled out with his back on those sage green sheets with you draped over him.Â
He kisses your temple, mumbling your name like a prayer. ââS a good kissing booth. Might be a repeat customer.â
You push up a little to look at him, hands either side of his chest, and a hitched breath sputters out of his lips as you shift, his cock still inside you. âMight? What happened to ânext timeâ?â
He smiles at you, hands reaching for your hips as he draws slow lines up and down your skin with his thumbs. âWell, I donât wanna push my luck.â
âYouâre not pushing anything.â You murmur, leaning back down to kiss him proper.Â
Once the aftershocks of your orgasm have faded and the idea of being empty no longer pulls painfully at your chest, you raise your hips up and let Rylandâs now soft cock slip out. He exhales heavily, and you lay beside him, eyes on the slow spinning ceiling fan. Â
He sits himself up not long after, slips the condom off and wanders off to the tiny door that you now know is his bathroom. He comes back with a damp cloth, smiling at you shyly as he cleans you up, gentle swipes over your core and along the inside of your thighs.Â
Ryland walks over and pulls some boxers on, then returns to the bed to slide a pair over your hips too. âYou want a shirt?â
You bite your bottom lip in a poor attempt to smother a grin. âOnly if itâs one of your nerdy ones.â
He kisses the smile off your lips and wanders back over to his wardrobe, throws a shirt in your general direction then goes about fixing the sheets.Â
You admire the sight. It had never occurred to you how nice his arms were, you want them around you again. He pulls the sheets straight, then up over you before he crawls in beside you.Â
âThis okay?â He asks, pulling you over to lay up against him.Â
âMore than okay.â You snuggle closer, cheek pressed against the warm plane of his chest. âBeen thinking about this.âÂ
The confession slips out in a rush of endorphins, like youâre so happy to be wrapped up in his arms and sheets, smelling like him, that you just canât help but let him know.Â
You can hear the confusion in his voice when he speaks. âHaving sex with me?â
No. You almost say, even though you had. It wasnât where you were trying to go with this though. âSleeping in your bed. With you.â
The rise and fall of his chest, of a heavy exhale, moves beneath you. âOh.â
âI think our next date should be trivia.â You declare, a quiet sort of smile on your lips as his fingers trace slow little circles on your back between the waistband of your borrowed boxers and the ridden up hem of the shirt. âSo we can get it right this time.â
âDeal.â
[ Masterlist ]
baby's first Goose fic? more proabaly on the way, although next fic published will proabaly be an oc one, with either Ryland Grace or Holland March from the nice guys.
âŠRead on a03! - Masterlist - Dean MasterlistâŠ
âŠsummary: Dean is known for never forming attachments. Never doing more than a night, never leading on, just loving and leaving. It's better like that. Safer. But for you, he can't stop himself from coming back every time.âŠ
âŠwarnings/tags: Dean Winchester x female!reader, kind of friends with benefits to lovers, angst, pining, Dean Winchester needs to talk about his feelings and get a hug, fluff, love confessions, light smut, light jealousy, no use of y/nâŠ
âŠauthor's note: I've wanted to do a fic like this for such a long time please enjoy it thank youâŠ
You always open the door.Â
Deanâs told you not to. He has these stupid code-words and questions youâre supposed to askâriddles with strange answers like how do angels take their coffee, they donât they prefer liquor, and does the king of hell like Tuesdays, yes, unless itâs his motherâs birthdayâto make sure that itâs really him. Every time you open the door without asking them, he sighs and gives you a heavy look, refusing to cross the threshold until you play his little game.Â
âYou gotta ask-â
âBut I know itâs you-â
âCould not be me. Could be something wearing my face, sweetheart, weâve talked about this-â
âI know we have.â You cross your arms over your chest. âAnd I told you. I know itâs you.â
Dean makes a face, like he wants to smile. Heâs trying to fight it, to keep the upper hand in the argument, but he always caves. You smile at him, and hold a hand out.Â
âI could be a shifter.â He grunts, crossing his arms like he doesnât trust himself not to take your hand. âCould be possessed. You been keepinâ the holy water like I-â
You toss it on his face, and giggle the way he barely even flinches.Â
Dean wipes his face, eyes shining on yours, and you know youâve won.Â
Again.Â
For a game he insists you play, heâs quite bad at winning.Â
âAlright,â he smirks, slowly advancing through the door. âYouâre gonna get it.â
You back away, smiling widely the whole time, and squeal as he chases you into your tiny apartment. Thereâs not much space for you to runâthereâs barely enough space for Dean to fitâbut you make do. He kicks the door closed and you retreat into the cluttered living room. You try to jump over the couch, but he catches you around the waist and you both fall into the cushion. When you wiggle a little for the show of it, Dean groans and hold you tighter against his chest.Â
He noses at your neck, kissing the soft skin under your jaw, and you keep giggling.Â
His presence does that to you. Makes you feel airy and foolish, the thrill of the coming days already buzzing over your skin, the joy in his return making you dizzy.Â
Because youâre never sure heâs going to return.
Heâs told you that one day, he might not. That if that happens, youâre not allowed to look for him. If youâre lucky, heâll just be dead.Â
âThatâs lucky?â Youâd asked, and heâd chuckled.Â
Youâd been lying on his bare chest, his fingers mindlessly tracing your arm. You know about what he gets up to, when heâs not here. Know about the longer shadows in the world, know why the fifth time he was hereâwhen you both realized that maybe this wasnât the no-strings thing heâd claimed it had to beâhe spent the whole weekend quizzing you about monsters and installing security in your apartment. You have a strange circle on the ceiling of every room that your friends call an interesting decoration choice. Thereâs dead manâs blood in your freezer, holy water in a flask near the door, and an iron poker in your living room, no fireplace to pair with it.Â
And you ask questions. So many questions. Dean says youâre worse than his brother sometimes, and you just kiss his nose because if he really found you annoying, he wouldnât answer or bother to come back.Â
That night, youâd been asking about the worst thing heâd fought. Heâd paused, then said Godâs sister, and forbade you from asking follow-ups.Â
Youâd ignored him. He couldnât just say Godâs sister then keep talking like that wasnât fucking insane. It had only taken about two minutes to push him into saying the whole story. But when heâd finished, a long shadow had crossed his face. Heâd held you a little closer, and given you the order to not look. Youâd asked, because you always did.Â
And heâd entertained you, because he always does.Â
âWorse things than death, sweetheart.â
âLike what.âÂ
âYâknow. Things.â
Youâd given him a flat look. âDean.â
Heâd just smiled back, drawling your name, and youâd lowered yourself down over his face. Hovered an inch away, scanning over his smug, handsome face with narrowed eyes.Â
âIs there like, a Death two that youâre not telling me about?â
Heâd snorted, running his hand through your hair. âDeath two?â
Youâd nodded, and heâd smiled up at you fondly.
âNah. No death two.â
âThen what-â
âItâs- Nothinâ you wanna know about, baby, I promise-â
âHas it happened to you before?â
Dean had fallen silent. Heâd let out a heavy breath, scanning over your face, and youâd dropped your brow over his.Â
âPlease?â Youâd whispered, and back thenâalmost a year ago, nowâyou still hadnât understood why it was so important to know everything about him that you could.Â
Youâd both been playing another one of his games. The one where he reminds you that this means nothing, and you act like that doesnât split your soul in half. The one where Dean says that shit, then spends the whole weekend worshipping your body and treating it like it means everything, slowly stitching you back together. Then he leaves, and you promise him you wonât wait, and you both pretend to believe that you mean it.Â
You always wait. You always take everything he gives you. Collect every little fact and story and scar, and keep them in a special valve in your heart. A reserve, for the time that heâs gone. It acts as a fuel, keeping your love for him burning and alive, each little bit feeding into the others until youâre less spending the pieces like currency, and more adding water to the flow of a river. It sustains itself. It only grows and grows, sacred and gentle.Â
And youâre not sure if Dean feels the exact same. But he keeps coming back. He plays your games, letting you ask all your questions and collect your stories.Â
Dean had rubbed his mouth, looking at you like he couldnât believe what he was seeing, and caved.Â
âThere was this thing.â Heâd said slowly, watching you so cautiously as he spoke. âLittle while before we met. Whole shit with demons and Amara-â
âGodâs sister.â You jump in quickly, because you want him to know you pay attention.Â
Heâd smiled softly. âYeah. Her. Well, sheâd been shoved in a cage, and I was wearing the lock, and- It didnât do good things to me. It messes with your head, makes you⊠Angry. Angry and violent. Turned Lucifer into the devil, made Cain kill his brother, made me⊠Something.â Heâd swallowed, eyes dropping to your chest. âGot me killed. But it doesnât let you just die. It brings you back. Makes you a demon.â
âAnd⊠Did you-â
âYeah.âÂ
âOh.â
Heâd nodded, trying to smile, but it hadnât reached his eyes. Youâd climbed a little further over his body, and just hugged him tight.
The tension had eased from his chest, as he hugged you back. When youâd looked up, there was something shining on his face that you hadnât named as tears, but still wiped away gently.Â
Dean had caught your hand, giving you a desperate, almost pleading look.Â
 âYou gotta promise.â Heâd rasped. âIf I walk out and donât come back, you move on. âCause if that shit happens again, and you find me- It ainât me that youâd be finding, sweetheart.â
âOkay.â Youâd whispered. âPromise.â
It had soothed him. Heâd nodded, relaxed into the mattress, and pulled you down into a long kiss.Â
And there are some things you donât ask about. That you donât really want to know. The kind of thing the Mark turned him into, what hell was like, the specifics of those nightmares he gets, where he wakes up with his limbs flailing and a wild, almost inhuman glint in his eyes.
He doesnât seem to believe you, when you tell him that you like him how he is. He lets out that sad, huffing laugh and mutters you donât know me, baby, and you just roll your eyes, and remind him that you do.Â
You really do.Â
You know Dean so well, for a stranger whoâd been drowning in a bottle of whiskey at the bar downtown, and offered you the night of your life. Whoâd said one time, then showed up on your door a month later. Then two months after that. Then three weeks, then another three, the one month again.Â
Dean says he lies for a living. That itâs a big part of his job, and heâs pretty damn good at it.Â
So either heâs a lot worse at his job than heâs led you believe, or heâs just really bad at lying to you.
Because he reminds you that he might not come back, every single time he goes. Reminds you that thisâwaving a hand between your bodies, backing up a whole step like heâs trying to remind himselfâis still just fun. Thatâs it.Â
You nod, and let him do his little dance and show.Â
Then, like always, you end up like this. Tangled in his arms on the couch, his mouth tracing over your skin. Sucking small bruises where the last ones had faded. Slipping his hand under your shirt and rubbing, re-mapping your body, grinning whenever he traces a spot he knows is sensitive, proud of himself like he hasnât done this a million times before.Â
âMissed you,â he whispers, kissing the corner of your mouth.Â
You twist, pressing your lips fully over his. He melts over you, cradling your face, wrapping an arm fully around your stomach. You smile against his mouth, opening when he swipes his tongue over your lips, humming happily as his hand splays possessively over your stomach.
âMissed you too.â You whisper back, and he makes a deep, almost purring sound from his chest.Â
You end up rolled over under him. He kisses you into the cushions, pulling off his flannel and almost ripping your shirt away, before letting his mouth wander down your body. You run your fingers through his hairâitâs gotten longer than you know he likes, youâll cut it laterâand moan as his mouth finds your nipple.Â
âDeanâŠâ
âMissed you so fuckinâ much.â He mutters to himself, squeezing your hips and using his knee to nudge your thighs apart. âMy pretty girl. Still fuckinâ wet for me, still fuckinâ perfect.â
You beam, and if you ask him about it later, heâll say itâs just dirty talk. Youâre not really his girl. Youâre just fun.Â
But youâre not stupid. You mostly keep playing this game because itâs Deanâs, and itâs important to him, and you love him.Â
That was the first thing he told you not to do. Thereâs a long, long list of orders youâve received from Deanâdonât open the door, donât look for me, donât pray to anyone but this specific angel, donât mess with the safety measuresâbut this was at the top of the list.Â
âDonât fall in love with me, sweetheart.â Heâd said that first night. It had been teasing. Youâd laughed, because he was just a handsome man at a bar. You werenât there because you were looking to fall in love either.Â
âIâll try.â Youâd said back, and heâd smiled.Â
You really had tried.Â
The joke had turned into a warning. One that he gave over and over, after that visit where he started monster-proofing your place. Youâd kept smiling, and telling him youâd try.
Every time heâd walked out the door, youâd reminded yourself that he might not come back. Every time he had come back, youâd repeated to yourself over and overâin the shower, sleeping next to him in ed, watching TV with his head in your lapâthat you canât fall in love with him.
He might never come back. Heâll never be able to love you back in a way that matters. Heâll never be able to give you a real life. Heâs almost twice your age, he sleeps with a gun, heâs legally dead and a former FBI most wanted member, heâs been dead and tangled with demons and you still have to sit on the floor for twenty minutes to convince yourself to talk to your insurance company.Â
Deanâs a hero.Â
The hero doesnât end up with the girl whoâs barely ever left her village.Â
So youâd really tried. For your sake, youâd tried.Â
But he does this thing.
He leaves himself everywhere in your life. Hickeys on your neck that take a week to fade, a flannel he forgot on your bedroom floor, socks in the bathroom and half-eaten pie in the fridge. You downloaded songs he likes on your phone, because you spent a whole afternoon trying to convince each other to like your music. He made you a paper airplane that sits on the highest place of honor, the top of your fridge.Â
Once, after a long weekend where heâd fucked you on every surface of your apartment then lay on the floor counting fake stars with you until two in the morning, heâd tried to draw you.Â
Heâd been drunk. Youâd been laughing and moving the whole time, and for a man with such a steady hand, heâs not the best artist.Â
Your nose had been too small. Your lips had been too wide, and your hair had looked like pasta and your eyes had been crossed and heâd forgotten to give you ears. Heâd groaned, and crumpled it up before crawling across the floor to lie in your lap.Â
âI donât think of you like that.â Heâd grumbled, nose grazing your inner thigh, and youâd laughed.
âI know, De.â
âYouâre prettier, guess I just canât draw.â
âNo. You really canât.â Youâd leaned down, and kissed the top of his head. âI liked it anyway.â
Heâd smiledâsmall, but for Dean that was practically beamingâand the tips of his ears had turned red as he hugged you tighter. A few drinks later, heâd passed out in your arms. Youâd tried to draw him. Sketched with the pencil and paper left of the coffee table, then given up because his beauty didnât seem willing to be captured in the paper.Â
So youâd taken a photo of him. Snorting below you, his cheeks smushed and mouth hanging open. Still unreasonably handsome.Â
In that single moment, all yours.Â
Youâd smiled to yourself, and fallen asleep just that. With Dean all around you, hidden from the world on the floor of your apartment. Heâd left in the morning. Youâd kissed him, and made that same promise not to wait for him to come back.
But it had hit you, after a week of taking out your phone every few hours, and staring at the photo until your eyes were blurred with tears.Â
You always wait for him to return. You miss him so horribly when he leaves, itâs like part of you goes with him, and youâre just praying heâll bring it back so you can feel alive again. So you can smile, and not worry about work politics or the asshole who lives down the hall and hits on you or friends who are always busy.
When Deanâs here, heâs the best thing in the world.Â
When heâs gone, heâs the best thing in the world, and the only thing youâre not allowed to have.Â
Youâre not allowed to have him when heâs here either, though.Â
When he kisses you, or makes you breakfast, or pretends to watch TV while just staring at you the whole time. Itâs a game you play alone.Â
Dean is yours, but youâre still not allowed to have him.Â
Itâs not a fair game. Youâre his, and he has you. You sit around waiting for him when he leaves, and pull him in every time he returns. Thereâs no amount of time that could pass, where you wouldnât keep waiting for Dean, and itâs a rotten, torturous game.Â
He did warn you not to play it. He told you there was no winning.Â
But you keep playing. As hard a game as it is to lose, itâs a more fun game to play.
Itâs easy to love Dean. So easy, you donât know why you faked playing his game in the first place. He stopped warning you not to fall in love with him a while ago, but he seems to have his own game, where he lies to himself about you one day moving on without him.
âI got anyone to be worried about?â He asks at night, his arm tossed over your body, pinning you to the mattress.Â
You hum, playing with his fingers. âNo.â
âNo? Not even the- Whatâs his name, Hank?â
âHank?â
âThe asshole from your book club-â
âHeâs not an asshole, De. Heâs a nice man, and you know his name is Frank.â
âHm.â Dean grunts, his hand closing over yours. âSo not even Frank, huh?â
You sigh, twisting to look at him in the dark. Taking a deep breath, and scanning over his far too neutral expression. You wish he wouldnât torture himself like this. You know itâs his game, but he doesnât have to play it. He could just let you love him, even if it meant you spend the rest of your life staring at the door.Â
But heâs committed. He gives you a tight smile, and squeezes your hand.
âIf heâs⊠Nice.â The words sound like they pain him. âAnd you like him. Yâknow, you deserve the world, sweetheart-â
âFrank doesnât have the world.â
Dean jaw twitches. âHe could have it,â he mutters. âIf he wants.â
His words are low. Low enough youâre pretty sure youâre not supposed to hear.Â
And you reach out, cradling Deanâs jaw in your hands. He slumps into you with a sigh, dragging you a little closer. Holding you against his chest, face pressing into your hair, voice strained.
âYou should. If you like him-â
âI do. Heâs nice.â You swallow, leaning back to hold Deanâs hooded gaze. âBut I like him Dean. Not like like. Heâs nice.â
Deanâs mouth twitches. âYou said that already.â
âI mean it.â
âUh huh.â He pauses. âIâm not nice.â
âYes, you are.â
He laughs dryly. âSweetheart, I got a grenade launcher in my trunk-â
âYou got two grenade launchers in your trunk.â You press your knee up between his legs, and he hisses, rutting up against your thigh.
âFuckinâ- Woman-â
You giggle as he rolls you fully on your back, pinning your arms to the bed and looking down at you with a shine in his eyes. You smile freely up at him, because itâs so easy. Dean said donât fall in love with me like it was a joke, but itâs the easiest thing youâve ever done in your life.
He crashes down, kissing you deep and fervently, until your laughter is replaced by soft moans, and your legs are spread in invitation on the bed. Dean pulls up, licking his lips, and stares at you with something close to awe.
You just keep smiling at him. It always seems to make him soften within a few moments.
And it does. Like clockwork, Dean shakes his head, sighs, and leans down to kiss you a little more gently.
âYouâre gonna kill me one day,â he murmurs against your lips, letting go of one hand so he can cradle your neck, and you drag your fingers over his chest with a hum.
âIâm not worried about it.â You whisper. âYouâd come back to me.â
He nods.
The tiniest nod. You donât think he even knows he does it. There, all the same.Â
And you know. Neither of you are going to win your games.
But youâre both still so bad at playing them.Â
âDo you like like me?â Dean asks an hour or so later, when your legs are shaking and little Dean is twitching against your thigh from being slightly overworkedâthough he never complains.Â
âDo I like like you?â
âUh- Yeah?â
You laugh. Force yourself to roll over, and crawl forwards to your rightful place on Deanâs chest.Â
âCâmon, itâs not that dumb a question-â
âIt is a little.â
âWell, if you donât like like Frank-â
âI donât sleep with Frank.â I donât wait for Frank like the Earth waiting to get back to the Sun. âI sleep with you.â
âEh.â He smirks, squeezing your ass. âNot a lotta sleepinâ going on- Shit-â
You squeeze his still softening dick, and he moans, rutting into your hand. You almost giggle again, but it falls into a gasp when he sits up suddenlyâkeeping you against his chest but flipping you around so your head drops on his shoulders and your ass pressed on his cockâand drags his hand between your thighs.Â
âYouâre good at helpinâ me win arguments, baby.â He drawls in your ear, and you whine.Â
âDean-â
âMouthy girl.â He drags his mouth over your throat, and you shake in his arms. âYou know what you do me, sweetheart. Not real fair to tease, when you know Iâm barely keeping up.â
You try to squirm, to get just a little bit of friction, and Dean lands a firm slap on your pussy. Your whole body jolts, nails sinking into his arm, and he chuckles.Â
âI know, I know.â Heâs cooing, taunting, and it only makes you ache for him more. âIâll give you anything you want, baby. Just gotta say please.â
You nod, and manage to babble out the words. You didnât know you were capable of having so many orgasms, until you met Dean. You know heâs the only one who can do this. Reduce you to a drooling, cockdrunk mess, and still have you crawling back on your knees for more.Â
It would be nice, if thatâs all he does to you.Â
But he also makes you feel wanted. Desired. Loved, even if he never says the word allowed. Even if the idea is all but forbidden.Â
But you still wait for him at the edge of the mattress, while he brushes his teeth. Shifting restlessly until he comes out of the bathroom, and smiles at you.Â
Dean crosses the room, and takes your face between his hands. Stares at you for a momentâalways fondly, always like heâs not sure youâre realâthen leans down to kiss you. Slow, like you have all the time in world.
Like he wonât be gone in the morning.
âI like like you.â You whisper, still a secret with no one else around to hear it.Â
Dean smiles. Squeezes his hold on the back of your neck.
âThank you, baby.â
You nod, curling your fingers on the fabric of his shirt. If you get him to take it off, youâll be able to hide it before he goes in the morning, and you can wear it until it stops smelling like him.Â
It might not even take tricking him. Heâd just let you have it, if you asked. You know he doesnât want to go either, but he has to. And heâs going to tell you again, not to wait for him. And youâre going to agree, and youâre both going to know itâs a lie.Â
Heâll walk out the door. Look back once, before forcing himself down the hall.Â
Youâll watch until heâs out of sight. Run to the window, to wave at him as he pulls out of the parking lot. Watch until the Impala is out of sight, too.Â
The world with get a little duller. A little more painful.Â
And then youâll count down every second, until you see him again.Â
Dean had been a goner the first time he saw Her.Â
He remembers the moment clearly. How the world had slowed and heâd been sure heâd just been drinking too much, because heâd seen a lot of beautiful women but this one set off a bomb in his brain, wiping out everything but just the sight of Her. He remembers how Sheâd come up to him, and started talking with this voice that mightâve been made of every good song in the world. How Sheâd talked damn circles around him, and how Sheâd been young enough he felt a little like a perv, but then Sheâd said her name and it became the only thing heâd ever have to know again.Â
Dean remembers thanking Sammy for getting annoyed at Dean mark-induced anger, and telling him to go out and do something safe and productive. Thanking the Mark, for agreeing in the moment that drinking was a good thing to do. Thanking the vamp nest that had settled on the edge of the town, for bringing him here in the first place.Â
Remembers how Sheâd smiled in the light of the bar, how heâd tried to buy her a drink and sheâd teased him about trying to get in Her pants, how they hadnât even fully made it to the car before heâd been rubbing over Her underwear, and had barely been on the road for five minutes before Sheâd been taking him in her mouth.Â
But mostly, Dean remembers waking up the next morning, and feeling something dangerous blooming in his chest.Â
Peace.
Heâd reached over the mattress, traced his thumb over Her cheek as she slept, and heâd felt like the world was more than just blood and loss and another day to get through that turned into a night to survive. The Mark hadnât been burning in his blood and demanding more, more, more. Heâd just been in this soft bed, with a pretty woman heâd spent the night giving good things to, watching the morning light shine over Her face.Â
Dean hadnât wanted to get up. He hadnât been able to make himself, because every time he shifted, Sheâd make this sad little sound and it echoed in his damn chest.
So heâd just stayed, until he could explain that he had to go. She was so perfect, She at least deserved to think he wasnât running out after taking advantage of her.Â
But then heâd looked Her in the eyes, and asked if she wanted to get breakfast. And Sheâd smiledâit had too quickly became the sun for him, the center of everything, what moved him and offered him every bit of lifeâand heâd been more than gone.Â
He and Sammy had cleared out the vamp nest. Sheâd gotten caught in the middle, Dean had gotten Her outâthe Mark roaring louder than usual, and Dean not bothering to resist it at allâand heâd cleaned Her up after. Stayed an extra day to make sure She was on her feet.Â
Not for any selfish reasons. Like wanting to cling to the strange peace for a little longer. Like taking advantage of Her clearly growing attachment to him, and letting himself indulge the sweetest thing heâd. ever found before he ripped it out of his hands.Â
Heâd explained everything, in the desperate hope that Sheâd help him leave. That Sheâd do what Cassie and Lisa had done, and told him they wanted nothing to do with that life.
But Sheâd just⊠Understood. Gotten all pouty and sad-eyed, when heâd dragged himself out the door. Smiled at him, and waved goodbye.Â
And Dean didnât count himself a good man. He had blood on his hands and a lot of wounds that didnât seem to bother to heal. Hell, back then heâd been bearing the damn Mark of Cain, been made of all his worse thoughts and urges. But heâd always thought heâd made up for it by not being a douchebag. Maybe he had a body count so large he lost track, and maybe he lied and tricked and fought dirty, but he respected food workers. He tipped. He never touched a lady unless She wanted it, and he never judgedâmost ofâthe shit he heard.Â
He also kept upfront about what he wanted. Heâd given Her the usual speech, before theyâd started stumbling out of the bar laughing like teenagers.
One night.Â
He could give Her everything she ever wanted, for one night.Â
Sheâd agreed. Heâd made his donât fall in love joke, but it had sounded flat to his ears.Â
Dean thinks he mightâve known, even then.Â
He certainly knows now.Â
âYou remember what you said to me?â He asked last time, sitting at Her feet while she did something with string and his favorite flannel that made it look new again. âThat first night?â
âWhat I said to you?â Sheâd frowned. âNo? Am I supposed to?â
âNah. Just wonderinâ.â Heâd turned his cheek, pressing it into Her knee.Â
She looked almost delicate, in this kind of light. Like a mist that was going to blow away with the wrong wind. A dream Dean might forget if he dared to wake up, a trick of the light that would vanish if he blinked. He couldâve been happy there for the rest of his damn life. At Her feet, watching her softer hands work, right where he could keep Her safe and adored for the rest of his sorry life.Â
Sheâd paused Her work on his flannel. Smiled down at him, running Her fingers through his hair. Dean had felt like a damn dog, and turned into the touch.Â
âWhat did I say?â Sheâd asked softly, and he shouldâve guessed She would. She likes to know everything.Â
He still doesnât understand, how She can know him and still open the door every time.
âWas it stupid?â She asked softly, and Dean had chuckled. She couldnât be stupid if She tried.Â
âNah.â
âWell, what-â
âYou told me I had big shoulders.â
Sheâd stared at him for a second. Does that thing he loves, where She sorta blinks and gapes and flushes, like just a few words from his dumb mouth are capable of short-circuiting Her quick brain.
Dean had leaned up and cupped Her jaw to close her mouth. Sheâd swatted his hands away with a scowl, and heâd laughed.
âFuck off, I did not say that-â
âSwear you did.â Heâd kissed the back of Her hand, because it makes him feel more like a gentleman than the ass who just shows up and crashes in Her bed. âYou just sat down and started objectifying me, was pretty freakinâ rude-â
âShut up.â Sheâd said with a smile. âYou love being my object.â
Dean had chuckled and pushed up into a kiss.Â
She had no damn idea.Â
And when She finally shoved him gently away, reminding Dean that She had to finish Her work on his flannel, heâd gone back to watching at Her feet. She stitched that thing up like it had never been worn in the first place. Even gotten those complex seams that used to make him declare a shirt as good as dead. Gave him new buttons, too. Like he deserved something so small and important.Â
Dean had wondered, as he watched Her. Wondered if he should start ripping up flannels, so he had a better excuse to come back. If maybe Sheâd like a life in the bunker, stitching flannels and talking to him forever, and if Sheâd ever forgive him for daring to think something so selfish.Â
Heâd wondered if She knew. That She stitches him up like that flannel, every time She let him back into her arms.Â
And if Dean were a stronger, worse man, heâd just let himself take Her. Sweep Her fully of her feet with the love confession heâs been rehearsing in the shower and on longer drives, for damn near two years. The one that goes I canât offer you money. Or a real house. Or healthcare, or children, or even really damn pets. I canât promise you Iâll come home, every time I walk out the house, and I canât promise there ainât always gonna be a target on your back just for holding my hand.Â
But I can promise Iâll protect you. And love you. And take care of you until someone shoots off my hands, cause even if they shoot off my head Iâm gonna figure out how to keep my body working to take care of you.Â
In his imagination, Sheâd make a face and whisper like a chicken?
And Dean would laugh, and smile at Her because he remembered how to, when She was around.Â
Yeah. A chicken, sweetheart. Iâll be your chicken. And Iâll damn try, all the time, to come back. Iâll try to give you everything you want that I got, and if I donât got it, Iâll figure out a way to make it.Â
Please.Â
His confession always ended with please, because even in Deanâs fantasies he canât work out a world where She says yes.Â
There are moments, where She looks at him for a long enough moment that the words work their way to his mouth. The sit on the tip of his tongue like a sour candy he needs to spit out. He almost says it, then chokes it back down.Â
There are a lot of moments, where he almost tells Her.Â
Sometimes itâs only nights like these, that stop him.Â
He had a nightmare again. Itâs a reoccurring one, now.Â
She gets hurt. It started more abstract, but itâs narrowed down to one, horrible scenario.Â
Dean wakes up in Her apartment, and sheâs gone. He calls Her name, tears the place up, tears the town up, and Sheâs still nowhere to be found.Â
Then he turns, and Sheâs there. And the world feels peaceful again. He runs towards Her, reaching to pull her back into his arms.
And She dies.Â
Dean touched Her, and she just⊠dies.Â
He woke up in a cold sweat, fighting the pillows and reaching for his gun. It took him a minute to realize it wasnât real. Another three to calm down, after he looked at Her side of the bed and realized she wasnât there.Â
Because he was in his room. At the bunker.Â
The place heâd worked so hard to keep Her away from.Â
But now heâs just lying here. Staring at the ceiling and holding the sheets on Her side of the bed. Trying to close his eyes, but itâs damn impossible when he does and just sees her lifeless body again.Â
He fumbles in the dark and grabs his wallet. Stares at Her drawing for an hour, then tries to lie back down again.Â
Sheâs fine. She has to be fine. Â
He closes his eyes by accident. Shoots right up, and makes for his pants and shoes.Â
âWhereâre you going?â Sam asks when Dean storms past him, barely looking up from his book.
âOut.â Dean grunts, because itâs not worth even trying to lie to Sam anymore.Â
Heâs not even that good at lying to himself.Â
Because he tries to protect Her from afar. He swears up and down that he wonât go back to Her, wonât keep stealing Her time and affection, wonât tempt himself with something he can never have. With a love heâs never going to be able to hold.Â
But he has to see Her. Now. Just to be sure that sheâs safe.Â
So Dean goes.Â
Itâs three in the morning, when you hear the knock. You wouldnât have gotten up to answer it, if you hadnât recognized it as Deanâs. He knocks the same way every time. Sometimes you mimic it on the table, to torture yourself with the idea of him being there.Â
And he pops up whenever he pops up. Youâve long stopped trying to track his appearances, but you know he doesnât show up on your doorstep at the start of the week, and he doesnât show up in the middle of the night.Â
Itâs a Tuesday. Itâs been Tuesday, for three hours.Â
You walk a little faster, rubbing your eyes and grabbing the baseball bat he insists you keep in the closet. If it is your Dean, he might be in danger. If itâs not, youâre about to bash someoneâs brains in and sprint for the hills.Â
The knock repeats, a little louder than last time. You hear him call your name through the door, and it certainly sounds like Dean. When you lean up to look through the peephole, it looks like Dean.Â
Heâs swaying in the hall, eyes glossy and a little bloodshot. Thereâs a strangely relaxed look on his face, and sighs heavily when you still donât open the door, stumbling forward to drop his brow against the wood.Â
âI know youâre in there.â He mumbles, hand reaching up to trace the door. âHeard you walkinâ around. If you got someone in there, I can just sit on the couch or somethinâ. Wonât even talk, just wanted toâŠâ
He sighs heavily, and your chest aches. Your fingers move to the knob, begging you to just remove the barrier between you, but somethingâs twisting in your gut. Youâve never seen him act like this. Never seen him look so tired and desperate, and that doesnât seem like a monster thing, but he had told you to be careful-Â
âI was thinkinâ about you.â He mumbles. âMissed you. Always missinâ you all the time, and- I dunno. Had a dream, itâs kinda fuckinâ stupid, but- Can you cough for me, baby? Need to hear that youâre alright, then Iâll go.â He looks up, almost staring at you through the peephole, and you swallow. Your hand closes around the doorknob, the opposite one slipping on the bat, and-Â
You wait a little too long to respond. Dean sighs heavily, taking a large step back and shoving his hands into his pockets. The step alone takes a second for him to recover from, his whole body swaying from the motion. You let the bat fall from your hand, because you need both hands to reach for him, but-
âNever mind.â He says, shaking his head. ââm gonna go. Sleep well, baby. Love you.â
You almost kick the door off its hinges, his words like ice water being doused over your head.Â
Love.Â
He said he- He said-Â
Deanâs face splits into a wide, boyish grin the moment he sees you. He says your name, barreling forward, and pulls you into his arms. Heâs warm, holding onto you tight enough youâre being picked up off your feet. You hug him back, still dazed, the world moving too fast.Â
Love. He said love. He said-Â
He mumbles your name, pressing his face into your neck, and you brush your fingers through his hair lightly. Heâs still made of muscle and soft strength, but something about it feels delicate. Heâs not really saying anything, which isnât Dean at all. Heâs still swaying back and forth, and he smells like the same warm cologne and full, deep Dean smell heâs always had, but thereâs also-Â
Liquor. He smells like whiskey and beer.Â
Heâs drunk.Â
You sigh. The swaying and strangeness. For whatever reason, Deanâs just wasted, and he chose to come to you.Â
Itâs not something you can allow yourself to read into right now. That can happen in the morning, when heâs safe and sobered up, and you can try to read his reaction to waking up in your apartment. For now you just guide him backwards insideâyou try to pull away, but he makes a sound like a kicked puppy and holds you tighterâand slowly coax him out of his shoes and jacket.
âDid you drive here?â You ask softly as you work the jacket off his shoulders, and he nods.Â
âMhm. Youâre warm.â
You swallow. âThank you. Dean, baby, you shouldnât drive drunk-â
ââM not drunk-â
âYou really are-â
âOnly had like- Five drinks. Four.â He leans back, scrunching his face a little too adorably. âHow many are in the big pack thingys?â
âHow many⊠Beers?â
He shrugs, fingers reaching up to play with your hair. âUh huh. We can go count the bottles. I broke one when a freakinâ bird started shoutinâ at me, but the others. Got âem still.â
âYou- Dean.â You lean back, grabbing his face between your hands. He looks at you with a bright, hopeful adoration, and it only makes your chest ache more.Â
He says your name, leaning forward with a grinâa full, wide smile youâve never seen on his faceâand you take a deep breath.
âDid you drink them, then drive? Or drive, then-â
âI drove âem then drank.â He shrugs. ââM not that stupid. Not tryinâ to die before I can see you.â He leans down, pressing his brow against yours. âYouâre pretty.â
You flush. âThank you. I- I didnât think you were gonna, but- Shit-â He presses further over you, making you stumble back slightly.Â
Some of Deanâs usual instinct seems to kick in as you fall. He wraps his arm tightly around your back, and pulls you up before falling to the couch, forcing you to straddle his lap.Â
He grins up at you, still open and joyful, and sinks into the cushions so easily.Â
âI ainât drunk.â
You sigh. âDean-â
ââm not. Youâre pretty.â
âYouâve said that twice now.â
âDoesnât make it less true. Youâre so hot, itâs freakinâ crazy.â He drops his face into your chest, like itâs physically paining him to look at you. âYou donât get it, sweetheart. I havenât even been able to watch porn anymore âcause of you. âS not the same.â
You flush, opening and closing your mouth in a pointless attempt to try and find a way to respond to that.Â
There really isnât one. Not with the word love still ringing in your head like a church bell.Â
You settle for a soft. âOh.â
Dean just hums, and when you gently guide his head back, his eyes are heavy and a little dopey. Heâs still smiling at you, even as they droop. You run your fingers through his hair and he sighs happily.Â
âYouâre okay.â He murmurs, almost to himself. It cleaves your heart in half.
âYeah. Iâm okay.â You smile softly. âYouâre drunk.â
âNah-â
âYou had six beers, my love.â You let yourself call him that. If he said it, you can too, and he doesnât even really seem to notice at all.Â
He just makes another like face and shakes his head. âNo, I had the pack-â
âYeah.â Your smile grows. âThatâs six.â
âHm.â He pauses, clearly thinking a little too hard about this. âSix. Siiiix. Sex.â He grins at you. âWe should have sex-â
âNo.â You place a hand flat on his chest, giving him a stern look. âYouâre drunk, buddy. No sex.â
He pouts for a second, staring down at his shoes, then sighs. âFine.â
You giggle at his complete dejection, tracing your hands over the planes of his chest. His breath starts to pick up, fingers squeezing on your hips, and it might be rude to tease him like this but itâs so fun. Especially when he leans a little bit up like heâs going to try and take you, but then manages to pull himself back and flops down sadly into the cushions.
âCan we have sex in the morning please?â He asks hopefully, and you hum.Â
âWeâll see.â
That just makes him pout more. âWhy. If you donât wanna, just tell me and Iâll be super cool about it-â
âYouâre begging me right now,â you tease, and he makes a sour expression.Â
ââM not begging.â
âYou said please-â
âItâs beinâ polite. And,â he leans up, until his handsome, drunken face is only inches from yours. âI really wanna have sex with you.â
âI know.â You whisper, eyes wide on his.Â
And you shouldnât ask. You shouldnât. Heâs drunk, he doesnât know what heâs saying, he might not mean any of this at all.
But-
âWhy?â You say, so quiet you almost canât hear it yourself.Â
He frowns. âHuh?â
âWhy do you wanna have sex with me? We-â You swallow. âWeâve done it a lot before. In almost all the positions.â You smile weakly. âYou gotta be tired of me by now.â
Dean blinks at you. Like he doesnât even understand what youâre saying. âYeah, but⊠I love you.â
Thatâs what you wanted to hear. What you were fishing for.Â
It still knocks all the air out of your lungs when you hear it. In full, plainly like he canât fathom that there would ever be another answer, hanging in the silence of your living room as you just stare at Deanâs open face.Â
He said it. He said it. Youâre breathing too fast, your nails sinking into his shoulders like you can cling to the confession, like youâre trying to swallow it down before he can take it back.Â
But Dean just keeps blinking up at you, almost innocently adoring.
Heâs so drunk.Â
This isnât about you. Itâs about Dean. About forcing yourself to smile and kiss him gently, before standing up and guiding him into the shower. Checking him for injuries before getting him changed. Brushing his teeth then herding him into bed.Â
Some foolish part of you thought youâd be able to go turn off the living room light while he waited. You donât even get off the bed before Deanâs arms are around your waist, and youâre being yanked back down.Â
âDonât go.â He mumbles against the back of your neck, and you sigh.Â
âDean-â
âPlease.â
You swallow, then nod. Curl fully back, rubbing his forearms around you until his breathing starts to steady, his body slowly going limp.Â
âNever want you to go.â He says suddenly, right before you think heâs about to fall asleep. His voice is raw and tired.
Tears sting at your eyes. âIâm still here, Dean. Right here.â You squeeze his arm, and he sighs.
âYeah, but itâs gonna be gone.â He sighs. âWish I could stay. Or take you with me, but⊠Canât.â
âYou could.â You whisper, twisting to watch him in the dark. âI- Iâd go.â
He just stares at you for a moment. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse.
âYou shouldnât.â
âI would.â
His throat bobs. For a second, thereâs something new shining his eyes. Itâs clearer than everything else. Burning right into you with his attention, his hands a little tighter on your body.Â
âI keep a drawing of you in my wallet.â He rasps, and your heart does a little skip.Â
âI have a folder of your photos on my phone. I- I show them to my friends.â You flush. âThey think I made you up.âÂ
Deanâs mouth twitches. Heâs starting to sound like himself again. âDid you?â
âMake you up?â You whisper.
He nods.Â
âI donât know. I- I hope not.â
âI hope I didnât make you up either.â He traces his hand down your arm, never breaking your gaze.Â
You swallow. âI feel real.â
He hums. âThatâs good. Would suck pretty bad if you werenât.â
You laugh softly, and Dean watches you like youâre the most important thing heâs ever going to see. You smile at him. He leans a little closer.Â
âSometimes I just stand outside.â He rasps. âIf I got a night. Iâll drive up here and just⊠Sit in the fuckinâ parking lot.â
âI watched a documentary about you.â You offer. âIt called you a crazy serial killer.â
His mouth twitches. âI am-â
âI left it a one-star review.â You raise your voice over his. âAnd I- I still opened the door.â
âYou⊠You did.â He mutters. âEvery single time.â
âYeah. I did.â
For a second, you just stare at each other. Time doesnât feel like itâs moving. You donât want it to.Â
âWhen you sit in the parking lot.â You say softly. âWhy donât you come inside?â
He chuckles, rolling onto his back. âCause Iâm gonna do something stupid. Like this, and sayinâ that I-â
He cuts himself off, hand curling on his chest. You push up on your elbows, hanging over him, and he stares at you with a clear helplessness.Â
Dean mutters your name, clearly begging you not to say it.Â
But he said it first. And you need to know. If youâre allowed to stop playing games now.Â
If youâre allowed to have him.Â
âYou love me?â You finish for him, and Dean sighs.Â
âI- Donât say that, sweetheart-â
âYou said it-â
âI was drunk.â He mutters. He wonât look at you anymore. âI was drunk and talkinâ stupid and- Just donât. Please.â
You swallow, your heart caught in your throat. You could swallow it, and hope you digest it this time. That it finally passes through you, and the game is done like that.Â
But you donât want to.Â
Dean is looking at you like he expects you to kick him out. Like heâs bracing for you to spit venom and hit his chest and curse his name. Heâs almost shrinking away from you, one hand clinging to your wrist even as he makes a face like his heart is already breaking.Â
You wonât let it. Not here. Not when him breaking would break you too.Â
So you lie down next to him. Move your hand to tangle in his, your shoulders pressed together, Deanâs breathing shallow as he turns to watch you in the dark.Â
You look at him, and smile. Let all your love for him shine in it, squeezing his hand once.Â
He holds yours tighter. Holds onto it for dear life.Â
Says your name, and this. This is begging. Maybe for you to stop, or go, or just do the simple thing and kick him out.Â
You wonât. Not now. When heâs there, and maybe yours, and- And-Â
You could have him.Â
In all his broken, drunken and exhausted beauty, you can have Dean.Â
âWhat would you say?â You murmur, and his lips press in a tight line.
âI- I dunno-â
âCan I tell you what I would say? If- If youâd ever asked?â
Dean swallows, but nods. You smile again. Itâs so easy, when youâre looking at him.
âIâd tell you I love you.â You whisper. Deanâs grip tightens. âThat Iâve been in love with you for- Pretty much the whole time. That I hate watching you leave, and I hate when you pretend like you donât care if Iâm dating, and I hate when you remind me that you might not come back, because I need you. I need you to come back. Every- Every time you go-â You cut yourself off, your voice starting to ache. âEvery time you leave me I hate you. But I love you so much it doesnât matter. I- I like loving you so much more than I hate missing you. Dean, I-â
He says your name, words tight and choked, and you shake your head.
âI love you. I love you so, so much, Iâm never gonna-â You take long unsteady breath. âYou just leave me here. And I wait. Because I love you.â
And Dean just stares at you. Holds your hand and stares at you, his face pale and flushed all at the same time.Â
âNo.â He finally mutters. He still doesnât let go of your hand. âSweetheart, thatâs- You love the idea of me, you donât love the real thing-â
You snort dryly. âThe real you?â
âYeah.â He snaps, sitting up suddenly. âThe real me. Iâm not just some fuckinâ- Sex guy who drops in, fucks you, then runs off to a day job. I kill people, baby. I got a body count bigger than any documentary is gonna tell you, I got people who hunt me down for what Iâve done, there ainât anyone in my life because everyone who was there is fuckinâ dead, and I-â He shakes his head, starting to pull back. âIâm not lettinâ that happen to you. No. No way in hell-â
âWhy?â You demand, and your voice isnât harsh or even that loud, but it cuts Dean off completely. âWhy donât you want it to happen to me?â
He makes a sour expression. âBecause.â
âBecause?â
âYeah. âS what I said-â
âIs it because you love me?â
Dean scowls. âThat doesnât matter-â
âIt matters to me-â
ââCause you think youâre in love with me.â He spits. Heâs still holding your hand. âAnd Iâm tellinâ you, youâre not, so it doesnât matter-â
âI am in love with you.â You sit up, making your voice firmer. Unwavering. âAnd I know you, Dean. Iâm not just some girl who got the wrong idea about something, I know you. Youâve told me everything, even the ugly shit, and I kept opening the door.â You glare at him, and he freezes, staring at you with wide-eyes. âI sit with you after all your nightmares, I let you bring a gun into my house, I look you up on the news every day because I am terrified youâre going to die and come back all wrong or whatever, and Iâm going have to figure out how to be strong enough not to open the door.â
Deanâs mouth falls a little bit open, and you glare at him, far from done.Â
âBecause I would. Iâd let you in with those creepy black eyes and I donât even think Iâd regret it. Because I love you.â
Dean makes a strangled sound, and you poke his chest.
âYou show up covered in blood and talking crazy about angels and demons, you give me fuckinâ gun and booby trap my apartment and make me do codewords, and I let you in. I know who you are, Dean Winchester. I know exactly who you are.â
He catches your hand on his chest, expression fully broken, and pleads your name. You curl your fingers on his chest and hold his hand.
âYouâre a good man.â Your voice turns soft, and he cringes like you hit him. âYouâre a good man, Dean. I donât love you because of the sex, even if the sex is great.â You laugh softly.Â
Dean looks like he tries to laugh, but it comes out more in a sound like a wounded animal. Silent tears are streaming down his face, and you sigh.Â
Reach up to wipe them away, and let Dean bow into your touch. His eyes are hooded, and trapped on yours.Â
You offer him a small smile.Â
âI love you because you make me happy.â You say. âI love you because you keep trying to protect me, even when it hurts you. I love you because when I tried to hit on you at a bar by saying you had big shoulders, you gave me pointers about how to pick other guys up, then asked if you could be the first I try them on. I love you because when I laughed, you apologized and started just talking to me. And we talked for so long, and you called me pretty, and I- Iâd been called that before, but-â You give him a sad smile, tears staining your own cheeks. âYou didnât want anything. You just- You just said it because you wanted me to know, and it felt good to be known.âÂ
You shift toward, rising on your knees to press your brow to his.Â
âI like you.â You whisper. âLike like you. I like like knowing you. And I like like loving you. I- Never used those moves on anyone else.â You giggle softly, tears still falling. âThey worked once really well. And I donât want to try them again. I kind of really love what I have.â
Dean blinks at you slowly. His tongue darts over his lips, eyes flicking down to your own, breath still ragged. If he needs to kiss you, youâll let him.Â
But instead, he just starts to cry.
Dean folds over you, body shaking, and cries. It starts muffled and restrainedâlike heâs still trying to shove it back downâbut you rub his back and hold him close, and he slowly falls apart.Â
You move slowly, so that youâre lying against the headboard and Dean is in your lap. You keep him gently in your arms, kissing the top of his head every few moments and running your hands soothingly over his shoulders, his back, through his soft hair. Slowly, the choked sounds turn to heavy breaths, and he eases himself down.Â
His face presses into your stomach as his chest rises and falls. You wait, cradling the back of his neck and humming to yourself softly. Eventually Dean turns to look up at you, eyes still red, and lets out a heavy sigh.Â
âI- I do.â He says, voice rough, and you just smile.
âI know.âÂ
He heaves, crawling a little up your body. âI mean it, baby, I do-â
âDean.â You cup his face, and he freezes. âI know.â
His mouth twitches. You just smile in return. Dean grabs your hand, turning to press a kiss to your wrist. His eyes shine when you giggle, tension releasing from his shoulders.Â
He collapses over your body with a heavy sigh.
âIâm gonna feel like shit in the morning.â He grumbles, and you laugh.Â
âItâs six, De. Basically is the morning.â
âGreat. I feel like shit now.â
âYou could go to sleep. That might help.â
Dean hums skeptically. âAre you gonna sleep.â
âNo.â The whole night still has you too wound up. âNot tired.â
âHm.â He pushes up over you, elbows braced on either side of your head, pinning you to the mattress.Â
His nose bumps yours, and your eyes widen, hands flying to his chest.
âI could help with that.â He murmurs, and you swallow.Â
âDean-â
âI got a clear head.â He kisses the corner of your mouth gently. âSwear. Iâll do the alphabet backwards if you wanna hear it, but if Iâm beinâ honest I canât do that front or back-â
You tug him down for a full, deep kiss. Itâs slow. Lazy. His tongue traces your lips and you open with a soft moan, legs spreading as Deanâs mouth works you up quickly.Â
But still, you gently push him back. He goes easily, raising his brows, and you flush. Glance down to his shirt, where your fingers have started to play with the soft fabric.
âAre youâŠâ Your eyes dart back up to his. âAre you gonna stay? In the morning?â
Dean nods, no uncertainty in his voice. âYeah.â He grabs your hands, pulling them up to kiss your knuckles. âIâm gonna stay until you kick me out, alright. Might come and go, but- You can come if you want. An if you donât, I got a phone, and my brotherâs phone, and a laptop that I can steal-â
âDean-â
âPoint is Iâm yours.â He says quickly, sounding a little frustrated with himself. âI stay until you kick me out.â
âI wonât.â You say quickly, and Dean grins.Â
Truly, fully grins.Â
âGuess Iâm gonna be here a long time, then.â
âYeah. Guess you are.â
His grin impossibly widens, eyes darting down to your body. âAndâŠâ
You laugh. âWe can have sex in the morning.â
Dean collapses back over you with a dramatic groan of relief. âThank god. And- After that, too?â
You giggle, kissing the top of his head, and he curls further into your body. Looks at you like youâre more than an angel, his voice still teasing, but also just a little more.Â
Filled with affection, and hope, and love.
Heâs yours to love.Â
âYeah.â You say, and Dean beams. âWe can do whatever you want.â
âŠEnd note: thank you for reading i don't even have a joke for this one i really hope you liked it i hope it wasn't butt thank you.âŠ
âŠIf you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3âŠ
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âŠdivider by @/cafekitsuneâŠ
Dean x Reader
Summary: Dean flirts with everyone⊠except you. Suddenly, the guy whoâs usually so smooth canât seem to string two words together, and Sam has to step in to keep things from getting completely out of hand.
Genre: Fluff âĄ
Word Count: 3.1K
Sam should really get out of the bunker more, maybe get an actual hobby that isnât research or running laps before breakfast. Most importantly, he should probably spend less time around you and his brother before his last functioning brain cells decide to mutiny.
Heâs blending a pile of vegetables in the kitchen when Dean walks in and⊠just stands there. Staring.
Sam can feel it, Deanâs gaze boring into the side of his head. He keeps blending. If he ignores it, maybe, just maybe, his brother will go away.
He does not.
Thereâs only so much liquefying you can do to a zucchini, so eventually Sam gives up and turns around. âWhat?â
Dean doesnât miss a beat. âDo I look approachable to you?â
There it is.
Sam exhales through his nose. âWhat are you talking about?â
Dean isnât even looking at him; his eyes are fixed somewhere over Samâs shoulder. âI mean, I think I am. I guess. But maybe Iâm not. Maybe I look⊠I dunno⊠standoffish.â
Sam blinks. âStandoffish.â
âIâm just saying, thereâs a line, okay? Too friendly, and you look like some creepy guy offering free candy. Not friendly enough, and people think youâre gonna stab âem.â
Sam shuts off the blender, grabs his smoothie, and sits. Dean drops into the chair across from him, and he stares expectantly, eyebrows up.
âDean, man... I have no idea what youâre talking about.â
âOkay, if you were a girl and saw me at a barââ
âGreat. Canât imagine a better start,â Sam mutters.
ââwould you think I was approachable? Like⊠someone youâd walk up to?â
Sam looks down into his glass, searching for the strength to keep going. Nothing. No strength. Just spinach.
âDean⊠where is this coming from?âÂ
Dean Winchester, the man who has picked up so many women he's lost count. And yet here he is, acting like he needs a pep talk.
Finally, Sam sighs, giving his brother at least the courtesy of an honest answer. âYouâre approachable. Youâre⊠you. People like you.â
Deanâs expression doesnât ease at the reassurance. If anything, he looks more frustrated, brow furrowed, mouth in a pout that heâd absolutely deny making. âThen what the hell was she talking about?â
ââŠWhat? Who?â
Samâs eyes widen. Oh. Oh.
You.
He lets out a long, exhausted sigh. Shakes his head. âDean⊠dude. Just talk to her.â
âI talk to her,â his brother insists.
âUh-huh. And thatâs why youâre in here interrogating me about your âapproachability,â right?â Sam deadpans, leaning back with the weary authority of a brother who has lived through this many, many times.
âWhatever,â Dean grumbles, immediately hating where this is going. He pushes up from the table and heads for the coffee machine, chewing on his bottom lip like heâs trying to think a hole through it.
Two minutes later, you step into the kitchen, heading straight for the fridge like you always do. And Sam sees it. God, he sees all of it. Front-row seats.
Dean cuts a glance at you from the corner of his eye, stands a little straighter, then his hand shoots up to flatten his hair. Sam just shakes his head. He swears heâs going to start avoiding the kitchen entirely when the two of you are in here together.
âWould you hand me a spoon, handsome?â you ask, completely unaware of what you just triggered.
Sam watches Dean freeze at the pet name.Â
âSpoon. Yeah. We, uh⊠we have spoons,â he stammers, somehow producing one like itâs a rare artifact. He hands it to you with the confidence of a Victorian maiden having her first conversation with a man.
Then he retreats to the safety of the coffee machine.
Yogurt and spoon in hand, you head out of the kitchen. Deanâs eyes track you the whole way, drawn like a magnet. The instant you disappear down the hall, something in him lights up.
The man beams.
âHandsome,â he says to the empty air, chest puffing up. âShe thinks Iâm handsome.â
Then he spins on his heel and strides out of the kitchen, riding the high.
Sam shakes his head, muttering, âUnbelievable.â
Two seconds later, Dean reappears, deflating the dramatic exit. âForgot my coffee,â he says, grabbing the mug with forced nonchalance. He doesnât make eye contact.
Sam just snorts.Â
â
Itâs been around two hours when you spot Sam in the library, typing away on his computer.
You sit down across from him and wait.
When his eyes finally lift from the screen, one eyebrow raised, you say, âCan I run something by you real quick?â
âSure,â he replies, tone calm. âWhatâs up?â
You hesitate. Usually, maybe you wouldnât even ask. But itâs Sam, and you trust him. âHow would you⊠rate me, on a scale from one to ten?â
âWhat?â
âLike, hypothetically⊠letâs say you walk into a bar and Iâm sitting there. Whatâs your first impression of me?â
Sam, who doesnât even like bars, has already been dragged into two bar hypotheticals today, and itâs barely ten in the morning. He resists the urge to sigh. âJust⊠talk to Dean,â he says. âTrust me.â
âHow did you know Iââ
âReally good intuition,â he interrupts.
You stare down at the table, lips pouting. âItâs just⊠He flirts with everyone, literally everyone â even the old lady at the market. He just⊠never flirts with me. So I try to be casual. But this morning... it sort of got out before I could stop myself, and I called him handsome. And he, uh â I donât think he liked that.â
Sam lets out a quiet snort.Â
âWhat?â
âNothing,â he mutters quickly, eyes darting back to the computer. âJust⊠maybe ask him to grab a coffee sometime. Keep it casual. Start small, you know?"
You hum thoughtfully, weighing the advice. âYeah⊠maybe I could do that.â
Sam smiles faintly, satisfied, and goes back to typing. He can survive this, probably.Â
â
Dean is sweet.
Okay, maybe he doesnât flirt with you. Not the way he does with everyone else.
But if youâre being even a little logical, you know he cares. A lot.
He worries about you no matter what youâre dealing with: hunt injuries, a headache, a papercut, a sneeze. One fragile little âachooâ and heâs glancing over all concerned.Â
And he pays attention.
You mention things offhand like your favorite snacks, a brand of tea you like, or that one candle scent you can never find... and the next time he comes back from the store, theyâre sitting on the table like they magically appeared.
He never says it was him.
Probably thinks itâs nothing.
But it isnât nothing. Not to you.
And sure, old Joanne at the market gets called âsweetheart,â and you donât. But Dean has never bought her chocolate before.
âŠWait. Has he?
Doesnât matter.
Because the point is: youâre going to follow Samâs advice and ask him out for coffee.
Even if he doesnât like you back, Dean is sweet, and he deserves good coffee.
And youâre brave enough to offer it.
With this thought in mind, you walk into the kitchen the next morning.
Sam is already blending something green. You hover in the doorway until he finally shows mercy and switches it off because you really donât want the sound of zucchini being pulverized to mark the beginning of whatever is about to happen.
Only then do you cross the room and sit down right across from Dean, who still hasnât noticed youâre there.
Heâs cradling his coffee, eyelids heavy, hair sticking up in five different directions. But the moment you enter his line of sight, he nearly jumps. His back goes straight, and he immediately smooths a hand over his hair, one stubborn piece still popping right back up.
God, heâs adorable.
âMorninâ,â he says softly, still half-asleep, voice rough like gravel, and your brain just⊠fries. Completely.Â
Not a thought up there for a good minute.
You had a speech planned, had summoned enough courage for it, and now there's just⊠nothing.Â
Soon enough, Deanâs hands are on the table, pushing him to his feet. âAll right, Iâmmaâhead to the store,â he says, nodding vaguely toward the door.
Sure. Go flirt with Joanne, you think. Bet she likes that a lot.Â
But then he turns those big, hopeful eyes on you. âWanna come?â
âWhat?"Â
âYesterday,â he adds quickly, âyou said you wanted to goâŠâ
Your chest melts a little. You only said that to Sam, and Dean⊠still paid attention.
You manage to smile. âYeah. Iâll come.â
Dean smiles back before he tries to cover it up with a half-suppressed nod. âCool. Yeah. Uhâletâs go then.â
He nearly walks into the doorframe on the way out.
â
âJoanne, looking incredible this morning,â Dean practically whistles at the older lady at the counter the second you step through the door.
âRight back at you, gorgeous,â she beams.
Of course sheâs beaming. Youâd beam too if he said you looked incredible.
Then she leans in conspiratorially, glancing around like sheâs sharing state secrets. âPlaced an order for that pie you like. Should be here tomorrow.â
Dean grins. âSweetheart, you sure you wanna keep your husband? Competitionâs fierce⊠just sayinâ.â
You glare at the mismatched floor tiles and make your way toward the fridge aisle, while Joanne giggles behind the counter. Again, who can blame her?Â
Then they start talking in hushed tones, leaning in toward each other. Youâre pretty sure theyâre talking about you because of the way she keeps sneaking glances your way. You strain to hear while pretending to examine the products, but youâre too far away to catch a word. By the time you edge closer, the conversation cuts off, and Dean doesnât even glance in your direction.
When you finally reach the till, Joanne leans in and whispers, âDarling, you gotta snatch that before itâs too late.â
She nods toward Dean, whoâs hovering near the snack aisle. âI mean, look at him,â she adds, shaking her head with exaggerated approval. Your eyes follow hers, taking in everything from head to toe. âSeriously. If he looked at me the way he looks at you, I wouldnât just stand there doing nothing.â
âThe way he looks at me?â you echo, because apparently thatâs the only sentence your brain can manage.
Joanne stares at you. âSweetheart⊠are your eyes just for decoration?â
âWhat?"Â
Before she can say anything else, Dean returns with a bag of chips and puts it down gently on the conveyor belt. âGot the ones you like,â he murmurs, not quite meeting your eyes.
Aww, he's so cute.Â
You glance at Dean.
Then at the chips.
Then back at Joanne, who lifts her eyebrows in a âsee what I mean?â kind of way.
Okay.
Yeah.
You do have to snatch that before itâs too late.
â
The way he looks at you.
Youâve been chewing on that the whole ride back, trying to decode what the hell Joanne meant.
Sure, Dean glances at you, checks if youâre okay, keeps track of you the way he keeps track of Sam, Cas, his car, everything he cares about. Thatâs just⊠Dean. Nothing special about it.
Right?
âWhat were you and Joanne talkinâ about?â he asks suddenly, low and careful. His eyes flick over to you, then right back to the road. âWhatâd she say?â
He sounds almost⊠worried.Â
âUh, nothing,â you lie, light as possible. âShe might have a crush on you, though.â
That gets a small smile out of him, soft and relieved. Then he glances again. âThat's all she said?â
âWhy?â
He shrugs one shoulder, eyes fixed ahead. âJust⊠wonderinâ.â
You do not bring up her actual comments, because dying from embarrassment in this car is not on your bucket list. âWhat about you?â you ask, as casual as possible. âWhat were you two whispering about?â
âUh⊠she, uh⊠has this niece she wanted me to meet.â
âOh.â It falls out of you flat and tiny.
âYeah,â he adds, rubbing the back of his neck. âShe thought I might be interested.â
âReally?â
âIâm not,â he says immediately, too immediately. âInterested, I mean. But Joanne kinda figured that out right away,â Dean finishes. âSo itâs all good.â
The old lady wasnât joking. Someone less insecure is going to snatch him up one of these days, and youâre going to regret all this waiting around doing nothing.
But the question is, how are you supposed to live in the bunker with him if you go all in on your feelings and he doesnât feel the same? Thatâs just a recipe for disaster.
But then again⊠The way he looks at you.Â
You make it your personal project to figure out just what the hell that means.Â
Truthfully, it doesn't even take long to gather hints, one after the other.Â
He does look at you, more than youâd realized. Not the teasing, smirking kind of glance he gives literally everyone else. Not even the playful, flirty looks. No, this is different. His eyes linger, soft, careful, like heâs making sure youâre okay, or memorizing something only he can see.
And maybe youâre reading too much into it. Maybe. But every time he flusters when you tease him, or he scratches the back of his neck when you hand him a simple compliment, your brain takes notes. You start keeping a mental tally, just to make sure youâre not imagining things.
Youâre also pretty sure youâve seen him blush around you a couple of times. Enough to make your heart skip.
Dean Winchester, master of casual charm and reckless confidence, gets⊠flustered. Around you. And itâs the smallest, most perfect kind of proof.
After weeks of quietly gathering evidence and comparing notes with Sam, Cas, and even Jack, your case feels airtight. And with it comes a little surge of courage.
And then, out of nowhere, you stumble onto the final piece.
The big one.
You werenât even supposed to be in the bunker.
You were meant to be at Charlieâs for the weekend: movies, junk food, girl talk, a detox from the job, and the crises that come with it. But she comes down with a brutal flu and refuses to get you sick, so the whole plan gets pushed back.
You were going to text the boys and let them know you were still home, but you never got the chance.Â
Because the second the front door slams, you hear Deanâs voice echo down the metal stairs: âThatâs just stupid,â he grumbles. âIâm not doinâ that. I donât even know if she likes me.â
You freeze mid-step.
Samâs answer comes fast, like heâs run out of patience for the year. âDean. Be serious. Are your eyes just for decoration?â
Sam and Joanne could be good friends, you think. Theyâre both full-time members of the Dean Appreciation Squad anyway.
Dean huffs loudly. âShe lives here, Sam. What if youâre wrong? I donât wanna make her uncomfortable.â His voice dips, softer, almost guilty. âGod knows I probably already do.â
Your heart drops.
He actually thinks he might be making you uncomfortable.
Dean Winchester.
A man who apologizes when you bump into him.
A man who brings you your favorite snacks without a word.
A man who looks at you with care and devotion.
He thinks any of that is unwelcome.
You press back against the wall, breath catching in your throat, because the truth finally lands and it's undeniable.Â
He likes you.
Really likes you.
And heâs holding himself back because heâs afraid his feelings might somehow upset you.
...Well.
Youâre going to have to show him exactly how wrong he is.
â
You stroll into the garage one slow morning, no hunts, no plans â just a little time to make yourself feel⊠well, you. No flannel. No worn-out boots. Today, something that hugs your curves just right, a touch of makeup to bring out your best features. You even had time to make your hair cooperate.
Deanâs under the car, elbow-deep in something greasy, when you lean against the wall, arms crossed casually.
âWhatcha doinâ, handsome?â you murmur, voice soft but teasing.
Metal clangs to the floor. âSon of aââ He scrambles out from under the car, rag in hand, eyes widening as they travel up and down you, and he almost freezes. âYou⊠uh⊠you going out?â
âThat depends,â you say, tilting your head. âAre you busy?â
âHuh? Me?â Dean stammers. âWhy? You⊠you need a ride somewhere?â
"No, not really. Wanted to take you out.â
For a moment, he just blinks. The words donât seem to register. âTake me out?â
âA date,â you say, trying to keep your voice steady, though inside youâre practically combusting.Â
âA date,â he repeats slowly. âYou⊠and me?â
âYeah. If you want to.â
A faint blush spreads across his cheeks, just enough to reveal his heart. "For real?"
"Yeah," you nod. "Do you want to?"
âGod, yes,â he says, voice almost too fast. âI⊠uh⊠Iâmma go change, real quick.â
Before you can even react, heâs already rushing to the garage door, as if he hesitates another second, you might change your mind. He pauses, hand on the handle, then spins back with a quick glance. âI donât think I mentioned it, but you look... amazing. JustâŠâ He shoots you an approving look, the kind that makes your chest tighten, before finally ducking out.Â
â
Sam should really get out of the bunker more, maybe get an actual hobby that isnât research or running laps before breakfast. Most importantly, he should probably spend less time around you and his brother before his last functioning brain cells decide to mutiny.
Actually⊠scratch that.
It might already be too late.
He did start looking at local classes: pottery, pilates, and even a book club. But he never registered for any of them. And now? Now he deeply regrets it.
Because the poor man walks into the kitchen, thinking only about making a smoothie, and instead walks intoâ
Yeah.
That.
There you are.
There Dean is.
And youâre kissing him like youâre both about to start something Sam definitely doesnât want to picture.
Right in front of the blender.
And - oh no - your fingers slip beneath the waistband of Deanâs jeans, and his breath itches. And then he's all like, âOh baby, if you keep this up, Iâm gonna put you right on this counter andââ
Sam slams his ears shut and salutes the blender for its bravery. Then he bolts from the room, muttering something about bleach and possibly moving to another state.
The next day, the blender is quietly relocated to the war room, where it can recover from trauma in peace, and Sam doesn't venture back into the kitchen for at least two weeks.Â
And you⊠Well, youâll owe Sam a proper thank-you someday... Once he can glance at the two of you without immediately questioning every decision that has brought him here.
SUMMARY: Dean always thought the end of the world would come with exploding suns and the walking deadânot in the shape of his best friend suddenly flirting with him. 9.7k
WARNINGS: best friend!reader. friends to lovers. suggestive language. pining. fluff. humor. dean's self-deprecating shenanigans. masturbation. implied smut. dry humping. breeding kink if you squint really hard. this was very random but i ended up loving it. set somewhere mid s2.
Dean is scared. Like really, really fucking terrified.
Heâs faced everything a person can be afraid of. Vampires, ghosts, weird one-of-a-kind monsters. Heâs fought enough demonsâboth physical and metaphoricalâto drive the strongest man crazy. He fucking had to build the pyre where his fatherâs body would eventually turn to ashes by himself, for Godâs sake.Â
But nothing, nothing has scared the shit out of him more than you flirting with him.Â
The first time it happened, he didnât even notice you were flirting. His mind was just so closed off to the possibility, the idea so far-fetched and insane that even nowâweeks later, as he stares at the peeling painting on the wall, ruminatingâit still blows his fucking mind.
· · â ·â¶Â· â · ·
You and Sam had been talking non-stop the whole ride from Tennessee to a dingy motel in rural Virginia, completely engrossed in your brainy shit. Dean caught bits and pieces of it every so often, when the thin but comforting fog that a long drive provides to his brain dissipates enough for him to actually register your words.Â
But itâs not like it mattered if he paid attention, itâs all Greek to him anyway.
It was only once he stopped at a gas station, leaning against Babyâs side while he waited for the tank to fill, that he actually tried to follow your conversation.Â
He opened the driverâs door and rested his arms on Babyâs roof, pressing his forehead against the crook of his elbow and peaking down at his baby brother and his best friend, the cold leather of his jacket a relief in the southern summer heat.
Sammy was leaning against the front seatâs backrest so he could meet your eyes, long limbs all twisted and his face still exhausted with everything thatâs happened in the past year. His eyes were glittery as he nodded along to whatever you were saying, shaggy hair flopping around his head, and once again Dean has to wonder just how the fuck Dad pretended for Dean to kill the kid.Â
The memory of Johnâs words always leave him wilted and venomous, Dean tries so hard not to think about them. He turned his eyes to you instead. You were draped across the backseatâlong legs bare thanks to your tiny shorts, socked feet pressed against the left door, your back resting against the right one.
You always make sure to take off your shoes before propping them up on the bench, without Dean even having to ask. You just seem to instinctively sense how much he cares for Baby, working as hard as he does to keep her clean and pretty. Dean doesnât dwell on it.
He also didnât dwell on how good you looked then, with the afternoon sun flaring behind you and making your hair glow, all sprawled out in his car. Heâd gotten over the fantasies of climbing on top of you and kissing you until the two of you melted into the Impala long ago, around the time heâd gotten over any hope of you ever wanting him back.Â
Still, seeing your smooth skin against the black, shiny vinyl sent a shudder down his spine. If only.Â
His life lately has become nothing but just a long, boring list of cobweb-covered If-Onlyâs.
He quickly drew his attention to the words leaving Sammyâs mouth and away from your chest in that thin, translucent tank top.Â
âBlue eyes are genetic mutations to adapt to the sun.â The kid sounded the exact same as he had in middle school. Dean wondered if the reason why he didnât get bullied more often was because two rogue teenage boys staying in the townâs cheapest motel was always a scary enough tale that kept most ruffians away. âJust like dark skin.â
âYes! Thatâs also why people who live near deserts have longer, thicker eyelashes. Itâs a mutation to protect their eyes,â you chimed in with an eager little smile. Dean almost saw you pushing phantom reading glasses up the bridge of your nose. âAnd, actually, lighter skin would be the mutation, since humanity originated in Africa.â
Sammy nodded enthusiastically, just like he did whenever he was presented with new information. Dean remembered then why, when you were younger, he used to memorize random fun facts in the library and then report them back to you two after a bad hunt or a nightmarish evening.
That pair of bright, dorky, always-too-wide eyes staring at him with that exact same awe always did wonders to keep the venom in his blood from spilling.
âHow did you even get there?â he asked, voice dripping with laughter. âThe last thing I heard from you was Halle Berry.â
âOf course it was, horndog.â You rolled your eyes, a wide smile tugging at your lips. The teenage instinct to puff up with pride at the sight stirred, he stomped on it until it stopped moving. âWe were talking X-Men. Genetic mutations just kind of fell into place.â
âRight, obviously.â He scoffed. âYouâre gonna infest my car with your nerd-virus, geeks.â
âMay I remind you of all the Marvel Comics hidden in the trunk, under all your porn ones?â
âNo, you may not.â
You snorted, crossing your arms and turning back to Sammy, widening your eyes as if saying: Can you believe this guy?
âI thought youâd be interested in the topic, Dean. Since you seem to try and prove Darwinism in every motel mini-fridge you find.â
Dean glared at his brother, one hand leaving Babyâs roof so he could flip him off. It only made you laugh harder. If Dean preened then, itâs between him and the voices in his head.Â
âIâd think you Winchesters have a genetic mutation that calls for trouble. The Winchester gene.â You pulled your knees closer to your chest, leaving him with a perfect view of your ever-bruised knees. He wanted to kiss them away, he wanted to leave more. The heat was getting to him. âCall Professor X, Iâve found a new mutation. Gene-W, which stands for Worst Fucking Luck in the Whole World.â
Youâre such a fucking idiot.Â
How was Dean supposed to spend almost every waking moment with you, and not love you? It was impossible. Dad had to know he couldnât do it, even when he yelled at Dean to get his head out of âsome random chickâs cunt and man up. Focus on whatâs important.âÂ
God had to know as well, even when He made Dean fundamentally unlovable. It has to be divine punishment, sending him the perfect girl and making her so holy that she was untouchable, especially when Deanâs hands are coated with sacrilege.
âThatâs three Wâs.â It was the only thing his brain could spit out that wasnât pleasepleaseplease.Â
Just once, just one time.
I need you so bad, itâs killing me.
Please.
âIâll call it the 3W-gene, then.â You shrugged, wiggling in your place until you were sitting with your feet on the car floor. You stared at him then, eyes scanning his face with a nebulosity that heâd never seen before. They burned on his skin, hotter than the sun and more intoxicating than the scent of gasoline. Finally, your lips twisted upwards. âWhich Iâd have to guess makes up ninety percent of your DNA. Though it looks like you were made for the desert as well.â
Dean frowned, blinked down at you, wondered if you were having a heat stroke.Â
âBut Iâm⊠white? I mean, I know I donât really get sunburnt, and I tan easily, butââ
âNo, I meanââ You gaped at him, like you were trying to figure out if he was intentionally playing dumb. Dean didnât realize what he was missing, the truth so far removed from every stone-set belief in his head that it seemed ridiculous to even go there. You had to sense his genuine confusion, because the disbelief vanished and left behind only giggling. âI was talking about your eyelashes, dummy.â
Ouch. Dean tried to hide the pang that traveled down his ribs, his lips pressed together in what he will never admit was a pout. âWhatâs wrong with my eyelashes?â
âJesus Christ.â You sounded exasperated as you huffed, but also fond. Dean felt adrift. âForget it, Dean.â
âNo, no. Wait!â But you were already sliding out of the car, walking across scalding concrete and spilled oil toward the restrooms, too far away for him to stop you. He bent down and tried to read some answers out of Sammy's face, but all he got was a mocking smile.Â
He searched for you again, but by then you were already walking into the gas stationâs Dunkin Donuts. Still, he yelled after you.Â
âWhatâs wrong with my lashes?!â
· · â ·â¶Â· â · ·
He didnât get it the second time either.Â
Actually, it took him until the third time you shamelessly flirted with him for Dean to catch up with the situation. But it was just so⊠unimaginable.Â
Dean spent every waking moment of his younger years trying to charm you. Well-trained grins and lingering hands, compliments spilling like honey from his lips and pick-up lines flying your way like perfectly-aimed bullets.Â
But Dean missed every time.
You used to laugh, hiding your smile behind your hand and shoving him back like he was just being silly. At first, he was. You were gorgeous, and Dean was nineteen and horny. He could tell there was something different about you, with the quick hammering of his heart and the fuzz that tingled his brain when you walked in the room, but he paid it no mind.Â
Being a hunter meant that knocking on loveâs door would always be risky. Being a Winchester meant that door was closed and locked forever. Being Dean meant that there was no door at all.Â
Love wasnât an option, but he could have sex. He took that small grace and ran with it.
He never expected more than a night with you, maybe a fortnight if he was lucky enough. Then you could leave, or stick around for a while and ditch them when you got tired of him, and Dean wouldnât mop over it. Heâd gotten what he wantedâor all he could afford to wantâand youâd just be another speck of dust on his rearview mirror.
But then youâd turned every single one of his advances down, always with a teasing but sweet smile on your face, and youâd stayed.
Through his twenty-first birthday, through Samâs escape to college, through Dadâs death. Dean has been rattled with grief a million times since then, breaking down into pieces and glueing himself back together with scotch tape and stale beer, and still you stay by his side.Â
Dean doesnât get it, but once again, he takes the graceâmiracle, he would call itâand does everything he can to keep it.
No more flirting, no more secret touches under tables, no more trying to sleep with you.Â
It soon became evident that having you in his life meant more than casual sex could ever mean, and so Dean buried all of his desire so deep down that he thinks it mightâve backfired and infused with his soul instead of disappearing. He pretends it did, though, never letting his sickness get in the way of your friendship.
Heâs good at pretending. Itâs all heâs ever done.
At some point in time, that desire began to transform, bubbling up and becoming syrupyâlike tar. Dean keeps throwing dirt over it like a dog trying to hide the bones of his last meal, fangs still bloody. Itâs barely enough.
All of this to say, youâve had a million opportunities to make a move on him.Â
Back in that shack in Oregon when you were twenty, or ten months ago when Sam had just entered your lives again and Dean was getting sloppy, giving you sultry looks over diner menus, his bantering quickly taking on a seductive undertone whenever you went back and forth. Heâd pulled himself together soon enough, but you had still brushed him off just as easily as you had back in â98.Â
Because thatâs just how the universe worksâDean swallows it all down until something escapes him and then you turn it down. You donât flirt, and you sure as fuck donât call his eyelashes long and thick or his face pretty.
That time⊠yeah, Dean shouldâve probably gotten it then.
· · â ·â¶Â· â · ·
You were sitting in the bed of a rusty-red pickup truck, parked in the middle of nowhere Virginia, just a week after the first incident.Â
You were already a quarter down your way to North Carolina when Sam remembered the witchâs shadow book heâd forgotten back in the motel. Youâd all considered just leaving it, but the risk of some poor maid coming across it and wandering down a dark and dangerous path was too big. So Sam had left you in some ghost town in the middle of the woods, taking off with Baby before Dean could regret offering her to him.Â
Dean had stolen a truck, driving you out of the road and between the trees until youâd found a small clearing near a lake, far away enough from town that no locals would give you trouble.Â
It was still hot as fuck, the air thick and humid, leaving your hair frizzy and Deanâs throat dry. The sky was clear, a million stars winking down at you, and so you settled on the bed of the truck, desperate for as much fresh air as you could get.
Sam at least had the decency to let you pull a few things out of the trunk before he sped away, including a big blanket that you spread over the dirty metal before climbing inside, Dean following close by.
You laid on your back with a flashlight in one hand and a book propped up over your face in the other, bathing in the moonlight as your eyes hungrily absorbed every word in those pages. Dean lit up a cigarette and watched the smoke travel with the breeze, listening to the familiar buzz of the forest and fidgeting with his M1911.Â
His back was pressed against the bedside, leaving him with the perfect view of the tree line. And you.Â
You looked like an angel. Definitely divine punishment.Â
At some point your legs ended up tangled, blissfully-bare skin against stubborn denim. You knocked your knee with his but kept your eyes on the book, Dean watched you. The way you held the flashlight between your teeth when you needed to flip the page, the light that reflected on the paper and highlighted the curve of your throat, the scar on your cheek from when you jumped between Dean and a knife the witch had thrown at him.Â
âWatcha reading?â He couldnât keep the words down, they swirl in the air along with the smoke. This time you spare him a glance.
âGothic horror. Very Americana, fits the vibe perfectly.â With your hand still holding your book open, you gestured to your surroundings. Dean chuckled. âYouâd like it, if you could read.â
âHey!â He kicked you softly in the shin. âI know how to read, thank you very much!â
âYou do? Woah, news to me.â
âIâd be the worst hunting partner if I didnât. Research would take us ages.â Your eyes went back to the book. It was unbearable. âAt least have the decency to look at me when you insult me, you little dweeb.â
You dropped the novel next to your head, getting up on one elbow so you could finally meet Deanâs gaze. The flashlight kept pointing up, enveloping everything in faint yellow light. Deanâs hair stuck to the back of his neck with sweat, his white ratty t-shirt suddenly too tight.
âSam and I always do the research anyway.â You flexed your leg, your knee now hooked over his as you laid on your side. Dean was an adult, he could handle this.Â
âSo whatâs my job then, attack dog?â
A small frown crossed your face, it was quickly replaced by a teasing smirk. âNah. Your job is to sit there and look pretty.â
The overwhelming quiet of the wilderness and the haziness of the tacky night made it all feel like a dream. Dean had to be hallucinating the slight tilt of your face, the warm glint in your irises, your teeth grazing your lip.
âWhat?â
âEvery team needs The Pretty One. Makes it easier to be approachable, you know how a shining smile can do wonders.â Dean almost wanted to clear his ears with his fingers. What the fuck was happening? âThough you just had to be pretty and good at fighting, you could fill all the teamâs positions if you wanted. I blame it on the 3W-gene.â
A lot was going on, Deanâs brain would start leaking out of his nose if you didnât stop.Â
âYou think Iâm pretty?â
Not his smoothest moment. Heâs not proud.Â
You scoffed, and if Dean was a little more certain of anything at this point, heâd thought you blushed. âPlease, Dean, everyone thinks youâre pretty.â
No they donât. They think heâs hot, or handsome, or badass. Heâs heard beautiful a few times. Pretty⊠he doesnât hear that one often. For some reason, it sent lightning down his spine.Â
âYou have never said it, though,â he whispered, mellower than intended. He took one last drag of his cig and stubbed it out against the bedside. He quickly grabbed another one, if anything, just to keep his hands busy.Â
There was a slow, terrifying moment of silence before you spoke again, and Dean held his breath until the smoke burned in his lungs.
âDoesnât mean I donât see it.â Something haunted flashed on your eyes, Dean felt the need to float closer until he charred within it. âThat I donât know it.â
His world started to crumble, the ground under him shaking. You finding Dean attractiveâpretty, even⊠it was life-ruining.Â
All of his defenses started to crack.Â
âYouâve seen me covered in enough fluids to make the toughest surgeon vomit.âÂ
You giggled, the sound breaking through the still air like a bullet. Deanâs grip on his gun loosened, his whole body melting.Â
âItâs that freakinâ Winchester gene, Iâm telling you. Good looks, bad luck, weird ass charm.â
âSo you think Sammyâs pretty too?â
He wished his voice hadnât been that bitter. You rolled your eyes before picking up your book, flopping back down on your back as your eyes left him. Dean shivered even though the air was stuffy, musk and salty heat filling his nose.Â
âYouâre the prettiest, De. You should know that.â
Well, he knows now.Â
He smoked half his pack of reds and you got through another third of your novel before you decided to get some shut-eye. Dean agreed to lie down next to you after you plead with him, even if he knew he would stay up all night regardless. Your pouty expression was too much for him to resist, heâs only human.Â
You didnât have any pillows, but Dean was stubborn and he took his jacket everywhere, even when it was a thousand degrees. He bundled it up and offered it for you to use. âItâs not the comfiest, but itâs something.â
This time, Dean was sure he saw your cheeks reddening. Â
He kept on watching the clouds and listening in for any dangers as you got ready to sleep, throwing a thin sheet over the two of you and curling into yourself at his side. He put out his last cigarette against the sole of his biker boots, refusing to take them off even after you nagged at him for it.
Heâd learned long ago to always be ready to escape. Old habits die hard.
âI wish youâd put them out on me.â
The words barely reached him, getting lost in the whistling of the wind. He quickly turned his head toward you, eyes wide and breath ragged, but you had already fallen asleep by then.Â
Your face was hidden against his jacket. It stayed there all the way until morning.
· · â ·â¶Â· â · ·
The few days after that had been torture. Even now, Dean still isnât sure that last part was even real, the words too good to be true.Â
If only you could be as sick as him, if only under your skin lived a beast as rabid as his, if only the immensity of his desire and obsession could be reciprocated instead of abhorred. If only.
But by the third incident, Dean had enough evidence to believe he heard right and he didn't need to get hooked on antipsychotics. And oh, what a thought that is.
· · â ·â¶Â· â · ·
Dean was working on Baby, two weeks or so after Virginia.Â
Youâd driven to South Dakota a few days ago after ganking a vampire nest in northern Iowa, still waiting for Ash to get back to you with any demonic omens. Bobby had welcomed you with open arms and a cooler full of beer, and God knows Dean needed the break.Â
He didnât know how long he could keep handling being locked in the Impala with you, your clothes getting skimpier and the days getting longer. Your head stuck out the window, your hair floating in the wind, your voice echoing in his head.Â
âYouâre the prettiest, De.â
Even motel rooms didnât serve as a relief. Youâd still walk out of the shower with your skin flushed and bare, filling the boy-stinking room with your sugary smell and girlish sweat. It was hell, it was paradise. Dean had to rush into a cold shower every time.Â
He thought that being at Bobbyâs would stop the avalanche of prohibited thoughts. That once there was a bit more space between youâother people around and open windows and air conditionerâhe could go back to pretending that your strange confessions in the past few days hadnât shattered all of his careful guards.
But it only took you flashing a smile across the dining table or your shape lounging by the bay window for all his pent-up frustration to claw at his throat. He was restless, fingers twitchy and temper irritable, his whiskey glass almost cracking under his hand when you strode down the stairs in a tiny skirt and a tight top, clearly not wearing a bra.Â
Before his head could explode, he grabbed a cold beer and dashed out the door and into the salvage yard, Babyâs keys in one hand and his crumbling sanity in the other.
Heâd been at it for hours, tinkering here and there with the Impalaâs undercarriage, the old car creeper heâd stolen from Bobbyâs garage stiff and bumpy under him. He welcomed the distraction.Â
There was nothing to fix, really. Baby wasnât up for an inspection for quite a while, and Dean knew exactly when she needed work done. She was golden.Â
Still, he fidgeted with the exhaust and turned a few screws uselessly, stalling. The sun beat down on him, his shirt was stained with oil and sweat, his vision was getting splotchy. The smell of metal and dirt was comforting, familiar, manly. No soft vanilla or flowery shampoo. Just Dean and his life on the road, no space for anything else.
But being trapped under an engine only made the heat even worse, his throat closing up and his eyes stinging. He finally decided to slide out and into the fresh air, sitting up with a gasp as he reached for his beer, the condensation dripping from the bottle a small heaven.Â
He chugged the drink down and threw the bottle on the ground, wiping his forehead with the hem of his dirty shirt before dropping back down on the creeper, his eyes scanning his arid surroundings. Big mistake.Â
Because there, stepping out of the house to his right, were you. The stupid skirt left him as breathless as it did the first time, the little perk of your nipples under the soft fabric of your top still filling his mouth with saliva. There were two beers in your hands, your skin glistening as you stepped in the sunlight, Deanâs grip on the wrench tightened.Â
âBrought you some libation, so you donât pass out under that thing.â
âHey! Put some respect on her name.â Dean petted the underside of Baby, your laugh washing over him like a waterfall.Â
You reached his side and handed him one of the beers, the caps already off. He took a long swig of it, mostly to keep that syrupy tar from spilling. He was still lying on his back, with you towering over him. Dean focused on the sharp dig of metal against his spine and not the way he could almost, almost peep under your flowy skirt.Â
âWhat are you working on, anyway?â
He didnât have a real answer, so he spit out some bullshit excuse full of technical words that he knew you wouldnât really understand, hoping it was enough to keep you from asking more questions.Â
âUhmârightâŠâ You nodded, like youâd understood anything Dean had just said. It made him smile, how you always tried to pay attention even when the topic couldnât bore you any more.Â
The two of you stayed there for a few more moments, sipping on your beers and letting the seconds trickle by. You swayed to a phantom tune in your head, Dean could nearly hear it. It was nice to know you could still have moments like this, when your minds swirled into one and you didnât need words to communicate, like tuning into the same radio station.Â
If Dean was a little cheesier, heâd say youâre soulmates.Â
Because heâs Dean, he says youâre just trauma-bonded.
A small but glorious breeze glided between you, making your skirt and hair twirl and lifting Deanâs shirt halfway up his chest, his torn-up jeans laying low on his hips like a good mechanic.
Dean watched as your eyes caught the movement, drinking in the sight of golden skin and scar tissue. You ogled shamelessly, from the ridges of his ribs down to the V of his hipbones, licking your lips as you followed the trail of faint hair that disappeared down the waistband of his boxers, the elastic peaking out of his jeans slightly.
Too much, it was too much. Your teasing had made him reckless, this was his last straw.
âTake a picture, darlinâ. Itâll last you longer.â
Instead of snapping back into yourself and running back into the house, you just hummed mindlessly, gaze slowly moving up to Deanâs face. Your cheeks were pink, it could be just the incandescence. The darkness of your eyes differed.Â
âLeft my phone inside. Such a shame.â He wasnât expecting that. He laughed hoarsely, trying to pass it off as a weird joke. Friends could joke like that, it wasn't that crazy. Your expression remained consuming. âYou shouldnât stay out here for too long, De. Youâre gonna roast under all that metal.â
Dean thought you sounded hungry, he finished his beer in one go.Â
âHey, itâs a good way to go.â He gave you one of those relaxed, Iâm-not-freaking-out-you-are smirks. âIâve always wanted to die under a hot girl or a cool car.â
Okay, he walked right into that one. He was trying, okay?
This time, you laughed. It was velvety, stickier than summer and more addictive than any adrenaline rush. Dean became a junkie after just one hit.Â
âGreat philosophy, really.â You chugged half of your beer, stepped a little closer, stood with your legs parted. Dean kept his eyes firmly on your face. âWell, you can choose now. Which one will it be?â
For a second, Dean wondered if heâd drink more than he remembered. Only when he was really, really hammered did he daydreamed this vividly. But heâd barely had three beers today and half a glass of whiskey, he was nowhere near wasted.Â
His breath hitched, he gaped up at you. His brain racked for excuses, for another explanation to this that wasnât your best friend who youâre inescapably in love with is making a move on you.Â
There wasnât any. Thereâs only so much you can lie to yourself before the truth becomes imminent.
âIâm just a hardworking mechanic, maâam. Iâm trying to do my job here.â It was so easy, to just fall back into the playfulness thatâs been dying to crawl out of his mouth and wrap all over you for years.Â
âMhm.â You grinned foxilyâwhich was newâand then stepped even closer, a foot on each side of his extended legâwhich was even newer. You were still too far away for him to actually see anything, but the scene was still too familiar, from grainy videos in Samâs laptop and raunchy magazines. Oh god. âI think I have a problem for you to check out, Mister Mechanic. Donât worry, I can pay you well.â
You winked at him, and Deanâs breath grew ragged. The line of just-friends had started to blur long ago, but this was definitely stepping over it. He wanted it so badly, that was always a sign that it shouldnât happen.Â
He tried to convince himself you were just joking around, making fun of his cliche porn indulgences, calling him out for being a little freak.Â
âYou canât just come into my workshop and demand to be served, maâam. Thatâs no way to treat a humble, blue-collar man.âÂ
Another one of those laughs, Dean relished in the ecstasy of it. âI think I know how this blue-collar man likes to be treated after all these years.âÂ
His mouth was full of spit and tar, he swallowed it all down. It still spilled.Â
"Youâre gonna let me take a look, then?â
Surely, this is where you drew the line. It was all fun and games up to here, just a little healthy flirting between best friends with a broken silent understandmentânothing unfixable.Â
This, this is where everything could go up in flames. Dean was delirious, frothing at the mouth and begging to be put down. To be woken up from this dream, to go back to when everything ached but was familiar, to have you snap his neck in mercy.
Instead, you drenched everything in kerosene.Â
With a wicked smirk that screamed danger, you crept higher up his body. Your foot resting between his legs moved and installed itself next to his shoulder, until you were completely straddling his frame, right over his head.Â
Shadows covered his face, the ruffles of your skirt fluttered, that musky smell of vanilla and salty skin enveloped him. Dean panicked.
There was no coming back from this. He wasnât ready to ruin the best thing that had ever happened to him. He wasnât sure this was even happening in the first place.Â
He shoved himself back under Baby, a yelp logged in the back of his throat, his eyes still shut closed even when all he could sense around him was rusty metal and motor oil.
That laugh again, vivid and electric, now muffled by the car shielding Dean from the demon that's taken the shape of his best friend.
âI thought IâI heard a rattle.â Heâs not sure his words even reached you with how scattered they were. You sighed in delight.Â
âOf course, Mister Mechanic. Iâll stop bothering you.â You softly kicked his boot in goodbye, even that made Deanâs breath stutter. âDonât stay here too long, or youâre actually going to faint.âÂ
âSure.â He sounded wrecked. Goddamnit he can be pathetic.
You giggled, this time tender and almost⊠enamored. Dean seriously needed to go see a shrink.Â
He listened closely as you walked away, waiting until the back door of Bobbyâs house clicked shut before rushing out from under Baby. He got on his feet so fast that his head spinned, his vision blurring as he made his way between the maze of broken-down cars and hills of old tires.Â
He found a sun-bleached school bus that looked like it had been there for ages, big enough to conceal his form as he leaned against its side, fumbling at his belt with shaky hands.Â
He came a few minutes later, with his back against scalding, yellow-painted steel and his dick fisted furiously in his hand. He kicked dirt over his cum on the ground, still trying to catch his breath and process what the hell just happened.Â
His cock twitched at the memory of you climbing over him, he pulled his jeans back up and darted into the house, locking himself in his room until he was able to function again.Â
· · â ·â¶Â· â · ·
Dean had been able to bury the cum well-enough that day, but youâve done irreparable damage to his desireâs grave. No matter how hard he scratches at the earth and tries to cover the bones, youâve resuscitated something invincible.Â
Heâs doomed, even more than before.Â
Because itâs not just desire anymore. Now itâs also a sunrise on the beach, quiet mornings in a suburban kitchen, soft kisses that promise more than just a good time. Now Dean wants more, he wants everything.Â
Oh, what have you done?
It was hard, moving on from that day. After a lot of self-reflection and many, many jerk-off sessions, heâd gotten to the conclusion that you were, indeed, flirting.Â
He knows, he knows. Give him a Nobel prize.Â
The knowledge is almost impossible to live with. He wants to put his head through the wall, he wants to scream until his lungs give in, he wants to kneel at your feet and ask you why.
Why now, why not before, why not never. Why when he was finally getting the hang of it, why when he had just gotten used to the ache of longing, why when heâd ultimately made his peace with never having you.Â
He didnât know how to act after that, not when he was holding his guts inside his body with trembling hands and he didnât know exactly what you needed. Because thatâs the scariest part of all.Â
Just to what extent do you want him?
At first, he assumed you wanted the same he did at nineteenâto fool around.Â
Maybe youâre lonely. Dean hasnât seen you leave the bar with anyone in months, hasnât caught you sneaking out of your motel rooms, hasnât heard you talking about that college boy you became friends with during your Hook Man case in Iowa.Â
Maybe youâre wired, and needy, and Dean is a safe choice. No awkward introductions or dangerous meetings. Just the pleasure of skin against skin and the haven of being with someone you know like the back of your hand.Â
Dean isnât sure if he could handle casual, after all these years, after youâve wiped away his dumbest tears and patched up his ugliest wounds. For once, Dean might not be able to muzzle the beast under his skin.Â
So he panicked, and tried to put some distance between the two of you. But his line of work doesnât accept mental health leaves, and you were back in the Impala just a few days after. You didnât mention Mister Mechanic again and Dean didnât quite look you in the eye, but everything went virtually swimmingly, aside from Sammyâs occasional side-eyes.Â
Still, the taste of worry lingered on his tongue and the beast wailed with every glimpse of you in the rearview mirror. More if-onlyâs made it to the list.Â
If only he was a better man, maybe youâd want all of him.Â
If only the yellow-eyed demon had never existedâthat one wasnât new, but it always stung like it was.
If only you could love him, the way he loves you.
That one was the most terrifying of them all. It made Dean want to throw up all of his innards and flush them down the toilet. He wondered if heâd even be able to focus on the case with your face hovering over him flashing behind his eyelids every time he blinked.Â
But then, incident four happened.Â
· · â ·â¶Â· â · ·
Dean was struggling with his necktie.Â
He fucking hated dressing up as FBI. Even the priest costume had been more comfortable than this cheap rental suit and too-small dress shoes. It was still way too hot for a suit jacket, and the white shirt buttoned all the way up made him feel like he was choking. The stupid tie wasnât helping.Â
He stood in front of the mirror, clammy fingers tugging at the fabric fruitlessly. Dean had known how to tie a necktie since he was six, when Dad was too drunk or hungover to do it himself. By the time heâd gotten old enough to start wearing the disguises himself, heâd been pretty fucking good at it.Â
But his hands hadnât stopped shaking since that day in the salvage yard, and he really, really didnât want to go deal with useless small town sheriffs and sobbing widows. Especially not when youâd be staying behind, deciding to take over research while Sam and Dean collected as much information as they could on the five married men whoâd shot themselves within the past week.Â
Sammy was out getting all of you some coffee, everyone exhausted after the drive all the way down to Berthoud, Colorado. So when the door creaked open, Dean scoffed without turning away from the closet mirror.Â
âI canât tie this stupid thing, Sammy. Câmere and help me.â
He was expecting the ribbing chuckle that followed his words, but he didnât expect it to be so high-pitched and lovely.
He spun around on his heels as the door closed, messy knot making the collar of his shirt pop around his neck, eyes wide as he took you in.Â
âHello there, Agent Dracula.â You were leaning back on the wooden door, hands behind your back and a little smile on your face. You hadnât been alone in the same room since Sioux Falls, Dean secretly started to pray to any deity that would listen.Â
âHey.â He hoped he didnât sound as sulky as he thought he did. âHow did you get in?â
You stared at him for a few seconds, long lashes flutteringâand Dean wished he could turn back time and tell you that no, you were made for the desert. But once again, he was too late.Â
You chuckled, seemingly incredibly amused by a silent joke that Dean missed, and knocked your knuckles twice on the door behind you before walking toward him.Â
âSammy gave me the second key, just in case.â Dean stayed frozen in place as you approached him, wondering if this is how deer felt when they heard the snap of the trigger. Your fingers latched onto his collar, and you grinned at him as you started to fix his tie.Â
âThe little fucker told me nothinâ.â Your fingers were swift and delicate as you twisted the navy blue fabric around them. Dean swallowed harshly, your thumb brushed against his Adamâs apple. âYou should knock, yâknow. I couldâve been changing.â
You hummed, your smile widening. Dean wanted to lick behind your teeth, he wanted to rip all of his out. âAnd we wouldnât want me seeing that, would we?â
He didnât dignify that with an answer. Whatever game you were playing, Dean knew heâd lose. He might as well give up now.Â
Of course, you couldnât even give him that.
You finished with his necktie, adjusting it against the base of his throat before fixing his collar. You tugged on the fabric, hard, until his chest was almost pressed to yours and your faces were just inches apart.Â
âThere you go, agent. Handsome and ready to go dazzle all those poor mourning widows.â You ran your hands across his shoulders and down his biceps, smoothing out the wrinkles of his button-up. Dean bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood.Â
âWhat better pillow talk than all the gory details of your past husbandâs suicide, am I right?â At least he could still joke. That was a relief. âYou might wanna give that key back, so you donât walk into one of my private investigation sessions.â
He wasnât sure what he was looking for with that. He hadnât brought back a girl in years, always keeping his encounters in dark alleyways or the chickâs home. Encounters which, heâd never admit, were starting to happen less and less.Â
It was hard, keeping your name off his tongue when all he could think about was you, even when he was balls-deep inside someone else. It had gotten him kicked out a few times, he never took it personal. It was all a distraction, one that was barely working now.Â
You frowned, your fingers around his arms twitching. Your eyes stayed fixated on his tie for a long moment before they flickered up to his, swirling with something that made the tar start to boil.Â
âYou donât need to do all that. Youâre smart, youâll find another way to make them talk.â
Your voice was too solemn for the comment to be brushed off as a joke. Sweat started to bead up on his hairline, heâd have to turn on the ceiling fan as soon as you left.Â
If you left. Dean wasnât sure if he wanted you to.Â
âI thought I didnât know how to read?â
You giggled, leaning closer until your bodies were flattened against each other and Dean could feel the warmth of your skin through your clothes.Â
âYou can be an idiot sometimes. You can also be a genius when you want to.â Your breath brushed against his lips with every word, his lips parted on instinct. Another beat passed by, your hands slid up to cup the back of his neck. âDonât fuck any widows, Winchester.â
âWhy?â
âBecause I donât want you to.â
The words were barely audible, Dean tried to close the distance between you, hands wrapping around your waist. His lips just grazed yours before you tilted your head back, shaking it almost imperceptibly. He had to bite down the urge to whine.Â
He whispered your name, pained.Â
âNot now,â you whispered back. Outside the room, Babyâs engine roared before shutting down. You pulled him closer again, turning your face until your lips were pressed against his cheek, leaving a feathery kiss against his just-shaven skin. It was still sensitive, Dean exhaled harshly. âJustâcome back to me tonight, mh?â
Before he could say anything, the door opened and you took a step back. His arms awkwardly stayed in the air long after youâd made your way to the door, still holding the shape of you. Sammy walked in after you beelined out of the room, giving him a suspicious look.Â
Dean was just as lost.Â
But one thing was for sure, whatever this was, it wasnât casual. You were right, Dean could be smart when he wanted to, and he knew damn well you couldnât fake that look in your eyes.Â
He came back that night, alone, as soon as interviews were over. Sammy was left behind getting copies of the mortuary reports and at least two ladies ended up alone and kindly rejected in their homesâall for you.Â
He knocked on your motel door, your pretty head popped up after a second. You quietly gave him an up and down look, eyes glistening under the streetlights as a satisfied beam made its way into your mouth.Â
âGood.â You nodded before winking at him, already retreating back inside your room. âGood night, De.â
· · â ·â¶Â· â · ·
 And so that leaves him here, the morning after, lying shirtless on scratchy motel sheets and staring at the water-stained ceiling in search for answers. Sammy is deep asleep in the bed next to him, the kidâs soft, familiar snores doing nothing to keep Dean anchored in time.Â
He feels like a teenager, he feels a million years old. He wants to barge into your room and childishly demand an explanation, he wants to retire to a monk monastery and find divine wisdom. He wants to tear his own heart out and for you to keep it in a glass vial forever.Â
If-onlyâs start to spiral into maybeâs. Fears turn to hopes and hopes to fears. He tosses against the pillows and the cheap mattress springs dig into his back.
With an agonizing groan, he leaps out of bed.Â
His boots are still on his feet, of course, so itâs easy to pull on his dirty jeans and dart out of the motel room. The early morning sun welcomes him with a wave of warm air and a brief second of blindness, his skin already growing damp as he sits on the curb of the lonely parking lot.Â
Heâs already reaching for a smoke before his vision even gets used to the sunlight, the torrid pavement burning his skin through thick denim. He blinks back white spots as he takes a long drag, letting the taste of tobacco erase the traces of angst clinging to the corners of his mouth.Â
The parking lot is almost empty, barely any cars waiting for their owners to be done with whatever they were doing on a Wednesday at eight in the morning inside a pay-by-the-hour motel. So when footsteps start to slowly get closer, light and measured, he knows exactly who it is. His eyes stay glued to a far away billboard with a generic anti-smoking slogan printed in the center.
The first thing he sees is your boots, stepping down the curb right next to him. Then your bare calves, miles of smooth skin, the muffled sound of fabric dropping. Purple-peppered knees bend as you lower yourself on his right side, that soft smell of sugar and sun-kissed skin mixing with marlboro and mildew. And then, when his eyes flicker just a little closer but not quite land on your shape, he sees white cotton and lacy edges.Â
He chokes on the smoke gliding up his throat.Â
âJesus Christ.â He coughs, finally turning his head to take you in completely. A tiny cup of coffee held in your hands, thin white tank top hugging your bare chest, soft cotton panties, boots. Nothing else. âWhat the hell?â
âItâs hot as fuck.â You shrug, gazing toward the same billboard. Youâd dropped one of the motel towels over the spot youâre sitting on, the fabric frayed but thick enough to keep your skin from burning in the concrete. âYouâre naked too, you know?â
âIâm more modest than you, thatâs for sure.âÂ
With languid movements, you set the porcelain cup down between the two of you and reach for his cigarette, your fingers stroking over his as you steal it and press it against your mouth. Your eyes meet his as your lips wrap around the filter, just where Deanâs were a second ago.Â
âI was using that, you know?â Maybe one day heâll be able to talk to you again without his voice failing him. You chuckle. âI couldâve just handed you a new one.â
âBut whereâs the fun in that?âÂ
âGive it back.â You smile lazily, tilting your head and taking a long drag, goading. âFuckingâwhatever.â
His hand fishes into his front pocket for the pack smokes. You lean closer, again, just enough for Dean to feel your skin reflecting the warmth of the sun. Your hand wraps around his thigh, making him halt. Delicate fingers pull the cig away from your perfect mouth, and suddenly your parted lips are brushing his.Â
âStop being a baby. Open up if you want it so badly.âÂ
âWhy are you doing this to me?â
His answer comes in smoke being blown into his mouth. He breathes it in, starving for the slightest taste of you between all the earthy bitterness.Â
âWhy do you think?âÂ
Heâs way too dizzy to process the words, and it isnât until youâve pulled away enough for Dean to see your whole face that his brain starts to work again.Â
âBecause you want me dead?â
You laugh, so fucking sweet and heavenly. Dean allows himself to revel in it this time.Â
âI love you, Dean. But you already knew that, didnât you?â The way youâre looking at him makes him feel even more naked than he is. Dean stutters.
In concept, yes, he knows you love him. As a friend, as a partner, as family. In the lives you lead, thereâs only so many people you can trust, and when you finally find themâyes, itâs easy to love them. Especially when the rest of the world is either too ignorant to feel real or too cruel to keep close.Â
âI know.â He gulps, the words stinging on his tongue. âIâI love you too.â
Heâs said so very few times in his lifetime. Kneeling by your hospital bed after a rugaru left you bloody and with a raging concussion, on the phone the night Sammy left for Stanford and he got hammered by the seaside, the day Dad died. It was always secretiveâwith the shadow of sorrow hiding the severity of the words, protecting him from their consequences.Â
But here, when heâs shirtless under the brightest, hottest sun of the year, thereâs nowhere to hide.Â
You drop the cigarette to the ground, cupping his cheek in your palm instead. Dean leans into the touch like a stray puppy, heart pounding against his ribcage.Â
âHow do you love me?âÂ
He murmurs your name dejectedly. âDonât make me say it.â
âPlease, Dean. Iââ You take in a trembling breath, and for the first time, the confident mask youâve been wearing since this whole thing started falters. âI need you to say it.â
âI love you more than anything. I love you like a best friend, I love you like family, I love you like a piece of myself. Youâre part of me, darling. The better, lovelier part of me, the part I would go insane without. I love you like I dream of spending my last days on earth with you. I love you like I have never loved anyone before, and it scares the crap out of me. But fuck, I donât care, because I fucking love you.â
Tears glint in the corner of your eyes. Before Dean can blow his brains out for making you cry, you lunge yourself into his lap, knees hitting the pavement on each side of his hips hard enough to scrape skin.
âFuck, fuck.â You sound crazed as you cradle his face in your hands. Dean can barely follow whatâs happening. âI love you too. I love you so fucking much, Dean. Goddamnit.âÂ
Deanâs hands have barely landed on your thighs when youâre already engulfing his mouth with yours. Itâs desperate, feral, long-awaited. Teeth clashing and hands groping, years and years of longing spilling from the seams and sealing the two of you together.Â
âWhat the fuckââ His words are licked away, he bites down on your tongue in retaliation. It only makes your hips grind down onto his. Instant karma. ââis happening?â
Your laughter this time is low and fevered. Deanâs hands canât stop mapping all the exposed skin offered to himâcalloused fingers wrapping around barely-clothed hipbones and slipping under flimsy fabric and drawing shapes against silky forearms. Your flesh dips under his fingertips, he finds scars he didnât know of before, his mouth waters.Â
âIâm in love with you, Winchester. So in love Iâm fucking dumb with it. Thatâs whatâs happening.âÂ
Dean drags you closer and drapes himself around you, arms encircling your middle and face buried in your hair, taking the moment in. Just a second to breathe, and make sure he isnât dreaming.Â
âWhat changed your mind?â
You chew on his question, your hands doing some exploring of their own. His back pricks with the scorch of the sun and your adoring touch, your bodies stick together with sweat and Deanâs tar, now flowing freely from his chest and coating all of him.Â
âIâve always loved you. I think I was born loving you.â Your nails trace every dip of his muscles. Dean flexes for you, you smack his shoulder with a giggle. He nuzzles his nose against the line of your jaw. âBut when you used to flirt with meâwell, you know your reputation, De.â
He does, he spent decades crafting it. He leaves a kiss on your cheek before pulling away enough to look into your eyes.
âIt wasnât like that, not with you. Maybe at first, but now⊠I wouldnât know what to do without you.â
âI know,â you whisper, your lips pressing against his in a chaste peck. âI know now.â
âHow?â
Itâs hard to focus on talking when youâre sitting on his lap in nothing but sheer undergarments, but his curiosity is slightly stronger than his craving.Â
âDo you remember that time Sam got cursed? The truth spell you tried to convince me was a contagious diarrhea curse?âÂ
Dean remembers, unfortunately. Sammy couldnât stop spitting out every thought that crossed his head, and Dean knew that if the kid was in the same room as you for even a second, his meticulously-concealed love would be bared before you quicker than Dean could knock his brother out.Â
So heâd made up a lame excuse as to why you shouldnât go back to the motel until Dean had a cure, and prayed that taking Samâs phone and locking him in their room would be enough to keep everything from falling apart.
Until a second ago, he was sure it had been.
âYouâre a good liar, Winchester, but you canât lie to me. I knew something was up.â Your hands find their way to his hair, Dean represses a grunt when you tug on it softly. âSo I picked the lock to your motel door and had a very⊠insightful conversation with your brother.â
âYou really took advantage of the poor kid, baby?â
The endearment brings a beautiful flush to your cheeks, heâs rewarded with another smoky kiss.Â
âHe looked quite eager to share, actually. Told me all about you keeping a picture of me in your wallet and calling other girls my name.â
Dean plops his forehead down on your shoulder, groaning. âIâm gonna gut him.â
âNo, youâre not.â You thumb at his sideburn. Dean grumbles unintelligibly against your skin, teeth grazing the spot right beside the strap of your top. âBecause without him, we wouldnât be here.â
He hums in the back of his throat, getting lost in the enchanting sensation of having you all around him. âWhat was all the torture about, then?â
âWell, I had to test you first. Make sure you actually feel the same way.â You drag him back by the hair, until your noses are brushing and Dean can count every mole in your face. âBecause I love you so much it kills me, Dean. Does it kill you, too?â
Dean takes a slow breath, his arms tightening around you. âNot anymore.â
You kiss him again, this time slow and deep. No more rushing, no more fear. Thereâs nowhere to be, nothing to escape. For as long as youâre with him, sitting on his lap and holding his bleeding heart in your hands, never letting goâyouâll be okay.Â
âYou know,â He sucks your lower lip into his mouth, you whine lowly. Dean should really get you off the dirty curb and into your room. âI demand a redo in the whole Mister Mechanic thing. That wasnât fair.â
You giggle breathlessly, your clothed crotch rubbing against his lower stomach. Dean grips the back of your thighs hard enough to bruise. âI still canât believe you freaked out so bad.â
âI can.â He leaves featherlike kisses down your neck, already obsessed with the way you squirm in his arms. âLook at you, of course I freaked out. Still, Iâm ready for it now.â
âCalm down, cowboy. Patience is a virtue, and we have plenty of time for that.â
âDo we?â He reaches the hollow of your throat, lips sliding lower over your tanktop, the fabric now translucent and sticking to your skin with perspiration. âBecause I might have a list of things I want to try.â
âOf course you do, horndog.â Your mouth hovers over his ear, making his eyes flutter shut. âWe can try whatever you want. Iâm yours, De. Iâve been yours for a while.â
âThatâs a dangerous offer, baby girl.â His hands find your ass, fondling the tender flesh before he squeezes, making your pretty cunt grind against his torso again. âYouâd really let me do anything I want to you?â
âItâsâA-ahh. Itâs that 3W-gene. You could charm me into anything.â
Dean chuckles, low and husky, still guiding your hips down on his.Â
âYouâre really obsessed with that.â
Your lips brush the shell of his ear, gnawing on his lobe before you whisper. âWhat can I say, I want my kids to have it. Though itâd be good to dial back on the bad luck.â
Deanâs brain stopped working after kids. Your kids, with his genes, because theyâd be both your kids. You, carrying his baby. Him, putting a baby in you.Â
âThatâs it.âÂ
With a guttural growl, Dean jumps to his feet, taking you with him. You shriek when he throws you over his shoulder, nails clawing at his sides and feet flailing in the air. He smacks your ass once, a warning to stay still. You bite down on his lower back in revenge.
Thankfully, youâd left your roomâs door open. Dean kicks it shut behind him and makes sure to lock it before he throws you onto the bed, crawling over your giggling form and shutting you up with his tongue.Â
Babyâs keys get thrown somewhere on the floor when he kicks off his jeans, Dean doesnât bother picking them up. He doesnât plan on leaving this room any time soon.Â
Suicidal husbands can wait, Deanâs been waiting for too damn long.Â
Now, when you whisper filthy words in his ear that make his cock weep, he doesnât feel scared anymore.Â
The door he thought didnât exist at all swings wide open, and Dean will never be terrified again for as long as you hold the key to it.
NOTES: this literally originated from me and my cousin talking about genetic mutations to adapt to different environments. you can tell why i'm a virgin loser. I MISS THIS FICTIONAL MAN SO BAD.
my classes have been cancelled because we're snowed in, so I had time to finish and edit this quicker than I expected. YAY!
anyway, thank you sm for reading, and I love you all!!! mwah<3
âŠsummary: five times Dean thought the peace would be forever, and one time he was sure.âŠ
âŠwarnings/tags: Dean Winchester x female!reader, no use of y/n, no description of reader, husband!dean, dad!dean, domestic, tooth-rotting fluff, overprotective dean, idiots in love, implied smutâŠ
âŠwc: 8.8kâŠ
âŠauthor's note: the highly requested return of dad!deanâŠ
Dean isnât used to thinking this feeling is going to be forever. He trained himself to know it wouldâve be. That happiness was a pit stop that got blown up behind you, rare and dangerous on the long road of life. You could carry bits of it, in the glove compartment and your pockets. You could savor it for a second on your tongue, but then your teeth were getting knocked out and you were choking on blood and you forgot for a long while after. How good that taste had been.
When you finally settled down together, he was happy. But he held onto it with white knuckles. He grit his teeth and dragged it against his chest, always braced for it to slip away. For you to leave.
But you didnât. You fought, and then just⊠stayed.
Dean had never had someone stay before. For a while, he still didnât trust it. You staying was the kind of thing that used to make him think he was in a Djinn dream. Too good to be true.
You donât talk about that one time, when he had one of those bad weeks, and you found him freaking out in the kitchen with the Colt in his sweating hands. He had thought it was Djinn dream. It took you hours to truly convince him it wasnât. Sometimes you still have nightmares about it, or Dean does, or you both do and you hold each other tight until sunrise.
Heâs gotten better at, at least, knowing that this is real. Heâs hitched. Heâs a dad, and he hasnât dropped your kid on her head yet. Once he let her stumble and she scraped her knee. You found them sitting in the Dean cave with popsicles and Scooby Doo after. Dean looked more freaked out by the whole thing that Charlie did. Sheâd mostly been happy that Daddy let her have a popsicle, and she didnât even have to promise not to tell Mommy.
You wouldâve smacked him upside the head, if he hadnât looked like heâs just watched Charlie die.
âSheâs fine, De.â Youâd whispered that night, and heâd grunted.
âI know-â
âDo you?â
Heâd let out a slow breath, shoulder slumping. His head had bowed, one hand shooting out to steady himself against the dresser. Youâd padded across the room, and wrapped your arms around his stomach. Heâd grabbed your interlocked hands, holding them there. Youâd kissed his shoulder, and heâd shuddered like you were pulling him apart.
âI keep thinkinâ,â heâd choked out. âThat Iâm gonna blink and somethingâll get past me.â
âNothing gets past you-â
âYet.â His voice had lowered. Dark and tired. âThereâs always something new, sweetheart. You know that.â Heâd let out a slow breath. âAlways fucking something.â
You hadnât answered. There was never anything you could say, to make this kind of thing better. All you could do was stay. Let Dean hold onto you, until he was sure you werenât going to start dissolving between his fingers like sand. Youâd kissed his shoulder, and heâd turned around, pulling you tight into his chest.
He still wasnât sure, then. Not of you and Charlieânever of you and Charlieâbut of himself. He wasnât sure he was enough. That heâd given enough, to have earned this sticking to his hands.
The first time he is sure is when Charlie is two. She runs around faster than her little body can handle, and wears the kind of sneakers that light upâbecause he bought them for her, after she gave him that face thatâs far too similar to yours, and how the hell was he supposed to say noâand laughs at almost everything anyone does.
Sometimes, sheâd get serious, and Dean would think she only got his face. Her little lips pout and wobble, and she crosses her arms and refuses to move, and Jesus, thatâs all you. He tells you as much. That does get him smacked.
âSheâs just stubborn, thatâs not like me.â
Dean smirks down at the dishes in his hands. âSure, baby.â
âSure.â You mock, rolling your eyes. âFuck you.â
âMhm.â
âDonât mhm me-â
âSorry, princess.â
âYou- You fucking-â
Dean looks up with raised brows, and finds you flushed and sputtering with anger. He chuckles, and your flush deepens.
âShut up,â you whine, and his grin turns shit eating.
âDidnât say anything.â
âYou were thinking things,â you grumble, shuffling right into his side.
Dean smiles to himself, when you press your face into his shoulder and hug his bicep. Heâll let you shove him around all he wants. He likes it more than heâll ever tell you, and at least it reminds him he has two feet on the ground to trip over. He kisses the top of your head, and goes back to the dishes. Heâs done this dance before. A lot, over the past few months. Itâs like you got shot up with some kind of horniness serum. Heâs a little worried that, at this rate, youâre going to break his poor dick.
Good way to die, though. He never stops you, because he canât think of a better one.
âCharlieâs asleep.â You say softly, and Dean laughs under his breath.
âUh huh.â
âShe made me tell her the story about Daddy and the evil men again.â You hum, tracing your pointer finger over ever line in his forearm.
Dean sighs. âJesus, youâre gonna make her think Iâm Superman or something.â
âI think youâre Superman.â
âYeah, well-â Dean clears his throat, bowing his head so you donât see his blush. âI fuck you. That doesnât count.â
You laugh softly, propping your chin on his shoulder. âYou know, my favorite story to tell her is about Uncle Sammy and the spooky town.â
âOf course it is-â
âBecause.â You cut off his grumble with a dangerously adoring smile. âShe always gets so excited when Daddy shows up. And saves Uncle Sammy.â
Deanâs heart stumbles. He has to put the dishes down and squeeze his eyes shut. Youâve seen him cry countless times, but he still hates it. You reach up and wipe the tears escaping down his cheek, and he leans into the touch.
âShe loves you, Dean. Youâre a hero-â
âIâm not,â he grunts. âI sold my soul, heroes donât do that shit-â
âOh, I know that. I was there. I nearly killed you myself.â
Dean chuckles, wet and tired. You turn his face, forcing his gaze to meet yours.
âBut just because you were stupid, it doesnât make you less of a hero.â
Dean works his jaw. He doesnât believe you. You know he doesnât. Not fully.
One day, maybe heâll believe Charlie.
âI donât love that you tell her those stories, sweetheart,â he rasps, and you huff a laugh.
âBecause they make you look good?â
ââCause that shit isnât something she should know about-â
âShe thinks itâs fake, Dean. She knows youâre a hero.â
âI donât tell her about all your stuff-â
âLiar.â You give him a pointed look. âLast week she asked me if I really beat an archangel.âÂ
Dean chuckles guiltily. âHey, she asked. Iâm not gonna lie to her about how cool her mom his.â
âWell, Iâm not lying to her about how cool her dad is.â
Dean sighs. He stares at you for a moment, and you just smile back. You know youâve won. You always win.
âSheâs pretty cool herself,â you whisper, and Dean laughs.
âYeah. She is. What kinda toddler likes hearing about her old man getting beat up for a bedtime story.â
âYour toddler.â
âNah, sweetheart. Thatâs all you.â
You roll your eyes, and your expression shifts. Dean tilts his head, already questioning, and you sigh.
âYou have to promise not the be weird about it.â
âMe? Beinâ weird about something? Baby, never-â
âDean.â You squeeze his bicep. âIâm serious.â
Dean sighs. âYeah. Alright. Hit me.â
And heâs a little worried. What if he said something. What if youâre done. What if you remembered that heâs not that cool guy anymore. Just some douchebag with a jawline who eats all your daughterâs fruit snacks and lets her sit in the Impala with him while he works on the engine. No better than his dad, no good for you and Charlie-
âI want another one.â You blurt, staring at his neck instead of his face. âPlease.â
Dean blinks. âAnother⊠baby?â
You nod, flushing furiously, and a grin breaks slowly over his face.
Another one. Another little piece of him, in a whole lot of you. Another kid. You still love him, enough to have another kid with him, on fucking purpose.
âI think I can swing that,â he drawls, and you roll your eyes, but smile. You smile when he kisses you. You giggle when he throws you over his shoulder, because damn, heâs still fucking got it.
And he thinks it. Right there.
Maybe this is going to last forever.
The second time he thinks it is when youâre full and knocked up and it becomes painfully clear. This place is too big. There are too many sharp and pointy things, too many cold drafts, andâaccording to you, but Dean never arguesânot enough color. Charlieâs going to be going to preschool soon. Youâre going to have a second kid, and sure there are plenty of rooms, but raising a family in this place sounds like hell.
Too many memories, as well. There are rooms Dean canât go in alone, and rooms you canât go in all together. For Christâs sake, you have a dungeon, and Charlieâs going to find it one day.
The bunker canât be home anymore.
Youâve gotta move.
Dean spends weeks, looking at buying land closer to the city. Somewhere mixed with woods and people, so youâre not one of those annoying suburban families you used to make fun of on hunts. You arenât getting yoga pants and joining a Friday night book club. Dean isnât about to start golfing, and he sure as shit isnât driving a minivan. Block parties sound like hell. All those people, outside on his lawn, messing up the hidden wards. No damn way.
âYou canât build a house, De.â You sigh, leaning over his shoulder. Dean just kisses your cheek and clicks his tongue.
âNo faith in me, sweetheart. I got a hammer. We got wood. Put âem together-â
âIf you say house, I am throat punching you.â
Dean chuckles, and grabs the hand hanging against his chest. Itâs the one he put a ring on. Sometimes he likes to fidget with it, just to remember that itâs there.
âRemind me why weâre so against the suburbs?â You murmur.
ââCause we donât suck,â Dean drawls your name, and you laugh softly.
âI think we suck.â
âNo, I think weâre awesome. Maybe sometimes I suck. And- Heh.â He smirks. âSometimes you suck, but I ainât talking about the adjective-â
You clamp a hand around his mouth, and he laughs, grabbing it and turning it over to kiss your knuckles. You get pushy and violent when youâre pregnant. And youâre always a little pushy and violentâin a hot wayâbut not usually towards him. Not like this.
Charlie had been worse, though. Dean had joked the whole time that she was going to come out like him, because there was no way she was getting all that sass from you. Sam had muttered that he might have rose colored glasses, and youâd thrown a shoe at his head. But youâd been pregnant. Sammy shouldâve known better.
âDean Winchester.â You hiss in his ear, and Dean doesnât know better. He loves you too much for it to matter anyway. âCharlie is in the other room-â
âPlayinâ with her toys, baby. Sheâs not listeninâ to us.â
âWhat if she is-â
âSheâs not.â
âBut what if-â
Dean says your name, stern and low, and you drop your face dramatically into his neck.
âYou donât suck,â you mumble against his neck.
âI know.â He doesnât. Itâs why you always say it.Â
âAnd you- You could build the house, I just- I donât think weâre going to have time.â
âYeah.â Dean sighs, leaning back in his chair. âKnow that too. Just- Woulda been pretty sweet.â
You hum, looking up at the computer. âYou could build use a shed. Or- This one would love a tree house.â
You pat your swollen belly, and Dean laughs. âWould she, now?â
âMhm.â
âAnd sheâs tellinâ you that through what, the umbilical cord.â
You roll your eyes. âNo. She just- She feels more like you.â
And that knocks him off his feet. He wouldâve loved a tree house. They never had a tree to build one inâor a dad who wouldâve picked up the hammerâbut Bobby had come pretty close once. Old thing in his yard, where Dean used to sneak up when he needed no one the find him. Bobby had known, of course. Bobby had always known. He hung up a hammock one afternoon, and never mentioned it to Dean again.
But his kid, they would have more than a hammock that Dad made Bobby rip down when he found out. Theyâd get a proper tree. A proper dad. A real, full blown childhood.
âWhatâs so bad about the suburbs?â You repeat the question, softer this time. And for the life of him, Dean canât think of a real answer.
âThose places are expensive.â He mutters, and you hum.
âWe got money.â
âStolen money-â
âStill money.â
He looks back at you. You hold his gaze, gentle but firm.
âI love spiders and foxes as much as anyone else, De-â
âWe wouldnât have spiders-â
âWe would in the woods.â You give him a stern look, and he shuts his mouth. âTheyâll want their friends to come over. Weâll want our friends to come over.â
âWe donât have friends-â
âWe will. And youâll go fishing with a bunch of other dadâs who suck.â You pet his hair, rising fully up so his head is pressed against your belly. âAnd Iâll hang out with momâs who hate their husbands, and tell you all the gossip they tell me-â
âEven the bedroom problems?â
That gets a laugh. âEspecially the bedroom problems. And we can make fun of everyone together then host a very nice, boring dinner, then make fun of them some more.â
Dean sighs, looking up at you under lidded eyes. You smile. He smiles back, because that this point his face just does that, in reaction to you.
âYou get a grill,â you add, and he chuckles.
âIâm already sold, princess.â He kisses the back of your hand. âIâll start lookinâ.â
You smile, and lean down to kiss his lips. Dean stays up late that night, then the next, looking for that boring, easy house. And heâll never tell you how right you wereâhe doesnât have to, you knowâbut a small, long buried part of him is poking itâs head up in excitement. Nothingâs more fun that people watching with you. This is just gonna be a whole life of that, and being five minutes from a nice bakery, and not needed to worry about his kids getting lost in the woods and being raised by wolves.
He finds the place in a week. He shows it to you, hands shaking more than heâs ever going to admit, because he wants it. It looks like what he used imagine houses looked likeâwhat heâd close his eyes and try to remember, from the house that burned downâand Dean wants it so bad he can feel it, drumming in his chest.
âListing says the garage door needs fixing, and- One of the doors doesnât close all the way- One of the sinks doesnât get hot right, either, but-â
âYou can fix it.â You say, looking back to folding Charlieâs clothes. âOkay.â
Dean blinks. âOkay?â
âOkay. Weâll do that one.â
He coughs. It canât be that easy. âYou, uh- There are more pictures, if you wanna look more-â
âIs it in a good school district?â
âYeah, and they got a good library, too-â
âThen okay.â You shrug.
Dean swallows. Thereâs a lump in his throat he canât logic with. He doesnât want you to hear it. âYou wanna go check it out first?â
âNo. I trust you.â
I trust you.
Just like that.
Dean has to sit on the edge of the bed. You notice him falling apartâyou always doâand set down the clothing to hug him. He gets to put his face right in your boobs. He always forgets that part. If he remembered, heâd cry a hell of a lot more.
âYou think Charlieâs gonna like it?â He chokes out, because he canât think of anything else to say.
âYeah,â you say, like itâs easy. Like he doesnât think this might be forever again. âI do.â
Charlie loves it. Thatâs when he feels it the third time.
It takes months to get out of the bunker. There are so many things that need to be boxed up and shipped, more things that need to be given away, and uncountable thing that he doesnât even know what to do with. Dean didnât know they had so many things. As far as he could remember his whole life could fit in a duffle bag, and that duffle bag could be stuffed in a car, and if he lost the bag at least he still had the shit on his bag and in his pockets. But now heâs waking up and there are toys and photos and trinkets and shoes and jackets and a million other things to mark and pack.
Charlie keeps growing, but you say that you should keep everything for the next one.
âWhat if itâs not a girl?â Sam asks, eyeing your belly, and you shrugs.
âItâs a girl.â
âDid you guys check the sex-â
âNo.â
âWell,â Sam shoots a look at Dean, like heâs supposed to know what to say about this. âYou- You canât know what the sex of the baby is, then-â
âBut I do.â
âNo, you literally canât-â
âIs she inside you, Samuel?â You give Sammy a withering glare, and he flinches.
âNoâŠâ
Sam bows his head like a child in time out. You hum, pleased with yourselfâyou usually are, because theyâve known you for years and Dean canât remember a single time when you havenât won an agruementâand rub a hand over your swollen stomach. Dean isnât sure if you got this big with Charlie. He thinks that might point to it being a boy, but he knows better than to tell you that directly.
âWinchesters get big,â He murmurs to you that night, testing the water. âSam was five billion pounds.â
You snort, running your fingers through his hair. âFive billion?â
âMhm. Massive freakinâ head, too. Dad let me hold him, thought he was an alien.â
That just gets a giggle, and Dean kisses the tip of your nose. He should keep you pregnant all the time. You get sweet and soft, and mean and sharp, and heâs never sure if heâs supposed to be coddling you like an angry kitten or bracing for the bite of feral dog. He kind of loves it. Sam says that ainât healthy or whatever. Dean tells him that heâs just never had a wife as hot as you are. Sam says heâs never had a wife at all. Dean says exactly, and walks away before the argument can become something he loses.
Sammy just understand how much you are when youâre knocked up, and how awesome that is. Itâs like thereâs twice as much of you for Dean to love. Youâre perfect no matter what, but youâre so perfect Dean doesnât know what to do with it sometimes, and when youâre knocked up you just tell him. You kiss him like youâre drowning, then burst into tears when Charlie goes to bed because sheâs growing so fast, and Dean feels useful keeping you steady.
âWhatâre you gonna do if itâs a boy?â He asks casually, and you roll your eyes.
âItâs not a boy.â
Dean sighs. âSweetheart-â
âItâs not.â
âI know, but I just kinda wanna know whatâs gonna happen if it is.â
You glare at him. His lips twitch upâyouâre pretty when you glareâand you donât seem to know if you want to smile back or keep trying to kill him with your eyes.
âI know youâll love him either way,â he adds, softer this time. âIâm just thinkinâ- like- Names, yâknow?â
That makes you relax. You look up the ceiling in thought, and Dean kisses your breasts over your shirt. Itâs his shirt, but youâve long claimed all rights to things that he touches. He doesnât mind. Makes him feel wanted. And son of a bitch, if you donât look like a wet dream with your belly all swollen from his kid and his shirt hanging just above your thighs. Deanâs had that wet dream. He thinks it mightâve been practice, for not blowing his load when he has you like this for real.
âIf itâs a boyâŠâ You say slowly. âWe can name it Robert.â
Dean likes that plan, and kisses your cheek. You smile at him, and it knocks him out every time. You keep pulling that shit, youâre going to end up pregnant all the time.
âHowâd you know itâs not a boy, anyway?â He asks, because he kind of hopes you have a real answer.
He wants it to be a girl. Heâll love the little monster if theyâre a boy too, but Charlie looks too much like he does. Doesnât mean he loves her less. He just wants one that looks like you. He wants fifty that look like you. They can start a new nation of little Amazons that donât try and kill their dads, and every country in the world can be run by his brilliant daughters.Â
âIt feels like you,â you tell him, and Dean pauses.
âYou think I feel like a chick?â
You giggle, and kiss his forehead. That doesnât feel like an answer.
âIâm not a freakinâ girl-â
âYouâd be a very pretty girl.â
âOh, Iâd be smokinâ, thatâs not the issue-â
âDean-â
âNothing wrong with being a girl,â he cuts you off with an aimless grumble, mostly because youâve been married for two years, together for far longer, and now heâs finding out you think heâs a girl. âBut Iâm not.â
You hum, clearly amused. âYouâre right. Youâre a very pretty man.â
Dean scowls, and you kiss him, and thatâs a little better. He still doesnât love it, at least until you show him some fancy article the next morning about how men with higher testosterone have more daughters, and that fixes pretty much everything.
âYouâre an idiot.â Sam says flatly, and Dean flips him off.
âYouâre just jealous you donât have daughters, Sammy,â he says smugly. âDonât worry. Few horse pills and performance enhancers, youâll get there.â
 Sammy throws a paper towel at his head, and you laugh. Dean considers himself rich, for a moment. Maybe an elite, when Charlie starts shouting for him from her room, and demands that he sits with her while they go through her room.
âYou wanna keep this one, kiddo?â Dean asks, holding up one of those poofy flower dresses she wears. Charlie nods, and Dean sighs.
Sheâs wanted to keep every dress. Dean doesnât think there are enough boxes in the world, to get them all to the new house.
âYou sure?â He tries. âYou donât even let Mommy put you in this one-â
âNot for me.â Charlie frowns at Dean like heâs crazy. âFor baby.â
Dean blinks. For a second he thinks sheâs talking about the car. âUh- Iâm sure baby appreciates it, but I donât think itâs gonna fit-â
âMommy says baby is growing.â Charlie says wisely, and Dean feels like an idiot.
The literal baby. Right.
âDid you give uncle Sammy your dresses?â Charlie asks, and Dean snorts.
âOh, yeah. All of them.â
Charlie hums, pulling on the ears of her stuffed animal. âDid he like them?â
âYep. Still has them today.â
An hour later, Charlie asks Sam if she can see his dresses. Dean dies laughing, holding himself up with a hand on the counter while Sam glowers at him. The kid will get over it. Deanâs the one who gets in trouble anyway, because now he has to go out and buy dresses for Sam to pretend were his, and youâre not happy with him for lying.
He apologizes and gets away with it. He gets away with more than he cares to admit. Probably because heâs just that good at being a husband.
âThink we got everything,â he mutters, looking around the library for a stray mug or blanket. âJust gotta- Yâknow,â he grins at you. âMove.â
You hum, and lean into his side. Dean rests a hand on your bump, and pointless tears sting at his eyes. This kid is never going to know what itâs like to live in a place with alarms and guns and chains. There wonât be halls with blood crusted on the wall, that Dean mightâve spilt himself. Sheâs going to grow up with Charlie, in a house with a backyard, and the ability to throw a punch but never a need to.
And part of him is worried, when they take Charlie to the house, that sheâs going to hate it. He spent hours painting rooms and building furniture. Hours thinking about exactly what sheâd like, what youâd like, andâsecretly, although he thinks you know anywaysâwhat he wouldâve wanted for himself.
Charlie toddles behind him through the door, holding his hand. Heâs got you on the other arm, and tries not think about how chick flicky this feels. Like a shot from a cheesy movie, the kind he used to avoid like the toxin of happiness would seep into him, and heâd start to miss what he knew heâd never even had.
Dean looks at you, and youâre smiling around the hall. Thatâs a good sign. Youâll probably tell him that painting is a little crooked, but he left some things wrong on purpose, because he knew youâd want to fix a few things.
Charlie tugs on his arm, and he glances down. Sheâs blinking up at him with those eyes you say are just like his. Heâs never been able to agree. They look better on her. More hopeful. More important.
âDaddy.â Charlie whispers, and Dean raises his brows.
âCharlie.â
âMr. Ears needs to go potty.â
Mr. Ears is the elephant. Dean bites back his laugh. âYou think so?â
Charlie nods solemnly. âHe told me.â
âAlright.â Dean stretches out a hand. âIâll take him, you can stay with Mommy-â
âNo.â Charlie holds Mr. Ears tight to her chest. âHe wants me to go potty with him.â
You laugh softly. It makes it pretty hard to keep his serious Dad face on.
âWell, do you need to go potty too?â
Charlie shakes her head, and Dean shrugs.
âI think Mr. Ears is gonna want some privacy, then. So Iâll just take. Him, and-â
âI do need to go potty!â Charlie says quickly, and Dean grins, scooping her up with one arm.
âI know, kiddo.â He kisses her cheek, and she giggles.
Heâll never get sick of that sound. Itâs more like your laugh than his, and youâve got the best laugh in the whole damn world.
Charlie observes the halls as he carries her upstairsâleaving you to collapse on the couch, because youâre getting to the point of pregnant where Dean has to pretend heâs not half-carrying you everywhereâand seems to be mimicking your analyzing face. Itâs the one where your brows pinch and your lips pout, a sharp glint in your eyes as the world becomes a courtroom and you become a judge.
âHorses.â Charlie points to a picture Dean found at some yard sale, and he hums.
âHorses.â
âDo we have horses now?â
Dean snorts. âNo, Char. You canât have a horse in a neighborhood.â
Charlie huffs. âWhy not.â
ââCause. Theyâre too big.â
âBut youâre big, Daddy. And we keep you.â
Jesus. Heâs glad youâre not here. Heâd never get you to stop laughing. âIâm think Iâm smaller than a horse, sweetheart.â
âHm.â Charlie tips her head up, and she might look like him, but that righteous, confident look is all you. âMommy told Auntie Eileen that you were big.â
Dean chokes on the air. He sputters for a second, trying to think of what the hell he could possibly say to explain that, but Charlieâs already moved on.
âYouâre bigger than a doggie.â She examines Dean like heâs just some asshole walking around in her house. âCan we get a doggie?â
Dean sighs. âLetâs do the baby first.â
Charlie looks skeptical. âAre you bigger than a baby?â
âIâm bigger than you,â Dean pokes her, and she giggles. âAnd youâre gonna be bigger than the baby.â
âIâm gonna be bigger than the baby?!â
âOh, yeah. Baby can fit in Mommy. We canât.â
Well. Dean can. Heâll tell you that joke later, and itâll probably get him smacked, but itâll also be worth it when you kiss him stupid after.
âPants.â Dean reminds Charlie when she tries to climb on the toilet with them still up. She rolls her eyes like heâs crazy. Another thing thatâs all you.
âI was gonna take them off, Daddy.â
âYou sure?â
âYes. I was showing Mr. Ears how to get up.â
âAh. âCourse.â Dean smiles to himself. âVery thoughtful of you, Char.â
Charlie nods, like she already knows. Dean helps her with the pottyâshe ainât that big, he doesnât know where the hell she keeps those massive shits in her bodyâand when he checks on her face, sheâs staring at the bathtub with an open mouth. Dean tips his head.
âYou alright, kiddo?â
Charlie nods, hugging Mr. Ears tighter to her chest. âWe have a pool,â she whispers, and goddamnit. Thereâs a lump in his throat now, and he has to grab the toilet seat to keep himself up on his knees.
Because itâs just a damn tub, but the Bunker didnât have those. And he can swear on his battered, fogged up memory of his childhood that Sammy once said the same thing, when Dad finally swindled them a motel with more than a rusty shower.
âItâs called a bathtub.â He says, so choked he worries Charlie is going to hear. âKinda like a tiny pool.â
âCan I play in it?â Charlie looks at him hopefully, and even if she couldnât, there was no way in hell Dean could ever say no.
âYeah. We can do some bathtime tonight.â
Charlie beams, and there it is. That feeling. You were right, talking him into this white picket house with bathtubs and horse pictures on the wall and a big garden that Charlie rolls around in, all afternoon. Itâs everything he never let himself dream about. He almost cries there in the bathroom, then in the garden, then that night with his face back in your boobs because he feels it, and itâs lasting more than a moment.
He can see himself here in ten years. Twenty years. Thirty, maybe forty if heâs got that much left in him. Heâs never been able to see himself past next month.
But heâll be here until something finally gets him. Couldnât drag him away.
And this. This is going to last.
Years pass, and Dean doesnât feel it all the time, but it comes and goes with more certainty. Like a desert thatâs slowly turning to ocean, the tides rising higher and higher every day. Itâs small. He doesnât even really notice the difference until itâs at his ankles, then his knees, then his waist.
He really realizes how high itâs gotten when Charlie hits six, and the second oneâElla, the exact photocopy of you he wanted, but with a bubbly little kick in her that you say is all Deanâis in preschool. Heâs trying to get you to go for just one more. You say youâll think about it, and Dean doesnât say it, but he knows that means yes. If you didnât want to do it, you wouldâve cut off the shooter supply yourself with the scissors in the kitchen. But he tells you heâs scheduled the appointment, and you make him cancel it.
He grins, wiggling his brows, and you give him that disgusted look thatâs always a little too flushed to be real.
âShut up.â
âDidnât say anything-â
âYouâre thinking things.â You point an accusing finger, and he just keeps grinning.
âYeah?â Dean slides a hand up your waist. âWhat kinda things am I thinking, baby?â
Your breath hitches, and your body leans, but you keep that pretty little pout on your lips. âYou know.â
He kisses your shoulder. âDo I?â
âMhm.â Youâre hugging yourself now, and Dean chuckles. Heâs gotta work for it. He can do that.
âYou know, if we call Sammy, he and Eileen need practice herding the monsters tonight.â He kisses under your jaw. âReally, weâd be doing them a favor.â
You sigh, your arms wrapping around Deanâs neck, and he smirks against your skin. You always fit so well against him, so soft and pliant in his arms. Heâs feeling pretty generous tonight. Generous and selfish. Not much of a difference, when it comes to you.
âKnow that sweet pussy of yours is already dripping for me, sweetheart.â He pulls your thigh up, tracing his fingers on the curve of your ass. âDonât worry, Daddyâs gonna take care of it.â
You hit him and whine, but it doesnât do much. Youâre strong, youâve only gotten stronger, but your punches against Dean have always landed flat. Hell, some days he thinks that the only reason heâs still kicking. Just like heâs never been able to push you away, youâve never been able to get properly pissed at him. Fair trade, he thinks. He canât even pretend to be mad at you.
âGonna go call Sammy,â he mutters. âHeâll take them tonight, the gremlins will love it. He can feed them sugar and learn what that does to them after midnight.â
You pause, your nails digging into Deanâs neck. âTonight tonight?â
âYeah, thatâs the plan-â
âWe canât tonight.â You sigh, dropping your face into his shoulder.
Dean reaches up, rubbing your shoulders as he tries to figure out why you canât tonight. Ainât a holiday or birthday. Charlieâs got none of those kid activies sheâs gotta be driven to, the ones where Dean sits on some cold bleachers for an hour while you ignore his texts about how awesome Charlie is at everything. Youâre not bringing Ella to any of those toddler classes where you get in a sexy swimsuit then just sing nursery songs for half an hour. You got that neighborhood book club thing now, but you hate itâyou spend three hours in bed after, complaining about the book and the womenâand heâs pretty sure itâs on Fridays anyways-
âSamâs already taking them.â You sigh, a light dancing in your eyes. You know he forgot.
Dean grimaces, his smile tighter as he keeps trying to figure out what he fucked up. âRight- Uh- BecauseâŠâ
You raise your brows, and Dean swallows. It better not be something real. Heâs been so fucking good about remembering everything, and if itâs your anniversary or something, heâs going to find the nearest ghost and let it kill him.
âItâs⊠OurâŠâ
âParent teacher conference.â You prompt gently, your smile stretching your cheeks all pretty, and Dean groans.
âShit, you said that was the ninth-â
âIt is the ninth.â
âNo, itâs Thursday, thatâs the tenth.â
You roll your eyes, grab his phone out of his pocket, and show him the date. The big, fat 9 on the screen is mocking. Dean groans and drops his face into your chest.
âI wanted to have sex tonight,â he grumbles, and you laugh.
âI know, big guy.â You lower your voice to that honeyed, sweet coo he only gets when youâre real confident. âSammyâs got them the whole night. If youâre on good behaviorâŠâ
You trail off, and Dean pulls back, scanning over your teasing expression.
âYeah?â
You shrug, and he grins. Heâll be on the best behavior. No jokes that make the other parents look at him like heâs some kind of asshole. No snide comments about how soft they all are. No bullying the other kids, even though theyâre not half as good at math as his Charlie. You probably donât want him smacking your ass or making out with you in front of the other, perfectly classy and boring couples. But he really misses having you for a whole night. Itâs been too many months of quickies and hushed fucks under the covers. As sexy as it is, to cover your mouth with his and rut into you until youâre crying, he needs to hear it again. The way you moan and scream his name.
So heâs on the up and up. He wears a shirt that he irons, like an asshole, and jeans without oil handprints. His shoes are clean. He even puts some of that good smelling shit in his hair and rolls up his sleeves like an adult. You smile at him, adjusting his buttonsâhe doesnât think he did them wrong, but you seem dead set on touching him, and heâll never say no to thatâand Dean kisses your cheek.
âLook at us,â he says. âSo normal.â
You laugh, shaking your head. âYouâre wearing a dead guyâs watch.â
âEveryoneâs got a dead guyâs something, baby. Mine is just cool as shit.â
âMhm.â
âMhm?â
âWhat? Iâm agreeing with you-â
âYouâre sassing me.â
Dean noses at your cheek, and you roll your eyes. He doesnât know why you bother, when he can feel your heartbeat under his fingers. âShut up.â
He hums, kissing your nose. âFighting words.â
âTheyâre not-â
âThey will be. Trust me, pretty girl.â He leans back, holding your blown out gaze. âIâll take care of you later.â
You try to scoff, but itâs so pathetically breathy, Dean knows heâs not going to be the one begging by the time the night is over. He squeezes your ass once for the road, and you drag him out the door. Youâre always so worried about being on time, and Christ, Dean wouldnât give less of a shit if he wasnât worried about you snapping yourself in half.
âBreathe, baby.â
âI am breathing-â
âYouâre gonna hurt yourself-â
âIâm gonna hurt you.â
You mutter the words under your breath, and Dean snorts. âOh, now youâre just askinâ for it.â
He gets smacked, and laughs it off. You get violent and bratty when youâre trying to invite him to do something about it. And he will. After beingâas you told him toâon his best behavior.
Usually, during these kinds of activitiesâthe ones where his kids arenât actually there to need his support, heâs just supposed to show face and smile for the sake of all the other familiesâDean tunes out. His hand rests on your hip and his eyes stay fixed on the curve of your mouth when you talk, the melodic sound of your voice over all the other noise. Heâs barely more than a figurehead for the Queen. Youâll deal with it, and tell him what to say, and heâll keep an eye for when you start to get too tense and itâs time to take over orâeven betterâjust hit the road.
But Dean stands in the little first grader classroom, and he canât stop thinking about it. How tiny all the chairs are. How bright and colorful the walls and carpet are. He never got this far, in school. Dad kept them out of the systems until he couldnât anymore, so first grade was a workbook he picked up in a goodwill with half the questions already done in red felt marker.
Youâre floating through the roomâyou always doâand Dean lingers in your wake, trying to wrap his head around it. Everything is so small.
âI was never this small,â he mutters in your ear, and you laugh softly.
âYeah? You popped out six feet?â
âSix-two, baby.â
âYour poor mother.â
ââLeast I wasnât Sammy. Thatâs actually what killed her, you know.â
You snort, shooting him a disbelieving look of amusement. Heâs gotten better at joking about that. Distance and time and you, all mixing together to make old gashes turn to muscles that ache when he twists them just wrong. He sits down at Charlieâs desk, knees pushed up to his chest, and pats his knee in offering. You shake your head.
âCâmon-â
âNo.â
He glances around the room. All the other families have the mom sitting in the chair. Oops. He tries to get up, but you push him back down by his shoulders.
âSheâd want you to sit there.â You crouch down at his side, and Dean rolls his eyes.
âSheâs five. She doesnât know what she wants-â
âWell, I want you to sit there.â
Dean huffs, because what the hell is he supposed to tell you, no. Never really been an option before, and itâs sure as shit not one now.
âI love you,â you whisper, and he grunts.
âSure you do.â
âYou look very handsome-â
âI look like Iâm being packed to ship, sweetheart.â
You laugh, and take a picture of him thatâs probably getting sent to Sammy, and heâs never going to get it down. At least he talks you into perching on his knee. Anyone whoâs got a problem with it better remember that they all got kids here, so no ones got any puritan legs to stand on.
The teacher rambles about learning objectives and goals for the year. Dean doesnât pay attentionâhe tries, but itâs not like thereâs a pop quiz laterâand his gaze wanders over Charlieâs desk. She clearly wrote her nameplate, and probably drew the fat unicorn that covers the ie. Her aâs look better. Deanâs pretty proud of that. Theyâve been working on them a lot.
Charlie left a pile of her papers on the surface. Dean doesnât know if heâs supposed to look at them, but he does anyway. Itâs a lot of first grader stuff. Rainbows and letters and numbers all in crayon. Dean smiles to himself, thinking of Charlie scribbling her name on the top of the paper the same way she does on diner napkins. He thinks sheâs shaping up to have good handwriting, even though he has no idea what the hell good handwriting looks like for a kid.
But thatâs not what gets him.
Itâs the drawing. Four stick figures, all stringy proportions and massive heads. Thereâs the little on in the middle, with pigtails. Dean doesnât think Charlieâs ever had pigtails, but itâs labelled me in wobbly, scribbled letters. There a tiny lump on the floor thatâs got feet poking out of it, labelled Ello, and the kid ainât wrong. Ellaâs not much more than a lump right now. Of the big ones, thereâs the one got your hair, and is labelled Moomy. He chuckles, and almost pulls on your arm to make you look at it.
Then he sees himself. Heâs got spiky sticks for hair and scribbles all over his face. He touches his jaw, and his beard has gotten longer than he meant it to, but you never complain. Heâs the only one with shoes on, and the only one without any scratched on clothing. Heâs holding your hand, standing a foot over your head, and heâs not that tall. Or broad. And he sure as shit doesnât have bug eyes like Charlie gave him, but heâs never loved a picture of himself more.
A lump forms in his throat, as his fingers trace over the label. Doody. He snorts, but itâs wet and quiet, and you give him a strange look. He gestures weakly to the paper, and you smile. You kiss his brow and rub his shoulder, and Dean just bows his head. Heâs not going to break down like a little bitch right now. Not with so many people around.
He folds the paper up, and shoves it in his pocket. Heâll put it in his wallet later. Hug Charlie real tight when he gets home. Sheâs still so small, but sheâs getting bigger. Sheâs already older than Dean was, when he had a gun in his hands and one eye on the door all night. He never allowed himself to think sheâd end up with a life like that. But now time passes, and he realizes in that first grade classroom that he was still clenching his jaw. Bracing himself for the other shoe to drop, for the luck to dry out and his sorry ass to be stranded back in the burning, cold and lonely desert.
But itâs only getting better. Dean allows himself to sit in it, for the first time. All of this is only getting better. And heâs never going to allow it to get worse again.
Ella has her first nightmare when sheâs about three. Deanâs dealt with them from Charlie before, but itâs different. Charlieâs quieter. More serious. Usually he doesnât figure out she even had a nightmare until she comes down the stairs in the morning with drooping eyes and messy hair, then says she didnât sleep the night before. Ella gets loud. She screams and cries, and Dean thinks heâs about to walk into a murder scene. His heart gets hard like softer metal being pressed into something they could make bullets out of. He grabs the gun you let him keep in the dresser the kids canât reach, and runs out of the bedroom before you can even call his name.
He locks you in the bedroom. If itâs a fire heâll go back, if not you shouldnât be anywhere near a monster. You can be pissed at him later, but youâve got the third one cooking in your stomach, and Dean can take care of the ones with legs. Heâll take care of all of it. Thatâs what heâs for.
But thereâs nothing in Ella and Charlieâs room. Charlieâs knocked out and grumbling in her sleep, the closet is a little ajar, and Ellaâs curled into a tiny ball against her headboard. The blankets are bunched in her little hands, but she lets go of them to reach for Dean. He lowers his gun and goes to scoop her up, scanning around for the threat. He finds only silent room, and isnât really sure what to do with it.
âElla, whatâs wrong-â
âMonster.â Ella sobs, pressing her little face into Deanâs neck. âMonster in- In the closet-â
She starts crying so hard she canât talk, and Dean sets his jaw. Thereâs no bad smell. No temperature drops and flickering lights, but he knows better than to just dismiss it.
âAlright, sweetheart, Iâm gonna put you down and check it out-â
âNo!â Ella wraps her arms around his neck, and Dean doesnât know how such stringy little arms can choke him better than some demons ever managed.
âEl,â he tries gently. âYouâre just gonna wait on the bed, and Iâll make sure thereâs nothinâ, okay?â
Ella sniffles, shaking her head, and Dean sighs. The fact that heâs been in here so long without an attack is a good sign. He kisses her forehead and pries her off his neck, slinging her onto one arm. He almost asks her to keep quiet, but thatâs what Dad wouldâve told him. And Dad never warded the house like you did. The more he thinks about it, the more Dean realizes that thereâs no damn way something couldâve even gotten past the driveway.
He keeps his gun in his hand, though. Old habits.
Ellaâs still shaking, when he pokes open the closet and finds nothing but lumps of clothing and boxes of toys. Charlie seems to have shoved everything in, before bedtime, and itâs made a strange shape and cast long shadows. And there, on the top, is that damn stuffed dog Sammy got Ella for her birthday. The one she drags around everywhere and screams about when they so much forget about it in the car. Dean grabs it and holds it near Ellaâs face, lips twitching.
âThis the monster?â
âDonât wanna look, Daddy-â
âYou sure?â He sighs, pressing the dogâs nose to her cheek. âThink he might be your friend.â
It takes a few seconds, but Ella looks. She shrieks in delight, and rips the dog out of Deanâs hands. It does the trick, even if sheâs still a little spooked. Dean carries her back to your room to drop off the gun, then brings her back to bed.
âDid he fight the monster?â Ella asks him when he puts her down, and Dean pauses.
And heâs got a choice. Tell Ella there was never a monster, and that monsters arenât real, or tell her that a damn stuffed dog can fight them off. Dad would tell her there was never a monster, but that when one comes she better not reach for the stuffed animal.
But Dean isnât Dad. And looking at Ellaâs big, soft eyesâfar too much like yours for him to know how to let them cryâhe doesnât understand how Dad ever managed to let Sammy be afraid like that. How he let either of them be afraid like that. Itâs not like Deanâs not going to be there, if something like that comes. Ella never has to worry.
âHe was the monster, El,â Dean says, and it feels like the right thing. âAnd do you need to be scared of him?â
Ella giggles. âHeâs not a monster, daddy-â
âYou thought he was-â
âBecause he was looking scary.â
âBut was he scary?â
Ella pauses, still sniffling, then shakes her head. Dean smiles, running his fingers through her hair.
âTold you.â
âHm.â Ella pulls at the dogâs ears, then looks up at Dean. âCan you sleep here, Daddy?â
Dean sighs, glancing at the door. âI think Mommy wants me with her-â
âMommy can come too.â
Ella looks at him with those big eyes, and Dean caves. He always caves. You say heâs just big and soft like that, but heâs not. Stronger men would give in, if they had kids like his.
âHow about we go to Mommy,â he offers. âSo Charlie can keep sleepinâ.â
Ella considers it, then agrees. Itâs a bit of a trial, getting in bed without waking you up or letting Ella kick the baby bump, but Dean manages. Ella goes out in seconds, wrapped more around you than Dean, and he doesnât mind. You pulled her into your arms without thinking, and sheâs got her face pressed into the pillows just like yours, and Dean doesnât know how he got so luck. Maybe heâd been banking up, all those years, and it just decideds to cash itself out. Maybe he hit some kinda lottery. Doesnât really matter. All he knows is that heâs got this, and itâs not going away.
Itâs not going away.
He lets himself breathe in that, for the first time in his life.
Heâs got this good thing, and itâs not going to go away.
He doesnât notice anymore. And he notices that he doesnât notice on his birthday. You make him a cake. Charlie and Ella get him a mug and a shirt, and theyâre kind of crappy but they picked them out, so he loves them more than anything else he owns.
Youâre so pregnant you waddle more than walk, and Dean refuses to hear about you taking care of it. He doesnât care that itâs his birthday. Youâre the gift, he tells you, then laughs when he gets smacked in the face.
And he spent so many years, making his birthday one real nice pie and some expensive motor oil for baby. He glanced at red, analogue motel clocks and watched the clock hit midnight, before sighing and throwing an arm over his face. He wouldnât sleep, because he was never sure if heâd make it to the next one. If this was the year his time ran out, and he was hitting the last number on his line.
But he has this birthday, and he blows out his candles, and heâs just⊠Not surprised. Another year. For the next one you wonât be all round and wobblyâwhich heâs still into, but you donât seem to find that as reassuring as he means it to beâand you can take care of everything the way you keep insisting. Charlie will be older, and Ella will be stronger, and he can rent that lake house heâs always wanted and take his girls fishing.
The next one.
He thinks it, and doesnât pause. Because itâs not a feeling worth dwelling on forever. This is just it.
This is going to last forever.
âŠEnd note: i would have his babies. âŠ
âŠIf you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3âŠ
âŠBuy me a coffee!âïž (and get early access!)âŠ
summary: who knew sam liked it so much when you were in control?
pairing: sam x angel!reader (gn) | genre: hot smut !! mdni | word count: 7.4k
warnings: older!sam, sub!sam (ft. a lot of whining and other sounds), a lotta edging, unprotected sex (dont do this), grace-play + sam's newly discovered grace kink, marking (giving sammy hickies !!), dean being a pain, dom!reader (?), i think that's it
notes: wow, writing something that's not a request ???? @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth and @aniresrene made me do it (thank you both !!). i took a bit of inspiration for some of this from a fic by @theedaythatnevercomes and her c'mon baby, get in fic :] as always, mdni with my smut !! and also as always, i'm too asexual for writing smut on the regular, this is not an open invitation to request heavy smut from me :]
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Thereâs something hot under your skin. It doesnât burn, because it canât. It doesnât singe or scorch, because it hasnât learned how. But it simmers, bubbling gently, a rolling ocean that laps along the shore in soft waves, curved and gentle like crescent moons on the sand. The longer you let it sit, the stronger it gets, coasting toward something like a boil that makes your skin hot and your stomach warm. It drips lower, a slow line of heat that lands heavy when it hits the pit of your core, spreading molten heat in a honey-slow crawl ever downward.
Across the table from you is the reason for your distress. Not that he would notice, of course, because youâve spent too many years taking the time to learn to cover it up. Heâs not in tune with the rhythm of your grace yet, canât notice when it flares around him, doesnât seem to realize how it burns stronger on days like these. Sam is many things, and unfortunately, oblivious to the way he makes you feel is one of them. Youâve learned you have to be painfully direct with him, because speaking in wraparound metaphors is never going to get your desires across. He needs facts, statements, full sentences that start and end with Sam, I need you. He needs you to be bold. So tonight, you will.
Currently, Sam is buried in a book with more pages than he has hairs on his head. Theyâre thin, brittle with age and filled with smudged handwriting that you know strains his eyes to read. If you listen close to the silence around him, you can fill it with whatever internal commentary he has on the text; anecdotes to the lines on the page, mental reminders to search for a connection in another book later. You file those notes away too, because two brains are better than one, especially when one belongs to an angel. Your memory is plenty good enough to handle the both of you, but Sam takes pride in how much he knows, and youâre not one to underestimate the power of knowledge.
You watch, fixated, as he raises a thumb to his mouth, wetting it with the tip of his tongue so he can better turn the pages, careful not to damage the ancient paper. Itâs a simple gesture, one youâve seen him do hundreds of times before on case files or poetry anthology pages, but for some reason it makes your face hot. You avert your eyes quickly, instead opting to trace the lines on the tabletop, listening to their stories. It doesnât tell you much, because it is just a piece of wood turned into a tabletop and carved with initials, but you can pretend thereâs a wise voice telling you itâs tale.
Your eyes follow the lines as far as they go, tracing them until they wind up at Samâs bare forearm. Those stupid bare arms, covering the ends to the forestâs stories, because heâs chosen to roll up the sleeves of his navy button-up to his elbows. Even from this distance you can count every mole on his skin, the freckles faded by age and made bright again by the summer sun. The faint hairs that curl like fern fronds across his skin, connecting his freckles the same way an astronomer might draw lines to connect the constellations in the sky. Thin, soft, etched into where they belong. Sam turns another page, the muscle under his skin rippling as he moves, your eyes tracking it the whole way from rest to motion to rest again.
Everything about Sam is soft in ways youâd expect it to be sharp. The lines and ridges of his bones and muscles under his skin are rounded and soft, somehow managing to be gentle without sacrificing their power. Where Deanâs hands are large, the bones thickening his fingers enough that you can see where one or two have been broken, Samâs hands are bigger yet but timid, a little shaky at times, always asking for permission to be big. The way he manages to round down the expanses of his shoulders both impresses you and makes you sad that he feels the need to take up less space. Even the way heâs just cleared his throat isnât harsh or cracking like it is for most people. Instead, itâs light, quiet, filling the space like it really is nothing more than just a temporary sound.
âYouâre staring,â he murmurs softly, barely looking up from his page.
âI am not staring,â you reply.
Sam huffs a laugh, grinning in that careful way that makes his dimple pop on his cheek. Itâs hard to see it now that heâs growing a bit of a beard, but you donât think you could forget what it looks like if you tried. Even now the soft divot is visible to you, pockmarking his skin like a little meteor fell into it, rounding it out and giving it meaning until it was something beautiful and kind instead of fiery. His eyes flick up from the page to your face and back again, the same path they make thousands of times a day.
âIf youâre not staring, then what are you doing?â
âThinking.â
âAbout what?â
âYou.â
Samâs eyes pause their trek across the page, coming up to meet your steady gaze for a second longer than normal. The longer he watches you, the more you see his expression shift from something relaxed into something strung, an animal ready to move. The lamplight flickers off him in waning waves of gold, his eyes shifting from a dark brown to something lighter, the colour of the worn wood on the table youâd been studying earlier, something golden he doesnât know exists swimming in them too. Sam looks away first, his cheeks dusted a pale pink, unable to hide the ghost of a smile that lands on his face every time he sees you.
âIâm not kidding,â you say.
âI know.â
He shifts in his chair, the movement disjointed and awkward, settling himself both deeper into the seat and also closer to the edge. Ready to get up and move at a momentâs notice, but making himself comfortable, like he can melt into it and disappear if you asked him to. One hand drifts under the table, the almost imperceptible sound of fingers rearranging denim reaching your ears. His hand drifts back up, fidgeting momentarily with the collar of his shirt before falling back to rest in his lap, book now forgotten. His legs stretch long under the table, ankles crossed and socked feet tapping a rhythm against the floor, eyes drifting anywhere but you.
âAre you done?â you ask, gesturing to his book.
Sam nods, clearing his throat a second time. âI can be. Why?â
You stare, your expression shifting into something deadpan and serious. âI can wait if youâre busy.â
âNo, no, Iâm not busy.â
âYouâre halfway through a chapter. You never stop reading halfway through a chapter.â
Sam shrugs, caught. âFirst time for everything?â
You absorb the information, standing from your chair in an abrupt motion that makes Samâs brows furrow as he watches you. Itâs not unlike you to move in a space like youâre not used to the space existing, but this is too precise for even that. Youâre moving on a mission, and Samâs starting to understand what it is.
âCome with me,â you say, holding out your hand and cupping his chin with it.
âWhere are we going?â
You nod in the direction of the hall. âYou are going to have a first time.â
Sam swallows, something that looks like uncertainty flickering across his features. You frown, leaning down to look him in the eyes, softening your expression into something you know he understands as gentle. Your eyes flick over him, from his worried expression to the shirt collar he still hasnât fixed, down his lightly freckled arms, to the lump in his jeans he was adjusting earlier. Perhaps youâve misread something. Maybe whatever fire simmers under your skin doesnât live under his; maybe youâve overstepped, crossed a line you know you should never cross, hurt the parts of him you promised you would never hurt.
âIâm sorry,â you say. âIf I was too direct.â
Sam waves off your apology with a hand, shaking his head slightly. âDonât apologize.â
âI made you uncomfortable.â
âNot uncomfortable. Very much the opposite of uncomfortable.â
Your face scrunches up, confusion etched into your features. Sam chuckles low, putting one of his hands on the wrist that still holds his chin in your hand. His thumb strokes up and down the back of your hand, drawing you in with the way that every touch of his does, promising everything good and more. When he turns his head slightly, his beard scrapes at your palm, scratching a surface itch and stoking the deeper one.
âBut you lookâŠuncertain.â
âNot uncertain.â
âThen what would you call it?â
Sam thinks, eyes flittering over your features, hesitating on your lips. His tongue darts out to wet his own, fingers tightening momentarily on your wrist.
âAnticipation.â
You hum, the sound vibrating through your chest to Sam just by how close you are to him. His knees tip open a little as you step forward, legs spreading just enough that you can stand between them. Experimentally, your hand tips low, trailing a faint path along the line of his jaw, down the side of his neck, brushing his adamâs apple that bobs when he swallows. Slowly, your fingertips brush the collar of the shirt heâd been playing with earlier, nails brushing half-moon shapes along what you can see of his collarbone. His breath hitches when you reach the dip at the base of his neck, a shaky inhale and exhale that you know is holding back something fuller.
âOkay,â you say. âAnticipation is good?â
Sam nods, the motion slightly detached. âYeah.â
âDo you like it?â
Samâs eyes gleam with something hidden that he keeps carefully locked away, slowly brimming to the surface under your heated touch.
âYeah. Yeah, I do.â
His voice is unsteady, like it was knocked off balance by a punch to the chest. Something about the reverent breathlessness of it stokes the pot from a simmer to a slow boil, foamy sea roiling under your skin, impatient as it waits. You watch Sam for a moment longer, studying the ridge of his brow under the light, the way it normally shades his eyes but now seems to push the darkness back for you to see his pretty hazel eyes watching you just as intently as you watch him. You brush your hand through his hair slow, raking it back from his forehead. He gives a soft, punched-out noise when your fingers catch on a knot and yank harder than youâd intended, his face immediately flushing pink.
âSorry,â he whispers when you remove your hand.
âDid it hurt?â
âA little.â
âBut you-.â
Sam holds up a hand to stop you. âSomething can hurt and feel good at the same time.â
You frown. âHow on Earth does that work?â
Sam chuckles, tipping into your hand with the weight of it. âI wish I knew.â
âDo you-. Can I do it again?â
Samâs eyes focus on you. âPlease.â
You follow the same path again, fingers running along his scalp like a rake as they pull his hair back, finding a spot near the top of his head that looks suitable. Quietly, you wrap two fingers around the roots, pulling just hard enough to draw out a low groan from the base of his throat, one that comes up from his chest and sounds like heaven. You move on to a new spot, repeating the same motion but slightly harder, earning yourself another groan, this one louder.
âWait- wait. Stop,â Sam pants.
You retract your hand immediately. âToo much?â
âNo, no. God, no. Just-. Weâre in the library.â
You nod, slow. âThere is no door.â
âRight.â
âAnd Dean could walk past.â
âRight again.â
âAnd you would like to be somewhere else.â
âThree in a row.â
You hum, grabbing Samâs large hand and pulling him to his feet. He goes a little wobbly, never expecting the strength you have over him, but he stands upright, slamming the book closed and shoving it down the table for Dean to put somewhere else. His hand falls again to the front of his jeans, making an attempt to adjust himself in case you come across Dean. You and Sam both know itâs probably pointless, but itâs the thought that counts.
Your steps on the bunker floor tread so light they barely make a sound, almost like youâre floating over the ground. Maybe you are, in a way, walking light and subtle and with the kind of gentleness that comes from being held up by wings. Sam walks so close behind you it would crowd if he were anyone else; he has a talent for existing shoulder to shoulder with you in your space and never leaving you feeling overwhelming. One hand hovers at the small of your back, his nose nudging at your neck while he lays soft kisses to the skin as you walk, your pace quickening the closer you get to his room.
Sam mutters something impatient when it takes you more than a second to open the door to his room, and you give him a half-hearted glare from the corner of your eye. He apologizes with an open-mouthed kiss to your pulse point, exhaling soft through his nose as he does, the heat of his breath curling against the skin of your neck. He nudges the door closed with his heel, the latch rattling lightly against the frame as it comes to rest, something Dean will no doubt complain about later, but neither of you care. The sound of wood hitting frame doesnât matter, the sound of socked feet on floor isnât important; the sound of panted breaths and increasingly heated kisses does.
You spin him around, so his chest is pressed to yours, slinging your arms around his neck and pulling him ever closer. His hands fall to your waist, smoothing up and down your ribcage, cupping them and stroking his thumb along the lower ribs in time with your breaths. Your fingertips find their earlier path to the base of his neck, scooping under his hair and bunching it up in your hands as you trail upward, inching toward the roots and tugging when you get there. The first few times only reward you with a huff of breath against your skin, but after some experimentation, you find the right section of his hair that drags a whine from his chest into the kiss.
Despite his size, itâs devastatingly easy to walk him toward the bed, using just a fraction of your strength to push him onto the mattress. His knees buckle when he reaches the edge, gripping your hips and pulling you down into his lap. Your knees land on either side of his hips, leading you to subtly grind yourself down on his growing hardness under the denim of his jeans. Each circle of your hips on his drags a moan from Sam, spitting it out into the air like heâs ashamed of the pleasure, afraid to let you know what he feels.
Eventually, Sam pulls away from you, gazing up at you with blown pupils and the most beautiful eyes youâve seen. His lashes tangle together as he blinks at you, doe eyes perfectly matching the flush on his cheeks and his kiss-swollen lips. Your hands make a path down his shoulder blades and around to his chest, palm landing flat over his heart. Samâs hands cup your face like angelic statues cup holy water, holding it like itâs rare, precious, something to be closely guarded. Softly, testing the waters, Samâs hips jerk upward, your lips parting for a sound that never comes.
âSam?â you ask, breathless.
Sam makes a noise in response thatâs airy and light, something you take for agreement but could easily have no meaning attached to it.
âDo you want to try something new?â
He freezes. âLike what?â
Your hips shift minutely, Samâs eyes squeezing shut in response.
âMaking you feel what I feel.â
âYou feel it different?â
You nod, the motion jerky.
âWhat kind of different?â he prods.
âMore feeling. More energy. Just-. More. Youâd like it.â
âOkay,â Sam whispers. âYeah, angel.â
One hand cups his chin, holding it between your thumb and fingers. The other hand drifts up in the familiar sort of salute you use when you heal him, fingers brushing Samâs hairline, tracing the creases on his forehead as he watches you. A soft press of weight, a faint pulse of blue, and a sharp inhale from Sam, and you know itâs worked. His eyes flutter open, half-lidded and soft as you drop your fingers away, grace fading out until itâs no brighter than the roomâs shadows. The lamplight fades out too, letting gentle darkness creep in to replace what was once a soft gold, Samâs pupils widening further as he adjusts to the darkness.
âTell me if itâs too much,â you murmur in his ear, lips brushing the shell of it.
âPromise,â he whispers back, shivering, goosebumps cropping up along his arms.
Slowly, you move in tandem. Sam crawls on his elbows back until his head hits the pillows, hair spreading around his head all tangled and knotted, like some kind of halo. Your palms, burning warm, trail up his forearms as you lay him back, hovering yourself over his body. Deft fingers pop the buttons on his shirtsleeves, Samâs huge hands helping undo the ones on his chest. You watch, fascinated, as his chest comes into view, bare under the shirt, skin pale from the lack of sunlight, hair dark like the hair on his head a faint brush trail over his pecs. He crunches as he removes the shirt properly, a hand pressed flat to the muscles of his abs feeling the way they ripple and contract through his movements, flattening out again when he lays back down with a sigh.
âOff?â he asks, his hands tugging at the hem of your shirt.
âNot yetâ you reply, delicately pushing his hands away.
âWant to feel you.â
âYou will.â
Sam almost pouts, something so sweet you nearly cave and let him remove your shirt, but you know his limits. With your grace flowing under his skin, electrifying every nerve until they all sing the same chorus, having your chest bare to him to roam his hands over would be too much for him right now when itâs so new. Heâd burn up, skin flushing red and angry, burning out until heâs a shell of himself. Youâre not here to hurt him, after all. Youâre just here to give him a good time, a first experience heâs never had before; itâs not every day Sam gets to mess around with an angel in his bed.
Drifting downward, your mouth returns to his as your hands palm downward, inching closer toward where heâs straining in his jeans. You go slow, giving him time to adjust to this new state of overwhelm, every nerve in his body no doubt firing a thousand times stronger than usual. You reach the happy trail that points down the slim v of his hips, sharp angled hipbones cutting into his skin and disappearing into the denim hem decorating his waist. The moment your fingers brush through the hair, Sam inhales sharp in a poorly concealed whine, back arching and hips jerking upward. You press down to keep him still, cautious with how much feeling you let himself get high on, keeping control over the situation, keeping control over Sam.
And he lets you. And he likes it.
He likes giving you control to do whatever you want with him. He likes letting himself feel everything a hundred times stronger than usual; every valley of your fingerprints, every particle of your breath on his cheek. Everything else he canât wait to feel waiting for him under your clothes.
The button to his jeans pops open, zipper pulled down slow, the sound of the metal parts unlinking impossibly loud in the space. Rustling denim fills the room, the soft press of your palms on his skin as you drag his jeans down past your legs, lifting your hips to give him enough motion to kick them off, still drunk on the taste of his mint chapstick. Settling into place again, your kisses trail blazing hot down the skin of his neck, his head tipped back to give you access to the striking ropes of muscle on the sides. Cautiously, you nip at one of them, your teeth driving a full-bodied moan from Samâs chest.
The tent in Samâs boxers presses insistently against your inner thigh, warm and full. Slow, painfully slow, you grip the waistband and work them down his legs, fingernails trailing along his skin and leaving faint white lines in their wake, the skin around turning gentle pink like rose petals. Once the fabric is clear of his feet, you make your way back up, equally slow, relishing every sound you can pull from Sam. Holding his legs down while you press a soft kiss to the inside of his knee makes his back arch lightly and makes him breathless, but leaving messy kisses along his thighs makes him squirm a little, almost whimpering with the anticipation. Taking advantage of it, you suck two careful marks on his thighs just near his hipbones, blooming dark pink that will surely fade into reddish purple by the time youâre done.
His dick is resting hard on his lower stomach, coarse hair curling at his base that you run your hand through, teasing. Letting him feel how your fingers catch on every hair, skin goosebumped and hot to the touch. He shivers when your hand ghosts over his length, swollen and pink at the tip, waiting patiently for you to do something. When your hands move back down his thighs instead, trailing along the insides so close to where he needs you yet refusing to touch him there, he exhales shakily, moving on your behalf.
Eyes screwed shut, Sam drifts a cautious hand towards his dick, trembling a little as he goes. You watch, confused, thinking heâs reaching for you. A low noise comes from his throat when his fingers wrap around himself, attempting desperately to alleviate some of the pressure thatâs built up in his abdomen while you were busy. You watch him stroke himself, tracking the way his fingers move over himself, likely something heâs done a hundred times before in cheap motels with too much energy and nowhere to put it. For a brief selfish moment, you wonder how many of those times have been to the thought of you; how many motel showers have heard your name, how many magazines heâs read and replaced the models with you in his head. The number likely isnât zero, and that makes you painfully hot and bothered about it.
A half-satisfied sigh spills from Samâs lips, thumb smoothing over his tip and coating himself in his arousal. Itâs pretty to you in a strange way, the same kind of iridescence as a pearl. If you look close enough, you swear you can see a faint rainbow sheen to it. Sam seems wildly unaware of the natural beauty of it, and you suspect he just canât see the same colours you can, canât see the same prettiness to whatâs not meant to be pretty.
âYou gonna do something?â Sam asks, wrecked. âOr just stare?â
Sliding your own pants off, you climb back up his body. Sitting yourself on his stomach, youâre just high enough that he canât grind against you.
âAsk nicely,â you comment, frowning a little.
To you, thereâs nothing strange about that comment. Itâs something you say several times a day, usually directed at his brother who seems to have no concept of manners or the word âpleaseâ. To you, this is just an everyday comment that means nothing more than what it asks for; respect.
To Sam, it means that and everything more. To Sam, itâs a command, a request he simply canât ignore. He turns his eyes on you, filled with something lustful and gorgeous, the kind of sin that draws you in because you know it canât hurt you. His lips form an âoâ shape, but no words come out; not until he clears his throat, the sound cracking in the space.
âPlease, angel. Do something. I canât-. I need-. Please.â
When his voice sounds that airy and high, that close to drifting out of his body and up somewhere far away, you have no choice but to listen to him. You seal his lips in a searing kiss, swiping your tongue along the bottom one, lapping up his taste. His hands come up to hold you, lacing together at the back as he holds your head in them, thumbs near your eyebrows. He kisses you back like youâre oxygen, hands feeling like they completely cover the sides of your head, grabbing at you and holding you close because he needs you there, your skin scraping along his beard and tickling deliciously.
You work your hips backward, shimmying them along his torso and dragging your heat over his stomach, down his happy trail until you reach his dick. Itâs hot and heavy against your ass, still slick from his earlier ministrations in what you now realize were meant to be preparation. Samâs working at the foil on a condom when you look back up, ripping it open with his teeth when his hands shake too much to be useful.
âDonât need it,â you say, knocking it from his hands.
âI-.â
âI am an angel, Sam.â
âEver heard of a Nephilim?â
You laugh, melodic. âIt canât happen.â
âYouâre sure?â
You stare. âI would not be saying this if I wasnât.â
Sam looks like heâs about to protest again, and thereâs only so much convincing you can do with words before Sam starts getting frustrated. Instead, you move the rest of the way back, grabbing Samâs dick and stroking him softly while you align yourself with him. The moment your fingers close around him, he whimpers high in his throat, stomach muscles jumping in time with your movements. It only takes a few seconds, but to Sam, it feels like it takes an hour; an hour of just feeling the heat of your palm on his sensitive heat, moving too slow and too fast. It takes all he has to keep it together. You hear him make a mental reminder to do this again.
âOf course we can,â you reply aloud.
âWhat?â
You nod toward him. âI heard you.â
Sam blushes furiously red. âSorry.â
âSam. I told you that you would like this. Stop feeling ashamed for it.â
Putting an end to the debate, you sink down on his length, slapping a hand over his mouth when he moans loud enough you worry Dean will hear from behind the closed door. Sam whines when he finally bottoms out, hands flying to your waist in an attempt to keep you still and make you move; he canât decide which would feel better at this point. To fit him fully, you rock your hips slightly back and forth, his tip notching on your walls as he fits where he always has, buried completely inside you. He gives another moan when you settle still again, the sound devolving into a muffled groan when you tighten your hand on his mouth. You can hear Deanâs footsteps outside getting closer, praying that heâll walk past without commenting on anything.
âSammy?â Dean yells. âYou in there?â
You and Sam both sigh in defeat. Sam goes to lift you off of him, but you stop his hands where they are. His head tips to the side, the confused puppy look heâs trademarked in your brain, and all you do is kiss him deep in reply.
âWhatâre you doing?â he whispers low.
âYou said something can hurt and feel good at the same time,â you whisper back. âIâm testing that theory.â
Samâs eyes widen in understanding, a soft grin slowly curling across his bearded face. He pecks your cheek before getting interrupted again by Deanâs banging on the doorframe.
âI got questions for you, Sammy,â he yells.
âDude, go read a book or something,â Sam shouts back.
You still your minute rocking. Sam looks, confused. You shrug, grinning.
âI did. I still got questions. Help a guy out, wouldâya?â
Sam groans, this time from his brotherâs sheer audacity instead of your heated touch.
âMake it quick.â
âDo I get to come in or am I stuck yellinâ at this door?â
âDonât come in!â you and Sam both yell at the same time.
Dean mutters something Sam canât hear but your ears pick up, something nasty that makes you chuckle and would make Sam slap his brother across the face if he heard it.
âWhatâs the question?â Sam asks.
âGot this case here, says itâs in, uh, Milwaukee.â
âUh huh.â
âAnd itâs talkinâ âbout some drowninâs.â
âWisconsinâs covered in lakes, Dean.â
âWell yeah. But this oneâs weird.â
You start moving again, gentle circles that make Sam muffle the breath he sucks in.
âWhyâs that?â Sam replies, voice careful and steady.
ââCause the guy drowned on land.â
Sam makes the kind of scrunched-up face he makes when something is definitely supernatural, but still impressive enough for him to be surprised about it.
âOh..kay. Weird.â
âYeah. And thereâs this symbol they found on his wrist that I wanted tâshow you. âCause I canât find it.â
âWhy would I know?â
âEh, thought your angel pal could help us out.â
Sam rolls his eyes right at the time you grind down harsh on him, his eyes stopping their motion to flutter closed as his head jerks back into the soft down of the pillows.
âWhatâs it look like?â Sam asks.
Dean describes the shape as best he can, but you and Sam both know heâs taking several creative liberties in an attempt to draw Sam out of his room and shoulder the work for him. You keep a mental image of what Dean draws, the picture so sharp and clear youâre surprised Sam canât see it floating between your chests. Thereâs a few vertical lines and a couple diagonal ones, something that looks like a spiral and is probably mean to be a triangle. Itâs surrounded by a circle, and Dean says it looks like a brand, flaying the skin around it the same shade of pink as Samâs sweat-flushed cheeks.
Each shape Dean describes currently earns Sam another roll of your hips, grinding yourself down on his length as best you can. Occasionally, he hits a spot that makes your toes curl against his legs and forces you to brace a palm on the middle of his ribcage, using his sternum to keep you upright. Samâs doing a decent job of keeping quiet, his sounds mostly reduced to quiet, shaky exhales of breath, but when he canât, your palm is quick enough to keep his moans quiet so that Dean doesnât hear.
âCould be a binding sigil,â Sam answers.
You still abruptly, thighs falling open and movements reduced to nothing so quickly Sam almost tears up at the loss of friction.
âNot right?â Sam whispers to you.
âNo. The spiral should be a triangle.â
Sam redraws his mental image. âDean?â
âWhat?â
âIs it Celtic?â
Dean shuffles some pages around. You still donât move.
âNo,â you and Dean both say.
Sam groans, frustrated. âOkay. Itâs either Enochian or some bastardization of it.â
That grants Sam another thrust of your hips downward, drawing up a whine.
âGood,â you whisper against the shell of his ear, kissing his pulse point.
âGreat. Whatâs it do?â Dean asks.
Sam shifts the both of you, tangling his fingers in your hair and burying his face into your shoulder to suppress the resulting groan.
âPr- probably binds- ah.â
You stop.
âNo, sorry. Not binding.â
You can see the gears turning in Samâs brain.
âWait, Dean. Do the diagonals start at the left or right?â
âUhâŠleft.â
A small movement from you, a reward for asking the right question. Deanâs silence continues, so you continue too, waiting them both out for whoever makes a mistake first. Samâs fingers squeeze the plush of your waist, nails leaving tiny half-moons that youâre notice later and wear because they came from Samâs hands. You keep kissing him, swallowing his moans as you build him up higher, working him until youâre certain that whatever pressure heâs feeling now is worse than heâs ever had. His face is screwed up, his mouth mumbling incoherent sounds into yours, nose scrunching. You can tell heâs close, heat burning sharp between you.
âHurts,â he whines.
Just as Samâs about to tip over the edge, you stop. You donât give him the pleasure of slowing down; just a full stop, thighs loosening and heels removed from his legs, palms off his chest and mouth away from his. Your palm blocks his desperate whine from reaching Deanâs ears, Samâs eyes peering at you bloodshot and frustrated.
âThe hell?â he whispers, throat wrecked.
âYou havenât figured it out yet,â is your answer.
âDean?â Sam asks, weak. âYou there?â
âYeah, yeah. Just readinâ somethinâ. Says the lines start from the bottom left, not the top left.â
âItâs a sigil for a plague,â he comments.
âGood,â you whisper, starting a slow roll.
âOh great. Which one?â Dean asks, exasperated.
âSeven, I think.â
You stop. Sam whines.
âNot seven, not seven,â he says, punched out and breathy. ââS not seven.â
âWell, thatâs great. Yâonly got, what, nine more to go through?â
âShut up.â
You lean down to Samâs ear, lacing your fingers through his hand and bringing it up to rest beside his head.
âSeven was hail, Sam.â
âI know.â
âAsk him what the man drowned in.â
Sam clears his throat, taking a shaky breath in.
âDean?â
âYeah.â
âWhatâd he drown in? Water?â
You can hear Dean shake his head, then remember Sam canât see it.
âNo, uhâŠdrowned in his own blood. Saw trap style.â
Your hand brushes sweaty hair back from Samâs forehead.
âItâs one. Dean, itâs the first plague. The whole turning water into blood situation.â
Your grip tightens on Samâs hair, pulling until you draw a whimper from his throat. Again, you start slow circles, mouthing at his pulse point, your hand still locked in his. Again, you build him all the way up until heâs just about to let himself go. Again, you stop abruptly, this time drawing gentle tears from the corner of Samâs eye.
âWhat now?â he murmurs to you.
âYou havenât told him how to remove it.â
âI donât know how to remove it.â
âYes, you do, Sam.â
Dean shuffles. âHow am I supposed to get it off these people?â
âFire?â
You move, cautious, slow. A half answer, but not complete.
âHellfire, maybe?â Sam adds.
You stop.
âWhat other fire is there?â Sam murmurs to himself. âNot hellfireâŠnot fireâŠfâŠitâsâŠholyâŠholy fire. Dean! Dean, itâs holy fire.â
âGood boy,â you coo, nipping at the dip between Samâs collarbones and moving again.
âAnything else?â Sam asks his brother.
âNah. Just needed that geek brain oâyours.â
Deanâs footsteps thud heavily off to the library, your ears picking up the sounds of him rummaging for whiskey in the room before dropping heavily into a chair and commenting something about how late it is. Once youâre certain heâs not coming back, you let yourself move again, thumbing along the hem of your shirt that you stole from Samâs closet. Some worn t-shirt thatâs seen several years of motel rooms and duffel bag bottoms, travelling with him everywhere he goes. It smells like him too, something soft like pavement after rain and cedar wood burning. Sam helps you slide it over your head and drop it to the floor, hands eagerly resting on your ribs again, this time bare.
Your movements turn from circles to proper thrusts forward, your stomach brushing his at some moments, his arms anchoring you against him. Your hand is still holding his near his head, his knuckles white from how heâs squeezing your hand. Heâs panting now, full-bodied pants every time you break the kiss, the bundle of arousal in his stomach gripping him tighter and tighter the longer it builds for, radiating to his spine and arching his back off the mattress. You clench around him, earning yourself a heavy moan that echoes in your ears, building the both of you higher and higher. Samâs hard to the point of pain, aching with every rock of your hips, desperately pleading for you to let him come.
You slow, almost stopping but not quite. Tears fills Samâs eyes, and you realize, after a quick delve into his soul, it really does hurt.
âPleasepleaseplease,â he begs, breathless.
You grind down harsh, a cracked whine breaking the air from Samâs lips. The bubble bursts in Samâs core, and then heâs coming hot and heavy into you, moaning an incomprehensible version of your name into the roomâs night air. Tears slip sideways into his hairline as he lets go, the consequences of reaching the height of pleasured pain. His hips shove up into you, pushing himself impossibly deeper as he finally empties himself, the pressure abating slow and steady with each bit. Somewhere along the way you come too, but youâre too focused on Sam and Samâs too focused on his own orgasm to notice. You slow, a gentle wind-down unlike earlier, only fully stopping when Sam whimpers something about being sensitive, tingles arching up your back when you tip onto him.
Heâs panting heavily now, lying spread-eagled on the bed with one arm hanging half off. His chest rises and falls dramatically, your lips kissing up and down it as you wait patiently for him to come down enough that you can slip away for a cloth. Your first attempt at moving doesnât go far, Sam mumbling for a few more minutes despite your insistence that he gets up soon. Eventually, his breathing slows into something normal, heart calming down until itâs back to thudding its regular steady rhythm in his chest. You brush his hair back again, this time ensuring you donât pull at the knots youâve created by fisting your hands through it; just getting the sweat-sticky strands off his forehead so you can lay a soft kiss to it.
Finally, slowly, when heâs soft enough youâre both sure you can move, you lift yourself off of Sam. He sucks in a breath at the cold of the room reaching his skin that was previously covered by you, adjusting to the room temperature while you search for sleep clothes. He has a hand thrown over his eyes when you come back to bed with fresh clothes, and you peel it back gently to watch him. Your fingers return to his forehead, retracting the grace youâd given him, your eyes watching how he sinks deeper into the mattress again now that heâs fully human once more.
âI will clean up here,â you murmur, kissing him softly. âGet yourself sorted out.â
âDo I have to?â he murmurs back.
You smile gently. âYes, love. You do. It wonât take very long.â
Sam hauls himself upright with a grunt, sitting on the edge of the bed and stretching his long arms over his head, twisting his back to get out the tension from earlier. His hip cracks loud when he stands, and something twists in your heart when you catch the silvers in his hair and beard glint in the grey nighttime light. Heâs getting older, you know this. Heâs older than he was when you met, and something about that makes you feel overjoyed but also a little sad. Heâs getting to an age he never assumed heâd reach, surviving everything that brought him to this point. But that also means heâs running out of time on earth, something youâre distraught at. For someone like him who loves earth so much, it seems cruel to take it away from him.
Turning your thoughts away from his mortality, you straighten out the bedsheets, a snap of your fingers cleaning and drying them, a second snap making them carry the same warmth that they would if theyâd just been removed from the dryer or just brought inside from the sunlight. Your hands fluff the pillows into something that isnât dented by Samâs head, straightening the pillowcases again. Your ears pick up the sounds of Sam in the bathroom, your brain filtering out the sound of him peeing and focusing instead on his soft humming as he washes his hands.
When he shuffles back into the room, youâre in the process of putting on your sleep clothes; an old thin shirt of his that you only wear because anything warmer makes you feel like youâre burning from the inside out and pants made out of some kind of athletic material you hate but keep wearing. Sam struggles into a clean pair of boxers, nearly falling over when his heel gets stuck in the leg. You pull the sheets back so Sam can climb in, throwing them over him as he snuggles into your side, one impossibly heavy arm thrown over your waist. Boneless, without putting in any effort to keep himself light for you, he has the weight of tons of rocks; it never hurts, just a comforting heaviness that proves heâs not going anywhere anytime soon.
âSo?â you murmur, turning to face him.
âSo,â he replies, soft and tired eyes watching you fondly.
âWas it too much?â
Sam shakes his head, shaking strands of hair into his eyes in the process.
âNo. âS perfect. Thank you.â
âWould- would you do it again?â
Sam pushes into the pillows groaning a soft comment about angel stamina. âNot now.â
You laugh light and airy. âI didnât mean now, love.â
âOh. He hauls himself up on one elbow, blinking slow. âYeah. Yeah, I really would.â
You reach for him, dragging him to you. The perk of your angel strength means Sam can go completely boneless in your hold, putting in no effort whatsoever, and you can still drag him around like he weighs nothing. Heâs barely in control of his muscles right now, but he still slings his arms around you when you pull him to your chest, one hand disappearing under your pillow and the other resting somewhere on your shoulder blade. His hand wonât go numb; you wonât let it. Instead, he melts himself completely over you, burying his face into your shoulder and humming as he gets comfortable.
âOkay?â you ask when he stills.
âOkay,â he murmurs, barely a word rather than just a sound.
You kiss the top of his head. âRest well, Sam.â
âYou know I will.â
You smile into his hair. âI know.â
He presses a lazy ghost of a kiss to the side of your neck. âI love you, angel.â
âYou know I love you too.â
âI know.â
Itâs the last conscious thing he says before the sleep crawling up his spine claims him, surrounding him in a warm blanket as he drifts off in your arms. You donât sleep, Sam knows you donât, but for his sake you slow your breathing and heart rate until it matches his; beat for beat, breath for breath. Your eyes drift shut, brain alert and awake but eyes sleeping with the rest of the room. You notice the moment his exhales change from through his nose to through his mouth, then shift into soft snores that get gradually louder as the night progresses. Itâs never annoying, and youâve told him this, but he still tries his best to keep it to a minimum with you. He doesnât shift at all during the night, sleeping as heavy and deep as a fallen log. And if he drools a little on your shirt in his deep sleep? Well, nobody but you will know.
Summary: Sam Winchester doesnât do quickies. But after spending far too much time with nothing more than a couple lingering touchesâyouâre getting a little frustrated. Too bad Dean canât seem to take a hint.
CW: Barely any plot, quickies, unprotected PIV, hot library sex (mmm), reader is a little a lot frustrated, Deanâs a major cock block, getting caught (so, accidental voyeurism? I guess?), and no, theyâre not into it⊠sorry!
WC: 4.6K
Based on this request!
Sam Winchester doesnât do quickies.
Itâs a fact that youâve, rather unfortunately, become painfully aware of over the past year. One that can make you melt one moment, and lose your mind the next.
Because when it comes to you, Sam takes his time.Â
If he had it his way, every night spent with you would stretch long past midnight, bodies tangled beneath motel sheets while the rest of the world seems to fade into nothing. Heâd kiss you so slow that your lungs would run out of air, and youâd have to drag it back in between gasps as he touches every inch of your skin with careful hands. Thereâs nothing rushed about the way Sam loves you, and nothing careless, either. He makes damn sure that youâre nothing less than spoiled, left boneless and worshipped against his chest, drifting in the hazy bliss of exhaustion as his heart thumps beneath your cheek.
And God, you love him for it. Most of the time.
But the downside of dating Sam is that his life comes with a permanent, trauma-bonded punishment attached at the hip, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester.Â
You love Dean. You really, really do. Heâs family, always has been, and always will beâthatâs just a fact of life. But thereâs moments, usually when you havenât spent more than five uninterrupted minutes alone with your gorgeous boyfriend in over a week, that fantasizing about wringing out the older manâs neck like a dish towel becomes your go to form of stress relief.Â
The two of you need to run some errands? Dean has the impalas keys in his hand before either of you can speak.
Need to interview some witnesses for a case? Well, apparently, the only thing better than two fake FBI agents is three.Â
Want to stop at some cute diner you noticed for a bite to eat? Oh, youâve just read Deanâs mind, because heâs been dreaming about pie since last week.Â
Itâs endless, and itâs starting to become unbearable. Especially when youâve spent the last two weeks with nothing more than a little heavy petting, and itâs starting to feel like some forced dry spell. By day fifteen, youâre pretty sure Deanâs doing it on purpose.
Maybe not meticulously, or even consciously, but either way, youâre going a little insane. For a man so sex-oriented, youâd think heâd be less oblivious about how much of a cock block heâs become; and thereâs only so many interrupted moments and unwanted third-wheeling a woman can take before she starts making up conspiracy theories.Â
Like tonight, for example.
You and Sam had finally managed to peel away after dinner under the excuse of breaking into the local library past close, and digging through some lore archives for your case of the week. Your plan to jump your adorably clueless boyfriend, and climb him like a fucking tree, was in full swing.
And God, it almost worked. It should have worked. Dean had barely looked at you over his burger as he waved the two of you off, mumbling something about not wanting to join in on your little nerd club.Â
But, of course, fate had other plans. Because not ten minutes later, heâd had some stupid change of heart. And coupled with Samâs inability to say no, your sweet little library date had turned into a three-person job.
So, you sit wedged beside Sam in an old rickety chair, pressed close enough to rest your shoulder against his, as Dean slouches across from you looking bored out of his skull. Honestly, youâre just grateful heâs finally stopped bragging about his alarm disarming abilities after the three of you busted in through the back door. The silence thatâs settled in in the aftermath, though, only makes you twitchy.
Samâs warm at your side, his thigh brushing against yours every time his leg bounces against the dusty floor. To his credit, he really is researching, which doesnât surprise you one bit. Thereâs that familiar, deep furrow in his brow, accompanied by a look of intense focus lighting up his hazel eyes as he scans each page. You, on the other hand, havenât flipped a single page of your copy of âDaemonologieâ in over twenty minutes.Â
Because Christ, itâs pretty damn hard to focus on mind numbing lore when Samâs so close, and smells like fucking heaven.Â
Itâs a little stupid, really, how a few dry weeks have managed to wound you up so tight, that youâre vibrating in your seat like a bitch in heat. But that revelation sure as hell doesnât stop your foot from tapping restlessly against the floor, or do a damn thing about the way youâre practically salivating over the scent of Samâs shampoo. But, hey, youâd thrown away subtle nearly ten minutes ago, the moment Samâs beautifully long fingers started tracing the faded ink of some demonic sigil, and you had to resist every primal urge to lick the veins on his hand.
Youâre about five seconds from drooling when you break the silence.Â
âAlright.â You slam your hands down on the table, spooking an unsuspecting Dean, whoâd just laid his head down over his forearmsâSamâs head snapping towards you. âThis is getting us nowhere.â
Dean groans his agreement, shoving away the book that he hadnât touched since heâd sat down. ââŠThank God. Yâknow, I saw a dive a few blocks over. We shouldââ
ââThereâs a microfilm reader in the back,â you interrupt smoothly. âWe can flip through old newspapers, look for an actual, visible pattern.â
Deanâs mouth clicks shut at your words, and you swear youâve never seen him look quite so betrayed. He blinks at you, before throwing his head back like heâd just been sentenced to life in prison.
Sam, on the other hand, folds his book closed with silent care, tilting his head towards you in silent question.
âMicrofilm?â he echos, raising a brow, before offering a shrug. âI mean. Beats sifting through physicals, butâŠâ
You shoot him a less than friendly look, one he must some-what understand (bless his soul), because his mouth snaps closed before he can finish his sentence.
ââŠRight,â he amends.Â
âWhatever, sweetheart,â Dean grumbles, already moving to stand. âLetâs all go stare at some ancient newspaper clippings âtil our eyes start to bleed.â
And oh. Oh, absolutely not.
âDean,â you say flatly, âyou hate microfilm.âÂ
He freezes halfway to standing, argument already on the tip of his tongue, but youâre faster.
âLast time, you almost smashed the damn thing before Sam took over.â
You stand quickly, too quickly, knee thumping against the table in your haste, your hand falling to plant firmly on Samâs shoulder.
âYou stay here, Dean. Keep watch, take a nap, or whatever the hell it is youâve been doing for the past half an hour. We wonât be long.â You give Sam a soft squeeze. âRight, Sammy?â
Sam lifts his head to meet your gaze, staring at you with those big, earnest puppy eyes, wide and slightly confused. He looks unfairly pretty in this light, all messy hair, sleepy focus, pink lips slightly parted in silent question.Â
He glances at your hand on his shoulder briefly, then back to your face, like heâs trying to piece together why youâre suddenly so intent on getting him alone. Which, unfortunately, is a fair question. Not that you care.
âUh,â he buffers quietly. âYeah. âCourse.â
Dean plops back down in his chair with an exaggerated sigh, kicking up both his feet. He doesnât even pretend to read this time, just watches you with narrowed eyes full of suspicion, and, well. Maybe mild annoyance.
You spare him one last mostly well natured smile as Sam stands, but you donât let him get another word in before youâre practically herding his brother across the library with far too much enthusiasm to be casual. The back room is quiet, dimly lit, and just far enough from the main library to fall out of earshot. Perfect. The door groans in protest as you pull it shut behind you, creaking loud enough to make you wince. And then you notice it.
No lock.
The realization gives you pause for exactly half a second before itâs buried beneath need so thick you have to swallow it down to keep it momentarily contained. Because honestly, now that you finally have Sam alone⊠a flimsy detail like that is nothing but an afterthought.
Sam, the sweetheart, who somehow still hasnât managed to connect the dots, moves instinctively towards one of the desks in a few short strides. He leans over the tabletop, bangs falling lazily over his forehead, his hand moving for the knob.
âWhat are you doing?â you ask, unable to keep amusement from creeping into your tone. His finger hovers halfway over the microfilm readerâs power switch, eyes flicking from it to you. That big, Stanford brain of his trying so hard to decipher where heâs missed a cue.
âWhat?âÂ
The question comes out a little croaked, and the puppy-eyed sincerity of it damn near brings you to your knees.Â
âSam.â You take one slow step forward, tilting your head with an almost innocent smile. âI thought my eye-fucking was getting a little obvious.â
He freezes. Not dramatically, no, more like a slow, dawning realization washing over him like a wave. That sweet, dumb face of his finally cracks into something else, something warm. Something darker. The kind of look that makes your stomach flip, and heat coil low in your core.
His hand slides away from the switch in a slow, teasing drag, as he pushes himself back up to his full height, stalking towards you in a few measured steps. Shadows fall over his features, catching on the sharp angle of his jaw, the perfect slope of his noseâand that gorgeous dimple thatâs just begun to show itself with the heated smirk that spreads across his lips.
âOh?â he breathes, voice rougher now. âReally? Here?â
âYeah,â you purr, and thereâs nothing subtle about the way your gaze drops to his lips before flicking back up. âHere.â
You donât let him think too hard about it before your fist is curling around his collar, and his lips are crashing against yours.
Itâs not slow, or testing, or soft. No, itâs immediate hunger. Itâs you pouring weeks of desperation and need into a single action, mouth devouring his with every ounce of frustration youâve bottled up tight enough to burst. He exhales into it, a warm puff against your cheek, as those big hands that have been haunting your fantasies slide up to cradle your jaw with infinite levels of care. His fingers splay over your cheeks, thumbs brushing beneath your eyes as he tilts your face closer to his like he canât get enough.
He pulls back just long enough to drag in a breath, the taste of him still heavy on your tongue.
âWeâre in a library,â he reasons, your noses brushing, breaths mingling.Â
âWe are.â
âDeanâs just outside.â
âHe is.â
His mouth finds yours again, slower this time, and you can tell he wants to drag this out. Make it last. Take you apart so slow that youâll be shaking in his grasp, and the only word left on your tongue is his name.Â
But right now? That⊠that just wonât do. You part again with a slick pop.
ââŠAnd youâre sure about this?â he asks, of course he does, and your heart squeezes tight in your chest.Â
You raise a brow, moving for another kiss, but he dodges you with a chuckle. You canât help but glare.Â
âThatâs not an answer, baby.â
âBeen soakinâ wet since you bitched out that asshole cop earlier,â you tease, raising one palm to trace down his chest. âThat an answer?â
He pauses for a moment, considering, then his expression breaks out into a sweet, cocky grin, and then heâs crushing his lips back on yours. He kisses you like heâs drowning and youâre the surface. Like he wants nothing more than to drink you down and swallow you whole. One arm loops around your waist, cradling you closer, spinning you until youâre caged between him and one of the cold, veneer-lined desks. His tongue slips between parted lips, exploring your mouth with a hunger that belies the tenderness of his touch.Â
âUp,â he murmurs between licks, tapping your hip with two calloused fingers, before hooking his hands under your thighs and lifting. You squeak, a sound that earns you the worldâs most panty-dropping snicker, your ass hitting the desk with a thud. The heat of your core contrasted by the cool surface sends a new spark of want through your system, left sizzling beneath layers of pesky fabric.
Hot, feverish kisses pepper your throat not a moment later, as he splays his palms over your thighs, nudging them apart until they bracket his hips. Massive hands hold you in place, heavy and warm and so damn close to where youâre aching for him. A shiver rips through you like lightning as his lips trail up your neck, soft and wet against heated skin. He finds that sensitive spot, the one just below your ear, lingering on it with slow, open-mouthed kisses, nipping gently before soothing the sting with a lap of his tongue. Sparks climb up your spine like a kindling fire, a poorly-stifled moan whirling from your lips.Â
Youâre already panting, heart slamming against your chest, your fingers sliding to tangle in his messy hair to keep him right where you want him. Your other hand drags swiftly down his front, pressing into the butter-soft expanse of his chest, finally palming at his belt with fingers that have already begun to tremble.Â
His lips disconnect with your neck with a sharp inhale as he straightens up, meeting your darkened gaze. You almost fucking whine at the loss.
âWoah, hey.â His large hand covers your wrist, not pushing you awayâthank Godâbut turning it over gently in his grasp, thumb sliding to rest over your racing pulse point. Even that simple touch has you squirming. âEasy, baby. âM gonna take real good care of you first, yeah?âÂ
Itâs sweet. Really sweet.
In fact, itâs so sweet, that your pussy clenches around nothing, and that simply wonât cut it. The only thing it really does is make you want him even more. As in, like, as soon as fucking possible. You pinch your eyes shut, forehead thumping against his chest, before looking back up at him with the most pleading look you can muster.Â
âSam. Sweetheart. Weâve got about fifteen minutes before Dean barges in here âcause heâs bored,â you argue, and the tight-lipped, almost shy look he gives you almost has you melting right there. âJust need you. Right now. Please.â
Sam swallows hard, pulse thumping so hard in his throat that you can practically see it. The man is quite literally vibrating with need, a shaky breath escaping him as his eyes drop from yours, traveling back to your kiss-bitten lips. If he was attempting to be nobly subtle, he unfortunately fails. Miserably.Â
ââŠI donât wanna hurt you,â he lands on, and itâs so Sam that you have to fight the primal urge to shut him up with another kiss.
âYou wonât.â
He opens his mouth again, probably to argue, or say something far too responsible for your liking, but instead, he loses. His mouth surges firmly back onto yours with such force that your head gets tilted back, and you let out your second embarrassing sound of the night, but he doesnât seem to mind one bit. His tongue shoves right back through the seam of your lips, licking hot against yours with such fever that the situation in your jeans starts to become a little unbearable.
âOkay,â he concedes, mostly to himself, tugging his belt open in one sharp movement that probably shouldnât make you nearly as stupid-horny as it does. You want to complain about not being able to do it yourselfâbut you forget every word of protest the second he tugs down his zipper, and your gaze lands on the throbbing bulge in his boxers.Â
Yup. Youâre going to be wet for fucking weeks.
âCâmere,â he purrs, his big, grabby hands scooping around your thighs, dragging you to the edge of the desk until you have to white-knuckle his shoulders to stay upright. He chuckles, the sound vibrating straight through you, his nimble fingers popping the button of your jeans, helping you to shimmy them away. You wiggle and squirm until they fall somewhere beneath Samâs feet, and he kicks them aside, taking a greedy handful of your now bare ass. âSo fuckinâ pretty.â
He latches his lips back just below the curve of your jaw, licking and suckling at your skin as his fingers squeeze hot over your thigh. Your eyes flutter closed, consumed by the arousal flooding your senses, and finally, fucking finally, you feel two thick fingers pull your ruined panties to the side.Â
The fabric peels from your core, sticking to your drenched pussy as Samâs fingers replace it swiftly, and oh, itâs electric. His breath comes faster than before, warm against your neck in punched-out puffs as your body reacts to him, arching into his touch. Two tough finger pads glide easily as he parts your folds, applying a ghost of pressure over your clit for one heavenly second before heâs circling your entrance. Youâre dripping. Clenching around fucking nothing. And stillâheâs teasing you slow with those unfairly hot dimples popping on his cheeks.
âSam,â you scold, but God, itâs weak. Real fucking weak. And when one finger dips into your weeping cunt, you damn near cry. âPlease, baby. Câmon...â
âShhhâŠâ he croons, sneaking a quick, mean kiss to the corner of your mouth. âJust makinâ sure youâre ready fâme.â
You donât get to complain before heâs adding another digit, curling just right, dragging across that spongy, fluttery spot inside you that has your eyes rolling back, and has a broken gasp tearing from your lips. Itâs like he intended to shut you up, and it absolutely worked.
âYou werenât kiddinâ about the cop thing, huh?â he teases, and you squeeze his fingers like some sort of warning. He full body shudders like youâve just done it around his dick. âSoaking wet. Mustaâ been a little uncomfortable, baby.â
âYou have no idea.â
Your twitchy fingers snake right back between the two of you, this time dipping below his waistband. Your fist circles around his thick cock, and you relish in the very sexy groan he spills into your ear. Heâs hard enough to hurt, leaking onto your palm, and he drags his fingers out of you just to help you free his throbbing dick in one quick movement. You canât help but ogle as you pump him once, twice, nudging that fat cockhead between your folds, his thumb holding the soaked gusset of your panties to the side.
âReady?â he asks, just one more time, those dark, blown pupils studying yours, glittering with arousal.Â
âShut up nâ fuck me already.â
Whatever hesitation he was holding onto snaps like a rubber band pulled too tight. He kisses you hard, a rough collision of teeth and tongue. One hand braces on the edge of the desk while the other guides his dick through your dripping pussy, collecting the slick thatâs practically caked to your core. When he finally presses forward, itâs slow. So damn slow.
So slow that you feel every bit of the delicious stretch, and his pulse pounds against you in more ways than one. Your back bows into the feeling as your chest presses against his, heat exploding through every nerve ending.
Youâre panting by the time you take half of him, and when heâs fully seated, you have to suck saliva back in through your teeth before you drool dumbly. Samâs thumb slides off from your panties, opting to splay his full hand along the expanse of your inner thigh, holding you as wide as you can go. The pressure in your belly coils so hot that for a moment, you wonder how the hell youâve survived over two weeks without this.Â
A groan rips out of him, unfiltered and raw, and the second it hits your ears, itâs already vibrated through his chest and yours alike. Samâs eyes slam shut for half a second like heâs just been electrocuted by the tight squeeze of your walls so perfectly around him. Itâs beautiful, really, a sight that would have you dripping if you werenât already. His jaw clenches hard, tendons standing out on his sweat-slick neck, fighting for control. His hips shift just slightly then, a gentle, testing rock that has fire licking up your spine.
âFuck, yes,â you gasp, fingers curling around his strong forearm. And oh, thatâs all he needed.
He pulls back gently, before snapping forward in a deep, enthusiastic roll. The desk creaks beneath you like itâs threatening to break, and suddenly, heâs not being so careful anymore.Â
You wiggle in his grasp, a plea for more, and he doesnât spare a single moment. He scoops one leg up high over his waist, hips canting into you with a new kind of fever. The pace he sets is dizzying, desperate, damn-near sob worthy, his thick cock splitting you in half so fucking perfectly that stars explode behind your eyelids. Each thrust presses you harder into the desk, his breath huffing ragged against your neck. You reach for him instinctively, fingers splaying everywhere you can reach, taking greedy fistfuls of Sam.Â
âYâtake me so well,â he chokes, as he leans back to fuck you in powerful, measured strokes, driving you higher and higher with every slap of skin. His muscled abdomen clenches taut as arousal pulls at his belly, and you can feel the tension beneath your palm. âSoâso fuckinâ good, just for me.â
White-hot pleasure crashes through you in waves with every ruthless pound. You barely have it in you to hold yourself upright, raising your hands so your fingers can dimple hard into the meat of Samâs shoulder for even the slightest lick of leverage. Your cunt sucks him in like it was made to, the heavy upward curve of his cock brushing right fucking there, over and over and oh fuck, you can only hope the room is soundproof.Â
âS-Sam, donâ stop, p-pleaseââ
Gasps and moans and pleas tear from deep in your chest, ecstasy bubbling through you so hot, that you have to bury your face in the crook of Samâs neck before you wake up the entire city.Â
He hums into your hair, a smooth, comforting rumble, such a contrast to the way his cock bullies your sweet spot with every brutal thrust. Your lips find his throat, sucking sloppy kisses to his heated skin, but busying your mouth sure as hell doesnât stop the string of cries from spilling into his ear.
âOh, baby,â he coos, one arm slipping around your back to tangle in your hair, holding you tight to his chest. It leaves little space between you, if any at allâhis hips snapping in quick, short thrusts that hit so deep that you swear you can taste it. âFeels so good, doesnâ it? So full? Thaâs what you needed, huh?â
âMmm-hmm,â you manage, but itâs broken. So broken. Itâs hard to remain coherent when youâre being fucked dumb, and Sam isnât exactly leaving room for mercy. He squeezes his hand between you, thumb finding your clit with expert-level accuracy, and suddenly, youâre done.
Youâre right there. Right fucking there. You tumble closer, closer, closer, until youâre teetering on the edge, dangling off, Samâs perfect fingers and his perfect cock about to push you over, andâ
âWhat the hell?!â
The sharp, deep voice of Dean-fucking-Winchester stops your orgasm cold like a silver blade slicing through flesh. Shock tears through you as you squeeze Sam tighter than a vice. His hips snap forward hard, way too fucking hard, his body enveloping yours as his palm slaps over your mouth to muffle your forced-out cry.
Samâs torso practically crushes yours, sparing most of your dignity (thank God for those damn shoulders), your forehead thumping against his chest as his hand slips from your face. Your heart pounds like a snare drum against your ribcage, the strangest combination of sexual frustration and utter mortification washing through your veins.
âGet. Out,â Sam barks, quick, his strained voice sharp as he turns his head towards his brother. Youâre suddenly incredibly thankful for your hasteâbecause, hey, at least Samâs jeans never made it below his waistâbut yours sure as hell did, and your only cover is Samâs body. You tilt your head just enough to peek through the sliver between Samâs arm and his side, and oh. Oh God.
Youâve never seen Dean look like that before.
Heâs white as a fucking sheet, and if you werenât completely horrified, it would probably be hilarious. Standing in the doorway, he looks entirely scandalized, jaw hanging wide open, eyes threatening to pop right out of his skull, before he snaps out of it long enough to throw a hand over his eyes, turning his head away.Â
âYeah, Iâdonât you think Iâd freakinâ love to?â he spits, shaking his head like heâs seconds away from losing his mind completely. âI mean, Jesus, what are you two, high schoolers? Youâd thinkââ
âDean,â you choke, and Sam flinches like heâd forgotten you were there entirely. Which, well, is unlikely, considering the fact that heâs still buried to the hilt inside of you.
âWeâve gotta go. Now. Apparently my, uh, alarm disarming skills are pretty rusty,â he stammers, the hand that isnât covering his eyes reaching for the door. âPut your freakinâ pants on, and go. Thereâs goddamn cops outside.â
Well, shit.
If that isnât just worst case scenario, youâre not entirely sure what is.Â
He finally stomps out of the room, muttering an irritated âseriously!â as he goes, and the second he does, a long puff of air floods from your lungs in a ragged sweep. Every cell in your body is practically vibrating for you just crawl in a hole, and never returnâbut thereâs another part of you thatâs just pissed. Because Christ, after waiting so fucking long, is a little bit of relief really that much to ask for?
Youâre busy wallowing in your newfound despair, attempting to shuffle your ass backwards to get up, when two warm palms plant firmly on your cheeks, tilting your face up to look at his. Samâs eyes are wide, undoubtedly panicked, brows pinched so hard that a sharp crease has formed between them.Â
âFuckââm so sorry. Are youâyou okay?â His thumbs swipe at the sweat beading at your temples, touch gentle now, fingers shaking where they cradle your face. âDid I hurt you?â
âWhat? Iâm fine, Sam,â you grumble, but that sure as hell doesnât ease the look of pure concern on his sweet face. Still, you push yourself back just a little more, and he takes the hint, pulling out so tenderly that you barely even hiss at the feeling. ââŠPhysically, anyway.â
âYouâre sure? I just, Jesus, just fuckinâ manhandled you, baby.â
Somehow, that makes you laugh despite everything. âPass me my jeans,â you snicker, and he moves quickly, following your command without another word. His free hand fumbles with the zipper of his pants, and you hop off the table on wobbly legs.Â
But that fire in your core?
Apparently, a two-week dry spell turns you completely insatiable.
Sam stands again, passing you your now wrinkled jeans. But instead of taking them back right away, your hand lifts, curling around his collar again, pulling him close until only a lick of distance remains between your lips.
âWeâre not done,â you whisper, and God, you watch his pupils swallow all colour in his eyes in real time.
ââŠLater?â he purrs.
âLater.â
AN: So, Iâd actually planned to post something else, and then got distracted and wrote this in a couple of hours. My bad. Needed something fun đ€Ł
Iâm going to take this opportunity to apologize for my very, very slow writing skills⊠there is so much going on in my life right now, itâs driving me crazy, and I canât focus on my word porn as much as Iâd love to. But hey, gimme a couple weeks, trust the process!
Summary: Sneaking around with your secret relationship with Daryl proves harder and harder with each passing day. It wasn't that you were ashamed or embarrassed of each other - you just didn't want the others knowing that part of your lives when so much was already in the open. However, after a particularly rough night and awkward post-morning, the cat's out of the bag. But not in the way you'd hoped.
Main Masterlist
warnings: Sex injury, suggestive dialogue, smut flashbacks, graphic smut (blowjob, m!receiving), injury, swearing, probably. Kenny is an antagonist character I made up, who is basically a prop lol.
You woke to warmth. Not just the kind that came from the scratchy blanket tangled halfway down the bed, but the kind that breathed against your bare skin, slow and steady. Darylâs arm was slung low across your waist, rough fingertips ghosting over your stomach in lazy, unconscious strokes, his breath brushing the curve of your shoulder. His leg was half-draped over yours, anchoring you to the mattress like he didnât trust you not to up and leave.
The guard tower wasnât exactly luxury living, but it had two things you both craved more than a decent mattressâprivacy and a lock. After three days of him being gone on a hunting run, privacy had become very necessary.
Your thighs ached. So did your hips. And your voice, judging by the way it cracked the second you tried to clear your throat. Jesus.
You barely managed to blink your eyes open before Daryl stirred behind you, his mouth pressing sleepily to your shoulder blade, then lowerâacross your spine, trailing kisses like breadcrumbs. You shivered.
âMorninâ,â he rasped, voice all gravel, the low drawl rumbling through your spine as his hand slid up under the blanket to cup your breastâslow, possessive, and so damn familiar it sent a shiver down your aching thighs.
His thumb dragged over your nipple, coaxing it to a hard peak with infuriating gentleness. You sucked in a breath, your body twitching under his as his knee slid between your legs like muscle memory, his hips already starting that lazy grind against your ass.
âDarylââ your voice broke off in a strained gasp as his teeth found your shoulder, biting down just enough to make your hips jerk. âOh, fuckâbabyâŠâ
He groaned into your skin, rolling his hips again, slower this time, deeper. âOne more time, cmonâŠâ
You didnât have the heart to stop him at first. The heat in your stomach lit fastâyour body wanted him, wanted to forget how sore you were and let him take you again just because it felt so good to be under him, with him.
But your thighs trembled, already overworked, and there was a dull, nagging throb in your hip from how hard youâd gripped him last nightâmaybe from when heâd half-dragged you back up the wall after youâd collapsed around his fingers, begging for more.
âDaryl,â you rasped again, twisting to catch his face with your hand. His eyes were hazy, already half-lost in the feel of you, pupils blown wide as he kissed a slow line down your neck. âI canât babyâIâm too sore.â
He froze mid-motion, forehead resting against your shoulder, panting quietly. You felt the exact moment guilt settled over him like a wet blanket.
âShit,â he muttered again, softer this time. âSorry. Didnât meanâI thoughtâŠâ
âYou thought right,â you said with a breathless, teasing smile. âI want to. I just physically canât.â
His face flushed as he leaned up, cupping your jaw to kiss youâslow, apologetic, worshipful. âMâsorry. Justâgot home and you were already waitinâ in bed, lookinâ at me like thatâŠâ
âI was naked,â you reminded him, laughing weakly.
âExactly.â He kissed your cheek. âWhat was I supposed to do? Be a gentleman?â
You laughed again, softer, eyes fluttering shut as he kissed down your chest, nosing at the curve of your breast like he wasnât ready to let go of the idea just yet.
You turned your head just enough to catch his guilty expression. âDonât apologize,â you rasped, still half-smiling. âJust⊠maybe gimme a day to re-learn how to walk.â
You gazed at him then; his hair was a messâflattened on one side, sticking up on the other, the kind of disaster only deep sleep (and other activities) could make. Yours⊠probably matched. Longer, wilder, and currently hiding most of your face when you peeked up at him.
âI really thought we were gonna break that bed frame.â
âWe did.â He grinned into your skin. âYou didnât hear it snap when Iâ?â
âOh my god.â
âYeah.â He pressed another kiss between your breasts, slow and warm. âTotally worth it.â
His voice softened then, the humor fading just slightly. His lips brushed over the faint bruises heâd left on your ribs, fingertips moving with featherlight reverence like he could soothe the ache from the outside. âYou really hurtinâ?â
âI feel like I got hit by a truck,â you murmured, combing your fingers through his tangled hair. âA very sexy, grunting truck that doesnât believe in pacing himself.â
He snorted, the sound muffled against your belly. âTold ya I missed ya.â
âI missed you too,â you said, threading both hands into his hair and tugging gently to guide him back up. âBut I swear, if you even look at me with that face right now, Iâll kick you in the balls to even the score.â
He grinned, and gave you one last, lingering kissâsoft and slow, all lips and breath and whispered apologyâbefore finally pulling back and reaching for your shirt. âAlright, alright. You win. But tonight?â
âTonight I sleep.â You narrowed your eyes at him. âDonât even think about waking me up with your dick.â
His expression was utterly unrepentant. âIâll be gentle.â
âYou never are.â
âTakes one ta know one,â he muttered against your skin. âI ainât never seen you like that. Was like you were tryna kill me last night.â
âI think we both tried to kill each other,â you murmured back. âFour times.â
âFive times,â he corrected. âYou donât remember the time where you bit me?â
You blinked, confused. âBit you?â
He leaned up, pulling his hair back with one hand to reveal a faint purpling crescent just under his jaw. You stared at it.
âI donât remember that.â
âOh, I do,â he said with a crooked grin.
You groaned, burying your face into the pillow. âOh my god Iâm so sorry.â
âSâfine,â he said grinning.
Faint nowâbarely a shadow of purpleâbut when his fingers brushed that mark, fresh out of bed and still hazed in the best possible way, the memory hit like a fuckinâ freight train.
He could still feel it. The pressure of your teeth sinking into that tender spot where his neck met his shoulder. Not sharp. Not cruel. Just desperate.
You didnât mean to. You were barely there.
One minute heâd had you on your stomach, cheek pressed into the pillow, hands curled into the sheets like they were the only things keeping you tethered. He was over you, in you, grinding so deep and slow it was less a thrust and more a claimingârhythmic, relentless. Sweat dripping off his skin onto yours. His thighs snug to the backs of yours, his hand gripping your hip so tight his knuckles ached the next morning.
Your body was boneless, trembling, oversensitive from everything heâd already done to you. Heâd taken his timeâfingers, mouth, words. Wrecked you soft first. Had you sobbing into his chest with nothing but a hand between your legs and his voice in your ear telling you how good you were, how sweet you tasted, how long he was gonna take his time tonight.
And then heâd flipped you.
And then he sank into you.
He hadnât even meant to go that deep. But your hips arched into it, seeking more without words. Your mouth had fallen open in a soundless moan. Your hands flutteredâreaching for him, for the pillow, for anythingâbut settling on nothing. It was like your body couldnât decide what to hold onto because it was too busy falling apart.
You didnât say his name. You whimpered it.
And heâd lost it.
âYeah, baby,â heâd growled into your hair, the tip of his nose dragging along your scalp. âThatâs it. Doinâ so good. Attagirl.â
Your only answer was a sob. Not from pain. From need.
And then it happened.
Your head tilted. Just barely.
And your mouth latched onto the side of his neck.
Not hard. Not deep. Just enough to bite. To mark him. To hold onto something solid while your brain turned to static.
It startled him. For half a second, he pausedânot his hips, not the thrustâbut in his mind. That flicker of shock. Of fuck.
But then he groaned. Deep in his throat. Low.
Because it was you. Biting him like that. Because you were so far gone, so soaked and soft and open for him, that you needed your teeth to ground yourself.
And he couldnât stop.
Wouldnât stop.
Your cunt clenched around him like a goddamn vice and he drove into it like he was trying to become part of you. His hand slid up to the base of your neck, not to push you away, but to hold you there. Keep you close. Keep you biting.
You moaned against his skin, mouth still open, teeth still sunk into him like you didnât even realize what you were doingâlike it was just instinct. Just need.
His rhythm picked up. Harsher. Filthier. The slap of skin, the creak of the mattress, your muffled cries against his neck.
âYou want it that bad?â heâd rasped, eyes shut, trying to keep himself from blowing then and there. âThat gone already, huh baby?â
You couldnât speak. Couldnât do anything but bite down again, just a little tighter, and whimper something that didnât even sound like language.
He felt you break around him right there.
Felt the way your whole body tensed. The way you gasped against his neck. The way your walls fluttered around his cock like your body was trying to keep him, pull him deeper, own him.
It undid him.
He buried himself to the hilt, groaning your name into your shoulder, chest caving in with the force of it. It was one of those orgasms that left him shakingâlike his body didnât know how to hold itself up anymore. It felt like it went on forever, the way he kept filling youâ
âDaryl?â you mumbled, voice raw and sleep-rough, laced with that hoarse rasp that hadnât quite left since last night. âYou good?â
He flinched, blinking hardâripped clean out of the memory, the phantom feel of your teeth still tingling beneath his skin. His hand dropped immediately, and he turned slightly, eyes darting anywhere but your bare, tangled figure behind him.
âYeah. Mâfine,â he muttered, clearing his throat a little too fast, a little too loud, like thatâd somehow cover up the very obvious problem still tenting the blanket.
You stirred against the sheets, shifting slow and ginger like every muscle ached. âWhereâre my clothes?â you croaked, trying to sit up before groaning and falling flat again. âOh my god. I canât feel my spine.â
Daryl still couldnât look at you directly. Not yet. Not while his dick was throbbing against the fabric like it had plans.
Your eyes fluttered open, searching blearily for him. âDaryl?â
He glanced toward the window to avoid the sight of your completely naked body spread out like a goddamn paintingâand thatâs when he saw it.
Your bra.
Swaying gently from where it had somehow ended up hooked on the balcony railing, one strap dangling out into the open air like it was waving good morning to the world.
He stared at it.
Then blinked.
Then let out the quietest âshitâ under his breath.
âWhat?â you asked, brow furrowed.
He didnât answer right away. Just scratched the back of his neck and nodded toward the open window. âUh. Found it.â
You followed his line of sight.
Saw it.
And groaned like someone had punched you in the soul. âOh no. Tell me that wasnât out there all night.â
âDunno,â he muttered, already moving toward the door. âWind mustâa caught it or somethinââŠâ
âOr you threw it,â you countered, burying your face into the pillow with a muffled scream. âOh my god.â
He got up, throwing off the blanket and stepping out completely naked without a care in the world, grimacing slightly as the morning sun hit his bare chest. He grabbed the bra and yanked it off the railing like it had personally offended him, muttering, âLeast it didnât land in the fuckinâ tomato patch.â
You saw the moment his mind wandered. He paused there, bare back rising and falling with each deep breath, cock hard and heavy between his legs, bobbing faintly as he stood in the sun.
You watched him cross the tower, completely bare and unbothered, like the sunlight wasnât striping every muscle of his back in gold. His steps were loose, fluid, still heavy from sleep and the kind of night that left you both bruised and breathless.
Your body achedâhips sore, thighs humming with the kind of exhaustion that edged into satisfactionâbut your mouth; that still worked just fine.
And you moved.
Blanket slinking off your skin, your knees dragging slowly over the cold cement floor, crawling towards him like some animal, naked and hungry. You knelt behind him, letting the early light warm your back, and reached around him with both handsâone to steady yourself, the other to wrap around the base of him, hot and pulsing in your grip.
He twitched.
You leaned forward and kissed the tip. Soft, reverent. He didnât say a wordâjust braced his palms on the railing and let you have him.
Your lips parted and you took him in slowly, dragging your tongue along the underside, feeling him swell in your mouth as his breath hitched, chest tightening. You worked him deeper, steady strokes of your hand matching the hollow of your cheeks, spit glistening as it slipped down your chin, but you didnât care. You loved him like thisâquiet and coiled, trembling under your touch, too focused on keeping still to remember how to breathe.
And thenâ
âDaryl?â
The voice struck like a match.
Rick. Of course.
You froze. Only for a second.
He didnât.
His hands flexed hard on the railing. You felt every muscle in his thighs tense, the sharp pull of his stomach, the way his cock jumped against your tongue.
But he didnât push you away.
âYeah?â His voice cracked and he coughed, tried again. âY-Yeah?â
You didnât stop. You licked a stripe from base to tip, then sealed your mouth around him again and sucked slow, just to see if heâd twitch. He did.
âWhatâre you doinâ up there?â Rick called. âAinât your shift.â
Darylâs jaw clenched. You could see it even from below. One hand stayed planted on the railing. The other dropped down to your head, fingers threading into your hair, not to guide youâjust to ground himself. You werenât sure if he was about to come or pass out.
âLaundry,â he said gruffly. âFlew up here.â
You grinned around him. He could feel it.
There was a long beat of silence.
You slid down further, taking him deeper. Your nose bumped his skin, your tongue pressed firm and flat, your hand twisting in rhythm just below your mouth.
âIâm fine,â Daryl bit out, throat straining. âHot up here. Sunâs right on the damn glass.â
You moaned, low and thick, letting the vibration hit the base of his cock like a shockwave.
His breath stuttered. His hips jolted forward.
And you felt itâthe shift.
That sharp tremble that raced up his legs, through his stomach, into his hands. He was close. Fighting it. Losing.
Rickâs voice droned on in the background, something about the southern fence line, something about wood supplies, but Daryl wasnât listening. Couldnât.
His grip in your hair tightenedânot rough, just desperate. His body hovered on the edge, every muscle locked down, trying to stay still while his cock twitched in your throat.
And thenâ
Rick turned. Walked away. His boots echoed down the pavement. The sound faded.
Gone. Finally.
And Daryl broke.
He came with a groan that shook loose from his chest like it had been trapped there, hips jerking forward as his release spilled hot and fast down your throat. You took all of itâheld him deep, swallowed hard, one hand still moving, coaxing every last twitch from him until he was sagging against the balcony like it was the only thing holding him up.
His breath heaved in ragged gasps, body gleaming with sweat, legs shaking.
You pulled off him with a slick pop, wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, and kissed the sharp jut of his hip.
He looked down at you like he couldnât decide whether to collapse or kiss you stupid.
You were already smiling.
Still on your knees. Still wrecked from the night before. But pleased. So fucking pleased.
You arched a brow. âStill hot up here?â
He swallowed thickly. âYouâre an evil woman.â
You got up, snatched the bra from him, feeling his eyes on you as you walked away. âThatâs why ya love me.â
He mumbled in response, something in between a a hum of agreement and âshut upâ.
He gave you an exasperated look before shaking his head. You just sucked him off and you're acting like it's just another Tuesday?
"It is Tuesday," you said, still smirking.
Had he said that out loud!?
âWe didnât sleep,â he said with a shrug, tugging his pants on. âAinât my fault.â
âYouâre the one who kept saying âjust one more time.ââ
âYeah, wellâŠâ He looked down at you and gave the softest smile, all warm and wrecked and adoring. âI missed ya.â
You stared up at him for a long second, eyes soft, before reaching out and curling your fingers around his wrist. âI missed you too, Dixon. Just⊠maybe tonight we try sleep instead of cardio?â
âNo promises,â he muttered, bending to kiss you once moreâslow, sweet, and maddeningly deep.
He bent to grab his shirt from the chair, the morning light catching the planes of his back â and your breath caught mid-inhale.
âOh⊠my god.â
He half-turned, brows drawing together, but you were already moving.
âTurn around,â you murmured, low but firm, your hands already finding his hips and guiding him to face away from you.
The sight made your stomach tighten â angry red lines raked across the breadth of his back, some shallow, some deeper, all raw against his skin, with the faintest shadow of a bite mark blooming at the base of his neck. You stepped in close, the heat radiating off him soaking into your bare skin, your palms smoothing over his sides before trailing up his back, fingertips skimming the raised welts like maybe your touch could erase them.
âBaby⊠oh my god, does that not hurt?â The words came out soft, almost guilty, your hands still roaming over his skin like you were cataloging every mark.
âAinât nothinâ,â he said with a shrug, but that casual dismissal only made your chest tighten more.
âIâm so sorry,â you whispered, stepping around to face him fully. Your hands slid up his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat under your palms, before you hid your face behind them. âI didnât even realize Iâgod, thatâs embarrassing.â
Before you could retreat, his larger hands closed gently around your wrists, pulling them down until your face was bare to him again. One hand lingered, cradling your jaw, his thumb stroking along your cheek. âAinât nothinâ,â he repeated, quieter now, like he wanted you to believe it.
You huffed, half-guilty, half-bewildered. âWhy didnât you stop me?â
His other hand slid from your wrist to your hip, holding you close enough that the warmth of his bare chest pressed against yours. âDidnât wanna,â he muttered, eyes darting away.
Your brows lifted.
âNot âcause it hurtââ he rushed to add, gaze skimming over your shoulder, âjust⊠means you were feelinâ good.â
A slow smirk tugged at your mouth, and your hands smoothed up into his hair for just a second before you pulled away toward the shelf.
âWhere you goinâ?â he asked, following you with his eyes.
âStill getting the aloe,â you tossed over your shoulder.
He scoffed under his breath, but didnât move â and you caught the faintest hint of a smile, like he wouldnât mind if you came back and fussed over him some more.
âž»
The midday sun beat down hard against the metal fence as sweat slipped past your temples, soaking into the collar of your shirt. The walkers had been pressing harder against the perimeter lately, enough that the mesh was starting to bend inward, groaning under the weight of too many rotting bodies with just enough instinct left to keep pushing. Reinforcements were long overdue, so the plan now was brute forceâwedging thick wooden beams against the metal at key points to keep the wall from collapsing entirely.
âKenny,â Daryl grunted, his shoulder wedged up beneath the weight of the log, âif you drop this damn thing, I swearââ
âIâm not gonna drop it,â Kenny shot back, clearly straining. âThis thing weighs more than a truck.â
âThen maybe you shouldâve stayed with the tomato plants,â you muttered as you crouched low, ducking beneath the beam. âHold it steadyâI gotta mark where we need to dig.â
âYeah, yeah, just make it quick,â Kenny puffed, the whites of his knuckles visible as he shifted his grip.
You dropped to lie down on your back in the dirt, fingers dragging through the dry soil as you carved out a rough guide with the blade of your knife. Darylâs boot was inches from your head, the edge of his shirt hiked up just enough to expose the shallow curve of his lower backâand the faint red streaks etched into the skin there. Your scratches. Last nightâs scratches.
And then there was also the very noticeable bite mark which he had tied a bandana around, which had now shifted to reveal it.
Kennyâs eyes landed on them.
The bite. The scratches.
And then everything went to hell.
âHoly shitâis that a bite?â he barked, his voice slicing through the air like a gunshot.
You didnât even have time to react. The beam jerked violently in his grip, and before Daryl could rebalance it, the weight tipped sidewaysâcrashing down hard onto your ribcage.
The sound that tore out of you wasnât quite a screamâit was a crack, and then a wheezing grunt as the air got knocked clean out of your lungs. You folded instantly, body trapped awkwardly beneath the log, head lolling back into the dirt as pain shot like lightning in your torso.
âShit!â Daryl bellowed, his voice already ragged with fury. âGet it off her!â
A blur of boots surrounded youâRick, Maggie, Tyreeseâall rushing to help. Hands grabbed the beam and heaved, straining against the weight until it finally lifted just enough. Daryl dropped to his knees and yanked you free, cradling your body to his chest like it weighed nothing, like you were made of feathers instead of broken bones.
Kenny staggered backwards, pale and jittery, eyes locked on Daryl. âIâI saw scratches, man! Guys, he's got scratches and a bite!â
âYou dropped it on herââcause of that?â Darylâs voice was pure fire now, a sharp growl ripping from his throat as he lunged.
Kenny stumbled, tripping over his own feet. âI didnât mean toâ!â
âDaryl!â Rick barked, intercepting just in time, shoving a firm arm across Darylâs chest before he could close the distance. âThatâs enough! Whereâd the scratches and the bite come from?â
Everyone froze. All eyes were on him.
Darylâs jaw was clenched so tight the tendons in his neck stood out, his hands flexing at his sides like he didnât know what to do with them now that he wasnât throttling someone.
You sucked in a shallow breath from the dirt, ribs screaming, and rasped out, âIt was me, alright?â
Confusion rippled through the group.
You forced yourself upright with a grimace, brushing Darylâs hand off as you tried to sit but failing miserably. You collapsed halfway again, coughing, and Daryl was immediately back beside you, kneeling so close his thigh pressed against your hip.
His voice dropped to that soft gravel only you ever seemed to get. âHey. You good? Look at me.â
You turned your face toward the sound, your expression pinched but dry-eyed. âMightâve cracked a rib,â you muttered, only half-joking. âFeels like somethingâs doing jazz hands in my lung.â
His hand cradled the back of your head gently, fingers weaving into your hair as his thumb brushed along your cheekbone, eyes scanning your face like he needed to memorise every twitch and wince.
âLemme see,â he murmured, already tugging your shirt up slowly, carefully, as if touching too fast might break you further.
The collective silence behind you stretched long. You were aware of every set of eyes watching as Daryl pushed your shirt up to reveal the angry red welt blooming across your side, his palm skimming up the bare skin of your waist to brace you steady while he looked.
And that was the moment it all clickedâfor everyone.
Darylâs hand was on your bare skin, thumb moving slowly, reverently over the rising bruise like he could soothe it just by touch. The way he held youâtender, intimate, like someone he lovedâleft no room for confusion.
You caught Rickâs glance toward Maggie, the slight raise of her eyebrows, and Tyreese's shuffling.
Daryl didnât care.
âYou shouldâve stayed back,â he muttered, still crouched beside you, still holding your shirt like he hadnât noticed half your stomach was on display. âTold ya Iâd do the damn marking.â
âYeah, well.â You winced, leaning into his touch. âDidnât wanna make Kenny feel useless.â
âThink he managed that all on his own.â
âStill gonna punch him?â you asked, breathless but smirking through it.
Darylâs jaw flexed, his voice low and flat. âLater. Letâs get ya to Hershel.â
Before you could protest, his arm slid around your waist, hauling you up from the dirt like you were weightless. His palm stayed warm and steady at your side, guiding you away without so much as a glance over his shoulder.
The three still by the fence just stared at Kenny.
âWhat?â Kenny said, holding his hands up. âHey, how was I supposed to know those were not walker scratches?!â
âBecause he got them while he was in the watch tower, dumbass,â Rick muttered.
"But the bite-"
"He would have gotten a fever by now," said Maggie.
Kenny blinked, then his eyebrows shot up like the penny had just dropped. âOhhh,â he said slowly, a grin spreading. âOhhh. So thatâs what that was. Damn, Dixonââ
From up ahead, without turning around, Daryl growled, âShut up, Kenny.â
You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing, leaning a little heavier into Darylâs side. âGuess the secretâs out,â you murmured.
âUh-huh,â he muttered, but his hand on your hip didnât loosen one bit.
Summary: Your first date with Ryland was a disaster. At least he thinks so. And he believes that he absolutely must make up for it at the end of the night. After all, he desperately wants a second date so⊠he apologises for being such a chaotic date in the only way he knows how. And hopes that it works.Â
a/n: blond man with the fluffy hair and nerdy glasses so fine he got me out of âretirementâÂ
The date went horribly.Â
According to him at least.Â
You hadnât made up an excuse, or had a fake emergency phone call at any point that got you out of dinner. But Ryland knew heâd fucked it up tonight. He was genuinely surprised that you stayed till the end. It was a simple date, nothing too fancy. And yet he believed he had ruined your night by yapping your ears off. He talked about everything and nothing all at once. His kids at school, his classes, his new research, all of it and more.Â
He was a little embarrassed now upon realising that heâd been talking so much the whole night, rarely ever stopping. And he was so certain youâd never want to talk or even text him again. But then you asked him if he wanted to walk you home.Â
Ryland agreed a little too quickly. Then he felt embarrassed again. But you just laughed at his awkward little mumbles as he tried to play it cool.Â
The whole walk he promised himself heâd finally ask you questions and let you do the talking. But he ended up going off on yet another random tangent about why physical laws even exist at all. In his defense, your follow-up questions were so engaging that he felt like he could keep this conversation going forever.Â
Before Ryland knew it, you were both standing on the steps leading to your front porch. With the soft golden light like a halo all around you, Ryland knew in that moment that you were the most stunning woman he had ever and will ever meet. And he felt even worse about the evening.Â
He couldnât keep it in anymore. So he rambled on.Â
âIâm sorry,â He said, followed quickly by, âI know Iâve been aâ a mess. I am a mess.â He repeated and carried on talking. âI really wanted tonight to go well and I ruined everything by talking so much. About school, about my research, about my students and work andâ and I didnât even ask you anything about yourself, or where you are from. I barely even let you speak. Or tell me anything about yourself. On top of that Iâm wearing this stupid shirt. Thatâs not even the worst part. I didnât let you speak. Can you believe that? I went on a date with the most gorgeous woman Iâve ever met and I didnât even ask her where she was born. All I know is that you moved here, but I meanâ,âÂ
You cut him off by gently grabbing him by the collars of his blazer and pulling him in for a kiss. He wasnât expecting it so Ryland was stunned for a second or two. Then he finally kissed you back, his arms instinctively finding themselves around your waist, pulling you into his warm chest.Â
Fuck, he thought to himself, it felt nice to have his arms around you.Â
When you pulled away, Ryland was still a little stunned. All he did was blink at you with his clear blue ocean eyes. He quickly reached up and adjusted his glasses which slid down his nose. But he said nothing. He just stared down at you.Â
You kept your hands around his shoulders, looking down quickly and noticed that some type of nerdy t-shirt peeked through the blazer. It only made him even more attractive. What a nerd, you thought, sighing with adoration.Â
âListen here, Dr. Grace.â You teased him playfully, âI wouldnât have agreed to go on a date with you if I didnât like a passionate, awkward, kind of nerdy, incredibly handsome, and talkative man. Okay?â You smiled up at him.Â
âOkay?â He sounded just a little confused. Poor thing.Â
You leaned in and gave him yet another sweet kiss on the cheek. His rough stubble tickling your mouth as you did. Ryland spoke then, yet again apologising, âIâm sorry. I know that was a terrible first date. But I would really like a second one. Please, Iâll be better. I promise.â He said, giving you those sad puppy eyes. The depths of which one could write endless poems about.Â
âYou wanna come in for a bit?â You suggested. âAnd maybe we can talk about that second date?â You spoke, your hands deliberately trailing down his body. From his shoulders to his chest. He was nice and tall, the right amount of lean and muscular. Lots and lots of terrain to explore.Â
Ryland was quiet, apparently captivated by the way your hands delicately roamed down his chest. His breathing deepened. His brain was short circuiting. All he could do was silently follow your hands and fingers as they drew random shapes all over his chest. He was certain youâd be able to feel his heart thundering inside his chest by now.Â
âRyland?âÂ
âYeah. Yes? Iâm listening.â He said, then cleared his throat. He hadnât been listening.Â
Fuck he was so adorable when nervous.Â
âDo you plan on lingering out on my front porch, or will you please come inside so I can kiss you like Iâve been dying to all night?âÂ
âÂ
Stumbling into bed with Ryland crashing into you as you fell made you feel like you were floating. Like you were on a cloud and everything was perfect. Ryland was almost as giddy as you were. His touch was gentle, and a little hesitant. He waited for a greenlight from you each time his touch and kisses got more and more heated. Heâd do that thing where heâd reach for you, but then look at you over his glasses to see if it was okay, then heâd proceed enthusiastically.Â
It made you all warm and fuzzy inside each time he did that.Â
Contrary to what Ryland thought, you would say you had a great night. Nice food with a gorgeous, intelligent man who was gentle and kind and cared about his job and the environment. Who also happened to be a passionate speaker, and who spent the whole night entertaining you with his silly stories and elaborate scientific theories and more. What bliss!Â
âWe can slow down,â Ryland said, in between steamy kisses, âIf you want.â Another quick kiss. âWe can watch a movie, orâ,â He cut himself off by kissing you harder, pulling you closer. âWe donât have to, I mean I want to, but itâs not like Iâm expecting you toâ,âÂ
âRyland. Shut up and kiss me.âÂ
âOkay.âÂ
When you finally got him out of his blazer, you had to take a moment and giggle over his dorky t-shirt. One with a giant cat sitting on the Golden Gate Bridge. He looked down and let out a dramatic sigh.Â
âPlease tell me you have another one of these.â You said, already working to get him out of the t-shirt.Â
âI⊠I do.â He sounded defeated as he tossed his shirt over his head, messing up his glasses.Â
âGood,â You fixed his glasses for him before you climbed onto his lap as he sat on the edge of your bed. Looking glorious, even more so than before now that he was shirtless, just in his jeans. âBecause youâre leaving this one right here. For me.â You laughed when he tried to hide his face into the crook of your neck.Â
âYou can keep it.â His voice sounded all muffled as he spoke into your neck. Then he pulled away and looked up, his rough cheek tickling your skin in the process again. âAs long as I get to take you out on another date.âÂ
When you smiled and nodded at him, before leaning in and kissing him deeply, Ryland felt like the world around him had gotten a little brighter.Â
And he kissed you back with equal excitement, flipping you around and laying you down in bed as he hovered above you. âIâll take that as a yes.âÂ
âIt is a âyesâ, Dr. Grace.â You confirmed, reaching to touch his face.Â
Ryland smiled and said, âWell then I better make up for tonightâs disaster.â He leaned down and kissed your neck. âIâm sorry again, I keep rambling anytime I have the chance.â He kissed further down your neck as he spoke. âShut me up next time. Tell me to shut up. Please.âÂ
You giggled as he kissed and carefully bit your skin along your collarbones, making you arch your back, pressing your body further into him. âI will.â You spoke, then gasped in pleasure and surprise when you felt Rylandâs warm hands on your inner thighs.Â
He pulled away from your neck and looked down at you, âAre you okay, baby? Is this okay?â He asked in a hushed tone, keeping his hands right where they were on your skin.Â
âYes.â You whispered, then gasped again when he dove back in to kiss your neck while his hands caressed your thighs, massaging them gently. Almost lovingly. His touch was so slow in fact that you were getting more and more desperate the longer he took to touch you where you craved him the most. âRyland?â You couldnât take it anymore. He hadnât even gotten you out of your dress yet. Meanwhile he was shirtless, all that body on display and torturing you.Â
âHmm?â He looked up at you. Mouth mere inches off your skin.Â
You almost groaned at how he genuinely seemed to have no idea how badly you wanted him. âPlease stop teasing me.â You began lowering the shoulder straps of your dress all by yourself. You needed him. Now.Â
But Ryland stopped you by carefully seizing your wrists and pinning them above your head. He did it so smoothly too. âNow, when did I say you could do that?â He whispered against your open mouth. âHmm? Did I ask you to do that?âÂ
You shook your head, looking up into his gorgeous eyes and wondering where that dominant tone came from. You werenât complaining. Quite the contrary. âNo. You didnât.âÂ
He nodded slowly. âThatâs right. I said I was gonna make it up to you, didnât I? Well, I am. So let me take my time. Okay, baby? I know you want it. I can feel it. You think I canât tell how wet you are by the way youâre drenching my hand.â For emphasis, he pressed his fingers in between your legs, pressing against your very wet, very thin underwear. âHmm? You think I canât tell?âÂ
âRyland, pleaseâŠâ You whimpered when you realised he was purposely messing with you. And who knows for how long he intended to do that.Â
âOh poor you.â He teased, leaning closer until your warm breaths mingled. âIâm gonna take care of you, donât you worry. Just let me take my time. Iâve got you. I know what you want, and Iâm gonna give it to you. Just⊠let me. Can you do that for me, baby?â He kissed the corner of your mouth, making you whimper again, âCan you let me take my time with you?âÂ
âFuckâŠâ You mumbled. âYes. Yes, please. Just⊠I need you to touch me, Ryland. Please.â You begged.Â
âIâve got you. Donât worry.âÂ
He took his time in sliding the straps of your dress down your shoulders, dragging the soft fabric down your body, leaving you more and more naked and exposed under him.Â
âSo beautiful.â He mumbled to himself as his kisses followed the fabric of the dress lowering down your torso.Â
You shivered once he left your dress bunched around your waist carelessly, not fully undressing you. It wasnât just because of the slightly cold air that you shivered. It was because of how intensely Ryland was staring at you. His glasses had slid down that perfect nose yet again, he didnât adjust it this time. And somehow it made him look even hotter.Â
Fuck. Being so attracted to a manâs glassesâ placement has to be a more worrying issue. But you didnât care. All you cared about was needing his hands on you.Â
By the time Ryland finally got to actually touching you, you were a whimpering, panting, needy mess. Just writhing under him. Your brain all foggy. Your body aching with desire.Â
But he was such a fucking tease it was driving you insane.Â
He kissed down your exposed torso, your hips, your thighs, whispering, âLook at you, huh? So needy.â He kissed right above your clit, his warm breath making your body come alive. âIs this what you want? You want me to make you feel good? Huh, baby? Talk to me, come on. Use your words.âÂ
You werenât sure if youâd sound coherent if you spoke but you tried your best. âYes, please. Ryland⊠make it feel good.âÂ
âI will.â He whispered, as his hands spread your legs and you felt his mouth right on top of you. Hungry. Seeking. Wanting. His warm tongue licked along your slit, his hands spreading your thighs even further apart to give him better access.Â
It was rare to find a man who knew what he was doing down there. Especially with his mouth. But Ryland surprised you yet again with that skilled tongue of his. Your hand moved lazily, fingers sliding easily into his luscious, silky soft hair, messing it up even more than it already was.Â
You felt like your body was melting under his touch. His hands rubbing your thighs adoringly while his mouth drove you insane. He was good at making you cry out in pleasure. His tongue, skilled and soft against your wet folds. His lips with the right amount of suction on your clit.Â
You held yourself up for a moment, your elbows digging into your mattress as you looked down at him. All that golden skin, that faint layer of sweat all over him⊠he looked divine.Â
Then there were those eyesâŠÂ
Even through his glasses you could see the spark in them. You saw how they lit up each time you let out a higher pitch moan, or each time your fingers tugged on his hair, scratching his scalp so good he even let out a moan himself while he ate you out.Â
âFuck. Ryland.â You cried out, writhing under him as he pushed his tongue deeper into you. Teasing you with the softest, deliberate licks. You couldnât look away then. His stare was intense, giving you chills despite the heat inside you rising like never before.Â
He smirked then. The sound of his name leaving your mouth so desperately gave him such a rush. It drove him crazy. âOh, you like that, huh?â He whispered, his rough stubble brushing against your skin, rough against your inner thighs. He slowly brought a finger up to your clit, sliding it agonisingly slowly down your slit, parting your wet folds. âWhat about this? You like this? You sound like you do.â He paused for a second, slid a finger inside you, stroking your walls gently while he placed his mouth back on your clit for a taste and said, âYou sure taste like you do.â His tongue slowly circled your throbbing clit, then down, parting your wet folds with ease. Â
Ryland had you coming undone all over his tongue in no time. His deep blue eyes watched you in awe and how you lost control under his touch, legs shaking as he teased your clit and finger-fucked your ever so gently. Â
With his arms keeping you pinned to the mattress and unable to escape, he was so quick to figure out what worked and what didnât. What made you squeeze his head in between your thighs and what made your back arch. What made you tug on his hair harder because he loved that and what made you breathless.Â
âCome for me.â He whispered, before latching his mouth onto your pussy. Devouring you. His tongue moved in a way that made you lose control.Â
You were gasping for air, moaning his name, wanting more, and more, and more⊠You came hard, all over his tongue, your walls clenching violently around his finger, your moans and gasps of pleasure filled the room.Â
Ryland finally let go of your shaky legs and kissed his way up your body, hovering above you again. He stared deep into your eyes. You couldnât, no matter how hard you tried, look away from his pink, glistening lips. His hair was definitely messier now that youâd been so rough with it. You slid your hands back into his hair, massaging his scalp a little.Â
Ryland closed his eyes for a moment, savouring your touch. Then opened his eyes again and asked, âAre you okay?âÂ
You nodded, looking up at him. âI liked that.â You murmured, giddy with pleasure.Â
Ryland smiled down at you. âI know you did. Pretty sure I have scratches all over my neck. Gonna have to wear some turtlenecks to work for a day or two.âÂ
You both laughed.Â
Then you asked, âCan I touch you now?â Your hands were already reaching down for his belt. He nodded, but you were already undoing his buckle as you pushed Ryland down on the bed next to you and got on top of him, straddling his lap. The rough denim brushing against your bare thighs.Â
Ryland reached out to touch your face, caressing your cheek tenderly. âYou can do whatever you want.âÂ
So you did. In no time you were in between his legs, ass up in the air, with his cock in your mouth.Â
Ryland had that pleading look on his face, groaning as you took him into your mouth as much as you could. âFuck, look at you.â He whispered, still caressing your face lovingly as your tongue teased him in the best ways. âKeep your eyes on me, baby. I like how you look at me.âÂ
He held your head gently, in that same adoring manner you were starting to get used to, and watched you intently with parted pink lips, gasping in pleasure, as you took him. âThere we go.â He said, âYouâre so good at this, arenât you?â His voice was so gentle. âYouâve been wanting to do that for a while, huh?âÂ
You held his stare and nodded.Â
Ryland was so gentle with you. Even as his gasps and moans got louder and louder.Â
âFuck.â He swore. âYou want more, baby?â He lifted his hips up slowly, he held your head gently and pushed himself deeper into your mouth. âYeah? Is that what you wanted?âÂ
You squeezed your eyes shut, breathing through your nose, taking him in until he hit the back of your throat. You felt all of him, his smooth skin, his raw taste, and you couldnât get enough. Your fingers clawed at his thighs through his jeans as he groaned and grunted, filling your mouth.Â
âOh fuck.â He swore again. âGod damn it, baby, slow down.â His voice cracked as he grunted while also moving his hips, shoving his cock deeper into your mouth and helping you swallow more and more of him. His head tilted back, his lips parted as he gasped for air while you moved your mouth up and down his cock. And he looked glorious while he lost control. Those damn glasses almost falling off his face.Â
You teased him as much as you could, but he soon began begging for you to stop.Â
âCome on,â He pleaded. âI canât come yet, baby please.âÂ
Followed by more pleas.Â
âPlease, I really wanna fuck you.âÂ
âOh my god, please slow down.âÂ
âPlease donât make me come yet.âÂ
âSlow down, baby.âÂ
All said in a desperate hiss.Â
You werenât ready for the whimpers that followed his pleas. And you almost gave in and made him come because his moans and whimpers were so damn hot, but then you slowed to a stop. Pulling away and straddling him again.Â
Ryland did his best to catch his breath before flipping you two around, pinning you into the mattress again. Yet he was still panting as he looked down at you, his warm breath mingling with yours. âHad your fun?â He asked, using that playful, stern tone from earlier again.Â
He sounded so different from the man who was whimpering just a minute earlier.Â
You nodded, giggling, and clearly still riding that high from earlier. âYouâre so hot when you beg.âÂ
Ryland let out a little laugh as he leaned in to kiss your nose. Then the corner of your mouth, then along your jaw, and down your neck. âCan I make you feel good again now? Hmm? Can I please fuck you, baby?âÂ
You whined before answering, your back arching already. âYes, Ryland.âÂ
âWell spread your legs then,â He made you laugh again with his sudden, straightforward demand.Â
But you obeyed quickly. Ryland cradled your head in his hands, holding you so tenderly as if he thought you were fragile.Â
âIâve got you.â He said, as he held your stare, slowly sliding inside of you, both of you moaning softly as he went.Â
âRylandâŠâ You hissed in pleasure, unable to look away from his gorgeous blue eyes.Â
âFuck, you feel so good.â He whispered, nothing but desire and love in his eyes. He leaned in again, whispering against the corner of your open mouth, âWhere have you been all my life, huh?âÂ
You felt his cock stretching you, filling you up. Every thick inch of him sliding into your tight cunt. âOh fuck, RylandâŠâ You gasped.Â
âI know, baby. I know.â He said, pressing his forehead to yours. He held you close as he moved his hips.
âYou⊠you feel so good.â You could feel your eyes tearing up at how snug he felt inside you.Â
âI know.â He almost whimpered again.Â
He pulled away to watch you. Ryland held your stare as he reached down to grab your legs and wrapped them around his waist. He looked down to where your bodies connected, he watched his cock slowly moving in and out of you then leaned down to give you a messy kiss, swallowing your desperate moans in the process.Â
âThatâs it, baby. Let me in.â He whispered.Â
You couldnât help your loud moans as he moved his hips expertly. You thanked whoever or whatever taught him how to do that. You could feel your walls clenching around him as he sped up and pounded into you.Â
You felt all of him stretching you, filling you up, moving rapidly in and out of you until he was all you could focus on. His eyes remained fixed on yours. Ocean blue, now familiar.Â
âYou feel so goodâŠâ He whispered, pounding into you relentlessly, his hand instinctively wrapping around your throat as he bent down to bite your lower lip and tug on it. âSo perfect for me. My pretty girl.âÂ
His voice was driving you insane. You moaned at how perfect his lean body felt against yours, his weight pressing down on you. His slight stubble tickled your skin as he moved. And you slid your fingers into his hair, tugging on it even more now that you knew he liked it. He probably liked it a little too much since he wouldnât stop letting out discreet whimpers each time you gave his hair a slightly hard pull.Â
Your legs trembled as you wrapped them tighter around his waist. His thrusts, relentless and unbearably good. The pressure around your lower body, tight and hot.
Ryland looked down at you as you tightened around his cock. âHey,â He spoke softly, his thumb toying with your lower lip. âLook at me.â When you did, he whispered, âJust hold on, okay? Donât come yet. Just a little longer, baby.âÂ
You nodded, eyes half closed, but unsure if you could. He felt so fucking good and you were right on the edge⊠right on that fucking edgeâŠ
He must have noticed your eyes rolling back because he spoke again.Â
âCome on, baby.â He pleaded again, pressing his warm forehead against yours. âI know, I know.â He reassured you. âBut just hold it for me, okay? Just a minute longer, baby. I know you can do it.â He murmured. âYouâre so fucking beautiful.âÂ
The tenderness and care in his voice only made you clench around him again.Â
âOh look at you. You canât even hold it a little longer.â He gave you a lazy, cocky smile, âAre you gonna come for me now?â His hand squeezed your throat just a little, making you moan even louder. He gave you a messy kiss. âCome all over my cock then, come on.âÂ
You whimpered, unable to say anything because of how good he felt sliding in and out of you. The familiar pressure formed at your core and you whined again when his hand let go of your throat and his eager fingers found your clit, toying with it while he pounded into you mercilessly.
âThatâs it.â He cooed when your moans got louder. âYouâre doing so well for me, look at you. Now come, come all over me,â He whispered and that was all you needed to hear before you came undone all around him. Whimpering and back arching off the bed as you came hard around his cock, tightening around him.Â
Ryland kept pounding into you as your orgasm washed over you, your walls squeezing him violently. Your body trembling under his intense gaze. You felt his thrust becoming irregular, and felt his cock throb against your walls violently. âFuck.â He hissed again, then groaned as he quickly pulled out just in time and came all over your thighs. Â
You whined and whimpered as you felt his cum drip down your thighs.Â
âFuckâŠâ You whined as you caught your breath.Â
âCome here,â He whispered as pulled out and he laid down beside you, pulling you into his damp, but warm chest for a cuddle. You curled up against him in no time.Â
He panted, still catching his breath. âI think you deserve the t-shirt.â
You chuckled, still lust-drunk. âI think you deserve a second date.â
