hi everyone! welcome to my blog! my blog/writings are very much nsfw, so please exercise caution while traversing through the stacks.
i am currently writing for stranger things & dc, but i may write for other things in the future if the inspiration comes to me.
requests are currently closed.
rules for requests
18+ characters or aged up only, no m/m, but f/m & f/f rock on
if your request will not get written, i will send you a message privately explaining why, if not anon. if anon, my response will need to be public, sorry:( if declined, feel free to rework and send to me again! if i will write it, i wont send a message right away, but i will notify you as soon as itās posted/will be written on the post.
please specify what character you would like the request for, any plot points you would like to see included, and fic type (oneshot, blurb, etc.)
please be patient with me as i am in law school and donāt have much time to write! thank u!
aside from requests, my ask box is always open
happy haunting ā”
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masterlist
most recent work: right your wrongs (jason todd x reader)
summary: You took something from Jason. He wants it back.
word count: 6.9k
t/w: 18+ no use of y/n, cnc, roleplaying, cursing, kidnapping, blood, violence, hitting, fear, torture, threats, references to death and murder, hair pulling, manhandling, degradation, extreme dom/sub dynamics, power imbalance, gunplay, coercion, oral (m), unprotected p in v (remember what lil wayne said), slapping, biting, knife play, choking, breath play, rough sex (no seriously like it's not cute), orgasm denial, overstimulation, squirting, rushed aftercare (sorry i ran out of juice towards the end)
a/n: do not read if you are uncomfortable with any of the warnings! this for all u freaks out there <3
this was not beta read, so please ignore any grammatical or structural typos hehe
[divider credit: i lost the op, feel free to lmk if you know where it's from!]
masterlist
You woke abruptly to the feeling of something tangled in your hair, pulling your head back harshly as frigid liquid rolled down your face. Pain shot down the back of your head, sharp and biting.
You winced at both the pain and the sudden shock of ice. A soft groan fell from your lips as your eyes peeled themselves open, ultimately shrinking closed again in response to the assault of a lamp pointed in your face. It felt like you were waking up on a weekend, still groggy from the late night before, while the sun beat on your face from a crack in the blinds.Ā
The taste of something metallic lingered on your lips, mixing with the liquid stuck to your face (which was very much not water) as you spit it out onto whatever lay in front of you. Ā
Your eyes took their time to adjust to the light, burning and blurry from whatever it was that you couldnāt wipe away. You were tied to a chair, arms snug in restrains behind your back. You didnāt need to see to figure as much- the way your body tugged on itself as you coughed out the burning liquid that had traveled down your throat was evidence enough of your immobility. Ā
Your captor released you with a deep inhale, something clattering beside you as if tossed from his hands with little care. Heavy steps made their way to your front as you gathered yourself, your eyes finally adjusting enough to make out a large figure blocking the light.Ā
A black, skunk-striped mop of hair caught your attention first, a small smile forming on your lips as you realized who stood before you.Ā
āHiya, Jay,ā you croaked out. Your head felt too heavy for your neck as you peered up at him. Slowly, his features started to come together. You looked him in the eyes, ones usually so full of hurt and sorrow, only to be met in anger- blazing anger. Your smile lost its potency as a slight pang of fear shot through you. It seemed as though you would soon discover what it meant to be on the Red Hoodās shit list.Ā
He did not return your smile.
His imposing figure towered over you. No matter how confident you were in your ability to escape the situation alive, he had the type of stance that made you naturally want to cower away, pushing yourself deeper into the plastic chair that dug uncomfortably against your back. He was fucking scary like this. Terrifying, really. And with an offensively low chair budget.Ā
When he spoke his voice rumbled with irritation, cutting sharply into the silence of whatever safe-house he had dragged you to.
āWhere is it.āĀ
He spoke his question as a statement, as though to note that he already knew you had done what you would soon be accused of doing. Standardly, there was a sort of art to interrogation. A hard hand here, a sly question there. There would usually be some back and forth before the accusations started flowing, a bit of foreplay, if you would. You had to play with your toys a bit, warm them up for the heavy stuff.Ā
However, Jason wasnāt in the mood for games, it seemed. Always no-nonsense. Boring!
Not one to give in easily, you played along. You cocked your head to the side in feigned ignorance. āWhereās what?ā
He was most definitely referring to the flash-drive you had swiped from him, the one containing lots of important things about lots of important people, very conveniently sitting in your bedside table at home. What a small world.Ā
He had grown tired of your shit quickly as his hand returned to your hair. You let out a small whimper as he pulled your head back, his free hand coming up to squeeze tightly at your jaw. His thumbs made harsh indents into the plush skin of your cheeks, as the pain and pressure hitting your skull at different angles made you want to scream.Ā
āDonāt fuckinā play stupid with me.ā He squeezed and pulled harder, enough that you were certain heād taken some of your hair with him.Ā
You choked out a response through a stretched jaw, ultimately sounding more like a collection of vowels than words, āI donāt have it.ā You tried your best to plead with him through your eyes, filling them with faux confusion and fear.Ā
His nose barely brushed yours as he inspected your face for any hint of betrayal. It was clear what he thought of your performance as he sneered at you in disgust.
Although still young, you wouldnāt consider yourself green when it came to successfully faking your way through interrogations. Youād experienced your fair share of beatings over the years and had learned the tricks of deceit better than most street criminals youād encountered. You could hold your own well enough around the streets of Gotham. Well enough to support your lifestyle, at least.Ā
Unfortunately for you, Jason was not a street criminal. In actuality, Jason was quite the opposite of a street criminal. He was a specially trained combatant, highly lethal, and with as little remorse left in his heart as would ensure it stayed beating. He was dangerous and overly experienced. Most importantly, he could sniff out your act from a mile away.Ā
He had probably known as it was happening- hell, he'd probably let you steal it. Just so he could fill his Tuesday night with chasing you down and having someone to hurt. The motherfucker probably got off on it.Ā
He released your head with a frustrated grunt, allowing you to stretch out the aching pain in your jaw.
Before you could process any movements, Jason pulled out a sleek black pistol and nestled it against your temple. The cool metal soothed your inflamed skin, but Jason was trigger-happy enough to raise some alarm bells in your head.
"Jason," you let out an awkward chuckle, straining your eyes to meet his without turning your head further into the gun, "I-I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about."
He pulled the slide back in response, loading the weapon against your skull.
You were beginning to panic slightly, fidgeting uncomfortably in the godforsaken chair. The restraints against your arms and legs were tight, allowing for little wiggle room, although not for your lack of trying.
"Jason, please," you begged, voice wavering. "I don't have what you're looking for."
Jason was a man with little patience on a good day, and a good day it was not. He needed you to talk- it was not in question whether or not you'd taken the flash-drive; he just needed to know where you'd put it.
He removed the gun from your temple and aimed it towards the ceiling. Without hesitation, a round went off with a bang, shaking you to your core. You flinched violently at the sound, ears ringing with the remnants of the fired shot. Tears welled up in your eyes in fear as your confidence slipped away. Jason Todd's true danger was becoming apparent.
"I won't ask you again." He spoke with deadly calm, a sharp contrast to the bullet he'd just put through the ceiling.
While you were scared of what he would do to you, the thought of what he would do to you once you admitted what you'd done was worse. You were in too deep. Even in your final moments, you'd be nothing if not prideful.
"Please, Jason. I swear, please, I didnt- " the words caught in your throat, small and beady tears rolling out the corners of your eyes as you shook your head.
A blinding, white-hot pain shoots through your cheek as your head swings to the side. The familiar metallic taste filled your mouth, which youād now recognized to be blood.
Heād hit you straight in the jaw.
Your face became stuck in a silent scream, fighting to unclench your jaw as it throbbed through the tension.
You were crying in earnest now, fat drops of salty water making their way down your face in consequence. You usually could get by with a bit of pain, but it was your fear of Jason that caused you the most distress.
"Jason, p-," a bloody glob of spit fell to the floor beside you, "please. I'm sorry, I didn't-" You pleaded the best you could, doubling your previous efforts in an attempt to save you from whatever else this psychotic man was capable of.
His hand returned to your hair as you let out a sob, scrunching your eyes closed on reflex. "I don't fucking believe you," he growled from somewhere up above.
All your cockiness had crumbled. He'd stripped you down to your bare and basic fears, leaving you to fend for yourself with nothing more than an instinct to survive. He was colossal, towering over you with a rugged dominance. He probably had enough strength in a pinkie to take you down entirely on attempt to escape.
You were so fucked.
His grip tightened again, sharp and hot. The ice of the gun returned, this time on your lower jaw, offering a sort-of fucked up relief to the hot skin. You imagined it would bruise up dreadfully in a couple days, if you managed to survive.
"Here's what's gonna happen- you wanna hear what's gonna happen?" A tighter squeeze.
You choked out a sob, far too consumed by adrenaline to give a comprehensible answer.
It seemed as he was unhappy with your lack of appropriate response. To demand an answer, he gripped your hair impossibly tight and shook your head in ways that resembled a 'no' or a 'yes', tugging on your neck uncomfortably. "Answer me," his voice raised.
His aggression sent you right back to your feeble state of self-preservation, desperate to keep the stings away.
"Y-yes, I do." You nodded as much as he allowed with his hand in your scalp, opening your watery eyes again.
Satisfied temporarily, he relaxed his grip, if only slightly. He acknowledged your response with a spit of his own on the ground, then teetered your head back to meet his big brown eyes.
"You want to prove to me that you didn't do it- want me to believe you, huh?" You nodded again with a wince.
He chuckled humorously. "Thing is, sweetheart, I don't believe you. You're a lying whore." Another sob.
"Please-" you began.
"Shut up, I'm not done." His tone commanded obedience, his scream shaking you to your core and effectively shutting you up.
"Here's what we're gonna do, okay? You're going to prove to me, convince me, that you didn't do it- that you're a good girl, yeah? You're gonna try your fucking best. If by the end, I still don't believe you, I'm going to kill you."
Panic shot through you, and you could do nothing else but cry distastefully at the thought of your life in his hands, just mere minutes, hours, days, from ceasing.
"You wanna die?" He asked, deadly serious. You took too long to respond again, resulting in another shake of your head, "you wanna die?"
"No-o, Jason, no." A plea.
"Open your mouth," he ordered. You were dumbstruck for a moment, caught off guard by his sudden ask. However shocking the statement, however, you did as you were told. He'd spare you if you were good.
He stared at you for a second, observing your compliance with a blank face. Slowly, the barrel of his gun began to trace from your jaw, to your chin, to the curve of your bottom lip. You watched him with wide, horrified eyes, knowing what he wished to do next.
Your panic only increased as you felt the cold metal touch your tongue, the bitter taste of gunpowder in its wake. Soon enough, the entire barrel was nested neatly between your plush lips, buried in your mouth. Your eyes clenched closed again, another heap of tears falling as soft moans of resistance escaped from around the gun.
"Look at me, look at me."
You heeded his command, a slight pang of fear shooting through you at the darkness his eyes held. You werenāt safe- you were tied to a chair with nowhere to run, fully and completely at his mercy.
āSuck.ā Another dry order.
You looked at him dumbfounded for several moments, the grip on your scalp limiting your range of motion. When you didnāt move right away, he became impatient and used your hair to move your head up and down on the pistol.
You gagged slightly as he hit the back of your throat, eyes filling with a new set of tears. You could do nothing but watch as he used your mouth to fulfill whatever sick fantasy he had. He, similarly, was fully engrossed in how the weapon would retreat from your mouth with a slick sheen around it.
"Atta girl, there y'go. Get it clean- ās your fault I had to use it, huh? Clean it.ā
The slight praise sent something through you, but whatever it was, it was overshadowed by terror. How long until he got tired of this game? How long did you have left alive?
āUse your tongue or I pull the trigger.ā
Up until this point, your tongue had laid dormant at the bottom of your mouth, afraid that moving it without permission would make him angry, or in contrast, make him believe you wanted more. You werenāt willing to offer anything more than you had to.
Timidly, you moved your tongue to swirl the tip of the barrel, wincing slightly at the bitter flavor of gunpowder. You kept your eyes on him as you did, knowing thatās what he wanted to see. Fucking bastard.
Slowly, the act became a distraction. You were focused on running your tongue around as much of the gun as you could, and soon your heart began to settle and your tears dried up. You were still in danger, but if you behaved he seemed to lean towards leniency.
You hated that it helped how he kept speaking to you, in a low gruffly voice. Bits of praise here, a degrading comment there. While the seconds passed, you felt as sick as him for liking it as much as you did.
Drool dripped out of the corner of your mouth as you worked, Jasonās constant thrusting allowing you no room to swallow.
āLook at you, fucking nasty. Knew youād like this shit. Gonna have to do better than that- cāmon, baby, you owe me.ā
He pulled the gun out of your mouth with a trail of spit and you choked on air, oxygen filling your needy lungs. Your scalp was hot with the aftershock of pain. In his mercy, he gave you a second to calm down, sputtering through spit and deep breaths.
He tossed the gun carelessly, watching it skip on the concrete floor. Relief washed over you- at least now he couldnāt shoot you. He could still kill you, though, with just his hands.
Suddenly, the air got cold again. What now? Your brain began to rack through the endless possibilities of what awaited you, pushing the horrible, obvious answers towards the back of your mind.
āThink you can do better than that, yeah, yeah you can.ā He repeated, more to himself than anything.
You watched him nervously as he moved closer to you, his shins brushing your knees. His hands moved down to unbuckle his belt patiently, deliberately slow. He made a show of pulling the strap through the loop, stretching it out, and unbuckling it so that it fell to his sides freely. You simmered in your nerves until they almost about bubbled over, shaking your head frantically as you realized what he wanted.
His hand returned to your head, stifling your movement, but this time he didnāt grip. It rested on the backside, a firm presence to guide you without inflicting anymore pain. He widened his legs to fit around yours and stepped forward, your face now leveled closely to his crotch.
āYou fuckinā owe me. Yeah, baby, you do.ā Your eyes widened at the implication, looking up at him to confirm what you knew he wanted you to do. āGonna be good? Yāhave a lot to prove.ā
āJason, please- no, please donāt make me.ā You begged, trying to shake your head out of his grip. A fruitless endeavor.
You didnāt want that. Sure, youād fucked up, but youād rather die with some dignity still left than to be used for his pleasure. He was a monster, fucked in the head and depraved. Youād rather he hurt you- youād endure it. The cuts would eventually heal, but this- this would stay with you forever.
His pushed your head forward to nuzzle your face into the outline of his cock protruding from his dark jeans, effectively shutting you up. He felt huge, and you accepted that your bruised jaw would feel infinitely worse once he was done with you. You hated him.
He let out a low groan from above you, pushing you against him in earnest now, dragging your face up and down and side to side on his bulge.
Your tears were soaking through his pants, the material too dark to tell. You felt so helpless- forced to play a game for your life in which being good meant allowing him to deprave you for his contentment. It was sick.
He was growing visibly impatient, moving your head sloppily against him as his hips rolled into your face.
He stepped away from you abruptly, as though he couldn't waste another second with your face pressed up against him. You jerked your head away from his hand as quickly as you could, but it wasn't met with punishment.
He took advantage of his free hand to unbutton his pants, pulling the zipper down harshly. In one fell swoop, he pulled down the constricting fabric of his pants and underwear, releasing his flushed cock from its confines.
If you thought he felt big through his pants, ho ho. Jason Todd's cock was a masterpiece, and a small part of you wished you could've experienced it under better circumstances.
If you hadn't already noticed, it was extremely clear that Jason enjoyed hurting you, judging by the way his tip was angrily red, desperate and leaking. He was buzzing with need, hands returning to your hair to form a misshaped ponytail.
Your eyes filled with newly formed tears at the sight of him. He looked like an animal- dangerous and hungry. He looked down at you with eyes nearly black with want. His grip on your hair tugged you closer to his cock, the tip tapping your lips expectantly.
You eyes gave their final plead for mercy. Another futile attempt.
"Open your mouth. I won't ask you again."
Feeling as though you'd lost the battle completely, you had no choice but to oblige. You weren't too keen at giving him a reason to follow through with any more threats.
As soon as you'd opened wide enough, Jason pushed your head down, meeting half-way with his hips. Your eyes widened at the feeling of his size in your mouth. Immediately, your jaw began to ache.
He was so heavy on your tongue, the smooth skin of his shaft against your tastebuds. He tasted faintly on sweat, but the intrusion sent an involuntary flutter through your core.
"S-shit," he groaned as the warm walls of your throat enveloped him. "Knew you wanted to live- shit."
He was so big you could barely take him all. A small ring of skin remained untouched at the bottom of his shaft, connecting to a trimmed patch of dark hair at his navel. You felt him nestled against the back of your throat as you contained a gag, saliva pooling in your mouth.
With more care than you expected from him, he slowly began inching in and out of your mouth, fucking himself with your face.
His brief stint of affection quickly vanished, however, as his thrusts picked up speed. You were choking in earnest now every time his cock hit the back of your throat. It felt like he was trying to fuck through you, wishing nothing more than to impale your head on his cock.
You gurgled out a surprised yelp as he threw his head back, strands of black hair falling onto his forehead. Your eyes watered for different reasons this time as the gagging continued.
"Fuckin' good girl-knew you needed this shit," Jason punched out, not ceasing his assault on your mouth. You felt his balls against your chin as your eyes blurred, fighting back the urge to vomit.
He pulled away briefly, a line of spit connecting your lips to his now even redder cock. You choked in as much air as you could, coughing occasionally on your own saliva.
After allowing you a couple seconds to breathe, he pushed back in, resuming his brutal pace.
"Still haven't forgotten- fuck- what y'took from me," he said. "Y'weren't being so good then."
He pulled your head back slightly to meet your eyes. He towered above you, his broad shoulders blocking the light from the lamp as he thrusted in you.
"Yeah," he nodded, condescendingly. "Need to make you work for it."
One of his large hands released your hair and pinched your nose, effectively cutting off your last available air supply. Your eyes practically grew out of your head while you yelped in protest.
You couldn't breathe, and at the expense of your panic, Jason threw his head back and let out a deliciously low moan, fucking himself deeper into your mouth.
Your chest burned at the lack of oxygen, eyes slowly drooping as it made you woozy. Your body buzzed, gurgling lightly against his cock.
You could still feel him in the back of your throat when he pulled away. You took longer gasps of air than you'd ever thought possible, feeling like you were just pulled out of a cold pool.
Again, he only allowed you a couple seconds to breathe. Not enough to fill your lungs completely, but enough to prevent you from passing out. He was dangling you on the precipice of death. It was torture.
"Such'a pretty fuckin' mouth," he groaned through his teeth.
His fingers returned to your nostrils, his other hand around your throat now. You knew he could feel himself through the thin skin of your throat and you didn't know how to take that.
His frequent moans drowned out the sound of your choking, and you could tell he was close by the way his thrusts were becoming more erratic.
Your chest was burning again. He was pushing you harder this time, and you could tell. Your body twitched against the restraints in an effort to pull yourself away. He only gripped tighter in response.
Your eyes rolled back as your vision danced with black dots. If it weren't for his grip on your throat, your head would've dropped straight back. You tried to take a breath as he pulled out, but it only caused you to breathe in spit.
"F-fuck, sweetheart," he thrusted a few more times before releasing your nose, warm steaks painting the inside of your cheeks. He pushed his cum back into the back of your throat as he thrusted through the aftershocks. You cringed at the liquid trailing down, heaving against it.
He tasted of salt and musk, and you swallowed through your coughing fit without incident. He probably expected it of you.
You were gasping for air when he pulled out, salty tears mixing with the taste of blood and cum in your mouth.
He let out some shallow, heavy breaths as he tucked himself back into his pants, wincing slightly in sensitivity.
You gaped at him silently, begging- no, willing him to end this.
He broke your heart when he spoke: āI donāt believe you,ā Jason concluded.
Panic simmered in you again. āPlease Jason- I donāt know what else I can do, I swear-I- I donāt know where it is.ā You spoke hoarsely, shaking your head, the lingering taste in your mouth silently reminding you that there was always more you could do.
He scoffed out a beautiful laugh, looking down at your pouting eyes condescendingly.
āTell me where it is and this stops.ā
You weighed the possibility of telling him. His reputation suggested that he would punish you regardless of if you disclosed the location of the flash-drive or not, so it didnāt give you much of a choice.
If he was going to hurt you anyway, might as well get a pretty penny for your suffering.
āI swear, I donāt know where it is.ā
āRight,ā he turned around to face the table behind him, which was littered with what seemed to be various weapons and restraints, scanning for his preferred toy.
When he returned to you holding a small paring knife, you began to cry for the umpteenth time that night.
Since guns were more likely to kill someone during attempted use during interrogation, they were usually not a popular tool for inflicting physical harm. Knives, however, could cause almost any desired amount of pain without the lethal ramifications of its automated counterpart.
While you were scared when Jason brought out his gun, you were not positive that he would actually use it. The knife, on the other hand, was much more probable.
āSince I still donāt believe you,ā he noted, dismissing your previous attempt at convincing him otherwise with a tone that made him sound almost bored. āYouāre going to continue to prove yourself.ā
Jason stalked towards you menacingly. He got close enough to brush the tip of the knife against your bottom lip, nicking it with dangerous precision.
A small whimper left your now crimson lips. Fear bubbled up again, but you knew there was no where you could go.
āIām sorry,ā there it was- an admission, coaxed from you in response to fear and danger.
āPlease, Iāll do anythi- anything. Just donāt...ā your voice wavered off, meek in the presence of his stoicism.
He ticked his tongue in response, cooing at you softly, like how a father would try and divert a petulant child, āI know you will, sweetheart. So youāll do this.ā
He left no room for conversation.
Right as you thought he would slice you again, he dropped down to your feet, slid the knife between the rope and your leg, and cut it free.
You watched him, confusion evident as you tried to piece together what was happening. You stayed deathly still as he released you, worried that a breath in the wrong direction would result in the blade finding its home right in your femoral artery.
The ropes dropped uselessly to the floor.
He stood up with a grunt, walking behind you until you could only feel his body heat pressed up against your arms on the back of the chair.
With a free hand he grabbed your throat, holding you down firmly with light pressure. You swallowed against his palm as he sliced through the ropes on your wrists, freeing you completely.
Your breath stalled against his hand. No way he was letting you go, not in a million years.
Your brain wasnāt working correctly. The feeling of freedom was so overwhelming, you hadnāt the time to think about what you were doing before you did it.
Quickly, your nails made way into the flesh of Jasonās arm, piercing the skin and leaving tiny red cuts along his bicep and forearm. He grunted in pain, tightening his grip around your neck.
A scream escaped you as you kicked your legs, your body moving so wildly it was causing the cheap plastic chair to tilt on its sides.
You managed a couple good punches, none of which he reacted to, before he raised you up by your neck, dragged you towards the wall, and slammed you against it so hard you saw stars.
You screamed gutturally in pain, flailing yourself uselessly against him in pointless action.
āShut up,ā he growled, slamming his hand on the wall beside you. He gripped your airway tighter in an attempt to muffle your noise, but you were hardheaded enough to keep it up.
Jason was growing increasingly agitated, his eyes violent at your disobedience.
He managed to catch your wrists in his hand, pressing them hard against your stomach, never releasing your throat in the process. You were bound once more.
As he pushed himself against you, effectively trapping your hands between your bodies, he stilled your thrashing jaw, and kissed you.
With enough force to nearly knock out a tooth, Jason kissed you, the delicious tang of your bloody lips entering his mouth.
You were too shocked to continue screaming, attention completely captured by how Jasonās lips moved against yours; how your teeth clashed against each others in a desperate chase of cat and mouse; and how, disgustingly, you found yourself kissing back.
Jason, in contrast, found himself letting out the loudest noise he had all night. Once your taste entered his system, his chest rumbled with the deep, devastating moan that poured through him.
Ever so true to himself, he even kissed torturously. He would nip at your cut, making you cry out into his mouth. Once he drank up your cries, heād run his tongue against the cut soothingly, showing you the first kindness of the entire night. You were getting whiplash. You didnāt know what he would do next- would he offer a petal or a thorn? The thought had you positively reeling, stuck in nervous anticipation of his next move.
Sickeningly, your lips began to chase his. You hated yourself for matching his rhythm, especially since heād forced you to do this.
It seemed that once he noticed you getting too comfortable, he just had to pull the rug out from under you. With blinding speed, he stepped back, spinning you around and pressing your face against the cold concrete wall.
āPretty lilā thing,ā he spoke lowly in your ear. Your hands had made their way to your back, pressed against his firm figure behind you. āYou owe me this.ā
He kicked your legs open, nesting his thigh between them. You were trapped at all angles. His free hand made its way down to your pants, making quick work of your buttons with the skill only a predator could have.
āN-no, no Jason please, donāt do this,ā you croaked from against the wall, your voice meek. His intentions caused another embarrassing round of tears to start, but this time they were of anger, not of fear.
āYou fuckinā did this,ā he countered, dragging your pants and panties down your thighs.
The feeling of cold air on your bare core did nothing to soothe your burning body. Your muscles ached and burned, throbbing in random places.
āJason,ā you pled, feeling him free himself from behind you, resting his soft member on the curve of your ass. The sound of his belt hitting the floor distracted you enough to not hear him spitting in his hand, spreading the wetness on his cock.
āCome and I'll kill you.ā
With that, he lined himself up with your aching, wet heat and thrust in.
You braced yourself for the pain his size would surely cause with such little lubricant, but you surprised yourself when he went in smoothly. Your body had betrayed you. Your pussy sucked him in like a lush stream, with no discomfort besides the delicious stretch of his girth.
āFuck, baby,ā he groaned as he bottom out, aching cock finally engulfed in your soothing heat. Your face was stuck in a silent moan, too blindsided to make any real sounds.
He pulled out slightly before rutting into you, rubbing the head of his cock against your cervix.
A groan was punched from your chest, āOh my G-uhhh,ā
Your vocalizations seemed to spur him on. He quickly unsheathed himself only to push roughly back in, soon building up a brutal pace that had you rocking forward against the concrete.
"J-Jason, please, oh," you didn't know what you were begging for- relief, release, it didn't matter. The worst part was how good it felt, and instead of the pleasure bringing you peace, it only made you more panicked. You had no idea how long you would last with Jason fucking you so disgustingly good, and he made a promise on what would happen should you come.
Relief, you finally decided, that's what you needed. Relief from his relentless thrusts that were pitching you straight towards that release.
You wiggled your bottom, willing yourself to press further into the concrete to escape his assault. In your sheer stupidity, the slight change in angle only drove his cock deeper, hitting a spot inside you that you didn't even know existed.
Stars swirled behind your eyelids, and you dropped your head back into his shoulder with a wide mouth.
"Can't fucking run," he growled in your ear through grit teeth, "you did this, now take it."
He used his grip on your wrist to pull you back against him, meeting his already powerful thrusts with as much force as could be produced at the hands of Jason Todd. Your ass smacked thwok against his meaty thighs, the sound filling the room alongside your fucked out cries.
"N-no, Jason please, don' wanna come," you cried.
You were barreling towards it, no longer a matter of if, but when. You would die in a matter of seconds, if Jason was good on his word.
He stilled for a moment, and you almost sobbed in relief. If you had an ounce more respect for him, hell, you would've thanked him. But before you could enjoy your reprieve to its fullest, he spoke:
"Listen to me and hold it."
You impending orgasm had not fully dissipated, and thus his moment of mercy was rendered absolute once he began moving again. The break had been so brief, it barely had no use at all. He didn't care about how you felt, he just wanted to prove that he held your life in his hands. Come or don't, he decides. Live or die.
His pace was ruthless and his stamina never ending. You had stopped realizing the thrusts all together, as his consistency with force and speed blended all the sensations together, until you didn't know when the pleasure started or stopped.
"I've been good, pl- tried to prove, fuuuck," a pit of dread rose inside you as your orgasm grew in tandem.
"Fuckin' prove it then. Be good and hold it." His neck dropped to the crook of yours and began to leave hot, wet, opened-mouth kisses on your jugular. His teeth nipped at your skin, leaving tiny red welts in their wake. The combination of pain and pleasure was lusciously addictive, and it ashamed you at how badly you wanted it.
You were done for the moment he brushed the side of your ear with his soft tongue. Your thighs clenched up, sucking him in. His arm flew to your waist as your legs failed you on shaky feet. The orgasm was powerful, hitting you all at once everywhere, overtaking every sense of anything you had left.
He fucked you through it, blackening your vision. The stars behind your eyes transformed into fireworks and created the most mind-bending visuals while your body floated in ecstasy.
Your mouth spilled out nonsense as you came. You were constricting him through the aftershocks, and Jason had to do everything in his power not to blow right then.
He bit you through the tail-end, right on the shoulder, never relenting in the way his cock tired to pummel through you. "Can't ever, shit, ever listen."
"How was that? You liked that shit?" He grunted.
Another stupid moan.
"Speak." The hand from around your waist reached down to land a sharp smack on your ass, which sent you right into action.
"Yes, so good, mph, soso good," your nod scraped the concrete, feeling nothing but agreeable in your state.
"Well enjoy it- the rest are gonna hurt." He was furious. If you wanted to come so badly to go on and defy him, then you would keep coming. If he couldn't stop you , he would make sure you did it so much you would learn to hate it.
"H-huh?" You panicked slightly. The rest? What rest?
With that, his hand reached over to your aching, leaking cunt, and placed his finger directly on your sensitive nub. With learned precision, he lifted your hood and began rubbing small, stiff circles directly on your clit.
You overstimulation was immediate. Your pussy spasmed involuntarily as white-hot pleasure shocked through you. You were being pushed to your limits, unable to stop the pressure at your core from growing.
"Jason, I don't-," you knew this feeling. Each swirl of his fingers was more unbearable, until you felt like a dam ready to burst.
Liquid gushed from your cunt, wetting your legs and his in your juices. You poor pussy weeped in response to his torture, brining all your pleasure to a tipping point.
"You're such a fucking slut," he scoffed out a laugh, eyes never leaving the mess you'd made. "This what you wanted?"
His fingers never stopped, timed perfectly with his thrusts.
You had barely any mind left to speak. "Jay, c'mon- please, uh," you whined. He smelled like musk and sweat against you, caging you in his large body as you writhed in overstimulation.
"No, take it," he repeated, trying to ward off his own orgasm against your beautiful cries.
You choked on a scream as another orgasm rolled through you, this one coming as a building wave, destroying through everything in its path.
This comedown was devastating, as you lost all strength in your limbs. Jason was fully holding you up at this point, his thrusts nearing the point of accidental sloppiness.
"Tha's it, there y'go," he mumbled into your hair, almost sweetly. "Good fuckin' girl, doin' s'good."
You mewled against him, feeling the embers of another orgasm growing in heat. You twitched uselessly against him as he chased his own release. "Can't, Jay, can't again," you shook your head.
He grunted in disapproval, working you faster. "You can, gimme one more,"
"No," you wailed, the fire growing bigger. Maybe this is how he planned to kill you, by sending your whole body up in flames under his touch. The pleasure twisted with pain, involuntary jerks attacking your body.
Jason was crumbling. "One more, tha's it, pretty girl, jus' one more," he drove into you deeper as you collapsed, desperate to feel you come around him once more time.
You might as well had been set on fire. You felt every nerve ending explode into a million tiny specks of glass as you came, somehow finding their way into your veins and shocking you cold.
Jason got two more thrusts in before you clenched impossibly around him, no sooner had he pulled out than ropes of warm cum shot into the small of your back.
The sound that rumbled through him was beautiful, if you'd any mind left to hear it. Waves of pleasure rolled through him forcefully, only exaggerated by how good you looked under him.
"Holy fuck, baby," he choked out, breathing heavily through the waves, one hand bracing the wall in front of you.
Since his grip had loosened, you found yourself sliding down the wall, no longer able to hold yourself up.
"A-are we done?" You whispered meekly, eyes closed and crumpled to the floor. Exhausted, you didn't realize Jason had scooped you into his large arms until you could no longer feel the ground at your feet.
"Yeah baby, we're done. Iām sorry. Yādid so good for me," he kissed the top of your head as he led you out of the garage and into your home, "my perfect girl."
You nuzzled your face into his neck, mumbling softly, "tired."
He gripped you firmly, holding you close. You must've weighed nothing in his arms. "I know, Iām sorry. I shouldnāt have hurt you like that."
He felt horrible at how he unleashed unto you what he'd worked so hard to store away. He tried desperately to separate his violence from you, but his protests were useless. He knew there was nothing in this world he wouldn't do for you- especially when you asked nicely.
You snorted lightly at his comment. "Oh hush, I liked it. You did too." And you were confident in that. Jason needed to let go sometimes, in a controlled environment where he could play out whatever sick and twisted fantasy tickled his fancy.
Every couple of months, when things were particularly bad out in the streets, you would approach Jason with an open heart and made-up mind. He never asked you for any of this, but you knew how badly he needed it.
You didn't mind- you relished in it, actually. You loved the things he did to you, and you would be lying if you said you didn't need it, too. The sense of his sheer power over you, and the reminder that he'd never once used it against you, was enough to make you fall in-love with him ten times over.
You had a safe-word for whenever things got too rough, but you rarely used it. You knew he'd always take care of you.
"Yeah, maybe. Don't get used to it, sweets. You're too good for this shit. Let me wash you up and I'll order dinner." You could feel the disapproval in his tone.
You hummed noncommittally, imagining the warmth of the water on your sore muscles.
synopsisDr J makes the hospital famous with her tiktoks and, especially robby and jack. robby has something to say about what everyone thinks of him. (4.8k words)
warningsheavy smut. MDNI. This is all about this man eating pussy. oral (f receiving) slight fingering, robby's got something to prove, face sitting, come eating? if you squint, language, slight jealous robby
authornotes this is completely based of that meme i saw that i'll put below because i know what its trying to say but as a Robby girl I've got to defend my man (jack abbott though can also get it anyday) i dont know if i'm proud of this, i just have so many ideas that they all clump up and come out as barf but i hope you like (gif credits to @timothyolyphant :)
pitt masterlist! Another Robby fic!
Robby went to you first because he didnāt understand what it meant and if he were to go to any of the younger residents or students theyād make fun of him. He didn't know what he had been staring at but he knew his residents.
You might tease him to but your teasing he could take, and if he really felt like it, make you regret in his bed later. After all he all but signed up for it when you started dating six months ago.
Guy who berates you for not making dinner, vs guy who eats it for dinner? Robby didnāt get it- at least he hoped he didnāt.
āHey,ā he said, sliding up next to you.
You didnāt bat a lash. āHey yourself.ā
āI need your opinion.ā
You were still distracted on your charting, even as you said: āYes, Robby, green does bring out your eyes.ā
āWhat? No,ā he said with a frown. He caged your body in, leaning is arm over you at the counter. āYou're young.ā
āThat's why you like me, right?ā
Robby hummed. He looked over you, making a mental list of all the reasons he loved you. āYeah, sure, one of the reasons, so what do you think this means?ā
He handed his phone over to you and finally you looked away from the charting to consider it. He watched as you read the text and saw the grainy pictures, one of him and another of Abbott, screenshots of them in backgrounds.. You didn't have to slide on any glasses or pull the phone away from you to see clearly.
Slowly, a grin broke out.
āOh,ā you chuckled.
Robby wasn't laughing and when you looked at him you realised that.
āIt's nothing, it's just some meme,ā you said, handing him back the phone.
Javadi had been gaining more attraction with her TikTok. She gave health advice with the background of the Pitt as her scene. It wasn't her fault- not really- if followers caught wind of the drama, friendships and hot men that worked there.
Her loyal followers had already deemed Santos as 'a hard exterior but caring soul', Whitaker with a 'heart of gold', and you 'the eldest daughter type.'
And they labelled attendings Robby and Abbott as DILFS.
Apparently they'd already explored how the two doctors would be in the bedroom.
āOkay,ā he said, slowly sinking down to his knees in front of you as you swivelled your stool to face him. āBut what does it mean?ā
There was something hesitant in your gaze. The amused purse of your lips as you tried to stop a laugh and the light in your eyes. If you found it funny at his expense- which he had a feeling you were- he at least wanted to know what it meant.
You clearly thought he was joking. āYou want to know what it means?ā
He nodded.
āI can tell you at home?ā
Robby let the words sink in, the fact you were undoubtedly referring to his place as home. But he didn't want to go home with you and this terrible feeling that everyone was laughing at him for reasons he didn't know why.
āOkay,ā you said, holding his hands as if you were delivering bad news. āIt means- and it's just Javadi's followers that think this and have clearly made this- that they think Jack is .... a more attentive lover.ā
You chose your words carefully.
ā 'Eat it for dinner',ā you continued. āIs a reference to how guys-ā
Instead of saying anything you gave him a look and he gave you one back.
You sighed. āThey think Jack eats pussy better than you.ā
Robby didn't know what he was thinking but he wasn't sure it was ... that.
āI have a patient that's diaphoretic so I should probably-ā
With little else to say you left your boyfriend kneeling, patting him on the shoulder as you went.
You could practically feel Robby distracted all day.
Every time you passed by the nurses area to go from one patient to another, he was there. Either sitting at the counter, head in hand and mindlessly looking through the computer or he was standing and listening to anything the one next to him was saying but you had a feeling he wasn't so much paying attention.
āIs Doctor Robby, okay?ā asked Javadi. She was presenting a case to you, typically she went to you or McKay. You were sure she only went to you now as Cassy had the day off.
āOh yeah, he's fine,ā you said. It was no secret to anyone that you and Robby were dating, though you kept it professional around the ED. āJust TikTok, you know.ā
Javadi smirked. āTikTok?ā
āYeah, yours.ā
The smirk dampened and her eyes widened in the sort of frightened puppy way. She started stuttering over her words.
āRelax, he's not angry. At least not at you just what people are saying,ā you said.
āWhat-what people are saying?ā asked Javadi. āBut everyone thinks he's hot. Really! They-they love Abbott and Robby. Seriously, people even ship them. Not that they don't like you and Robby, no they're obsessed.ā
For a second you were intrigued.
In a way, maybe that should have have made you jealous or annoyed that everyone was finding him to be handsome and wanting a piece of him but if anything it made you proud. It made you want to hang off his arm.
āSome people are saying some things, nothing harmful.ā
And also certainly none of their business how he ate you out at nights.
āOh my god, I can totally tell them to stop, I can take the videos down, and I'll-I'll stop filming in here-ā she stammered out.
āIt's okay, don't worry,ā you assured with a smile. āGet a CT and run blood toxics and come find me with the results.ā
You found Robby exactly where you expected to find him, staring at the patient board without reading.
You didnāt even have time to greet him before he was speaking.
He jerked his head. āCome see a patient with me.ā
So Robby led you off to exam room three, where an empty bed was made and no monitors were on. Even the lights were dimmed down low.
Robby pulled the curtains over and closed the door.
āIs the patient invisible?ā You turned to Robby but hardly had time to see him before he was on you. His hands were on your hips, keeping you into him and his head ducked as he kissed you. He groaned into it, the forceful nature of his kiss having you stumbling back.
You couldn't help but kiss him back. When he started, there was no stopping. Even if you were in the hospital and desperate to keep it professional.
You shook your head, his lips moving with the movement. āNu-uh.ā
āWhat?ā his hands came up to cup your cheeks, voice muffled with his not letting go of you.
āYou're not kissing me cause people think Jack gives better head,ā you said against his lips.
There was a noise of protest in Robby's throat.
āCruel woman.ā
Your hands slid up to his chest. āWait- Michael.ā
He brushed back. āWhat?ā
āWe are not getting it on here just because of some meme.ā
You knew it to be the reason why almost at once. Robby was the one who had set certain boundaries in the work place. Like no making out. Yet he was the one huffing in frustration and surrendering, holding up his hands where you could see them.
āIt's just some things people are saying on the internet.ā
āI just don't get why,ā he said, honestly. His head was tucked into his chest as he shrugged.
You were almost convinced he was upset. āI dunno. You're stern, sometimes, here,ā you explained. āMaybe people saw that in the back of Javadi's TikToks and thought you had.... a hard exterior.ā
āThey think I'm un-caring?ā he asked
āI didn't say that.ā
āAnd Abbott?ā
Quickly, you realised it was more than just feeling bummed about people thinking he gave bad head.
You smirked. āJealousy looks good on you, Robinavitch.ā
Slowly Robby sank down on the edge of the bed, sighing heavily as if this situation was weighing heavy on him.
You followed suit, sitting on the stool and wheeling close to him, treating him like he really was the patient. You knew how Robby got in his own head more times then was good for him. He didn't worry what people thought of him ever, but this was different.
ā What else is it?ā you asked, softly, voice dropped low.
āHave I ever,ā he began, shoulders high in tension and head low. His hands were braced on his knees. āHave I ever left you... un-satisfied?ā
You wanted to laugh.
Robby and un-satisfied didn't belong together.
The nature of your jobs meant the two of you were exhausted more times than you were energised but that never stopped the two of you. If you were wanting you weren't left wanting, in fact, you'd be left thoroughly satisfied.
āNever,ā you said.
He peeked at you with a little smirk.
āThose people don't know you, Robby,ā you carried on, fingers circling his wrists and slowly holding him there. āThey don't know what you do to me.ā
Seconds ago you were berating him for kissing you in an exam room. But you leant into him and kissed his lips slowly.
āWhat I do, huh?ā he mumbled against your lips.
āUh-huh, things that Abbott could never.ā
Just at the name of his friend had Robby grabbing you and all but pulling you over him. He leant back on the bed and slot you between his legs as he kissed you, hard. His hands couldn't find purchase as they sort every part of you, pulling our your scrub top and finding the skin there, running the back of his knuckles over.
Your hands wound in his hair, pulling until his mouth was opening up for you.
There came a sharp knock at the door before it opened. The curtains weren't pulled back but Dana's voice called out.
āBreak it up in there! We need the room!ā
Robby groaned, head throwing back on the cushion before you climbed off him. He didn't move even as you did.
āAren't you coming?ā
āJust... just give me a minute,ā he said.
You chuckled to yourself, letting your eyes linger over all of him and left him there with the curtain drawn.
Dana was at the door, shaking her head with a chuckle.
You feigned innocence as best you could, working quick to tuck your scrub top back in and brush back your hair. āWhat?ā
āThe two of you, at it like rabbits.ā
āWe were not.ā
āNot what I saw.ā
āYou didn't see anything.ā
āOkay, not what I heard,ā she said, lips smacking from the nicotine gum you slid onto her desk every morning.
āHe was upset.ā
āAbout that TikTok stuff?ā
You looked to her. The last thing Robby needed was thinking everyone had seen the meme, that people thought he wasn't a good enough lover or whatever else he thought it meant.
āIs it bad?ā
Dana shrugged. āIt means nothing to me but you know guys, hurts their ego that kind of stuff.ā
You nodded. You would say something in Robby was hurt. Whether it was that people thought he was a tough guy to work with or something about him that provoked the idea of selfishness.
But then they seemed to deem Abbott a capable lover, something you couldn't count on due to the fact you'd never gotten the chance to know.
Not that you wanted to.
(Except that one time in a dream before you were dating Robby)
Victoria rushed up to you and Dana excused herself. āI've just seen the post, Santos showed me,ā she rushed out her words, panic evident. āDoes he hate me? Oh my god, he hates me. My attending hates me.ā
āHe doesn't-ā
āI mean it's so inappropriate, like, he saves lives you know maybe he just wants a meal cooked sometimes, not saying like- no- not that he'd ever get mad at you- or anyone for...ā
You let Javadi trail off.
She blushed. āI should walk away shouldn't I?ā
āProbably for the best.ā
As soon as Jack walked in an hour before his shift was supposed to start, Robby stood, ready to leave.
It was rare he ever got out on time, let alone early but he hadn't been doing much work anyway, only thinking and being stuck in his own head. And sometimes with how much he thought about you: Yours.
āThank you, brother, thank you,ā he said.
Jack's gaze levelled on him. āIs everything okay?ā
No, not at all. People on the internet speculated he was an asshole who'd get angry if you didn't have dinner on the table. As if he wouldn't live between your thighs if given the choice.
Robby bit his tongue and nodded.
āHey Jack,ā you greeted, coming by.
Robby's eyes followed you at once. He thought of all the plans he had in his head.
āYou're here early,ā you noted.
āI asked him to come by, listen, I got some errands to run. You think you're okay coming home by yourself tonight?ā he asked.
There was a hint of confusion in your gaze but you didn't prod. You never did push him, always letting him come to you when he was ready. He'd never been so thankful for it.
āEr yeah, sure.ā
Robby kissed you quick and hard, his hand cupping your backside and squeezing before he left you.
He only caught a glimpse of Jack digging into his phone to show you something funny. He dread to think what it was.
The last hour of work without Robby felt like a whole other twelve. Every patient answered questions too slow and chairs piled up with more minor problems. It felt like everything irritated you. Which it had.
By the time you were getting home, climbing up the stairs because of cause the elevator was broke you almost forgot all about the meme that had Robby so worried earlier.
That was until you pushed open the door.
You expected the tv on low, the lights on, maybe the sound of the shower.
You were greeted instead by a dull orange glow from the dozen or so candles lit around the living space. There was a fresh bouquet of flowers on the table and a sleek box tied off with a ribbon.
Hands landed on your hips and the soft belly of your boyfriends pressed against you.
āRobby,ā you grinned, raising a hand to fall on the back of his head and stroke his hair there.
The stretch gave him perfect opportunity to pepper kisses over your neck. His other arm circled your waist, pulling you into him.
āWhat is all this?ā you asked, eyes closing in the bliss of feeling him everywhere.
He hummed into your neck. āI just don't think you know how much I love you.ā
You bit down on your lip as his hot tongue swirled over your pulse. āOh, I think I know.ā
His nose brushed over your jaw as he guided you forward, his toes clipping your heels as he didn't let you go or turn you around. He dragged you to where the present sat on the table, below the roses. His hands were large as they palmed and moved around your stomach. He breathed against your ear, your body waking in shivers as he uttered against you. āOpen it.ā
It was tough to do so- even to bend down and grab it- as Robby was adamant in letting you go. Eventually you got a hold of the ribbon and pulled.
He let you go enough for you to pull out the garment inside. Or the lack of garment.
It was a small set of lingerie, red and black- his favourite colours on you. The colours of seduction. There were ribbons and straps that upon just looking at you weren't sure how they were to go.
āI want you to put it on,ā said Robby, head resting on your shoulder and looking. āAnd then I'm going to make you come on my tongue until you're begging me to stop.ā
Your knees weakened but Robby still held you.
āYou think you can do that?ā he asked.
You nodded and gasped, smashing your lips into his. You turned in his arms, tongue's battling and arms circling him. You pressed your body into his, practically throwing yourself onto him.
The attentive lover he was he allowed it for a moment before he pulled away.
āPut it on.ā
In the bedroom you stripped and with the help of the mirror figured out where everything was supposed to go. The panties did little to hide your ass but clad away your pussy, straps at your tights and bows there. The bra pushed your chest up, lace dancing over your chest.
It was sexy and sensual, knowing Robby had brought it for you and demanded you wear it. All the same, you couldn't wait for him to tear it off you.
Stepping back into the candle lit room Robby was already shirtless, sitting on the sofa with his legs wide and cock hardening.
When you stepped out, he smirked, arms stretching along the back of the sofa.
āI think I like when you have something to prove,ā you said, slowly walking over, letting every step linger and make him wait for it.
Or drawing out whatever he had planned.
āI have something to prove?ā he asked.
You dropped to your knees in front of him, between his legs as Robby's eyes trailed to watch you. āDon't you?ā You were desperate to touch him, knowing he didn't have that planned but needing him anyhow. Your hands had only smoothed up his thighs before he grabbed your wrists.
Robby stood and pulled you up with him.
Without words he sat you down the sofa, stretching you out while he sank to his knees.
āNu-uh,ā he tutted, fingers wrapping around your legs and prying them apart, slowly. Your panties slipped and your pussy was slowly displaying itself. āYou know what I want.ā
āMichael-ā
āWhat do you want?ā he asked, but tonight was more about him than you. If it was about him proving something, you'd be his practise. If he was an artist you were going to be his canvas.
Your mouth just opened to speak when his thumb pressed down onto your panties. He rubs, slowly, pressing down harder till you grew wetter. Till he could feel it through the material.
His beard scratched at your thighs in the way that made you wither as he kissed at your thighs. His fingers pushed into your skin, kneading the plump of it.
āHave I ever told you, I love the way you smell.ā
You gasped as he slid his thumb up and down, circling it slowly over your clothed clit.
āHave I?ā he asked again, craving an answer.
āNo.ā
Robby was watching the space between your legs as he put his head there and inhaled.
Your back arched as his nose pressed into you, smelling and inhaling and groaning out when he was done. His fingers were pressing hard enough into your thighs to bruise. You wanted it to.
You watched as Robby darted out his tongue and ran it up and down you panties. He got a taste of you through the panties he brought.
Robby started off slow but he could never go slow. It was the way he did procedures, marking off everything first then moving around the room in seconds. It was the way he kissed, getting the same taste of your lips before sliding in his tongue and getting a taste of your spit. It was the way he fucked, slowly moving into you till your walls pulsed around his cock then he was moving like an animal.
They were small presses of his tongue then he was making out with your pussy through the cloth. He drooled against you, moaning and prodding his thumb, pressing in and out.
āGod, I wanna get you naked,ā he said against your core.
You didn't know if he wanted you stripped or just your core.
You chuckled breathless. āThen why dress me up?ā
Robby pulled away to look at you. His thumbs hooked into your panties. āI like to un-wrap you.ā
He dragged your panties down slow, grasping your legs and helping you out of them all the while keeping you limp on the sofa for him.
You expected Robby to ditch them, throw them aside but instead he shoved them in his face and inhaled again. āOh my god,ā you groaned, head landing back on the sofa.
āYou're so wet and I haven't even touched you,ā he said.
Finally he ditched the panties and faced your pussy.
His gaze flickered up to you and you felt exposed. A sudden need to hide came over you but Robby shook his head like he knew. Keeping your gaze he darted out his tongue and flicked it against your clit, circling your bundle of nerves.
At the devout attention your eyes fluttered shut in pleassure.
Robby sucked your clit in his mouth and pulled back with a pop. āLook at me, look at me.ā
You looked at him.
His eyes were dark and wicked with want. He licked his lips and kept your gaze as he went in. He forced your legs up and apart, bending you as he shoved himself into you. He was there quick and heavy, licking and kissing till his slurping was heard around the apartment.
āRobby!ā
He chuckled into you, sending vibrations up through you.
āI need your fingers inside of me, please.ā
He hummed and shook his head, still occupied with dragging his tongue over you. āNot my fingers people criticise.ā
You groaned.
Robby sucked some more, swallowing up your want, driving parts of your soul away while he was at it. āSpread yourself open, baby- just like that- there we go-ā he guided your hands to your own core and helped you hold open the lips of you.
Then he went in with new reverence. The tip of his tongue ran miles and as you were left gasping for him, making a mess he cleaned it up from your hole to your clit and ran circles around it.
āOh shit, Michael.ā
āFeels good?ā
āYes!ā
āAm I gonna make you come?ā he asked, dropping his spit against you and working it in. When your fingers slipped he took over, holding you open.
Your hands went to his hair, stroking it back.
You knew your hands in his hair, or fingers threading through, drove him insane.
āYes!ā
He shoved his face in again, like a man addicted.
Sweat was starting to from along your body and the hand that wasn't in his hair groped at your own breast until you were humping up your hips to his-
āGet up,ā said Robby suddenly.
He stood, his cock stretched against his pants. Robby brushed the back of his knuckles against the hard line of himself and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand.
āUp.ā
On shaky legs you did so, feeling the want but the coil of release slowly eased.
Robby bent you over and continued cleaning up your mess.
It was a new angle, the sort he'd never tried and as you felt his tongue in places you'd never felt you wonder how long he'd been thinking of this. How long had he wanted you bent over, ass up in his face.
With your back up to him he easily un-hooked your bras and threw it aside.
āYou think Abbott could eat you up like this?ā he asked, voice only above a growl. āHuh?ā
āNo,ā you gasped, slowly turning to jelly.
The new position didn't last long as Robby stood tall again, pressing the hardness of his cock against the curve of your ass.
You arched yourself back into him. āPlease, please, please.ā
āI know baby, I know,ā he cooed in something that could have been sympathy in a mocking tone. āGod, you feel what you do to me? Like I feel what I do to you.ā
Robby turned you around and kissed you, the trace of your essence on his tongue and shared between the two of you. He let his tongue dance over yours like he wanted to share it, a hand creeping to the back of your neck and keeping you in.
You were so wanting, so needy for any part of him.
āI'm gonna lie back now,ā he said against your lips. āAnd you're gonna sit on my face.ā
You pulled back, wondering if you'd heard that right.
Robby nodded slowly, not even trying to hide as he watched your lips. His thumb came back down to your clit, circling enough to keep you like putty in the palm of his hands.
āMichael-ā
He was already pulling away, popping the buttons of his trousers and making himself comfortable on the sofa.
You were standing, hesitant. āI can't sit on your face.ā
He smirked and patted his stomach. āYes you can, c'mon.ā
āI'm serious.ā
Robby smirked, nudging you up. āSo am I.ā
He was looking at you with such wide eyes, though dark. The same way he looked at you when you got something right in work. When you pleased him, when he was so proud of you.
This was for him, you told yourself as you climbed over him, allowing time to run your hands up and down the hairs of his round belly.
You watched his gaze follow yours as you trailed up and up his face, over his beard until all you saw was his eyes.
Lingering on your knees you tested how low you could get.
The tip of Robby's tongue found your centre and slowly worked you open again.
His hands wrap around your thighs and he yanks you down till you're sitting on his face with a heavenly groan.
There was no time for protests as he got to work, his tongue burying inside of you. He was so close he could hardly move, only keep himself there and suck and slurp. At every tiny move his nose brushed into your folds, nudging your clit and dragging out the need.
āOhhh fuckkk,ā you whined.
Robby groaned into you as he tried to speak, something like 'beautiful' caught between your pussy. His hands were messaging your ass and grinding you into him.
āS'too much, oh my god.ā
He shook his head, wetting your core with his saliva and your need mixed.
āRobby, I can't-ā
āYes you can,ā he spoke finally, pulling away enough that you could hear his voice.
Your lips pursed together as you shook your head. The coil of tightness in you grew hotter, burner brighter. It felt like your first time with him over and over again. The way his body bounced off of yours with every thrust, the moans he couldn't help let out into your neck, marking himself there for weeks.
āPlease come,ā he said against you now. āI need you to come on my face, baby, please.ā
Perhaps the world would have liked to know there was only one thing in this word that could get Robby begging. Your pussy.
āThere, huh? You like it just there?ā you could hardly make out his words, like he was speaking into your very being.
Your hand fell back into his hair and you leant back, riding his face with a new passion and fever. He moved his head along with your movements and it became a frenzy of passion and need and want, the both of you moaning and uttering any words of encourganemt.
āYeah baby, there you go- there you go-ā
āRobby! Robby! Shit!ā
āAll over me, c'mon, c'mon.ā
You still couldn't believe it, your want all over his beard, smearing down his neck and chest.
āOnly making you come, making my girl come, that's right.ā
In seconds you had grasped his hair, shoving him in as you let go into his mouth. He strained his neck up and kept himself open on you as he inhaled and exhaled in groans and grunts.
āOh yes, please... yes- fuck baby,ā Robby whined, spreading your cheeks to get every drop licked up. You'd think it was his own release washing over him with the noises he made and sucked out of you.
By the time you'd both calmed down and he'd caught his breath and tapped your thigh you fell lower down onto his stomach.
His breath smelt of love and sex as you lingered over him, letting Robby brush back stray parts of your hair. āSatisfied?ā
āVery.ā You might have seemed drunk with the way he had you coming but you didn't care. āOne of the best orgasms of my life.ā
He smirked at you incredulously. āChange it to best of the night. We haven't even begun.ā
Pairing: Spy!Steve x Spy!Reader
WC: 10.5k
Warnings: enemies to lovers, loosely inspired by mr. and mrs. smith, the avengers are not super mainstream in this, sexual tension, shower scene, makeout, jealousy, mean!steve at times, brat!reader, eventual smut (dry humping, fingering, unprotected p in v, edging, creampie, steve eating you out within an inch of your life (munch steve come homeeeeeeee), doggy style, tonguefucking), mentions of voyeurism, surveillance, size kink, miscommunication, angst-ish with comfort.
Summary: You and Steve are voluntold you're married for an undercover mission. Should be easy, except you hate each other.
+fran: this is the opening showing of the Captain Americana Film Festival and my humble contribution to Steve's birthday!!! I cannot tell you how much it filled me with joy that I sat down to write this on the 4th and actually spat out 10k words. WE ARE SO BACK!!! Happy 108th to the man who will always have my heart, has been the gold standard against which I measure every man, (this is blond man propaganda) and also my astrological twin <3 no one gets me like he does fr.
ā¤· you should go listen to the incredible playlist named "mr and mrs smith [john and jane]" by marybatz on spotify
"Absolutely not!"
Fury had the timing of a tax audit to a billionaire CEO. Of course, of course, you'd be stuck playing this mission with fucking Steve.Ā
One second you were minding your business, enjoying what was left of your coffee and your relatively peaceful morning, and the next Nick Fury was informing you that you would be spending the foreseeable future pretending to be happily married to Steve Rogers.
"You're going."Ā Fury didn't even break stride. He rolled his eye and kept walking down the hallway toward the conference room, clearly done entertaining your complaints before you'd even finished making them,Ā with you hot on his heel.Ā
Your footsteps echoed in the wide hallway as you walked backwards, facing Fury. "Can't I marry someone else for this?" You pondered. "What about Barnes?"
Fury stopped so suddenly you nearly tripped. "You want to pretend to be married to Barnes?"
You opened your mouth, immediately closed it, thought for a second and shrugged, squeezing your eyes shut. "That's not the point."
"That's what I thought."
The polished floors reflected the overhead lights as the two of you moved through the hallway. āNat, maybe? Some of those married dudes would eat up girl-on-girl and spill the beans right away. Mission would be so quick!ā
Fury walked with the patience of a man who'd dealt with far worse than you.Ā The fact that he hadn't strangled you after years of working together was honestly kind of impressive, a little endearing almost.
Both of you quickly arrived at the conference room door, Fury stopping with his hand on the handle, turning his face to you and letting our a frustrated sigh. "Do you like working here?"
You rolled your eyes, "Yes, sir." What kind of question was that?
"And what's your title?" His brow quirked up.
A confused look plastered all over your face. "Agent."
He leaned down to talk to you closer, almost like explaining rules to a petulant child, "Then be an agent." and proceeded to push the door open and hold it for you, giving you full view of Steve Rogers sitting at the head of the table with a sour expression on his face, just as displeased to have to pretend to love you for the mission.Ā
The training room should've been empty half an hour ago, and technically, everyone was done for the day.Ā
ItĀ shouldāveĀ been quietāmats wiped down, lights dimmed, everyone gone for the night.
Instead, the air was thick.
Heavy with sweat, heat, and something sharp enough to make the back of your neck prickle. The entire team and a couple recruits were watching you.
Well, you and Steve.Ā
At firstĀ not openlyāno one was stupid enough to make it obviousābut they lingered. Leaned against walls, sat on benches, hovered just close enough to pretend they had somewhere else to be.
It started as any other training session did, you rotated partners, almost like shark bait:Ā in and out, partner after partner cycling through you while you stayed planted on the mat, pushing your stamina, your endurance, your patience.
Until you ended up on the other side of the mat from Steve.Ā
Barefoot, sleeves rolled, skin already lightly sheened with the littlest bit of sweat that somehow made him lookĀ betterinstead of worseāwhich was deeply, personally offensive.
Here's the thing: he was a super soldier. He had endless stamina, super strength, reflexes that outmatched 99% of the population, and he had it all with perfect blond hair and barely breaking a sweat on his sculpted body.
It infuriated the hell out of you.Ā
He blocked every kick, every punch, and when he didn't he wasn't even phased.Ā
It made you go harder, to the point where you found yourselves now: almost trying to hurt each other.Ā
By then, no one was even preteding to be occupied by anything else, shamelessly staring at the two of you at the center of the mat like Oppenheimer waiting for a bomb to go off.Ā
Steve had stopped treating you with the same careful restraint he used with newer recruits. He'd throw you harder into the mats, knock the wind from your lungs, shove you back with enough force to remind you exactly how much stronger he was,Ā and you'd borderline playĀ dirty.
Every hit had a little more weight behind it. Neither willing to back down. Neither willing to lose.
Sam was sitting backwards in a chair,Ā chin propped on his arms, watching like he had front row seats to the best show of his life;Ā Natasha looked delighted; Bucky looked concerned, brows drawn, arms crossed tight over his chest, like he was trying to decide whether to step in or let you both learn your lesson the hard way.
Steve stood opposite of you, his feet staggered and his arms up, making a "come at me" motion with his fingers.Ā His hair was slightly mussed, a damp strand falling forward over his forehead.
"Come to daddy."
The entire room held their breaths, and you saw red.Ā
In hindsight, you should've planned a better move than to just charge at him, the strength in your muscles and bones not being able to match his. You should've thought of something tactical, something smart.Ā
But alsoā¦ you fucking hated his guts.Ā
Which is exactly how you ended up with your cheek and stomach pressed to the sweaty mat, with Steve's whole weight on your back, your wrists pinned between the two of you and his right arm laced under yours and up your back, hand holding your neck down.Ā
His hands caught you mid-motion, grip iron-tight as he twisted, using your momentum against you with terrifying ease, his grip locking your body in place, the angle just shy of painful.
"You need to work on your psyche. Mind over matter." His stupid voice right in your ear made goosebumps bloom up your spine, so you did what any reasonable person would do.
You flexed the knee that was between his spread legs hard enough that you hit him square in the balls, giving you the out you needed.Ā
You straightened on your feet, pushing damp hair back from your face, a breathless, borderline feral grin breaking across your lipsĀ as he winced on the mat in pain.Ā
"Who's your daddy now?"Ā
Your breathless laughter was cut short, Fury's booming voice breaking through any pain or enjoyment present in the room. "You do know domestic violence is not part of your cover story, no?"
Both of your heads whipped in the direction of his voice.Ā
He continued to walk in your direction, dropping two folders in front of your feet, and Steve, who was still kneeling down on the mat. "Shower this off. You leave in the morning, lovebirds."
The neighborhood looked like the kind of place where people complained to the HOA because their neighbor's hydrangeas were the wrong shade of blue.
Every lawn was trimmed within an inch of its life, sharp lines cutting through impossibly green grass like someone came out with a ruler every morning.Ā
The mailboxes all matchedāsleek, black, expensive-lookingāand every driveway held something polished and obscene:luxury SUV or a car thatĀ definitelyĀ cost more than your first apartment.
The houses themselves were enormous. White trim, brick facades, wraparound porches, massive windows that left little room for privacy on a street that looked like it loved to mind every business but its own.Ā
You sat in the passenger seat while Steve drove to your home, the undercover file open across your lap like a book while your bare feet rested on the dash.Ā
Because annyong Steve was free, and your favorite past time. "No feet on the dash."
You turned a page, ignoring him. "They're staying." You read more of the file. "It's more comfortable that way." Your light blue summer dress was bunched up higher across your thighs, and he did a double take before taking a right turn to your house block.
He sighed. "If we crashā"
"Just look at the road instead of me and we'll be fine." That made him shift in the driver's seat, straightening his posture and looking ahead, his Adam's apple bobbing in annoyance.
What irritated Steve about you was the fact that these comebacks never even seemed to make sense or be thought of, it just rolled off your tongue, almost just for the plot. And you didn't even care.Ā
He didn't even know why you hated him so much in the first place, but he reciprocated the feeling as soon as he saw how insubordinate and bratty you were.Ā
Steve sighed the long suffering sigh of a man questioning every life decision that had brought him to this moment. "You're impossible." Muttered under his breath.Ā
"You're a Senior Project Manager at your own company,Ā honey!" Fake admiration and praise filled your voice. "Oh, you proposed quick! Only a year after our first date." You turned to him, your first real smile plastered on your face. "You're so down bad."
The car came to a stop in your driveway, and Steve turned it off, unclipping his seatbelt. "Put your shoes on, we're here and I feel eyes already."Ā
"Bossy." You muttered, doing exactly as he said. As you got out of the car, your voice went up an octave, carrying through the humid summer weather.Ā
āReady, honey?āĀ you asked, slipping the word out effortlessly, like youād been saying it for years.
He opened the front door for you, making sure whoever was watching heard him just as well, possessive in a way that made your breath hitch before you could stop it.
āAfter you, sweetheart.ā
You'd barely had enough time to figure out which bedroom closet was yours before the doorbell rang.
ding-dong. ding-dong.
You froze in the middle of the bedroom, one hand still gripping a hanger, Steve somewhere down the hall filling a modified cabinet with all sorts of concealed weapons.
You dropped the hanger onto the bed without another thought, smoothing your hands down your dress as you moved. Steve stepped out of the kitchen at the same time, wiping his hands on a dish towel like heād been doing something domestic instead of checking sightlines and exits.
Ben and Julie Poindexter stood in your porch like they had been plucked straight out of a catalog. They were ones you hoped to make the acquaintance of quickly, as he was the right hand of the big druglord you and Steve were tasked with making an airtight case on.
Years of field work had taught you that monsters were rarely obvious, still, some primitive part of your brain always expected criminals to look like criminals.
Instead, Ben Poindexter looked like somebody who coached Little League and had multiple PTA moms undoing extra buttons in their cardigans to get his attention. Beside him, Julie beamed, already leaning slightly forward like she couldnāt wait to know everything about you.
āOh my goodness,ā she breathed, eyes lighting up. āYou must be the Adlers!ā You felt Steve shift beside you, his hand coming to rest warm on your back with an ease that shouldn't be there in the best of actors.Ā
He smiled, and it was aĀ goodĀ one.Ā The kind that made people relax immediately. The kind that five years ago made youā
āGuilty,ā he said easily. āFrank.ā Right.Ā Frank Adler.Ā
He extended his hand and Ben took it immediately, introducing you then.Ā āIām Dex,ā the shorter blond said in return, just as easy. āThis is my wife, Julie.ā
āHi,ā you said, stepping forward like you hadnāt been mentally preparing to dismantle her entire social circle for intel. āItās so nice to meet you.ā
SheĀ lit up.
āOh, you are justĀ adorable,ā she gushed, reaching out to squeeze your arm like you were already best friends. āWe saw the moving truck this morning and I told Ben, I said, āWe have to go introduce ourselves before everyone else gets to them first.āā
You faked confusion. "Benā¦?"
He chuckled lightly in response. "That's me, Iā¦ uhā¦ Ben's really only for her and my parents. Friends call me Dex."
You smiled back in understanding.Ā āWe appreciate that,ā he said smoothly. āItās been a bit of a whirlwind getting settled.ā
āSo,ā Dex cut in, tone casual but eyes observant, āwhat brings you two here?ā There it was. The first test.
You felt Steveās thumb twitch slightly against your back. A cue , or maybe just instinct. āWork, mostly,ā he said, not missing a beat. āI just transferred to oversee a new branch out here.ā
Julie gasped softly. āOh! Thatās right, youāre the project manager, right? We heard something about thatāā
Of course they did.
You tilted your head toward Steve, letting your smile soften just a touch as you looked at him. Pride, affectionā¦ Just enough to sell it.
āHe wonāt say it, but heās very good at what he does.ā You interjected, turning your sweet smile to your nosy neighbors again.Ā
His hand pressed a little more firmly into your back before easing again. āSomeone has to pay the bills,ā he joked lightly, glancing down at you.
"It's a 50/50 relationship," you shot back, nudging his side with your elbow just enough to look playful. "You earn money, and I look pretty in the things it buys." Your hand reached up to scratch the freshly shaven skin of his chin.
āWow,ā Julie breathed, practically vibrating with delight. āYou two areĀ soĀ cute.ā
You laughed, soft, a little embarassedā¦ and completely fake. Dex watched that exchange carefully. His smile stayed in place, but his eyes sharpened just a fraction.
āNew couples usually take a while to settle in around here,ā he said, tone still easy. āBut I think you two will fit right in.ā
āWell,ā you said lightly, leaning just a little closer into Steve without thinking about it, āweāre counting on our neighbors to help with that.ā
Julie clasped her hands together. āOh, youĀ haveĀ to come to dinner this weekend! Everyoneās going to be thereāitās kind of our thing.ā
āWeād love to,ā Steve said, lightly nodding.
Both of them smiled in satisfaction, briefly saying their goodbyes andĀ we'll let you get settled.Ā As they started to step back, Julie waved enthusiastically. āWelcome to the neighborhood!ā
Integration happened faster and easier than either of you expected. Almost likeā¦Ā bait.Ā
It started with waves.
Small, polite acknowledgments from across drivewaysāneighbors watering already-perfect lawns, women in linen sets pausing mid-walk with their equally curated dogs. At first it was just smiles, quick introductions repeated twice because no one actually listened the first time, or maybe they expected you to slip up.Ā
Names, occupations, how long you planned to stay.
Somehow, without either of you saying much at all, your lives had already been filled in for you. SteveāFrankāwas āthe project manager from the city.ā You were āso sweetā and āadjusting beautifully.ā
It was unsettling.
Steve got pulled in first.
Dex made it look casualāleaning over the fence one late afternoon while Steve pretended to struggle with a hose attachment he absolutely knew how to fix.
āCouple of us head out to the club on Saturdays,ā Dex had said, like it wasnāt a test. Like it wasnāt an invitation into something much bigger. āYou golf?ā
Steve had shrugged, wiping his hands on a towel like the answer didnāt matter. āEnough not to embarrass myself.ā
Dex chuckled. āGood. Fisk hates losing.ā
That was how Steve Rogers found himself in pressed polos and quiet greens, standing under the sun with a man who ran half the city from behind clean hands and cleaner money.
Wilson Fisk didnāt look like a monster either. They never did.
From the sidelines, it wouldāve looked normalāthree men talking shop, trading easy laughs, the softĀ crackĀ of a golf ball slicing through the air.
But Steve came home with tension in his shoulders that hadnāt been there before, and eyes that thought too much.
You were integrated differently. Faster, deeper in a sense.Ā If you wanna know a man, you need to know the woman in his life first.Ā Julie took one look at you and decided you were hers.
Brunch turned into wine nights, which turned into yoga classes and impromptu shopping trips where you learned which women talked too much, which ones listened too closely, and which ones pretended not to notice everything while noticingĀ everything.
You laughed when you were supposed to, touched arms at the right moments, let yourself be pulled into conversations about renovations and charity events and who was āhaving trouble in their marriageā this week.
You played the part. Perfectly.
But you also listened. And Julie talked, about Dex, about their marriage, about his schedule, the men he worked with, his "job".
About Fisk in a careful, vague way that told you she knew just enough to be useful and not enough to be dangerous.
Inside the house, however, nothing really changed. You were in bliss whenever Steve was anywhere outside of the five thousand square feet of the house. And in hell when you could hear his footsteps through the hallways.Ā
āWhy are your shoes in the middle of the hallway?āĀ āBecause I took them off.ā
āYou put a gun in the cereal cabinet.āĀ āIt was concealed.ā
And yet, somewhere in between the arguing and the slammed cabinets and the pointed silences, you moved around each other.
Steve adjusted the cuff of his polo as he stepped out onto the green, the sun warm against the back of his neck, the grass trimmed so perfectly it almost didnāt look real. Somewhere in the distance, a fountain trickled softlyācontrolled, decorative, intentional.
Everything here was curated, including the people. Dex stood a few feet ahead, already mid-conversation with a Fisk, Steve immediately recognizing his big frame.
āFrank,ā Dex called easily, turning just enough to wave him over. āGlad you made it.āĀ
Steve walked up at an even pace, shoulders loose, posture relaxed, every movement deliberate in its lack of tension. āWouldnāt miss it.ā
Dex clapped his hands lightly. āLetās see if you actually know how to swing that thing.ā
The game itself was uneventful on the surface, small talk, a couple of drinks over a few holes, business talk, the kind of conversation that never said anything directly but still managed to reveal everything if you knew how to listen.
Steve pretending to be worse than Fisk at golf remembering what Dex said about him not liking losing.Ā
Well, who does?Ā He thought.
He missed a shot he couldāve made here and there, fake grimace on his face to help sell the lie, burrow himself deeper in the web.
Dex talked the mostāeasy laughter, casual stories, the kind of man who filled silence before it could become uncomfortable.
Fisk didnāt, he was quieter, more measured. Almost amused.Ā
By the ninth hole, Steve could feel the shift, the attention settling more fully onto him. He was past the evaluation phase and onto something else.Ā
Fisk set his club aside after a clean shot, stepping back as one of the attendants moved to retrieve it. He didnāt look at Steve immediately, instead adjusting his cufflinks with slow, precise movements.
āBeautiful house youāve got,ā Fisk said finally.
Steve shrugged lightly, taking a swing of his beer. āGot lucky to swoop in right when it went on the market.ā
Fisk hummed. āI find luck tends to favor the well-prepared.ā Steve didnāt respond, Fiskās gaze lifted then. āYou and your wife settling in well?ā
For some reason, hearing such a dangerous man mention you made him uneasy. And it shouldn't, because he hated you. Steve forced his expression to remain easy. āYeah. She likes it here.ā He paused for a second. āSheāsā¦ adjusting.ā
Fiskās lips curved slightly. āIs she?ā Steveās grip on the club in his hand tightened just a fraction.
Dex shifted beside them, glancing between the two, something quieter settling over his usual ease.
āYou know,ā Fisk continued, tone almost conversational, āI take a great interest in the people who choose to live in the neighborhood.ā
Steve tilted his head slightly. āSeems like a lot of effort.ā
Fisk chuckled softly. āIt is if you don't have theā¦ resources.ā
Steve didnāt like the way he said that, didnāt like the weight behind it.
The back nine loosened things.
Or at least, thatās what it looked like.
Dex got louder, a little more relaxed with each hole, his posture easing into something casual as the game stretched on. Drinks appeared somewhere around the seventhācold, expensive, handed off by staff who moved like ghostsāand by the tenth, the conversation had shifted.
Way less about business.Ā
Dex snorted at something one of the other menāsome hedge fund name Steve hadnāt bothered to rememberāhad said, shaking his head as he lined up his shot.
āIām telling you,ā the man continued, grinning like he thought he was hilarious, āif youāre doing it right, sheās not walking straight the next morning.ā
One of the others chimed in with something worse, cruder. The kind of joke that got easy agreement and knowing looks passed around like currency.
Steve didnāt react, just stood there, one hand resting loosely on his club, gaze fixed somewhere out over the green like he wasnāt listening.
āCāmon, Adler,ā Dex called, nudging him lightly with his elbow. āYouāve been real quiet over there.ā
Steve glanced over, trying to seem unbothered. Like he didn't want to roll his eyes at everything coming out of that prick's mouth. āJust listening.ā
āThatās not how this works,ā the hedge fund guy said with a smirk. āYou gotta contribute. Youāre married, right?ā
āFamiliarity,ā Fisk continued, almost thoughtfully, like he was discussing market trends instead of people, ābreeds a certain ease.ā
āGuess some guys are just more private.ā Steve chimed, moving as to redirect the conversation, walking a couple steps to the next hole. "I donāt feel the need to talk about my wife like that."
Silence fell upon the group for a second, Dex interjected to change the subject quickly, but the way Fisk looked at Steve the rest of the time made he hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
Steve unlocked the kitchen door, toeing his shoes off as soon as he stepped inside. The house was clean, marble countertops reflecting the golden light coming through the curtains.
A candle burned on the center island that made the house smell like a bouquet of fresh flowers, blooming in deepest winter.
The door clocked shit behind him with a soft, controlledĀ click, as he called outĀ "Babe?"Ā while letting his keys rattle against the marble.
He stepped further into the kitchen, eyes sweeping automaticallyāback door locked, blinds angled just enough, nothing out of place. The cabinet heād modified earlier sat closed, unassuming, hiding everything it needed to.
He called out for you again,Ā "Sweetheart?",Ā feet padding into the house and when he got to the bottom of the stairs, he heard the shower running on.Ā
Steve's mind kept replaying the interactions he'd had that day, how Fisk seemed to have too much knowledge of his dynamic with you to not haveā
Of course.
A man like Fisk wouldn't just intentionally have a blind side.Ā
The motherfucker had surveillance on your house.Ā
InĀ your house.Ā
The sound got clearer and clearer as he moved up the stairs.Ā The hallway stretched ahead, quiet and sun-dimmed,Ā and then right outside of the bathroom door, steam curling underneath it. Steve paused just outside it, his hand hovering near the frame, his head tilting slightly as he listened.
You were humming, soft and absentminded.
Like you werenāt in the middle of a mission that had just taken a very sharp turn.
He exhaled softly through his nose, dragging a hand down his face, fingers catching briefly on the tension sitting heavy there.
He should wait, he knew he should. Whatever he had to say could wait ten minutes.
Five.
Hell, two.
But the words Fisk had saidāhadĀ impliedāsat in his chest like a weight that refused to settle. So if Fisk had creepily put surveillance in your home like Steve was 98% sure he had, you were gonna have to roll with the punches.
Steam hit him immediately, warm and thick, fogging the edges of his vision for half a second before it cleared.Ā
Stripping his shirt, kicking off the rest of his clothes in a blur of motion that wouldāve felt ridiculous under any other circumstance.
He walked into the shower, watching you let the water trickle over you, over your face, your neck, your chest, and he thanked every God he could think of that his body was cooperating and he did not have more than a half-hard on right then and there.
Which meant that you finished rinsing your shampoo off and opened your eyes to find a very, very naked Steve Rogers encapsulated by the shower stall glass around you.Ā
With you.
All naked, and very wet, and very naked, andā
"Ahh!"Ā You shrieked in surprise, stumbling back half a step, water splashing over him as your hands came up instinctively. "What the fā" Steve put his index finger on his lips with one hand, the other motioning to his ear and out.
We're being listened to.
"Honey,"Ā You immediately switched into your undercover tone, "you scared the crap out of me!"
Steve stepped closer, couldn't risk his voice being any louder than absolutely necessary to get you the information right then and there.Ā
His frame in comparison to yours felt even bigger now, steam curling around him like vines. You'd blame the way your nipples hardened at the sight on the water.Ā
āFisk,ā he whispered, barely audible over the spray. āHe knows somethingās off. Pretty sure weāre wired. The house is.ā
Your breath hitched.
Absolutely having nothing to do with the fact that you were trying very hard not to stare at hisā "Where?"
"Everywhere." He confirmed.Ā
Water ran down both of you in steady streams, heat curling between your bodies, steam thickening the air until everything felt too close.
āWell,ā you murmured, louder now, just enough for anyone listening to catch it, your tone dipping into something softer, more playful, ānext time, maybe knock?ā
Steve huffed out a quiet breath that could almost pass for a laugh, his forehead dipping closer to yours, but not touching, droplets of water falling from his hair onto you.
āDidnāt think youād mind.ā One of your hands braced lightly against his chest, the other gripping his arm as if for balance.
Your hand slid up to the nape of his neck, pulling the hair there enough to make him hiss. āOh, I mind,ā you said lightly, your fingers threading just a little deeper into the short hair at the nape of his neck. āYouāre lucky I like you.ā
You were pretty good atā¦ faking it.Ā
Night settled over the house smoothly, the sun bleeding into deep indigo slowly and surely until stars littered the sky and you all you could hear was the fair sound of nature beyond the glass.
The neighborhood dimmed in stagesāporch lights flicking on one by one, warm squares of yellow glowing through wide, uncovered windows. Somewhere down the street, laughter carried faintly. A dog barked once, then twice, then went quiet again.
As your brain processed the information Steve had given you, you moved through the motions anyway.Ā
Teeth brushed. Face washed. Lights turned off and on in the right order. The kind of routine that would look normal from the outside, mundane and unremarkable to anyone paying attention.
The thought sat in the back of your mind, somewhat panicked and loud, but also a constant, steady pressure.Ā
You dried your hands slowly on a towel, eyes flicking briefly to the mirror. Your reflection stared backāhair dried and silky, skin still warm from the shower, expression carefully neutral.
Steve stood near the dresser, back half-turned to you, pulling a t-shirt over his head. The fabric stretched sinfāĀ normallyacross his shoulders before falling into place, softening the sharp lines of him into something moreā¦ domestic.
You watched him through the mirror without meaning to, picking up a book, turning on his bedside lamp, and crawling under the covers of your bed, letting the light comforter rest on his legs and hips while he flipped through the pages with his back resting against his pillows and the headboard.
You bit your lip, thoughts blooming fast and messy under your skull, and flicked the lights in the bathroom off, walking towards your side of the bed.Ā
Your short camisole shifted through the air as you moved, light and soft, brushing against your thighs. Steve's eyes immediately clocking your bare legs before he forced them onto the words in front of him.Ā
You laid onto your side and closed the distance between you in one smooth motion, your body fitting against his side like that's where it was always supposed to be.Ā
Your arm slid across his waist, your cheek pressed lightly against the plane of his pecs, and you felt the very warm, solid, real muscle of him under your face go completely still.Ā
Not in any subtle way, you could feel the exact moment his brain short-circuited.
He turned his face just enough to look down and meet your gaze. His expression screamed an unfilteredĀ "what the hell?"while yours softly saidĀ "we have to sell it."
He shifted, turning just enough so he wasnāt facing away from you anymore, his arm coming upāhesitant for half a secondābefore settling around you, his hand resting on your forearm, thumb tracing soothing patterns on the soft, moisturized skin.Ā
As you laid there, the cogs in your brain turned. You bit the inside of your cheek lightly,Ā the more he believes it, the quicker we get out.Ā
You moved forward,Ā your hand pressed against his chest, using him for leverage as you pushed yourself up, swinging one leg over his hips in a smooth, deliberate motion until you were straddling him.
The poor book slid uselessly to rest on the mattress on the other side of his body. You nuzzled your face into his neck, pretending to pepper kisses on the skin there, and Steve stiffened up.
His hands instinctively came up, not grabbing or even stopping you, just hovering at your waist like he didnāt know where they were allowed to go.
Your mouth lingered by his pulse point just long enough to make it convincing before you spoke, your breath hot against his skin. "Play along." You whispered.
You felt the tension in himāevery muscle coiled, controlled, restrained in a way that had nothing to do with the mission and everything to do with the position youād just put him in.
āSweetheart,ā he said, louder now, his tone shifting seamlessly, to something warmer, rougher, like it belonged to someone else. āYou trying to kill me?ā
From the outside, it sounded like a joke. A husband amused by his wife.
You tilted your head, letting your lips ghost just below his ear. āYou just been working so much lately,ā you murmured, just loud enough to carry.
His grip on you flexed, and he leaned into it.Ā
āI know, baby, I know,ā he said, voice dropping, threading something you hadnāt heard from him since he had your face pressed into a sparring mat through it as his hands settled more firmly at your hips, anchoring you there. āIām sorry, sweetheart.ā
Your stomach flipped, shameful heat pooling low in your core even though you tried to ignore it and call it by a different name.Ā
His fingers pressed just slightly, grounding, guiding, selling the illusion with an ease that made your pulse stutter.
Steve moved, fast as always, one second you were on top of him, the next your back hit the mattress, making it dip hard beneath you as he flipped you with practiced ease, your breath catching as his weight settled above you, caging you in without quite touching.
His face dipped toward yours, close enough that your noses almost brushed.
āWhat youāre doing,ā he murmured against your ear, his breath warm, controlled, āis reckless.ā
Your fingers curled slightly into his shirt, heart beating too fast, and you tilted your head just enough to whisper back, your tone soft and teasing, so low he almost didn't hear it. āSo is getting caught.ā
You tilted your neck up, and your lips connected with his.
It had been weeks of little pecks, prim and proper kisses in front of your neighbors, just enough to sell it on the outside.Ā
Holding his face in your hands and actually kissing Steve Rogers felt like a completely different experience.Ā
His tongue licked into your mouth with an intention you never really expected from Steve. Specially a Steve that was faking it. Your hands roamed the plane of his shoulders, trying to make it seem like the actual rustling of sheets one would expect of a couple who was going toā
He should really take this shirt off.Ā
And so your hands went to the hem of his white cotton shirt, pulling it up. Steve reluctantly let you take it off of him, leaving him only in the grey boxers that let you see he wasn't faking that much.Ā
"Oh my God," You whispered.Ā "Are you serious?"Ā That was more of a hiss. Was he seriously getting hard right now?
"I know," He whispered back, annoyed, frustrated, "I know.Ā Just shut up about it."
Oh.
He wanted you to shut up about it. He wanted you toā
The petty part of your brain took over, and before you couldn't think of a less reckless thing to do, you squeezed your legs tighter around him, bringing his bulge flush against your clothed pussy.Ā
"O-ohā" Steve was surprised, not about the pettiness, but at the action itself. You bit your lip, almost proud of yourself, and tilted your hips up.
That earned you a scolding look.Ā
"Mmm," you breathed, just loud enough to carry, your voice shifting instantly to a soft, breathy, higher pitched version of yourself.Ā "Fuck, baby, right there."
Steve's ears were ringing. Mostly because he didn't know what to do with his hard cock rubbing up and down against you. āRelax,ā you murmured against his jaw, barely moving your lips. āYou sound like youāre filing paperwork.ā
He huffed softly, turning it into something that passed. āMaybe I like paperwork,ā he muttered.
You scoffed. āYou do not.ā
āYou donāt know that.ā He whined softly against you.Ā
"You need to actually move your hips, Steve. Video needs to look like you're fucking your wife." You whispered in his ear.Ā
It's not like he couldn't feel how wet you were, slick pressing through the cotton of your panties and onto his underwear, darkening a spot there.Ā
āYouāre unbelievable,ā he breathed low, close to your ear.
āSay it louder,ā you shot back quietly.
āYouāre unbelievable,ā he repeated, louder, tone shifting, like it meant something entirely different now.
Your heels dug into his ass cheeks, pulling him closer and closer to you, and closer and closer to the edge.Ā
You could feel the length of him twitch with each pass of his hips, and you pictured the leaking head of him making a mess out of the inside of his boxers, precum slicking him all over.Ā
āOkayāā he muttered quickly under his breath, breaking the moment before it could stretch too far. āWe need a time frame. We canāt justākeep going forever.ā
āTwo minutes,ā you whispered. āMake it believable.ā
āTwo minutes?ā he echoed, actually offended. āThatās insulting.ā
The thought of it sent heat down your core. His face was buried in your neck, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as your hands threaded through his hair. "Talk about me." Another perfectly placed thrust that nudged your clit. "'bout how I feel."
Steve grinded his teeth like he was fighting a mental battle between letting himself be consumed by this moment, and being proper.Ā
You nudged him again with your heel.Ā
"Nice and tight, sweetheart." He let his voice carry, surprisingly unwavering for how close he was. "Never get enough of your pussy."
What in the fuckity fuck?
Steve?
He almost said your name,Ā your very real name, too lost in himself, letting his rhythm build up much too realistically, his thrusts deeper, the bulge now rubbing and nudging your clothed entrance as well.Ā
Your could hear the sound of wet fabric shifting, your panties getting caught and letting one lip slip out of safety and closer to Steve's leaking cock.Ā
"Frank," You said loudly, trying to catch his attention without success. "Frank." You tried again, more stern, being met with the same squeezed-shut eyes you tried to get an answer from. You dropped your voice low, hushed like a secret. "Steve."
That made him open his eyes, powder blue irises staring at you as his thursts hit a spot that had him moaning, stuttering over his own breath.
And spilling all inside his boxers, looking right into your eyes.Ā
His hips stuttered, almost as if his body wanted to milk itself dry, and his breathing slowed.Ā
You were speechless, big wide eyes looking up at him, genuinely not knowing what to say.
Both of you stared at each other in shock, horror, confusion as to why it felt so good to do that without someone who managed to get under your skin without even trying.Ā
You stayed like that until you felt the warm trickle of his seed seep through the cotton of his boxers and onto the front of your panties.
Steve dropped back to his side of the bed, and both of you avoided each other's gaze, just staring at the ceiling.Ā
"Are weā"
āā¦go to sleep,ā you muttered.
Whatever Fisk needed proof of, seemingly he got it, since both you and Steve got invited the the biggest 4th of July bash of the neighborhood.Ā
Right at the belly of the beast.Ā
The whole backyard looked like something out of a magazine.Ā
String lights draped across the perimeter, glowing warm against the deep navy of the night sky, fireworks already starting to crackle faintly in the distance.Ā
The lawn stretched wide and immaculate, dotted with clusters of people holding drinks in delicate glasses, laughter spilling easily between them like nothing in the world could touch this place.
It was loud, busy, perfect, and underneath it allā wrong.
Steve had light wash jeans and a light blue polo on, you had a strapless summer dress and one of his linen shirts on, the shirt unbuttoned to give the air of a casual outing.Ā
You stood near one of the long tables, fingers loosely wrapped around a Moscow Mule you hadnāt touched, your eyes scanning without looking like you were scanning. Steve was across the yard, pulled into a circle of men near the grill, one of them mid-story, the others laughing at something you couldnāt quite hear from this distance.
And thereĀ sheĀ was.
Blonde, tall, andĀ much too interested in yourāĀ Steve.
Her hand landed on his arm like sheād been waiting for an excuse, your eyes narrowed at her as you shoved a piece of salami and cheese into your mouth.
āThat's Sharon.ā Julieās voice chimed in beside you, far too cheerful for how observant she actually was. āShe's new. Came to stay with her aunt a bit, they live a few strees back. Divorced. Which means sheāsāā
āālooking,ā you finished lightly, before finally taking a sip of your drink like you hadnāt already clocked every detail.
Julie laughed. āExactly.ā
Your eyes flicked back to Steve. He hadnāt moved away, hadnāt stepped back, hadnāt evenĀ noticed.
Of course he hadnāt.
He was listeningāreally listeningāto whatever the man next to him was saying, nodding slightly, relaxed in that effortless way that made people lean in closer without thinking about it.
āOh, donāt worry,ā she said, lowering her voice just enough to feel conspiratorial. āIf he's anything like Dex, he's clueless. They donāt even realize when theyāre being flirted with.ā
You hummed softly. "He is clueless, alright."
āHeās very charming,ā Julie added, watching you now instead of them. āFrank, I mean.ā
Your lips curved. āHe has his moments.ā
Julie giggled, and you finished downing your drink, making your way to him, wrapping a hand around his perfectly sculped bicep and turning on your smile to the sweetest setting possible.Ā
His body reacted immediately, adjusting to your touch like it always belonged there. His gaze dropped to you, surprise flickering for half a second before smoothing into something softer.
āHey,ā he said, one hand coming up to rest at your hip without thinking about it.
āHi,ā you replied, tilting your head up toward him, your smile warm in a way that felt almost too real. āSorry,ā you said sweetly, not sounding sorry at all. āAm I interrupting?ā
She blinked, then smiled tightly back at you. āNot at all.ā Steveās hand pressed slightly into your hip, a silent question that you answered it by leaning just a fraction closer into him.
āWe were just talking about the neighborhood,ā she continued.
āWere you?ā you asked, your tone light, but your grip on Steve tightening just enough to be felt.
āOhāyes,ā she said, glancing briefly at him. āFrank was just telling us about his work.ā
āMm,ā you hummed, eyes flicking up to his. āHe works too much.ā
Steveās brows lifted slightly. āOh, I do?ā
āYou do,ā you said simply, sighing longingly, your fingers sliding absently against his side like it was second nature. āI barely see you anymore.ā
Sharon laughed softly. āThatās a shame.ā Steve lifted the beer up to his lips and took a swing.
āIt is,ā you agreed, smiling again. āBut I make sure he makes up for it.ā
Steve choked on his drink. Actually choked. Coughed once, quickly covering it with a laugh that didnāt quite hide the surprise.
His hand flexed at your hip. āYeah,ā he said, voice dropping just slightly as he looked down at you, something new threading through it. āI do.ā
For a moment it didn't feel like pretending, but it also didn't feel real. It felt like a limbo much too similar to five years ago, when he first recruited you into SHIELD by accident.Ā
FIVE YEARS EARLIER
Colombia had been too hot. The humid, muggy weather made your skin sticky, a sheen coat of sweat all over your arms and legs, even though you were only wearing a white tanktop and a flowy, maxi floral skirt.Ā
Music was bleeding from open windows, people crowding narrow streets, making it the kind of place where mistakes didnāt just cost you the mission.
They cost you everything.
Youād been handling it just fine, up until you werenāt. The intel had been wrong. Or incomplete. Or leaked.
You didnāt know which yetāonly that the second you stepped into that dim, crowded cantina, something in your gut twisted. Too many eyes, too many men pretending to drink, too many sharp ears and even sharper looks.Ā
You were planning an exit strategy, a way to get out of here with as few scratches and as many of these men killed. Mid counting how many thing you could use as a weapon, in walked a picture perfect specimen.Ā
Muscles everywhere, blond hair lightened even more by the sun, the faintest sunburn across his nose and cheeks making his blue eyes stand out more.Ā
You turned slightly, lifting your drink to your lips like you were just another woman trying to cool off, not someone seconds away from deciding how many people she might have to kill.
He clocked the men immediately.Ā
And then he clocked you. His broad frame faked a smile at you and stepped quickly to stand beside you at the bar, hand resting on your hip.
āDonāt,ā he muttered under his breath, pretending to try to get the bartender's attention.
āDonāt what?ā you shot back just as quietly, adjusting your sunglasses on your head like you were annoyed at them and happy to see him, not seconds away from being cornered.
āTheyāre looking for someone,ā he said.
āI know.ā A beat where he leaned down to whisper in your ear.
āTheyāre closing exits.ā
And you responded through gritted teeth and a smile. āI noticed.ā You let your body rest closer to his, feeling the heat radiating off of him.
Outside, thunder and lightning started, and a summer storm came pouring down.Ā
āBabe,ā you said, loud enough to carry, tilting your head up at him like you were teasing. āYou said one drink.ā
He leaned into you, his hand sliding from your waist to your lower back, pulling you closer in a way that felt practiced.
āYeah?ā he shot back easily. āThought you wanted to see more of the place.ā
āOh, I do,ā you laughed lightly, fingers curling into his shirt. āJustā¦ from inside a bedroom window right now." You leaned in closer, lowering your voice just enough to make it look intimate, like you were sharing something private instead of tracking his every movement.
āRelax your shoulders,ā you murmured.
He huffed softlyāalmost a laugh, almost something elseāand adjusted just slightly, his grip tightening at your lower back like he was settling into the role instead of fighting it.
A beat passed between youāquick, sharp, chargedāand then he leaned in closer, his mouth ghosting just along your temple.
āStormās our out,ā he whispered. āWe gotta go.ā
āCome on,ā you said, tugging gently at his shirt, turning your body into his as thunder cracked loud enough to rattle the windows. āI am not ruining my hair for this.ā
āTragic,ā he murmured, letting you pull him toward the back hallway.
The rain hit hard the second you stepped out of the main roomāheavy, sudden, loud enough to drown out most of the noise behind you. The narrow corridor smelled like damp wood and cheap liquor, dimly lit and barely used.
Perfect.
Your hand stayed fisted in his shirt as you stumbled slightlyājust enough to sell itāas he caught you, his arm tightening instinctively around your waist.
āCareful, sweetheart.ā he said, louder now, for anyone who might still be listening. āYouāre gonna slip.ā
The back door burst open under his hand.
Rain poured down in sheets, warm and relentless, soaking the edges of your skirt instantly as you both stepped out into the alley behind the cantina.
Steve looked around to make sure no one followed,Ā he kept you closer than necessary as you moved, your bodies angled into each other like you were shielding yourselves from the storm instead of disappearing into it.
One block, then another, until you were far away and safe in the back alley of the Sofitel. Your clothes were soaked, as were his, your shirt basically see through,Ā you kept moving, pulling him down the short hallway and into the first unlocked door you foundāsome storage room or unused guest space, it didnāt matter.
The door shut behind you with a soft click. Steve walked in last, and you didn't put distance between you two, though right now looking at him through wet lashes you wish you did.
His eyes reflected the gloomy sky outside, his lips were pink and plump, and you felt yourself being drawn closer and closer to him, as did he.Ā
The storm outside cracked again, lightning flashing briefly through the thin curtains, illuminating the space in stark white for half a second, loud thunder taking you out of your trance, Steve jerking away like he was burned.Ā
"I, uhā¦ I think we lost them." Your voice was shaky and unsure.Ā
āNot bad,ā he added, quieter now, his eyes flicking over your face like he was reassessing something.
You scoffed lightly. āHigh praise.ā
PRESENT
āFireworks are about to start,ā someone called from across the yard.
And just like that, the moment broke, and your attentions turned to the mission at hand: while everyone is distracted, get into Fisk's office and copy all of his intel.Ā
Steve leaned down slightly as people shifted away in the direction of the fireworks, his lips brushing near your ear, voice low. āYouāre laying it on thick.ā
āAm I?ā you murmured back, sly smirk playing on your lips.
āA little.ā
You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. "You should go for the office. I'll keep watch."
Steve looked at you like he wanted to say something, but nodded and snuck away, your eyes immediately making sure all persons of interest were accounted for andĀ notĀ in the office.Ā
The party swelled around you.
Fireworks cracked overhead in bursts of red and gold, laughter spilling across Fiskās perfectly manicured lawn, glasses clinking, music humming low beneath it all.
Steve had been gone for about five minutes when you noticed Dex was gone mid conversation with Claire and her husband Matthew. You saw the little flop of blonde hair make its way into the house and your blood ran cold.Ā
Steve.
āIām gonna grab another drink,ā you said lightly, lifting your empty glass as proof, bee-lining up the stairs on the porch and to the kitchen.Ā
You moved like you werenāt tracking footsteps that werenāt yours, counting seconds, mapping distance in your head.
You slipped inside through the side door, heels soft against polished floors, your breath steady even as your pulse kicked harder.
You moved faster, turning the corner just in time to see the office door slightly ajar, light spilling out onto the hallway, and footsteps approaching from the opposite direction.
You pushed the door open and slipped inside, Steve standing by the big mahogany table with a thumbdrive pluggesd into the desktop, downloading everything.
āWhatāā
āDex,ā you cut him off, already crossing the room. āComing.ā His expression shifted instantly, worry, anxiety, combat.Ā
A shadow passed the crack of the door and you closed the distance between you, pushing yourself to sit on top of the table and pulled Steve to stand between your legs.Ā Your hands grabbed his shirt, yanking him down toward you hard enough to make him stumble.
He exhaled harshly the second your lips touched, tasting the vanilla macadamia flavor of your lipgloss. Your tongue licked into his mouth and one of his hands found the plane of your back, the other bracing against the desk behind you as he backed you further into it, the impact soft but enough to sell it.
āMmāā you exhaled softly, the sound slipping out before you could stop it.
Your fingers thread through his hair as you sighed against him, losing yourself in the cedarwood of his cologne, the taste of beer on his tongue, andāĀ
The door creaked open lgithly with someone's breathy "oh." coming through at the sight.
You didn't pull away, didn't even flinch.Ā If anything, you leaned in more, your body pressing fully into his, your mouth lingering just long enough to make the momentĀ undeniable.
You heard a the sound of someone clearing their throat, and that made both of you break apart.Ā Your lips brushed his once more before you turned your head, like youād just noticed her. āOhāā you said, a little breathless, but smiling.
āSharon,ā your eyes widened slightly when you looked behind you, a flush creeping into your expression like youād been caught.
Her gaze drifted from his hands on you to the hem of your summer dress, pulled up and draped high on your thighs, then up to your hands in his hair and Steve's face ā his expression a mix of very confused, flustered, and fucked out.Ā
Steve cleared his throat, stepping back just slightly, like he was trying to recover something that had already slipped.
āWe were justāā
āābusy,ā you finished easily, sliding off the desk but not moving far from him.
āā¦right,ā she said after a second, her lips pressing into something that wasnāt quite a smile. "Well, enjoy the, uhā¦ the party."
You stifled a laugh, biting your lip, as she walked away leaving the door open behind her. You hopped off the desk as Steve got his brain working again.Ā
āWhat the hell was that?ā His voice cut through it, low and sharp.
You shrugged. "Saved your ass, you're welcome." You smoothed the hem of your dress against your thighs and walked around the desk, making your way out the door as Steve hushedly called out for you, swiming the thumb drive into his pocket before following you out of the house.Ā
Your heels hit the pavement in sharp, even beats, your jaw locked, your eyes fixed straight ahead like if you didnāt look back, he wouldnāt follow.
Fuck him and his long legs that caught up to you as soon as you reached your lawn.Ā
You stormed into your kitchen, pushing the door closed quicky to slam it behind you, but making it hit Steve on the shoulder as he crowded the space behind you. āHeyāā he pushed still, stepping closer. āNo, seriously. What was that?ā
You still gave him nothing, your jaw tightened. You stood with your back to the kitchen island, fingers gripping the marble, biting your own cheek. Your gaze stayed anywhere but him.
āThat wasnāt about getting caught,ā he said. āYou knew sheāā Then it seemed to dawn on him.Ā Ā āYou kissed me to make her jealous.ā His voice was incredulous, almost like he solved a decade long mystery right then and there. "YouĀ were jealous."
You scoffed, still not meeting his eye. "Jealous? OverĀ you? Pleaā"
He crowded you even more now, bending down to look for your gaze and force you to meet his, sly smile playing on his lips. "You were jealous."
You huffed, finally looking into his eyes, sunlight playing on his face making the blue just a tad lighter. Steve had his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, almost waiting for a response from you.Ā
For what it felt like a second and a day all at once, your brain went numb.Ā
And then your hands were on each side of his face, bringing his lips to crash into yours.Ā
Steve's lips were warm against your mouth in the same way they were minutes ago. He stepped forward, towering over you making you tilt your head up to keep the kiss going, his hands grabbing your hips as he pressed you against the counter.Ā
He licked into your mouth and your hands fell to the nape of his neck, his shoulders, and finally his arms.
Steve leaned over, pushing you back further, until you had no more oxygen to burn in your lungs and you broke the kiss, making him kiss your jaw, below your ear, and down your neck. "You had no reason to be jealous, you know."
He grinded his hips against yours, letting you feel the length of him hardening by the minute. "'M not jealous." You felt underwater, dizzy, borderline having fuzzies in your vision.Ā
Steve chuckled against your neck, the warm breath making shivers run down your spine, his hands dropping to graze outside of your thighs. "Mmhmm." His right hand brushed over your thigh and made it way to your core, tickling the skin of your inner thigh.Ā
His fingers quickly found the wet spot on the front of your underwear, kissing his way back towards your lips. When he pressed deep circled into it, he felt you sigh into his mouth.
"Steveā¦ People might seeā¦"
"Don't care" he pressed his fingers harder, until your hips were bucking to get more friction, and you were whining against him. Words came muffled against your mouth. "Not jealous, huh? Didn't want me a single bit, right?"
You scoffed despite youself, "You're the one that came into your pants the other day."Ā
That did it.Ā
Skin to skin. His rough fingers sliding through your soaked slit, dragging your arousal across your folds, teasing you right at the entrance. You broke off mid-sentence, a soft whimper catching in your throat.
His thumb easily found your clit, and one of your hands squeezed around his bicep while the other pulled at the hair at the nape of his neck, your moans getting breathier and breathier by the minute.
His fingers thrusted in and out of you bringing you to an edge so close you could taste it, letting out little pants by the crook of his neck, inflating Steve's ego, making more blood rush south. "Wanna try that again?"
He curled them just right, your slick coating his knuckles as your hips twitched against his hand.
Your head fell back, lips parting on a desperate moan.Ā "N-not jealousā¦" through gritted teeth, making him click his tongue.Ā
"Suit yourself." And just like that, his fingers were gone, slick mess on your thighs and an unsatisfied beast inside of you.
"Steve, what theā"
He pulled away the slightest bit and bent down, lacing his arm around your legs and throwing you over his shoulder, walking away in the direction of the stairs.
Steve nudged your bedroom door open once you got upstairs and flopped you down on the bed, making you bounce on the mattress.
He hovered over you, settling between your legs and rubbing the heat of him against you, while one if his hands snuck to the back of your dress and pulled the zipper down. He pulled the clothing item down your body as he kissed the same path, and soon you were only in his shirt and a thong.
Your legs opened to accommodate him further, thighs falling to your sides, and he slotted himself chest to mattress, lips barely an inch away from your pussy. Steve kissed your inner thigh once, then again, and your fingers threaded through his hair.Ā
"She's wetter than that night," He spoke softly, but his voice had a dark tone to it, blue eyes staring up at you. "Can't blame me from coming in my boxers when," and a bite to your flesh. "you were grinding a wet spot onto me,Ā honey."
Fuck him and that nickname.Ā
His middle finger came to curl beyond the hem, pulling the sticky wet fabric down your thighs, and both of his thumbs spread your lips, watching your hole clench around nothing.Ā
His gaze once again reached yours, almost asking for permission.Ā
You didn't seem to be able to find it in you to say anything, not a single word but a quiet "Please." leaving your lips.Ā
The second his tongue touched your slit, you were all the way back in that mission in Colombia. Wet, horny, and almost begging him.
At the first taste of you, one would think Steve got possessed, quickly settling further into the mattress and wrapping his arms around your thighs, holding them open. "F-fuck, Steveā"
He groaned against you, the vibration going through you like electricity through water. His tongue traced your entrance, nose nudging your clit, and your back arched off the bed slightly, pushing your hips closer to his face.
Steve's fingers pressed against the tops of your thighs with bruising strength, not that you minded.Ā
Not at all.Ā
He licked zigzag patterens up and down your slit, and then would circle your clit with his tongue, sucking the nerves into his mouth and flicking it. "O-ohĀ my God."
He chuckled into you, "Stop squirming."Ā
Like you could help it. Like it was your damn fault he let Sharon touch him and flirt with him and all but forced you to make sure everyone bought this sham of a marriage.Ā
"EasierāĀ fuck me,Ā easier said than done, Rogers." Your nails scratched deeper into his scalp.
Steve angled his head differently so he could tense his tongue and fuck you while his thumb moved from your thigh to rub quick circles onto your clit.Ā
Your thighs closed around his head, eyes squeezing shut as you heard him breathe heavy against you. Steve's other hand landed on your breast, kneading the skin there, pinching and pulling a nipple drawing a mewl out of you.Ā
"Steve, Steve, I'mā fuck, I'm gonnaā"
You really shouldn't have told him, though he'd know you were close judging by the little flutters of your walls around his tongue.Ā
He pulled away harshly, chin slick and lips swollen, his hair a mess from you running your fingers through it.Ā
He stood by the foot of the bed, stripping down to nothing watching your dumbfounded fucked out expression. Your hair was matted, your nipples were hard, and there was a wet spot on the white comforter under you.Ā
In front of you, though, stood 230lbs of pure, unadultered, perfectly sculped by God, blond 100% American Prime Steve Rogers.Ā
Standing naked, tall, thick and proud.
And hard.
Your mouth salivated at the sight, looking at the leaking head of him appear and disappear inside his fist with each slick stroke he gave himself. Steve caught your ankle with his other hand, and pulled you to the edge of the bed, your toes touching the soft carpet of the bedroom.
He turned you around, fingers gripping the linen of his shirt you had on, dragging it down your arms but not over your wrists, twisting the fabric around his own fist.Ā
And just like that, you were face and shoulders down on the mattress with your wrists tied behind you, feeling him rub the head of his cock up and down your puffy slit, coating himself in your wetness.Ā
Steve heard a muffled whine from you, any words being impacted by the fabric of the bedding, "What was that, sweetheart?" He leaned over you, the tip of him notching just a smidge further.Ā
You turned your head to the side. "Steve, pleaseā¦"
He clicked his tongue again. "No, you didn't want me, remember? Think I shouldn't even be doing this to you."
He motioned to pull out and you whined louder. "Sheā she was allĀ o-over youā¦"Ā Tears pricked your eyes from the pressure in your chest, from the ache between your legs, from the desperation of being kept at the edge.Ā
āSteve, please put it inā¦ā
"Yeah?" He gave you the cue to keep going, pushing in unbearably slow and barely any.Ā
You nodded against the mattress. "Pissed me off." You gulped. "Please, please don't leave me like thisā¦"
"All you had to do was stop being such a brat about it."
And then he thrust in enough to knock the air out of your lungs. The squelch of his cock pushing into you was obscene. And in your mind every inch he pushed after that thrust had one though going through your head:
There's more?!
"Oh Godā¦"
That made Steve chuckle. "Just me, baby."
"Isā is it all in?" Your voice trembled, and if you had a mirror you'd see Steve's evil smirk as he dragged your wrists down to where your bodies connected, arching your back and hurting you with the stretch, only to wrap your delicate hands around what was left of him.
"Barely half." He grunted.
You whimpered, both in fear and anticipation, and Steve took the queue to push the rest of the way through, until your hand was flat on his pelvis, and then he let you rest against the mattress again.Ā
"So fucking good." He gave a couple tentative thrusts. "Can feel you gripping me like you don't wanna let me go."
You moaned at the feel of him hitting that sweet spot inside of you, making your eyes roll. "Soā hah! Good, Steveā¦"
After he felt your pussy get used to the size of him, that when he really stopped playing nice.Ā
You could feel every ridge of him, every vein, the length of him pulsing and pulsing inside of you, throbbing against the spongy spot that made you see stars.
āSteve, please, please let meāā
Another harsh thrust interrupted you. āTell me the truth then.ā
You whimpered. The bastard was really going to make you admit it.
As you tried to think through it, brainless as you were, he slowed down, and down, until you could feel the pulse of his cock inside of you just as he could feel your walls flutter around him.
You whimpered, cheeks blushing at the thought. āI was jealous! I was jealous, okay?!ā You pushed your hips into him, chasing friction harder, deeper.
āShe thought she could have you andā andāā He picked up the pace, your brain mush as your neck strained to keep your voice from being muffled. āAnd youāre myā Ohā oh my God!ā
āYeah?ā Steve leaned over you, fingers finding your clit with ease. āIām your what?ā
You could cry. You could cry right noā oh you had tears streaming from your eyes onto the bedding. āSteveā¦ā
His eyes rolled to the back of his head.
āThatās right, Iām your Steve.ā His fingers picked up speed as did his hips, lips kissing your shoulder blade. āCome for me, pretty girl. Come all over my cock.ā
āMmmmngghhhāā your vision went white, your body clenching tight around him and pulsing, as your moans got drowned out outside by the fireworks still going.
Steve slammed his hips deeper into you, to the point of almost painful, muttering curse words in sequence of āfuck, fuck, fuck.ā until you felt him spill thick ropes of cum inside of you, filling you up until it dripped onto the floor.
As you both caught your breaths, you heard the wet schlick of him pulling out, dropping himself on the bed with a bounce.
After a minute, you spoke. "There's gonna be so much paperwork to explain all this..."
He looked at an imaginary watch on his wrist, turning to you with that boyish smile of his, sheen coat of sweat on his chest and hairline. āGot time for a couple more rounds before all that. You tapped out?ā
You smirked at him, using your arms to push yourself up, hands on his chest for leverage as you straddled him, slick pussy on top of his hardening cock.
āI could do this all day, Cap.ā
final thoughts: this started as me and Maddie just thirsting over the shower scene, and then... yeah... heh
ā BRENDON PARK x FEM! EM RESIDENT! READER ā® 8.2K
SUMMARY Trying to avoid your hopeless crush has worked surprisingly wellā¦ until you accidentally send him a consult request.
IN WHICH Brendon Park proves that the hospital's most intimidating attending has every right to his god complex.
WARNINGS 18+, MDNI, explicit sexual content, workplace romance, attending/resident, awkward crush, reader is down bad, power imbalance, praise kink, size kink (even though reader is mentioned to be curvy a couple of times, park is huge and so is his dick š®āšØ), pussy pronouns, oral (f rec), unprotected pnv, body worship, breast play, nipple stimulation, mild choking, slight dumbification, discussion of fractures for like two seconds, mentions of Robby and Whitaker, no use of y/n. partially proof read.
NOTES gif credits : @bodeckerhedron thank you for making it just for me šāāļø (youāre supposed to say āyes, i did make it for you!ā)
Colles is a distal radius fracture, usually treated conservatively with a cast. The x-ray above is NOT Colles. It was the only ones that remotely matched my colour scheme. And as usual, the image above does not depict reader, just for vibes.
ā” READ ON AO3 ā PITT MASTERLIST
There's exactly one upside to being friends with someone in Ortho, even if all of them were just morons with a god complex.Ā
Faster consults.
Peterson was the same as you. Same year, same matching cycle, equally sleep-deprived and increasingly philosophical about whether any of this was worth it ā the answer wasĀ yes, obviously, but only at certain hours and in certain lighting.
He was Ortho and you were EM. The hospital's hierarchy made you equals, but if anyone asked you, you'd say he was doing a little better than you.Ā
Officially he couldn't sign anything. Unofficially, he could tell you that you were right, and give you the right to say "seen by Ortho." Basically, an excuse wearing scrubs.
You keep Peterson on decent terms, he comes down earlier for consults. Everyone goes home.
Good networking, if you ever had to explain it out loud. Which you wouldn't, because there was one other reason, something that no one except you knew.
Peterson was the single most efficient way to get around a consult without having to see Park.
The problem wasn't that you didn't want to see Park. You wanted to see him,Ā badly. It's just that, something happens when you do see him.
The brain that had passed med school, performed codes at asscrack hours, goes offline. You'd be a functioning person, and then Brendon Park would appear in your peripheral vision, and you'd be aĀ nobody, standing with your mouth slightly open, aware that something was supposed to be happening somewhere and nothing beyond that.
You'd proven this spectacularly multiple times. The latest incident was a week ago. Park had come down for a consult, a MVC, called down to the ER by Robby himself.Ā
You'd been so committed toĀ notĀ watching him, and guess what had happened?
You walked directly into his chest.Ā
When asked about it, you'd learned to say "accidentally bumped into him."Ā
But 'bumped' was underselling it honestly.Ā
What happened was a whole body collision. Face-to-sternum. Your suture tray went in one direction. Everything on it ā needle driver, forceps, the forever-in-shortage 3-0 ethilon ā went everywhere else.
He'd caught your elbow for half a second, which to you, felt like years, everything playing out in slow motion. It was the kind of reflex one would use to steady a child. "Watch your step." His eyes did a quick pass over you, checking for any damage. "You good?"
You'd said something, that part you remember. For the life of you, you still couldn't figure outĀ whatĀ exactly you'd said.Ā
He didn't seem to mind anyway as he'd kept walking, not even throwing a glance over his shoulder. You on the other hand, were rooted to the ground, staring at his interscapular distance, a longing wife sending her husband out to war, a wistful look on your face.Ā
Robby found you exactly like that. He brought you to your senses by snapping a glove at your shoulder, startling you. Without a single molecule of sympathy, he said, "stop drooling in my ER. And please pick those up."Ā
You picked up the tray and it's discarded contents. What you couldn't pick up was your dignity, it had taken residence at the cold hard linoleum floor of the ER.Ā
So yeah. Peterson. Earlier consults and a decent enough heart rate at all times.Ā
That was why he got sent the text. 63 year old woman, fell on an outstretched hand in her driveway, arrived with pain and swelling at the distal radius, classical dinner fork deformity.Ā
You got the X-ray. Classic Colles' ā dorsal displacement, clean break. Needed Ortho eyes and a note in the chart and that was it.
You :Ā Colles. You free?
You attached the X-rays, hit send and went back to your patient.
You didn't look at the screen.
You should have looked at the screen.
Forty-odd minutes later, Whitaker appeared at your elbow, looking pale. Well, paler than usual. "Why is Park down here?"
You looked up from your chart. "Sorry?"
"Shark." He lowered his voice, like the man could hear his own name from two rooms over. "I've checked the board twice. We only have one Ortho case and it's a Colles'." He frowned at his tablet like it had personally disappointed him. "He doesn't come down for a Colles'. He'd call every sleeping resident in the building before he personally came down here for a Colles'. Even if the systems didn't work, he'd make someone carry the films upstairs."Ā
You followed his line of sight to see Park. Big mistake, your brain started bidding you goodbye. But you feigned indifference and continued your chart. "Maybe they're short upstairs."
Whitaker looked at you like you'd suggested maybe the defibrillator was decorative. "He's the attending. If they're short, he makes their lives miserable, he doesn't physically transport himself four floors down for a Colles' fracture."Ā
"I don't know, Dennis. Probably came down for something else." You brushed him off, trying to block out the fact that Park was standing at a five metres distance and the traitorous organ inside your chest had already picked up on it.Ā
Whitaker wandered off, probably to some hole where no one ā no, Park ā couldn't find him.Ā
You continued for about one more minute. But then you remembered that Peterson hadn't texted you back.Ā
He always texted back within ten minutes. That was the entire arrangement. The one rule. Immediate response. You knew he wasn't in the OR. There were no emergency cases in the morning, and as far as you knew, Monday wasn't elective OR day.Ā
Peterson picked up sounding mildly surprised that you'd called instead of texted. No one called anyone anymore. "Hey. What'sā"
"Did you get my text?"
"What ā what text?"
The floor dropped out from under you.Ā
"I'll call you back," you hung up before he'd finished his next word, your messages already open, thumb scrolling backward ā
Dr. Park Ortho.
No, no, no. You'd texted him. You'd made him come down. God, if you still believed in her, was a cruel entity.Ā
Park's name should not exist in your phone, a number you absolutely shouldn't have. You are not his resident, you are not even tangentially his responsibility, the only reason you have it at all is because you asked Peterson for it three months ago under the thin pretense of Robby asking for it. God knows why Peterson bought it, why the Chief of Emergency Medicine would need a measly resident to ask for the Ortho God's number, but he'd given it to you nonetheless. You just kept it there like a lottery ticket you knew wouldn't win.
Three images, sent at 2:23 PM.
Three? Shouldn't it be just two? X-ray wrist ā AP and lateral.
Your thumb flied to the thread, and the first two photos were AP and lateral views.
The third though.Ā
You almost dropped the phone. Almost being the keyword. Because you couldn'tĀ affordĀ to drop it down the floor, what with the photo on display.Ā
It'sĀ you.Ā
The photo was taken three days ago. Having bought yourself an actual matching set for once, lace, dark red, you'd taken one picture. Just the one, for yourself. Like you take a picture of a meal you were proud of cooking. Same logic. You'd honestly forgotten all about it.Ā
Until now.Ā
Now Brendon Park had a photo of yourself in red lace intended for absolutely no one on this earth, with the caption 'Colles. You free?' underneath it like the universe's cruelest punchline.
Your options were limited. Transfer request, clearly. A sudden and urgent family emergency in another state, and you could continue your residency in some second rated hospital there. But, you liked working here.
You could disappear right now, walk out of this building and never come back, let your absence become the cautionary tale they told at department holiday parties for years. There was something almost freeing about that last one. But once again, you liked working here.Ā
Also Robby would actually end you if you left mid-shift.
A throat being cleared brought you to the present. You looked up to see Park towering over you, shoulders so broad and perfect, you almost wanted to bury yourself in his chest and beg for forgiveness.Ā
"Present the case, doctor."Ā
"M-me?" You pointed at yourself with your free hand, like that one little duck from The Ugly Duckling, as though he'd asked you to march into battle, a bewildered look on your face. Like the medical degree you had held no value at all.
"You were the one who texted me, right?" He turned around and walked towards South 16, where the cause to all your problems peacefully existed, drinking orange juice.Ā
Without any other choice, you followed him.Ā
When you opened your mouth, you discovered that every word you'd ever known had evacuated your skull at once.Ā
Park, for his part, did not rush you, looking at you with a sort of expression reserved for kids who threw tantrums, a somewhat 'go on, I'd like to see you try' look evident on his face.Ā
"I, she's, it's aā" You looked down at the chart in your hands like it might volunteer to speak for you. It declined. "I-It's a wrist."
Transferring was the only option left for you now.Ā
"Glad we covered that." Park deadpanned. "Walk me through it."Ā
Okay, this was pushing it. There's no reason to walk him through a Colles'.Ā
That only meant one thing. He was mad and wanted to kill you.Ā
You were going to die in your own ER, of this, right here, in front of six witnesses. Whitaker was hovering at a respectful distance looking intensely curious.Ā
Your pulse was audible. Well, at least to you.
Park stepped forward, barely an inch, and his voice dropped, his cologne invading your senses almost immediately. "I'd love nothing more right now than to have you dumb on my cock." It was conversational, almostĀ bored, like he was commenting on traffic. "But you've got a patient in front of you, so how about you focus?"
Like he didn't do anything ridiculous like suggest you die a painful death at his dick, he slowly retreated, a smirk playing on his lips, composure perfectly normal.Ā
You presented the case without making a fool of yourself any further than you already had. Mechanism of injury, dorsal angulation, neurovascular intact distally. Possibly because it was a play you knew well, watched and performed a thousand times, at a thousand other places, what with it being one of the most common fractures in the elderly.Ā
Your mouth ran the whole program without having to consult the rest of you, while you sat somewhere a few feet outside your own body and watched him nod along and glance at the films on the tablet like the last ninety seconds had never happened.
"Closed reduction. I'll send a resident down." He spoke to the room, not you.Ā
"Okay," you still responded, nodding your head for good measure.Ā
He looked at you for one more beat, a look with nothing professional left in it whatsoever. "Wait for me. After your shift."
Before you caught up with what had happened, he was walking away, pausing once to nod at Robby ā who was glancing between the two of you ā and then he was gone up the elevator.Ā
Once again, you stood at the middle of the ER, with your dignity at your feet.Ā
Luckily, Robby did not materialise behind you, only Whitaker did. "What was that about?" His brow was furrowed like he was already constructing six different worst-case scenarios in his head.
"Nothing." You were already walking the other way, shaky legs and all.
"Why do you look like you just saw a ghost?"Ā
If only he knew.Ā
The rest of your shift was something you survived rather than participated in. You sutured, discharged, charted, and your brain ran on a loop the entire time:Ā dumb on my cock ā wait for me ā dumb on my cock, with occasional breaks to consider which state had affordable housing before promptly circling back to the cock thing.Ā
By the time you clocked out you'd made and unmade about nine decisions. You spent an embarrassing amount of time in the locker room that you'd defend as getting yourself together and anyone else who'd watched would describe it as you reapplying your lip balm.
Park was leaning against his car in the parking lot when you got outside, scrolling on his phone. He looked up before you'd made it halfway across the lot.
Your legs begged for you to turn back, it's not too late to maybe live out your days in the hospital, like Whitaker did that one time.Ā
Thanks or no thanks to your prefrontal cortex, you did not retreat back to the confines of your job, put one foot forward and reached Park. "You didn't have to wait outside." And, that that was the sentence your mouth had chosen, out of every sentence currently available in the English language.
"Wasn't standing in that lobby with Robby asking me forty questions about why I'm still in the building." He tilted his head toward the passenger side. "Get in."
With a nod reserved only for superiors, you got in.Ā
Your bag sat in your lap and you kept fiddling with the zipper, which you were aware of but couldn't stop doing.
"You gonna be okay over there?" His eyes were still on the road, but head slightly tilted over to your side. "Or should I be worried?"
"I sent an attending a photo of myself in my underwear. Attached to a wrist X-ray. Asking him to come look at it." You stared straight ahead, unable to look at him. "Doing great."
That pulled something out of him, not quite a laugh, more of an exhale through the nose, amused despite his best efforts not to be. "Wasn't my least favorite outcome of the day. And wasn't that lingerie?"
"That's an extremely unprofessional thing to say to a resident, Dr Park."
"Wasn't talking to a resident." The statement ended with your name, with the same monotone you used to deliver his. He didn't elaborate any further, and you decided, wisely, not to push.
Against better judgment, you looked at the side of his face though. You didn't know someone could look this good clean shaven. He did not mind you looking at him. Or if he did, he didn't show.Ā
"How'd you even know it was me?" you asked, mostly to fill the air. "You didn't have my number."
"Caller ID's a hell of a thing." He said it like that should have been obvious, which, you supposed, it was. "Been trying to find a reason to come down and see your face all shift. You handed me one."
Park the shark? Coming down to see you?Ā
You did not have a comeback, nor did you need one.Ā
You spent the rest of the drive looking very intently out the window, aware of him glancing over more than once, the anticipation of what's coming twisting your stomach in knots you'd rather not feel right then.Ā
His place was not what you'd expected. A man cave you could've predicted, preferred even. But this was more ā¦ homely, telling you this perpetually grumpy guy that you've been pining after has a soft side.Ā
There was a blanket actually balled up on the couch, when you hadn't expected a blanket at all.
A framed photo on the stairwell wall hung slightly crooked. You had the genuinely deranged thought that you wanted to fix it, like you lived here, like that was a thing you got to have an opinion about. You did not get to have an opinion about it. You'd known the man's address for nine minutes.
He dropped his keys in a bowl by the door, the single most domestic gesture you'd ever watched him make. You stood in the entryway feeling abruptly, stupidly out of place.Ā
"Shower," he said, moving toward the hallway, not framing it as a suggestion. "You smell like the hospital."
You almost laughed at the bluntness of it. The fact that he wasn't bothering to pretend this was smooth or romantic, loosened a knot in your chest.Ā
The last person you'd done anything like this with ā a general surgery resident ā hadn't cared what either of you smelled like. He'd had you on his bed in your hospital socks within four minutes of his front door closing. You remembered lying there afterward, painfully aware of the day's grime still on his sheets, wondering if that was simply what dating other doctors was always going to be like. Safe to say, you never called him back.Ā
But, this was shaping up to be a different experience entirely.Ā
Park pointed you toward the bathroom and went to shower himself.
You showered fast, mostly out of nerves, with a bodywash that smelled unreasonably good for something so utilitarian. When you came out wrapped in a towel, you could hear water running behind a different door somewhere down the hall. A folded gray t-shirt sat on the counter that hadn't been there before, soft form what looked like a hundred washes, a faded logo on the chest you didn't recognize and didn't try to.
You put it on. Nothing else. It seemed like an instruction that didn't need spelling out. Some reckless part of you was already curious to find out if you'd read it right.
Park came out of his own shower in grey sweatpants and nothing else. His chest was, wellā¦Ā there.
When he found you sitting on the edge of his bed, he stopped in his doorway just to look. Your knees were pressed together like that was somehow going to undo the last several hours.
"That's a good look on you." Which was interesting phrasing, from a man who looked like that.
"It's the only thing you gave me to wear." You crossed your arms in front of your chest, the t-shirt riding up with the movement, soft thighs delectable for him to look at.Ā
"Take the compliment." He crossed the room slowly and stopped right in front of where you sat, close enough you had to tip your head back to keep looking at him.Ā
He leaned down and kissed you before you could come up with anything of value, one hand braced on the mattress beside your hip, the other curving along your jaw.
You'd been kissed before. If anyone had asked you, you would describ them as fine. Only now, you were learning that 'fine' is not a word one should use to describe a kiss, this one rewriting every touch of lips you've ever had.Ā
A sigh escaped into it without you meaning to, a soft, helpless little exhale that you heard yourself make and immediately regretted because it meant he heard it too.
He pulled back maybe an inch, mouth still close enough that you felt the warmth of the words. "That good, huh?"
Smug fucking bastard.Ā
"Shut up."
He kissed you again, shorter this time, mouth crooked as it pressed against yours. "You sighed."
"People sigh."
"Not like that they don't." Calloused hands spanned your hips, warmth of it raising goosebumps across your skin even through the fabric, as he softly tugged at it. "Take this off."
"You gave it to me thirty seconds ago."Ā
"And now I'm asking for it back." A faint and wicked smile crept into the corner of his mouth. "Take it off."
Your hands weren't entirely steady when you reached for the hem, more nerves than cold as you pulled the shirt up and over your head in one fast motion. Mainly because you didn't trust yourself to do it any slower, letting it drop somewhere on the floor between you.Ā
The air hit your skin half a second later, followed quickly by the realization that you were now sitting on his bed with nothing on at all while he stood there covered from the waist down.
Reflex more than decision, your knees pressed together, automatic modesty your body apparently decided it needed. His eyes dropped immediately, mouth curving into a half smile.
Big, rough hands made contact with the softness in your thighs, rubbing up and down like he was calming your nerves, followed by a soft tap to your outer thigh. "Open up."
When you stared at him blankly, upstairs evacuating again, he crouched in front of you, hands settling on your knees, thumbs pressing slow circles into the inside of them. "Open up, baby. I want to see her."
You blinked at him. "H-her? Her who?"
BrendonĀ laughed like you'd genuinely caught him off guard. "Your pussy, sweetheart. What'd you think I meant?"
Heat went straight through you, a different kind than the embarrassment, though the embarrassment hadn't entirely left the building either. The two emotions tangled tight together until you couldn't separate one from the other.
You let your knees fall open slowly, watching his face the whole time, needing to see what it did to him.
The sound that left him when he finally got a proper look at your core went straight back to it, slick gathering. "Fuck." His thumbs kept moving, working higher up your thighs. "Look at you."
Only a whimper slipped past your lips, unable to look at his eyes anymore, even if they weren't focused on yours, but an entirely different part of you.
He dragged one finger up the inside of your thigh, slow enough to border on cruel, stopping just shy of where you actually wanted him. "You're soaked, baby. All this from a wrist consult?"
"FromĀ youĀ ā" Your mouth caught up half a second too late, and you paused, pressing your lips together.
He looked up. "What was that?"
"N-nothing."
"Mm." His thumb made one more lazy circle over your skin and you realised he probably already knew. He sat back slightly as he studied you, fingers not yet reaching for the delicacy on display, content with only working you with his eyes now. "You know what I was thinking when I came down?"Ā
You were not going to ask. You were absolutely not ā "What?"
"I wanted to see how you looked. You always get this look." He tilted his head to look at you, hands still stationed at your thighs. "When you see me. You know that?"
"What?"
"That one." He nodded at your face, like it was helpfully demonstrating itself for him right now. Knowing you, it probably was. "Like your brain just took a long lunch and forgot to clock back in."
"I do not."
"You do. The lights go out." He pressed a kiss to the inside of your knee. Ā "I've been curious what it looks like when I've actually got my hands on you."
"W-what?"Ā
A parrot. You were more parrot than human, what with all the 'what's you were repeating.Ā
"You're so clueless it's adorable."Ā CluelessĀ from his mouth wasn't any different, having heard it strug with a hundred other insults aimed at his residents.Ā Adorable, on the other handā¦Ā
"Don't say adorable."
"Why not?"
"It ā it means something different when you say it." You pointed at him, which from your current position ā naked, with his hands on your thighs ā was a spectacular show of nothing. You held it anyway. "I'm not adorable. I'm a competent ā"
"Mhmm."
"ā medical professional."
"Okay." You knew every version of his okay. Months of listening to him from across rooms while pretending very hard you hadn't been doing that, and the 'okay' he'd just used meant he'd already won and had no further interest in pursuing the argument.Ā
The Peterson arrangement was there specifically to avoid this and here you were anyway, sitting on his bed, having been kissed and told you wereĀ adorable, like you were a squirrel.Ā
"You're not actually agreeing with me, are you?"
Brendon's eyes fluttered close with a soft smile on his lips. Domesticated almost, looking every bit different from the hospital version of him, damp hair falling onto his face without the usual gel to hold it back.
Piercing eyes bore into yours, an intensity that was miles ahead of what you'd experienced before. The tough guy act he usually dons at work seemed to have revealed itself for what it truly was ā an act. "Do you want me to agree with you, or eat you out?"
It was so casual, interrupting your flow of thoughts about howĀ softĀ Park the Shark looked. A minute to organise your head and you were stuck on the "eat you out." Who even asked things liked that?
Brendon was waiting for you and looked like someone who would be comfortable with the wait. He was good at that actually, the waiting it out. Once had even Robby cave, you still weren't sure how that happened.
"W-what?"
"Focus, babygirl."Ā Babygirl. That was new, that was nice. "Use your words. What do you want?"
You'd think ER doctors would be good with words. You talked dying people down from panic, talked families through the worst sentence of their lives, knew exactly how to phrase things to a scared kid in triage. Words were the whole job, basically.Ā
Apparently that didn't transfer, and once again, this was proving to be an uncharted territory. A shark swimming around you in the ER, you can handle. That was shallow waters, and you had an upper hand, known turf. Whatever this was, you absolutely couldn't.
Trying to repeat that sentence was hard, you opened and closed your mouth like a fish out of water, one the shark would very gladly devour, as you finally settled on, "yes."
"That's not what I asked, was it?"
"E-eat me out." Finally out of your mouth, heat crawling up your neck as his lips curved into an all knowing smirk, quickly vanished by your utterance of "Bren."
You had never called him that before. Even under your own sheets, with your hands between your thighs, you've fantasised and moaned 'Brendon', but this one had simply arrived. A new development, one that softened the shark's cutting bite.
"Good girl." Brendon praised, and it went straight to your cunt. "Such a good girl."Ā
Shouldn't show all your cards the very first time you're together, you'd once decided long back, and had a stellar record of following it up until this point. With the way this night was going, you were pretty sure you'd be cardless by the end of it.
Before you could say anything, Brendon's mouth found your carotid, pressing soft kisses, and briefly ā very briefly, for your disappointment ā returned to your lips, a chaste kiss, a soft denial as you chased him.Ā
As he continued marking you with featherlight kisses and gentle suction, you were becoming increasingly aware of the bulge in his pants.Ā
There was this grey sweatpants theory your friend had told you about. Never had a reason to think about it before. You were thinking about it now.Ā
Brendon's palms settled on the sides of your ribs. You must've been sleeping with pocket sized humans, because both of his hands seemed to span the whole of your torso, clearly big enough, having absolutely no problem showing it.Ā
It wasn't like you hadn't noticed them before. You had, on numerous occasions, standing on the nurses' station while he picked up a severed limb to examine. But none of that actually showed you how large his hands were, and how it could make you look small in comparison.Ā
His mouth was now warm at your clavicle, your sternum, until it reached one of your breasts. A sudden gasp from you, and you felt him smirk over your skin.
One of his hands left your hip to hold your other breast, palming it as he ravished this one with a particularly strong suction that made your toes curl.Ā
Calloused fingers deftly played with your hardened nipple, and you yet again tried to stifle a moan.Ā
Brendon pulled apart reluctantly, only to chastise you. "I wanna hear you. Don't hold back."
The next one came out loud as you nodded, the second his mouth closed back around your other nipple, tongue flicking against it while his hand kept working the first one between two fingers.Ā
Your hips lifted off the bed on their own, looking for anything to grind against, and found nothing but air.
"Patience." He said it against your skin, not even looking up.
His trail of kisses lowered past your ribs, your stomach, the softest part of it you'd spent a considerable amount of time thinking about.Ā
Brendon didn't seem to mind though, only pressing more open mouthed kisses, saliva streaking over bare skin, even sinking his teeth a few times, evidence of it you were sure to find the next day.
When his hands met your thighs, they spread them so wide, completely exposing you, even though his eyes made contact with yours once before looking back at your wet core, basically inviting him to taste.Ā
Brendon's mouth descended to your cunt as his big hands kept your thighs open however he'd wanted. You squealed at the first touch of his tongue over your wetness, lips closing over your clit, while two of his fingers parted your slick folds with utmost care, the one contrasting his pull on the soft bud.Ā
"You taste so good," his voice was muffled against your folds, the raspy tone almost had you coming right then, just from that.Ā
One finger teased your entrance, circling it just right, his tongue taking the opportunity to delve into it, a high pitched moan ā one that you didn't know you were capable of making ā ripped past your lips.Ā
The hands that were bunched at the sheets went straight to his hair, a tug that he seemed to enjoy as a groan vibrated through him.Ā
His tongue worked slow circles around your clit while his fingers found a rhythm inside you, curling on every withdrawal, and your thighs started shaking against the sides of his head before you'd even seen it coming.
"Brendon ā"
He hummed against you instead of answering, the vibration of it nearly enough on its own, and one of your hands left his hair to grab blindly at the sheet, twisting it into your fist like you needed somewhere else to put all of it.
He pulled back just enough to drag his eyes up your body. Chin wet and mouth shiny, as he reached for your hand ā the one that had abandoned his hair ā and manoeuvred it right back to where it was, encouraging you. "You can pull at me however you want."
Apparently he wasn't as attached to his hair as you'd thought.Ā
With that, his mouth met your cunt again, a smirk right against your clit before gently sucking it between his lips.Ā
The sound that tore through as you came wasn't one you were familiar with. Glad you weren't ā it probably would've gotten you into trouble if this was your apartment.Ā
When your thighs shook at the aftershocks and your fingers tugged at his hair with all their might, Brendon gentled his attack over your pussy, but kept nuzzling into you like he didn't want to stop.Ā
He kissed his way back up. Your stomach, your sternum, your throat, and when he finally got to your mouth you tasted yourself on his tongue and didn't hate it the way you probably should have. "Gotta taste how sweet you are." It was said right against your lips.
A whimper left you in mock protest as you pushed at his chest with the heels of your hands.
"What? I'm not wrong." He kissed you one more time like he was trying to prove it. "You're sweet everywhere, you know that?"
"Stop it."
"Mouth." A soft peck to your lips, lingering there. He pulled back just far enough to watch your face catch up. "Neck." Shark teeth grazed the side of your throat gently, then again with more weight behind it, enough to make your breath catch. He stayed there a moment, mouthing slowly along your pulse.
"Clavicle." Of course the Orthopedician uses the anatomical term, instead of the romantic 'collarbone' you'd have gone for, but you weren't complaining, as his mouth pressed into the hollow of it.
His mouth found the space between your breasts next, a little towards the left, one kiss pressed right over your hammering heart, his breath warm and slow against your skin.
"Breasts." He took his time at your chest this time, mouth closing over one nipple while his thumb worked slow circles on the other, and you squirmed under him, fingers curling into the sheets, the whole idea of him making a point dissolving into the fact that he just wanted to.
His mouth dragged down over your ribs one at a time, like he was counting, his exhale warm the whole way down.
"Stomach." He said it against the soft give of you and pressed an open mouthed kiss into the part of yourself you were probably the most insecure about. But, insecurity didn't stand a chance against Brendon. He stayed there long enough that you squirmed again, and felt him smile against your skin like the squirming was exactly the reaction he'd been after.Ā
The last one he skipped saying out loud. He looked up at you once, a darkness already sitting in his eyes. Every kiss before this was focused on this lips, but this one, his tongue came into action, flat and slow against you, and you understood, with sudden total clarity, that he'd meant every word.
This part wasn't about making you cum, as he immediately started making his way up, no,Ā kissingĀ his way up, at the same pace.
By the time he reached your mouth you'd pushed yourself up to meet him, sitting on shaking legs, hands sliding over his chest, his ribs, the muscle flanking his spine you'd spent months pretending not to notice.Ā
When you dragged a thumb over his nipple out of pure curiosity, he jerked under your hand, a startled laugh breaking loose that didn't match the rest of the night at all.
"Did you just ā" You did it again, intentional this time, grinning up at him.
"Don't." He caught your wrist before a third attempt, a boyishness flickering across his face. Evidence for later, blackmail for the next time he tried to act untouchable in front of everyone, dealt in private of course.
"You're ticklish."
"I'mĀ notĀ ticklish."
"Brendon Park." You said his full name like you were reading it off the board. "Attending Orthopedic surgeon. Ticklish."
"You're done." He caught both your wrists in one hand easily and pinned them gently to the side, just above your thigh. His other hand found your chest instead, thumb circling slowly over one nipple, watching your face the whole time. "That what you were trying to do?"
Your hands stayed pinned, no way to touch him back, and the lack of an outlet had your hips lifting off the bed before you'd decided to let them.
He let your wrists go, sitting back to look at you, a thought visibly surfacing behind his eyes. "You know people look at you, right?"
That came from absolutely nowhere, as you gawked at him, wondering who looked at you and where. "What?"
"At the hospital. People look at you."
"They do not."
"Night shift nurse. New surg intern." His eyes flicked toward the door like someone was about to walk through it. "Robby."
Robby couldn't possibly ā "Robby looks at me to yell at me, those are very different things."Ā
You crossed your arms on instinct, and the motion pushed your chest up, drawing attention to the soft flesh, drawingĀ hisĀ attention.Ā
He pressed you back into the mattress, mouth finding your nipple, tongue working slow circles while his hand kept the other one busy. "You'd know," he said between pulls, "if you weren't so busy ogling me."
"I don't ogle you." Your hands found his hair on their own, fingers soft against his scalp, betraying the indignation in your voice completely.
"Sure you don't."
"I don't." It came out breathier, not exactly your intended outcome.Ā
"Yeah."Ā Agreement, except you both knew it wasn't. He hooked an arm under you and shifted you higher up the bed. Easy, like you weighed nothing. Something about being moved effortlessly, like being tossed like a blanket, settled warm inside your chest.Ā
Brendon kissed down your stomach again, on his way to sit up. When he finally shoved his sweatpants, you watched him do it without meaning to stare, except you were absolutely staring, probably with your mouth wide open.Ā
He kicked them off the end of the bed and you got the full, unobstructed view of exactly what the grey sweatpants had been hiding.
"You'reĀ huge." The words left you without you having a say in it, hands immediately flying to clasp your mouth as if you can claw them back by sheer willpower.Ā
"Yeah?" He wrapped his hand around himself and pumped slowly, watching you watch him do it. His hands pried yours from your mouth and wrapped your fingers around him in place of his own.
You barely managed to circle him, the size of him making your own hand look almost comical wrapped around it.Ā
Brendon hissed through his teeth when you gave an experimental stroke, hips twitching forward into your grip like he hadn't expected it either.
He let you work him a few more times, watching your face more than what your hand was doing, before he pulled you off gently and laid himself down flat against your stomach instead, the full hot weight and length of him resting there like he was giving you a preview of what was coming. "See how huge, baby?"Ā
A nod was all you could manage as you stared down at where he sat against your skin,Ā leaking, a thin shine already smeared where he'd dragged himself there. The sight of him measured against your own body, against the soft of your stomach, made your mouth go dry all over again.
He tapped himself once against your stomach, a light thud right at your navel. "Say it again."
"No." Shaking your head, you wanted to disappear inside your own skin, the amount of attention lavished upon you almost overwhelming. The intensity of his stare alone made your knees feel like jelly.Ā
Thank god he had you spread out on his bed. If not for that, you'd definitely have made a fool of yourself in front of him. Again.
"C'mon." He rocked his hips, dragging himself an inch across your stomach, sure of himself. It would've been obnoxious on anyone else, but he looked incredibly gorgeous and that only made your thighs press together. "I like hearing it."
"That's not ā I wasn't complimenting you."
"Sure sounded like one." He braced a hand beside your head and pushed in slowly, the stretch of him pulling a gasp out of you before he'd even finished the thought. "Wanna see?"
It took you a second to get what he was offering, and you nodded. Brendon reached up, cupping the back of your skull, guiding your head up so you could watch where he was already halfway inside you, your walls stretched thin and shining around the sheer width of him, more than you'd thought your body had room for.Ā
The sight was too much to take in directly, and your head dropped fully into his palm before he'd pushed in another inch, a laugh breaking out of him.Ā
Watching your face now instead of where your bodies met, Brendon kept pushing in. Your walls clenched around him at every fraction of an inch, a stretch that bordered on too much before settling into something pleasuring.
"You good?" He asked breathless, jaw tight, hips frozen in place as he filled you to the brim.
"Uh-huh." Barely legible syllables were all you could muster.
"Words, baby."
"Move, Brendon."
The air left your lungs in one go as he pulled back almost all the way and slammed back in, your spine coming off the mattress on its own.
Somewhere at the start of this, or the weeks leading up to this, you'd thought he'd be controlled and calm, not one word wasted. He somehow turned out to be the exact opposite but also the exact same.
It felt like you were being taken apart, one piece at a time, while he was also losing himself a little. You could tell by the way his jaw kept clenching, his breath stuttering against your ear like he hadn't planned on that part happening to him too.
His hand slid up from your hip to circle around your throat, more a question than a grip.Ā
"That picture." It barely registered as language. You were somewhere past language by then, his cock and his hand at your throat only things you could process. "Who was that for?"
"What picture?" It wasn't that you were being difficult on purpose. When put in a position you've been mostly dreaming about for the past however many months, the only thing grabbing your attention was right in front of ā no, inside ā you.Ā
The question floated somewhere above you like it belonged to a conversation happening in another room.
He laughed against your throat, and bit down right over your pulse, sharp enough to sting and soft enough to soothe a second later with his tongue.
On top of that, one of his hands found your nipple, twisting the peaked bud between two fingers, hips coming to a halt.
A half formed protest rushed out of you. "Wha ā why'd you ā why'd you stop?" Breathy and whiny, your hips tried to chase friction, trying to take whatever he'd stopped giving.
"Tell me, baby." Soft and merciless words in the same breath.
"I don't ā don't know, Bren." Your hands found his shoulders, nails biting in without much intention behind it, just somewhere to put the desperation since he'd taken away everything else.Ā
"Did I fuck you dumb, sweetheart?Ā
You shook your head against the pillow, which wasn't even an answer to anything, more just a reflex, the kind of thing your body did now in place of words.Ā
His hips a dead weight notched right where you needed them moving, he waited, patient, that felt almost cruel given the state he'd left the rest of you in.
Like a browser with a hundred tabs open, your mind buffered, going through each of them until it landed on ā¦ The Picture. Right. The wrist X-ray, the caption, the ā
Oh.Ā
Oh.Ā
The realization was so slow and stupid, the way answers always showed up two minutes after you needed them in a viva. "No one," you somehow got the words out. "I ā I took it. For me. Wanted to see how it looked."
Brendon went still processing that ā stiller than he already was. "Yeah?" His mouth dragged along your jaw, and his cock dragged out of you, then he pushed in all the way deep into you, like the confession had unlocked something in him he'd been keeping on a leash. "You looked real good,Ā babydoll."
Heat crawled up your neck that had nothing to do with the stretch of him or the slow drag he'd settled into, just the stupid, helpless pleasure of being toldĀ that.Ā
Babydoll settled alongside sweetheart and babygirl, right in between them like it had always lived there, and it hit the same place good girl had, and you knew it was all over your face. Every card, every single one, face-up. He looked at you and saw all of them.
You knew and couldn't stop it. YouĀ preened. There wasn't a better word for it. Your whole chest just sat up and asked for more.
If he'd noticed, he didn't make a show of it. "Next time," he said, "you're wearing that. And I'm taking it off you myself."
Your cunt clenched around him at the word 'next', an involuntary thing. Of course, he'd felt it, a laugh coming out low and a little wicked against your collarbone. "Oh." His hips stuttered once, to test you or if he was that affected, you weren't sure. "SheĀ liked that."
You wanted to die. You wanted to die and also you wanted him to say it again, both feelings sitting side by side without bothering to fight each other for space.
He hooked his arm under your knee and dragged it higher over his thigh, opening you up wider underneath him.Ā
The new angle had you gasping before you'd even processed the shift, his cock pressing somewhere new and unbearably deep.
"Fuck, you feel ā" His jaw went tight, breath catching against your ear, and the sentence just died there, unfinished.
You felt a little fierceness in you sit up too, a little smug. He wasn't unaffected. Whatever this was doing to you, it was doing it to him too. That single broken half-sentence felt like a win.
Somewhere underneath the noise, you understood it now. The thing the nurses whispered about ā the god complex of it all. You'd rolled your eyes at every Ortho guy whoās acted like they personally invented bone.Ā
Now, you couldn't speak for the rest of them. You hadn't slept with all of them, for one, and didn't plan to start now.
So, the sample size you were working with was n=1, which was not statistically significant in the traditional sense, but you were convinced.Ā
This one. This infuriating, occasionally tender man currently splitting you open ā he'd earned whatever god complex he wanted to keep.Ā
"Where do you want it?" His voice dropped, hips losing the rhythm he'd clinged to, like he was holding the last of his control together with both hands. "Tell me, baby."
"Inside." It came out before you could second-guess it. "Please, Bren. Inside."
"Fuck. Good girl." The praise went straight through you, the same way it had the first time. Except now it had nowhere left to land except your shaking core, your whole body drawing tight around the words and around him at the same time.
Brendon reached between you, two fingers finding your clit, and the combination of that and the angle and the low filthy murmur of 'want you' and 'need you' against your throat sent you over before you'd even braced for it, your whole body locking up around him, vision actually whiting out at the corners for a second.
He followed almost immediately after, a groan tearing out of him that didn't sound anything like the composed, deadpan voice you'd known, hips stuttering, before he stilled deep, spilling ropes into you, both of you breathing like you'd run somewhere.
His forehead dropped to your shoulder, one hand smoothing the line of your hip.Ā
You lay there underneath the weight of him thinking, distantly, that you'd never once associated gentle and Brendon Park before tonight and now you weren't sure you'd be able to separate them again.
Eventually he rolled to the side, pulling you with him against his chest, his hand now tracing slow lines up your spine.
"I should go," you said, even as your body did the exact opposite of going, settling deeper into him.
"Or," his mouth was against your neck, "you could stay."
"I'd be late." You'd already started counting the hours, and whether you had a fresh set of scrubs in your locker or if you'd have to do the walk of shame in yesterday's, whether anyone would actually notice or if you were just assuming the entire hospital revolved around tracking your sleep schedule the way you currently were.Ā
"I'll write you a note." He said it with such a straight face, you almost believed there was a version of this where that worked. Brendon Park scrawling an excuse on a prescription pad and Robby just accepting it without asking a single follow-up question. The image alone nearly made you laugh into his chest.
You propped yourself up enough to glare at him, even though the effect was probably ruined by whatever state your hair was currently in. "First of all, I'm not five. Iām not going to school. Secondly, you're not my attending."
His hand found the back of your head before you'd finished the sentence, guiding you back down against his chest. "Robby's the only attending you take orders from, huh?"
"Well. He is my attending."
"Mm." For a man who'd had you twice in the last hour, he sounded almost petulant.Ā
"Brendon. I'm in your bed." You tipped your head back to look at him, his mouth set in a soft frown, more like a pout. "You donāt have to be jealous of Robby."
"I'm not."
"You're jealous of Robby right now. Post-nut."
His nose scrunched up, and you immediately wanted to kiss it. "Don't ā don't say post-nut."
A laugh cracked out of you, and not a cute one. "Park the Shark. Jealous. Of Robby." You dragged out the syllables, drawing it into a sing song taunt.
"Watch it."
You bit down on a smile and lost, mouth pressed flat against his chest where you figured he couldn't see it.Ā
Apparently he could feel it though, his hand stilled mid-stroke. "You're hiding."Ā
"I'm not hiding anything."
"You're smiling. I can feel it."
"Shut up, Brendon."
EXTRAS guess who was studying Ortho when this plot came to mind? Also final fic for a while, Iām going on a proper break this time šāāļø
ššš šššššāš š šššššššš ššššš. šāĀ°š¦¢.āį„«į” ā please give all of these incredible writers the love and support. šÆ random fandom & character order, 18+ only please.
part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven, part eight, part nine, part ten, part eleven,
God Complex, š.š, @metal-armed-muse
Biological Clock, š.š, @mariasont
Golden Girl, š.š, & š.š, @bluetimeombre
Pearls Before Swine, š.š, @sun-snatcher
No Big Deal, Baby, š.š, @mcybank
Expectations, š.š, @snoopysupe
Bid For Attention, š.š, & š.š, @pinkandblueblurbs
Soft & Sweet, š.š, @taknbythewind
Love At First Coffee, š.š, @metal-armed-muse
summary: On the verge of failing Potions thanks to your idiotic lab partner and Quidditch rival Draco Malfoy, the two of you are forced to sneak into the greenhouse at night for a final ingredient, only to stumble into some strange plants along the way.
tags: 18+ MDNI, [sex pollen] [enemies to lovers] [quidditch rivals] [eighth-year at hogwarts] [mutual masturbation] [dubcon but only because it's sex pollen lol ] [oral sex] [malfoy whimpers] [hate sex] [switchy] [penetrative sex] [multiple orgasms]
author's note: It felt weird not writing Draco & Snitch from Lessons in Losing, but i hope you like Nineteen :) Title is inspired by the song Fatal Attraction by Reed Wonder. 9k words
āThis is a terrible idea,ā you hiss, rounding the corner toward the side exit of the castle.
Draco scoffs. āLike you have a better one.ā
While he draws his wand from his robes, you cast another wary glance over your shoulder. The hallway is empty behind you, lit with dim floating candles. The castle sleeps, blissfully unaware of the plans you and your Quidditch rival have in store tonight.
Sadly, you don't. Have a better plan, that is. That's why you're out after curfew, dodging prefects and paintings like it's your full-time job.
"There's just got to be another way," you say, checking behind you again.
"There's not. Unless you count failing an option. You want to fail tomorrow, Nineteen?ā
Draco Malfoy has never called you by your real nameāonly your Quidditch number. Because thatās all you are to him. Not a person. Just an obstacle on the pitch. But you know the truth: youāre the only Seeker in the entire school who gives him a run for his money.
āNoābut I think itās important for you to remember how itās your fault weāre in this predicament in the first place!ā
āI beg to differ,ā Draco says, opening the door with a flick of his wand and stepping out into the night. āIām quite good at potions.ā
You rush to slip after him before the door swings shut behind you with a heavy thud.
Prick.
Youāre not sure why Draco really even gives a shit about this assignment. All he cares about is winning Quidditch matches and getting the hell out of this school.
And why should he care?
Itās not like anything bad will happen to him if he gets one bad grade. You, on the other hand, have a bit more to lose. As a trainee healer, you need to score well on the NEWTs this year to secure your spot in the coveted apprentice slots. Needless to say, failing your Potions final just simply isnāt an option.
The air outside is muggy and warmāan unusually humid night for early April. The sky is clear, though, boasting a bright full moon. A perfect night for harvesting a nocturnal plant. An owl hoots somewhere in the Forbidden Forest beyond, and the tall grass tickles your ankles as you make your way to the cluster of greenhouses on the grounds.
You yank on Draco's sleeve as he walks straight past the entrance to Greenhouse Three.
He shrugs off your hand and gestures impatiently to the latticed door. āHurry up and open it.ā
āOne of us should stay on the lookout,ā you huff. Your fingers brush your wand in your pocket. āIāll go and grab the sample, and you signal me if thereās anyāā
āWait.ā He stops you. āWhy do you get to go inside?ā
You stare at him, jaw slack. āBecause Iām the healer?ā
āNot yet, youāre not.ā
Sometimes, you take comfort in your fantasies about Draco Malfoy.
Youāre up to ten different ways you might be able to knock him off his broom. Make him suffer in a way he never saw coming. And thanks to that comment, youāre now trying to come up with the eleventh.
āWhy donāt you be the lookout, and I retrieve the sample?ā He asks pointedly.
You sigh, irritated. āBecause, Malfoy, I donāt trust you to get an accurate sample, okay? You couldnāt even keep our original sprig alive long enough for us to use it tomorrow!ā
āYou know, thatās a good point.ā He crosses his arms over his chest. āPerhaps I donāt trust you, either. You know, we never did specify which of us was supposed to give the plant the appropriate amount of moonlightā¦ā
You squint up at him. āOh? We didnāt? Thatās right. Maybe thatās because when we got assigned this potion, I stole the Snitch from under your nose at finals, and you didnāt speak to me for a week!ā
Normally, you wouldn't complain about that. Being Quidditch rivals was one thing. Mouthing off to each other on the Pitch? That was a given. Outside of that, you didn't talk. It was a hard line.
That week just happened to be the one week you actually needed him to speak to you.
Because while he was busy trying to salvage his pride and keep his ego somewhat intact, you were actually doing all the heavy lifting for the assignment in Potions. The one Snape assigned to the both of you.
He huffs, irritated. Heās obviously annoyed you keep bringing that loss of his up, but you wonāt stop anytime soon.
āWe both go in, or Iām out," he says, his jaw set in determination.
You weigh your options. You could probably get the sample on your own, but youāre not willing to risk getting caught by yourself. If you get caught with him, you can do the obvious.
Blame him.
Turns out, itās not much of a decision after all.
āFine,ā you mutter through grit teeth. āLetās just get this over with.ā
You unlock the door with a few precise spins of your wand and whisper the password low enough that Malfoy canāt hear it. The door unlatches with a hiss, and a warm, earthy smell hits you in the face. Itās familiar to you, and soothing in a way.
Malfoy shifts on his feet, eager to enter, but right before he pushes the door open, you bar his chest with your arm, wand at the ready.
You level his gaze. āWhatever you doādonāt touch anything.ā
He scoffs, slipping past you and through the door with a flick of his robes. āScared of a few plants, Nineteen?ā He looks over his shoulder. āBit concerning for a future healer and all. You might not make the cut.ā
He shrugs with false sympathy before disappearing into the darkness beyond.
Nevermind. Gone are the thoughts of making his death a swift and easy one. Now, youāre envisioning something longer, slower, your hands around his neckā
You wonder if he begs half as prettily as he flies.
Youāve never really understood it.
The strange utopia that is Greenhouse Three. Itās always felt more like a portal to another dimension, rather than a plant nursery. But seeing it under the night sky is an otherworldly experience.
The tall domed ceiling stretches high above you, and dimmer disks fly from their assigned pots to line the narrow walkway upon your arrival.
Thereās a silence about the place, but beneath it all, something living without breathing. As you walk among the taller plants lining the path, it feels like walking through a graveyard. But instead of the bones turning to dust under the earthātheyāre watching.
The Nightbell Stalk lives all the way at the back of the greenhouse, in a secret locker called the Lumen Garden. Youāve never seen this garden, given the fact that it magically appears only when the moon is at its peak, and disappears again before the sun rises. Even despite the blatant breaking of curfew, youāve been warned never to enter, given the dangerous nature of the plants one might encounter.
But, as they say, dangerous times call for desperate measures. Or, desperate times call for dangerous measures. Something like that.
All you know is itās as desperate as it is dangerous, or you would never be so reckless.
Soon enough, the Lumen Garden door looms over you. Itās tall and black, and it sparkles in the light of the skimmer dimmers, like itās made of crushed black diamond.
You turn to Malfoy. āDo you have it?ā
He pulls an aged piece of parchment from his pocket. You reach for it but he snatches it back just in time.
āI didnāt risk my life in the Restricted Section, so you could show off your poor Mermish,ā he says.
āāRisking your life,āā you roll your eyes, unimpressed. āAs if you donāt practically live there. Get on with it, then.ā
He clears his throat. You try not to watch the way his fingers carefully unfold the paper, holding it like itās something valuable. Heās always been like that when it comes to ancient scripts.
āVaelith mora selune,ā he whispers.
By moonlight reveal.
Your pulse leaps as the scrape of stone on stone reverberates throughout the silent room, bouncing off the glass panes above you.
As the stone door rolls back, it reveals a room so beautiful it nearly takes your breath away.
Opal stones guide you forward, leading to a circular pool in the center. The water lies perfectly still, glassy and undisturbed, yet the plants rooted beneath its surface sway gently in some unseen current.
Overhead, moonlight spills through the curved glass dome, and the panes are cloudy on purpose, filtering and diffusing the moonlight into something stronger and more even.Ā
You tiptoe onto the landing, barely noting the black mossy walls surrounding you before the stone rolls shut behind you. Malfoyās polished shoes click decisively down the opal stones, not the least bit fased.
You swallow and follow after him. Mist rises up from the pond, and when you lean closer, curiosity pulling you in, you catch sight of movement. Thin, glowing threads streak by under the glassy surface. Jilly bugs. They help the plants thrive in the lowlight conditions.
āKeep up, will you?ā Draco hisses, drawing your attention to him.
Heās standing over a garden bed beyond the pond, half swallowed by the shadowed wall behind him.
These nocturnal plants only bloom at night, and they die without it. Because of this, these plants have different colors than normal ones. Most of them are varying shades of black, purple, or blue, evolved to camouflage with the night or their natural habitats.
As you step closer, the vines come into view. There are tons of them, growing along a nearly imperceptible trellis that spans the full length of the back wall, their long stems twirling and looping, spilling out across the floor and crawling up the dome above.
Youāre just reaching his side when something moves out of the corner of your eye. Your head whips towards the wall, eyes narrowing through the gray haze.
But thereās nothing. Just vines, their leaves sitting so still they could almost pass as wax.
āWhereās the bloody vialā¦?ā Draco mutters to himself, patting down the pockets of his robes.
His features catch the light as he looks down. Your eyes drift over the edge of his nose, the slope of his brow, that strong jaw. You look away when his chin tips up.
Reaching into your pocket, you retrieve the small glass bottle, holding it out for him to see.
Draco frowns. āThief.ā
You shrug, glancing down at the Nightbell Stalk in front of you.
Itās a deep violet, with small, downward-facing flowers. Inside each one, the stems glow a faint gold. You can smell the nectar from where you stand--sweet, like honey, but heavier. Thicker.
When Malfoy reaches for the vial, you snap it back in the last second.
āIām doing it,ā you say.
āLike hell you are.ā He scoffs. āJust because youāre a healer doesnāt give you the right to fuck this up. Itās my project too, you know.ā
Anger sparks in your gut and you turn on him. āYou havenāt given a shit about this potion the entire semester, and Iām supposed to believe you actually care now? Besides, you donāt have the experience requiredāā
āOh, I have the experience. Stand aside.ā He reaches for the sample vial. āI can handle something as simple asāā
You snatch it back again. āOh, so you know that the bells ring when disturbed, so you only touch the stem. Did you know that Malfoy?ā
āIāyes! I know more thanāā
āSo, obviously, youād be cautious around the petals, since theyāre so sticky they can leave a residue on your hands for a week.ā Your lips set in a taunting line and narrow your eyes at him. āBut you knew that, huh?ā
Draco glares down at you. āIām well aware of the difficulties with this plant. And by the way, I suggested this plan. So, Iāll do it.ā
Your argument continues, words overlapping, while your voices ring eerily loud in the silence of the greenhouse.
Push, pull, counter, strike.
You fight the same way you fly on the pitch, chasing the same goal. Competitive to a fault.
The exact fault being that while the two of you are too busy arguing over who gets to hold the stemāand where the vial goes exactlyāyou donāt realize one vine unfurling from the wall behind you, growing curious in the moonlight.
āMy hands are steadier,ā Draco says from his place over your shoulder.
You bite your lip, ignoring the way his breath ghosts across your ear, focusing your energy on getting the ingredient.
You accidentally graze the edge of the downward-turned petal with the rim of the glass and the flowers on the Nightbell Stalk ring softly.
āShit,ā you mutter.
āYou know itās true,ā he continues, voice low. āHow many times have you lost the Snitch because of your poor grip, hmm? I havenāt. Not once.ā
With one sharp movement of your fingers, you scoop up the drop of nectar from the stems inside. It slides down the glass, glowing a deep orange. Satisfaction curls warm under your ribs like your feline familiar back in your dorm room.
You grin. āGot it.ā
Reveling in your win, you turn, ready to shove your success in his face, but the movement only presses your back further into his chest.
āMove, would you?ā You bite, trying to slide around him, but the tight space doesnāt allow for much wiggle room.
He shifts to let you through, but the narrow corridor between the wall and the garden bed seems to get tighter with his body pressed against yours. Somewhere, your feet get tangled and he stumbles, sprawling back against the garden bed, which pushes you flat against the ivy wall, glaring up at him.
His head blocks the moonlight, his silhouette falling over you like a living shadow. His lips part like he might say something, and you find yourself leaning forward, waiting breathlessly, when something brushes your ankle.
You leap forward. Dracoās arm wraps around you out of instinct. The two of you stare at each other before he seems to remember who you are and drop his arm like youāve burned him.
āThrowing yourself at me, are you?ā He drawls, breaking the silent tension.
āNo!ā You look down at the ground, but thereās nothing there. Just mossy stone under your feet, the shadow of the vine wall at your heels. āSomething justā¦grabbed me.ā
Draco shakes his head and shoves past you. āItās always drama with you, isnāt it?ā
āIām serious!ā you snap. āIt almost tripped me!ā
āAh, yes. Do me a favor and twist that pretty little ankle would you? Just secure me a win next match, thanks.ā
His words make you pause, forgetting all about the mysterious touch. A smile steals across your face before you can stop it. āSo, you admit I need to be taken out for you to have a shot at the Cup, then?ā
He spins on the spot, a shadow etched between his brows as he scowls at you under the moonlight. āYouāre twisting my words.ā
āI am not! Merlin, Malfoy, do you ever just shut upāā Something brushes your shoulder. You freeze. āWhat was that?ā
To your surprise, Draco actually shuts his mouth to listen. Thereās nothing. No frogs, no crickets, no owl, no water dripping, no jilly bugs splashing in the pond.
Itāsā¦silent.
Suddenly, something moves above you. Both your gazes jerk up at the same time. A leafy vineāso green itās almost blackādrops down from the wall and brushes Dracoās hair.
He flinches, and as the light catches on the small, glass-like beads growing between the leaves, your stomach drops.
You know exactly what that is.
The Veleroux Vine. Some call it Sirenlace. But itās best known for another name.
Sex pollen.
You recognize it from your studies. The pollen pods contain a powerful aphrodisiac, said to heighten biological desire to mate in extreme ways. The more you resist, the worse the fever gets, making you wild with lust.
āDracoādonāt touchāā You throw a hand out to stop him.
But itās too late.
Malfoy rears back and slaps the invading greenery away like heās swatting a fly.
Shit.
āDammit, Malfoy, what did I say about not touching anything?ā You shriek, surging forward and shoving at his chest. āGet away from thāā
The first bead snaps open in a plume of dust. Fear rushes through your limbs and you try to jerk the both of you away, but youāre not quick enough.
One after another, the pollen pods pop in sequence, traveling down the vine, dusting your hair, your robes, and filling the air.
You jerk back, furiously rubbing at your skin, but itās no use. It settles on you like a thin glitter, small enough to even to slip into your pores.
āOh, shit. Fuckingāfuck. Fuck!ā you holler, but you shouldnāt have opened your mouth. Now the back of your throat feels like when you stuck your head in the sugar jar as a kid.
Draco sends you a withering look, brushing down his robes. āCalm down, will you? Bloody hellājust a little plant dust.ā
āJust a plantāā You scoff, throwing your hands up in the air. āMerlin help me, you canāt just fucking listen for one second. I know what Iām talking about! Hurry! We have to get out of here before itāā
The vine slips around your shoulder at the very same moment Draco glances down to find another one winding around his ankle.
āāgrabs us,ā you finish weakly.
You try to scramble away, but the leaves thread around your arm in a silky vice.
Draco curses loudly at the thing, hopping on one foot, losing his robes in the process of trying to extricate himself.
āYou have the wrongā¦pair,ā you tell the inky leaves while you fumble for your wand. āWe arenātāwe canātā¦do what you want.ā
āIt wants something?ā Draco casts a disbelieving look at the vine now wrapped around his dark slacks, settling around his knee. āMerlināwhat?ā
āIt wants us to have sex,ā you say, matter-of-factly.
He looks at you like youāve grown two heads. Then his gaze darkens, snagging on the way your hard nipples strain against your shirt.
Already? This shit works fast. You finally free your wand and cross your arms over your chest.
āSex?ā he sneers.
āYes. Itās an aphrodisiac plant, native to rare jungles. Its job is to encourage mating between compatible species.ā
āCompatible.ā He scoffs. āYou and me? Farthest thing from it.ā
āIt doesnāt know that..." You gasp as your wand is whisked out of your hands by a particularly strong leaf.
āTalk to it again. Tell it!ā Draco shouts. He looks down and shakes his leg violently. The vine doesnāt budge. āShitājust get it off me!ā
Whispers of leaves dragging against stone make you turn to face the corner of the room behind you. A cluster of vines has begun to twist together, the husky hush of plants twining and looping filling the air. Vines slide across the floor, retracting into the dark corner, while more gather from the ceiling, shifting the beams of moonlight through the dusty air.
āItās building its nest,ā you reply, eyes on the plant.
āItāsā¦what?ā
You turn to see Draco fighting tooth and nail. Heās got his wand out now. Streaks of light bounce across the room, flames erupt in the air but they bounce off the leaves like theyāre nothing but a few stray sparks. Across the room, past the pool, some of the other plants wither and shrink away from the light.
Adrenaline surges through you as your mind scrambles for a solution. Youāre already beginning to feel it, a tugging deep in your core.
That familiar tight ache that blooms in the dark, alone, in your bed. But unlike then, right now, you canāt give into it. You try not think about howĀ the longer you resist, the worse it will get. From your brief research, sex pollen isnāt fatal, but it certainly isnāt pleasant.
Unless you give in.
Then, of course, itās rumored to be the best sex of your entire life.
You donāt have the luxury of finding that out.
There is an antidote, of course, but it is completely and totally, one-hundred percent, without a doubtāout of the question.
Sex with Malfoy? Not happening.
Thereās only one answer. You have to escape.
Your gaze swings to the stone door, framed in elegant iron bars that allow climbers to reach moonlight.
Maybe if you could get out of the vineās reach, it wouldnāt be able to chase you.
It only takes a second to form a plan.
Tipping back, you let your weight fall backwards into the vine, hoping to catch it off guard and force it to loosen its hold. Instead, you trip over a stray pot and go tumbling to the ground.
But before you hit the stone, the Veleroux is there.
Your breath catches, heart pounding, suspended in the air. Then the vine pushes gently into your lower back, guiding you forward util your feet find solid ground again. You stare, openmouthed, as the leaves brush along your leg, almost as if checking for injury, before nudging you toward the corner of the room.
āOh, Merlin. Yes, I see your nest,ā you say weakly, watching as the vine curls in on itself to form a sort of ballāmore of a fist, reallyāand uses it to push softly against the heels of your shoes, urging you forward. It uncurls when you take a step, leaves fluttering as if pleased. Then it spins in the air, gesturing as if to say, look, I made this for you. A cozy, safe place to mate. āVery nice. Lovely, really. But you see, we canātāā
āBlimey! Get back!ā Dracoās voice interrupts your one-sided conversation.
You look over your shoulder, wobbling a bit as the plant continues to nudge you towards the silky hammock in the corner. Heās covered in vines, now. His wand has fallen somewhere off to the side, out of both your reach. Heās still flailing, hair mussed, trying andāfailingā to break free.
You look down. The vineās not even holding onto you anymore. Is it because youāre not fighting as hard?
You take a step towards the door. Nothing happens. You take another, and the vine edges closer. On the third, it finds your ankle again. But it doesnāt squeeze you or cinch tight enough to sting. It just curls softly around your leg, firm enough to stop you from running, but gentle enough that you start to suspect it doesnāt want you damaged.
Malfoy, on the other hand, looks almost black and blue.
āStop!ā You call. āThe harder you fight, the tighter it tries to hold you. Justāwatch. Walk towards me.ā
āYouāre insane. You know that?ā he spits. But his eyes catch on your vineless body anyway.
āTrust me, Malfoy.ā
Thatās a phrase you never imagined yourself saying to him.
āIt doesnāt want to hurt us,ā you whisper. āI donāt think.ā
He shakes his head. āThatās not good enough for me.ā
Despite his words, Draco takes one step towards you. The vineās hold loosens. Another step and it slips from his chest entirely.
āSee?ā you say, encouraged. āItās biological nature is to keep its prey alive and well. It canāt force us to mate. It justā¦heavily suggests it.ā
āOf course it doesnāt force it,ā Draco sneers. āA plant canāt make me do anything I donāt want to do.ā But even as the words leave his lips, his eyes drop to the edge of your skirt. The hem suddenly feels six inches shorter, though you know it hasnāt shrunk.
Draco moves closer and the vines start to retreat, but he keeps a wary eye on them until they disappear into the Nest.
He glares at it, then at you. āWhat is that?ā
āItās a hammock,ā you answer, eyes darting around for another escape route. āThe vine thinks it will make us more comfortable. Since itās not all over us anymore, I say we try to appease it. Just a little.ā
āAppease it?ā He gasps. āYou want toāI canāt believe this. Thatāā he gestures towards the jumble of vines. āCould be a swan down comforter with silk sheets. I donāt care, Iām not going near it.ā
You roll your eyes. āMerlin, you donāt listen. Iām not saying we go in the Nest. Iām saying we justā¦pretend. Then we can make a run for it.ā
He doesnāt look convinced, so you turn to face him. āThis plant spreads pollen to encourage mating, right? But how does it know when itās worked? Itās not aware like we are.ā
His eyes narrow. āYour point?ā
āMy point isā¦itās pheromones, right? With our heightened hormones right now, we might be able to trick it into thinking we're on board, and it will let it's guard down.ā Your stomach swoops with the words about to leave your tongue. āSo maybe if youāif weāā
Dracoās eyes snap to yours. āIf we what?ā
His tongue swipes over his lower lip, leaving it glistening in the moonlight.
Stupid fucking pollen.
You swallow hard. āI think we should kiss.ā
A beat of silence passes, the only sound your heartbeat kicking up, drumming in your ears.
āFine,ā he agrees.
That surprises you. You thought heād gag at the very idea.
It must be the pollen, overriding his blatant hate for you and digging into his more urgent needs.
A shiver rolls down your spine at what those needs of his might be. Youāre feeling it too, of course. The effect of being so close to him.
Itās only biological. To be drawn to a specimen of the opposite sex.
And why not Draco? Heās tall, healthy, miles of lean muscle. He smells good, and heās not bad to look at. Especially when his eyes do thatāflashing over at you thing, while his mouth quirks into a crooked smirkā¦
No other reason. Right?
You donāt have time to debate this, however, because Dracoās moving.
Youāre vaguely aware of the vine brushing your ankle, keeping you steady as he crowds your space, and thenā
Your lips meet his.
Your breath catches at the warmth you werenāt expecting. And that warmthā¦blooms. Your lashes fall shut as your whole body seems to sigh at the touch, like heās the cure to the dull ache in your limbs, the antidote to the burning in your core. Just a gentle caress turns the sharp heat into a molten lava that invades your bloodstream.
He groans softly into your mouth, and the sound alone makes you gasp. Next thing you know, youāre pressed against his chest. Whether by his arms around you, or your own feet carrying you, or the stupid fucking vine playing matchmaker, all you know is he smells like green apples and teakwood. Cold luxury, but with a hint ofā¦home.
At the first taste of his tongue, your stomach swoops dangerously. As he slants his mouth further, exploring, kissing you deeper, your heart feels like itās beating as fast as a Snitchās wings.
Your hands find his hair. Itās soft as silk between your fingers. A whimper escapes him and he breaks the kiss, head dropping back instinctively.
You watch through half-lidded eyes, taking in the way his wet lips gleam in the moonlight, blond lashes fluttering.
Merlin, heās gorgeous.
His throat bobs on a swallow, and before you know it, your mouth is on his neck. He lets out a choked sound, something between a gasp and a groan, before jerking suddenly in your hold.
You stumble away, already missing the heat of his hands, lips buzzing like youāve just downed a shot of fire-whiskey.
Itās him, you realize. Heās your drug. And when he lurches backward, breathing hard, you feel as if heās just taken your last fix.
His eyes stay pinned on you as he retreats. The vine stops him with a gentle pressure at his back, but he doesnāt even seem to notice. He lets it guide him toward the nest, stopping just beside it, his back hitting the wall.
You scramble back until your heels knock into the stone wall opposite him. The Nest sits between you, off to the right, tucked in the dark corner of the room.
āBrilliant plan,ā he grits out. āBloody brilliant.ā
And youāre back to square one.
āAh!ā Draco shouts, pointing at his wand lying on the ground between you. āYou crossed the boundary.ā
āI did not!ā you snap at him, eyes flashing. āI was just adjusting. My foot kicked it accidentallyāshitāwould you just shut up? Your voice makes it worse.ā
Over the last several minutes, you and Draco have tried everything under the sun to escape. The farthest you ever made it was all of ten feet. You did manage to retrieve Dracoās wand, though. Which then started the slew of fire spells, sharp object summoning charms, and so on. An earthquake hex was threatened, but that couldāve brought the whole school down, so you couldnāt risk that.
Although it was considered for one briefāand selfishāmoment.
But none of it did a thing.
Turns out, this plant has some sort of magical resistance. Itās so bad that he couldnāt even make a force field or proper line divider between you, so he placed his wand there instead.
Youāve slowly slid down into a heap on the floor, attempting to make yourself smaller, as if that might ease the ache building deep in your core. Itās relentless, hot and gnawing, and you know itās only going to get worse if you donāt come up with another plan soon.
Dracoās sitting now too, half draped in shadow. His arms crossed over his crisp white button-down, and heās still glaring at you as if this is all your fault. The one knee strategically placed in front of his groan is the only sign youāve gotten that the pollen is effecting him at all.
Bastard.
His tie is loose though, and his hair is tousled. Like it always is after a match. Thereās no wind in here though, just the whisper of leaves and the steady drip of water.
No. Your hands are the only thing to blame for that.
Shit.
Now all you can think about is how soft his hair felt, how easily your fingers sank into it, and all the ways you could drag him closer by it, yanking his hot, wet mouth to yourā
āWhat did I tell you about thinking those things?ā Draco says. You peek up to see his head hit the wall, eyes sliding shut.
āIām not thinking anythingāā
āStop lying, Nineteen.ā His nostrils flare, and his eyes snap open. Somehow, his pupils have grown even larger. āYou're so wet I can practically taste it from here.ā
Merlin. Your thighs press together instinctively.
āIām not thinking anything that has to do with you,ā you snap. āExcept how much I hate you. How much I despise your face, how much I want to steal that Snitch from you every damn day, and how if I had to be here, I would rather it be anyone else other than you!ā
Your chest heaves as you catch your breath. But the way he looks at you makes your pulse spike all over again.
āIs that right?ā
His cheeks are flushed, the same way they are when heās hot on the Snitchās trail. Your slick walls flutter at the sight. Youāve always thought he looked good like that. All sweaty and warm, hair stuck to his forehead, eyes bright with a fire that matches yours.
Not that you would ever tell him, of course.
āWho would you want instead?ā he rasps. āMontague? Flint? I see the way you look at them on the pitch.ā He looks away for a second and drags his knuckles across his lips before his gaze snaps back to yours.Ā āLucky for you, youāre trapped here with someone who can show a little restraint.ā
You bark out a laugh. āYou think youāre the only one here with restraint? Take one step toward me, Malfoy, and I swear Iāll hex you.ā
He grunts. āYou donāt have a wand.ā
Your head tips back with a quiet groan, your clit aching to be touched. You make another weak attempt to get away, but the vine catches you.
It doesnāt snap, claw, or hold you against your will. Rather it settles around your shoulders, brushing a waxy leaf along your cheek, tucking your hair behind your ear before retreating again, as if to say, Stop fighting. Just look at him. Donāt you want to?
And somehow, thatās worse.
Because you do.
Badly.
You find yourself looking at his hands. Your gaze drifts over the curve of hisĀ palms, the long lines of his fingers, the tension there, the veins, the control heās barely holding onto andāyouāre salivating.
Snap out of it.
āItās so hot in here, f-fuck,ā you whine, pawing at the collar of your shirt.
Draco eyes lock on you fingers. āTake that off and I swearādonāt.ā
But your tie feels like itās choking you, and your pulse booms in your ears. Your fingers keep loosening it. Draco curses.
You whimper. āThatās not fair, you took yours off!ā
āStop talking. Merlin, justāā he cuts himself off with a rough breath, his large palm grinding down into his erection beneath his slacks. āShut up.ā
You try to stay quiet. You really do.
But every shift of your body sends heat spiraling lower, making it harder to think. Every brush of your thighs squeezes your swollen clit, and has you gasping into the wall behind you.
Dracoās breathing is uneven now, too, echoing faintly off the stone. He hasnāt been able to keep his hand off his dick, still hidden under his clothes.
Not that youāve been watching.
āI thinkāā you swallow. āI think I have a plan.ā
Draco moans. āFine. Enlighten me.ā
āRemember what I said about the pheromones?ā You manage. āItās clear kissing waāshitāwasnāt enough. Maybeā¦ā Your eyes drop to his erection.
āNo.ā
āDraco, weāre going to have to touch ourselves. Itās the only way.ā
You expect him to be glaring at you, but when you look up, his eyes are on your legsāthat bare skin between your shoe and your skirt.
āFine.ā His throat bobs on a swallow. āYou first.ā
You barely have time to debate the ramifications of your actions. Your body burns, thick pressure building low and sharp.
You slip your hand under your skirt, straight under your panties. You inhale shakily, trying to steady yourself, but when your fingers meet a slickness like nothing youāve ever felt before, the breath leaves your lungs.
The sound of of your wetness fills the silence between you and Draco makes a low, strained sound.
You glance over at him and immediately wish you hadnāt.
Heās taken his cock out, and heās stroking it from base to tip. Itās long. Thick enough to fill up his palm, and veiny. The tip is darker than the rest, and you just know, if you were to take him in your mouth and suckāyouād feel his heartbeat against your tongue.
His jaw is tight, eyes half-lidded, like he tried to close them but his body wonāt let him. When he sighs and bucks his hips into his own fist your mouth runs dry.
Whatever cavern of distance used to exist between you is crumbling now. Itās being burned away. Thereās no space for it in this heat, this constant pull towards each other. Your skirt rides higher up on your thighs, and the cool air brushes your wet inner thighs.
After a minute, the relief starts to fade. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus. But your body wonāt cooperate. Your hips jerk back from your own touch, your clit bordering on overstimulation. You frown, plunging two fingers inside yourself to rub the ache away. But they feel like cold pencils in your pulsing channel.
The heat drags through your veins like hot cotton, begging for a deep release. But every brush of your arms against the cold stone behind you makes your elbows start to itch, and your very skin start to feel like a husk.
You need water. Noānot water.
You need him.
Itās almost as if your body is punishing you for doing it to yourself.
āItās not w-working,ā you whimper, helpless.
Draco groans, his frustration evident in the bulging vein in his neck. His cock looks so angry in the dim light. He bites his lip in determination, and you watch his fist grip tighter. He only gets to three more strokes before heās hissing with discomfort.
āThereās got to be another way,ā he rasps, his hand dropping away.
You huff, so needy youāre almost on the verge of tears. āIām thinking!ā
āWell, think harder.ā
You glare at him, dimly aware of how on display you are right now. Legs open and spread towards him, skirt barely concealing the way your fingers move against yourself. āMaybe I could if you could just shut your mouth for one damn second!ā
His voice is not helping. All low and deep, with a hint of a rasp curling around his accent, making your belly tighten.
In fact, none of this is helping. Silence fills the space between you, only broken by uneven breathing and the quiet rustle of the Nest.
When his eyes drop to your dripping cunt and you donāt even have the decency to close your legs, itās like the pollen has overridden your higher thinking. Your knees widen instinctively, begging for him to look. To touchā¦
Your composure slips further. And when he licks his lips, your lips actually part in preparation to ask for him.
Merlin, if this keeps up much longer, youāre not above begging if that what it takes. And begging Draco Malfoy for anything is beyond the lowest youād ever thought youād go.
You work yourself harder, but your fingertips feel like sandpaper against your soft folds, even as your arousal continues to leak steadily from you, your pussy desperate to be filled.
But that feels impossible.
A tear slips from the corner of your eye, and youāre helpless to stop it. You squeeze your eyes shut and turn your face away from him, still chasing any kind of relief, begging for it to feel like something worth grabbing onto.
Somewhere, distantly, you think Draco might be saying something, but youāre not sure what. Your bodyās honed in on the vibrations of his voice, the way he smellsā
āNineteen.ā
Hearing your nickname snaps you back to reality.
You open your mouth to answer him, but no words come out. Little gasps punch out of your parted lips, hips twistingĀ and writhing, searching for friction. For heat. For him.
āTell me,ā he says firmly.
You turn your head. You can barely see him, your eyes refusing to open more than a sliver. Heās leaning forward now, one knee planted on the ground.
āW-what?ā you rasp.
āYour planāthe pheromonesāshit.ā Then, quieter, he adds. āTell me how to make it stop hurting you.ā
Your eyes snap to his. Heās watching you with that sharp focus youāve always admired about him. The look that says nothing is getting in the way of what he wants.
Youāre not sure exactly what makes him give in.
Maybe itās the way your breaths come in soft pants that make the rise and fall of your breasts visible beneath your loosened tie. Maybe itās the way your eyes drop to his lips, his neck, your tongue running over your teeth like youāre imagining how he tastes. It might be the ways your hips slant forward, knees falling open, your body begging even if you donāt have the words to.
But he must see it.
Because, he just says, āFuck.ā
His shoulders catch the moonlight as he shrugs out of his shirt in one smooth motion. Lines of lean muscle come into view, and you feel as if youāve been presented with a feast after almost starving to death.
Malfoyās always had a very determined walk. A powerful stride, one that commands attention. Youāve seen in in the halls, backed by his loyal little following. Youāve watched him stride towards the Quidditch cup, shoulders back, chest high.
But right nowāheās not walking.
Heās crawling.
Towards you.
āClose your eyes. If it helps,ā he says before his hand meets your ankle and heās bowing in front of you.
Something deep in your mind catches on those words, but heās yanking your panties the rest of the way down your legs, and the heat of his mouth against your core whisks your thoughts away.
The second his tongue finds your clit you canāt help but cry out. Your head tips back against the stone, the relief so immediate itās almost staggering. Draco attacks you with warm, lascivious licks that arenāt meant to soothe, despite his words. Theyāre meant to claim.
Your hands dig into the mossy floor beneath you, arching your hips up for him. His strong, hot tongue parts your folds like itās his lifeās work. The view of his back muscles shifting and stretching in the moonlight as he makes out with your pussy is so seductive to you itās nearly frightening.
In fact, it is.
Frightening.
āI hate you,ā you grit out, not even entirely sure where it came from. Just a need to set things back in order, even as heās unraveling you.
He groans against your clit, the vibration licking up your spine.
āSay it again.ā
You gasp, caught between resisting and wanting more, even as your pelvis shoves forward and you grind into him like youāre in heat. His tongue dives lower and when his nose nudges your clit, you nearly scream. Your orgasm rises like something sharp. Itās so powerful of a burn, of an ache, you find yourself scrambling backwards in an attempt to get away from the promise of such delirious pleasure.
Merlin, you need it. More than youāve ever needed anything in your entire fucking lifeā
It scares you how much.
But Draco just hums against the pulls on his hair and follows you anyway, scuffling forward on the stone ground, gripping your hips and spearing his tongue deep inside you.
āMalfoy, Iām gonnaāoh, fuckkkāā
āThatās it,ā he says, and the sound of him quietly speaking against your slick folds nearly does you in.Ā āScream my name, Nineteen. N-needāfuckāwanna hear you say it like that.ā
The soft rasp of his voice, and the two long fingers being pushed inside you send you straight over the edge.
The release pulls you under in waves. Dark, pulsing tidal waves that drive deep through your pelvis, erasing through your body until the pleasure nearly blinds you. You feel yourself going rigid in his hands, thighs trembling against his soft hair, but he just hauls you through it, like a lighthouse in a storm. Strong, steady, and never stopping until youāre jolting and gasping, crying out in relief.
But the second your orgasm fades, the heat rushes in again. The fever. Itās back, and with vengeance this time.
Sweat beads your forehead and your vision swims, but you look up just in time to see Malfoy scramble backwards like you burned him.
You frown. āDraāwhat?ā
He throws a hand out, pressing himself against the opposite wall.Ā āDonāt come closer.ā
A whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it. The heat is different now. Instead of feeling like a thread about to snap, your body has narrowed down to one singular need.
Breed.
Your fingers fly to your shirt without you telling them to, unbuttoning your shirt with ease. You feel the way your breasts move with your harsh breaths, but your gaze is locked on him. And when you drop down to all fours and slink forward, Draco looks like heās going to have a heart attack.
āMerlināI canāt.ā he chokes out. āI canāt even think about it.ā
Your gut feels like itās been punched. Is he so disgusted by the thought that he canāt even look at you?
Does he truly not want you? Was that some sort ofā¦pityā
You canāt even finish that thought.
You slink backwards until youāre half in shadow. He must see the look on your face because his head falls back against the wall on a groan. You can smell his sweat in the air and itās making you downright feral even though you can barely look at him from embarrasement.
āI canāt think about it, because if I do, then Iāll do it,ā he says. āAnd if I do itā¦I donāt know if Iāll be able to stop.ā
Control. Thatās always been Malfoyās vice, hasnāt it?
This situation is probably his worst nightmare.
Not for the first time, something plucks on your heart strings deep under your ribs. Heās scared of losing it? You can give it back to him.
Slowly, and with deliberate care, you cross the boundary. The wand clatters somewhere to the side. Draco watches as you crawl to him, his eyes raking over you, a mixture of pain and hunger in his eyes.
You can only imagine what you look like.
Hair mussed, left in just a lace bra and soaked panties, your skirt hanging loose on your hips.
āThen donāt,ā you murmur.
Your voice is so quiet in the stillness, but it spears through him all the same. Your gazes click together like magnets.
He shakes his head, chest heaving. āYou donāt mean that. Itās just the fucking plant dustāā
He stops short when your hands settle on his knees, gently forcing them apart to make room for yourself. Your breath catches when you drop your gaze to see his cock sitting heavy and hard against his lower stomach. It twitches under your watchful gaze and your mouth waters.
Carefully, you settle into his lap.
He exhales sharply, and his hands find your soft skin, undoing your bra before you can even blink. Testament to a lot of practice, youāre sure.Ā
You donāt have the strength to be self-conscious. You just need him. Now. Even so, somewhere through the lust-filled haze, you remember his words.
āThe plant just lowersāā your breath hitches as his teeth find the soft skin of your neck. āāyour inhibitions. It canāt make you fuck someone you donātā¦w-want.ā
āHow do you know so much about this?ā he groans into your hair. āWhy are you soāā
āWhat? So smart?ā
āYou wish.ā
The words barely brush your ear before you lean back to get a better look at him. Youāve barely straightened by the time his mouth is on your tits.
You cry out as he swirls his hot, greedy tongue around your nipples, sucking on the hard buds until youāre panting. Your clit swells and you bite your lip, threading your fingers through his hair. The first rock of your hips has you both groaning.Ā
You grind down on him again and you nearly black out at the feeling of his bare length sliding through your slick folds. You reach between you to tug his slacks down further. His balls are heavy in your hand, and he grunts, shoving himself up into you.
āMerlināI canātāā he chokes out, mouth leaving your tits as his palms fly up and dig into his eye sockets.
Without thinking, you lean forward and kiss his fingers one by one. His bare chest stutters against yours at the softness of it, and when you slip his thumb into your mouth and swirl your tongue around it eagerly, he drops his hands.
You look down to find him staring up at you with a familiar expression. You make that face. When you're seconds away from catching the Snitch.
You swear you can feel every vein in his dick, so hot and hard against you as you grind your slick cunt against him. Itās instinct to drop your head and search for his mouth with yours, but you pull back at the last second. That last thread of lucidity coming back to haunt you.
This is your rival.
For a second you just breathe each other in, mouths parted, groaning and writhing into the other, but when the blunt head of his cock catches on your entrance, your hips react on their ownācircling, pelvis arching, body begging in a primal, secret language you donāt fully understand.
And he moves with youāmeeting you there with the deep urges of his own.
His hips donāt snap into you, brutal and deep. Instead, they slide. Back and forth. His hands clamp onto your hips, holding you still in his lap as he eases the tip in and out, letting your slick coat him until youāre ready to take the whole thing.Ā
The way his body moves speaks to something primal and powerful in you. How his sweaty muscles bunch and tense, and his hands dig into your skin at your hips, your thighs, your waistā itās better than anything you couldāve imagined.
āThis doesnāt mean anything,ā he growls into your ear.
You nod frantically, clenching around him.
In one long thrust, Draco fills you up. The stretch is breathtaking. Literally. Heās so long that his tip kisses your cervix with every thrust, sending you mewing and clawing at his hair, his shoulders, just to stay afloat through the pleasure.
Heās not fairing much better.
Heās growling and moaning, his cock jerking desperately in your slick walls as he pulls back just far enough to yank your hips back down to meet his.
Sounds spill out of you. They might be words, youāre not sure. But the next thing you know, cold stone meets your back, and Dracoās warm body is spread out over you. His thrusts grow heavier and deeper. You can feel the way your body tries to hold onto him, clenching and fluttering desperately, even as your arousal makes it easy for him to slide so deep.
Youāve never been this wet in your life. And now, youāre wondering, if itās from the pollen, or if itās just from him. Because youāve never had sex this good, and thatās saying something.
Your bodies justā¦move together. Like theyāre one of a kind puzzle pieces meant to fit. The give and take is so instinctual itās almost unbearable how good it is.
āFuck, you take me so well,ā Draco pants, a lock of hair falling over his sweaty brow. āKnew you would.ā
You throw your head back, your ankle finding solace in his lower back, sealing him to you and begging for more. Your body gives into the heat, the pleasure cresting and pulling you into something dangerously strong. So strong youāre worried your body might not survive it.
āSo pretty on the pitch,ā he groans, seemingly unable to stop from talking. āMerlin, I justāI lose the bloody Snitch every time you look at me.ā
That does it.
Your orgasm rushes through your body like lightning. Your spine snaps straight, muscles clenching down with a pulse you feel everywhere. A moan leaves your chest, so loud youāve probably woken the whole damn castle, but youāre too gone to care.
Draco makes a rough sound against the skin of your neck. āHolyāfuck, Iām gonnaāwhere should Iāā
āInside,ā you gasp. āPlease. Please, Draco. I need it. P-pleaseāā
āAh, fuckāā His mouth seals against your throat, nose brushing the pulse point below your ear. āNeed you.ā
He jerks hard, once, twice, and then heās spilling inside you. Your body seems to understand, back arching, pulling him deeper with your ankle as he stills and lets out a groan that curls low in your belly, and will certainly live on in every wet dream you have from here on out.
The fever fades like a receding tide. You blink, slowly coming back to yourself. Your clit is throbbing, and your pulse is still hammering, but strangely you feel...lighter somehow.
Like maybe the last few years of tension between you and your rival finally needed to snap.
You turn to him. Heās on his knees, breathing hard, buttoning up his pants. He looks up at you, and something in his eyes softens.
āWhat did you mean?ā You find yourself asking. āWhen you told me to close my eyes earlier?ā
He shrugs, reaching for his shirt.
āWell, you said youād rather be here with anyone else. I justāā he looks away, suddenly seeming very interested in the way the Nest is unraveling like it did its job, and the stray vine thatās currently retrieving his wand for him.
You donāt let him finish.
You lurch forward and grab his face, pulling his lips to yours.
This time, he doesnāt hesitate a second before meeting your mouth. He kisses you back, long and hard, digging his fingers through your hair to pull you closer. You exhale into it, something long unsaid passing between you.Ā But itās not enough. You still need to say the words.
So, you break the kiss first. He blinks down at you, eyes dark, hair mussed.
āI only think about you, Malfoy,ā you whisper in the shared air between you. āOn or off the pitch, itās only you.ā
He leans down and brushes his lips across yours. āI still hate you, Nineteen.ā
You reward him by deepening the kiss. He answers it, slower this time, but no less intense. When he finally pulls back, youāre already smiling.
SUMMARY: Cursed objects are always pesky little things, unpredictable and dangerous. But coming across a very powerful aphrodisiacal piece of jewelry while you're actively struggling with your unrequired feelings for dean might just be the worst experience so far.
WARNINGS: okay here we go. porn with plot. pining. light angst. fluff. self-esteem issues. reader is in katniss everdeen's level on misunderstanding signals. shameless smut. sex pollen (kinda). multiple orgasms. masturbation. oral sex. fingerfucking. unprotected piv. creampie. shifting dynamics. blood kink (subtle and not so subtle). light choking. lots of spit. im sorry. love confessions. fluffy ending. that might be all.
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āI swear Iām gonna throw up.ā
āCome on, Dean. Itās not that bad.ā You roll your eyes, softly kicking an angel Christmas ornament out of the way, being careful not to break it.Ā
āIām choking, sweetheart.ā Dean grasps his throat dramatically, clawing at his skin and making his voice thinner. āI canāt breathe. Oh no, thereās the light at the end of the tunnel. I leave everything to Baby.ā
āYou literally have nothing to leave. You donāt even have a will! Youāve been legally dead likeāfive times.ā
Sam snorts somewhere behind you, still making his way through the giant pile of heart-shaped chocolate boxes by the door of the warehouse.Ā
Calling it a warehouse is a dishonor, though, considering all the walls are pure white marble and every corinthian column holding up the insanely tall ceiling is made of rose quartz. Thereās no windows, lamps, or candles, and still the room glows in a golden-pink hue. The whole place buzzes with magic, like youāre walking into a giant ancient altar. You wonder what kind of cherub has enough money or power to build a place like this.Ā
Youād gotten a heads up from Castiel a few days ago about what Dean relayed as āa disturbance in the forceā around Stockbridge, Massachusetts. Youād driven here last night, stopping a few towns over so Dean could get some sleep before making your way into town.Ā
Youād spat all kinds of speculations about what the disturbance could beāanother horseman, Lucifer himself, maybe even Godājust to find a glowing, castle-like building on a field just out of town instead.Ā
Deciding that walking in without any idea of what youād be facing was a terrible idea, you decided to do some research first.
But somehow, none of the locals are able to see the warehouse even though the thing looms over the town, glinting bright pink under the sun, blinding and imposing even from the town square.Ā
When she claimed to have never heard of such a place, you stood right next to her and pointed directly to the marble cathedral, forcing her gaze away from Dean and toward the horizon. Suddenly the owlish heart-eyes she was making disappeared, and fog settled over her irises. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, her whole body tensing. Then she blinked, like she was just waking up from a heavy nap, and turned back to Dean as if nothing happened.Ā
āNah, the only church in town is down the street. Baptist, I think, but the nuns are pretty chill.ā All three of you gaped as she twirled a strand of carrot-dyed hair with her finger, not even acknowledging you or Sam or the fucking magical castle right in front of her eyes. āMaybe I can show you the way? I know the perfect scenery route.ā
You wanted to suffocate her with her woolen beanie, maybe scoop her eyes out with those stupid, huge non-prescription glasses. Instead, you gave her a polite goodbye and stomped your way down back to the town square, dodging inflatable cupids and heart balloons. Sam and Dean followed suit a few seconds after.Ā
You continued asking around, but every time you directed someoneās gaze to the warehouse, they got the same hazy look in their eyes. Some of them continued to talk after like Hipster Girl, some of them scurried away as soon as they snapped out of whatever spell they were under, one poor high school boy ended up throwing up into the pink rose bushes of the local park.
āSo, are we thinking witch?āĀ
You were back in the Impala, officially declaring interviews useless around noon. Sam and Dean were in the front seat, munching on some hotdogs while you picked at your pink-dyed cheese fries in the backseat, chewing on heart-cut pieces of bacon as you thought back on Hipster Girlās eyes, the opaque fog, the slight tremble of her lower lip.Ā
Her biting down on said lip when Dean used some cheap line, the twirl of her orange hair, the way Deanās grin turned sharp at the sight of itā
You needed to focus.Ā
āProbs. Thereās definitely some kind of incantation over the building, but I donāt know any witch powerful enough to cast magic over a whole town.ā
Your voice was dragged, low and dull. Sam threw you a concerned look over his shoulder, you didnāt meet his eyes. āDeity, then?ā
You shrugged without a word. The brothers shared one of their looks, and you knew it wouldnāt be too long until one of themāmost likely Sam, because Dean is allergic to any kind of emotional talkācornered you about whatās been going on.Ā
The truth is as embarrassing as it is hilarious, if you were anyone else and not the one living it.
Valentineās day is tomorrow, and itās been driving you insane.
All Dean seems to talk about is the festivity, and how eager he is to dive into the first bar he finds and ācomfort all those poor, heartbroken, smokinā girls.ā You threatened him with your knife, āshut up or Iāll gut you open and feed you to some poor street dog.ā He only got louder.Ā
Evading the man youāre in love with while he talks about fucking other women doesnāt work very well. Every tune in the radio is a love song, every movie in the staticky motel TVs is a rom-com, every diner you enter has a new Valentineās milkshake. Everything is a reminder of the day of love, and while youāre usually indifferent to dumb capitalistic holidays, this year it feels like salt in an old, festered wound.Ā
Dean doesnāt love you, not like you love him.Ā
Itās the end of the fucking world, youāre hunting down the Devil, and still Dean canāt find it in himself to see you as anything other than the poor hunter girl they had to aid years ago and who theyāre now stuck with. The man whoād sleep with anything that moves and has good tits, canāt fathom to look at you twice.Ā
Sam brought you back Valentineās themed gummies when you stopped at a gas station this morning instead of your usual ones. You sneaked off to the restroom and flushed them down the toilet.Ā
Youāre being petty. Itās Armageddon time, youāre entitled to some pettiness.Ā
You continued your research after lunch, but the whole town turned out to be incompetent. No records of the building or its construction, no local folklore or legends, no precedents of supernatural activity.Ā
Feeling restless and ready to break some skulls, you proposed to just walk in and see it for yourselves. Dean was all for it, but Sam forced all of you to grab some witch-killing bullets and a few extra guns first. By mid-afternoon, you were walking through the rose-tinted glass door of the place.Ā
You were expecting an evil lair, a palace of some kind, maybe an actual place of worship, but what you found instead was a storage room.Ā
āWhat theāā Sam cursed when he ran into the mountain of chocolate boxes heās still trying to put back in place, sprawling them all over the ground.Ā
There were similar piles all around the shiny bronze flooring. Teddy bears, cheap costume angel wings, more Valentineās decor. The place was flooded with pink, red, and white knick knacks. Some objects were propped up on pedestalsāan expensive-looking vase, many marble statues of little angel babies and naked torsos, a half-eaten apple for some reason. Ballet music was playing from somewhere, there were romantic and erotic paintings everywhere but none were actually mounted on the walls, and the air was thick with the smell of rose petals and peaches.Ā
Which brings you back to the present, with Dean pretending to die from sweet, stuffy air while you all sort through the mess in search for something that gives away your cupidās identity. After the fiftieth baby angel scented soap youād accidentally stepped on, youād just assumed itās a cherub.
āCanāt wait to get out of this place. If any chick tomorrow smells like roses I might throw up all over her.ā
The little glass swan youāre holding cracks under your fingers, you leave it on top of a velvet box before it breaks.Ā
āHave we ever heard of any angels that can bewitch a whole town?ā You ask Sam, desperate to change the topic.Ā
You move to the back right corner of the warehouse, where a bunch of books are arranged in a neat pyramid. Maybe this cupid keeps a diary, who knows?
āI donāt think so, and cherubs are supposed to be pretty low-ranking. Iām not sure one of them would be able to manage something like this, but we should ask Cas.ā
You nod, glancing up at Sam as he finishes with the heart boxes and moves to look through a stack of what looks like discarded love letters, judging by the glittery ink and tearstains on the old paper.Ā
Your eyes sweep the room and find Dean, whoās searching a honey-colored vanity in the far left corner. Thereās a bunch of beauty products already laying carelessly on top, expensive blushes and mascaras and a million lipsticks. Dean keeps going through the cabinets, pulling out everything he finds. He picks up a perfume bottle and sniffles it, immediately grimacing. So much for feeling dizzy.Ā
He glares down at the bottle like it personally offended him, looking goddamned adorable under the pinkish glow, the golden flecks of his eyes sparkling.Ā
You focus back on the book pyramid and grab one at random, flipping it open with your chest heavy and your throat dry. Dean fits right in with the collection of beauty surrounding you, always the prettiest thing in the room. You, on the other hand, are more like a dark cloud in a perfect blue sky.Ā
The stupid flutter of your heart is immediately halted as it stops completely.
You picked up a porn book. Not a magazine, it has a hardcover and thereās text all down the right page, but the left page is pure porn. Three pictures, like a collage, all featuring the same couple. A girl on her knees, sucking some guyās dick. The same dick now between her tits, a hint of a smile on her lips. The guy now with his head buried under her skirt, her head thrown back in ecstasy.
Regrettably but almost unconsciously, you flip to the next page. A guy, bright eyes hooded and pretty mouth parted, desperately humping a pillow. The book slips from your hands, landing wide open on the ground. You scramble to pick it up and snap it closed.Ā
Ignoring the brothersā questioning looks, you leave the book back on the pile and grab another one.Ā
One by one, you open at least ten different erotic books. Thereās one with a skinny blond guy being impaled in a dick way too big to feel good. Thereās one with two girls making out in the mud. Thereās one with a girl in a cowboy outfit riding a tied-up guy. Your cheeks flush at that one.Ā
Youāre not a prude, nothing close. Inside you, thereās this thing. It writhes and snarls and wants. It makes you feel sick, it makes you feel high, it makes you want to explode. Sometimes, you let it outāmuzzled and on a leash, but peaking its head through the bars of its cage. Most of the time, though, you keep it locked away.Ā
It feels too dangerous, perverse. Itās scary, just how feral it can be.Ā
It cannot be healthy. Youāve grown used to nothing in your life being healthy.Ā
You sort through the pile, no longer taking the risk of picking at random. Anything with the words āsexy,ā āsteamy,ā or āadultā gets thrown away right away. Any slightly suggestive title gets turned around so you can inspect the information in the back cover. The books that look innocent enough get inspected further. Some of them are in other languagesāsome Italian and French, many of them in Greek. Anything you canāt read gets discarded.
Even then, most of the ones you open are explicit. Some are supposed to be clever little āhiddenā books, some simply take whatever innocuous topic they name on the front page and turn it unnecessarily sexual. You read through half a cooking book before finding a recipe for cum cupcake frosting (ew), you find a porn version of The Wizard of Oz that makes you giggle, you find a mechanicās guidebook that soon turns into a playboy mag.
Youāve started to open the books halfway through, just to skip any buildup bullshit, and quickly regret it. Because there, spread across both pages, is a black Chevy Impala. Not a ā67, but a similar model. And on top, laying across the hood in a too-cliche pose, is a guy. Heās completely naked, lean muscles glinting in the sun of whatever arid place they shot this in, fucking up into a girl whose face has been cut out of frame.
The guy has dirty blond hair, a little too dark. His eyes are a shade closer to lime than forest, and his skin is paler than the gold that haunts your dreams. Still, there are freckles all over the bridge of his nose and shoulders. His nose is straight, his lips are full, and his jaw is sharp. Itās too fucking close.Ā
His eyebrows are drawn together, his mouth almost pouty as he grips the faceless girlās thighs desperately. His feet are propped up on the front bumper, and he looks almost in pain as he thrusts inside the girlās pussy. His chest is lined with scratchesādeep, angry red that he sure seems to enjoy. It might be just you, but his lips seem to be holding the shape of a plea, his eyes teary and his whole body taut.Ā
His cheeks are red, the left one more than the right one. Thereās bruises on his neck and down his chest. He looks hurt, he looks blissed, he looks so fucking horny.Ā
He looks like Dean.Ā
The beast wails, your thighs press together, you feel so violent that you could spontaneously combust. It terrifies you every timeāhow hot your blood burns, how feverish it makes you, how wrong it feels.Ā
Not pretty, not delicate, not sensual. Just ugly, destructive, all-consuming hunger.
āHey,ā Dean says your name, way too close. āLook!ā
You shut the book closed so hard that the smack echoes through the warehouse, the blow making your bones shake. You turn around to face Dean like he caught you with your hands inside a corpseās innards. You almost wish he had, youād feel less dirty.Ā
āHi.ā Your voice is too high, your eyes too wide. Dean frowns.Ā
āYou okay?ā You nod, bobbleheaded, hiding the book behind your back. Deanās eyes shift down to it, forest green thatād look beautiful all teary. You squirm. āYou sure? Whatās that thing?ā
āJust a true crime book about ācrimes of passion.ā Itās a little graphic, so I got a little shaken up. Iām fine now.ā You wave your hand dismissively, Dean still looks suspicious. You clear your throat, kicking the beast until it whimpers and hides, and you smile. āYou wanted to show me something?ā
āRight.ā Dean shakes his head, his mouth still twisted as he pulls something from the pocket of his jacket. āI found this, and I thought youād like it.ā
He extends his hand toward you, holding up some kind of bronze arm cuff. Three thin copper wires swirl in pretty spirals, braided carefully and embedded with pearls and crystal charms. Two flowers rest at the ends, rose quartz petals and iridescent centers. The whole thing sparkles like itās covered in fairy dust.Ā
āItās gorgeous, Dean.ā You delicately pick it up from Deanās hand, thumbing at the smooth pearls and cold metal. There's something engraved behind each petal, you can vaguely make out a few Greek letters. āWhere did this angel get all this stuff?ā
āDunno, but I guess they wonāt miss one thing.ā
You blink up at Dean. Heās glowering down at his dirty biker boots, a hand scratching behind his ear. āYou want me to keep it?ā
Dean shrugs, and the question seems to grab Samās attention, the younger boy shuffling closer through the lovey mess.Ā
āWe donāt come across beautiful things too often. You deserve beautiful.ā The words seem sour in his own mouth, like theyāre spilling out without his permission. Your heartbeat is loud in your ears.Ā
No, I donāt. Not really.Ā
Youāre glad when Sam chimes in.Ā
āI donāt think it's a good idea to take stuff, guys. Weāre still not sure itās a cherub, and we donāt wanna upset anything.ā
Dean glares at his brother, and you sigh dejectedly. Sam is right, and so is Dean. You donāt get many beautiful things. You donāt get quartz bracelets or Dean Winchester under you. Thatās just your life.Ā
āThereās nothing in these books,ā you murmur, none of this helping your already bad mood. āWe should keep looking, find some kind of sigil or rune so we can confirm what weāre actually dealing with.ā
With your shoulders hunched and your soul weary, you start to walk toward the vanity to put the arm cuff back. Youāve only taken three steps when Dean stops you, his fingers wrapping around your wrist firmly.
When you face him, his eyes are downturned and a little pleading. Too close, too fucking close.Ā
āAt least try it on.ā It takes you a second to figure out what heās talking about, too lost in visions that make you want to take a dive into Hell.
āDeāā
āCome on.ā You donāt understand why he cares so much, but his grip on your wrist tightens. āWhen will Iāany of us get enough money to buy something like that?ā
You hold your breath, Deanās fingertips, so callused from his pistol, gently tracing circles over your pulse. You deserve beautiful.
You nod, barely-there jerk of your head. Just this once. āFine. But Iām taking it off before we leave.ā
Dean seems satisfied enough, letting go of your arm before shoving his hands on his pockets, feigning nonchalance. You can see the mask slipping on, the armor heās built from scar tissue and barbed wire through the years wrapping around him. You donāt understand how you were so fooled by his facade before, itās so obvious now.Ā
Dean pretends to be cool, you pretend to be sane. Neither of you call the other out.
Slowly, you slide your right hand inside the cuff, being mindful not to break it or damage it somehow. It feels like something youād break, too lovely for your reverse Midas touch. The bronze is cold against your skin, and the wires feel too loose all the way until they reach your mid arm. Like magic, the bracelet seems to resize itself, wrapping around you just tight enough not to fall, but not digging into your skin. Your whole body tingles.
āWhat do you think?ā You extend your arm toward Dean, giving him a bright beam.Ā
He stays silent, something flashing on his face right before he grabs your shoulders, spinning you in place.Ā
You end up facing a giant mirror, gentle swoops and little doves engraved in the golden frame. Your eyes latch onto the jewelry on your arm, and it looks indeed beautiful. The flowers are delicate against your flesh, soft and too pretty to be yours. The sentiment appears to have extended to the rest of you.
Because when you find your own face in the reflection, you lookā¦ cute. Hard edges eroded by the soft lighting, fairy dust shimmering in your eyes and lips. Itās not a physical change, itās still just you, but glowy. Every sweet feature enhanced, every detail you hate washed in a new light.Ā
It feels nice. Itās been too damn long since you felt anything other than contempt towards yourself.
Dean is behind you, looming over your shoulder, and he looks even more gorgeous than the arm cuff. He looks like an angelānot the real, douchy ones. Cartoon movie angel. He looks divine.
Almost instinctively, you lean back, craving the contact more than usual. Deanās chest is there to hold you up, like it always is, and both of you exhale loudly. As if the same weight had been lifted off your shoulders.Ā
You canāt help but shiver when his breath brushes the side of your neck. You need to get a grip.
āGuys, I think I found something.ā
Sam stands just behind the vanity, throwing you a double look over his shoulder when he finds you pressed together. Your cheeks flush harder than before, and you clear your throat at the exact same time Dean takes a step back. The distance hurts, but everything always seems to ache with Dean. You both walk over to Sam without looking at each other.Ā
Thereās another pile of miscellaneous things at Samās feet, and for a moment you wonder if he only wanted to separate you from Dean in an attempt to save you from later heartache. But then you take a look closer.Ā
The first thing you see is a deck of tarot cards. Next to it is a baby blue crystal ball, a few boxes of incense, a bunch more candles. But then you see the sword, shadows swimming along the blade like lost souls. And the Book of Shadows, and the glowing bow, and the suitcase full of little vials.Ā
And the hexbags.Ā
āShit, you think itās actually a witch?ā
āNot quite.ā A voice comes from behind you, sweet like the summer breeze and pitchy like the song of birds. āBut youāre getting warmer.ā
All three of you turn around at the exact same time, Sam and Dean with their guns in hand. You tug your knife out from your belt, your fingers brushing your lower back. Your skin feels more sensitive than usual, you ignore it in favor of surveying your new companion.Ā
Your white-knuckled grip goes slack around the handle of your blade.
Sitting on top of a nearby pedestal, smooth as the statues around him and dazzling as everything else in the room, thereās a kid.Ā
He looks around eighteen or nineteen, his eyes big and angelic. His lips are pouty, bright pink and glossy. His whole body is glossy, that after-sex glow that makes people look holy. His hair is light blond and messy around his face, but in a deliberately sensual way, and heās wearing an oversized white button up that barely covers his chest, hanging off a shoulder and showing his delicate collarbones.Ā
Heās blinking at the three of you naively, but the curl of his lips show a hint of provocativeness.
āWho the fuck are you?ā Dean steps forward, still pointing his gun at the boy, but even he sounds breathless.Ā
The boy laughs, low and velvety, and it really is a sight to behold. Perfect teeth, pink tongue peaking out, smooth bare thighs dangling from the black plinth. Heās not the kind of man youāre usually into, you like them pretty but a little damaged. Still, because your whole body is tender and your stomach feels weird, you canāt help but ogle a bit.
Itās only fair, youāre almost certain the brothers are doing the exact same thing.
āPut that down before you hurt yourself, big boy.ā The kid lands on the bronze floor gracefully, giving Dean an up-and-down look that drags you out of your enchantment slightly. He bites his lower lip, picking up a little dove figurine from a nearby table, spinning it between his fingers.
Youāre always highly suspicious that anyone who sees Dean wants him. This time thereās not an ounce of doubt.Ā
Suddenly he locks his eyes on yours, and a fuchsia glows on his irises.Ā
Of course, someone like that could not be human.Ā
His lips grow into a mocking sneer, and he takes an animated step toward you.Ā
āDonāt get any fucking closer.ā Dean blocks his way to you, his broad shoulders shielding you. Itās always hot when he gets protective, today is a little overwhelming. āWhat the hell are you?ā
You turn to Sam, and you find him already staring at you. Silently, the two of you try to put it together while Dean distracts your Adonis.Ā
Clearly not a cherub. You can almost hear Samās voice in your head, easily reading the subtle twitches of his face.Ā
Thatās certain, I donāt think angels can look likeāthat. Sam looks like he wants to snort, but he keeps his face perfectly still. Not a witch, either.Ā
You gnaw on the inside of your cheek. Porn books, pagan artifacts, every romantic thing to ever exist.Ā
āNo wonder you kids are famous, look at you!ā At some point, the boy had glided closer. The barrel of Deanās gun is pressed to his sternum, he doesnāt seem concerned. Dean looks agonizingly unable to pull the trigger. āThose pretty faces, those eyes!ā He cups Deanās cheek with his free hand, tilting his face down even as Dean flinches but finds himself unable to move away. āIām surprised Zeus hasnāt given you the Ganymede treatment.ā
Greek smut. Greek letters in the back of petals. Greek gods.
āHoly fuck.ā You gasp, dragging the godās glowing pink eyes away from Dean. Only then is he able to scamper backwards, stumbling against your side. Roses, Valentineās day, erotic overload. āLord Eros.ā
The boy giggles, absolutely delighted. Shit.Ā
Sam slumps at your side, finally recognizing who youāre up against. This isnāt good. This canāt be good.
āI see youāre the smart one! Such beauty as well.ā Eros purrs, licking his lips slowly. It makes you squirm, both uncomfortably and for a different reason that makes you want to vomit. You must be worked up from the books. Your whole body feels swollen and vulnerable. āIf anyone was to find my little vault, Iām glad itās you.ā
āAll of this is yours?ā Sam asks, lowering his gun.Ā
āIām bad at throwing things away.ā The god shrugs, twirling a blond curl on his delicate finger. āWhat can I say, Iām sentimental. I like to keep mementos from every mortal I meet.ā
He says the word with such lascivity that it sounds like a slur.Ā
āEros. Which one is that again?ā Dean seems to have shaken off the godās enchantment, sharp eyes now squinted and focused. Heās given up on his gun, though. You tuck your knife into your waistband.
Itās not like any simple weapon will kill the ancient god of desire.Ā
āCupid, for the Romans.ā Eros groans loudly at Samās words.
āRomans, they were so fucking boring.ā The boy huffs, lips setting on a deeper pout, looking more like a bratty twink than a god. āHad such a hard-on for bloodshed and war, ugh. The Greeks knew how to have fun, they had hard-ons for each other.ā He sighs, looking off into space, reminiscing of better times.Ā
You hope heās not getting a hard-on.Ā
āOkay, so youāre likeāa supercharged cherub?ā You send Dean a shut up look, but he ignores you.
āDonāt you ever compare me to those guys!ā Erosā voice is still saccharine and melodical, but now he sounds all whiney as he squeezes the little dove in his hand until his whole hand is white. Deanās shoulders relax. Oh no. āTheyāre disgusting little things who canāt tell love from lust! Them and their Christian puritanism, ugh!ā
You can see Dean choosing his retort carefully, you try to give him another warning. Your breath stutters at the way the corner of his mouth tilts up, and you end up choking on the words. The arm cuff feels warm against your skin. Every inch of your being feels hot.
āCareful there, princess, youāre gonna break a nail.ā
Eros goes perfectly still, Sam and you close your eyes in defeat at the same time.Ā
āI would be really careful, Dean Winchester.ā His voice has changed, now thick like melted candy. And poison, definitely poison. āI may like you, but you are still simply a mortal. Do not mess with forces you are too feeble-minded to comprehend.ā
āDean,ā you finally whisper, your hand moving to grasp his wrist. A piercing chill washes down your spine. What the fuck is wrong with you?Ā
āAm I supposed to be afraid?ā He continues to mock, even when Sam is throwing daggers at him over your head. āWhat, youāre gonna shoot me with your little heart arrows?ā
āDean.ā This time itās Sam who speaks. Your throat feels too dry to do so, goosebumps rising all over your skin. āHeās not just any god. His father is quite literally the god of war.ā
Eros scoffs, rolling his now magenta eyes. He moves closer, until heās just a step away from the three of you. You canāt handle the smell of peaches and cream coming from him, overwhelming and dizzying from up close.Ā
āYeah, Daddy always scares people. Him and his big spear.ā The god smacks his lips, staring at Sam until he recoils in his place. āBut itās not him who you should fear. Daddy likes to play tough, but heās simple-minded. Unambiguous, methodical, and so fucking boring. Now, Mommyā¦ thatās who you should be afraid of.ā
His eyes scan you one by one, staying on you for just a moment too long before moving to Dean. Then, he grins, leaning so close that his little button nose brushes Deanās crooked one.Ā
āBut you already are, arenāt you?ā
Youāre not sure Dean knows who Eros is talking about, but he still winces.Ā
āWe're not here to antagonize you.ā Sam intervenes. Youāre still too busy fighting your own body to do anything. āWe just wanted to make sure everything was in order.ā
āAnd itās not.ā Dean raises his chin, his obstinacy and stupidity implacable. Eros takes a little hop back, his grin only growing. āYou have all of those people in town under a spell. We canāt have that just because you wanna be a little bitch about souvenirs.ā
Dean and his fucking bravado. Itāll get him killed one day. Maybe today, while youāre too damn defective to act.Ā
You try to talk to Eros, take back Deanās words, but another weird lightning strike flashes in your gut, and all that comes out is a faraway babble. Erosā eyes flare.
āYouāre more incompetent than I expected, Dean Winchester. But youāre also moreā¦ complex.ā He looks from Dean to you a few times before settling on you. More specifically, on your arm. āNice bling you have there.ā
Shit.
Panic claws at your throat. Of course, your luck canāt get any worse.Ā
Immediately, your hands fly to the scorching cuff, trying to rip it off. It doesnāt budge, only getting tighter and hotter around your flesh the harder you tug, charring your fingers.
āWhat did you do?ā Dean snarls.Ā
When the sharp metal starts to dig on your skin deep enough to break it, you give up. The bronze wires go back to resting gently around your arm as soon as you let go, reverting to warm and delicate.Ā
āI didnāt do anything.ā Erosā sing-songs, you fight to keep your breath even. āYou did. Itās not nice to take whatās not yours, you know?ā
Dean and you stare at each other, terrified. Hot flashes, ache between your thighs, wet.
You double over, hands holding your lower stomach. Every cell in your body howls, your mouth waters, your legs tremble, and you canāt hear anything. For a moment, youāre sure youāre dying.Ā
āāme! I took it! Kill me!ā
Deanās voice sounds underwater. Sam is yelling your name. Erosā cackle is piercing. It brings you back.Ā
āIām not gonna kill her, silly! What a waste thatād be.ā The air around you shifts. Suddenly, a finger is tapping on the quartz flowers. Your knees falter. āIām the god of desire, baby. Iām here to make people feel good.ā
āWait, wait,ā you cry, trying to straighten up. You only manage to take a step toward Eros before you fall to the floor, knees smashing against bronze. āFuck!ā
You remember when you were younger, around seven or eight, and you used to throw yourself to the floor. Letting your knees give up, at any given moment, giggling all the way through. The thud of bone against tile, the slight ache, the bruising. You did it, over and over again, until your skin turned all shades of purple. And then youād run and proudly show your mother how pretty the marks bloomed.Ā
Disgusting, from the very start.
āFuck!ā You repeat, but this time itās in the shape of a long, lewd moan. Sam and Dean freeze. You curl further into yourself, panting like a thirsty dog. āStop, stop, please! It feelsāāĀ
Your words are so breathy that youāre not sure anyone can understand you. Your eyes are glassy as you crawl back from the amused god, the world turning technicolor as the pressure builds. Your back hits something, a wall or pedestal or table, and you pull your knees up to your chest.
āIām gonnaāah.ā You bite down on your tongue to try and swallow any more humiliating noises, screwing your eyes shut. Your head drops back, slamming against whateverās behind you. The dull, less sparkly pain is enough to return some clarity to you. āIt hurts, please. Please, stop.ā
āYou think it hurts now?ā Eros kneels by your side, and youāre able to half-open your eyes. Slowly, the wave retreats, like itās melting back into the ocean. Not a release, but a promise. Your body ends up achy with the frustration of dropping so suddenly, boneless and exhausted. āThe flashes only get stronger and more frequent, child. And you just wait until youāre in your fifth orgasm.ā
āYou son of a bitch!ā Dean charges for Eros, but the god dodges him with the swiftness of a small and lean body against Deanās broad shoulders and heavy feet. āTake that shit off of her, or Iāll cut your fucking dick off.ā
Eros giggles, pinning Dean in place with glowing pink eyes. Once again, the god invades his personal space, and the sight of them so closeāDeanās muddy jacket against the pristine white of Erosā shirtāmakes you buzz all over.Ā
āThatāll just hurt you more than me, handsome.ā The god winks, salacious. āOh, in another life, in another life.ā
Itās a furious, voyeuristic kind of prickle. Jealousy mixed with allure.Ā
The stupid cuff is making you horny for shit youāve never found hot before.Ā
āHow about I make you boys a deal?ā Only then you notice Sam standing right beside you, teeth bared like a guard dog. Youāll have to buy him a new book as soon as this is all over, maybe one of those protein bars he likes so much. āYou help her survive this, I move back to rural France and let your little town free. How does that sound?ā
āSurvive this? So it is gonna kill her.ā You donāt think youāve heard Sam this furious before.Ā
Did the cuff affect your perception of reality? Or does the fairy dust glow affect others? Because the Winchesters would never be this concerned about you otherwise. Why are they so angry?Ā
They probably donāt want to deal with this when the apocalypse is around the corner. Once again, youāre dead weight on their already sinking ship.
āNo, but itās gonna getā¦ nasty.ā Eros cracks up like he just made the most hilarious joke.
A pause, the tide starts to go out. And then, āHow do we help?ā
Another wicked giggle, a migraine lingers in the back of your skull.Ā
āYouāll figure it out, eventually. At least I hope so.ā The god is still glued to Deanās chest, and he runs a sharp nail down the slope of his jaw. āYouāre either gonna stop fearing Mommy, or youāre gonna despise her. Either way, Iām in for a fabulous show.ā
With that, he vanishes in a cloud of glitter and peaches.Ā
Sam and Dean start to talk, but your bones are lead and your head is pounding. Everythingās sore, like you just ran a marathon or got your guts rearranged, so itās easy to let your eyes flutter close when the needles on your skin melt down to a faint gooseflesh.Ā
ā...we gonna do?ā
ā...ake her backā¦somewhere safe, so sheā¦ā
ā...donāt know wā¦ā
ā...research in the car. Come on.ā
Reality fades in and out, your mind a sluggish mess of tangled bodies and gory memories.Ā
Aphrodite and Ares. Love and war. Beauty and violenceāErosā whole deal.Ā
āIām gonna pick you up, okay?ā Samās voice has gotten closer. At your lack of response, he repeats your name. āWe need to get to the car, and you canāt walk, so Iāll carry you. Okay?ā
You hum absentmindedly, a small part of you still present enough to feel hurt over the fact that Dean wonāt carry you.Ā
It makes sense, you wouldnāt want to touch something as gross as you either.
Before your mind can slip again, arms slide under your knees and back. A second later, youāre airborne.
You gasp, holding onto Samās shoulders tightly. The sudden movement wakes you up completely, and youāre able to take in the brothersā impassive expressions as they stomp out of the warehouse, leaving behind perfect marble and immaculate crystal. Itās a relief to see it all get smaller the farther you get.Ā
Deanās shoulders are taut, his face hidden by the way he walks slightly ahead of you and Sam, but youāve learned to recognize when heās upset like a sixth sense. You must make a noise of some kind, because Sam is shushing you under his breath and murmuring gentle reassurances just for you.Ā
āWeāre gonna find out how to get the cuff off. Youāre fine, we wonāt let anyone hurt you. Youāre safe with us.ā
āI know.ā Sam relaxes a little at that, his touch on you growing more confident and less vacillating. And maybeājust maybeāyou were wrong, and he actually cares. It would be nice to have a friend, you hang onto the idea. āI trust you.ā
He gives you one of those beams that bring out his dimples, fringe falling onto his eyes as a gust of fresh air hits your face. The smell of soil and grass is comforting, no more roses or cream. Youāre safe.Ā
For now, that evil part of your brain reminds you.
Shut the fuck up.
Of course, peace doesnāt last long. The path down the field to the road out of town is long, cobblestone surrounded by yellow grass, and it all starts again soon enough.
The bronze heats up, your skin grows sensitive, a weight on your chest grows. Your tongue feels too slick against your teeth, your thighs are pressed too close together, the necklace around your throat is pushing deliciously against your windpipe. The ocean roars, preparing.
āSam.āĀ
Your voice is low and whiny. Youāve never sounded like that before. You squirm and Samās arms around you tighten, probably to stop you from moving so he doesnāt drop you. But his fingernails dig into the meat of your legs, and his chest is lean and warm against your side, and you canāt do this right now.Ā
Sam has never been more than a possible friend, a little brother that you love wholeheartedly. But your body is on fire and the pain feels good and he smells too much like Deanā
āSammy,ā you repeat. The nickname makes both brothers stop marching. āSammy, I needāI need you to stop touching me. Right now.ā
āWhat?ā Sam sounds confused, but you canāt make out anything aside from the white fog clouding the edges of your vision. Samās hands spam, your back arches involuntarily, biting down on your cheek so hard you taste iron. Itās building. Up, up, up.
āStop touching her.ā Deanās somber voice is faint through the rush of blood in your ears and the scream of your brain. āSam, fucking let her go!ā
āButāāĀ
Dean makes a guttural noise, it doesnāt help. āStop touching her or Iām gonna fucking kill you!ā
Just like that, youāre plummeting.Ā
The world spins, air roars all around you, thereās more screaming. Then, pain.Ā
Hard concrete under your hands and knees, stinging on your skin, warm crimson dripping. It should be awful, it should stop the heat between your thighs and uncoil your gut, but it only makes it worse.
Someone yells your name and you make a little agonizing noise, curling onto yourself on the dirty ground, arms wrapping around your middle like you can contain the blazing bomb ticking inside of you. The cuff rasps against the pavement, you want to cut off your arm.
āYou told me to let her go!ā
āI didnāt mean drop her, you fucking brute!ā
The drag of tiny rocks against your flesh, the rush of adrenaline from falling, the metallic smell of bloodāyou gasp desperately.Ā
Youāre sick. Youāre so fucking sick, and now Sam and Dean can see it. The beast has been unleashed and youāre left begging it to please, donāt do it. Youāre a monster that wants too much, that wants wrong. Perverted and broken and wrong.
You knew it. Apparently the gods did as well.Ā
Divinely, intrinsically sick.
Breath by breath, second by second, you claw your way back from the edge. The heat gets more bearable, the fuzz goes back under your skin, the fog dissipates. The space between your legs is still throbbing, dripping and scorching, but now you can shift your knees without feeling like youāre gonna fly off your body.Ā
Someone calls your name again, and you finally notice that youāre still lying on the pavement, rolled into a little ball. Slowly, you force yourself to seat up, heaving for air.Ā
The wave has passed.Ā
āI donāt thinkāā Your voice is hoarse, you hope you werenāt being too loud. āI donāt think you should touch me anymore.ā
You feel like a kid again, tiny and weak on the floor while the two men stare down at you. You keep your eyes on your bloody hands, ashamed, just like you had when your mother had caught you looking at a Heath Ledger magazine cutout for too long. You can feel the judgement in her eyes, her ugly words of immorality, the shame. Shame, shame, shame.Ā
āSon of aāā Dean cuts himself off with a bark, your eyes gloss over, shrinking further into the curb. āCome on, sweetheart, get off the ground. Babyās right there, you can do it.ā
Your eyes flicker up to find the Impala, parked just a few feet to your right. You almost, almost made it. It only makes you feel worse.Ā
Taking a deep breath that makes the fabric of your sweater brush against your breastsāyour stiff, oversensitive nipples feeling it even through the lace of your bra, fuckāyou rise to your feet. The first step you take is shaky, and you stumble forward a little.Ā
Both brothers extend a hand, instinctively wanting to hold you up, but they stop themselves before they can graze your skin. Itās humiliating, being this fucking helpless. The spite helps you straighten up and make your way to the car.Ā
āThatās it, sweetheart, youāre okay.ā Dean murmurs before closing your door, once youāre already laying down across the backseat. āYouāre gonna be okay.ā
Youāre not sure if heās trying to convince you or himself. Either way, you cling to the words and close your eyes.Ā
ą¼ š²Ö¼š¢āļ½”Ė
The car ride is hellish.
Youād decided to rent a small house instead of a hotel, expecting to work this case for a couple of days. It has two rooms and a small kitchen, secluded enough that no one would catch you working spells or burning bones.Ā
Itās a blessing. You canāt imagine having to deal with this in a motel room. At least here you can scream your head off if you want to and no one will call the police.Ā
But itās also a curse, because it meant you were trapped in the Impala for a while, with the roaring of the engine making your bones vibrate and everything smelling like earth and gunpowder and DeanDeanDean.
āI canāt find anything on, uhm, aphrodisiacal jewelry.ā Samād said about ten minutes into the drive, already having gone through at least five articles in his laptop with miraculous wifi. āIāll have to take a closer look at the cuff later, okay?ā
You gave him a noncommittal grunt, an attempt at agreement.Ā
You hadnāt talked since the last wave. Either from exhaustion or shame, not even you were sure. But all youād been able to do was hug yourself like a baby, eyebrows drawn with the effort of fighting the beast, whoās slowly waking up again.Ā
Still, you felt Samās gaze on you, firm and unyielding. Without another choice, you blinked your eyes open.
Howāre you doing? He asked you with a wiggle of his eyebrows.
How do you think? You glared, Sam chuckled. Fucking fantastic.
I donāt know whoās gonna suffer more: you, Dean, or me having to witness it all.
The heat all over your body was momentarily replaced by confusion. Dean?
āI fucking hate when you two do that.ā Dean grumbled, hitting the breaks at a red light a little too hard. You almost fell down into the footwell. āFucking demonic, like the creepy twins from The Shining.ā
Dean. Sam rolled his eyes before retorting something to his brother out loud, his eyes leaving yours.
Dean.
Your stomach flipped. You closed your eyes and didnāt open them again until you reached the house.
ą¼ š²Ö¼š¢āļ½”Ė
You find it in yourself to be grateful that the tide only starts rising once youāre already out of the car. In the old colonial house everything smells like cockroaches and old lady, and Dean is far away from sight somewhere in the kitchen. It at least makes it easier to waddle into your room without collapsing.
Eros was right, it slowly starts getting worse. Your skin feels completely raw, like someone plucked all your feathers and left you to roast over a bonfire. You donāt understand how it is supposed to feel good. Itās just torture.
Your legs tremble as you crawl into bed, breath choppy and muscles on fire. Your clothes feel too coarse against your tender flesh, scratchy and heavy and wrong, so you rip them off with frenzied hands.Ā
Itās only once you slide your panties down your legs that you notice how ruined they are. The thin fabric completely soaked through, translucent and sticky with it, some even trickling down your thighs.Ā
The cold air of the room against your naked pussy feels like both a punishment and a relief. You break down in goosebumps, legs giving up as you fall face first on the mattress, completely bare except for Erosā cuff and overpowered by the terrible ache seizing your body.
Suddenly, musk, coffee and motor oil hit your nose. With a strangled moan, you tilt back your head and find one of Deanās shirts lying over your pillow, wrinkled and dirty and oh.Ā
Heād been late this morning, scrambling all over the house while you and Sam waited outside. This is his sleeping shirt, some old band merch that he barely washes. He probably just threw it over his shoulder when he came to check the salt lines in your window.
When youāre questioned in purgatory, once this stupid curse kills you, youāll claim that you tried. You tried really, really hard to ignore the shirt. But the smell of Dean is so strong, the fabric so smooth unlike your clothesāand it might just be your overheated body, but it still feels warm and worn against your cheek.
The beast takes over once more, and you bury your face against the frayed neckline.Ā
Finally, you have your first orgasm.Ā
Thereās barely any buildup, no warning or omen. One second youāre drowning in Deanās shirt, the next one youāre drowning in pleasure. And oh, there it is. Pleasure at last.
All the pain transforms, shifts, blooms. Your hips jerk against the blankets, the fabric bunching up between your thighs and brushing over the puffy lips of your cunt, making you hiss at the overwhelming friction. Your hands fist the shirt, pulling it closer to your face, until you can taste it on your tongue and down your throat.
The wave becomes a tsunami, washing all over you and dragging away any resemblance of suffering. Itās all white-hot delight, long and infinite. You keep humping the mattress until your clit pangs with oversensitivity, and even then you canāt help but rut your hips in gentle circles as you make your way back from elysium.Ā
This time the fall isnāt as awful. The ocean settles, the wave retreats, and youāre left drained but blissed. The shirt is soaked with your spit and the blankets soaked with your arousal. The room smells like sweat and sex and madness. The beast is roaming free, your mind is empty of any shame, youāve never felt more alive.Ā
Why have you been denying this to yourself for so long?
Someone calls your name from outside the door. You almost fly off the bed. āCan we come in?ā
āNo!ā You yell before clearing your throat. āWaitāwait a second.ā
ā...We can come back later.ā
āNo, No.āĀ
You quickly bundle Deanās shirt and the blankets up in a little ball, throwing them inside the closet before pulling on clean underwear and a big sweater, long enough to hit mid thigh. You chuck one of the extra comforters Dean had brought you last night ājust in case you get cold,ā onto the bed, being mindful to open a window before sliding under it.
āCome in, itās okay.ā
You brush your sweaty hair off your forehead as the door opens, finding some drool on your chin. You wipe it off before either Sam or Dean can see, still a little too high on the afterglow to care all that much.
The Winchesters stand very still by the door, an old book in Samās hands and some water bottles in Deanās, both looking around the room like they're expecting to encounter a murder scene. Theyāre not too far off.Ā
āHey, soāā Sam takes some steps closer to bed before he halts, finally glancing at you. Dean is still immobile on the doorway. āOh. Oh, wow. Uhmāā
You frown, lucidity returning, worried that youād missed some crucial evidence in the rush of it all. āWhat?ā
Sam is speechless, gaping like the townies after youād forced them to look at Erosā warehouse. He blinks a few times before his eyes return to his book, rubbing a hand over his face. Dean makes a little noise in the back of his throat, like a gutted stag.Ā
The bliss starts to turn into tar.
āNothing, justāwow.ā Samās voice is high, because the kid is a great liar when it comes to the big stuff, but he canāt handle a white lie to save his life.
āWhat?ā You repeat, harsher, squirming self-consciously.Ā
āAre you feeling better?ā Dean interrupts roghly, pushing his brother aside to make his way toward the window. He looks mad, you canāt judge him.Ā
āYeah. I mean, itās still working.ā You point to the arm cuff, scarlet prickling on your cheeks. āBut the waveās passed.ā
āAnother one?ā You nod at Samās question. He scribbles something in the margin of his book. āThatās around five minutes earlier than the last one.ā
āGreat.ā You huff, drawing your knees up to your chest under the thick comforter. āSo Eros wasnāt bullshitting. They get more frequent and more intense the longer I wear it.ā
āIt was more intense?ā Sam questions as if heās conducting an experiment, you feel like youāre under his microscope. āHow come?ā
You splutter, the red of your cheeks worsening as you feel both brothersā eyes on you. āIāmāI meanāI donātāugh.ā You hide your face against your knees, your voice muffled. You wish you could just perish right now, but you also know that if you want Sam to find a cure, you need to tell him as much as you can. āItā¦toppled over. Like, all the way.ā
āHuh?ā One second, two more, and then: āOh.ā
Dean curses under his breath, sharp and angry. You lift your head just in time to watch him storm out of the room, your heart shattering all over the carpet as he slams the door behind him.Ā
Sam gives you his classic puppy-eyed look, it doesnāt make it better. You hate his pity, you hate that everyone knows how pathetically in love you are with Dean, you hate that they all feel sorry for you. You hate that Dean will never feel the same.
Sam whispers your name, you shake your head.Ā
āJust do whatever you need to do,ā you murmur, sinking further into the bed. āBefore I get sick again.ā
Because no matter how good it can feel, how high it can take you if you give into it, it doesnāt change the fact that itās sick.Ā
Now you remember why you donāt let yourself have this, not in this way. Because itās degenerate, nauseating and depraved. You shouldnāt desire like this,Ā for this. Blood shouldnāt taste good and sweat shouldnāt smell good and Dean shouldnāt feel good.Ā
He doesnāt deserve to be the victim of your obsession, not when itās so clear it repulses him.
You allow Sam to take a closer look at the bracelet, answering all his questions with an emotionless tone and letting your mind wander far away, where neither pleasure nor pain exist and youāre free of this carnal torment.
By the time Sam shuffles out the door, youāre half asleep already. He doesnāt dare to touch you again, but you can feel him giving you one last comforting look before locking you up in your room, like the monster you were always destined to be.
Falling onto the waiting arms of Morpheus is easy when every bit of you is spent and fuzzy. The breeze comes through the window, soothing whispers of leaves and sunlight. But in the distance, you can faintly hear Erosā cackles, haunting you.
ą¼ š²Ö¼š¢āļ½”Ė
You havenāt seen Dean in a day.Ā
The rest of yesterday was spent drifting in and out of sleep, your body so unaccustomed to this amount of exertion that it could barely handle being awake for more than a few hours.Ā
Hours that were spent with you rolling around bed, riding wave after wave. At first you only dared to hump your pillows, ignoring the call of Deanās shirt from the closet, a siren song begging you to falter.Ā
It was enough, for a while. It felt safe, instinctual, less depraved.
But then, when your thighs were sore and trembling, threatening to give up under you, you started to use your fingers. Rubbing small circles over your clit, sliding lower until your folds parted, dipping into the warmth of your entrance. Youād scarcely ever done this, always so afraid that someone was watching, that someone would condemn you for itāyou forgot how good it could be.
You had to bite down on the sheets as your digits rammed inside of you, curving up to press against that gummy spot just as your thumb found your clit. Your other hand fondled with your breasts, pulling on the perks of your nipples and making you throw your head back.Ā
Still not quite what the curse wanted, but it got the job done.
Not too soon after that, the fantasies started.Ā
Dean, always Dean. Over you and under you and next to you. Between your legs or draped over your back or shoving you to the floor. Burying his face in your pussy or pushing your head down on his cock. Calling you pretty as he kissed all over you, calling you dirty as his hand wrapped around your neck, calling you both as he came so deep inside of you, you could feel him in your throat.Ā
Youāve wondered if you started hallucinating at some point, because his voice in your ear was so clear and real. His name was always on your tongue, whispered or stifled or bloody, canines biting down on your arm deep enough to draw blood just to keep it down.Ā
Baths were hard to get through, especially when you had to take so many. Around every three hours, you were disgusting enough that you couldnāt stand not jumping in the shower, sticky with sweat and spit and arousal. But your skin was too raw for the decent water pressure of the house, the tiles were too cold, the water too hot, and you couldnāt stand looking at yourself in the mirror.
But then youād discovered the handheld shower head.Ā
Itād been a miracle. Your cunt was starting to get too sore from the direct friction, your fingers were cramping and your insides were bruisedāevery orgasm brought tears to your eyes, and not the good kind.Ā
But the water was perfect, gentle enough not to hurt, intense enough to satiate the beast.Ā
After a two hour āshower,ā you were able to sleep through the night.
Sam had checked on you periodically, always knocking loudly on the door before coming in, leaving water and food on your bedside table before updating you on his research. Sadly, he hasnāt found much.Ā
He still looks shocked every time he sees you, having to take a second before walking into the room. You donāt ask, he doesnāt explain. Thereās a reason youāve been avoiding mirrorsāyou donāt want to see what your disease has done to your body.Ā
You must look like an obscene mess. Or maybe Sam is just being a little Victorian-Man about it.
Youād ask Dean, but Dean hadnāt shown his face at all. Not to say goodnight, not to nag you about salt lines and devilās traps, not to make sure youāre not dead.
You knew that once he saw just how rotten you are, youād lose him. It still hurts like a rusty nail to the brain.
Sleep wasnāt perfect, still plagued with dreams of debauchery and perversion, but it was replenishing.Ā
After your first orgasm of the morning, you were able to take an actual shower, brush your teeth, and get dressed up in something other than oversized cotton shirts, ready to be reintroduced into society.Ā
Youād learned a lot more in your confinement other than how many ways you can make yourself cum. Youād learned that the period between waves only gets shorter after a set of three or four, and that you have about five minutes after it starts before it gets unbearable. You learned that ignoring it only makes it more painful and more abrasive, and that trying to stop it is useless.
You also learned that you werenāt made to stay in one place only.
Youāre already going stir-crazy, after one day of being locked up. If the curse is going to kill you, you want to see the sunlight at least one last time.
āIām going out.ā You announce to Sam, rushing into the kitchen and grabbing the first piece of food you can find. āIāll be back in exactlyāā You glance down at your watch, where youāre timing your next wave. āTwenty-five minutes.ā
āYouāre what?ā
You almost spit out the piece of bread youād jammed into your mouth, not expecting Dean to still be here. His voice brings back memories of phantom praises and degradation and naughty orders. You have to physically shake them off before the tide rises early.
You turn around, finding Sam sitting on the dinner table, eyebags under his eyes and a million books surrounding him. Next to him, Dean is sipping on a cup of coffee, looking tired and upset, still in his pajamas and looking like he hasnāt left the house at all.Ā
They both flinch a little when you face them. Your cheeks redden with embarrassment, you donāt let it deter your initiative.
āThereās a corner store less than a mile down the road,ā you explain, munching on the rest of the bread before moving to grab your jacket. āIām just gonna go buy some ice cream and Iāll be back.ā
āThe fuck you are!ā
That makes you pause, just a few feet away from the door. Dean gets mad at you, sometimes. He gets irritated or grumpy or annoyed, but he never talks like that to you. With that much fury, with that much scorn.
āExcuse me?ā
Dean is by your side in a second, arms crossed, wearing a scowl so deep that his face might just be stuck that way forever. āGo back to your room.ā
You raise an eyebrow, and Sam winces somewhere behind you.Ā
āIs that an order?ā Dean only shrugs, because he never knows when to back down. Youāre seething. āWho the fuck do you think you are?ā
Because how dare he. Talking about fucking other girls and abandoning you when youāre like this and not wanting you. How dare he, break your heart into pieces so small, youāll spend the rest of your life trying to put it back together. How dare he, fusing your souls together in an everlasting way, just to take them both with him.Ā
How fucking dare he.
āIām the guy who has to deal with your mess while youāre in thereāwhatever.ā If you were less furious, youād notice the flush creeping down his neck. āSo go back to your room, and let us work.ā
āYou have to deal with my mess?!ā you shout. Dean recoils, it sobers you up. Your voice lowers to a still livid but collected tone. āYou were the one who insisted on me wearing it in the first place!ā
Something akin to guilt crosses his face before it goes back to disdain, and he grumbles something unintelligible that you donāt care to dissect. Time is running out, and you need to go.
āWhy are you even here, anyway? Shouldnāt you be out getting passed around like a blunt?ā
Itās depressing, the way your own words make you ache. And Dean has the audacity to look offended.
āThatās got nothing to do with this.ā
āIt does if youāre getting in my way!ā Your clock beeps. Twenty minutes. āSo why donāt you go find a bar or some glory hole, and leave me alone.ā
āBecause Iām stuck here, reading about fucking hellistic magic shit, for you.ā
āHellenistic.ā Sam corrects unhelpfully, both of you ignore him.
āNo oneās asking you to!ā You run a hand through your hair, tugging on the roots harshly. Because youāre just so, so tired. You close your eyes, taking a few slow breaths. āGo! Youāre free, Winchester. Leave! Iām not getting in the way of your fun, so donāt get in the way of mine.ā
The kitchen is completely silent as you stay still, eyes screwed shut and lips trembling, and for a second youāre almost sure that the brothers left. But then, āIs that what this is about?ā
Youāve never heard Dean like this, voice bitter and broken. Your eyes flutter open, meeting his, and he looks like you just shot his puppy. At your attention, his mask hardens like concrete.Ā
But his facade is faltering, and so is yours.
āYou want to go find someone? Have some fun?ā
Oh.Ā
Youāve thought about itāsomeone elseās hands on your burning flesh, their fingers and tongue and cock, helping you ride the tide until youāre all placid sweet water. You could find some poor bastard too desperate or too foolish to notice the rabid foam in the corner of your lips, someone willing to take mercy on you, someone who can give you what you need.
Nonono. Thatās all your mind could chant. Wrong. Thisiswrongsowrong.Ā
You feel nauseous, ready to vomit all of your insides. No.
āMaybe,ā you answer instead, because youāre half delirious from Erosā magic and the cuff is warming up again. Dean grimaces, gaze dropping to the floor, and the bomb that explodes inside of you is pure wrath. āWhat, Winchester? Is it so fucking impossible to imagine anyone could want me? Do I disgust you so much that you canāt handle the idea of someone fucking me?ā
Now Dean looks like heās about to hurl.Ā
āGuysāā
āThatās notāugh, you can be soā¦ā Dean covers his mouth with a hand, like heās physically trying to swallow back his words.
āNo, no. Say it.ā You step closer, even when the proximity is like sulfuric acid in your brain. He still wonāt look at you, so you shove him back, craving a fight almost as much as you crave his love. He stumbles, just a few inches, because he just has to be built like a freaking wall of bricks. āSay it, Dean.ā
To his credit, Dean holds himself together way more than you expected. He doesnāt yell, doesnāt throw shit around, doesnāt even try to push you back. He simply exhales, loud and forced, and lifts his face with calculated resolve.Ā
āYouāre going back to your room, and weāre gonna keep researching. Thatās the end of it.ā
Deanās tone is demanding, your watch beeps, your pussy throbs.Ā
It doesnāt help how infuriated you are.Ā
āYouāre not my dad, Dean, you can't just tell me what to do!ā You shove him again, harder, and the way his muscles donāt budge under your palm does nothing for the twist of your gut.Ā
āIām not letting you go outside right now,ā he spits out your name, his faux tranquility shattering. His next words are spoken through clenched teeth. āNot whenāwhen you look like that.ā
A gunshot. Right to the right of your heart, blood oozing and lungs punctured. Fatal.Ā
Itās not a surprise that Dean isnāt attracted to you. Being faced with the excruciating reality of it is still cataclysmic.
āFuck you, Dean.ā It comes out in a half-choked sob. You attempt to push him again but your touch is weak, a barely-there brush of your hand before you take a few clumsy steps back, tears burning on your eyes and needles prickling your skin. āFuck you! I fucking hate you, Iāā
You spin on your heels, ready to lurch for the door. Itās too late for the store, and thereās nowhere else to go in this deserted little town. The next wave is too soon and itāll last too long and itās too cold outside to take a walkā
Dean calls your name, a desperate plea youāve heard so many times before in midnight fantasies, and then his hand wraps around your wrist, yanking you back from the doorway.
But youāre burnt-out and woozy, so the firm tug makes you lose your balance. Once again, Deanās chest is there to catch you, huge arms around your body and immovable frame holding you up. His breath is on your neck, and heās so warm and firm behind you and you canātā
White. For a long moment, everything goes white. Your whole body feels like an exposed nerve, as if youāre made of pure lighting. Itās better than Deanās shirt, Itās better than the showerhead.Ā
Itās Dean, finally.
You enter another dimension, where everything is syrupy and glorious. Thereās the faraway but familiar sound of knees against tile, the faint crawl of sickness, someone shouting your name. But itās all filtered by the colossal ecstasy that Deanās touch brought you.
It feels like it lasts hours, maybe days. An infinite spiral of gut-wrenching climax, a rollercoaster speeding up until you touch the sky, clouds on your fingertips and dew between your legs.Ā
When you come back to yourself, youāre once again on the ground. Your knees are sore, your throat is dry, your underwear is soaked. Spasms still travel through your body as you try to catch your breath, gasping violently and pawing at the legs in front of you for support.Ā
Worn fabric against your palms, scratchy and warm like the hand that just catapulted you out of the stratosphere.Ā
āDean.ā This time you say it outloud. Dean makes a wounded noise, you canāt help but cling to his legs. Begging, praying for forgiveness. Like a sinner bleeding on an altar, like a sacrifice watching the executioner sharpen his knife. āIām sorry, Dean. Iām so sorry. Fuck, Iāmāā
Tears, streaming down your face like a broken dam. Your words melt into a bundle of sobs and wails, your whole body shaking with the force of them. If Dean didnāt hate you before, he for sure hates you now.Ā
Now that youāve dragged him into the mud with you, imposed your disease on him, forced him to be part of your depravity.
āSweetheartā¦ā Dean whispers, kneeling down and trying to reach for you.Ā
You slither back, kicking your legs and shaking your head so hard it makes you all dizzy. āNo, No. Donāt touch me! Iām sick! Iām so sorry. Iām so fucking sick and Iām sorry.ā
With a click of his tongue, Dean fists your ankle, dragging you across the floor and right into his body with just a yank of his arm. A loud moan escapes your lips.Ā
His arms are like iron around you, caging you against his chest and not letting go, no matter how hard you trash around.Ā
āShhh. Shhh, sweetheart. I got you, you need to calm down. I got you.ā
You want to keep fighting, to kick him in the gut and punch him in the eye and protect him from yourself. But youāve been locked inside your room for a whole day, dealing with the rabid beast inside you all by yourself, yearning for the tiniest bit of comfort.
Comfort like Deanās bare arms against yours, like his voiceāhis real voiceāmurmuring sweet nothings in your ear, like the vivid smell of him instead of the washed off remains on old fabric. Itās impossible not to take.Ā
Because youāre selfish and ugly and starved.
āIām sorry,ā you repeat. Iām sorry for clinging to you like this. Iām sorry for cumming just from your body pressed against mine. Iām sorry for wanting you. āI didnāt mean to, I swear.ā
āI know, sweetheart. I know.ā He sounds sad. Why does he sound fucking sad? āItās the cuff, I know. IāIām sorry.ā
You canāt help but tug him closer, fingers gripping his shirt and digging onto his ribs, your nose buried on his sternum. Your legs are intertwined, his hands are rubbing up and down your back, heās everywhere.Ā
āWhy? Iām the one whoās fucked up.ā Youāre not even sure Dean can hear you, your voice so tiny and broken. A chair scraps against the floor somewhere behind you, you hide your face further into Deanās chest. āHell, you didnāt consent to that at all, Iām so sorry.ā
A moment of silence. Sam, who youād forgotten about entirely, clears his throat. āIāll take the Impala and go get that ice cream. Text me when I can come back.ā
Dean nods silently. You tilt your head back until you can see Sam over your shoulder, hazel eyes already searching for yours.
Youāll be okay?
Probably not.Ā
Sam chuckles, shaking his head.Ā
Iād beg to differ. A little sparkle in his irises tells you. Good luck.
With that, he leaves. Youāre left staring at the door, wondering how this all wouldāve gone if you had just left for good. This morning, yesterday, months ago. Maybe you shouldāve never been here.
āYou didnāt either.ā You turn back to Dean, confused. He watches your face for a second before dropping his gaze to your hands on his shirt, a bitter laugh leaving his lips. āYou didnāt consent to this, either.ā
āWhat?ā
āSweetheart, Iāgoddamn it.ā He huffs, one of his hands leaving your body to rub over his face, rough and angry. Without thinking, you pull it away from where his pretty skin was already turning red under the punishing touch. You hold his palm in yours, cradling it against your chest. āYouāre cursed and in pain, and Iām just a selfish bastard taking advantage of it. Iām the one who should be sorry.ā
You blink a few times, tears still wet on your cheeks and slick still sticky on your thighs, wondering if the last orgasm left you with severe brain damage. Because what the fuck is he talking about?
āDeanā¦ā you murmur slowly, trying to search for his eyes. He avoids you like the plague. For some reason, it doesnāt hurt as much anymore. āAll Iāve done is drag you and Sam into myāproblem, over and over again. Iām the one infecting you with this, the one staining you. How on earth are you taking advantage of it?ā
So many things flash on Deanās face at the same time. Shame, loathing, mortification, resignation.
āYou really have no idea what you do to me.ā For the first time in ages, you feel cold. Frozen in time, only Deanās words keeping you grounded. āIāve got a handle on it most days, but when youāre right here, moaning so sweetly and writhing so prettilyā¦ shit, baby, even the strongest man would falter. And you have the audacity to look like that.ā
It hits completely different now.Ā
āWhat are you saying, Dean?ā You squeeze his hand, tight enough for his fingers to turn white.Ā
He utters your name, low and huskyāan imprecation, a psalm.Ā
āYou know damn well.ā
āNo,ā you whisper, leaning closer to those beautiful green irises thatāve haunted you for so long. āI have no idea.ā
āI want you, sweetheart.ā He whispers back, almost inaudible. The beast starts to roar, maniacal. āIāve been wanting you for years. Iām the one whoās truly sick.ā
A million things pass through your mind. Why, how, when. If it wasnāt for the constant throbbing of your body, youād pinch yourself to make sure itās not just another vivid dream.Ā
āBut you never look at me?ā
āWhat?ā
āYou never look at me, Dean.ā Your cheeks are stiff with dried tears, Deanās hand cups one of them gently. You melt against the touch, shivering all over. āIām always there, but you just see right through me.ā
āOh, baby.ā Everything goes fuzzier every time he says it. Something in your face must show it, because Dean drops his hand and tries to pull back. You whimper, tugging harder on his shirt, practically crawling onto his lap. He groans. āYou think I could look at you and still hold back? I had to look away. I ruin everything I touch, and I couldnāt riskāI couldnāt risk losing you. Not you.ā He hesitates for a second before resting his forehead on yours. Your lips part at the contact. āStill, you are all I can see.ā
With a desperate little whine, you dive down for Deanās lips.Ā
But all your mouth finds is the stubbled skin of his cheek, his head jerked to the side and scrunched in agony.Ā
āDean.ā You mutter, because thatās all that's in your mind. āDean, Dean, Dean.ā
āStop,ā he pleads, but his hands latch onto your waist. You moan again, the prickling on your skin now a lot gentler, a lot less disgusting. Almost beautiful. āI canāt. Itās the cuff, baby. You donāt really want this.ā
āI do. I want you, more than anything else.ā
āStop it. Now.ā
You canāt.
āIāve wanted you ever since Iāve known you, Dean.ā
Your name, again, imploring.
āItās not the stupid arm cuff, itās not Erosā magic, itās not anything else. Itās just me. Me, wanting you so bad I canāt breathe when youāre not with me.ā After so long holding back, it all spills out like a hurricane. āIāve wanted you long before this, when Sammy lets me ride shotgun down the interstate and when Iām patching up your reckless wounds and when you put on that stupid little winning smile whenever things go your way.ā
Dean tries to look away again, but you wonāt let him anymore. You grab his face, nails digging into his jaw, pinning him under your gaze just like Eros did.Ā
āLook at me, Dean. Finally, really look at me.ā
Youāre not sure who leans in first, with the heat rising and clouding your mind, but suddenly Deanās mouth is on you.Ā
Itās violent, teeth clashing and lips bruising. Deanās tongue is so far down your throat it makes you gag a little. He tries to apologize, but you shut him up by grinding down against his crotch, a hard bulge already there to welcome you under thin fabric.
Youāre basically eating each other, hands groping all they can find and hips rutting incessantly. Deanās fingers tangle on your hair, pulling gently. You bite down on his tongue, sucking it into your mouth right after, and he tugs harder.Ā
āFuck. Fuck, baby. Iām goinā insane.ā He grunts when you break the kiss, licking and nibbling down his throat, leaving angry red bruises everywhere you can. āYou have no ideaālookinā so gorgeous, like fuckinā sex reincarnated. Iāve been losinā my mind.ā
He sounds deranged, itās only gasoline to the wildfire inside of you. You snarl against his collarbone, scratching at his shirt like it personally offended you, lips collapsing with the high neckline. Dean chuckles, endeared.
āCalm down, baby girl.ā He uses the hand on your hair to guide you away from where your teeth were abusing the space between his neck and shoulder. You pout at the loss, Dean licks it away. āYouāre so desperate, darling.ā
He yanks his shirt over his head, and you immediately get to work. Pushing him back until heās lying down on the tiles, climbing over him until the outline of his cock is pressed right against your ass, gnawing on the hills of his pecs and down the ridges of his ribs.
āYou have no idea, Winchester.ā You make your way down his body, running your tongue through the faint trail of hair under his navel and chewing on his hip bone. Deanās hips jerk up, your teeth sink into the flesh of his waist in reprimand. āIāve been locked in that room for ages. Iām more than desperate.ā
āIt was less than a day.ā Deanās laughter is interrupted when you pull his pajama pants and underwear down his thighs with one swift movement.Ā
His cock springs up proudly against his stomach, flushed and shiny with precum already. He hisses as the cold air hits him, and your mouth waters so bad you have to swallow down a mouthful of it.Ā
āHow are you pretty all over?ā You whine, fisting the base of it furiously. Heās big, thick and veiny. Delicious. Dean cries out, but you ignore him. You want him to hurt a little. āFucking unfair. Pretty eyes and pretty face and pretty cock. Maybe I do hate you.ā
You pounce on him, taking him all the way down your throat in one go. Your gag reflex is completely gone, it has to be the arm cuff. The bronze burns against your skin, almost satisfied, and you hope Eros isnāt watching from somewhere.
But deep down, you donāt really care. He can enjoy the show.
All that matters is the veins of Deanās dick pulsing on your tongue, his hand fisting your hair and his back arching off the floor. He keens, so loud youāre glad there arenāt any neighbors nearby, as you start bopping your head. Your throat contracts around his length, and the strain of his fingers on your locks have you humping his leg, dying for a little friction.Ā
āShit, darlinā, warn a guy.ā He pants, starting to thrust up into your mouth. You pin his hips down to the floor, letting the edge of your teeth brush right under the engorged head. Dean cries out the sweetest noise youāve ever heard. āYeah, fuck, taking me so deep. Sweet fuckinā mouth, so warm and wet for me. Youāre heaven, baby girl. Swallowing me down like an angel.ā
You feel anything but angelical right now, sweat beading on your forehead as you pull back until just the tip is on your tongue, using your hand to stroke the rest of his shaft. Your tongue dips into his slit, savoring the bitter and musky taste of precum, the beast howling for more.Ā
āShit, shit. Wait.ā Dean tries to drag you up by the hair, but you claw at his hips and stay right where you belong, suckling on his cock while your other hand fondles his balls. āStop, Iām gonnaāGonna cum, sweetheart. You needāā
You part your lips, letting him slide out your mouth but keeping him pressing against your face. You gaze up at himāgreen irises consumed by blown pupils, lips shiny and parted, hair mussed and wild. Itās better than the guy in Erosā book, better than your wettest dreams. Heās perfect.
āI want you to cum.ā You nuzzle your cheek against the sticky length of him, making him twitch, more precum spurting out. āI want to taste it, De.ā
Dean whines, and it shoots through your bloodstream like heroin. You need more, now and tomorrow and forever.
āIām not cursed like you, you little vixen. I canātāā He shudders as you start to leave little kitten licks all over him, lowering your head until you can suck one of his balls into your mouth. āMotherfuāI canāt come twice so quickly, baby. And I wanna fuck you.ā
A long, dragged moan vibrates in your chest at that, your hips rutting harder against his leg. You return to the head of his cock, leaving a saccharine open-mouthed kiss there.Ā
āItās okay, I can wait.ā You blink up at him in what you hope is an irresistible pout. It seems to work, because Deanās fingers on your hair relent. You lick your teeth slowly. āBesides, I can think of about a million things to do in the meantime.ā
āWhen did youāAh!ā The back of your throat must be bruised, aching as Dean bumps into it again, tender flesh holding the memory of his cock. The thought brings you closer to orgasm than youād like to admit. āWhen did you get so filthy?ā
Always. You want to say. Iāve always been like this. Iāve always been this perverse.Ā
Instead, you squeeze his balls in one hand and hollow your cheeks, tongue twirling around him before pushing against the pulsing vein on the underside. He growls hoarsely before going really still, spilling all over your mouth, head falling back on the floor with a thundering bang.Ā
The overly-familiar feeling of climax reaches you, wrapping around you like a soft blanket, no longer tearing you apart from the inside out. Your hips stutter against Deanās thigh, moaning around his still quivering dick, swallowing down every bit of his sweet release.Ā
Heās coating your mouth and your throat and your insides. Heās all over you, on your lips and esophagus and guts. All yours. Only yours.
You straighten up, leaving one last smooch on Deanās softening cock before climbing back on top of him.Ā
He looks almost dead. Breath ragged, eyes closed, skin glisteningāabsolutely drained. His hand slips from your hair, falling onto your thigh clumsily, neck and chest blooming with teeth marks and hickeys. You puff up with pride.Ā
āCome on.ā You shake him slightly, hips already rutting in little circles against his stomach. The wave isnāt gone, but itās not wrecking you either. Youāre hot all over, still itchy and bothered, but youāre not hurting. Not anymore. Youāre just eager. āLetās get you hard again, I need you inside me. Now.ā
Dean groans, curling into himself a little. āYouāre a psycho, I shouldāve known. You murdered me, you insatiable little thing.ā
āYou can thank Eros for that.ā Anguish flashes on Deanās face. You kiss him slowly, letting him taste himself on your tongue, licking behind his teeth until heās a puddle under you. āStop thinking so hard, we need all that blood downstairs."
āJesus Christ.ā His hands return to your body, kneading the fat of your ass and your upper thighs, making you roll your hips faster. Still, when his eyelashes flutter open, something troubled dances in his eyes. āYouāre batshit crazy. I adore you.ā
That makes you giggle, pecking his lips chastly as your body erupts in little satisfied goosebumps, heart swelling against your will. Itās just dirty talk, shit that he must say to every girl. It still makes you all soft inside.Ā
āCome on, big boy.ā You smack his pec, watching it jiggle with glittering eyes. You lean down, taking a mouthful of it between your teeth. āUnless you donāt wanna fuck me?ā
With an exasperated huff, Dean collects you in his arms and jumps to his feet. You yelp, legs wrapping around his waist, hands clutching his shoulders.Ā
āDean! What are youāā
āYouāre out of your mind if you think Iāll fuck you for the first time on the fucking floor.ā
Itās not special, you have to remind yourself. Youāre not special.
You end up in your room, your sheets crumpled and still holding the shape of you, the open window barely helping the smell of sweat and sex.Ā
āYou really made a mess in here, huh?ā Dean drops you on the mattress, draping himself over you immediately. āLeft all alone, so fucking needy.ā
āYes,ā you croak as Dean rips your clothes off, leaving you only in your underwear. āIt was Hell, De. It hurt, so bad, and nothing I did was enough.ā
āBut you tried, hm?ā He hovers over you, observing you carefully. Admiring, almost devoted. You repress the urge to hide. āTried to take care of it? Give your body what it needs?ā
You nod, a little fevered under Deanās gaze. His hands start to roam all over, brushing your legs and squeezing your waist and cupping your tits over your bra. You arch against the touch, impatient. āOff. Dean, take it off.ā
āNot until you tell me what you did,ā he whispers in your ear, sucking the lobe between his lips. Your breath hitches, wondering if you could cum from his voice alone. Probably. Stupid Cupid magic. āTell me, baby. How did you survive that awful day locked away.ā
Heās being a condescending asshole. You want to kick him, you kiss him instead.Ā
All the shame suddenly vanishes, the beast gone missing inside of you, replaced by an irresistible hankering. Tomorrow youāll vomit, and scrub your skin raw, and beg to be put down like a rabid animal. Today, youāre allowed to indulge.Ā
āIāI touched myself,ā you mutter against his lips. Dean breaks the kiss and bites down on your neck, leaving little marks of his own. āI rode my pillow and fucked myself with my fingers, made myself cum over and over again until my legs stopped working. I played with my tits, like this.ā You grab Dean's hands, guiding them under the cups of your bra. He squeezes, sucking harder on your jugular. āAnd I imagined it wasāā
You cut yourself off, scared that such a confession will ruin everything, but Dean keeps making his way down your body. Kissing the valley of your breasts, finally taking off your bra, sucking each nipple into his mouth until theyāre stiff and flushed, and then moving even lower, dipping his tongue on your navel. When he speaks, he sounds wrecked.
āWhat did you think about, baby girl? Come on, donāt get shy on me now.ā
āYou. I thought of you.ā His spent dick makes a brave attempt at hardening again, twitching against your calf now that Deanās head is between your legs. He licks a long strip up your slit over the translucent cotton of your panties, a reward. You keen, thighs hooking over his shoulders. āNgh, Dean! I thought of your fingers inside me, of your tongueāā He laps at your cunt again, more profusely. Youāre gushing, drenched panties and inner thighs. āOf your cock. Fuck, I wanted your cock so bad, De. C-came the hardest when I thought of you fucking me.ā
āYouāre so wet.ā He sounds awed. Scarlet blooms across your cheeks, you try to push his head away. It's futile.
āIt-itās the cuff. Iām sorryāā
āYouāre fuckinā soaked, darling.ā He doesnāt even seem to hear you, his voice dreamy like a kid in a candy store. āDrippinā for me, such a good girl.ā And then, shredding. Fabric tearing, cold air and hot breath. Dean just ripped your panties off. āShit. Prettiest fuckinā pussy Iāve ever seen.ā
Thatās enough for the curse, apparently. Fireworks burst inside your ribcage, your thighs squash Deanās headāwho doesnāt complain in the slightliestāand youāre cumming again.
āSon of a bitch.ā Youād laugh at Deanās astonishment if you werenāt so busy fighting the tears that burn in the back of your eyes. āAnother one, just from that? How many times can you come, baby girl?ā
āIām notāā Dean starts to mouth at the mess on your thighs, lapping up your slick and sweat, humming contently. āIām not sure. I think I counted ten, last night. But IāI kinda passed out, so.ā
āMhm.ā Dean grins up at you, foxy and glistening with your arousal. You want to devour him whole. āWell, letās find out.ā
āHuh?ā Youāre a little dumb with it already. Three orgasms at the hands of the man you love more than life isnāt for the weak. But then Dean blows air over your pussy lips, leaving a sweet little kiss on your clit. āMore?ā
āOh, darling.ā His grin turns dangerous, you find it in yourself to be a little afraid. āIām not anywhere near done with you.ā
With that, he plunges face first into your cunt, fully making out with it. And as he promises, he doesnāt stop for a while.
He makes you come on his tongue two more times before he lets you rest, pressing kisses all down your legs and over your bruised knees, leaving matching ones on your hips and up your sternum. He peppers little pecks across your shoulders, dips down until he can suck on your tits again, his fingers circling your entrance before entering you.
Another orgasm finds you with three of his digits massaging your insides and his mouth suckling on your breasts. It feels oddly romantic. Deanās a little ditzy after, licking his fingers and babbling about how good you taste, slumping against you like a giant teddy bear, impossibly broad shoulders and tiny waist bearing down on you.Ā
His dick is already hard, weeping and still pretty, somehow looking even more inviting after a million climaxes.Ā
āDean.ā He only mumbles against your skin, cock snugly pressed between your asscheeks, your legs encircling his waist. You try to tug him back by the hair, make him face you, but he refuses. He sounds sulky, almost spoiled. Pussydrunk. āBaby, cāmon. Let me see you.ā
When you finally get a glimpse of his face, it leaves you breathless. Puffy lips, drool on his chin, blush making his freckles pop up. His eyes are glassy, his pupils so huge that almost no green is visible, his hair spiky and all over his forehead.
You brush it back with a gentle hand, revering. Your pretty boy, who isnāt yours at all.
āLook at you.ā Deciding that youāre going to hell anyway, so might as well, you lick a long strip up his face. From chin to temple, collecting sweet spit and salty sweat on your tongue. Dean honest to god whimpers, so you repeat the action on the other side. āSuch a pretty thing.ā
āNot pretty.ā He goes for macho, it comes out huffy.Ā
āNo? Youāre a big bad hunter?ā He nods, scowling, the haze behind his eyes slowly fading. āWell, I think youāre pretty.ā You lick into his mouth, the taste of both of you long mixed between your tongues. āThe prettiest boy Iāve ever seen.ā
āShut up.ā He sounds more present as he pushes you down onto the sheets, but the bridge of his nose flushes crimson and his eyes donāt quite meet yours. āYouāre pretty.ā
āReal mature, lover boy.ā You poke his side, giggling against his teeth. āWhatās next, youāre gonna accuse me with your mommyā?ā
Suddenly, your legs are being pushed against your chest, bending you in half as Deanās cock slides between the folds of your abused cunt, tip brushing your swollen clit, succulently painful.Ā
āIām gonna cum inside you. Thatās whatās next.ā For a beat, everything is funeral-silent. Dean looks as shocked by the words as you, whatever daze had overcome him before completely gone. āIāI didnāt mean that. Iāll go get a condom, donāt worryāā
āNo!ā You claw at his shoulders when he tries to get up, yanking him down and making his dick catch on your entrance. You both moan, your legs already trembling. āI wanna feel you. Please, I need to feel you.ā
āYou sure?ā His voice is tight, like heās holding onto his last bit of resolution. You want him to let go.
āYes, yes,ā you say desperately, hips jerking under the unrelenting weight of Deanās. āPlease, I want you to mark me, inside and out. I want you to fill me up, baby, please.ā
Dean lets out a broken noise, grabs your hips, and rams into you in one thrust.Ā
Youāre so full, you feel like youāll tear at the seams. Itās been years since youāve had something other than fingers enter you, and Dean fits so right that you canāt fathom how youāve lived this long without it.
āThere you go, good girl.ā His hands move to rest on each side of your head, bracing himself as he starts rolling his hips. His face is tucked against the side of your neck, and he almost sounds as destroyed as you. āLook at you, baby, taking my cock so well. Opening up for me, soaking wet, perfect sweet cunt. Just for me.ā
Oh, he has no idea.
His whispers in your ear are so much better than anything your mind couldāve come up with. Dirty fucking mouth and sharp tongue, leaving you shaking in his arms. You tangle your body with his, arms around his shoulders and ankles crossed on his lower back, suddenly afraid that the gods will get jealous and try to take him from you.
Theyāll have to rip him from your cold dead hands.
āDeanāā You gasp when he shifts, changing the angle and hitting depths you werenāt even aware existed. Itās like your body molds around him, making space for his huge cock, and you know youāll hold the shape of him long after heās gone. Maybe forever. āYouāreāGodāā
He pulls back until you can see his face, his hands circling your waist and pulling you down on his dick, the headboard banging against the wall with each rock of your bodies. He sucks on your upper lip, his voice a deep growl that rumbles through your whole body.Ā
āYou like it, baby girl? Like it when I wreck your pretty pussy? Want me to fucking ruin it?ā
āYesyesyes.ā You chant, going a little cross-eyed when he finally finds that gooey, needy spot inside of you. Itās so different from Erosā magic, less glittery and more real. Carnal and brutal and real. āFeels so good, De. Youāre soāyouāre so fucking good. Need you to ruin me.ā
Dean moans, guttural and a little demented.
āYouāre gonna be the end of me.ā His pace picks up, rabid. You clench around him, nails digging into his shoulders and tugging him down until his chest is glued to yours, needing every inch of him pressed against every inch of you. āSo fucking tight, baby. Better than any other pussy Iāve ever fucked, fitting me like a glove, made for me.ā
You throw your head back, tongue lolling out as Dean starts to gently pet at your clit, the bundle of nerves too sensitive for anything else. Still, it feels like youāre being engulfed by nectar.Ā
āI wanted to kill them.ā You babble, your mind sluggish with Deanās touch, the heat of him, the way you can feel precum leaking inside of you already. āAll those other girls, all those āsmokinā singles.ā I wanted to murder them. I needed them dead, I needed you all to myself.ā
Part of you knows youāll regret all of that later, that evil side that never lets you have anything. But the way Deanās cock twitches as he starts pounding harder against that sweet spot drives you to utterly ignore it.
āFuck, why is that so hot.ā He groans, hiking your legs higher up his body and enclosing you in his arms, his body covering yours completely. You canāt move an inch, absolutely at the mercy of his frantic thrusts and ponderous frame. āItās only you now, baby. Just you.ā
You know itās not true. Not a single cell in your body even attempts to believe itāthat you could be Deanās best, Deanās only one. Itās as delusional as the earth being flat or God being a mediocre fantasy author.
It doesnāt stop it from turning you all dopey. The room is filled with your obscene moans and the slap of skin against skin, your mouth parted wide open and eyes rolled back as Dean continues to murmur lewd nothings against your cheek.
āāM gonna make you mine, pretty girl. Hell, look at that angel face, all fucked out, just for me.ā He mirrors your previous actions, licking up the drool dribbling down your chin. āStupid cuff, making you look like a fuckinā goddess, all glowy and shit. And you donāt even know it. Goddamn doll face and dream body, even without the curse. Gonna fuckinā fill you up, mark that perfect cunt all mine.ā
Itās almost too good. Too much. The soft circles against your clit, the head of Deanās cock slamming against your cervix, his warm mouth on your jaw, sucking more bruises that youāll press down on later.
The cuff starts to smoke. Youād almost forgotten about it, until now. It feels like itās charring your skin, burning so hot it almost goes back to cold. Dean gives you a specially deep thrust, your whole body seizing with it, and it all melts together in a rush of unbearable pleasure.Ā
You turn your head to the side, writhing under Deanās unrelenting weight, but thereās nowhere to go. Your face ends up smushed against his bicep, flexed and chunky muscle against your lips, almost as big as your face.Ā
You bite down on it, hard.Ā
Metallic explodes in your mouth, thick and holy. Dean cries out, his hips stuttering.Ā
āYouāre bleeding,ā you mumble through a mouthful of flesh, deliriously. āOh my god, youāre bleeding.ā
You think you scream his name, youāre not really sure. Pleasure numbs your every other sense as your final orgasm hits, making all of the others seem like tiny ponds in comparison. This is a cyclone, and youāre in the eye of the storm.Ā
The next few moments are utter oblivion. Everything blurs together until you canāt tell them apartāDean still grinding into you and the cuff on your arm and the mess of emotions buried so deep in your ribcage.Ā
For a second, theyāre all one and the same.
You come back down like youāre resurfacing from a shipwreck, gasping as your vision clears, your mouth wrapping around words you canāt really make out. When the rush of blood and exhilaration start to fade, your own loopy voice reaches you.
ā...love you, love you, love you, love you.āĀ
Youāre repeating it over and over again, like a prayer. Through blood-stained lips and tar-coated teeth, like a violent wolf offering its neck to the hunter.
āWhat?ā Deanās stopped moving completely, his limbs rigid all around you. You whine at the interruption, grinding up against hisāthankfully still hardācock. Dean holds you down, both his hands cupping your face a little more forcefully than he intended, squeezing your cheeks until your lips are pursed and you have no choice but to look into his eyes. āWhat did you say?ā
Thereās no point in lying. Youāve shown all your cards, revealed every rotten and ugly bit of you, there was never a way back from here.Ā
āI love you, Dean. I really fucking lovāah!ā
He slams into you with refound vigor, dragging you up and down the bed until you're lightheaded, the whole world spinning as he whines like a puppy, cock twitching against your walls.Ā
āI love you too.ā Youāre sure you imagined it at first. But then he grabs a fistful of your hair, crashing his lips with yours hard enough to break them, spit and blood and desperation all mixing on your mouths. āI love you so much, holy shit. Iāve loved you forever, baby girl, I canāt believeāfuck.ā
Heās feral, snaring and grunting and fucking crazy.Ā
It still takes you a bit to process the words, the way heās moving like a madman, the pure devotion in his tone. He loves you. Dean Winchester freaking loves you.
You grab Dean by the shoulders and push him off of you, taking advantage of his wooziness to leave him flat on his back on the mattress. In less than a second youāre straddling his hips, staring down at his terrified wide eyes and holding his flushed, now almost purple dick in your fist.
āRepeat it.āĀ
Dean only blinks up at you, jaw dropped and hands hovering over your body like he doesnāt know what to do with them, astonished. You suck on your teeth slowly, savoring the ambrosia of his blood before a smirk takes over your face.
Slowly, your other hand makes its way up Deanās chest, until it rests neatly against the base of his neck. With a shiver of raw excitement washing down your spine, you squeeze, hard enough to make him wheeze.Ā
āRepeat it, De. Say it again.ā
His cock weeps, his eyes gloss over, his blush travels down to his freckled chest.Ā
āI love you, sweetheart.āĀ
You impale yourself all the way down his shaft. Dean keens shamelessly when he bottoms out, hips jerking up as his hands clench on your hips. You hope they leave even more marks, little half-moons and rouge fingerprints.Ā
You continue to hold his throat as you ride him, bouncing on his dick as your fingers spam just under his Adamās appleāsometimes barely-there pressure, sometimes leaving him completely breathless.Ā
Itās like all the pain has transformed into empowerment, all the rot into gold and all the poison into amrita. Youāre untouchable. Youāre celestial. Youāre Deanās.Ā
āAgain,ā you order, a little too pleading to be demanding. But Dean only whimpers, erratically humping up into you as he worships you, tears clinging to his long eyelashes and hands trembling. āLook at you, just a little choking and you go all stupid with it. My pretty boy, big bad wolf melted into a dumb puppy.ā
āWhat the fuck?ā Dean rasps. You tsks softly, tightening your grip around his windpipe.Ā
āSay it again, baby. Be good for me, and youāll get a reward.ā
Dean stammers before croaking out: āI love you, more than you could ever imagine.ā
Your chest heaves, something breaking and mending at the same time. Your free hand moves to Deanās face, fingers slipping into his lax mouth, hooking over his lower teeth and tugging it open.Ā
āGood boy,ā you whisper before spitting right into his tongue. Your digits slip out, pushing his jaw closed before slapping his cheek lightly. āNow swallow.ā
With a wild moan, Dean obeys, his hips pistoning up into your throbbing cunt as heās pushed over the edge. Warmth coats your pussy, painting your walls white and running down your legs, washing you clean and tainting you dirtier. Itās immaculate.Ā
Youāre trying to catch your breath when youāre abruptly dragged down, tumbling against Deanās chest as his dick softens inside of you and his arms hold you down, clinging to you like a comfort stuffed animal.Ā
You stay there for a couple of minutes, maybe years, maybe centuries. Your skin sticks together as you cool down, your mouth still tasting like his cum and blood, your fingers still loosely holding his neck. Itās truly out of your wildest dreams.
āWhat the fuck was that?ā Dean eventually chokes out.
You giggle, nuzzling against his pecs. āThat was me off the leash.ā
āHoly shit.ā His arms tighten around you, dick twitching against your swollen walls. āI might need to smite that leash, fuck that shit. That wasāā He makes a little explosion sound. You laugh harder, languidly rising to peck his full lips.
āI love you, you fucking dork.ā
Dean smiles, toothy and silly, kissing your forehead with so much adoration it makes you blush. āI love you too, sweetheart.ā
You sigh, already expecting the post-wave exhaustion to come, but the tide is calm. Not retreating, not threatening. Just peaceful sweet water.
You slide off Dean, ignoring his little grumbling complaint. You hiss as he slips out, sore in the best way possible. Dean pounces on you, rolling onto his side so his gaze can rake down your body. āDid I hurt you?ā
āNo, you were perfect.āĀ
You look down on your own bodyāpurple and maroon clouds all over, scraped knees and palms, tacky inner thighs. For the first time in your life, you think youāre perfect as well.Ā
Your eyes drift to the sheets under you, finding them wet, wetter than they should be. Clear and splashy and yours.Ā
āDid Iā?ā
āYes. When you said you loved me, the first time.ā Dean drapes an arm across your waist, the distance between you apparently hurting him as much as it does you. āIt was the hottest fucking thing Iāve ever seen.ā
āMore than the singles you were going to comfort today?ā
Dean huffs, leaning down to pepper kisses all over your face. āThereās no one else, darling, not anymore. Just you and me.ā
You try to play grumpy, but itās impossible with Deanās soft lips all over your cheeks and nose and forehead. You end up giggling softly, pretending to fight him but basking in the attention.
āBesides, none of them compare to you.ā He buries his face on your hair, breathing you in. You happily let him. āThe spell, it gave you thisāafter-sex glow, all the time. You were freaking glittery, baby, like a goddamn pornstar.ā
You chuckle, your fingers finding the mark of your teeth on his arm, tracing the little indents. You hope it scars, so everyone who ever looks at Dean knows heās yours. Only yours.Ā
āSo it was the cuff? What made you want this?ā
āNah, Iāve wanted you ever since I saw you that first day in Montana. I started loving you not too long after.ā You can feel his grin against the top of your head. āBesides, you always look like a pornstar to me, no need for any damn magic bracelet.ā
You snort, bumping his chin softly. āThatās not the compliment you think it is.ā
But then, it dawns on you.Ā
āThe cuff!ā
You swiftly sit up, ignoring Deanās little wounded whine. You stare down at your arm, the cuff still resting snuggly against your flesh. But the metal is freezing, and the fairy dust is faded and dull.Ā
With trembling fingers, you tug the thing down, just once. It slides right off, landing on the mattress with a little bounce. Relief floods you, strong enough to annihilate any hint of frustration. Thereās no value in crying about it now, not when Dean presses up against your bare back and whispers against your neck.Ā
āSee, I told you, youād be okay. We survived another day.ā
This time, when you lean back on him, thereās not an ounce of guilt or fear or disgust in you. The beast is gone, running free and wild, one with your soul. You might be sick, the punishing eyes of your mother forever engraved in your brain, but youāre not ashamed anymore.Ā
Not when Dean Winchester is just as sick as you.
You try to look for the cuff again, but itās gone. In its place rests a French countryside postcard, a peach-scented pink mist evanescing around it. You pick it up, holding it so both Dean and you can read the sparkly gel pen scribbles.
āI know you might not believe me, but Iām truly glad that you two figured it out. Either outcome wouldāve been entertaining, but you two gave me a real showdown. In repayment, Iāll make sure to leave you out of the way of my arrows for the rest of your mortal lives. I canāt promise anything for those pesky cherubs, though. Not my jurisdiction.Ā
As promised, your little old town has been freed. The villa where I am right now is at least four miles away from any civilization, so please donāt come bother me, or I might have to get mean again.
Unless you wanna play around, in which case my doors are always open.Ā
Enjoy the rest of the most important day of the year, and donāt forget to thank me in your prayers!ā
āFucking asshole.ā Dean plucks out the postcard from your hands, ripping it in half. āMight have to go find him, blast his face off.ā
āBut then youād have to get on a plane, pretty boy.ā
Dean glares at you, and you just laugh softly before surging forward to hug him, both of you falling back onto the soiled blankets.
āMaybe if youāre with me, I can do it.āĀ
āYeah?ā
āYeah, I could do anything with you by my side.ā
Someone knocks on the door, loudly.Ā
āGuys!ā Sam yells through the thick wood. āIām back! It was getting late and this town is practically dead, so I couldnāt wait at the gas station any longer. Hope youāfixed things! I guess. Iāll go put my earbuds on, so donāt worry about me, just thought Iād let you know Iām here!ā
Shuffling, prolonged and awkward.Ā
āThereās ice cream in the fridge, by the way. Anyway, Have fun! Orāwhatever.ā
Samās heavy steps disappear down the hallway. All it takes is one shared look for you and Dean to dissolve into laughter, limbs tangled together and souls comfortably merged into one, no longer teared apart.Ā
āShower?ā Dean hikes you up his body, sitting up on the edge of the bed. You give him a slow up-and-down look, licking your lips obscenely. āDonāt even think about it, Jesus Christ. What did I get myself into?ā
You grin, because he doesnāt know half of it. The world is gonna wish you never lost your shame.
āHappy Valentineās day, my love.ā
āHappy Valentineās, sweetheart.ā
NOTES: okay, so. this is actually kind of special to me because tomorrow, feb 15, it'll be a year since i first started posting on this blog. And the first fic I posted was valentine's inspired (pls don't go look for it my writing was terrible) so i thought it was fitting to post a little tribute to the story that started it all.
it's been amazing to share my writing in here, and i couldn't be happier that i decided to take a chance after giving up on fanfiction so long ago. it's so heartwarming to see how much you've showered me and my silly stories with love, and i'll be forever grateful to all of you.
anyway, i don't wanna bore you out with my emo sobbing. happy valentine's day, i adore you, and see you again soon!
ā¦summary: you ask dean to sleep with you, he turns you down, and you believe him. you tell him you don't care, and he believes you. eventually, one of you is going to have to tell the truth, won't they.Ā ā¦
ā¦warnings/tags: Dean Winchester x female!reader, no use of y/n, no description of reader, implied age gap (20s - 40s), virgin!reader, angst, overprotective, bad at feelings dean, pining, idiots in love, as is my way, shameless smut (loss of virginity, praise kink, dry humping, teasing, dean's dirty talk, spanking, fingering, stripping, body worship, degredation kink, soft!dom Dean, size kink, begging, pussy slapping, soft and rough sex, messy, creampie, big dick dean, mean dean, dumbification), love confessions, fluffā¦
ā¦wc: 8.6kā¦
ā¦author's note: i love writing idiots in love it's my favorite kind of idiot it's for loveā¦
āHave sex with me.ā
Dean spits his coffee out. You sigh, bracing your hands on your hips, and wait for him to collect himself. Youāre patient. Heās scrambling and slamming a fist on his chest, and you pass him a napkin with a sweet smile. You donāt think itās going to win you a spot in his bed, but it might help.
āBetter?ā You ask, when he no longer sputtering and choking. He grunts, holding a hand up for a few more seconds. You roll your eyesāit wasnāt that crazy a thing to sayābut bounce on your toes and wait.
Dean clears his throat, ears red, and looks up at you like youāve grown a second head.
āWhat?ā
āHave sex with me-ā
āYeah, I- I heard you the first time, thatās not-ā Dean shakes his head, running a hand over his face. āItās eight in the fuckinā morning-ā
āItās eight fifteen.ā
That earns you a flat look, and you smile innocently.
āThatās fifteen extra minutes, it matters-ā
āNot for this. And- I aināt even showered yet-ā
Your nose wrinkles. āWhy havenāt you showered?ā
āI shower after coffee,ā Dean mutters, turning his mug in his hands. āIf I donāt, Sammyās stinkinā up the kitchen from his run.ā
āOh- Okay.ā You clasp your hands behind your back, peering at his tight jaw, his mussed, soft-looking hair. āIs thatā¦ A yes?ā
Deanās eyes widen on yours. Youāre worried heās going to choke on the air this time. āYes?ā
āAre you going to have sex with me,ā you clarify, and his mouth falls open.
āI- Iām- Youāre-ā His throat bobs, and he starts to look around the room with a worried squint. āAre you fuckinā with me?ā
You frown. āWhy would I be fucking with you?ā
āāCause, sweetheart, you canāt just-ā He lets out a sharp breath. āIs it Sam? Did he put you up to this? āCause I told him- That kinda prank, itās off the table-ā
āWhat kind of prank?ā Youāre a little lost, and thereās shame starting to burn up your neck.
A prank. He thinks itās a prank.
Itās not. Youāre so serious itās almost embarrassing. You wouldnāt have asked him if you werenāt. Youād almost talked yourself out of it, after spending too much time convincing yourself into it. Nights of tossing and turning in bed, an insatiable and aching heat between your legs and the sheets bunched around you in a mockery of a body. Weeks of watching the boys slip out of bars with women that seemed to fall into them like magnets while you spun around, alone on a barstool without any prospects.
Months, of watching Dean with a flush he never saw. An adoration written all over your face he didnāt seem capable of noticing. Youād tried to stomp it out. Your stupid, useless little crush. Dean was older. Seasoned and desirable in the way that made you wonder if he was even real sometimes. Out of your reach, tantalizing, and impossible to just forget about.Ā
Youād neglect your feelings in the hope theyād die, but heād water them until they were in full bloom and overtaking your heart and mouth and head. Heād buy the snacks you like and let you chose the movie. Heād open doors and let his hand linger on your lower back, heād smile at you in the dim light of the Impala and make you feel like the only person in the world, heād call you when he was away on a separate hunt every single night, just to update you. Heād play wrestle you for the remote, and somehow never manage to wonder why he always won when heād see you take down men closer to Samās size with barely a grunt of effort.
āNice try, sweetheart,ā heād whisper in your ear, when he had you pinned on the floor beneath him, and youād have to swallow down your moan.
Heād get up, turn on the TV, and leave you on the couch while he went to the bathroom. Youād sit with your knees to your chest and your breathing uneven, unable to focus on anything but the ghost of his body over yours. The heat of him, the way his arms had caged you in, his knee pressed far too close to your neglected core.
If Dean knew how you dreamed about himāhow those moments followed you into bed, every single nightāyouāre so sure heād never look at you again. He doesnāt see you like that, youāre sure. Youāre the kid they took in, the annoying girl whoās got too much mouth on her and not enough experience, in every possible way.
Youāve never done sex. You sort of just missed the window, where itās supposed to happen, and then it became too big a deal, then you met Dean and you were lost. What was the point of being with anyone else, when you had his shoulder bumping yours in the hallway. When you were so hopelessly in love with him, you think your heart might beat out of your chest like a cartoon every time you see him.
So you made a choice, a few weeks ago. A choice it took a lot of courage to work yourself up to following through on
You just need to have sex. With someone. Anyone. Preferably Dean. It just needs to be done and over withāone time, where he doesnāt know heās taking your virginity, where heās peacefully oblivious of your worship of his very existenceāand then you can try to move on. Once youāve had sex, it wonāt be this big monster you shy away from anymore. Itāll just be another thing.
So youāre asking Dean. Outside of your alternate motivations, itās a sound strategic call. You know about his prowess. Heās bragged to you about all his five-star reviews. And maybe that always made you gag over a toilet bowl after, but if it did, thatās none of his fucking business.
Maybe youāre not up to par with his usual partners, but you can do your makeup, or he can turn off the lights, or whatever else makes it easier for him. Anything that makes him touch you. You wonāt even cry about it in front of him.
But he thinks itās a prank. Why would he think itās a prank.
āYou know,ā he says, watching you wearily. āSammy gives you a tenner, you come and ask me for sex, everyone gets a good laugh at Dean. Good joke. Classy.ā
You wrap your arms around your stomach, shrinking slightly into yourself. āItās not a joke,ā you mumble. āI- I was serious.ā
āYou were serious?ā
He says it like itās insane. You shrug, fixing your gaze on the floor. A joke. He thinks fucking you would be a joke.
āSweetheart-ā
āYou donāt have to,ā you take a step back, trying to sound casual. Like your heart isnāt being torn to ribbons.
You really hadnāt expected him to leap at the opportunity, but this is so close to cruel it hurts. Tears are threatening your eyes, and a lump is forming in your throat. Pathetic, a voice spits in your head. Why the fuck would he ever want to fuck you.
āWait, just- Hold on-ā
You look up, faster than you want to admit. Dean staring at you with pale face and slack jaw, throat working like heās swallowing his own words every second. You wait, because youāre a fucking useless idiot. Bouncing nervously on your feetātheyāre smarter than the rest of you, they want to runāand trying not to melt under his gaze.
āYouāre actually askinā me to fuck you?ā He rasps, and you nod.
Itās the tiniest motion of your head. Dean shifts in his seat, staring at you with wide, dark eyes.
āWhy?ā
āWhy?ā You frown, saying the first, easiest, least embarrassing reason that pops into your head. āBecause- You- Youāre good at it?ā
āIām good at it,ā Dean repeats. āYou wanna fuck me ācause you think Iād be good at it?ā
You wish heād stop saying fuck like that. With a harsh ending and low drawl. āI donāt think,ā you offer. āYouāre the one who said you would be.ā
Deanās lips twitch, but he doesnāt look amused. āI could be lying, sweetheart.ā
āI donāt think you are.ā
He stares at you. His eyes flick up to the ceilingāmaybe he still thinks heās on a prank showāand he lets out a sharp, slow breath from his nose.
Then he shakes his head, and you feel the echo of your heart as it howls in pain.
āNo,ā he mutters. āI aināt- Doinā that. Not just ācause you- No.ā
You blink at him, the world blurring a little. You stumble back, and Dean says your name, moving to his feet. You shake your head, moving back another step. Your eyes are stinging with tears, but thatās not his problem. Heās allowed to reject you. Youāre also allowed to cry about it.
āSweetheart-ā
āItās fine.ā Your voice is too high. Too wobbly. āItās- Thatās okay.ā
āNo, just- Fuck-ā He rubs his jaw. āListen to me, alright-ā
āYou donāt have to explain,ā you shrug weakly. āItās okay.ā
Dean gives you a disbelieving look, but you move further back before he can try to make you feel better about the rejection. Itās not going to help.
āIāll just-ā You look over your shoulder. To the door, just one more step back.
Dean says your name again. When you look back, heās reaching to you, trying to beckon you back into the kitchen. You smile, tight and watery.
āThank you for your consideration.ā You say, because youāre a fucking idiot. Dean certainly looks at you like youāre one.
You flee the kitchen. He calls your name again, but this time you donāt look back.
Rejection is fine. Youāre fine. Youāre so fine, you lock yourself in your room for the rest of the day and eat so much ice cream your stomach hurts. Because itās fun. Itās fun to cry over something you never even had.
At least you anticipated this. You have a very solid plan B.
If Dean wonāt sleep with you, youāre going to find someone who will. Youāre going to get it over with. This week.
Youāre learning something about yourself.
You are not good at flirting.
The first thing you try is the bars. Sam and Dean slide into a booth, and you go to get the drinks. A guy makes eyes at you, and you smile sweetly in return. When you bring the drinks back, you set the beers down in front of the boys and turn back on your heels to give the bar-guy a shot.
Dean says your name, and you freeze. You always do that for him. Itās a habit you donāt think youāre able to break.
āWhereāre you going?ā He frowns at you, one arm slung around the back of the seat. Around where youād usually sit.
āBar,ā you say lamely, and the lines on his face deepen.
āWhy, you forget something?ā
āNo.ā
āThen what-ā
Dean cuts himself off, his gaze flicking over your shoulder. To the bar. To the man, waiting for you with a smirk, because you promised youād be back.
Dean grunts your name, low and rough, and if he asked you to stay, you donāt think youād be able to tell him no.
Things have been strange, since the kitchen. Neither of you have brought it up, and Dean hasnāt stopped treating you the way he always has, but thereās something charged beneath it. A live wire that frays and crackles, every time your fingers brush or your eyes meet. Youāve caught him staring at you with an open mouth a few times. Last week he tried to talk to you, alone in the Impala while Sam got snacks from a gas station. You announced that you had to shit, and scrambled out of the car.
You donāt want to talk about it, and Dean has no right to make you. Heās not the one who got his heart broken. Heās not the one who sort of wants to cry, whenever your eyes meet.
He certainly has no right to glare at you, when he puts together what youāre doing. He said he wasnāt going to sleep with you, and youāre a grown woman. You can, if you so please, have casual sex with a stranger. It is your right.
āYou canāt be for real, sweetheart-ā
āDean.ā Sam stares at his own beer, looking like he wants to vanish into the floor, and Dean scowls.
āCāmon, Sammy- Tell her sheās being crazy-ā
āCrazy?ā You snap, and Dean leans back in surprise. āYou fuck around all the time, how is it crazy that Iād do the same thing?ā
āItās not- You just- You donāt-ā He swallows. āYou donāt do this-ā
āI do now.ā
āSweetheart, just- Sit down-ā
You flip him off, and march back to the bar before he can ask with a little more conviction. You just need to break out of his orbit. To force yourself to realize that there are plenty of other men, and not having Dean isnāt the end of the universe.
Unfortunately, you sort of just keep proving the opposite.
āWhatās a pretty little thing doinā in a place like this?ā The first guy at the bar asks, and you fumble.
You have no idea. You giggle nervously and spin in your chair, speaking words you canāt really hear. He seems into itāno matter how pathetic you must be coming offāuntil his fingers brush your arm, and you flinch back because his skin is cold. It sends a shiver up your spine thatās not the hot rush of Deanās touch, but the sliver of a snake.
You go home alone that night, and you donāt look Dean in the eyes. He tries to talk to you, before you retreat to your room. You ignore him, because thatās the only way this is going to work.Ā
But you try again and again and again, and you never get anywhere. They always touch you, and it all falls apart. You look at them too long, and you canāt manage to squeeze them into a Dean shaped hole in your heart, and thereās no way forward. You try dating apps. That goes worse. Every dick pic you get sent just makes you wonder if sex is even something you want. Theyāre all worm-shaped and ugly. At least dildos come in nice colors. Maybe you should just buy a dildo.
No. Youāll just pretend itās Dean all the time, and thatās the opposite of what youāre supposed to be doing here.
So you keep trying. And you keep failing. And Deanās been looking at you weirdābrow pinched and jaw set, every single nightāand youāre getting desperate and fuck it.
āSam.ā
Sam hums, not looking up from his book. You clear your throat, leaning further over the table.
āSam.ā
āIām listening, whatās-ā
āHave sex with me.ā
Sam, to his credit, doesnāt choke. He just goes very, very still, and looks up at you with an expression close to horror. He says your name slowly, and you shake your head, holding up a single hand.
āJust- Listen-ā
āNo?ā Sam gapes at you. āIām not- Iām not going to listen to that- Jesus Christ-ā
āCome on, we could turn off the lights, and- I wouldnāt make it weird-ā
āItās already weird-ā
āYouād be doing me a favor-ā
āIād be making a death wish!ā Samās voice drops to a hiss. āDean would fucking kill me.ā
Ā You roll your eyes. āThen donāt tell him, dumbass.ā
āNo, I- Iām not doing that.ā Sam shakes his head, like heās trying to jolt the image free. āTo you. Or him.ā
āTo him?ā You narrow your eyes. āI- What the fuck would this do to Dean?ā
Sam gives you a puppy-eyed, hopeless look. āIā¦ Canāt say.ā
āSam Winchester-ā
āWhy are you asking me?ā Sam whines. āIām not- Youāre not even into me-ā
āExactly, there would be no strings attached-ā
āThatās not healthy-ā
āFuck off, like you donāt have casual sex-ā
āI mean, I do, but Iām not-ā Sam cuts himself off, sighing dramatically. āJust- Why would you even want to have sex with me?ā
You flush, but shrug. Itās just Sam. Itās easier to tell him than Dean. āI want to get it over with.ā
āGet it over with?ā Sam echoes. āIt- You mean sex?ā
You nod, and Sam blinks.
āAre you a virgin?ā
āMaybe.ā
āYou- Youāre-ā
āDonāt be an asshole-ā
āNo, Iām not- I mean- Itās fine. It doesnāt matter. It actually-ā Sam frowns at the air. āIt makes sense, I guess.ā
That makes you scowl. āIt makes sense?ā
Sam shrugs, giving you an apologetic smile, and you canāt even think of an argument. You sigh, your shoulders slumping, and Sam clears his throat.
āYou know Iām not going to sleep with you, right?ā
āYeah.ā You sigh, and he nods slowly.
āDoes Dean-ā
āNo.ā You point a stern finger at him, and Sam raises his hands in surrender.
āI think you should-ā
āSam. Iāll cut your balls off.ā
āI- Okay.ā
You give him one last glare, and go to leave. But before you can go, the question scratches up your throat. You turn around, hands tucked behind your back, and speak softly. āWould you?ā
Sam blinks. āWhat?ā
āIf you didnāt- Know me,ā you mumble. āIf we werenāt like- Friends. And you just met me, and I asked you- Would you?ā
Sam snorts, and you scowl.
āIām serious-ā
āYeah, I know you are.ā Samās lips twitch. āItās just- Yeah. I would. Of course I would.ā
You stand a little taller. āReally?ā
āYeah, I mean- You know youāre attractive, right? If you just didnāt, like, annoy me. Iād be in.ā
āI do not annoy you-ā
āYouāre annoying me right now.ā
You laugh despite yourself. Sam smiles, his voice dropping to something gentler.
āAnyone would be lucky to have you,ā he says your name slowly. āI just- Donāt want to be lucky.ā
You huff in amusementāif Sam isnāt lying, aversion to luck is a family traitābut dip your head. āThanks. I think.ā
āYouāre welcome. And-ā Sam pauses, looking you up and down with a strange expression. āIām sure the whole- Thing will work out for you. There areā¦ People. I think youāre going to figure it out.ā
āYou need to sleep with her.ā
Dean needed to stop drinking coffee when people walked into the kitchen. This was the second shirt heād ruined in as many months, and it was because everyone kept saying crazy fucking shit.
āSammy, what the fuck-ā
Sam said your name, and Deanās hands fisted on the table.
Again. Son of a bitch, he was about to go through this again. The first time had been bad enough. Youād looked at him with glossy, hopeful eyes, practically begged for him to fuck you, and Dean had wondered if heād died in his sleep last night and been dragged back to hell. Forced to experience some new kind of torture Crowley was developing, where everything heād ever wanted was just a stretch away from his fingertips, and he wasnāt allowed to take it.
He had to be the noble one here. The wise, old asshole who didnāt take advantage of you. Taking you up on that offer would be one of the worst things heād ever done. It would be selfish, and cruel, and a worse fate than anything else. To get what he wanted, for one night, then never fucking have it again. To get hookedābecause he would, he fucking knew heād never be able to kiss and touch you once then go back to just livingāand turn into an addict willing to do anything to get another hit.
Dean wouldāve turned into a bigger creep than he already was. Instead of stares and long, shameful showers with his cock in his hand and your name on his lips, heād stuff your panties in his pocket and press them to his nose while he fucked himself raw. Heād get possessive, heād snarl at anyone else who got to close, heād fall to his knees and beg you to stay if you ever decided you had enough of him.
And he knew that last thing was going to happen eventually. You had a whole life ahead of you, and he was stuck here. In this dim bunker with blood on his hands and under his feet and staining his past and future all at once. He swam in a river of it. In front of him, behind him, washing over him all the time, there was just fucking blood. You deserved better than that. Better than Dean. You deserved the fucking world.
So heād told you no, and youād looked at him like a wet fucking kitten heād kicked into the rain, but it had been for your own good. Youād get over it. Dean was the one who had to watch you flirt with douchebags at the bar. Who couldnāt get in another bed anymore, because he kept getting kicked out for moaning your name.
He was the one who was rooted here forever. Youād find something softer. Something good.Ā Heād accepted that, with a lot of beer pushing it down. Youād find something better, and that was what he wanted.
Sammy knew all that. Dean had gotten drunk once and confessed his stupid, undying feelings, then sworn Sam to secrecy in the morning. Heād kept his word, only shooting Dean sad looks whenever you went off to flirt and smirking whenever Dean called you on a hunt.
But now he was asking Dean to sleep with you. Like heād lost his damn mind.
āNo,ā he grunted, and Sam rolled his eyes.
āLook, Dean, I get that youāre being cool and righteous and whatever-ā
āIām not fuckinā her, Sammy- I shouldnāt.ā He shot Sam a glare. āYou know why I shouldnāt.ā
āYeah, well, I think your why is pretty stupid.ā Sam said flatly. āYouāve never even asked her if sheād be- You know. Open to it-ā
āI know sheād be open to it,ā Dean scowled at his coffee. āBut thatās- I aināt doing it, Sammy. Never.ā Not like that.
Sam was silent for a moment. When Dean looked up, he was staring at him with wide eyes. āShe asked you first, didnāt she.ā
Dean frowned. āWhatād you mean, asked me first-ā
āTo take her virginity.ā
He hadnāt taken a sip of coffee again. This time, he managed to choke on nothing at all. āTo- What?ā
Sam leaned back slightly. āDid she not ask you to sleep with her?ā
āNo, she did, I just didnāt fuckinā- Sheās a virgin?ā
āI guess,ā Sam shrugged. āYou know thatās not a big deal, right?ā
Dean grunted. His head was spinning. Of course it wasnāt a big deal, he didnāt care. Heād wanted you before, he wanted you now, that wasnāt the fucking issue.
But youād asked him.
Youād asked him to fuck you. Youād wanted him to- Do it. Take it. Pop it, whatever. Youād chosen Dean, to be the guy, and heād told you no, and then youād started flirting around with other people, and you couldāve ended up with someone dangerous, someone who took advantage of you, who thought your inexperience was hot for all the wrong reasons and hurt you and-
Dean paused. He looked at Sam. Sam blinked, and Deanās eyes narrowed.
āHow the fuck do you know that.ā
Sam swallowed, taking a small step back. āUhā¦ā
āSam-ā
āShe mightāveā¦ Asked me.ā
āShe what-ā
āI said no!ā Sam said quickly. āI told her I wouldnāt. But- You know.ā Sam cleared his throat. āIf youād said yes to her the first timeā¦ā
Sam gave him a pointed look. He was asking to get punched in the fucking face.
āNo.ā
āDean, just-ā
āNo. Iām not takinā advantage of her, Sammy, Iām not-ā
Ā āItās not taking advantage of her if she wants it!ā
āShe doesnāt want it-ā
Sam snorted. āOh, fuck off.ā
Dean blinked, leaning back in his chair. Sam turned a little red, wincing at himself, but didnāt back down.
āWow, Sammy. Big claws, huh.ā
Sam sighed, running a hand over his face. āDeanā¦ Just- Think about her, okay?ā
Dean almost laughed. āAll I fuckinā do is think about her-ā
āThen think a little harder.ā Sam said flatly. āBefore both of you get actually hurt.ā
Dean didnāt have an answer to that. Sam didnāt seem to be asking for one. He turned and walked out of the room, leaving Dean alone. With only his coffee mug and thoughts for company. A dangerous thing to do. Dean could talk himself into and out of almost anything, if the logic police werenāt there to stop him.
He was going to do something really fucking stupid and selfish, and it was all Samās fault.
āCome in!ā You call to the knock on your door, glancing up from your laptop as the door creaks open.
Dean shuffles into your room with his head bowed. Your face heats, and you slam the laptop closed. He doesnāt need to see you scrolling through hookup websites and think any lower of you. Youāre already losing sleep over the worry youāve fractured something between you beyond repair.
āHi,ā you whisper, and he swallows.
āUh- Hey.ā
āHi.ā What the fuck is wrong with you.
Deanās lips twitch. āHey.ā
You start to pull the sheets between your fingers, trying not to ogle him too obviously. Heās wearing sweats and a t-shirt, and itās sexier than all the profile pics youāve spent hours staring at. His hair is a mess, and there are bags under his eyes, and you donāt think youāve ever wanted to climb over him more.
āYou, uh-ā He glances at your computer. āYou busy?ā
āNo- No.ā Never for him. You shove your computer onto your bedstand, moving to sit on your knees. āWhatās up?ā
Deanās throat bobs. He runs a hand through his hair, huffing something close to a laugh, and shakes his head. āJesus.ā
āWhat-ā
āNothinā.ā He clears his throat, giving you a strange look. āDid you ask Sam to sleep with you?ā
Your mouth falls open. You almost trip sitting down. āI- I didnāt-ā
āYou didnāt?ā
āNo, I mean- I- He wasnāt supposed to tell you,ā you whine, avoiding Deanās stare. āI didnāt- Fuck-ā
āHey- Itās- Woah-ā
Dean crosses the room in a few strides, grabbing your wrists with firm, warm hands. Youād started to pick at your nails with the anxiety. You hadnāt even realized it.
āDonāt hurt yourself, sweetheart,ā he mutters, his thumb dragging a circle on your wrist.
You nod, your voice only a breath. āOkay.ā
Heās so close. You can count all his crowās feet, map his stubble, trace his lips with just your eyes. Heās still frowning at your wrist, so you allow yourself to stare.
Then he looks up. And you freeze in panic, but donāt manage to look away.
Deanās tongue flicks over his lips. Your breath catches. Neither of you move, and you let yourself have it. For a single second, you imagine that Dean is here, in your room, on your bed, and that means something. You get lost in the warmth of his proximity, the calloused but soft feeling of his touch.
āSammy told me something else,ā Dean mutters, scanning over your slack, flushed features.
āYeah?ā You whisper, and he nods tightly.
āYeah. Said youāre, uh-ā He clears his throat. āSaid youāve never- You know.ā He cringes. āBeen fucked.ā
Your mouth falls open. You think youād like to die now. āDean-ā
āIs that why you asked me?ā His grip tightens on your wrist. Not allowing you to pull away. āāCause you just wanted someone to take it?ā
You drop your gaze to his crotch. Thereās a soft bulge there. Youād drool over it, if you didnāt think you were going to explode any second now.Ā
Dean says your name, and you shake your head.
āDonāt,ā you mumble. āDonāt just- Feel bad for me- You said no, thatās- Itās fine-ā
āWhat if itās not.ā
Your eyes shoot up. Youād think he was joking, if he didnāt look so fucking serious. His jaw is set. His eyes are blown out and fixed on yours. Your mouth hangs stupidly open, and Dean smiles softly.
āHuh?ā You manage to choke out, and he almost chuckles.
āWhat if I wanted to. Help you.ā
āBut-ā You blink. āYou donāt.ā
Dean shakes his head. āWrong, sweetheart. I do-ā
āYou said you didnāt-ā
āI lied.ā
You stare at him. He doesnāt back down.
āWould it mean something?ā He muttered, reaching up to trace the curve of your cheek. āIf I did it?ā
You nod weakly, leaning into his touch. It sends violent, hot shivers through your whole body. Almost like a fever. You donāt want the cure. āWould it matter to you?ā You ask, and Deanās eyes flash. His fingers curl on your cheek. He leans an inch forward, then another inch. Your lips brush, the lightest possible touch, and you let out a soft, uncertain whine.
Dean pushes forward, his lips fully crashing into yours, his kiss demanding but certain. He presses over you, pulling you a little further up on your knees. You grab the collar of his shirt for balance, squeezing your eyes shut and trying to kiss him back with as much fervor as heās offering you.
āDe- Dean-ā You gasp against his lips. āDean-ā
He groans, his arm sliding around your back so he can pull you tight to his chest. You melt into his arms, and his kisses turn messy. Open mouthed and rough, his tongue dragging over your teeth as his fingers dig into your hips. You run out of air fast, but donāt try and pull away. You donāt want this to ever end, and youāre afraid that if you dare to break the moment, it will never be repaired.
High gasps start to escape your throat, though, and Dean pulls away. He cups your face between his hands, frowning slightly, and presses his brow against yours. You struggle for air, almost pressing forward to try and kiss him again, but he holds you in place.
āBreathe, sweetheart,ā he mutters, rough and thick. Itās the same voice he uses on you during hunts. When heās giving an order you didnāt ask for.
Usually, you protest or ignore him. Right now youāre putty in his hands. He could tell you to follow him to hell, and you would. Youād do anything, just for him to never let go.
You inhale unevenly, and Dean rubs your upper back. His hand slipped under your shirt, and his palm is broad and warm. Itāannoyinglyāhelps a lot.
āThere you go,ā he murmurs, watching you under hooded eyes. āThatās a good girl.ā
You whine again. āDean-ā
āSorry. Couldnāt help it.ā
He doesnāt fucking look sorry. His lips are twitching, and thereās a smug glint in his eyes thatās almost dangerously intoxicating.
āBetter?ā He asks, and you nod, slumping closer to his chest. He doesnāt push you away.
This might be real.
āAre you sure, ābout this?ā Dean rasps, and you almost giggle.
āYes.ā
āIām old, sweetheart-ā
āI like it.ā
Dean blinks, and you stutter, so sure you should shut up but not really sure how.
āI- I mean- I like you, so- I donāt care if youāre old- I like you old- I like you-ā
Dean smirks, holding your face so firmly against hisĀ you canāt shy away.
āYou- Can you- I mean- If itās just- Just sex- You can forget I said- I think you being old is hot-ā
He finally takes mercy, and shuts you up with a long, rough kiss. You hum, pushing further up on your knees, and climb slowly into Deanās lap. He sucks on your lower lip, angling your head back as your core settles against his bulge, then pulls back with a low sigh.
āNot just sex,ā he mutters, dragging his thumb over your swollen lower lip. āNot with you, baby.ā
You nod, smiling wider than you probably should. āCool.ā
Dean grins back. āYeah?ā
āMhm.ā
āCool ācause you like me,ā he teases, shoving your hips down, right over his crotch. āOf ācause Iām old.ā
You face burns. All you can do is stare and him and whimper, āYouāre spritely.ā
Dean huffs, in disbelieving amusement. āSpritely? You think Iām-ā
āYouthful,ā you babble quickly. āYouāve got a lot ofā¦ā You flush as he stares at you, sort of wishing heād just kiss you and shut you up. āYouth.ā
Deanās mouth curves up. āYouth, huh.ā
You nod, and he chuckles, pressing the lightest kiss over your lips.
āHurts when I bend over now, honey, donāt think thatās very youthful of me.ā
āSo donāt bend over,ā you mumble, and Dean snorts.
āDemanding, arenāt we?ā
You shrug, trying not to turn into a puddle and miserably failing. Dean kisses your cheek, then under your eye, tracing his mouth down so he breath tickles your ear.
āMouthy and demanding,ā he rubs your hips, dragging your hips back and forth across his crotch. āDonāt worry. Iām gonna fix that.ā
You whimper, and Deanās grin grows.
āYou like that, huh.ā
āDean-ā
āAh,ā he kisses the corner of your mouth, moving away before you can chase his lips. āYou wanted my help. This is how Iām gonna help, baby. Takinā real good care of you,ā he thrusts his hips up, and you whine as the hard outline of his cock hits your clothed pussy. āJust like this.ā
Ā You nod, pressing your face into the crook of Deanās neck. You donāt think youāve ever been this turned on. Itās different, with Deanās hands wandering your sides and his voice right in your ear. Your heart pounds and everywhere gets slick with sweat and arousal, just his dirty talk reducing you to a heap of confused nerves. Deanās lips drag over your jaw, and you curl further around him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he nips at your throat.
āJust gotta do what I tell you, alright?ā He mutters, squeezing a handful of your ass. āCan you do that, baby? Do it for me?"
You nod quickly, and Dean chuckles against your skin.
āEager,ā he drawls, pushing his fingers slowly under the hem of your shorts. āEager and soft.ā
He squeezes your ass again, his fingers brushing against the edge of your pussy. You grind backwards, trying to push him to where you need him so very desperately. He lets you, teasing his fingers over the lips of your pussy, and you whine in his ear.
āSit still,ā he grunts, and you have to bite your lower lip, but you force your hips to come to a stop.
It earns you a sharp slap of your ass, and a kiss on the side of your head. Worth it.
āThatās right,ā he mutters, letting those thick fingers dance back over your cunt.Ā āGood work, baby girl. You fuckinā love the attention, donāt you. Eager to please me, eager to make me proud.ā
You swallow, hugging him so tight youāre a little worried youāll choke him. Dean doesnāt even flinch. He dips two fingers into the wetness of your heat and groans right in your ear, spreading the arousal everywhere between your thighs.
āIf youāre gonna hide that pretty face,ā he grunts in your ear. āAt least fuckinā kiss me.ā
Nervously, you wander your lips over the strong curve of his shoulders, the arch of his neck. Dean moans in your ear, his cock jumping in his jeans. His fingers keep wandering near and around your pussy, and you get a little bolder. Kissing up his jaw, over his cheek, the top of his lip. Youāre panting, trying to focus on your job as Dean keeps pulling and teasing you with his touch.
āShit,ā he moans your name, tracing around your flutter entrance. āThatās it, baby, just like that-ā
Ā Dean grabs your jaw with his free hand, like he canāt fucking help himself, and slams his lips against yours. You squeak in surprise, but kiss him back, grinding down onto his hand. His fingers dip inside of you for a moment, and you moan. Dean grunts and shoves those fingers inside of you.
Your mouth falls open, your eyes widening at the thick, pleasurable stretch. He feels so good, so fucking right, youāre worried his cock might kill you.
āLook at you,ā Dean coos, smirking at your slack face. āJust my fuckinā fingers, baby. Keep breathinā, or this is all weāre doing tonight.ā
You take a deep breath, sharp and sudden, and Dean smirks in approval.
āGood girl,ā he pushes his fingers a little deeper, scissoring them and bumping against a spot that makes your whole body jerk.
āDean-ā
āShh,ā he kisses you, crooking his fingers to rub against that hidden button, and you mewl against his lips. āYou feel that, baby?ā
āMmm- Mhm.ā You press your cheek against his, eyes fluttering as Dean keeps pushing and tickling deep inside you. āFeels good.ā
āI know it does, sweet girl,ā he wraps his hand back around your neck, guiding your brow to press back against his. āItās that special little spot, gonna make everything feel good.ā
His words are sweet and mocking all at once, and it sends a new gush of arousal between your legs. You watch him with wide, clouded eyes, and Deanās smile softens for a single second. He kisses you, more gentle than before, and pulls his fingers slowly out of your cunt.
āLie down,ā he whispers before you can protest, and you swallow, but obey.
Dean hums in approval, rubbing a massive hand on your thigh.
āEverything off,ā he says, and you go still.
āEverything?ā
āMhm,ā he raises his brows at your flushed expression. āThat gonna be a problem?ā
You shake your head, wrapping your arms around your stomach. You donāt want to disappoint him, but heās going to see you. Really, fully see you. God, you really donāt want him to see you and change his mind, and-
āHey,āĀ Dean takes your hand, squeezing it gently. āYou want my help?ā
āYes, please,ā you breathe, and thatās all it takes.Ā
Dean rips off his shirt firstāmakinā it even, he saysāthen makes quick work of his jeans. You donāt get more than a second to marvel himāflushed, tanned chest and thick everything, and heavy cock that does not look like a wormābefore heās touching you. He shimmies your shorts down, then peels your shirt over your head, leaving you in only your underwear. For a moment he just admires you, palming his cock with a tiny grin, and you roll onto your stomach.
Dean laughs, tapping your ass with a single finger. āGettinā shy, baby?ā
āShut up-ā
āAh.ā He drags that finger down your clothed pussy. āWho tells who what to do?ā
Your face burns, and you press your face further into the pillows. Dean chuckles, and you feel the bed shift as he crawls over your body. You can feel the heat coming off of him, feel the drag of his cock somewhere near your ass as he whispers in your ear.
āYou were doinā so well,ā he drawls, unhooking your bra with a single hand. āDonāt get shy on me now.ā
It doesnāt help. You keep grinding, trying to get some friction with the sheets. Deanās hand comes down on your pussy with one, sharp smack, and you squeal, pushing back against his hand.
āNeedy fuckinā baby,ā he mocks. āCanāt even help it, can you. Still tryinā to be good for me.ā
He hooks two fingers around your panties, pulling them tight so they push against your clit. You push back against his hand, and he smirks against your ear.
āYou want a little more?ā
You nod, and he snaps the fabric down, sending a tiny shock through your body.
āSay please-ā
āPlease,ā you gasp, moving your arms up to hide your face. āPlease, Dean- More- Oooh-ā
Deanās thumb finds your clit, rubbing in slow, tight circles. Your words fall off, and he fists a hand in your hair, tugging your head back to allow him to kiss you again.
Heās not cruel, with how he touches you. Heās generous, but controlled. Every stroke of your clit is deliberate, making your head spin and your mouth fall further open. That seems to be exactly how he wants you, though, because he pushes his tongue further down your throat and flicks his thumb back and forth, working you up into a writhing frenzy.
When his fingers finally push back inside of you, Dean almost seems unwilling to pull back and stop kissing you. Youāre bent back and pliant under him, whimpering happily as he feeds his fore and middle finger into your hole.
āGreedy little pussy,ā he rasps against your lips. āKnow youāre gonna strangle my cock, baby, son of a bitch-"
He groans, like heās the one being fingered into oblivion. Heās set a harsh pace with his wrist, snapping his fingers in and out of your cunt without relent. His thumb moved away from your clit, replaced by the heel of his palm, rubbing in tight, unrelenting circles on your swollen clit.
Every single time, he hits that spot inside of you, and your head is starting to get light. All the electricity and heat in your body is pushing down into your core, building like a bomb and threatening to explode. You almost sob, with how overwhelming the sensation is. Dean notices, kissing you a little softer.
āPoor girl,ā he mutters. āAlready like this and Iām not even properly fuckinā you.ā
āYour- Your hands,ā you push out the word between sharp breaths. āTheyāre big.ā
Dean grunts, his cock jumping near your ass. āYeah, sweetheart? You like how fuckinā big my hands are?ā
āMh- Mhm.ā
You try to kiss him again. He pulls back, moving his hand impossibly faster against your cunt.
āWords,ā he grunts. āYouāre not stupid enough to not speak, not yet.ā
āLike it,ā you breathe out. āLove- Love it, Dean, oh- Oh my god-ā
You moan again, and Dean grunts. His hips are starting to jerk near your ass, making him rut against you as his fingers work.
āYour close,ā he mutters, pressing his fingers fully inside and crooking them against that gooey spot. āCum for me, pretty girl. Now.ā
His voice must have some kind of supernatural power over you, because that pressure in your lower tummy bursts, and your orgasm rips through you link a hurricane. Your thighs clench, trapping Deanās hand between your legs, and he groans, rubbing his fingers harsher and harsher against your g-spot. Youāre shaking and rolling beneath him, and he has to grab the back of your neck and pin it down to keep you still.
Dean works you through your orgasm, whispering low praise in your ear as you float back down to earth. Your pussy feels empty, when his fingers finally pull away. Your eyes are slightly crossed, and your smile is dazed and a little stupid.
You donāt even squeak, when Dean grabs your thigh and flips you over. You keen, back arching and body twitching, but youāre mostly just staring stupidly and happily up at him. Dean swallows, his chest rising and falling fast, and leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips. You hum, eyes fluttering shut, and cup the back of his neck to hold him against you.
He drags his fingers lazily through the mess between your thighs, sending pleasurable little shivers up your spine. He drags your panties fully off your body, holding them up to his nose and taking a deep, long whiff before tossing them off to the side. He gathers your arousal on his fingers and slowly pulls away, rising over you with parted lips and gleaming, almost wholly black eyes.
Dean sucks your juices off his fingers, lapping them up with his tongue and a lazy, knowing smirk. Your breath catches. You almost push up to try and grab him, but youāre still foggy and boneless from the orgasm, and he shoves you back down with a broad hand splayed over your tummy.
āDean-ā
You cut yourself off under his stern gaze, swallowing nervously.
āPlease?ā You try again, and he chuckles.
āYouāre cute.ā
āI- I am not-ā
āYeah, you are. Cute when you cum for me,ā he dips his fingers back into you, smirking lazily. āCute when I touch you. Cute when you beg.ā
āDeeeean-ā
āDeeean,ā he mocks, squeezing your upper thigh. āListen to you. Fuckinā adorable.ā
You flush, a new wave of arousal hitting you like a rising tide, and you donāt even understand how you could possibly be ready that fast. Dean watches you pussy tremble and flutter, letting out a slow, rough breath.
āSon of a bitch,ā he shakes his head, his hand moving to rub against his cock. āYou got no idea what you do to me, baby, no fuckinā idea.ā
You swallow, watching him move against himself, almost enchanted. He really is prettier than is fair, in every possible way. His cock is thick and long, flushed at the head and leaking pre-cum against his thumb. Your tongue flicks over your lips, as you try to mentally measure the girth and length of him. Youāve taken toys before, when you got really curious. Heās bigger.
āYou wanna touch, sweetheart?ā He prompts, and you nod, your tongue flicking over your lips.
Dean pushes his hips forward, slowly taking your hand and guiding it against his shaft. Heās warm. Warm and hard. You dance your fingers down the length of him and he grunts, a vein ticking in his neck.
āEasyā¦ā He rasps, and you nod nervously.
You find his balls, give them a light squeeze, and Dean catches your wrist.
āThatās enough.ā He mutters, twining your fingers together. āJesus, woman, gonna blow it before I even get inside of you.ā
Your eyes widen. Youād almost forgotten about that part.
āThatās not going to fit inside of me.ā
Dean chuckles. āYeah, it will.ā
āNo, I mean like- It canāt-ā
āIt can.ā
āDean, Iām serious-ā
He shuts you up with a quick rough kiss, and you go embarrassingly limp. His cock rubs between the folds of your pussy, bumping and pressing against your clit, and your breath hitches. Oh, God.
āJust do what I tell ya,ā he mutters. āWeāre gonna make it fit.ā
You do. It is very easy to do what Dean tells you, when he follows through on all his promises. When he gives you such low and certain orders, and you find yourself molding perfectly around his cock.
Because it does fit. Somehow, Dean spreads your legs and kisses your pussy onceāas if he canāt help himselfābefore crawling over you and slowly pushing the head of his cock inside of you. Itās tight at first. He grunts, pressing his brow to you shoulder, and rubs tight circle around your clit with his thumb.
āOpen up for me, baby,ā he rasps. āCāmon.ā
You go limp with every inch he feeds you. The stretch is glorious, pulling you apart with every drag over your fluttering walls, every low grunt of your name from Deanās lips. His determination to tease you seems to dissolve, by the time heās fully seated inside of you, his balls pressed against your ass. He pants in your ear, hot and heavy, and cradles your body in his arms like itās fragile.
āSlow,ā he mutters, and it sounds like heās talking to himself more than you. āGonna go slow.ā
You keen, at the first, lazy thrust of his hips. A lewd, wet sound fills the air, and the head of Deanās cock pushes right up against that already abused spot inside of you, making stars dance behind your eyes. Every roll of Deanās hips makes your whole body spark. He kisses all over your face, his own voice thick and wrecked as you clench around him. Ā
āTakinā me so well, baby,ā he rasps. āFeels good, doesnāt it. Feels so fuckinā good, beinā filled up with cock like you deserve-ā
His words fall into a moan, his hips snapping forward, and the air gets knocked from your lungs. A sound youāve never heard escapes you, and Dean chuckles, kissing your open mouth as he repeats the motion.
āYeah, you like that.ā He pulls almost fully out, then slams back forward. āSay it, baby girl, say you like it-ā
āI like it,ā you gasp out, sounding drunk to your own ears. āLove it, Dean- Fuck- Fuuuck-ā
Dean captures your mouth in another kiss, and sets a brutal, drilling pace. Youāre split open with every thrust, your every nerve on fire as he fucks you like a machine. He never gets too fast, just hard. Over and over and over again, until youāre gasping for air and clawing at his shoulders. That pressure turns molten and demanding, threatening to burst. Deanās fingers dig into your hips. He moans in your ear, his own words staring to slur.
āTight,ā he moans. āSo fuckinā tight- I- I canāt- Shit-ā
Deanās hands fumble, dragging over your thighs and as he gropes for your pussy. Two fumbling fingers find it, rubbing tight circles, and you cry out, clenching down on his cock.
āLet go, sweetheart, need you to let for āf me- Fuck-ā
Your orgasm hits you even harder than before, and your vision goes white. Your pussy flutters and clenches, something hot gushing out as your body trembles with overwhelming pleasure. Itās a strange sensation, but not bad. Not even close. You think you scream with pleasure, but Dean slams his mouth over yours and muffles the sound.
His hips stutter and jerk. You whine his name and he grunts, slamming forward and burying himself at the hilt as his cum spurts deep inside you, mixing with your own release.
Youāre almost gone to the world. Dean lies over you, kissing you as you float back down, murmuring praise you can barely hear.
āGonna clean you up,ā he grunts, and you whine when his weight disappears.
āDeeean.ā You grab at the air and catch his bicep. āStay.ā
You pout at him, eyes watery and hopeful. He just chuckles, kissing your knuckles before drawing back up, and promising to return.
He better. You really donāt want to let go of him now.
Dean brings a wet, warm towel, and cleans between your thighs. You didnāt realize how sore you were until he touches you with such light hands, but itās a good kind of sore. When you moan, itās not even really in pain.
He brings you water. A snack and a fresh shirt, that he bundles you in like a penguin. You somehow end up curled against his chest, half asleep and smiling against his bare, warm chest.
āI like you,ā Dean says suddenly, and you beam. You donāt think youāve ever felt so bubbly in your life.
āI like you too-ā
āNo,ā his jaw works, the words low and tight. āI like like you- Like- Fuck-ā
He runs a hand over his face, shaking his head. Itās almost adorable.
āYou- Youāre just- That really wasnāt nothinā for me, sweetheart, not even close-ā
You take his trick. You push up on his chest, press your lips together, and kiss him until he shuts the fuck up. He kisses you back immediately, cupping your face between shaking hands. You smile against his lips, pulling back just enough to whisper, āI like you too.ā
Deanās eyes snap open, his voice hoarse. āReally?ā
āYeah,ā you flush. āA- A lot.ā
Dean grins. He smiles wider than you knew he could, and slams a shorter rougher kiss against your lips before pulling back again. Like he canāt stand not to look at you for too long.
āCan I take you out?ā He says, and you nod.
āCan we have more sex,ā you whisper, and he laughs, pressing another kiss against your lips.
āAny time you want, baby.ā He says. āYouāre mine now.ā
ā¦End note: drooling for him ā¦
ā¦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3ā¦
ā¦Buy me a coffee!āļø (and get early access!)ā¦
you approach everything clinically, including poorly constructed sex scenes in books. dr langdon decides to take that as an invitation to give you a proper sex ed lesson.
pairings: nerd!reader x frank langdon
warnings: 18+ MDNI, explicit sexual content, reader reading smut, virgin!reader (kind of implied more than outright stated), innocence kink, corruption kink, langdon supplying reader with an sex book?, literally so freaked out and for what, female masturbation, phone sex, langdon talking you thru it!!!
wc: 6.2k
Youāve always had a somewhat fraught relationship with imagination. People say you lack it, to put it plainly. They say youāre too literal. As if being literal isnāt the reason airplanes stay in the air and bridges remain standing.Ā
But you just happen to find reality plenty beautiful. More than beautiful, actually. Reassuring. There is dignity in a thing that can be tested, reproduced, and counted on.
Newtonās law. The sodium-potassium pump. Entropy. Even the grimmer systems at least are consistent if nothing else.
So naturally, medicine was what you pursued in college. Everything means something. Everything is attached to something else. Symptoms are not random; bodies are not whimsical.
Even if an answer is hidden, it exists, and if you are willing to stay with a problem long enough, turn it over enough times, peel it apart layer by layer and build it back from the inside out, eventually it reveals itself.
Fiction does not afford you that courtesy. Fiction wants you to tolerate blank spaces and gaps.Ā You hate gaps. You love knowing.
Fiction gives you half a scene and waits expectantly, like congratulations, now you do the labor.
Build the room. Place the bodies. Infer the angles. Ignore, apparently, that the human body is not an abstract concept but a heavily regulated system of hinges and limits and gravity and very obvious spatial constraints.Ā
You are experiencing one of those gaps now, staring so hard at the page your eyes begin to sting a little, focus tightening to a punitive little point. You think if you look at it severely enough the scene might resolve into something you can understand.
The book says the woman is āon top,ā which should be clear enough on its own, except the next sentence immediately ruins that clarity by describing angles that do not, as far as you can tell, exist in three-dimensional space.Ā
And you have so many questions.
Is there a bed involved here? A couch? A floor? Any surface at all?
You reread the line. Maybe you overlooked a prepositional phrase hiding in plain sight. A detail that will clarify whose leg is bent and why it apparently now has the range of motion of a paper clip.
Nothing. No luck. Still opaque.
Possibly more vague now, because repetition has begun to dissolve whatever confidence you had in your own reading abilities.
It is difficult to overstate how humiliating it is to be bested by mediocre smut.Ā
You sigh and look to your watch. 9:18 p.m. Late. The bus is always late. Thatās why you have this book in your hand in the first place, wanting to turn dead time into something educational. Unfortunately thatās not how itās going.
You blow out a breath as another gust of wind snakes over the exposed strip of skin between your socks and the hem of your jeans.
They used to hit lower on your ankle, but courtesy of your buildingās shitty communal dryer, they donāt do that anymore.
āInteresting reading choice.ā
It is not a voice you prepared yourself to hear. You werenāt prepared to hear a voice at all, really.
So when you hear the familiar pitch of Landon, your body overcorrects, sending you backward like a startled deer losing traction on ice.
You see the next ten seconds in a flash: the hollow thunk of your head on the pole behind you, the stuttering apologies delivered as your vision tunnels, the concussion protocols that will surely haunt you for weeks, months, possibly forever.
But those ten seconds never actually happens.
Instead, you cautiously peer up into the flat, coolly appraising expression of Langdon, whose hand is placed behind your head, taking the brunt of the impact.
āOh. Hi. Dr. Langdon. I, um, this isnāt ā Iām not āā Youāre already floundering, trying to assemble something defensible out of a situation that is not defensible. āIt was recommended,ā you say at last, which is true, though not in a way that sounds remotely exculpatory once spoken aloud. āBy Javadi. She said it was good, which I assumed meant, like, well-written, not ā this. Which I know sounds ā I hear it, I hear how it sounds, but I didnāt just, like, seek this out independently. I was curious from a clinical standpoint.ā
Shit.
You just lobbed Victoria under the bus didnāt you? And unlike the literal bus, this metaphorical one arrived enthusiastically on time, probably even honked.
You add it to the growing ledger of things you owe her. Coffee, at the very least. Something artisanal, thoughtful, handcrafted.
A note, handwritten in apology, because email would be cowardly and texting would feel insufficient, and really ā after what youāve just done, youāre not sure anything short of ink, paper, and a tangible record of shame could suffice.
He removes his hand, the pressure at the back of your head disappearing as he shifts to rest it along the bench behind you instead.
āClinical,ā he repeats. His eyes flick briefly to the book in your hands, then back to you, unimpressed. āAnd what have you concluded so far, doctor?ā
āNot a doctor yet,ā you point out. Not sure why you do. āBut, um, just that itās just not very clear? Like, the scenes move really fast, and I feel like Iām missing steps in between, so I keep trying to visualize whatās happening and I just end up getting stuck on, likeā¦ where everything is supposed to go and āā You stop, frowning now. āYou ā you probably didnāt actually want an answer to that, did you?ā
His mouth pulls just enough to suggest heās entertained despite himself. āNot initially.ā
You nod. āOkay, good, because I definitely wasnāt planning to provide detail. Just, you know ā general plausibility stuff. Realism concerns.ā
āLet me see,ā he says, and before your frazzled brain can form an adequate objection, he's already reaching forward, extracting the paperback from your suddenly slackened grasp.
You stand abruptly, the bench scraping in a terrible sound against concrete as you reach for the book.
āYou really donāt have to do that.ā
A correct statement. Useless, however, as he lifts the novel out of reach without even looking at you, arm extending just enough to make it clear that this is not a negotiation, and also, somewhat insultingly, not even difficult.
You briefly consider climbing him. Scaling him like a distressed, socially compromised marsupial and retrieving the book by force.
It feels like a viable solution. You dismiss it only on the grounds that in the last five minutes alone, accumulated enough embarrassment to sustain a normal person for at least two lifetimes.
And theoretically there should be a cap.
There is not, apparently.
Because after a brief glance at the page, he starts reading aloud: āShe sank down on him with an aching slowness, savoring the stretch of it, the sweet friction that made her pulse flutter faster with every roll of her body. His hands gripped her waist, guiding her, keeping her there while the pleasure mounted in teasing waves until she was shaking with it, desperate and almost there.ā
You feel the heat spark up your spine and towards you neck before saturating your face. The intensity momentarily blurs your vision.
Your hands tighten uselessly at your sides, a strange, unfamiliar tightness coiling low in your stomach.
You try your very hardest not to let your mind start making substitutions. You try not to let the faceless bodies on that page acquire identifiable features. A chin dimple, for instance. You try not to let the voice in front of you fuse itself any further to the text than it already has.
You wrench your gaze upward, fixing it somewhere behind his left ear, hoping that physical distance might somehow dilute your newfound imagination that just five minutes ago you were bashing.
He closes the book with a snap, eyebrow arched. āSounds perfectly reasonable.ā
āI mean, maybe,ā you respond, a little too quickly. āIf there were justā¦ more specifics? Like, about the positioning. The angle, or where āā You take a quick breath. āNever mind.ā
āAnd exactly how would you clarify it?ā
āIād probably justā¦ add another line,ā you say. āLike, specify that her hips are lower, or that her weight is shifted forward so her center of gravity is closer to his. Just so itās clear whatās actually happening.ā
He doesnāt say anything right away and when his eyes flick forward again, they look a little different beneath the dark of the sky, the blue of them deepened into something richer. A little less straightforward, you think. Lapis held in low light, saturated in silver strips and a little too pretty.
You watch as his tongue drags across his lower lip, the briefest glimpse of moisture highlighting the subtle contours and fine, shallow ridges of texture there.
āIf youāre that concerned with accuracy,ā he murmurs, āIām sure thereās ways to run a practical demonstration.ā
You have a hard time understanding what he means by that and when your mind does attempt to furnish the words with imagery, you have to recoil from your own thoughts.
Does he mean with him?
No, surely not, that is not where he wanted this conversation to go, and besides, that interpretation feels reckless, egotistical even, considering he is almost certainly saying it in the most neutral, solution-driven sense possible.
If thatās what heās saying at all. He might not be. You canāt tell.
He is offering a suggestion for you.
You are the one making it weird.
āOh. Well, itād probably end up being more complicated than itās worth. Iād need a controlled setup, probably multiple attempts, and at that point itās less a demonstration and more a full reconstruction.ā
A muscle feathers along his jaw as he tips his face towards the moon-lit sky. He seems to do that a lot. Like heās appealing to some higher power for fortitude to deal with you. Or maybe not you specifically, which would be preferable, expect it does feel rather like you are the central to the current crisis, you just arenāt sure how.
Then he exhales a small laugh, thin with disbelief, and shakes his head once.Ā
āYouāre right,ā he says, voice deadpan. āClearly I wasnāt thinking this through. Practicality first.ā He glances pointedly at his watch. āItās late. Iāll give you a ride home.ā
You accept his offer without arguing, youād be a fool not to, and trail him out toward the parking lot. A step behind, then a half step, then back again. You canāt quite decide on the appropriate proximity.
When you reach the row of cars, you realize youāve never seen his before.
Itās nice. Grey, practical, a four-door SUV that screams fiscal responsibility and weather-appropriate footwear, a vehicle with divorced-dad energy so specific you can practically invent the rest of the man around it: patient at youth soccer, quietly resentful in a grocery store parking lot, pretending not to be wounded by logistical disappointments.Ā
The interior only deepens the impression. It is clean, but not in a forbidding way, not scrubbed of personality.
There is a toy in the cupholder, a crumpled napkin tucked into the side compartment, a few fast-food receipts scattered near the floor like the residue of a life conducted at speed.
It feels lived in, which is somehow more intimate than if it had been spotless.
It is, disconcertingly, human. More human than you expected from a man who often carries himself like a sealed document.Ā
Nice, you think again, and then, unhelpfully, him, the two notions beginning to blur together before you can stop them.
Itās a relatively quiet drive to start. The radio tuned to some Catholic station it must have picked up nearby, murky and hard to decipher, while streetlights drift past in bands of orange and green, staining the inside of the car with color and then taking it back.
āJavadi really recommended that?ā Frank asks suddenly, piercing the silence.
āYeah,ā you admit, then wince almost immediately. āWell, sort of. I mean, I probably should not make it sound like she shoved it into my hands in some kind of corrupting-the-youth campaign. She mentioned it, but I was already curious. It was not not my idea.ā You glance down, suddenly very interested in your own hands. āIāve just been trying to do a little research, I guess.ā
His fingers tap once against the steering wheel.
āAnd what, specifically, are you hoping to learn?ā
Your mouth presses thin for a second. Youāre not sure if you should continue.
āI was mostly just trying to get a better sense of... how certain things work in real life,ā you say, picking each word carefully. āAs opposed to in theory. Or in whatever version of reality people usually pretend is self-explanatory.ā
He says nothing at first. Then through grit teeth: āYou mean because no oneās explained it to you?ā
You glance over, caught a little off guard by the question. āWell, not in any useful sense.ā
His jaw flexes.Ā
āAnd the alternative,ā he says slowly, āwas assigned reading.ā
You wince. āWhen you phrase it like that, it does sound bleak.ā
āWhen I phrase it like that, it sounds like youāre trying to teach yourself something most people learn by experience.ā
āWell,ā you mumble, āyes. More or less.ā
The light changes and he brakes, the red wash from the signal pouring through the windshield and across his face, tinting his skin rose-gold.
He screws his eyes shut for a brief second, hands drawing tighter on the wheel before he exhales.
āIn that case,ā he says, opening his eyes again, āIām not entirely convinced thatās the most reliable educational resource.ā
āWhy?ā you ask, with enough sincere confusion to make it clear you are not arguing so much as requesting clarification.Ā
The light turns green.
āBecause itās not source material. Itās entertainment.ā His tone stays level, but only just. āIt takes whatever is most dramatic, most flattering, most appealing, and presents it like itās standard. It leaves out the parts that are inconvenient or unsexy, which means if you treat it as educational, youāre going to come away with a very distorted sense of how any of it actually works.ā
āI guess that makes sense,ā you say. āThere were definitely sections where I kept thinking, surely that cannot be how that happens. Or at least not without significantly more preparation, flexibility, or orthopedic intervention than the text was willing to acknowledge.ā
āSo I gathered.ā
You fall quiet after that, though not for lack of further questions. In fact the opposite is true, because now he has accidentally positioned himself as a person with knowledge of how sex works.
But that would be inappropriate on at least six different levels.Ā
He is driving you home as a favor, not volunteering to become some kind of after-hours consultant on the mechanics of sex, and there is no universe in which asking for elaboration would make you seem anything other than catastrophically unwell.
You almost ask him anyway.Ā
But before you can make what would almost certainly be the worst possible decision available to you tonight, the car slows, turns, and then stops.Ā
You stare at the windshield, disoriented by the fact that you are suddenly at your apartment.
āRight,ā you say, gathering your bag with the abrupt, clumsy movements of someone trying to recover from her own thoughts. āThank you. For the ride.ā
He gives a brief nod, one hand still resting on the wheel. āIt was no trouble.ā
You do not believe that for even a second. Still, you murmur goodnight and let yourself out, hurrying inside with as much dignity as can be salvaged after a conversation like that.
A couple days later, youāre sitting in the breakroom with your head propped in your palm, devoting a frankly heroic amount of effort to not drop face-first into the laminate.
You are exhausted, which is surely unrelated to the fact that you stayed up too late conducting what can only be described as independent research.
There is, it turns out, an astonishing amount of positions.
More than seems necessary, honestly. Far too many names. Far too many diagrams. So many that appear to require either exceptional upper body strength or a level of mutual coordination that feels statistically unlikely in the average civilian population.Ā
Some are perfectly straightforward. Many are not. Several seem just down-right wrong.
The door opens and you glance up, prepared to offer some vague nod of recognition to whoever has come to interrupt your private collapse.Ā
Langdon.
āOh,ā you say, straightening a little too quickly. āHi, Dr. Langdon.ā
That seems to be your automatic response to his presence.
His eyes narrow. āRough morning?ā
You give a small shrug. āMāfine.ā
āYouāll have to excuse my skepticism.ā He drags the chair across from you and sits.
āJust stayed up too late.āĀ
You hope that doesnāt inspire follow-ups.
He slides something across the table toward you. A book. You stare at the cover. Then at him.Ā
āThis,ā he says, tapping two fingers once against the cover, āis at least designed to explain things.ā
Slowly, as if touching it too fast might make this more real, you pick it up and turn it over.
The back is dense with tidy paragraphs about desire, arousal, and the science of how womenās bodies actually work, all written in the reassuring language of expertise, which would be comforting if your pulse were not currently behaving like it had something to hide.
āThatāsā¦ unexpectedly thoughtful,ā you murmur. āThank you.ā
āDonāt make too much of it.ā
āI wonāt,ā you say, which is a lie so poorly constructed it barely qualifies as one.
You are, in fact, almost certain to make too much of it later, probably in bed, probably while staring at the ceiling.Ā
Then the door opens again. You nearly jump. You pull the book against your chest like you are protecting classified material. Langdonās eyes narrow a fraction.
Garcia steps inside a second later, pauses, and looks between the two of you.
ā...Am I interrupting something weird?ā she asks.
You stand so quickly the chair legs scrape against the floor.
āNope,ā you say. āNot at all. Nothing weird. Not even slightly.ā You clutch the book tighter. āI do, however, suddenly need to go be elsewhere. For work-related reasons. Very legitimate ones.ā You nod once. āOkay. Bye.ā
Itās late when you finally start to read the book Langdon gave you. Your first mistake, really. You have to be up in four hours. Four.
But the book turns out to be more useful than expected. It has information. Real information. Terminology and diagrams and explanations that move in a sequence a human brain can follow, one thing leading intelligibly to the next instead of that gauzy, vague, everyone-just-knows-what-to-do, magical event nonsense.
And this all should, theoretically, be enough to satisfy you.
Except every answer you get splits open into three more questions, hydra-style, the whole thing multiplying the second you think you have a grip on it.
And yes, sometimes Google is enough. But sometimes it is not.
Too broad, too contradictory, too many tabs open at once, too many Reddit posts written by men with misplaced confidence.
So now you are sitting on your bed staring at your phone, typing a message, deleting it, retyping it, deleting it again. Because this is weird. It is weird to text him.
But then again, he did hand you the book.
He did, in a very real sense, amplify this situation. And maybe giving you additional reading material counts as tacit approval for further questions. A follow-up. Continuing education.
You hit send.
hi dr. langdon. sorry. i have a question about the book!
It takes only a couple seconds for him to answer.
Go ahead.
You sit up so fast the book slides off your leg and drops onto the bedspread with a soft thump.
You stare at the screen.
You expected eventuality, a response tomorrow morning maybe, sometime after sunrise, sometime under the polite cover of daylight when everybody involved could collude in pretending this was a normal academic exchange and not you texting a senior resident after dark about sex-adjacent material like you were requesting clarification on electrolyte imbalance.
You glance at the clock and frown.
What is he even doing up?
Surely you didnāt wake him. You cannot imagine he sleeps with his ringer turned up loud enough for that. No, he feels like a phone-on-silent, notifications-curated, emergency-contacts-only kind of man.
You spend four minutes composing the question. You send six words.
what does ābuilding sensationā actually mean?
Need more context than that.
You photograph the page. You send it. You put your phone face down on the quilt and do not look at it for a full minute.
When you finally make yourself turn the phone over, heās answered.
Itās the physiological buildup to orgasm. Increased blood flow, heightened sensitivity, pelvic muscle tension. Sustained and constant stimulation. The sensation compounds on itself.
Your thumb catches idly on the hem of your pajama shorts, worrying the fabric back and forth while you stare at the screen. It takes a long amount of time to realize youāre doing it. You stop. Then start again without meaning to, fingertips slipping under the edge to press against your thigh.Ā
is consistency about location or pressure or both? the book implies they're interchangeable. Ā
Both. Generally location first, then pressure. If you keep changing where youāre touching, itās harder to build anything. If the location is consistent but the pressure is erratic, same problem. Theyāre related, but not interchangeable.
Your free hand has drifted north to the waistband of your shorts, thumb pressing little crescent moons into overheated skin. Almost feverish.
Location first.Ā
An unfortunate instruction to receive while being aware of the exact location in question, muted now by two thin layers of cotton.
You should stop there. Obviously.
You should set the phone down, turn off the lamp, go to sleep, and revisit all of this in the morning when you are less suggestible.Ā
Instead your hand keeps moving, slow enough that you can perhaps pretend you have not consciously decided anything, slipping lower until it hovers over your underwear, where your clit presses back against the fabric. Swollen. And then lower than that, wet.
That startles you more than anything. From what, exactly? A sex manual? A few texts? Him?
No. That last one is inadmissible. Wildly inappropriate.
So you drag your mind back to the book instead, using it as a kind of corrective, something technical to blunt that he is, however indirectly, implicated in this.Ā
Start with indirect stimulation. Let the body acclimate. Donāt rush the thing. Let the thing, apparently, arrive on its own like a skittish woodland creature you are trying not to scare off.
Fine. Whatever.Ā
You press your thumb down and make a circular motion, sucking in a breath so sharply it almost hurts, mostly because the sensation is immediate and strange and good. You wouldnāt say overwhelming. Though maybe you would. You canāt think straight. Surprising, then. Concentrated.
Like pressing a bruise, except the complete inverse of that, if they lit up instead of aching. It makes you want to do it again.
So you do.
Small circles. Experimental. Testing the waters.
And itās not like this is technically new. You have tried before.
But before was rushed and graceless and was the sort of thing done half-curiously and abandoned quickly, with no patience for your own body.
You were raised sheltered, and beyond that, serious. Preoccupied with things that seemed more pressing, more worthy of your attention, as though this part of yourself could be indefinitely postponed without consequence.Ā
You pick the phone back up with your unoccupied hand.
okay. that makes sense.
You stare at it, dissatisfied. Too final. Too capable of ending the conversation. You add another line before you can overthink yourself out of it.
and if the sensation is building, when are u supposed to switch? like to inner stimulation, i mean. or are you not supposed to unless what youāre already doing stops working?
The typing bubble appears instantly.
You donāt have to switch. Thatās the first thing.
External stimulation is usually more important, especially early on. Inner stimulation is optional, not a required next step.
Little gasps keep escaping you as you refine the motion, not changing much, just enough pressure to sharpen it, back arching into the mattress.
It feels good. You donāt remember it ever feeling this good.
Maybe because before did not involve a very attractive doctor explaining your own body back to you in real time.
It is getting harder to text. Harder to think in complete sentences. Still, you manage, so if itās working, is it better to not change anything? even if it starts feeling a lot more sensitive?
Your phone starts ringing.
You freeze when Frank's name flashes across the screen.
For a moment you can only stare. Your pulse jumps in your throat, fluttering there like something trapped, and then you are yanking your hand from your shorts and grabbing for the phone with fingers that suddenly seem to belong to someone much less coordinated than you.
āHi ā,ā
āWhat are you doing?ā
āWhat do you mean?ā you ask, though your voice already sounds guilty, chest rising and falling unevenly. āIām ā nothing. Iām just reading.ā
āYouāre not a very good liar.ā
You frown at the dark ceiling. āI hate the confidence with which you say things.ā
āItās usually earned.ā
You make a face at that, even though he cannot see it.
āI wasnāt prepared for a pop quiz,ā you mutter. āYou called out of nowhere.ā
āA call seemed appropriate,ā he says through the soft buzz of static.
āWhy?ā
Your whole body feels keyed up now, strung too tight, humming with a surplus of energy like you have been plugged into the wall and simply left there to glow.
It's hard to keep still under the blankets. Harder with his voice in your ear, that low grain of it roughened by the hour, touched with that tired edge that makes him feel closer than he is. He sounds warm. He sounds half-undone.
You can picture him without trying. In bed. Hair rumpled from sleep or from his hand shoved through it one too many times, one stray piece fallen near his eyes. Maybe in pajamas. Maybe not. Either option is equally disruptive. You brain offers a shirt pushes up a little, one arm behind his head, a strip of stomach, a line of hair disappearing into plaid boxers.
You shift on the mattress. Your hand trails back down your front, fingers resuming their place on your underwear.
āBecause your last text didnāt read like a theoretical question,ā he says. āI wanted to hear whether I was right.ā
The words move through you, like he has reached through the phone and pressed a hand flat to your lower stomach.
āAnd were you?ā
Your hips shift on the mattress again, angling into your own touch.
You bite your lip around the small throb of pleasure that follows.
āYeah. I was.ā His voice comes through coarser now, the line fuzzing around it, but not enough to hide the change. āAnd if Iām hearing you correctly, you havenāt stopped.ā
You squeeze your eyes shut.
ā...maybe.ā
There's a brief pause on the line. You hear the rustle of him moving, before he speaks again. āTell me exactly what you're doing.ā
āIām, uhā¦ā You mouth goes dry. āI mean, you know.ā
āI canāt tell you what to do if you wonāt tell me what youāre doing,ā he says. āYou need to be specific.āĀ
You swallow.
āIām touching over my underwear,ā you admit finally, the words coming out hushed and a little uneven. āJust with my thumb. Iām not reallyā¦ doing anything more than that.ā
A soft exhale crackles through the phone.
āThatās good,ā he murmurs. āTell me if it feels good.ā
Your lashes flutter at the words. Your thumb keeps tracing the same spot, a little more rhythmically now, and every so often your hand falters when the sensation catches unexpectedly bright, a live wire under your skin.
Flashing hotter and hotter and hotter until you can barely stand it.
Your thighs draw in on instinct, then ease apart again, restless, unable to decide whether they are trying to hold the feeling or escape it.
āMhm.ā Itās all you can manage.Ā
You start to picture him again. Existing in real time in the dark on the other end of the line now.
It sends the throbbing in your cunt up tenfold, sharp little bursts of color flying behind your eyelids, green and orange and something almost gold.
You use your imagination to conjure up the image of him doing the same. Him with the phone in one hand and the other moving in lazy unhurried strokes around his cock, like this is no great strain for him, like he is as controlled in private as he is everywhere else.
You wonder what it looks like. His cock. Probably big and pink and veiny.
You know, rationally, that he is probably not doing that at all. He is probably just lying there in the dark, listening, talking, being composed for both of you.
But it is a nice thought anyway. More than nice, really. Your body answers it before you can caution it otherwise, your clit going heavier and more swollen, as you move to touch yourself without the barrier of your panties. Itās more sensitive that way. And your whole lower half seems to lean vainly into your own hand, practically preening toward the touch.
āNow Iām, um, touching myself directly.ā
āAlright. Want you to try something. Can you do that for me?ā
āYeah,ā you say quickly. A little too eager. āI can.ā
āGood girl.ā The praise makes your stomach tighten. āWant you to slide two fingers into yourself a little. Not all the way, just enough to get them wet, okay? Then bring them back to your clit and keep using your thumb, or your fingers if that feels easier. Same pace as before.ā
You nod even though you know he canāt see it and slip two fingers down, enough to feel the sticky warmth of yourself, coating your digits.
You bring it back up, smearing it over your nub.
āOh,ā you mumble breathily.
āYeah?ā he teases quietly. āThat better?ā
āA lot.ā
āGood. Itās easier like that. Less friction. If youāre getting more sensitive, too much drag starts working against you.ā
Heās right. Heās always right. You feel a little strange and floaty now, like your whole body has narrowed down to one incandescent point.
āHow do you know all this?ā you prod.
A pause. Then, āExperience.ā
āRight. That.ā Another circle, another spark of pleasure down your spine. āI donāt exactly have that.ā
āI gathered.ā
Something in his tone makes you go a little still. Not enough to stop, but your hand falters, tightening around a thought before you can even identify it.
He notices immediately. He has some terrifying sonar for you specifically, some private frequency calibrated to every tiny shift in your breathing, every dropped beat, every half-second hesitation.
āHey,ā he says pointedly. āDonāt get in your head now. Never said it was a bad thing. Keep going. Think about something else.ā
āSuch as?ā you whisper.
Thereās the sound of breathing from the phone before he answers, āthatās up for you to decide.ā
You suck in a sharp breath, squirming as you adjust phone closer to your ear
āCan you justā¦ keep talking to me?ā
Thereās a huff on the other end, almost a laugh. āThatās not very specific.ā
āI know.ā Youāre sure youāre not making much sense right now. āI just ā donāt stop. Please. Just wanna hear you say anything.ā
Heās quiet for a second, like heās trying to decide what, exactly, youāre asking for. The problem is, youāre not entirely sure either.
You only know thereās a strange, tightening warmth low in your stomach, something gathering there, and his voice seems to nurture it instead of breaking it apart.
You hear something clang on the other end of the phone.
āFuck. Okay. First need you to breathe, okay? You're tensing up, I can hear it. Relax your legs.ā
You try to do as you're told.
In. Out. In. Out.
Each breath feeding the whole thing oxygen, driving you nearer and nearer to the vanishing point until your eyes threaten to roll back and your body feels like on extended nerve.
āI āā A breath. āSorry, I just āā Another one. āFrank I think I'm ā I'm close, I think, I don't ā It's really intense and I don't know what I'm āā You lose the thought entirely. āI just don't know what I'm supposed to do when it starts feeling like this. Do I stop, or āā
āShit baby, you've never gotten there before? Not even āā
āNo,ā you manage.
āOh, poor thing.āQuiet. Almost to himself. āOkay. āS okay. Don't stop. I need you to stay with me and just let it happen, can you do that?ā
āI think āā
āDon't think,ā he cuts you off. āFor once in your life, don't think. Just feel it.ā
Something in you finally gives.
You feel all of it at once.
Your orgasm peaks so fast it almost feels like losing power everywhere at the same time, every room going dark together, and your back comes off the pillows and your hand presses harder before you even mean for it to and a gasp tears out of you, high and helpless and so unlike anything you have ever heard from yourself that for a second it barely sounds like yours.
āThatās it,ā Frank says, low in your ear.
It rolls. That's the only word for it.
It rolls outward from your pussy in a slow, stunned series of tremors moving through your thighs, your spine, your chest, each wave its own distinct thing and yet not distinct at all, each one its own event, its own brief undoing.
You cannot do anything except lie there and take it, receive it as it passes through you, because there is nothing else available to you now, no other function left online, no thought, no dignity, no language, only this long bright aftershock and your body answering it whether you understand it or not.
Your breathing takes a while to come back to anything recognizable.
At first it is just air dragged in and let back out. Sweat has glued a few strands of hair to your forehead. Your hand has gone slack.
āYou still with me?ā
That is when your brain comes back. All at once. Hard. Fast.
Because now you are not just a body coming down from an orgasm.
Now you are yourself again. And Frank Langdon just talked you through getting off.
Frank Langdon, your coworker. Frank Langdon, your superior. Frank Langdon, whom you have just used as a combined anatomy instructor, practical demonstration guide, and live sex education resource.
āYes, yeah, sorry.ā You swallow, wipe at your forehead with the heel of your hand. āI'm here.ā
āGlad to hear it,ā he says. āYour sensitivity's going to be elevated for a minute, so just let your muscles relax and let your breathing even out. If you feel shaky, that's normal. If you heart's racing, also normal. Get some water when you can. Sit up slowly if you're going to move.ā
āOkay,ā you murmur, because he sounds so certain that for a second it is easy to borrow some of it. You try to unclench by degrees, thighs, stomach, shoulders, one thing at a time. āI am a little shaky, which is good to know is normal and not, like, a sign that Iāve accidentally broken something."
āNo,ā he says, and there is that low note of dry amusement under it now, just enough to catch. āYou didnāt break anything. If you had, trust me, weād be having a very different conversation.ā
āRight, no, I know. Though sex-related injuries are not exactly unheard of. Do you remember that girl in the ER who had a condom stuck in her for over two months and didn't realize it? That would suck."
"Mm. It would," he agrees. "Protection is important. Equally important to make sure it actually comes back out with you."
You let out a small giggle at that and shift on the bed, drawing yourself up a little slower this time, careful like he told you to bed. The quilt bunches under your legs.
A quiet opens up. And it might be comfortable if it with anyone else. But it is not with anyone else.
You break first.
āSo what happens now?ā you ask, trying for light and missing by a little. āDo we pretend this was a totally normal educational exchange and never speak of it again?ā
āI donāt think youāre capable of pretending that,ā he says.
You flush hot all over.
āAnd you are?ā
A pause.
āNo.ā The room goes still around you. You wait for him to elaborate. He doesnāt, but he does say: āYou should get some sleep.ā
āYeah,ā you murmur. āProbably.ā
You have to be up in three hours now. Have to see him in four.
Another beat. Neither of you hangs up.
Then, very quiet, very even, he says, āNext time, ask sooner.ā
āNext time?ā
āIf youāre going to use me as a reference source,ā he says, all dry composure again, though now it feels a little put on, āIād prefer a more reasonable hour.ā
Your cheeks heat with the power of a thousand suns.
āOh, well, Dr. Langdon, I think āā
āGoodnight.ā
The line clicks dead.
You lie there staring into the dark, phone still pressed to your ear, and understand with awful, perfect clarity that this has not ended anything at all.
More gaps in your knowledge.
And you really hate gaps.
A/N: this has been sitting in my drafts 4 ten thousand yrs!!!!!!!! thinking about writing a part two but we shall see. anyway thanks for reading!! love ya always
Stooooppp ur mike x reader was so good Iām dying! It has me wondering what mikes reaction would be if he saw reader get hurt after theyāve slept together š like the team doesnāt know about it but then his reaction kinda makes them ā???ā
medicine | aged up!mike wheeler x reader
summary: Mike has been desperate to talk to you about the events of that night. Much to his dismay, you keep putting it off. However, you can't put up much of a fight when you're unable to leave the hospital due to yet another injury that Mike seems to be the cure for.
word count: 10.8k
warnings: cursing, allusions to sex, blood, discussions of death, angst, injuries, confessions of idiots in love, no l-word i find it cringe sometimes but basically a mutual confession, fluff, canon complaint-ish, protected p in v, quickie, mirror sex, f!masturbation, risk of getting caught (small)
a/n: all characters engaging in sexual acts are 18+! hi everyone! sorry this took forever, i was going through kind of a rough patch and had absolutely no inspiration to write. however, i will always keep my promises. i followed the request pretty loosely, but i did take inspo from it. side note: i'm thinking of expanding on the fandoms i write for, so although requests are closed, i'll take some ideas on who y'all would like me to write for. hope you enjoy:)
this was not beta read, so please ignore any grammatical or structural typos
[banner credit @i04rei]
masterlist
read part one here
likes and reblogs make the world go round ā”
"Can you two maybe, like, focus?"
The dull clacking of hodgepodge wooden weapons came to an abrupt halt as Mike and Lucas paused their pretend battle to look at you.
The spiked baseball bat strapped to your back weighed you down slightly, a constant reminder of what was forthcoming.Ā
The bunker of the WSQK was full of life, everyone bustling around in preparation for what would hopefully be the final battle. Youād been instructed to browse the stash of weapons towards the back of the bunker and pick your poison. Truthfully, it hadnāt been much of a difficult choice. Steve had unceremoniously left the bat in your care one day, and it hadnāt left your possession since.Ā
Mike and Lucas, however, decided that exerting all their attention to solely picking weapons was an unfruitful approach to successfully killing whatever beast awaited you all. Instead, large wooden sticks were being used in a make-shift lightsaber battle- one which Mike was arguably losing.Ā
āSorry.ā
āYeah, Iāll just go over there.āĀ
They both grumbled, turning to put the sticks back against the wall. Rolling your eyes at their lack of consideration for the circumstances, you headed towards the medley of medical supplies stationed on the wall inside various bins. Given the track record of your group, you knew that injuries were inevitable. You also knew that the boys would be too caught up in the promise of a fight to think preemptively of any medical supplies.Ā
A low thump sounded as you dropped your pack at your feet, your bat clunking heavily beside it. The Squawkās collection of medical supplies wasnāt bountiful, but you took as many packets of rubbing alcohol and gauze as your hands could hold, dropping them on the table in front of you to store momentarily.Ā
As you dug through the bins, each repetitive find of gauze and alcohol squares had your hopes of ameture nursing crumbling down to nothing. Containing nothing more than an aspirin and some dust bunnies, it seemed the bins at face-level had proven fruitless. Hoping for a miracle, you focused your attention to the two bins atop the rack that you had yet to scrounge.Ā
They were up high, maybe too high for you to reach, but you werenāt going to give up so easily. You stood on your tip-toes with a huff, your arm slightly grazing the bottom of the bins. Infuriatingly, your fingertips couldnāt seem to graze the bin with enough momentum to make it fall. You tried the same with your left arm, frustrated that you suddenly hadnāt grown three inches in the process.Ā
Just as you were about to settle for the prize of old alcohol squares and flimsy, sheer gauze, something, or rather someone, warm pressed against your back, shocking you back down onto your heels, hands bracing against the table.Ā
āNeed help?āĀ
Mike. Right.Ā
Your brain skipped slightly, caught off-guard by his brazen display. You nodded at first, unable to pull words from your mouth. Instinctively, you looked around to check if anyone had witnessed him press against you so casually. Realizing you were safe, you allowed yourself to settle against him slightly. After a couple seconds of awkward nodding, you were able to speak. āY-yeah, please, thanks.āĀ
With ease, Mike reached up to grab the bins, gently placing them next to your pile of findings. You couldnāt help but stare at the way his fingers flexed around the rim, slightly ticked at how easy it all always seemed to be for him. Fuck you, Wheeler genetics. Nevertheless, your mood was slightly improved at the sight of the lime green first aid kit sticking out from the top of the bin. Bingo.Ā
You peered your head back to look at him, a soft smile on your face, āthanks.ā
āYeah, no problem,ā squeezing your hip slightly as he removed himself from behind you, he moved instead to lean against the table to your right.Ā
āHow do you feel?ā he asked, watching you sort through the items in the first aid kit.Ā
āOh you know,ā you sing-songed absentmindedly, flicking through the various packets, āthe same as everyone does before facing impending doom.āĀ
He huffed out a laugh, an uneasy smile planted on his face. āWe got this, you know. Weāve been working towards this for years. We have a plan, a good plan. Weāre the closest weāve ever gotten, and this is it. I have faith in us. I think you should, too,ā he offered earnestly.Ā
You bit your lip as he spoke, thumbing a packet of Tylenol lighty while lost in thought. Mike was always so blindly optimistic- always quick to be the hero, triggerhappy, even. His consistent ability to disregard the potential consequences or failure of any given event made it hard for you to trust wholly in what he was saying.Ā
You would love to have faith in your friends, in him, but Mike would never admit heād bitten off more than he could chew, and you couldnāt help but wonder the size of the current mouthful. You were scared, a feeling youāve found yourself having with increased frequency as of late, and youād never been much of a fighter. For fear of being useless, and knowing that you wouldnāt be much use physically if your friends were to be caught in danger, you hoped you could provide some medical aid, hence your raid for supplies. You hoped it wouldnāt come to that, but anything could happen.Ā
āI know, but donāt you think weāre going into this a bit blind? The crawls pretty much never amounted to anything of substance, and I know we have more information now, but we donāt-,ā you bit your lip in slight worry, meeting his gaze.Ā
āWhat if itās a trap? I canāt- what if something happens? To you, to all of us? I canātā¦,ā you trailed off.
Lose you, youād meant to say.Ā
He looked at you with sympathy, swallowing roughly as he pondered your questions. āI know,ā he said after some seconds, āIāve thought the same, if Iām being honest.ā
Your eyebrows raised slightly as his admission. It was rare of Mike to admit his unease, choosing instead to always be steadfast in his beliefs. His honesty did little to quell your worry, as hesitation in someone as confident as Mike was a useless form of reassurance.Ā
āYāknow, Iām not really sure what weāre walking into up there. It could be anything. But what I am sure of,ā he squeezed your arms lightly for emphasis, āis that I trust us to get rid of it. Weāve seen a lot of people die. We owe it to someone, to ourselves, to make sure no one gets hurt anymore.āĀ
āBut what if we get hurt? While trying to save everyone else?ā You couldnāt help but be selfish. At the end of the day, you were a kid- barely twenty-something. There had to be others more qualified to kill an interdimensional being than a rag-tag group of young adults and the occasional parental figure. People who had hopefully lived more than a quarter of their lives.Ā
āTragic irony, I guess. Hey, maybe theyāll write a Greek tragedy about us, like uhhhā¦what was that one we learned about in Mr. Hauserās class? Oh- Agamemnon.ā He said, a classic grin plastered to his face.Ā
You were not amused. You slapped his arm with a scowl, āHow can you joke at a time like this Michael?āĀ
āHey, just tryinā to lighten the mood. You rather I talk about us?ā He crossed his arms again, oozing a quiet, daunting confidence that you immediately wanted to run away from.Ā
You froze, ice replacing your blood and filling your veins. āW-what about us?ā you choked out.Ā
You and Mike had yet to speak of that night. Tomorrow turned into the day after, which turned into the day after that, which turned into all the days blurring together due to lack of sleep and constant action.Ā
You donāt know how much time had passed since youād both shared that night in the quiet of your parents home, but youād been flustered ever since. Throughout the last few days, memories of a messy mop of black hair nestled into your shoulder, his body pressed tight against yours while you slept, would pop into your head at the most inopportune times, swiping your focus and leaving an uncomfortably cold spot in your panties.Ā Ā
You thought of his lips on yours as the group sat in Squawk, formulating a plan.Ā
You thought of the way his fingers felt inside as he spoke out orders at the MAC-Z.Ā
Most thoughts didnāt have a trigger, showing themselves as subconscious reminders of your need.Ā
The thoughts were inescapable. Youād forced yourself to avoid him as much as possible for fear of becoming weak in the knees and collapsing on the ground. Sure, he tried to bring it up multiple times in hopes of severing through the present tension, but youād brushed him off every time.Ā Ā
The āwhat are we?ā conversation would require much more energy and focus than you currently had to spare.Ā
āCāmon,ā he breathed out your name. āWe havenāt spoken aboutā¦it, yet, and whenever I try to, you push me away.āĀ
A small jolt of frustration rushed through you. āWell, Mike, it seems like weāve had bigger fish to fry these last couple days.ā You raised your arms in front of you, gesturing obviously to the surrounding preparations. āSaving the world kindāa trumps the post-sex talk.āĀ
He was taken aback by your snark, looking around with his eyes to see if anyone had picked up on your exclamation. Once he saw that you were in the clear, his head dropped slightly with a nod, āNo, yeah, totally. Youāre rightā¦I just expected, I donāt know-.ā Something quickly flashed through his face, some sort of internal dialogue he was having with himself. Whatever he felt, it made him ask, āyou donāt regret it, do you?ā
The look on his face softened your features, a low feeling of guilt humming in you as you registered your previous tone. āNo, Mike, never. Itās just been hard to think about the future when we have so much going on.āĀ
He nodded in understanding, relieved that you felt no remorse about what youād both done.Ā
āSeriously, though. I donāt regret a thing about that night. I, um, canāt stop thinking about it, honestly.ā You mumbled, gaze focused on the much more interesting motion of zipping and unzipping the first aid kit.
If you had been able to look Mike in the eyes, you wouldāve noticed the smirk that began to attach itself to his mouth. Self-righteous bastard.Ā
He let your comment settle in the air for a bit, responding with a low āgood to know.ā And then he was gone, summoned to the other side of the basement by a call of his name.Ā
By the time you realized that youād been lost in sinful, nasty thoughts, youād accidentally pulled the zipper off the first aid kit.Ā
āShit.ā
The sky was red all around you, filling your vision with crimson clouds and tousling your hair with strong winds. The group was too far up the radio tower to go back down if someone got cold feet, and you were lodged on the ladder between Nancy and Mike, so you couldn't have turned back if you wanted to.
As you were stuck on the trek, you willed yourself not to look down. The height was daunting, and you hadn't even reached the first platform yet.
Your heart thumped tightly in your chest- from the altitude or the physical exertion, you were unsure. What you did know, however, was that you longed for this to all be over.
The metal rungs were slick with something dark and organic, threaded through with vines that had no business being on a radio tower, and the whole structure groaned under the collective weight of all of you like it was one meager gust of wind away from toppling.
You kept your eyes up.
The Abyss hung above you like a second sky- impossibly massive andĀ impossibly close, its surface churning slow and red and alive. Every time you made the mistake of looking directly at it, your brain tried to reject what it was seeing.Ā
A planet. There was a planet above you. The sheer wrongness of it pressed down like a physical thing, and you were climbing toward it on purpose, which meant you were either very brave or very stupid, and you weren't confident enough in the former to rule out the latter.
The ladder shook. A vine snapped somewhere below you. You tightened your grip until your knuckles ached.
"Hey."
Mike's voice, low, pitched just above the wind. He was two rungs below you, close enough that when you faltered mid-step- your boot slipping on a patch of something slick and dark- his hand came up and pressed flat to the small of your back, steadying you before you'd even registered losing your footing.
"I've got you," he said.
You exhaled through your nose. "I know."
You didn't say thank you. He didn't need it. His hand stayed there for a few extra seconds anyway, warm through the layers of jacket and flannel, and you were annoyed at how much better it made you feel. The Abyss was thirty feet closer than it had been five minutes ago. The world was potentially ending. And Mike Wheeler's hand on your back was, inexplicably, the most grounded you'd felt all day.
He withdrew it eventually. You kept climbing.
"So," he said, after a beat, "I wanted to finish what I was saying. Back at the Squawk."
"Mike."
"I know. Bad timing."
"Genuinely the worst timing in human history."
"Which is why I'm not asking for a whole conversation." His voice was carefully even. "I just want to say one thing, and then you can tell me to shut up and I will, I swear."
Above you, Nancy had reached the first platform and was pulling herself up over the edge. Steve was close behind her, and you could hear Dustin below, muttering something breathless and complaint-adjacent that carried on the red-tinged wind. The tower swayed, a slow, sickening pendulum arc. You pressed your cheek briefly to the rung in front of you and breathed.
"One thing," you said.
"One thing," Mike confirmed.
Another rung. Another rung. The metal bit cold into your palms even through your gloves, and the vines brushed against your arms.
"Then say it," you told him. "Before I lose my nerve and fall off this thing."
"Don't, " A sharp exhale from below. "Don't even joke about that."
"Sorry." You meant it. "Say it."
A pause. Long enough that you thought he'd changed his mind.Ā
"I don't want to do this without you knowing,ā he finally spoke. His voice was quiet enough that you had to focus to catch it over the creak and groan of the tower. "However this goes today. I don't want to go up there without you knowing how I feel. Because I think- I'm pretty sure you already know, actually, I think you've known for a while, but I haven't said it, and if something happens to either of us and I never said it out loud, I'm going to be pissed at myself for the rest of however long I've got."
Your chest did something complicated. You focused on the next rung. Then the one after that.
"Michael," you said, and your voice came out steadier than you deserved credit for.
"You don't have to say anything." Quickly, preemptively. "I'm not asking you to. I know you're scared, and I know the timing is garbage, and I know this isn't exactly-" he broke off. Tried again. "I just needed you to know. That's it. That's the one thing."
You made the mistake of looking down at him. Your stomach turned at the height. As you thought the overwhelming sensation of dizziness might take you down, you caught Mikeās eyes.Ā
That was always the problem with Mike- the looking. He was watching you with that expression he sometimes forgot to hide, the one that made him look younger and older all at once, like he was seventeen and also forty and deeply, privately terrified. His hair was a disaster. There was a smear of something dark on his jaw. He was two rungs below you, backlit by a sky the color of an open wound, and the absolutely troubling thing, the thing you hadn't quite let yourself sit with until this exact moment three hundred feet up a haunted radio tower in an alternate dimension, was that you were completely enamored by him..
You'd been for a while. You'd just been hoping if you didn't look directly at it, it might go away.
It hadn't.
"I know," you said. "I know you do. And I-, " you pressed your lips together, steadied your grip. "Me too. Okay? Me too. That's all I'm saying right now."
The look that crossed his face nearly undid you. Relieved. Like he'd been holding his breath for weeks and you'd finally told him he was allowed to stop.
"Okay," he said softly.
"Okay," you echoed.
You kept climbing. He kept pace below you, and for a while neither of you spoke, but it was a different kind of silence than before- less like something unfinished, more like something settling into its right shape. You were still terrified. Your arms were burning. The Abyss was close enough now that you could hear it, a low harmonic vibration that sat in your back teeth and wouldn't leave.
But Mike was below you, and you knew, and he knew, and that was going to have to be enough.
You reached the first platform and Nancy's hand appeared, gripping your forearm, helping you haul yourself up over the edge. The metal grating dug into your knees as you scrambled up. You shuffled sideways to make room, turned back, watched Mike pull himself up after you. He stood, brushed his hands on his jeans, looked at you.
Something small and private passed between you. Not a smile, exactly, but an acknowledgment. A collective understanding that things would be alright between you if you both miraculously managed to survive.Ā
Then Steve said, from above, "second platform, let's go, daylight's burning," which was a deranged thing to say given there was no daylight, only the horrible churning red, but it got everyone moving, and you grabbed the next ladder and kept going.
The second platform was narrower. The wind was worse up here, a constant low moan that pressed against you from all sides, and the tower had begun to sway more intently.Ā
It was responding, you realized, to the fact that the Abyss was close enough now to exert its own gravitational pull.Ā
Dustin reached the platform and immediately gripped the railing with both hands, looking straight ahead at the middle distance with the expression of someone actively refusing to acknowledge how high up they were.
"If I die," he announced to no one in particular, "tell my mom I loved her and that she was right about the helmet."
"You're not dying," Steve said.
"You don't know that."
"Nobody's dying."
The Abyss shifted. It wasn't a sound, more like a change in pressure, a deep subsonic lurch that you felt in your sternum before you registered it anywhere else. The platform shuddered beneath your feet. You caught the railing. Lucas, who had been looking up, went very still.
"It's moving," he said. "It's actually moving."
"That's the plan," Jonathan said, but he didn't sound like he thought the plan was particularly fun.
"I know it's the plan, I'm just saying it's actually moving," Lucas said, "and there's a difference between hearing about the plan and being directly underneath the plan-"
The tower lurched, a violent, decisive jolt, like something had connected with the structure from outside. Metal screamed above you. You grabbed the railing with both hands as the platform tilted and righted itself and tilted again. Somewhere below, vines snapped loose in rapid succession. There was a sound like the sky tearing, high and wrong, and then a crack of metal so loud it rang in your ears and left a clean silver pain behind your right eye.
"The top!" Nancy shouted. "The top is going-"
The tower's apex caught the webbed floor of the Abyss,Ā the tower piercing through, just like Steve had said it would, just like the plan demanded, and the collision sent a shockwave down through the entire structure, metal twisting and screaming and fragmenting, and above you something broke apart in a shower of steel and sparks and-
You didn't feel it at first.
That was the thing no one told you about adrenaline: you didn't feel the impact at first. There was a sound, sharp, bright, close, and then a sensation of impact above your right temple, there and gone in an instant, and for a moment everything was simply loud and red and tilting.
Then the platform came up to meet your knees.
Then your hands weren't holding the railing anymore.
Then there was nothing.
You donāt fall far.
That is the first thing Mike Wheeler registers, and he will hold onto it for the rest of his life as the only good thing about the next forty-five seconds. You don't fall far. The shrapnel clips you at the temple and your grip goes slack and you drop, but you drop inward, onto the platform, not outward into the void, and that is the only mercy available and he takes it with both hands.
He's at your side before he's decided to move.Ā
"Hey-" His voice comes out wrong. Too high. He hates it. He gets both hands on your shoulders, your face, and takes in the dark slick already matting your hair above your ear, noting the way your eyes are closed and your body has gone entirely, terrifyingly still.
"Hey." He tries again. More even this time, less even in his chest. "Come on. Look at me."
You donāt.
Above them, Steve is shouting something. The tower is still screaming, still twisting, the metal still venting in percussive bursts. Lucas is saying is she okay, is she okay, and Nancy has already dropped to her other side and is pressing fingers to your neck, checking your pulse with practiced, deliberate calm, and Mike watches Nancy's face the way one would watch a verdict being read.
Nancy's shoulders drop half an inch. Relief, in the only size it comes right now. "Pulse is strong," she says. "She's breathing. It's a head wound- they bleed a lot, but don't panic at the blood."
"I'm not panicking," Mike says.
He is, absolutely, panicking.
He gets one hand flat on your sternum- steady. He needs to feel that you're steady, that your chest is rising and falling, and keeps his hand there as a point of contact, like the warmth of his palm might reach you wherever youāve gone. He is vaguely aware that the tower has stopped convulsing. He is vaguely aware that Dustin is now talking at high speed about the structural integrity of the platform and what it means that the apex made contact. He is vaguely aware of all of it, but registers nothing but the puddle of blood slowly dripping down your face and getting lost in your scalp.Ā
Then, above them all, a sound- the brief, wrenching sound of someone losing their grip.
And Steve's voice, cut off.
Mike's head snaps up. For one suspended, terrible second, he sees Steve's hands scrabbling at the edge of the upper railing, his body half-over, the abyss beneath him offering nothing. Lucas makes a sound that isn't language. Dustin shouts Steve's name.
And then Jonathan's hand closes around Steve's wrist, hauls back, and Steve is up, gasping, Jonathan dragging him bodily against the railing, both of them hitting the platform floor and staying there, breathing hard.
"Shit," Dustin says, with profound feeling.
Mike looks back down at you. He hadn't looked away for long, ten seconds, maybe, maybe less, but his heart is doing something he doesn't have a word for, caught between the two of them, between the boy he just watched almost fall and the girl whose temple is still bleeding slowly onto the grating and who hasn't opened her eyes.
"What do we do," Mike says. It isn't quite a question. Unfortunately, he couldnāt remember to grab the first aid kit that youād packed just for this reason. He just froze, uselessly looking for someone to save you.Ā
Nancy was already pulling gauze from somewhere and pressing it gently to the wound. "We keep moving," Nancy says. "She's stable. Someone should stay with her until she wakes up, but we need to keep moving. We can't do anything for her here that we can't do while we're climbing."
"She's unconscious, Nancy."
"I know," Nancy meets his eyes. Her expression is steady, determined, but she holds understanding in her gaze. "I know. But no one here is strong enough to carry her down. Even if someone was, we have no way of safely attaching her to them. The best plan is to keep moving and wait until she wakes up. Then weāll see if sheās strong enough to climb back down on her own.ā
He looks at her, really looks at her, for a long moment.Ā
āWhat if she canāt? Sheāll be stuck up here.ā He ran a hand through his hair, pulling roughly at the strands to stimulate any development of a plan.
Nancy reached over to squeeze his shoulder. āWeāll get her down, I promise.āĀ
He was grateful for his sister at that moment. Years had passed since they had last felt close, and he was still getting used to emotional vulnerability around her, unsure if she would use it against him as older sisters sometimes do.Ā
The soft touch of her hand on his shoulder helped ground him.
Then he looked back down at you. The stillness of you. The way your hair had come loose from where it was tucked. The blood at your temple that Nancy is pressing gauze to with careful, methodical hands. You would hate this, he thinks with sudden, clear-eyed certainty. You would hate being still while everyone moved around you.
"Okay," he says, to Nancy. To the group. To himself.
He stands. He adjusts the strap of his bag. He looks up at where the Abyss is pressing through in slow, cataclysmic increments, and he breathes once, deep and deliberate, and shoves every other thing into a box in the center of his chest that he is absolutely going to deal with later.
"You go," he says. "Iāll stay with her."
Everyone stood still for a while, watching Mike as he addressed the group.. "Go," he says. "We're good. Go."
They wait for El to play her part, and as he watches them all climb into the Abyss, he does not let himself worry. It is, without question, the hardest thing he's done today- and today has included climbing into another planet on purpose- but he doesn't worry, because if he does, he's not going to be able to do what needs to be done next, and you deserve for him to keep you safe, and to develop a plan to get you out.
Youād said me too.
Barely a confession, barely a crack in the door, but youād said it, three hundred feet up a haunted tower, into the end of the world, and he is going to make sure you have somewhere to come back to when you open your eyes.
The first thing you were aware of was the ceiling.
It was drop-tile and off-white and completely, blessedly boring, and you stared at it for a long moment while your brain sorted through its filing system and tried to locate the relevant context. Drop-tile ceiling. Fluorescent lights, the humming kind. A smell like antiseptic and old coffee and something faintly diesel underneath both. The mattress beneath you was too firm, the blanket too scratchy, the whole room carrying that particular energy of a space that was built for function and had never once considered comfort.
You turned your head, slowly, because your skull introduced itself to you in that moment with a sharp, insistent throb that started above your right ear and radiated outward in all directions like a dropped stone in still water. You had white gauze wrapped snug around your head, the edge of it visible at the top of your peripheral vision. You raised your hand to touch it and stopped yourself, mostly because the effort of raising your hand was already more than you'd anticipated and you had a feeling that prodding a head wound was the kind of thing that would immediately make a nurse appear from nowhere to scold you.
You looked to your left instead.
Mike was asleep in the chair beside your bed.
He was all elbows and too-long legs and one knee kicked out sideways to make room for himself that the chair hadn't offered. His chin was dropped to his chest. His hair was flattened on one side and wild on the other. He was still wearing the same clothes from the tower- flannel shirt, dark jacket, the jeans with the tear at the left knee from where he'd caught it on the ladder- and there was a smear of something along his jaw that he hadn't washed off, or hadn't gotten the chance to, or hadn't thought to.
He looked terrible.
He looked terrible and young and completely exhausted, and your chest did that thing again- the complicated thing, the thing you'd been trying not to do for days now- and you looked at him for a long moment before you made any attempt at sound.
"Hey," you tried.
It came out rough, scraped-raw, like your voice had taken the shrapnel too and was only now pulling itself back together. But it was enough.
Mike's head came up.
He hadn't been deeply asleep, just hovering at the surface, waiting. His eyes found yours immediately and something moved through his face too fast to name, quick as weather, and then he was straightening in the chair and leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and visibly, deliberately composing himself.
"Hey," he said back. His voice was rough too. "Hi."
"Hi."
A beat.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
"Like something hit me in the head."
"Something did hit you in the head."
"Then accurate." You shifted against the pillow, which rewarded you with another wave of throbbing. You made a face. "How long was I out?"
"Eleven hours, give or take." He said it like it was a fact he'd been keeping close, checking on regularly. "You woke up briefly in the transport. You don't remember that?"
You didn't. You said so.
He nodded, once, like that confirmed something he'd already suspected. "You told Lucas to stop hovering and then went back under."
You breathed out a small laugh that sounded more like a wheeze than anything else. "That sounds like me."
"It really does."
You looked at him more carefully. The exhaustion went deeper than the surface- it was not from one bad night's sleep but from weeks of accumulated not-enough, and underneath it something else, something tighter, that he was currently doing a very controlled job of not showing. You'd seen that look before.Ā
"I'm okay," you said.
"I know." He looked at his hands. "The doctor said the shrapnel didn't- it was the impact, not a penetrating injury. No fracture. Mild concussion, significant laceration." He gestured vaguely at his own temple in demonstration. "They said you'd wake up with a headache."
"That's one word for it."
"They also said you'd probably be irritated about being in bed."
You paused, nodding slightly at Mikeās attempt to tell a joke. "How is everyone else?"
Mike exhaled, leaning back. It was a deliberate shift- he was changing gears, getting onto steadier ground. "Steve's fine. Jonathan's got some burns on his forearm from the electrical discharge, they're treating it. Nancy had a dislocated shoulder that she apparently didn't mention to anyone for three hours. Robin is fine."
You felt the smile pulling at your mouth despite everything. "Dustin? Lucas?"
"Dustin's fine. Lucas's fine." He paused. "Will's- he's okay. He's with Joyce. It was a lot, for him. But he's here, he's talking."
"And Eleven?"
The shift was immediate. His whole face changed, and for a second he looked so young and so wrecked that you wished you could take the question back.
He looked down at his hands. A long moment passed.
"I-I don't know," he said. His voice was flat, carefully emptied of everything it was trying not to carry. "She- there was an explosion. When the Upside Down collapsed. She was inside, and then the blast went off and-" he stopped. Pressed his lips together. Started again. "She's not- nobody has found her. They don't know if she-"
He stopped again. Didn't finish.
āI think I saw her,ā he whispered, small and frail. You wanted for nothing more than to reach out and touch him.Ā
You didn't say anything. There wasn't anything to say that would have been the right thing, and you knew better than to reach for the wrong thing. You just looked at him- the set of his jaw, the rigid stillness of his shoulders, the way he was staring at his hands like he was picturing himself somewhere else, somewhere far away from there.
"Mike," you said quietly.
"I'm fine." He said it immediately, reflexively, in the tone of someone who had been saying it to people all day and had worn the words down to nothing. "I'm- yeah. We don't know yet. That's all. We just don't know."
You reached over and put your hand over his. He didn't move for a second. Then he turned his hand over the same way he'd turned yours, and held it, and you felt the grip of it. Grounding himself on something real.
You sat with that for a moment, and then spoke, remembering the purpose of the mission.Ā
"Operation Beanstalk," you said, eventually. Gentle.
He exhaled. "Operation Beanstalk," he confirmed.
"So? Howād it go?"
"Heās gone." Something firmer came into his voice.Ā
Something hitched in your throat, a wave of emotions flooding through you all at once. Tears lined your eyes inexplicably, a warmness washing over you.
āHeās gone? Like, really gone?ā You whispered, choking up.Ā
āYeah, really.ā Mike smiled softly, gripping your hand again.Ā
The unexplainable feeling of freedom hit you suddenly. Never again did you have to worry about Vecna, or Henry Creel, or a demogorgon, or surviving just one more day. You were crying in earnest now, tears of finalization flowing freely down your cheeks.Ā
Simultaneously, you were mourning, struck with grief. You mourned your childhood, your adolescence. You mourned for the period of brief purity before you knew death and danger so personally. You missed the ability to be a kid, unscathed by the stressors of saving the world, and not having anyone know what youād gone through to do it.Ā
āH-how?ā You asked, bleary eyes meeting Mikeās.Ā
"Joyce- it was Joyce, actually. She-" for a half second, something almost like disbelief crossed his face, the good kind. "She got him. It's over. The Abyss is collapsing, the Upside Down is-" he rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, "it's complicated. But it's over."
"Good." you said with finality, wiping your nose with the sleeve of your gown.Ā
He looked at you. His eyes were tired and red-rimmed. Maybe heād matched your current state some hours before.Ā
"But we're here," he said, hopeful.
You looked at the ceiling for a moment. The fluorescent hum. The ordinary, indifferent off-white. You were here with a headache that was probably going to make the next forty-eight hours profoundly unpleasant, and the world had not ended, and Mike Wheeler was in the chair beside your bed still wearing yesterday's clothes.
"You've been here the whole time," you said. Not a question.
He didn't look embarrassed about it. "Yeah."
"You could've slept in an actual bed. They have, " you gestured at the room, "Rooms here. Maybe."
"I know."
"Mike."
"I know," he said again. "I wanted to be here when you woke up."
You looked at him. He looked back at you, steady, unhurried, with the particular quality of patience he only ever deployed when he was very certain of something and could afford to wait.
"That's- " you started to thank him.
"You don't have to say anything."
"I was going to say that's very sweet, actually, and then something self-deprecating to balance it out so I didn't have to deal with the guilt."
He blinked. Then the corner of his mouth moved. "That's a lot of self-awareness for someone with a head injury."
"I contain multitudes." You shifted again, and the movement pulled at the gauze in a way that wasn't pleasant. You got your arm under yourself and pushed up, slowly, rearranging until you were sitting up against the pillow. The room tilted once, politely, and then righted itself. "Okay," you said, mostly to yourself. "Okay, that's fine."
Mike had half-risen from the chair in the time it took you to sit up. He'd stopped himself,Ā not reaching or hovering, but the readiness was there, open and obvious.
"I'm fine," you told him.
"I know," he said. He sat back down.
You looked at each other.
"So," you said.
"So," he said.
"We're doing this."
"I mean." He spread his hands slightly. "We saidā¦ you said-,"
"I know what I said."
"On the tower."
"I know where I said it, Mike, I was there, I was conscious at that point."
"Just establishing."
"Establishing." You tucked your hands in your lap. Your head was throbbing steadily, faithfully, and you were wearing a hospital gown you'd definitely not consented to, and your hair was partially shaved around a head wound, and none of this was how you'd pictured this going. But then, nothing about the last several weeks had been how you'd pictured it going, so perhaps this was fitting. "Okay. Establishing." You looked at him properly. "Ask me."
He was quiet for a moment. Then, carefully: "What are we doing?" He said your name, the statement oddly mirroring the one uttered by you some night long ago.
You'd been dreading that question for days. You'd run from it, deflected it, buried it under the logistics of pending apocalypse. And now, sitting in a military base infirmary with a bandaged head and a scratchy blanket and Mike Wheeler watching you with his whole face, you found, to your faint surprise, that you didn't actually want to run from it anymore.
Funny what a near-death experience did for your avoidance strategies.
"I don't know what the word is," you said honestly. "I know what that night was. I know it wasn't nothing. I know that I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since, and honestly before, really, which is- that's not normal for me, for the record. I don't usually-" you stopped, recalibrated. "I've been scared."
"Of me?"
"Of what it means." You met his eyes. "If it's real, then there's something to lose. And there's already been so much to lose. I think I convinced myself that if I didn't say it out loud, I could keep itā¦safe, maybe. Sort of."
He was quiet for a moment, absorbing this. "And now?"
"And now I got hit in the head by a radio tower and you sat in a chair for eleven hours, so." You lifted one shoulder. "Seems like I've been an idiot."
"You haven't been an idiot."
"Mike."
"You've been scared," he said, with a firmness that surprised you slightly. "That's not the same thing. I pushed too hard, too fast. I do that." A brief, wry pull at his mouth. "I've been told."
"By who?"
"Dustin, primarily. Also Will. Also Nancy once, but she was nicer about it."
"Wow."
"I know." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees again, close enough now that you could see the shadows under his eyes properly, the full depth of the tired. "I've been scared too," he said, quieter. "That's the thing I didn't say on the tower. The- I gave you the I don't want to go into this without you knowing speech, which was true, but the full truth is that I've been scared since- for a while." He paused. "Since before that night, honestly."
You looked at him. "How long?"
He laughed, short and low, and looked at his hands. "Do you want the actual answer to that?"
"I asked, didn't I?"
"Long time," he said. "Long enough that Will told me I was being embarrassing about it. Which was," he shook his head, "I don't love when Will's right, but he usually is."
Something warm was moving through you, slow and unavoidable. "What were you embarrassed about, exactly?"
"The degree of it," he said, simply. He looked up. "I think you know, since we've established that."
"I want to hear you say it."
"Oh, now you want to hear things said."
"Mike."
He held your gaze. "The degree to which I feel things, when it comes to you, it's a lot. It's more than what I said on the tower," he breathed out slowly, "I'm not going to say the word, because we just decided what we are five minutes ago. Donāt wanna make things, uh, weird, yāknow."
"I'm touched by your restraint."
"I'm a very restrained person."
"You literally followed me around a hardware store for forty minutes last week because you wanted to ask me something and kept freaking out."
His face. It was spectacular. "What? No! That was- I was also buying things."
"You bought a lightbulb, Mike. One lightbulb."
"I needed a lightbulb," he shrugged sheepishly.Ā
"Oh, did we."
"The lamp in the- yes, we did, actually, the lamp in the- that's not the point." He dragged a hand through his hair, which had nowhere further to go in terms of a mess but valiantly attempted new territory. "The point is, I'm here, and you're here, and I would very much like to- I want to do this properly. Whatever that looks like. I want to do it."
You held that for a moment. Let it mean what it meant.
"Properly," you said.
"If that's what you want, yeah."
"Properly, as in?" You smirked at him, knowing full well what he meant but just wanting to hear him say it.
"As in, not just that night, not just a thing that happened, but a thing that keeps happening. Again, if you want."Ā
You looked at him for a long, quiet moment. The fluorescent light. His terrible hair and his yesterday's clothes and the careful, deliberate way he was watching you, waiting, not pushing.
"I want," you said.
The thing that happened to his face at that was not a triumphant thing. It was quieter than that. It was the same relief from the tower, the same exhale quality, the sense of something that had been held too tightly for too long being allowed to loosen by a fraction. He reached out and put his hand over yours where it sat on the blanket, carefully, without ceremony, and left it there.
You turned your hand over and held it back.
"Okay," he said.
"Okay," you said.
A beat of comfortable, settling quiet.
Then you said, "you know what I've been thinking about?"
"What?"
"That night." You watched his expression shift into something humorous, like his brain remembered it was running the body of a young adult boy. "Not- don't make that face. Youāre disgusting."
"I wasn't making a face." He threw his hands up in mock defense.Ā
"You were making the face."
"I've just been thinking about the before part." You settled back further into the pillow. "You were being an ass, as usual. We were fighting, if you remember. If just only briefly," you mused.Ā
Ā "I know, sorry. I shouldnāt have said what I did,ā he spoke remorsefully.Ā
"No," you shook your head. āItās not about that. I had forgiven you for that the moment you said it. Thatās the problem. I knew that day I had it bad for you, and I discovered there was nothing you could ever say to me to make me hate you. I wanted to, so bad. But in the shower, all I could think of was how badly Iāve always wanted you.ā
There was a long pause in the room, joined only by the soft beeping of the monitors at your bed-side.Ā
āDonāt say thatā¦I donāt want to treat you that way and have you let me get away with it. Itās not right.ā He shook his head.Ā
āHo ho,ā you laughed hollowly. āI gave you a good mouthful right after, Michael. I never said Iād let you walk away unscathed,ā you teased. āBut Iāll forgive you. Always.ā
āThank you,ā he whispered, looking at you softly. You knew your promise was more than Mike sometimes deserved, but you meant it. Wholly.Ā
Slowly, you leaned in to him. He was stuck watching you come closer, until he finally got the memo to bridge the small gap between your faces.Ā
When your lips touched, itās as if youād taken a breath of fresh air. It was reinvigorating, shocking you full of the energy youād seemed to be missing for days. You moaned softly into his lips, sensing yourself growing more in control of your body the longer he stayed kissing you. He was better than any medicine.Ā
It seemed Mike had learned a thing or two from last time, seeing as how your lips moved in sync, timed in perfect cadence between one another. It was slow and soft, but you might as well have been on a rollercoaster by the way your stomach kept doing spins.Ā
His tongue had just barely grazed your bottom lip before you pulled away, panting. You didnāt know if you could control yourself if you'd let him in, and a hospital didnāt seem like the best place for such illicit affairs. The surge of his kiss also called for a fresh wave of pounding in your head, an unwanted reminder of your injured state.Ā
āAre you-,ā he began, eyes scanning you for pain.Ā
"I'm fine," you said, preemptively.
"Are you sure?"
"You don't have to watch me like that."
You shook your head, which was a mistake headache-wise, and looked at him. He was still holding your hand.Ā
"Mike."
"Yeah?"
"Go get some actual sleep. There's a cot, there's probably a room, you look terrible."
"Wow, just what I want to hear after swapping spit with a chick."Ā
You laughed earnestly, slapping his shoulder lightly.
"If you want to know, itās self-serving. Makes me feel guilty for being the reason you look terrible."
"You're not the reason-"
"You've been in that chair for eleven hours."
"Some of which I slept in."
"Folded in half."
"I'm a flexible guy, what can I say?"
"Gross, Mike. Go sleep. I'll still be here when you wake up."
He looked at you. Something moved through his face, quick and unguarded and then tucked away again. You understood it- the particular irrational need to not leave, the superstition of it, as if the thing you'd nearly lost would only remain intact if you kept eyes on it. You'd felt it yourself, before, after other scares. It made no logical sense and was also absolutely real.
"I'll be here," you said again, softer. "Go."
He was quiet for a moment. Then he stood, slowly, unfolding himself from the chair with a muffled sound that was definitely not a groan and definitely was. He stretched, briefly, and ran his hand through his hair, which accomplished nothing. He looked down at you.
"If you need anything-"
"I'll find someone,ā you assured
"I mean anything-"
"I'll find you." You met his eyes. "I know where you are. You're going to be twenty feet down a hallway."
His mouth did the thing. "Yeah."
"Yeah." You settled back into the pillow. The headache was still there, faithful and dull, but it had reached a manageable plateau, and the fluorescent hum had become almost familiar, and you were very tired, and Mike was twenty feet down a hallway, and you were here. "Hey, Mike."
He'd half-turned. He looked back.
āThank you, for everything."
He stood for another second, like he was memorizing the sight of you- terrible hospital gown, bandaged head, scratchy blanket and all.
Then he turned and walked to the door and paused with his hand on the frame and said, without looking back, "I'm going to tell you, eventually. The word."
You looked at the ceiling. The ordinary, indifferent off-white.
"I know," you said. "Me too."
He left.
You closed your eyes.
You were here, and he was twenty feet down a hallway, and tomorrow or the day after or sometime soon there was going to be a party, or a dinner, or hang-out, with you and all your friends, with nothing looming over it.Ā The rest- the word, the name for it, all the things that were obvious and unsaid and living in the space between your hands- the rest would keep.
For the first time in a long time, you were pretty sure it would keep.
August 5, 1988
āMike,ā you broke off the kiss briefly, your body flat against the wall of your empty room with Mikeās hands aggressively fisting at your shirt. āMike we have to go, my parents will come looking if we donāt come down soon.āĀ
Your pleas fell on deaf ears as Mike reattached his lips to yours, hungrily grabbing at all the parts of your torso he could reach. You pulled from him again, breathing heavily against his lips.Ā
āMike,ā you pleaded, not really making any effort to push him off you completely.Ā
āJust tell them weāre, I donāt know, packing up the last box or something.ā He countered, dragging his lips down the side of your face to kiss at your neck. Your head fell back on instinct, opening yourself up to his maneuvers.Ā
You bit your lip in delight, eyes briefly catching on the last boxes of your items you both were encharged to take downstairs to the college caravan.Ā
Youād gotten into the honors program at Indiana State, hence the early move-in, and while Mike would be moving into his dorm just a couple weeks after you, heād been as insatiable these last weeks as if heād never see you again.Ā
As if by divine timing, you heard your mother call your name from downstairs, āLetās go! Weāre set to leave soon.ā
Mike lifted his head from your neck briefly, frozen and listening to whether or not she would come upstairs to check on your work on the last of the boxes. Once he heard there were no footsteps coming up the stairs, he returned his lips to your neck.Ā
Ever the scheming deviant, he licked lightly at your throat with a whisper āTell her to go, cāmon. Let me give you your good-bye gift.ā
No matter the fact that your parents were literally waiting downstairs for you to leave, what girl could say no to that. Mikeās voice had gotten deeper throughout the year, and his words felt like silky velvet as they passed through your ears.Ā
Immediately you jumped into action, weak to the seductive force that was Mike Wheeler.Ā
āComing, Mom! Just give me a couple- weāre saying goodbye!ā Mikeās hands gripped you in satisfaction as he heard your mother walk out the front door, mumbling something reminiscent about āyoung love.ā
āKnew it,ā you felt him smile against your neck.Ā
You frowned at how easily he could read you. āOh, shut up and make me come, Wheeler.ā
Never one to pass on the opportunity, Mike jumped right back into action. With his lips back on yours, he dragged you into your bathroom, light shining moodily from the small window in your shower. Heād had you pushed against the counter, the granite slab digging uncomfortably into the small of your back.Ā
Even if you could register the pain, you wouldnāt care. Mikeās lips had a way of addicting you, of making you lose any and all sense that wasnāt the warmth of his tongue fighting yours.Ā
Abruptly, he stopped the tantalizing kiss and spun you around so you were facing your mirror. You whined meekly at the loss of contact, but he satiated you by returning his lips to your neck.Ā
āSorry, we gotta be quick,ā he justified. With that, his hands dropped down to play with the button on your shorts, making quick work of the latching device and pulling them down without even unfastening the zipper.
His lips never left your neck as he rutted against your panty-clad rear with need. His fingers immediately attached themselves to your clit, rubbing it softly through the fabric. As if you needed more stimulation- you could feel the present wet-spot in the cotton already.Ā
It mattered not how much sex you and Mike had been having for the past year, you could always trust him to make you feel so inexplicably good, oftentimes from doing little at all. You find yourself wet after just a bit of light kissing, more often than not. It was embarrassing, really, how much you wanted him, but Mike ate it up just the same.
His teasing only lasted a few, brief minutes before you were reaching your hand back to tangle in his hair, a pretty whine leaving your throat. āMike, please.āĀ
He pulled back suddenly, quickly working on shucking down his own jeans. āOkay, okay, just give me a sec.āĀ
You watched him through the mirror impatiently, observing how he pulled a condom out from his wallet and ripped it with his teeth.Ā
āYou knew you were getting lucky, you animal,ā you teased, gripping the counter with a sheepish bite of your lips.Ā
He briefly kissed the part of your shoulder exposed by your tank top. āWhen have you ever denied me anything?ā he joked, knowing that was fully untrue.Ā
You rolled your eyes as he finished his preparations, one hand coming to push you down against the counter. You watched him through the bathroom mirror, bracing yourself slightly for the intrusion as he lined up against you.Ā
Your knees buckled as you saw him spit into his hand, rubbing himself for added lubrication. The lewd sounds of his spit on his cock softly filled the room, and you couldnāt even begin to explain what it was doing to you.Ā
Ā Your breath caught in your throat as he pushed into you, his head falling down slightly at the feeling. You were watching him in the mirror still, never taking your eyes off him. Youād done this a couple times, in your bathroom, and you secretly relished at your ability to watch you both come apart.Ā
The sense of urgency shadowing you both prevented him from entering slowly, but you didnāt care. You reveled in the stretch that knocked the wind out of you, forcing you to grip down harder on the counter.Ā
You were speechless as he began to move, slowly working up his speed and force to be able to drive into you how he now had learned you needed. He threw his head back, a strand of hair framing his face so nicely, you couldnāt help the low moan you let out.
āFuck,ā he choked out, hands marking their territory on your hips.Ā
Suddenly, your lack of privacy was remembered by your brain, and you made an effort to muffle whatever incoherent sounds wished to escape you at that moment. You turned your head to bury it in the crease of your elbow, effectively insulating the noises tumbling from your sweet lips.Ā
āUh- mmhmm, f-uh-ck,ā
Mike, in an ever-present competition with himself, didnāt like that very much.
He picked up the speed, hitting deeper and harder with every frantic thrust. His voice didnāt match his physical cadence, however, as he spoke desperately, almost begging. āNo, wanna hear- shit, please, let me hear.ā
As could be established by your previous lack of backbone, you caved, dropping your head on the counter, free from the crook of your elbow.Ā
āYes, yes- right there, soso good,ā you shook, sobbing out. You could practically cry from the simulation. Mike was hitting a spot so deep you didnāt even know it existed, and you knew you wouldnāt last long regardless of the situation.Ā
You squeezed around him involuntarily, the pleasure causing the whole bottom half of your body to tense up. āF-uck me,ā he groaned, āI won't- not if you keep doing that.ā
He wasnāt really making sense- but you knew what he meant because you were there too. It was inconceivable how quickly you were nearing your peak. As he chased his high against you, knocking your hips into the counter with every bold thrust, you could sense that this would end almost as quickly as it began.Ā
āPlease donāt stop,ā you pleaded, looking up to meet his eyes in the mirror. āāM almost there, please.ā You nodded your head quickly- at what, you couldnāt really place. His lips were caught between his teeth and his face was flushed in a beautiful pink, eyes glassy and brain foggy from the exertion. You wanted to take a bite of him. Unfortunately, youād have to settle for memorizing his frame as it rocked against you.Ā
āOh, god, yesyesyes,ā you arched your back impossibly against the counter, knocking your ass back to meet his thrusts. He drank in the sight of you spread out below him, pliant and molding to his every push. He almost couldnāt believe this was real. The sight sent him spiraling, and he fell into your back, lightly nipping at the skin.
āIām gonna- touch yourself, pleasefuck, just do it.ā He begged, sounding as wrecked as you both felt. You headed his warning immediately, one hand sneaking down to rub tight circles on your swollen nub that had been begging for attention this whole time.Ā
It took nothing- maybe three or four embarrassingly shorts swirls around your clit for your body to react, shaking slightly as your orgasm crested upon you. You released a breathy whine, your knees buckling slightly as it rolled through you, tensing and relaxing your muscles at the same time.Ā
Pleasure rushed through you, so blinding and jarring that you barely noticed Mikeās hips stutter against you, assuredly lost in a similar form of bliss. Your hand stopped moving against your core when your thighs trapped it between them, clenching so tightly as you came that it paused all movement in your wrist.Ā
Slowly, as your hearing returned and your breath evened out, you felt Mike still against your back, head on your shoulder, working on his own comedown.Ā
You let your head drop on the counter with a thud. āShit.āĀ
Mike mumbled something incoherent against your shoulder, hands dropping their assault on your hips.Ā
āCāmon,ā you urged after a couple seconds, āwe gotta go.āĀ
Mike made a futile attempt at keeping you planted as you pushed off the counter. You winced as he pulled out, not knowing how empty youād feel without him.Ā
āWhat do I do with this?ā Mike signaled to the used condom dangling from his fingers, your bin stuffed in a box somewhere in your fatherās car.Ā
You fumbled with your shorts, pulling them up your legs and fasting the buttons as quickly as you could. āJust flush it, cāmon, we gotta go.āĀ
He shot you a look, and walked over to flush both the condom and the wrapper down the toilet. The last thing he needed was your parents to find the tossed carelessly in the bathroom when they came to your room to miss their grown-up daughter.Ā
āA turtle somewhere is going to die because of that, yāknow.ā He said pointendly, buttoning up his own jeans swiftly.Ā
You patted your hair down slightly with a snort, trying to normalise yourself as much as possible before heading downstairs. You left him in the bathroom and walked over to the remaining boxes, picking one up to carry down.Ā
āSo, like, are we going to be able to have sex at school?ā He asked from the bathroom.Ā
āMike, what? You mean at the place with no adult supervision and our own apartments?ā You called back exasperatedly at his question. āCāmon, let's go, grab a box!ā you urged, nervous that your parents would come waltzing up at any minute.Ā
He sauntered out of your bathroom, nicely put together, and shrugged as he took a box from you. āI donāt know if weāll be busy, or something, and roommates are a pain!ā
You laughed at his worry, certain that you both would find your way just fine.Ā
āWeāll talk about it tomorrow, Mikey. Promise.ā
Im actually going crazy at the suggestion of vampire!mike after how dorky and cute he was in the epilogue, but i need him so badly eating r out while sheās on her period, with him not caring at all about the blood. like, either him vampire or not, but that man would still be HUNGRY š¤š¤ especially if it helps her feel better UGHHH
starved | vampire!mike wheeler x reader
summary: Mike is starving. Luckily, you make for a pretty good meal.
word count: 3.4k
warnings: cursing, smut, oral (f!receiving), mentions and graphic descriptions of blood, descriptions of menstrual blood, menstrual cramps, vampirism, biting, consumption of blood, period head, dark-ish themes, slight ooc!mike, mike's a simp (i cant write him as anything else he JUST IS), no use of y/n, & please let me know if i missed anything!
a/n: all characters engaging in sexual acts are 18+! guys this shit is nasty. i have serious issues and it clearly showed here- beware okay, dont say i didn't warn you. ik i'm supposed to be working on tmo p.2 but this came across my desk and i simply couldn't contain myself. thank you anon- ur mind is a gorgeous place. i took some inspo from brimstone for some of the parts below (iykyk), ty callie hart! this is just porn btw, there ain't a plot in sight!
this was not beta read, so please ignore any grammatical or structural typos!
[divider credit @soukuna]
masterlist
likes and reblogs make the world go round ā”
Mike was hungry. The kind of hunger which emphasized the emptiness inside his stomach, how it clawed in at itself, hollow and aching. Starved. It had begun to consume him, seeing as it'd been more than a week since last he'd fed.
He didn't need to feed much to survive, always making sure to only drink the bare minimum required to satiate his hunger. Usually, hunger wouldn't deter him. He'd ignore the pull in his stomach, placing it in the back of his mind as he focused on other tasks.
The longer he went between feeds, however, the worse he felt. Understandably, just as humans required sustenance to survive, Mike could only prolong his feeds as much as his body would allow.
It had been long enough now, long enough for the pang in his stomach to pair with an undeniable thirst in his throat. It felt like he was swallowing sand paper, his throat dry and scratchy, a tell-tale sign that his next feed was rapidly approaching.
There were other signs, too, of his present hunger. His eyes, usually a deep chocolate brown, began to shift red. Not much at first, but more clearly the longer he waited. Perhaps the largest sign, the most pressing and unavoidable, was his primal urge, this deep-rooted need, to sink his teeth into something soft, something warm, and fill his mouth with saccharine sweet blood. Your blood.
Thankfully, you'd let him drink from you, so long as you received something from him in return. Preferably in the form of an orgasm or two.
Your routine with Mike was relatively simple- you were horny and he was hungry. While the feed was pleasurable for Mike too, his main call to action was the never-ending toll of hunger, which he had to satiate before he could feel any real pleasure.
So that's why, lately, around once a week or so, Mike found himself in his basement, or the back seat of his car, or in your bedroom, generously working you open with his fingers while his mouth sucked greedily on your neck, filling himself with the dark red nectar.
Most recently, Mike found himself in his bedroom, lying over you as he kissed you lazily, right knee pressed up against your aching core. Mike preferred not to rush his feedings, believing that working you up allowed him to taste the adrenaline in your blood, which added a hint of tartness to it that made you taste absolutely divine.
It was certainly not like that at the beginning, when Mike came to you practically on his knees, begging for just a small taste, not knowing who else to trust. Hell, he didnāt even fully trust himself. Regardless, you trusted him enough to know he would never intentionally hurt you. It was hard to grasp, at the beginning, but everything became easier once you felt what he could do to you.
You were moaning sweetly into his mouth, hands tangled in his hair as you ran your fingers through his dark locks. Mike could smell how ready and willing you were for him right through your panties, and the sweetness of you only made him hungrier.
As impatient as you always were during these sessions, you bucked against his knee restlessly, hoping for him to speed things along. You were so pent up from just a couple of kisses, knowing very well what was coming for you.
Mike ignored your petulant request, choosing instead to kiss softly down the side of your neck, his lips brushing delicately over your carotid artery. He liked to tease you, to make you wait for what was coming, but he sometimes ended up teasing himself, the sweet smell of your blood clouding his senses as it thumped lowly through your pulse point.
He grazed his teeth against it, pulling a low whine from your lips.
"Mike, c'mon, please? Don't be a tease," you pouted.
He huffed a laugh into your neck, finding it humorous that you thought you were the only one getting teased. His lips returned to yours, melting you against him, pliant and satiated for the time being.
While the kiss progressed, you suddenly pulled away, wincing and shutting your eyes in pain. You turned your head to the side, face scrunched and your hand gripping his hair tightly on accident.
Mike abruptly pulled away to get a better look at you, face full of worry and desperate to find out what was wrong.
"You okay?" he mumbled, searching your face for any inclination of what had happened.
You nodded curtly, "yeah, sorry, jus' cramps. Got my period yesterday." The dull ache in your abdomen was about to finish it's wave, the pain slowly ebbing and weakening. However, you knew another round would start sooner than you'd like.
Now that piqued his interest.
You loved when Mike fed from you on your period. Your cramps were shit and nothing alleviated the pain like a vampire-induced orgasm. He made you feel invincible with the way he practically melted over a chance to play between your blood-soaked folds, licking your juices off his fingers or his lips at whatever chance he got.
While he couldn't feed off your juicy cunt, he surely acted like he could. He could stay between your legs for hours, lapping against you with his skilled tongue, alternating from light flicks on your clit to broad licks from the bottom of your pussy to the top, smearing your blood against you like his own personal painting. The sweetness of your blood surrounded him, as he quite literally savored your taste without ever getting full. It was a win-win for you both.
Mike kissed your temple softly, before making his way back to your lips, capturing your mouth in another soft, slow kiss.
"You want," he murmured against your mouth between kisses, "help with that?"
Never one to deny Mike's advances, you nodded slightly against his mouth, rolling your hips once again against his knee.
He released your mouth with a pop, adjusting his weight and reaching down to grab both your clothed tits in his hands, kneading and squeezing them together through your bra while he slowly kissed his way down your neck and chest, nipping lightly in his wake.
The knowledge of your bleedings made him needier, desperate to get between your thighs to take your pain away, to taste you. In his haste, he didn't bother removing your top nor your bra, choosing instead to kiss and bite your pillowy breasts through the fabric, leaving small wet patches where he bit, canines poking tiny holes through your shirt.
Once his lips reached your shorts, he slowed. You stared down at him while resting up on your elbows, red eyes watching you as he placed one long, sinful kiss to your core. You couldn't help but whimper at the sight, Mike's hands ready at your waist, waiting for his most primal urge to overtake him so he could rip them off you.
But he didn't. He was calm again, eyes a touch darker. He had so much to be grateful for when it came to you- your trust, your silence, your willingness, and he had no other way to repay you than during these moments. While he fed out of necessity, he would never let you know that, although you'd probably already figured it out. During his feeds, Mike showed you how grateful he was by taking care of you, putting your pleasure before his most urgent biological calling. Without you, he was nothing- a monster. You made him human.
As such, Mike continued to work you up, slowly pulling down the waistband of your cotton shorts, leaving you in nothing but your cotton panties, which were marred by a little spot of dark red.
Mike's mouth began to water, gripping your thighs apart once your shorts had been discarded. From there, he could get the perfect view of your wet cunt, the slick of your arousal mixing with the blood to create this mouth-watering, enticing scent that was completely and utterly you.
To prolong his cruel game, Mike moved close enough to your core for you to feel his breath on you, then turned his head at the last minute to place wet, sharp kisses along the inside of your thigh. His canines were out, as they usually were this close to a feed. They grazed sharply along your legs, not hard enough to cause you harm, but enough to provide a hiss of pain alongside your pleasure.
"Mike, fuck, please, just-ngh," you half-begged. Halfway through you'd given up, realizing that just like all the times before, Mike wouldn't listen. It was worth it in the end.
"Relax," he mumbled against your thighs, dark hair covering his eyes. He ran his tongue lightly across your femoral artery, leaving a cool sensation in his wake. Mike could feel the blood rushing through it, he could hear the way your heart sped up at the thought of his incoming bite. Unfortunately for you, Mike was nowhere near that point yet. He was more of an appetizer before dinner kinda guy.
You could feel another round of cramps approaching. Preparing for a shift in mood, you grabbed Mike by the hair, forcing him to meet your eyes a bit more roughly than you would've liked.
"Michael Wheeler, if you don't cut the shit right no-ow," you hissed in pain mid-insult. Effective.
He took pity on you immediately, realizing that maybe now wasn't the best time to put on a show. "Sorry," he mumbled, pressing one last kiss to your abdomen, "just try to relax."
He was so fucking stupid sometimes. Not only was he a man, but he was a vampire-man. Men didn't understand the severity of menstrual cramps on a regular day, and vampires don't feel pain regardless. Imagine that combination of a creature, one blessed with double the ignorance, telling you to relax.
You rolled your eyes, "I'll fucking relax once you get your mouth on my-oh, fuck."
Mike shut you up quick with one long lick against the front of your panties. His mouth was surprisingly warm, something that you've had a hard time coming to terms with given that he should technically be dead, but a nice perk, nonetheless.
The groan Mike let out at the taste of you was downright sinful. He chastised himself for not feeding earlier than then, for he was getting exceedingly close to his breaking point and he'd barely even started.
"Fuck," he huffed, dragging your panties down your legs as you lifted your hips for him, "you always taste this good?"
"I don't know," you responded innocently, "you're the one who keeps coming back."
Your smile said a thousand words. You both knew he wasn't just coming back for the flavor. You were connected, bonded now. It was this reciprocal give-and-take that had solidified itself into your daily routines. It was so simple an arrangement, yet it was everything. Mike couldn't even fathom doing this with anyone else, not when all he needed was you.
Mike nearly keeled at the sight of your glistening cunt, mouth open, offering space for his canines to peek out slightly from beneath his top lip.
He licked his lips slightly before ducking his head into you, his warm tongue making contact just where you needed him most. His eyes fluttered closed as he took his first unobstructed taste.
You hummed in relief, lying back against his bed, hand still entangled in his hair.
The pain in Mike's stomach was growing stronger as the taste of you overwhelmed his senses and set him into overdrive. He was rabid, desperate to sink his teeth into you, but nothing could pry him from between your legs.
"S'pretty, so good," he mumbled against you between short sucks on your clit.
The feeling on your clit was white-hot. It felt like he just didn't miss, either flicking against it with his tongue or nudging it with his nose as he buried his tongue inside you, thirsty for more. Either way, he had to know that his actions were turning you into a mindless, spineless mess atop his bed.
Mike was in a blissful trance. Your soft mewls were music to his ears. He became consumed by your taste, his hips rutting gently into the mattress. His face was covered in blood and your slick, eyes red and canines out. He looked feral, and he was so fucking hot.
It was so sinful, so raw. The sounds of his mouth on your wet cunt filled the room and buzzing in your head. It was getting hard to sit still, the evidence of that being how your legs inadvertently twitching around his head. You moved senselessly, unable to stop yourself from rolling your hips into his mouth. His head probably hurt from how hard you were gripping onto his hair, but if anything, it only made him hungrier.
āFu-, Mike so-God, donāt s-fuckfuckfuck, please,ā you couldnāt process anything but the cord tightening in your cord, let alone words coming out of your mouth. It was a mess of curse words and moans at this point, your head piecing together incomprehensible sentences in an attempt to voice how you felt.
Mike needed you to come. All that bullshit about dragging it out felt like a disservice to both of you, as he could smell how badly you wanted it, how hard you were fighting to get his mouth in just the right spot. Truthfully, he needed you to come for purely selfish reasons. Mike was on the brink of snapping- the sound of your beating heart and the warm, fresh blood pumping through your delicate skin was tempting him severely. Better men than him wouldāve succumbed much faster.
He focused his efforts directly on your clit. No longer was he toying with you, exploring and tasting. He needed you to break for him. You already tasted like the closest to heaven heād ever get to, but he knew youād taste better broken.
"Mike, pleasedontstop, 'm so close," you were gripping the sheets now, hips bucking up into Mike's mouth as he swirled his tongue around your swollen nub.
Mike could sense that your orgasm was forthcoming by the way your heartbeat quickened and your breathing became shallow. You were twitching against him, your body seconds away from hurling into an abyss of pleasure.
Mike sucked lightly on your nub, and the tight cord in your core finally snapped, throwing your head back and scrunching your eyes closed. Your mouth was frozen open in a silent moan, the waves of static starting down at your toes and shocking every limb as they traveled across your body.
Mike quickly replaced his mouth with his middle and pointer fingers, rubbing your sweet clit in stiff circles through the start. Your legs had tightened against him in the chaos, and he pushed them aside to finally sink his teeth into the soft skin of your inner thigh.
The pain cut through your orgasm briefly, the sharp, needle-like sting of his bite pairing deliciously with how hard you were coming. It only lasted a few seconds- just long enough for the venom from his bite to infiltrate your veins and give you exactly what you were craving.
It was stronger than an orgasm. You felt as if you were floating, your body lifting from Mike's bed and soaring high above the clouds. You'd thought you'd be used to it by now, given the amount of times he'd bitten you, but it was always different when he bit you during an orgasm- so much more intense, so vibrant.
There were colors swirling behind your shut eyes, spirals of reds and blues that you could somehow feel all over your body. You felt as though you had no choice but to take it all, as your legs shook and your head turned from side to side. Everything was involuntary. You had no control of your senses. You could barely open your eyes, and when you managed to peek, the view of Mike feeding off your thigh sent you right back into a spiral.
It felt like your orgasm would never end. You were stuck in an endless loop where time was meaningless. Seconds blurred to hours which blurred to minutes, leaving you with no way to grasp how long you'd been coming for.
The pleasure was strong enough to knock you out. You'd found that out the hard way the first couple times, but you didn't care. It was so addictive. You'd crave this forever, and while the physical aspects of the bite were mind blowing, the intimacy of the whole situation, how Mike needed you in order to feed, to survive, intensified your experience tenfold.
Mike groaned into your thigh as he drank, your warm blood filling his greedy mouth and quenching his thirst. His fingers never let up, working you through your orgasm and fueling your high the longer he drank from you. He knew you were in complete bliss, and it would only take a bit longer for him to drink his fill.
You tasted so fucking sweet, and he swore he'd never tasted anything better- and he never would.
He had to be careful not to drink too much at once, for the combination of the blood loss, the venom, and your prolonged orgasm would inevitably cause you to lose consciousness. It took everything in him to pry himself off your thigh, licking the small pearls of blood that trickled from his lips and down his chin.
He released his fingers from your core and licked one last time over the two punctures on your thigh, his spit clotting the incisions and hastening the healing process.
Once he'd licked off the last of his meal, he glanced over at your fucked-out state, eyes closed and chest moving with relaxed, long breaths.
He slowly made his way up to you, careful not to disturb your position.
"You okay?" He mumbled, moving your head softly onto his lap.
There was a stupid smile on your face as you nodded your head in agreement. You usually didn't talk much after, not until you'd had some time to regulate your feelings and come back down to earth.
āAnd the cramps?ā
You have him a half-hearted thumbs up, still too blissful to make any real conveyance.
Mike couldnāt ignore his worry. He feared this every time. He was afraid that one day, heāll go too far, drink too much. Humans were fragile, as he once remembered himself being, and no matter how well you took it, or how strong you were for him, there was always a risk. He was putting you at risk.
āY-youād tell me right, yeah? If it was too much?ā
The anxiety in his voice brought you back down, eyes fluttering open to meet Mikeās face above you. Slowly you sat up, cupping his face, moving him closer towards you.
āMike, like Iāve told you. Iām okay. I trust you, right? You donāt need to worry about me.ā You offered him a small smile as you thumbed his cheek.
Mike always gets reflective after he feeds. The severity of it all usually becomes a lot clearer once he no longer needs to concentrate on the pain of hunger. He dotes after you every time, and every time you remind him that youāre okay.
āItās not you Iām worried about. Iāmā¦not thinking clearly, during this-ā
āI know.ā
āAnd what if one day, I- I snap, and I take too much an-ā
āYou wonāt,ā you cut him off sternly, āstay out of your head, Mike. I am not doing anything I donāt want to, and I was very much aware of the risks before I said āyesā to you- to any of this. So please, donāt beat yourself up.ā
He looked at you with sad eyes, but didnāt say anything. A small nod in acknowledgement was all he was willing to give you, still unnerved about what couldāve been.
āBesides, your lack of restraint compliments me. It means Iām just too irresistible,ā you joked, whispering in his hear with a faux seduction. You'd always understood him, adept in knowing just what he needed, whether it be a quick joke or a soft touch.
He would be forever grateful to you.
He huffed out a laugh beside you, wrapping his lean arms around you and pulling you close to him. He leaned you both against his pillows, laying your head on his chest before continuing,
āGood enough to eat.ā
i feel like i always reuse the same ending style but whatever, lmk what you think! <3
PLSSSSSS PART 2 TO THE EXERCISE need to see if they made the most of having the house to themselves that night!!
hiii!! unfortunately the exercise will not be getting a second part, she will be lonely and by herself! but best believe that those two used their time wisely;) but i hope you enjoyed!
