spooky sam

sam • 24 • she/her • infp • chronic day dreamer

[bfbkg]

wet dreams

katsuki’s never done this before.

cw: 18+, minors dni, they be fuckin dick n pussy style, f!reader

note: yes thank you jcole for this, completely inspired by that song.

bakugou katsuki is a virgin. it’s not something he talks about often and he’s not in conversations where his sex life comes up in public so he can’t blame you for not knowing he is. in fact, you believe he’s a pro of some sorts. he’s strong, sexy, smart, you wouldn’t believe he was a virgin. how could he be looking like that? but then again he would have thought the exact same thing about you if you didn’t tell him first.

after a few cute text messages back and forth, a whole load of flirting, him telling you things he’d wanna do to you and you’re being oh so agreeable, the message to get everything going is you saying, “i want you to show me.”

leading up to it, he’s low-key embarrassed to admit he’s actually a virgin and he’s stressed the fuck out. you’re texting him excitedly because you’ve planned to finally do it this saturday. “my parents aren’t home for the weekend so come whenever you want :)” and all he’s got to say is, “yeah baby sounds like a plan.”

when katsuki walks into your bedroom, you’re pretty and eager. in tiny pyjama shorts and a tight tank top that makes your tits look plush. you stand right under his nose, palm on his chest as you brush your lips against his jaw, “you needa take care of me ‘ki. i don’t want it to hurt.” you lay soft kisses across his jaw, ducking into his neck and katsuki’s chest feels like a tsunami. your touch feels so good, his dick is getting hard in his underwear and he’s overthinking everything. do guys get hard just from kisses? hurt? is he going to hurt you? what if you cry? what if he comes too quick?

but he wants to take care of you, he wants your first time to be with him. he smoothes his hands under your tank at the skin of your waist. he starts to massage you, ducking down to squeeze at your ass, “course i’ll take care of you baby. treat you like a princess like you deserve.”

you glance up like a puppy. round glossy eyes and parted lips that he’s begging to the gods that he doesn’t bust right there. your arousal is evident, fuck, he feels like he can smell it in the room. “like i deserve?”

“fuck, yeah baby,” and your first kiss of the night is shared. he pecks your lips, a little awkwardly he thinks, only touches half your lips and the rest on your cheeks but your smile right after shows you don’t think it is. you slide your hands up to his neck and he sighs, a fluttering high pitched one that makes him feel embarrassed. it doesn’t help you giggling afterwards.

“don’t laugh,” he huffs with a frown, bending forward so both your noses are brushing against each other. “gotta sensitive neck.” something he only realised today.

“sorry, ‘ki. guess it won’t be too bad if i…,” you stand on your tiptoes and lay little wet pecks on his cheek then covering his neck.

like the whore he is, he stretches his neck and moans. bakugou moans unlike he’s ever moaned before. the moan travels from the deepest pit of his gut, into his lungs and almost erupts like a volcano. you’re not even touching his dick yet, and he’s moaning like he’s buried deep inside you. he doesn’t feel this hot burn in his chest when he masturbates in his bedroom. is this supposed to feel this good? just kisses on his neck? but it isn’t just anything, it feels like everything. your hands are sneaking up his shirt and he doesn’t mean to but one of his thighs is slotted between your legs. he can feel the heat from your pussy and he’s not sure if it’s his mind playing tricks on him but he swears it’s a little damp on his thigh now.

“do you like that?” you whisper, and fuck, apparently your cute little voice can be drenched in seduction making his dick strain against the zipper of his jeans.

he grunts and he hopes you know he’s agreeing, “love it baby, fuckin’—.” and he snaps out of it, flicking his head down to meet your eyes.

you stop at the abruptness of his movements, insecurity sneaking into your eyes as you drop back down on the balls of your feet.

“sorry did i—.”

“this is about you darlin’, not me,” he splutters, sliding his forearm under your ass to pick you up and you squeal, tightening your arms and legs around his body.

heat smothers your lower half at the fluidity of his movements. how easily he picked you up, like you weigh nothing to him to even how he held the back of your head when he rests you back on your bed. then he pulls up from you, sliding his hands down your waist, your bare thighs till he’s back to his full height.

bakugou stares down at you. if not for the fact his immense size over you should terrify you, the massive tent in his jeans actually might end up wrecking you. but his stare becomes softer, the hot arousal swimming in his ruby pupils turning possessive and… ambitious?

“‘ki, i know you’re a pro but you need to be gentle,” you nervously smile, sitting up on your forearms to pull your top over your head, your nipples stiffening with the brush of cold air. katsuki moans audibly, your hand reaching up to palm at his bicep and your calf brushes at his waist.

“you’re gonna kill me baby,” he mutters, bending down to press timid kisses to your breasts, nibbling a little around the sides.

he feels your throat tightening at his touch, your fingers sneaking up to rake through his hair. “oh… oh my… katsuki, i…” you tremble out, a sharp inhale when he takes one breast whole in his mouth to suck.

if bakugou was being honest here, he wasn’t sure what he was doing. he was using his hands to feel how you were reacting and every nibble had your leg pulling him even closer to you. your back arched at every suck and you sounded angelic, “katsuki, you’re doing so… feels so good.”

and he lets go of your breast with a pop, his lips wet and your breast shiny. “you’re beautiful. y’know that, right? a fuckin’ angel on earth.”

you’re already feeling overwhelmed. your first time topless in-front of a boy, hornier than you’ve ever been in your life and he’s being so sweet, almost romantic how he strokes his thumb against your hip and pecks your cheek. you don’t think you’d even have the words to say thank you so you just tug the hem of his t-shirt.

“take it off,”

“anythin’,”

it’s like an advert, a french cologne one or an underwear one. the masculine way he takes the corner of his top and yanks it off with one swoop. the sweet strong smell of him taking over your bedroom. bakugou katsuki is gorgeous. you almost feel grateful you’re one of the lucky girls he lets see him like this.

“and your jeans. off… please,”

bakugou laughs, a harsh fluttering one that tickles your insides. he hopes you like how he looks. how amateur is that? he feels like he’s a regressed a little, just a boy hoping a pretty girl thinks he’s handsome. so after embarrassingly hopping on one foot to yank off his jeans, his dick hardens even more now there were no constrictions, especially when a giggle leaves your lips. he kneads your thighs, pulling you to the edge of the bed.

you both have your underwear on and you both can clearly see the patch of wetness in his boxers and your panties. he was massive. just like you thought and you swear he was growing the longer you looked at him. the room slid into a silence for a moment. just you both admiring both of your bodies, how close you both were if you removed your underwear.

bakugou cleared his throat, your eyes flicking away from his tight black underwear to his glowing pupils. was he staring at you for too long? wouldn’t any honest man stare at you as long as he did?

“so d’you like what you see?”

instantly, he regrets what he said. he hopes it comes out cocky, like he’s expecting you to say yes instead of slimy with insecurity. though immediately you nod, a cute little hum that makes you rub your lips together and shuffle even closer to him that his dick is pressing between your legs. pressing against your pussy.

“yes. you’re so sexy,” and you glance away from him a second, like you’re nervous to admit something, “you make me wanna touch myself.” you bite down on your lip, squeezing your eyes shut as if to compose yourself.

“oh shit. fuck.” he wasn’t expecting you to say that.

“i’m gonna take your shorts off,” ask, idiot, “you gonna let me take them off?”

your eyes snap open, and you’re like dough, letting him do anything he asks. you nod, your lip still between your teeth. you’re so gorgeous.

holding his breath, katsuki grips the top of your shorts and pulls them down your legs. in his mind he’s going way too fast, he wants to feel the smooth curve of your ass, your supple thighs, your strong calves. in your mind he’s going way too slow, but you’re obsessed with how he’s looking at you. like he wants to bite, suck, taste every bit of you, his eyes low yet focused like he needs to commit every bit of you to memory. you want him now.

once your shorts are off, you’re now laying bare for him and your knees knock together to hide yourself from his desperate gaze. he makes no move to pull your knees apart, despite how much he’s dying to. instead, he just rests each hand on top of a knee and says, “can i see you princess? dyin’ to see you.” might as well be honest.

there probably wasn’t anything he could ask from you that you wouldn’t do. with a gentle breath, he can tell from the rise of your chest, you drag your knees apart.

and there you are.

his hands slide down your thighs, stopping right at your pussy lips. then a strangled, pained groan leaves his throat. you were wet, soaked in fact, strings of your own pleasure sticking from each side and there at the top was your cute little nub.

“you’re gonna make my dick fall off,” he mumbles so incoherently that you only half hear what he says though you make out the ending, a chuckle coursing through your veins.

“i’m ready for you, ‘ki.” you smile and it’s as if you’re glowing from the insides. your teeth white with your lazy grin and you already look fucked. eyes lovelost and bottom lip plump from his kisses.

“you don’t want me to eat you out? i wanna taste you baby,” he’s talking to your pussy at this point, his thumb brushing from your ass cheeks, pass your pussy to your clit. you’re a bundle of nerves, every part of you vibrating and reacting at his touch. you blink, realising what he just said.

eating you out? that’s an offer? you take a second to imagine what it would be like, his pretty face between your thighs, licking and gulping you down. pressing your wriggling hips down with one hand as he works you to an orgasm with only his mouth.

“next time, okay? wanna feel you inside me,”

as much as katsuki wants to bury his face in you, maybe even be suffocated by your thighs, he was the tiniest bit grateful he’d have some time to research before he went down on you. by research he might ask kaminari. or todoroki, who knows what he gets up to.

“next time then. i won’t forget that,” he straightens out with you, even levelling you with a glare and point of his finger that doesn’t match the sexy atmosphere at all. he wants to kick himself for that but your eyes widen at his playfulness before succumbing to a sweet giggle.

“promise. take off them off now,”

and idiotically, he follows your stare to his underwear, dropping his head down and gulping. fuck. it’s time. katsuki does what he does best, making it about you so he doesn’t worry about himself.

“no rush baby, i’m gonna be here all evening,” he jokes, and now he’s overthinking it, when does bakugou katsuki joke? so with one deep breath, he scrambles out his underwear, leaving his thick leaking cock to slap against his chest. he’s never been so hard in his life.

“oh my… that’s not gonna fit inside me, ‘ki,” you stammer. you look sorta scared of his extra limb, your eyes fearful though your fingers curious, reaching up on your forearms to touch him.

“if you touch me i’m gonna—,” he tries to warn but it’s too late. your tiny palm, much smaller than his, wraps around him tightly and he needs to brace himself forward for some stability.

“are you… do you usually get this hard?” you ask, following the pulsing thick veins that coat him and your pupils are glossy with curiosity now.

“only for… only for you, fuck,” he groans and he doesn’t mean to, he doesn’t even think he’s in control as his hips begin to thrust in your hand. you gasp as he does so, watching his body, his abs tightening and the clench of his jaw. katsuki drops his head in your neck and you can’t help the bloom of pride in the centre of your chest. you’re doing this to him. whatever you’re doing… is getting him like this.

he’s thrusting into your palm and you only wonder how he’d feel between your legs, inside you. the ridges and veins rubbing against your walls, every twitch and the pure masculine heat of him on top of you.

then you feel his fingers wrap around your wrist and his voice is muffled against your neck. “i’m not gonna fuckin’ last inside of you if we keep at this.”

you’re amazed at how he sounds like he does after a workout. he pulls away from your neck and a gush of wetness drips from between you. you clamp your legs together so he doesn’t notice the growing stain in your bedsheets. his blonde hair is tousled, messy and so fucking sexy. his cheeks are a breathless pink and his lips are parted, inching towards yours like he needs you to breathe.

he only means to peck you but you both keep getting lost in each other, forgetting what he came here to do. but this is part of the fun, right? after sucking on your tongue, he kisses away the string of spit and softly pushes you back down.

then he panics for a second, “fuck, lemme get a condom.”

after scrambling for his jeans on the ground he holds one up like won a prize. then you had the joy of watching bakugou rip a condom open with his teeth, pinch the top and roll the rest over his dick. this is how he practiced, those videos he watched before he came here and the night before.

“you’re so sexy.” you whisper and he realises how completely disconnected he is from you. lost in his head while you’re lost in him. he mentally punches himself.

“not as sexy as you baby,” he cheeses, placing his hands on your hips pulling your knees apart to see you again.

“i’m gonna take it slow, okay baby? gonna take my time on you. tell me if it’s too much.”

holding the base of his dick he easily finds your slippery hole. quickly, he rubs himself up and down you to lubricate himself before slowly pushing himself into you.

“there we fuckin’ go. good girl. my good girl,” he mutters, teeth gritted as an inch of him disappears inside of you. “fuck,” he groans the same time as you sharply inhale, your lower half tensing up.

“relax for me baby, it’ll feel better when you relax okay?” and he’s not sure where this reassurance comes from, he’s not sure if he’s even correct in what he’s saying but one of his thumbs come to rub at your hip and you’re so fucking tight around his tip he’s low-key proud he hasn’t nut yet.

“too much ‘ki, too much,” you whine, your hands grabbing at his shoulders to embrace him and once he bends down to get closer to you, he accidentally slides further into you.

“oh… oh shit… katsuki,” he looks between your squinted eyes to both of you connected. another inch inside.

“sorry baby, didn’t mean to. you’re doing good, so pretty under me,”

and he’s not sure how he does it but you open your eyes as his hand cups your cheek.

“pretty?”

he nods with a grunt, “pretty like a fuckin’ doll.”

like his compliment spurs you on, you shuffle under him, repositioning your back so your legs are in the air, “move… try move now.”

“y’sure?”

“mhm.”

and then he thrusts another two inches into you, analysing how your eyes flutter shut and your mouth gapes open. your nails scratch at his back as your hand grips a tuft of his hair.

“oh katsuki, oh my god.”

you’ve never felt so full in your life. this was different than your vibrator or your tiny dildo you’ve used on yourself for many nights in this same bed. this time youve got a real beating dick inside of you, filling you up it’s as if it’s tickling your throat. once you let the initial bodily surprise of him rush over you, you press a kiss to his neck.

“move ‘ki,”

and bakugou starts rocking into you, thrusting in and out slowly. he hopes he doesn’t mark you from how hard he’s gripping your hips but he’s trying, no, he needs to go slow for you. “you feel better princess?”

bakugou groans when your hips begin to rock back into his, slapping back into him with a loud pat pat pat in the air. holy shit, he was having sex, having sex with you.

“yes, feels good ‘ki. so full, like you’re e-everywhere.” you moan, tits jiggling with every thrust you both make.

your hand trails down your stomach, your two fingers landing on your clit and circling on it with practiced skill. “oh god, oh god.”

“not god, baby. ‘m katsuki,” he mumbles into your neck, picking up his pace and feeling your back arch underneath him.

once your hand speeds up between you both, you begin to clench down on him in sporadic times. you were unpredictable, squeezing tightly, coating him in your wet warmth. he understood now what everyone was talking about. why so many people were obsessed with sex. to have you below him, making the prettiest sounds, pussy soaked because of him. how could he not get addicted to this?

“‘ki, ‘ki i’m gonna, i think i’m gonna c-c—,”

“oh fuck, fuckin’, fuckin’ shit—,”

it was like a snowball falling down a mountain, first you were rolling down before falling into him and bringing him down with you.

reaching an orgasm on your own is something. but reaching one at the same time as someone else, being the cause of each others is in a whole different ball park. your body twitched and spasmed underneath him all whilst holding him by the neck against you and your fingers still playing at your clit. your legs trembled at his sides as your lips parted for the sweetest sweetest mewl he’s ever heard.

then for bakugou his hips wouldn’t stop jolting, he was almost sure he was about to leak out of the condom how much he was coming. is that even possible? he growls like an animal into your neck, mumbling all sorts about how pretty you are, how your pussy feels like heaven and how you have to be an angel in earth. once he finished twitching and completely dumped everything he’s got into the condom he kisses your cheek for you to open your eyes.

you open them with a shy smile, exhaustion written in your features. “you okay, baby?”

“mhm,” you respond with a nod, brushing the stray blonde locks from his sweaty forehead. “better than i imagined.”

“you imagined this?” bakugou asked incredulously.

“of course! haven’t you?”

now it was katsuki’s time to laugh at himself, all the pent up anxiety to perform well seeping out of him. “yeah, had many imaginary dates with you and my hand.”

you breathe a laugh, “same, but my vibrator in the mix too.”

“oh shit, vibrator? for real?” your laugh gets louder, at the surprised look on his face like you just told him unicorns exist.

“yes, katsuki i have one. maybe i’ll let you use it on me sometime,” then suddenly nerves took over, like you took it too far, “if… if you still want there to be another time?”

katsuki frowns at you, resting on his forearms to stare down at you, “my dick is still in you and you’re asking if i want another time? you promised you were gonna let me eat you out, there’s definitely gonna be another time, princess.”

[bfbkg]

sorry but i can’t stop thinking about katsuki with a collarbone tattoo of your name. and staring at it while he’s fucking you good. and seeing it while he’s shirtless on underwear magazines. when he’s showering next to you. when he’s wandering around the house on his day off shirtless and big and sexy and

we love bfbkg tattoo canon bkg. this ask sounds like ME LOL. even funnier when you don’t have a tattoo for him and he’s publicly letting you claim him.

brushing your teeth beside him in your pyjamas and he’s shirtless and you always end up pressing your fingers there. like a two finger prod. and he’s always asking why you do that. “just checking it’s real.” and he rolls his eyes because it’s been there for a year.

asking him if he ever regrets getting the tattoo maybe after you just got in a little argument so you’re a little teary and emotional. big hug to his chest and, “nah if i ever get lost they know who to return me to.”

my fave is when he’s talking to other women and it’s NOTHING bad but you get jealous so when he’s finally alone you’re yanking his collar “remember what name is on your chest.” that just gets him excited while you’re all pissed.

tattooed bkg has a sleeve by the way, i have a list somewhere of some of the tattoos he has. another fave is your birth flower on his forearm. anyway him walking around shirtless on his day off????? ooooweee. him stretching, him looking all grumpy after waking up or maybe him fresh out of the shower looking all model esque.

and sex it’s you licking your name. him noticing you looking there so he drags your head to look at his face but you’re still looking there again. “you like your name on my body? you like claiming me?” missionary. thrusting. overwhelming and feels good. loud agreeable hum moans from you.

also him half naked on magazines!!!! let the world see him all sexy because everyone can read your name right THERE. you’re there on the cover too. i imagine makeup artists asking if he wants to cover it for the shoot and he gets so offended.

him coming home his hero uniform hanging at his waist. your name there. him after a patrol and he’s unzipped unbuttoned and your name is right there. means you’re running your hands all over his chest under his uniform.

also missions abroad and he gets flirted with and he’s wearing vest and women are like “is that a tattoo what’s it say?” he stretches his armhole so the can read it. “my girlfriend.”

[bfbkg]

WANNA BE ON TOP! (5k)

— bakugou katsuki x f!reader

synopsis: your boyfriend looks so good whenever you’re on top that it makes you shy. when are you ever shy?! you wanna sort this out asap or you ride bakugou trying to figure out which position feels best

what’s coming up: 18+, a whole load of smut this is lowkey pwp. p in v, riding, multiple positions, making out, head (f receiving), established relationship, overstimulation (m)

notes: antm title. listen i can’t explain what happened to me. needs another proofread i think.

you mention this one night wrapped in katsuki’s arms about to go to sleep. you’re doing the compulsory three minute spoon until you both pull away and get comfortable at your respective sides of his bed.

this time it’s you spooning him, your leg over his hip, your arm around his waist. you rub your lips over his shoulder and sniff his hair.

“i really want to get better at being on top.” you mumble into his skin, eyes not yet adjusted to the darkness around you.

katsuki shifts his head on the silk pillowcase. you told him to change fabrics to protect his hair (you really meant yours) and he listened, new ivory cases the next time you saw him.

“hah?” it’s a quiet one, not like his usual booming loud ones that hit the back of your eardrum.

“i never feel like i know what i’m doing when i’m on top and i get so shy. i am literally never shy! ever. then you just end up doing the work.” you whine, “i want to be able to be on top and do it well. make us both feel good.”

katsuki breathes in through his nose and out his mouth. you’re having a conversation with him. about sex yes, but this isn’t you offering to have sex now. despite this, the blood rushes to his cock by simply imagining you riding him to oblivion. your head thrown back as your hips grind down on him.

it is true. he’s never seen you shy in any other part of your life or relationship. usually during sex, you’re confident and excited. hell, you’re okay with walking around his apartment naked. but for some reason, you sitting on his cock, legs straddling his waist makes you shy in a way bakugou doesn’t understand.

after making out you’d mumble to him that you want to be on top but as soon as he slides inside of you, katsuki will just look at you and your whole body flushes with heat. it has you mumbling under your breath, trying to look away from him but then his hands are on your thighs and he’s softly cooing at you. compliments about how you feel around him and how pretty you look on top. 

which leads to you either leaning forward to cover his eyes with your hand, covering his whole face with your hand so he can’t talk either or just whining that you can’t do it and he needs to take over.

he shuffles around so he’s facing you, your minty breath on his face. he gives you three soft pecks, catching your lips with every brush.

“hm no, don’t give a fuck about me in this. if you feel good, i feel good.” he whispers and it makes you tighten your leg around his waist, your crotch against his lower stomach. 

he’s noticed how shy you get on top. the frustration. if he’s honest he thinks it’s adorable. at the beginning of your relationship it was him stuttering like an idiot, overthinking everything he did and assuming every text from you was going to be ‘it’s not you, it’s me.’ which would mostly mean it was him all along.

bakugou is also an idiot for how you beg for him to take over, crawling into his mouth for a kiss. covering his eyes so he can’t see how your breasts bounce and how insanely sweet you look slotted over him. you, all of you, shaking and trembling as he thrusts up. but although he’s into this rare shy version of you, if you want to work on not being so like that, he’ll be there.

his ruby eyes are so caring, a little frown on his face like he’s urging you to understand. 

“i do want to make you feel good though,” you rub your palm against his bare chest, feeling every breath he takes. “be in control over the pace.”

“y’can look at me and i feel good. tomorrow we’ll try. see what position has you comin’ over my cock.”

you smile, “i’ll put it in my diary.”

he gives you a kiss, rubbing his nose against yours after, “why d’you feel shy for? ‘s just me.”

that has you slamming your own eyes shut in refusal. laying on your back to sigh into the ceiling.

“because of you. you’re all…,” you wave your hands in the darkness for a terrible explanation. “and the pressure. you’re usually in control.”

that’s true, he is unless you’re giving him head. “i’m what?”

you open your eyes and stare at him. “you make me all shy. staring at me like that while you’re literally inside me and you’re all… big and sexy and i’m so exposed and now i need to make you come while you look like that.”

bakugou grins like you just proposed. the sight of him below you, usually with an aroused dopey smirk, always saying what’s on his mind. the sweat across his forehead or the worst, when he lays on his forearm behind his head without a care in the world. like it’s an everyday occurrence that women sit on his dick and you’re next. it turns you on more than you can admit, it makes you feel like a shy virgin being naked in front of a boy for the first time.

along with the thick cock pressing against your warmest points, it’s too overwhelming for you.

“big and sexy?”

you roll your eyes, “that’s all you heard?”

“y’know i love when you’re on top. happy to do whatever you want,” he chuckles boyishly and the big arm that haunts you, wraps around your waist to drag you into his body. “like i wasn’t shittin’ myself when we fucked for the first time. lookin’ up at me like your life depended on a hard fuck.”

you guys dated for two months before you got intimate. to say you were going crazy for a single touch from this man, would be an understatement.

“no i wasn’t! but you look cocky and mean in a sexy way,” you gasp looking at him, “you look like dynamight. tv dynamight.”

tv dynamight is an alternate version of dynamight and your usual boyfriend bakugou katsuki. tv dynamight is the one you see snappily answering after fight interviews or smirking when the crowd cheers for him or rolling his eyes when he’s on a talk show and he gets a stupid question. you never get this version of him, he’s so much softer and love struck with you. doesn’t mean you don’t love watching it.

bakugou frowns, “i just look at you and say you look good. that sounds like a bad thing.”

“did you miss me saying you look sexy? so sexy it gets me feeling like an idiot.” you cross your arms under the covers. “i just want to be good at it. able to make you come like that.”

as much as he loves you still feeling nervous around him, he wants to get to the bottom of this.

“we’re sortin’ this tomorrow.”

having planned sex is a whole different game than simply assuming you’ll have sex tonight or having it spontaneously. it includes you turning up at bakugou’s apartment, more excited than usual, flinging your overnight bag on the ground and your arms around his neck. 

“i watched a few videos and read articles on how to be comfortable and i did a few stretches at home,” you say, kissing him hello and katsuki has to blink into realisation.

your conversation before bed. he’s been thinking about having you tonight all day that part of him believed it was all his imagination. he kisses you back, then your cheek.

“y’look pretty,” you’re in a matching comfy pink gym set. he doesn’t know the last time you went to the gym but you always ask him to buy you these expensive ass sets. “and wait, you stretched to prepare?”

he chuckles bubbly, grabbing your bag off the floor. you pout immediately, “don’t laugh at me. i’m trying here! all you have to do is lay back.”

“i’m not laughin’ at you, baby. i love you,” he grins, “i’d never laugh.”

but you’re clenching your teeth, looking away at the dinner he’s started preparing for you both. ah, this evening he’s got his sensitive girlfriend. perhaps this was a bigger deal than you originally made it out to be. 

“maybe i shouldn’t—,”

“no, we are. it was just fuckin’ adorable, i should have had a wank before you came so i don’t bust as soon as you’re naked.”

he walks into his bedroom to plop your bag on the floor and you follow behind.

“you do that?”

“i used to when we started datin’. meant i’d last longer. the fact we planned this i should have done my prep.”

his last syllable is cut off when you lay your lips over his, tugging the end of his white tee so he pulls it off.

“don’t expect this to be good, i’m just trying and testing tonight, okay?” you mumble and just as quick as usual, katsuki hardens in his basketball shorts.

the idea of being your test dummy, your experiment while you ride him, sounds like a fantasy to him. it’s true that you’d ask to be on top usually and then upon not being able to find your groove, you give up. then katsuki will grab your ass cheeks and slide you up and down like you weigh a feather.

“sounds sexy, baby,” he groans, nibbling down your neck and in turn, being rewarded with sweet gasps from you. “get naked for me.”

bakugou lays back in the centre of his bed butt naked and hard as a rock while you sit on your knees beside him, also butt naked. 

“sit on my face,” he orders.

“no! treat this seriously.”

“i’m so fuckin’ serious, c’mon. you say you need to get comfortable, you’re always comfortable on my face. maybe i needa make you come first.”

he doesn’t know what the hell he’s saying, he just knows you're wet right now and he wants a taste.

it does sway you a little. thinking about the videos you’ve seen and articles you’ve read. educational ones! some being porn also. stretching your hips is necessary and it’s not that you’re uncomfortable around your boyfriend, just being on top, shyness takes over.

his hand drifts up your thighs, then your soft stomach before squeezing your breast. you see katsuki twitch out the corner of your eye. your mouth waters at the sight of him. always so pretty, thick and long, dead weight on his stomach. only from some kissing and being naked together.

“we could sixty nine?”

he grabs your hips, dragging you closer and manoeuvring you so you’re sitting on his upper chest. he can smell you from here, he’s sure pre is leaking from him, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

“we’re focusin’ on you.”

“says the one begging to eat me out.”

katsuki’s smiles always drive you crazy, mostly because they’re always dedicated to you. the world gets his smirks and as sexy as they are, it’s never a genuinely excited smile. especially over the prospect of having you on his face.

his gold tooth catches the warm lamp light and he reaches to kiss your thigh, “you’re so close now. can smell ya.”

before you can let the intimacy overwhelm you, you sit up on your knees and carefully slot your pussy over your lover's face.

katsuki only needed one session with you to be good at eating you out. an annoying thing about him is how he’s simply good at everything, whilst you, after months of dating, still need to work on things. you think about the sex positive podcasts you’ve listened to recently and it’s true, not everything is going to work out of the box. you’re two completely different people coming together. in both ways. 

but katsuki, he always knew exactly what to do to get you trembling. it’s firstly his enthusiasm. probably the biggest turn on. how he clutches your thighs like someone’s about to take you away. the meat of your legs will definitely have an imprint after this. how he closes his eyes and moans into you. rocks your hips into his face as his tongue laps up everything you are. 

like a man starved, his death row meal and he’s asked for you on a platter. he sucks on your clit and opens his eyes to see you lean over to grab the headboard. watching your tits and how they shake at every movement he makes. katsuki loves to talk but because his mouth is preoccupied, you just get vibrations through you along with the accompanying moans and groans he can’t help. 

“fuck, y’taste… so fuckin’—,” is all he can manage, sticking his tongue down your centre and licking as much as he can. 

“‘tsuki, so good,” you cry, you meet his eyes and your whole body heats up to boiling temperature. his ruby pupils are narrowed, as if he’s testing you to come now, on his face.

you grind your hips on him, following wherever feels good. he slaps your ass and you mewl. “i’m gonna, baby, i need to come.”

since he can’t speak even if he wanted to, you do as you please, coming all over katsuki’s face. your body trembles as he swipes up every drop that comes out of you, keeping you still so you don’t fall off. you clench your eyes shut, wailing loud enough that in any other part of the city, you’d have angry neighbours.

you flop onto the bed beside katsuki, as he wipes his face with the back of his hand. you’re quick to give him a cuddle, basking in the come down of your orgasm.

“good, baby?” he asks, rubbing your back slowly.

you nod against him, stuffing your face in his armpit as you catch your breath. 

“how are you so good at that?”

bakugou laughs, chest swelling with pride, “‘m just passionate.”

after counting to three in your head you get up slowly, biting down on your lip. 

“you wanna take another second?”

“no! and i think you were right. the orgasm helped.”

you swing your leg over bakugou’s thighs to straddle him. carefully you take hold of his cock, flicking your wrist up and down him. 

katsuki reaches his arm behind his head to lay on his forearm. everything about the man is sex. the massive biceps, his flushed face. how he kneads your thigh to check you’re still there with his eyes shut.

“just like that, babygirl,” he grunts, “been thinking about this since you mentioned it. horny all goddamn day.”

you smile at him, “thinking of me in your meetings?”

you squeeze the base of his cock, your other hand coming in to rub his balls in your palm. his hips jolt into your hands, chasing every movement.

“i always fuckin’ am. b-but you on top, ridin’ the shit outta me.”

you moan without meaning to, “i want to do that for you.”

bakugou’s eyes slid open, “today is about you. findin’ out how you like it.” he pulls your hands off him and you pout. “sit on me and start movin’.”

“yes, sir,” you say playfully but it only makes bakugou exhale shakily, blinking away any newfound arousal.

he holds your hips, as you angle his cock into you. you’re already soaked from what he did to you, so he slides in like a dream, bottoming out completely.

“oh fuck,” you curse, planting your hands flat on his chest. staying still feels good, you feel him everywhere, prodding your softest parts, your walls sucking him in like he belongs there. but you know it could feel better, you just need to work out how.

“i wanna fuck into you. didn’t realise how hard this shit would be for me,” he groans, adjusting the pillow behind his head. 

you blink away the horny fog the best you can. he’s still got your shine on his chin and he’s staring at you like he’s a second away from taking over. swinging you so you lay flat so he can take control. you feel his gaze on every part of your body, the focus on your soft stomach then where you meet between your legs. what gets you most is how he focuses on your face as if he’s recording every expression and exhale. the clear proof of him being so into you, the smirk rising onto his cheeks at the position you’ve got him in.

the fact he’s so into you, whilst looking like an adonis statue in an art gallery, makes you so shy.

 “s-so last time i just grinded on you but i didn't feel anything? i watched a few videos on how to bounce on you without aching.” you try to look away from him, but it just has you staring at his chest. littered with these gorgeous scars. his golden body that can protect you and the country. you have to close your eyes.

“you’re watchin’ porn without me?”

you and bakugou have never watched porn together with the aim to come. sometimes you’d send him a video of something you wanna try but that’s all. 

“for research! and some girls on tiktok helped.”

“okay, babygirl. do your thing, pretend i’m not here lookin’ big and sexy.”

“shut up,” you mumble, firstly planting your feet into the mattress by his hips and keeping your hands flat on bakugou’s chest to begin bouncing on his cock.

it’s a position you’ve never tried, one that always embarrassed you to imagine getting into and moving like so. you’re grateful for your stretch beforehand because bakugou glides in and out like butter. it’s more intense than just sitting on him, your body is squashed and he knows he’s gonna be using this image to get himself off till the end of time.

“oh, oh…,” you whine, tits smushed, stomach clenched to focus on what feels best. “i like this. feels good, baby.”

bakugou clenches his teeth. he can see you suck him up with every bounce, your thighs wet, so is his length. he could come like this alone if you moan any louder.

“you comfortable?” he asks, “you look insane, babygirl. can’t believe this… i could come.”

“don’t!” you squeal, whines flowing out of you without meaning to, “my knees are hurting.”

“i can help,” bakugou thrusts his hips up into you and he’s about to thrust you down into him, like what he usually does once you give up.

“no, no, let me try something else.”

without pulling off him completely, you press your knees into the bed and lean all your weight onto your left side. you begin to bounce again, up and down, up and down.

you fling your head back, mostly from the burn switching from your knees to your thighs. 

bakugou’s obsessed with whatever position you get yourself in, “doin’ so good, princess.”

that has you looking at him, leaning forward for a kiss. he meets it without thought, biting down on your bottom lip when you pull away.

“i am?” 

he nods rapidly, swearing under his breath. he’s got a layer of sweat on his forehead even though he’s barely done anything. forcing himself to not move is more exerting than just moving. 

“yeah, baby. feels like torture though, not gonna lie to you.” he squeezes the fat of your hips, staring at the ceiling for a few seconds. 

you switch your weight onto your right knee, sighing in delight, wetness leaking from you. your bodies are getting louder now, the slap of your skin against his. graphic with the white ring forming around bakugou’s cock. 

“now you know how i feel when you won’t let me come,” you whisper and he’s about to lean in to bite your lip as a punishment but you rotate around so your back is facing him.

you’ve never tried reverse cowgirl before but you can already predict how katsuki will feel about it. bakugou’s least favourite position. you know this because he always goes on about how he loves to see your face. your sweet loverboy. but equally one of his favourites because it’s a front row view of your rippling ass every time you slap down on him. it’s enough to make him come, a few bounces and he’s done. it’s also a good break to not have to think about him staring at you. the number one tip for other shy girls on that blog site you read.

you forward, grabbing his knees and for a second you can barely move.

“princess?” bakugou asks, caressing your ass slowly. “you okay?”

“i can feel you in my stomach,” his cockhead nudges against your insides, somehow further than you’ve ever felt before. why the hell haven’t you tried this before?

bakugou sits up on his forearm, sneaking his hand to your stomach, “does it hurt? you wanna pull off?”

you shake your head, then you remember he can’t see you well. you moan, grinding back into him. you can’t be quiet, can barely make out a coherent word either. you’re between crying and moaning, soft breaths of “‘tsuki,” and another wail.

“so good, fuck, i’m gonna die,” you gasp and the warmth in your stomach bundles together and tightens. you ignore the burn in your knees, focusing on the obscene amount of pleasure that bursts under your skin. you reach between your legs to play with your clit, slow circular rubs to make everything last as long as possible.

katsuki gets where you are now. the idea of you using him like a toy is what had him boiling all day. you’re moving on your own accord, focusing on yourself and what feels good. he begins to help, meeting your thrusts just so you scream louder.

“cmon, baby,” he says behind gritted teeth, “let me hear ya, louder for me.”

bakugou’s strict with his thrusts, obsessed with how your body shakes when it comes into contact with his. how his thighs are equally soaked and the fact that you’re both leaking onto his bedsheets. he keeps moving and before he knows it, only hearing your whines, he comes inside you.

jolting harshly, a hand on your hip bone to keep you close while he comes. it has you looking back at him with a frown.

“s-sorry, i couldn’t fuckin’—,” he’s gasping for air, back arched off the bed. he holds you down and you’re grinning like you’ve won a prize. “fuck, holy shit.”

“you came.” 

delight blossoms inside of you, your body burning for your own release. katsuki looks exhausted. red cheeks, sweat coating his forehead. he genuinely looks pissed that he came. you look at the mess between your legs, so much come.

he grunts in annoyance, “i didn’t mean to i—,”

but he’s cut off as you face him again, ignoring all the liquids spilling out. you plant your feet by his head and lean back, your hands on his knees.

“touch my clit for me,” you ask politely and bakugou does what he’s told, mentally preparing himself for the overstimulation about to come.

you begin bouncing again, using your hands to guide your body up and down, rolling your hips to grind to hit a specific spot. all the shyness you ever felt before has evaporated, simply following your body to catch whatever feels good. 

bakugou on the other hand, feels as if he’s about to pass out. if it’s the squelch in the air, the sight of your pussy drenched and his cock soaked. your pubic hair has strings of his come and his lower stomach has a shine to it. his cock is still hard, aching, twitching in painful flicks of pleasure. but there’s no way he could say no, not with you looking practically angelic.

you’re in your own world with your little mumbles, your whines that sound troubled but are anything but. he’s not sure how he can have you in any other position but on top after this. you ride him like you own him, like he’s yours to play with and use to relax. your breasts are soft, nipples perked to the ceiling and as he rolls his thumb against your clit, he knows you’re ready to come any second now.

“oh my god, katsuki.” you make those odd grunting sounds that make bakugou leak, “faster, w-why haven’t we done this before?”

you say in a rush and bakugou obeys, speeding up his rubs on your clit. 

“this is all we’re gonna do now, huh?”

you hum, pace slowing as the burn of your knees radiates.

“lettin’ you ride my cock while i come early like a fuckin’ teenager,” he moans, frowning harshly because he’s too sensitive now, way too sensitive. 

bakugou takes matters into his own hands, especially once you whine for him, “help me, ‘tsuki.”

you lift your head up to lock eyes with him. you’re fucking crying. tears down your cheeks, “i love you so much.”

he thrusts into you, meaning you no longer need to strain your body anymore. he moves you for your own pleasure, sliding you up and down, mimicking how you were moving and he’s ready to come again.

“nah, you love my cock. tell me you do.”

it takes only a second for you to reply, stretching your arms straight, your back arched so bakugou can see all the beautiful curves of your breasts and waist. he bites back his bearish groans, this is way too much for him right now. he thinks hes about to come again.

“l-love your cock so much. feels like heaven, like i’m gonna split open,” you babble, “love it so much, ‘tsuki.”

“my good fuckin’ girl, usin’ me like this. love you so much, princess,” he hums and before you can even catch yourself, after all the noise tonight, your orgasm is a silent one.

these strained gasps come from your throat as you lean forward, your whole body tensing. you don’t mean to dig your nails into his chest, but bakugou welcomes the pain especially when he orgasms again, loud enough for you both.

he growls into the air as you hold yourself up over him, open mouthed, tears falling from your eyes.

you can barely contain yourself, your body still bouncing as he continues thrusting his hips. everything is lewd, the stained bedsheets and the trail of sweat down your breasts. the sound of your ass hitting his balls only draws out your orgasm, your bodies soaked with each other.

“oh my god, oh my god,” you whisper. you stare at your boyfriend in shock as he slows down and wraps his arms around your body to drag you to his chest. “we’ve never… it’s never felt like that before.”

you can feel him pulsating inside of you and your walls are hot around him.

you both breathe, catching your breaths, plastered to each other.

“you’ve got me fucked,” his chuckle is dry, but you shuffle to get comfortable and bakugou yelps. “don’t fuckin’ move. please.”

you smile, pressing kisses into his chest until you realise what you’ve done. “i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean to…”

you trail off, lightly brushing your thumb over the red scratches over katsuki’s chest. bakugou’s half lidded eyes catch yours, grabs your hand to kiss the centre of your palm.

“it felt good, princess. needed any distraction to ignore your warm pussy.” he pouts his lips and you happily meet his, “you confident bein’ on top now?”

bakugou twitches inside of you, “yeah. i know what to do now.”

“you looked…,” and he doesn’t know how to describe you. but you’re patiently waiting for an answer. if anyone likes to be complimented more than him, it’s you, “like a goddamn angel. thought you were gonna kill me.”

“i’d never,” your eyes droop, ready for an evening nap. “you need to pull out now.”

bakugou sighs, “this is gonna be a mess to clean up and my dick aches.”

“i’m sore too!”

bakugou rolls his eyes but he knows he’s going to be kissing your knees and thighs any minute now.

“still want me to cook dinner or order in?” he asks, pushing you on your back to slowly slide out of you.

you whine softly as he does, not used to the feeling of not being full. you almost want to sit back on him, clamp your legs around him and never let him go.

“fuck,” bakugou grunts, then he sees your pout. “after dinner.”

your eyes light up, “really?”

“you’re goddamn insatiable.”

“it’s just there’s one more position, well two, i want to try with you sitting up and me laying down.” 

he climbs off the bed to grab a clean flannel from his en-suite. “you wanna break me, huh?” he calls.

you giggle, “no, i just wanna know how it’ll feel and the website i found has loads of positions we haven’t tried.”

you have the audacity to look innocent while he wipes your legs with the damp flannel. then your lower stomach and very lightly between your legs.

“you should have told me earlier i would have booked tomorrow off work.” he kisses your knee, “we can do whatever you want. until you get all achy.”

there’s no doubt he’d be able to get hard again for you, especially looking this eager about trying a new way to have sex with him.

you nod softly, running your hand down his face, “can you still cook? i want your udon noodles.”

if it was up to bakugou he’d order in. he’s way too tired to cook for you right now and still have energy to have sex again after. he had a whole patrol and training earlier today too.

but one thing bakugou has always struggled with since he met you, is the ability to say no. especially not when you sit up and grab the flannel from him to slowly swipe across his stomach and then his softened cock.

“yeah, ‘course i can. anythin’ f’you.”

[bfbkg]

bakugou x reader. a 1.6k drabble. cw: established relationship, fluff.

it was only a little argument. today was supposed to be a date day with your boyfriend, smoothies and a walk around the park. have a picnic, magazine shopping and he wanted to get new running trainers. though before you left out he started rushing you, knowing you had to finish up this work call and you act terribly under pressure. that caused you to shout and caused him to be snappy so now you’re sitting in this smoothie shop in dead silence.

it’s silent treatment on both sides. you told the cashier what smoothie you wanted, he said his and then he tapped his card. you sat down at this big ten seater table with a few other people dotted on it while bakugou sat at the head of the table. you didn’t want to sit on the cute one on one couples seats by the window where you would be forced to look at his face, so big table you go.

you stay seated with your arms crossed when bakugou gets up again to collect your two smoothies. he puts your pink berry one on the table in front of you and he dumps himself in his seat. still with no words uttered. you pull out your book as you sip. he pulls out his phone, answering emails and reading work reports.

it’s needed silence, that’s for sure. any moment now you’ll touch your foot with his or he’ll pull your chair closer to his. he’ll mumble sorry first or maybe this time you will and you can continue your day being the loved up couple you usually are. he hasn’t even offered if you want to taste his smoothie yet… well you haven’t offered him either. but any second now, any second someone will.

you peer at him over your book. you sigh a little. it’s hot out today, so he’s in a white vest and these navy shorts. biceps golden and thick. thighs thick and golden. he’s perched his black designer sunglasses to the top of his head which only pushes all of his hair back with it. he’s devastatingly gorgeous. his forehead, pretty nose and pouty lips. he’s frowning at whatever he’s reading, leaning his elbows onto his knees so he can get to typing. a huff at the end.

“is that the berry blast? i was thinking of getting that one?”

you look towards the voice, landing on a handsome guy standing on the opposite side of your table. he’s just walked in, also dressed for the weather with his cap, basic white shirt and shorts.

you’re still unsure if he was talking to you and you see bakugou, out of the corner of your eye, look up to the man.

“is it nice?” he repeats. the man is slightly shy, scratching the back of his head. he’s clearly nervous now he’s got your attention as he shuffles from foot to foot. keeps crossing his arms then lets go. you can tell he’s around your age and he’s not not your type. but also you’re not sure if he’s flirting with you or not. can he not see your boyfriend right there?

“oh, yeah it is. it’s my first time trying it,” you reply dryly, pressing your thumb in between the pages of your book so you don’t lose your spot.

the man’s eyes light up at your response and now bakugou looks at him directly. is this random man flirting with his girlfriend in front of him? is he invisible? does he look like a fucking dickhead?

the man nods in response to you, paying bakugou no mind. he’s so enamoured by you he doesn’t feel the boiling confusion brewing beside you.

“ah cool. i think i’ll give it a try,” he sniffs, looking at your book, then your dress. you can see him figuring out what to comment on next.

bakugou adjusts his posture. leans back in his seat, spreads his legs and holds up his smoothie.

“this green shit is good too. you should give it a try,” katsuki pushes and as if the guy is just finding out he’s there, he rapidly nods his head. looking from you to bakugou and trying to bring the conversation back to you and him.

“right, thanks man.”

then he’s looking back at you, giving you all his attention completely. 

you hear bakugou swear under his breath. it all makes you want to laugh at his expense.

“i came in here and i had to talk to you, i thought you were gorgeous. i love the dress,” he rushes, “i was wondering if i could get your number or insta?”

you give him a sweet smile, shaking your head lightly. you point your thumb in the direction of bakugou, “that’s my boyfriend. sorry.”

bakugou raises his eyebrows at the man, holding up his hand with a sarcastic wave.

“i don’t let her give her number to men that want to date her.”

you giggle at your boyfriend’s stupidity, your first giggle of the day actually and it causes the corner of bakugou’s lips to quiver with the urge to smile.

though looking back at your new admirer, you both slowly see the light drain from his eyes. his shoulders slump next. he’s obvious in the way he stares at bakugou’s arms and he blinks as if he might recognise him from somewhere.

“oh shit… i didn’t think… loads of people on this table and i thought everyone was sitting alone. fuck, sorry guys.”

bakugou’s gritting his teeth, “no fuckin’ social awareness.”

you kick his foot under the table, “no it’s okay, thank you though!”

once the man apologises again, spinning around to leave the shop completely, bakugou has already dragged your chair beside his, metal chair legs clacking together. he shoves his phone in his pocket and takes your hand with his now free one.

you giggle at the touch. there’s no way anyone doesn’t think you’re a couple now. in fact, you get a few stares from the other smoothie drinkers on the table.

“i’m sorry for the shit earlier,” he blurts, “i’m not all over you for a minute and someone already tries to take you from me. what the actual fuck?”

bakugou huffs to himself, practically trying to pull you to sit onto his lap so nobody can mistake what you are to each other. what else does he need to do? tattoo you on his arm? he’s already done that actually. your eyes, your name, your birth flower.

“i’m sorry too but we were seated far apart, doing separate things and not talking.” you grin at him and he just looks at your lips. it’s been far too long since he’s kissed them. “fair assessment i think.”

“‘course you think that. gonna stamp my name on your forehead,” he mutters, kissing the corner of your lips. 

bakugou’s not one for pda, but it’s needed when people are trying to drag you from under his nose.

“this should keep you on your toes. remind you that everyone wants me,” you joke but bakugou blinks at you. looks at you then looks away. 

he agrees, in fact, it makes him sit up straight and kiss you on your mouth again, in the middle of this random smoothie shop.

“i said i was sorry,” he huffs, holding your hand to his waist. “wanna try mine?”

you nod, “i’ve been waiting for you to ask!”

you put the straw to your smoothie by his lips so he can try yours.

“yours is better than mine,” you whine and bakugou chuckles.

“wanna swap?”

“you sure?”

“y’know i don’t mind.”

you take bakugou’s green smoothie while he holds your pink one. you eye his throat as he tajes three big gulps, the smoothie sinking away faster than your previous sips.

“thanks for buying them, ‘ki.”

bakugou smiles at you, gold tooth shining in the sunlight pouring through the windows. “i wouldn’t have heard the end of it if i let you pay while we were fightin’.”

you huff, “we weren’t fighting! it was a disagreement in communication styles.”

“yeah, we had a fight about that,” then he looks at your outfit with warm eyes, ones you welcome, unlike the random guy before. “your dress is pretty, baby. you look pretty today. i didn’t say that before.”

“thank you. you look sexy, always do.”

you swipe his sunglasses off his head, plopping them onto your face. 

“you’re gonna have to give them back when we get outside,” he tells you but he can’t help his grin, now unable to see your eyes.

“i forgot mine because you were rushing me!” 

bakugou rolls his eyes, albeit playfully. “look in your bag.”

“i didn’t put them in here,” you say but still you do. you unzip and pull it open, dipping your hand in and immediately frowning, “did you put them in here or am i going crazy?”

“you’re goin’ crazy,” bakugou stands up, brushing off his shorts and reaching for your hand. you stay seated in his sunglasses, your designer ones he bought you for your birthday in your hands.

“katsuki!”

“you’re not crazy, i put them in there when you were shoutin’ that you didn’t wanna go out with me anymore,” he nudges his head in the direction of the door, “let’s go, ‘wanna walk in the park.”

“you’re so annoying,” you tell him but you love it when he interlinks his fingers with yours, letting you walk out the shop first, smoothie in hand.

“love you too. now pass my glasses.”

reblogs and comments are appreciated. thanks!

[adoringmha]

this is soo self-indulgent and came to mind after reading beauty marks by @dotlusional shoutout <3 | mdni slightly nsfw

at first you thought katsuki just loved to kiss any random part of you, whatever was easily accessible at the moment––and while that is true, you started to notice a pattern.

your left shoulder when he's standing behind you or passing by and you're wearing a tank top.

the side of your jaw, close to your mouth when he's feeling clingy and is kissing all over your face, his big hands holding you gently, the jaw is always first and last.

when you're lounging on the couch, legs bent and he comes to lay in between them, he kisses your inner left thigh as a ritual before getting comfy. and when he's getting ready to devour you, kissing up your legs, your inner thigh, right before the crease is the last stop.

you realized looking in the mirror one day after a shower, first your shoulder, then your jaw, then your thigh––all those spots had beauty marks. he stepped into the bathroom, immediately pressing his lips to your shoulder and you couldn't help the knowing smile blooming on your face as you watched him.

he raised a brow, his voice soft, a curious smile growing on his face as well. "what?"

you shook your head, oh katsuki, such a quiet romantic. "nothing," you turned back to kiss him and he immediately bent to meet your lips with his own, hands finding your waist. "just love you."

©adoringmha 2026

[thefantasywench]

a study in limerence | s.r.

You are on your fourth season out, playing the unforgiving game the ton demands. Yet, you manage to scare off any suitor that comes your way, much to the dismay of your mother, the exasperated amusement of your father, and the entertainment of your older brother, Thomas.

And you wouldn't have it any other way, as you do not wish for marriage in the slightest. It's not as if you need to do much to frighten away the delicate men of the ton. With your wit and intellect, it's almost too easy.

The new Duke of Westford, Spencer Reid, is a complete novice when it comes to the chess match of London society, but is in desperate need of a wife this social season. When fate insists you meet at the first ball of the season, you come to an agreement.

Spencer's proximity to you not only helps to drive away the unsought suitors, but appeases your overbearing mother. In return, you teach Spencer the ways of the ton and help ensure that he secures only the best of young ladies this season.

Simple.

Or, at least it should’ve been.

With failed dance lessons, accidental proposals, fencing matches wracked with sexual tension, and an ungodly amount of yearning, this may turn out to be the most captivating season of your lifetime.

a/n: welcome to my Regency Spencer Reid AU! this will be an R-rated, multi-chapter series that i've been cooking up for a minute now. please note that this will not be entirely historically accurate, especially when it comes to typical regency names since i’ll be using a variety of characters from the Criminal Minds universe. i've also made up plenty of other names and titles up bc i'd rather do that then monumentally fuck up trying to be accurate lol. i'm hoping to post the first chapter very soon, and i may end up posting to ao3 and/or wattpad as well. i’m incredibly excited about this series and i hope you’ll follow along for the ride! thank you so much!

disclaimer: no AI of any kind is used in the creation of my work, and i do not consent to any of my works being fed into any kind of AI. thank you.

[tokkushin]

the day after your first time with katsuki... and he's smug asf at how nervous you are

you can barely look at him without being flooded with memories of last night and getting flustered, so you silently distance yourself and offer to go buy something from the store.

asking him to pass you the car keys and you watch as he just shoves them in his own pocket. when you stare at him all confused he tells you to 'come get them yourself'…

and when you do, you can feel him watching your every move while you fumble with the keys through his jeans, because the feeling of his eyes on you and the limited distance between you two has suddenly made your hands stop working.

and he does absolutely nothing to help cause he thinks it's cute

[tojipie]

toji feels like a freak for wanting you this badly

18+, perv!toji, fem reader, established relationship, slight breath play

he can’t tell you about certain parts of him. at least not the parts that would have you running for the hills.

the brute loves you, wants to see you smile, wants to do whatever he can to make your life easier. but he can’t ignore that gnawing urge in the back of his brain.

toji wants to do a lot of things for you. it’s the things he wants to do to you that make him feel like the most disgusting man on earth.

that’s exactly why he fucks you softly. holds back, doesn’t let himself do more than what he believes you can handle.

classic missionary is the name of the game most nights, some handholding, maybe a hickey somewhere on your thigh where your skin is the thickest and won’t blemish easily. if you feel good, he feels good.

but the mental images he always ends up fucking his fist to are an entirely different ballpark. he might as well never be redeemed.

he wants to feel you ride him, cunt clenching around his length while you let your spit dribble into his awaiting mouth. wants to wrap a hand around your throat and feel your breath seize under his palm. maybe take you on the floor of your bedroom like he was raised by curses. out on the porch while he has his morning smoke.

toji swears his mind started playing tricks on him a week ago.

either that, or he’s grossly misinterpreted the things that are starting to make him think you can read his mind.

it begins with a movie. something you’ve done together on fridays since the start of your relationship. you don’t even ask for his input before putting it on and laying your head in his lap. toji thinks nothing of it.

the film starts off innocent enough. a little corny if he’s being honest. only, it’s the sex scenes that get him. the filthy, graphic, borderline pornographic sex scenes that have him tenting so hard he might as well start a campsite.

“he’s really giving it to her.” toji chuckles awkwardly, trying to focus on something, anything but imaging the two of you recreating the scene you seem to be watching so intently.

“yeah, he really is.” you mumble, almost sounding… fond? no. that can’t be right.

things don’t fare any better two days later when you’re at his place helping him sort through his storage.

he’s in the kitchen in record time as soon as he hears glass smash, leading you away from the pile of clear shards with a string of expletives.

“you okay?” he asks you, thumb rubbing over the apple of your cheek tenderly.

“i’m fine.” you tell him earnestly. looking over at the mess you made with a look that almost seems mischievous.

“that vase was expensive, im sorry.” you tell him. only, you don’t really sound sorry at all.

toji ignores the pointed look in your eyes, and sighs.

“it’s fine. just an accident.” you could wrap his car around a pole and he still wouldn’t be mad at you.

“can i make it up to you somehow? it’s okay if you’re angry.” you offer, tugging him a little closer by the belt loop. that look in your eyes from earlier seems to have magnified tenfold. he’d have to be an idiot not to catch onto what you were implying.

god, was that even what you were implying? toji wasn’t crazy, you were asking him for a punishment, right? the thought alone has him leaning up against the counter to steady himself.

he lets you guide his hands around the circumference of your waist and squeezes the skin there a little harder than he means to. except, instead of shying away, you push his hands lower, letting him squeeze and knead the plush curve of your ass while he thinks of all the ways this situation could go.

no. he had to stop letting that part of his brain get the best of him. you were sweet. fragile as could be with a heart made of gold. he couldn’t keep projecting his fantasies on you like this.

“…toji?” you mumble, wary of the silence between you two.

your boyfriend shakes his head with a huff, sending you to fetch the dustpan with a kiss and a pat on your ass.

he takes a freezing cold shower that night.

toji’s last straw comes only a day later.

you’re laid bare under him, making the sweetest sounds with your thighs on either side of his body. he knows you like it like this, getting fucked open on just his tip while he tells you what a sweet girl you are. how much he loves your body, the things you do to him.

except, you whisper something in the moment. two syllables, soft like powdered snow on a winter morning.

and toji must not be hearing you right because he thinks it sounds a lot like you just asked him to go harder.

“what’d you say, baby?” his voice cracks when he speaks. even the sheer possibility of you saying what you might’ve just said is enough to make him feel dizzy.

don’t do this to him.

don’t give him false hope.

“fuck me harder.” you whine, digging the balls of your feet into his lower back.“you’re always so gentle.”

toji couldn’t form a thought right now even if he tried.

he lets you pull him in closer, feeling the tip of his cock pop past the initial resistance of your heat before he’s seated inside of you.

all the way in.

“i-holy fuck- i thought you wanted gentle?”

“when did i ever say that?”

his vision starts dotting. black and inky around the edges. there was no way this was happening right now. he must’ve done something godly to deserve his deepest fantasy practically being served to him on a platter.

“… you want it hard?”

“god, cmon. do something.” you mutter, squeezing his shoulders like it’ll hotwire him back to reality. “slap me around a little, make it fun.”

right, fun. he can do fun.

toji ruts forward experimentally, snapping his hips against the backs of your thighs to gauge your reaction. he watches your expression shift as your body accommodates the sudden stretch.

you moan, long, sweet, and delicious drawn out. toji has to squeeze the base of his cock briefly to stop himself from blowing his load right then and there.

he starts to pound into you, bundling your wrists up in his hand and pressing them far above your head.

the look on your face is to die for.

“yeah? you want it like this?” he asks you, voice a little deeper than it was before. “want me to take you like this?”

you nod, throwing your head back in ecstasy as his tip pounds against that special spot nestled at your core. you’ve never felt him like this, every pulsing, searing hot inch somehow pressing up inside of you all at once. you loved this toji. craved this toji.

five thick fingers curl around the beginning of your throat. not squeezing, just resting.

“who knew you were such a-“ you gasp at a particularly hard thrust “—fucking perv.”

you’ve barely gotten the last word out before your head is wrenched to the side, stinging where his palm had met your cheek.

“fuck did you call me?” he asks you, squeezing your cheeks into a pout. you look up at him through pupils big enough to swallow the both of you whole. “what’d you say?”

“you’re a perv.” you tell him, voice stuttering every time his hips slap against your ass.

the hand around your neck squeezes at the sides, not hard enough to hurt, but just enough to give you that floaty lightheaded feeling.

toji can’t physically take his eyes off of your face, dick throbbing at the blissed out smile you give him.

he must be in heaven.

“i’m not the one who was being a fucking tease all week.” he grits. your head wrenches to the side again, this time your other cheek stings.

“and i’m definitely not the one who broke a vase so i’d get bent over a knee and punished for it.” he adds.

you flutter around him at that, and toji’s only goes harder.

he fists his head around the back of your head, bringing your face up to where his neck meets his shoulder. you know just what to do, biting down on the taught muscle there with a shaky groan.

“you think i’m stupid? you think i wouldn’t catch onto the game you were playing?”

he’s close. you both are, teetering on the edge of your orgasms like some sort of nasty show of brinksmanship.

you kiss up the sides of his throat, voice shaky as you whisper into his skin.

“at least i’m not a pussy who can’t own up to what i like.”

that’s exactly what sends toji over the edge, oddly enough. he practically crumples in on himself as his balls pulse, shooting hot ropes of cum into you like there’s no tomorrow.

he waits. one beat, two. shakes his head to clear his thoughts. then gets right back to fucking you. overstim be damned, toji was still hard as a rock.

“holy shit” you gasp, clawing at his shoulders as he fucks his seed back inside of you.

your boyfriend sucks his thumb into his mouth before bringing it down to toy with your clit, rubbing the nub back and forth.

“don’t worry about me baby.” he reassures you. “i can go all night.”

[angel1withacigarette]

Everybody knows that I’m a good girl, officer.

• 2x12

pairing: dean winchester x f!reader

summary: dean and sam escaped swat officers from a hostage situation and you liked him in the gear a bit too much

warnings: roleplay, handcuffing, subtle gunplay, uniform kink, slapping, degrading, fingering, pet names, unprotected p in v

word count: 2.3k

You finally receive the long-awaited call from Dean in the afternoon. The same Dean you have had a crush on for probably ages now. It was wrong, really wrong. After all, he was so close to you. You guys were super comfortable around each other. Sam and Dean were working on a case with shape-shifters, which had gone wrong. They were quite literally on the news for being involved in a hostage-holding situation, and you really thought they would not make it out.

These two sons of bitches really find a way to get out of anything.

You immediately pick up, heart thumping against your chest. "Dean??! Are you and Sam okay??" "I saw on the news—" You mix words up, your voice sounding utterly panicked and worried. "Yeah, sweetheart, we're okay." You can practically hear the smirk on his face through the cell phone.

"How the hell did you even pull th—" Dean cuts you off with his rough voice. "Where you at, [name?]"

"I'm at the [random address] motel." You reply to him. "I paid for a single room with a double big bed. Wanted it to be spacious. If you guys want, one of you can stay with me. That way it'll be cheaper and you—"

"Kay, sweetheart, we'll be there." He cuts you off yet again and hangs up on you.

"Dean?? Dean?? You there??"

Son of a bitch.

-time skip-

Dean and Sam arrived at the motel. Dean had already previously informed Sam that he'd stay with you since your bed's a big double and they'd save money for beer or some greasy diner food. You were way closer with Dean than you were with Sam, so it only made sense for him to be the one to stay with you.

Both of the boys were awfully exhausted, so once Sam got his keys at the reception, they parted ways. The receptionist looked, rightfully so, confused why two dudes in a SWAT uniform/gear were staying at a damn motel, but he didn't question them at all. He was an older dude who looked greasy and just really worked there so he could earn any penny.

*ring ring*

Your phone gets a text message notification, and Dean asks for a room number you're staying at.

̸̳̔̎​̎̎ ̿̿̅̅/ ̔̅̅ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿̅̅ ̿̿ ̸̳̔̎​̎̎ ̿̿̅̅/ ̔̅̅ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿̅̅ ̿̿ ̸̳̔̎​̎̎ ̿̿̅̅/ ̔̅̅ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿̅̅ ̿̿

Dean > What room ru staying at?

Me < 107

Dean > Ok. 👍

̸̳̔̎​̎̎ ̿̿̅̅/ ̔̅̅ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿̅̅ ̿̿ ̸̳̔̎​̎̎ ̿̿̅̅/ ̔̅̅ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿̅̅ ̿̿ ̸̳̔̎​̎̎ ̿̿̅̅/ ̔̅̅ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿̅̅ ̿̿

Dean knocks on the door of your motel room. You get up from the bed, footsteps approaching the door. You wrap your hand around the door handle, pulling it down with ease and opening the door. Dean is standing there. Full swat gear minus the balaclava.

Holy. Shit.

You felt heat pooling through your abdomen and your crotch.

He looked so damn sexy like this. It was honestly embarrassing how long you stood there frozen with your eyes trailing up and down his body. Oggling like a teenage boy over a naked woman in a Playboy magazine.

"The hell are you starin' at?! You're ogling like a damn high school—"

"NO!! I'M NOT!!" you yell and cut him off to defend yourself. "YOU'RE SO FULL OF YOURSELF, DEAN. NOT EVERYONE WANTS YOU AND—"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, sweetheart. You were practically eye-fucking me." He walks in, sitting down on the bed, propping his hands on the top part of his bulletproof vest. "Oh, and…don't think that I don't know about your little uniform kink." His voice rough and strained. "See…when you watch porn…you should use incognito mode."

Your eyes go wide, and you can feel the heat in your face go up by like 5 degrees.

Of fucking course. Of course he doesn't know shit about technology but knows exactly how to watch porn without anyone seeing it.

"You look good, Dean. The uniform and all…" He gets up from the bed, walking over to you, getting all up in your personal space.

"Yeah? You like it that much, sweetheart?" He leans slightly lower, eyes locking into an intense eye contact. You were literally eye-fucking each other. You looking up at him through your eyelashes, looking at him with want and need. submissiveness. And him, looking at you like he's trying to restrain himself from pouncing on you. Sharp eyes piercing yours. Dominance.

"Dean—" you whine, your tone almost protesting.

"Shut up." He yanks you by the collar of your T-shirt and slams you on the bed.

Hunger. In both of you. He knew. Neither of you had to say anything. You both knew where this was going.

"You like SWAT officers that much, huh?" He leans down to grab the handcuffs on his tactical belt. "Hands behind your back, you're being arrested." His voice sharp and stern. He sounded so authoritative it made your stomach flip around.

"But officer—"

"Bad girl," he growls. His hands immediately gripping your wrist, propping them behind your back and slipping them into the pair of the authentic cuffs that are used by the law. Dean tightens the cuffs pretty tight. He isn't playing around. He's probably all wound up from the earlier incident, plus his best friend looks so sexy and is giving him that look.

Dean grabs you by the bicep and yanks you into a sitting position. "You know what happens to bad girls who lie to the officers of the law? They get punished." He slaps you across the face. Hard. You can't help but moan.

"Jesus, you're such a fucking slut. Getting turned on by an officer having his way with her, huh?" He props up your chin between his thumb and index finger. "You wanna make this easy for me and confess the things you have done? Or are we doing this the hard way?" He asks.

His voice is so deep and low. It's so fucking sexy. You don't think you've ever gotten this wet and this fast.

And you stay silent. Not saying a single word.

"You wanna play the hard way? Fine then, have it your way."

Dean pulls out a gun out of his holster, not loading it but pressing it up against your jawline. He starts naming all the real crimes you have actually done on hunts with them and alone. "You wanna confess?" Still agonizing silence from you. He pulls off the safety and cocks it back.

Shit. Dean is taking this roleplay damn serious. He traces the tip of the gun down your jaw to your chin and below it. "I said… Do you wanna confess?"

"Yes!! Yes, I did it. "Whatchu going to do with me, officer, hmm?" you ask, challenging him. Pushing him with cockiness. Dean pulls the safety back on, and discards the gun somewhere on the bed.

"You're acting way too damn cocky. I think I need to search you, sweetheart. I should have all the way before." Dean's hands RIP the shirt off of you. He throws the torn fabric somewhere in the room. "Nothing taped to you…maybe I should check under the bra, huh?" His palms slide under the boning of your bra, hands cupping your tits and thumbs rubbing on your nipples. The rest of his fingers feeling up every single part of them.

"Officer this is—inapp—" His rough voice cuts you off with a yell. "SHUT THE FUCK UP! DID I SAY YOU COULD TALK HUH??" His hands move away just for him to unclasp your bra and slide the straps off your shoulder. He throws the bra in the corner of the room and admirs your bare torso. "On your stomach. NOW."

You lie down, propping your body on the mattress with your tummy down. He pats down the sides of your thighs and the pockets of your ass. His hands trail and pat down all the way to your ankles before his rough voice speaks up. "Lift up your hips." You do as he says. He pats down your front, then he yanks your shorts off you, tossing them on the motel floor.

"You're clean so far. But this little place…." He slides his hands down to your panties, and he grips your crotch. "Can hide a hell lot of things." With a swift motion, he tugs down the thin material of your underwear to your ankles, and you kick them off. You roll on your back, your body bare before him. "Look at that, she's getting the hang of it."

Dean quickly gets his shoes off and straddles you on the bed. His knees press up against the plush of your thighs. “You gonna let me check, or do I have to use force?”

The holster, the tactical vest and belt, and the fingerless gloves. It got you feeling all hot, bothered, and needy.

“Yes, officer..."

“Atta girl.” Dean gets his gloves off with his teeth and discards them on the bed. His hand trails up your thigh in a slowly painful manner. His index and middle finger graze the slick between your pussy lips, which earns a soft gasp from your throat.

He trails his fingers up to your clit, circling and teasing around your sensitive nub. His movements are slow and steady.

“Dean…” you breathe out. “It’s Officer Winchester to you.”

He abruptly stops and switches his index finger with his ring finger. He inserts his fingers inside your wet hole and shoves them as far as he can. They twist and turn, checking for any potential illegal substances or weapons maybe.

“You’re clean, princess.”

He’s done teasing you, and he finally starts thrusting his fingers inside and out of you. He’s doing it so well, it’s clear he has experience from all the women he’s been with. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

He’s hitting the spot just right, fingers going at a somewhat quickened pace but with harsh, rough movements. “Officer—“ you yelp.

“Shhhh, be good.” He huffs out as his fingers accelerate. “Ah—“ Your moans grow loud and desperate with anticipation. “That’s it, give it to me, c’mon.”

You feel the knot build up in your abdomen. Your cuffed hands attempt to fist in the bedsheets, your eyes squeeze shut. “Ah— Ah— I—“ The sounds escaping your lips get desperate, and with a loud scream, you cum on his fingers.

“You did good, sweetheart. Better when I don’t have to use force, huh?” He chuckles with a cocky smile on his face and then bites his lip.

You can’t believe you just let your best friend see you like that. To touch you like that.

He easily manhandles you on your stomach and reaches for the key to unlock the cuffs restraining your wrist.

You roll your eyes to the back of your head and throw your head back in pleasure. Freedom. Finally.

You don’t waste any time yanking him by his vest on top of you, looking in his eyes with hint of lust and mostly love. His eyes soften when he sees the look on your face.

"Sweetheart, stop looking at me like that or I swear to god—" He cuts his own sentence off when you start undoing the tactical belt on his pants. Dean immediately starts undoing the tactical vest on his torso, after all, he can't have heavy gear on him when he's going to fuck you.

"You have no goddamn idea how much I love you [Name]." You get his belt off and slam the belt on the floor, soon the tactical vest comes next. Dean moves to undo the combat shirt, but you grab his wrist and stop him. "Keep it on, it looks sexy."

"Sorry, baby, cannot do. It's heavy-ass layers, and you get sweaty. I need to be able to fuck you properly. His voice is rough and raspy." Dean starts stripping the uniform one by one until he's finally in his boxers. He pulls them off in a swift motion, his long thick veiny cock hard and the tip flushed, glistening with pre-cum.

"You sure you can take it?" Dean asks one last time, sounding impatient and needy.

"Yes."

With your last confirmation of consent, he doesn't waste any time and shoves his cock in your sopping hole. Your eyes roll in the back of your head, and your head throws back along with your mouth opening and letting out a noise that sounds something like between a moan and a gasp. Your hands immediately grip and claw at his back. You get it now. The moans echoing from behind the door when he's with women. It all makes sense.

Seeing his cock is one thing. But feeling it? A whole other.

When he starts thrusting into you, you start moaning like a mess. You've had your shares of good sex before and guys with above-average sizes. But this was on a whole other level. You've never felt anything like this.

"Dean—" you moan, almost sounding in pain. "Shhh. It's okay baby, don't be a silly girl. You have to get used to me. It'll feel so good in a while." He kisses your forehead. "I promise." Dean grabs your waist for stability, and the other hand moves to hold you behind your head. "Fuck— Dean— Dea—" you moan, and he just chuckles. He's so cocky. "That feel good princess?" You don't answer. Just continue being a moaning mess, and that is answer enough for him.

Dean's pace quickens and you moan even louder. You clench around the girth of his cock, and he hisses through his teeth. "Fuck, I've wanted you since forever," Dean grunts. "Sorry, sweetheart, but I ain't gonna last long if you keep doing that, sweets."

Dean fucks you deeper and harder, and the noises that echo in the room are just purely filthy and erotic. It sounds like you're straight up making porn in there. The bed rocks and squeaks. If anyone is staying next to you, they probably hate your guts right now. "Dean—Dean!! "I'm going to cum!!" You scream.

"Yeah, me too, doll." He grunts, barely keeping it together. Both of you let go, somehow managing to finish at the same time. You scream in bliss, and Dean lets out a rough moan.

̸̳̔̎​̎̎ ̿̿̅̅/ ̔̅̅ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿̅̅ ̿̿ ̸̳̔̎​̎̎ ̿̿̅̅/ ̔̅̅ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿̅̅ ̿̿ ̸̳̔̎​̎̎ ̿̿̅̅/ ̔̅̅ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿̅̅ ̿̿

You and Dean got all cleaned up, and now you're tangled up together. Comfortable in each other's arms, practically asleep.

However, walking out of the motel room the next day and finding out Sam was staying next to you the whole time was a pretty awkward moment…

authors note: This was meant to come out yesterday, however, I was stuying 'till 2 am. Sorry guys, enjoy!!

masterlist

[avalonlover]

Birthday Flowers

summary: garcia loves to hear every detail of your unlucky love life, but when spencer reid over hears your most recent failed date story, he can't let it go

a/n: i have two things to say.

one, i have a really hard time writing because i'm a perfectionist so i didn't edit this or plan it much for the sake of being able to write it at all, sorry if there's mistakes!

two, this is the second story i've done where i go way too into detail about the reader's fuck ass love love. if i were to edit this, i'd cut a lot of it down, but i won't for now so let's just call it garcia-centric

tags: reader has a shitty situationship, garcia-centric, garcia is nosy, thoughtful reid, bau!reader, show of affection, grand gesture, fluff, little to no angst (ugh…)

word count: 2.7k

...

You were smiling as Garcia spoke, passionately and far too loud for an office setting, but inside you were pleading for her to shut up.

You felt compelled to divulge the on-goings of your dating life to her for a few reasons.

One: When you met a tall, dark, handsome man at the bar on a night out (which she’d watch from afar with all-consuming wonder) or after a small, meaningless, casual date, she’d request every juicy detail. In fact, she—and this isn’t an exaggeration—would wait by the elevator until you arrived at the office and follow you all the way to your desk, throwing a barrage of questions at you until she was satisfied (almost never) or you shooed her away (much more likely.)

All that to say, she loved it.

Two: the way she spoke about your adventures, how she hung on your every word, made your rather lack-luster love life feel like a block-buster film franchise, and you were the lovable, somewhat unlucky, career focused twenty-something leading lady. 

You needed someone to romanticize your interactions with a long list of losers, otherwise you would have given up a long time ago. (You’d never admit it, how little faith you had in yourself and men in general, but you figured it wasn’t too difficult to tell how much you cherished her enthusiasm.)

Three: discussing these men—their horrific manors, their tasteless fashion choices, their comments that would make your skin crawl—made the whole thing rather comedic. There were instances where a man would spend all his time reminiscing about his ex or ask you to pay for dinner (which happens more often than you’d like to admit), you found yourself unbothered, practically giddy, that they were giving you something to laugh about on Monday morning. 

It wasn’t often you found yourself embarrassed by the second-class treatment they gave you, but this particular story was a little different than most.

After much convincing from the team, you joined the FBI baseball league—mostly just to get out of the house and spend time with Morgan and Prentiss making fun of things like the high-and-mighty CIA and the disinterested look on Hotch’s face at his rare appearances. 

One spring day you were planted in the outfield, squinting through the sun to catch a glimpse of home plate, or anything for that matter.

You couldn’t quite see him yet, not with the glare, but the man up to bat was gorgeous (you were semi-certain.)

And when he rounded second base, close enough to allow a proper glance, suddenly you were taken by a man from Office of the Director of National Intelligence.

This is obviously hilarious within itself because that is a pistol of a title, you were far too old to be fawning over the way he looked while in batters stance, and because this was probably a mark of just how boring you found the outfield.

But you were infatuated and that was the fact of the matter. The way your eyes followed him around the field, the teenager-like warmth in your chest you got when his attention was on you, was tough to make peace with but exhilarating at the same time.

You smiled the second you stepped into the dug out—this was the fun part. Not meandering out in the field, too far for any conversation. No, in the peanut gallery with your team, laughing at the SWAT team meat heads at the plate and convincing Reid and Hotch to try their luck with the bat.

Morgan looked up at you, handing you a water bottle as he scooted along the metal bench to make space for you.

You tossed your hat in the open space, hands too tangled up in your ponytail to accept the drink.

Reid, dutifully, almost opportunistically, took the bottle from Morgan who the set his attention elsewhere.

“Thank you,” you attempted a smile even with a hair tie clamped between your front teeth.

As you sat, just when the cool metal kissed your sweaty thighs, you realized he had your hat, too. You laughed and gestured in the air as if to say knock it off, you’re too nice.

He watched with wide eyes as you sipped your water and fidgeted with the fly away framing your face, saying nothing—trying to think of something, yes, but saying nothing.

“Do you think these are good guys,” you muse, nudging your water bottle towards the field.

“Good,” he whispered and furrowed his brow. He was giving too much weight to such a trivial question, he was aware, but he just wanted to get this right.”

“Do you mean good as in skilled in the game of baseball? Because they are beating us, obviously, but in the grand scheme of the sport, accounting for all levels of—”

“I mean good people, you know? Nice guys.”

You didn’t think much of the way you looked at Spencer, but he didn’t detect any exhaustion or frustration. No sarcasm or laughing on his behalf.

That consideration was why he enjoyed talking to you so much, but this wasn’t a conversation he was dying to have.

He saw the way you were looking at the striking man with the muscles and the facial hair. It was a natural progression to ask around about him, he just didn’t think you’d be asking him.

He pursed his lips and watched in your periphery as you scanned the field, likely searching for this man.

“Probably, yeah,” he nodded. “Why?”

You got flustered under the slightest bit of pressure, making you feel all the more like a little girl.

“Just wanted to talk to one of them,” you shrugged, keeping your eyes anywhere but on Reid.

“Which one?” Reid asked, despite knowing.

You waved it off and sat back against the bench, watching the head of your IT department whiff so bad he could have pulled something.

“You should talk to him,” Reid whispered to you, a finality in his tone that suggested he was dropping it now, too.

After some consideration, you decided it might not be a bad spot of advice from Reid.

You approached the man under the guise of small-talk and, thankfully, he was on the same page when your conversation veered towards not-so-subtle flirting.

He asked you on a date, a hole-in-the-wall sushi place on the outskirts of Georgetown, but with the fact that he wasn’t suggesting a night in his bedroom or “drinks” (come to find out, drinks never meant just drinks), he may as well have been asking you to join him at the Met Gala. 

When he pulled out your chair for you and actually asked you questions about yourself, one date became two, then three, then you were meeting his friends and, when your schedules allowed, intimate and rather sweet movie nights at his place. 

You wondered if he was actually one of the good ones, or if maybe you hadn’t dug deep enough to find his deal-breaker flaws yet. Either way, you planned on seeing it out till the end. 

“The end,” or what you deemed might be that, came on a Sunday, two days before your birthday. He suggested Italian, then a late night showing of your favorite horror movie. It was low-profile but it was perfect, at least by your standards.

He didn’t call it a birthday celebration, but he promised flowers and however much dessert you wanted, and that was sufficient in place of labeling it your special day. 

You counted down the days to Sunday and when it finally came, you finally ripped the tags off the too-pricy dress you bought months ago and incessantly fussed over your hair until the time he would be picking you up.

Two minutes past the hours, he called to say he was stuck at a friend's house when the Ravens game went into overtime. It was fine because you loved football yourself (though you despised the Ravens) and at least he told you.  

Then, when he was running late enough to potentially lose your reservation, he requested you meet him there. It was understandable and he apologized so you made peace with it and braved the thirty minute drive in the taxi that reeked of cigarettes and sweat. 

Finally, you spied him in the low light, pressed against the wall at a corner table. He was grinning from ear to ear in a rather sharp button down, his hair gelled back in just the way you liked. His phone and wallet rested on the table and nothing more. That is to say, no flowers.

This was your first grievance with the night, or at least the first one you let yourself admit got under your skin. It was silly, really, and weren’t you always dramatic about things like this?

But when you pictured this night, which you ended up doing quite frequently, you always took care to imagine the beautiful bouquet of flowers, the first one he’d ever given you (or would have been, at that).

But you were a grown woman and things happen—such is life—so you were prepared to look past it and enjoy the night.

And dinner was fine! It was fine.

Conversation was slow because you were calling more frequently now and didn’t have much new to discuss. There was no dessert, no movie, no magical night spent together because he had to run out. Some half-assed excuse that left you alone in the restaurant, jazz music swelling around you in the silence as you wondered what truly grabbed his attention enough to leave you there. 

Come to find out, after one very painful phone call later that night and a full blown inquisition, he admitted he’d forgotten your birthday all together, which made his carelessness just barely easier to swallow, but the whole event much, much worse.

Garcia knew of your plans far in advance—she would be expecting you to recount every beautiful romantic detail early the next morning, but as you laid awake that night, disheartened and decidedly very lonely, you wondered how you’d bring yourself to tell her. 

The more embarrassing conversations were held in her office as if it was a therapy session with a mental health professional who didn’t quite have professional boundaries.

That would have been your saving grace except the IT team was conducting its routine bi-monthly compliance inspection, because of course they were! Better yet, Hotch was running one-on-one performances evaluations with the team in the conference room, because of course he was!

And there you were, stranded at your desk, not a lick of privacy in sight, with Garcia insisting you gave her a minute-by-minute replay (ever stubborn she was, she wouldn’t leave until she got what she wanted).

Morgan was meeting with Hotch, which spared you just barely because if anyone would take a sensitive topic such as this one and turn it into one big joke, it would be him. 

As for JJ, Prentiss, and Reid, they’d been getting an unsolicited earful for the last ten minutes.

“It’d be one thing if he didn’t mention flowers in the first place!” Garcia cried. She’d already made herself comfy on the edge of your desk long ago, leaving you little space to work. 

You didn’t have anything to say because you’d offered every version of a comment on that very topic half a dozen times now.

In the wave of Garcia’s rambling, your attention drifted elsewhere and landed on JJ, offering you a pitiful glance that only twisted the knife. 

Garcia turned to Reid, who was pretending he wasn’t intently listening and clearly wanted no part of the conversation.

“Reid, have you ever gotten a girl flowers?” 

He didn’t turn around until Garcia repeated the question, charitably, as if he wasn’t purposely avoiding it. 

He spun in his chair, avoiding you entirely which made you wonder if you should be more embarrassed about this than you already were, because you knew this was brutal but not the avoiding eye contact kind.

He pursed his lips, thinking briefly, then looked up at Garcia, “Does my mom count?”

Garcia placed a hand over her heart and cooed at him like he was a child. 

“Does it?” He asked, earnestly this time because she hadn’t given him a concrete answer.

“Yes, that counts,” you said, and even though you weren’t sure it did, you wanted to make him feel better.

He looked at you, just for a moment, then returned back to his work.

The next day brought cupcakes and singing in your honor and much more celebration than your sort-of and now no-longer boyfriend never offered.

He’d call tonight, probably, but you resolved to letting it ring out. Hopefully. Sometimes, even with the TV on, your apartment got quiet enough to drive you up a wall.

The affection your team showered you in was truly a pleasure, reminding you that despite the gruesome, unforgiving work, the people you do it with dug out a tender spot in their hearts for you. It meant more than you were ever willing to admit, especially in something as stiff as an office setting.

But despite that, what stuck with you the most from that day, before the treats and celebrations, were the bouquet of peonies and baby’s breath on your desk. Your favorite flowers, prepared for your arrival, without a note. Beautiful tufts of pink and white, framed with green, sat there unceremoniously, like they didn’t want to draw attention to themselves, which made it all the more meaningful and intriguing.

You beelined to Garcia’s office, ready to shower her in hugs and gracious thanks for the gesture, until she told you it wasn’t her doing. She went on about how foolish she felt for not thinking of it herself but you stepped out before you could hear the end of it. 

You returned to your desk, examining the flowers where you’d left them, untouched, as if they were evidence. It had to be the doing of someone on the team, that you were sure of, but who?

You looked over the divider between your desk and JJ’s, opening your mouth before you realized she wasn’t there at all. Her jacket, her bag, her water bottle that went with her everywhere—nowhere to be found. 

With a delicate hand, you grabbed the flowers and turned to see Reid was behind you (as he nearly almost was for a majority of your day, and you liked it that way—his steady presences). He was diligently folded over his desk and twiddling a pen between his fingers. If anyone knew who left you this gift, it was him, ever observant he was. And easy to press a confession out of!

But when you approached his desk and he avoided you for a brief moment, then looked up at you with a sweet and sheepish expression. That was all the answer you needed.

“You did this?” And when you said it aloud you suddenly, and rather shockingly, became a bit flustered yourself.

“Uh, yeah, I did,” he said, making a seemingly painstaking effort to look you in the eye. “I just felt bad after what I heard yesterday, and uh…”

“You knew these were my favorite?”

Simply put, you felt dense after saying that because of course he did. All it took was one passing comment in his ear-shot and he would know it for life.

Given the beautiful array of flowers in your hand, it was obvious you’d mentioned it before. When? You weren’t sure. For all you knew it could have been years ago, which did something to your heart that you were preoccupied to name. 

All he could do was nod, a blush creeping across his face that made you wonder if this was more than just a friendly gesture. Your ego told you not to read into it. Your profiler brain said otherwise. Another thing too complicated to unpack in this moment.

“Get up,” you ordered, not unkindly, gesturing for him to stand. 

“What?” He recoiled, yet bracing himself on the arms of his chair as if his body was betraying him.

“Get up,” a smile crept across your face, amused at how he squirmed under the uncertainty.

When he did, you enveloped him in a hug, wrapping your hands around his back and pressing your cheek into his chest.

You’d hugged before, many times in fact, and you were ready to remind him of that if he had any objections to the physical touch.

You thought he might because it was your idea, not his, and it seemed to have caught him off guard, but he didn’t complain.

At first, he froze, hands hovering in the air as if he was in danger, but after a moment his arms wrapped around your neck and settled on his shoulders. You could feel the tension leave his body as he sighed and, if you weren’t mistaken, you felt his cheek brush against your hair for a fleeting moment. 

“Thank you,” you said into his shirt, muffled by the fabric. 

Instead of speaking, he squeezed you tighter and your cheeks warmed in response. 

He didn’t pull away. Much to your surprise, you had to be the one to do it because at a certain point it crossed the line from polite to too-intimate for the office. 

You missed the warmth of his body pressed against yours when he was gone and you found yourself lingering in his personal space as consolation. 

His mouth opened, then closed again, and sometimes when you knew what he wanted to say you would start for him to spur him into action, but you were clueless in this moment. You both had to wait there for him to articulate whatever he was wrestling with.

He pushed his hair out of his eyes to give his hands something to do and then, with more confidence than he expected to have, said, “Do you have any fun plans for tonight.”

Your mind flashed, very briefly, to the image of tonight you already created. You, alone with a bowl of ice cream, lounging in front of the TV and listening intently for your phone despite having placed it on the far end of the room. 

And when you looked at Spencer, the way his eyes darted around your face, how he shifted his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other, you knew exactly what he was trying to say. 

“No,” you grinned, “I don’t actually.” 

His eyes widened as if he didn’t expect that response and now had to follow through. Now you knew what this was—now you were able to help him. 

“Why do you ask?”

It came off coy and you knew it. He knew it. It was an open invitation and it surprised you how much you wanted him to accept it. 

You pictured your night with him, not with the douchebag from the Office of the Director of National Intelligence. (God, that’s a mouthful).

You didn’t conjure any images in particular—nothing more than him in your vicinity on your special day and the warmth that created within you, even if he was just a friend.

And he was! A co-worker friend at that. But co-worker friends can make you feel warm on your birthday, more than the man you’re seeing could, and that’s totally normal and appropriate, you were pretty sure.

He drew his lip between his teeth, his eyes darting around your face again like he was searching for something.

“I was just wondering,” he shrugged.

With a curt nod, you pretended to retreat to your desk. Despite the apparent dead-end, you knew he wasn’t done yet, but the longer you stood face to face with him and waited for a response, the longer it’s take to come.

Just as you lowered into your seat, he said, “I’m not doing anything either.”

You froze in place, smiling down at your keyboard.

His voice was much softer, barely audible because he didn’t want to draw any attention to you two. When you turned back around, he looked a little more relieved now, too.

“Great, maybe we could do something,” you shrugged like it wasn’t something you were suddenly craving. You filed that away with the other things to analyze later. It was too early for such realizations, anyway.

He was smiling now, too. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “why don’t you come up with some ideas. I have no idea what’s fun to do around here.”

That comment snapped him out of the vaguely intimate moment between you.

“Do you think that I know what’s fun around here?”

He laughed at himself, at such a preposterous idea, and you laughed along because it was a bit ridiculous. It was almost like flirting (Flirting? Is that correct?) with him made you forget it was Reid altogether.

“I think we have different ideas of fun,” he said, his face settling into something more comfortable. 

“I don’t care what we do. Just as long as you’re there.”

You tried, and failed, to mask how much honestly your comment carried. 

He looked at you in what can only be described as utter shock, then it melted into something more tender. 

“Okay,” he nodded, looking as overwhelmed as he would have if you asked him to paint the Sistine Chapel, and yet with enough determination to do it in a day.

You both sound back to your desks, but before you could open the file in front of you, he angled his chair just enough to be heard by you alone.

“Me, too,” he whispered. 

You didn’t respond, didn’t turn around because you didn’t want him to notice the pure joy written all over your face. 

[whisperedmeg]

LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO ⟢ spencer reid x greenaway!reader

summary: a follow-up doctor’s appointment leaves you with medical clearance, a filthy dream, and a rapidly deteriorating ability to act normal around your boyfriend spencer reid. genre: smut (with a lil angst & hurt/comfort) tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI! reader is elle's sister, mentions of gunshot wound/surgery, sex dream, miscommunication (or more like lack thereof), pent-up horniness, incredibly tender & thoughtful spencer reid, making out, dry humping, fingering, oral (f receiving), handjob, very lovey dovey p-in-v sex, spencer calls reader angel & sweetheart, no use of y/n. title from the hozier song. 6.6k words a/n: wow i missed writing smut!! hope you guys enjoy this one as much as i loved writing it. GIF creds to @reidgif 🫶🏼

greenaway!reader masterlist 🥀

The problem with bringing Spencer Reid to a follow-up appointment is that he takes follow-up appointments very seriously.

You sit on the paper-lined exam table in a gown that does nothing for your dignity. In the chair beside you, Spencer has his hands folded neatly in his lap, his expression locked into that polite, attentive mask he wears when he is one second away from making your life worse with a technically reasonable question.

You should have come to this appointment alone.

Instead, Spencer drove you here, walked you in, sat beside you in the waiting room, and then stayed because somewhere in the last few months, the line between your life and his got erased so thoroughly neither of you even pretended to look for it.

The doctor flips through your scans. “Everything looks good,” he says. “You’re healing well. Scar tissue is forming the way we want it to. You can keep increasing your workouts gradually, and as long as you’re comfortable, you can resume regular sexual activity, including intercourse.”

The room goes silent.

You look very deliberately at the anatomical poster of lungs on the wall instead of at Spencer.

He clears his throat.

“Doctor, would there be,” he asks, in the tone of a man trying very hard to sound like a normal person, “any concern about strain depending on positioning?”

The doctor nods thoughtfully. “Not particularly, but use common sense. If anything causes sharp pain, stop. Otherwise, there’s no medical reason to avoid it.”

You make a soft sound of despair.

The doctor smiles like this is all adorable instead of excruciating, gives you a few more instructions about physical therapy and scar care, and sends you on your way.

By the time Spencer gets you back to the car, your pride is on life support.

He starts the engine. Adjusts the air. Keeps both hands on the wheel.

Does not look at you.

Interesting.

You buckle in slowly, then turn to study his profile. “Are you going to pretend that didn’t just happen all the way home?”

Spencer’s grip on the steering wheel tightens by a fraction. “I’m not pretending anything. I’m driving.”

You glare out the windshield. Traffic inches forward. Somewhere up ahead, somebody leans on their horn.

The silence stretches just long enough to get weird.

Then Spencer says, very carefully, “If I embarrassed you, it wasn’t intentional.”

“You absolutely did embarrass me,” you say. “Just so we’re clear.”

His mouth twitches. “I know. I’m sorry.”

The apology is sincere enough to take the heat out of your irritation.

You shift carefully in your seat, one hand resting near your scar out of habit. Weeks of almosts flicker through your mind before you can stop them: Spencer’s hand lingering at your waist while helping you out of bed. A kiss in the kitchen that got hotter than either of you meant it to and ended with both of you breathing like idiots. Falling asleep beside him and waking up painfully aware of how hard he was against you.

You glance at him again. He catches it this time.

His voice is quieter when he says, “Are you okay?”

You look at the road ahead and answer honestly enough. “Yeah. I’m just never going to recover from hearing you ask my doctor about sex positions.”

That gets a laugh out of him, startled and soft. “It was medically relevant!”

“You’re such a loser.”

The light ahead turns red. Spencer reaches across the console and takes your hand without looking at you. His thumb brushes once over your knuckles, grounding and absentminded and familiar.

Your pulse does something deeply unhelpful.

When he lifts your hand and presses one quick kiss to the back of it before the light changes, you stare at him for a second too long.

—

That night, sleep gets hold of you slowly.

You drift under with the doctor’s voice still somewhere in the back of your mind, absurd and clinical and impossible to scrub out. Resume sexual activity. Including intercourse. No medical reason to avoid it. You hate that those phrases followed you home. You hate even more that Spencer spent the rest of the day being so perfectly normal about them that it somehow made everything worse. He made dinner. He asked if you wanted tea. He kissed your forehead before bed like a gentleman in a nineteenth-century novel and then laid beside you with both hands respectfully to himself, which should have been considerate and instead felt vaguely like psychological warfare.

So when your subconscious finally gives up and takes over, it does so with very little patience.

Now, his mouth is already on yours.

Hot, deep, and unhurried in a way that feels almost cruel, because he knows exactly how long you’ve both been waiting and is taking his time anyway. One of his hands is braced beside your head; the other is sliding slowly up your thigh, deliberate enough to make your whole body tighten around the wanting of it.

You make a helpless sound into his mouth and he swallows it like he’s starving.

There’s nothing careful about him here. No polite restraint. No respectful distance. Just Spencer, warm and solid over you, kissing you like he finally got tired of being good. His mouth drags from yours to your throat, then lower, and the scrape of his breath across your skin sends a sharp pulse of heat through your stomach. His fingers slide higher. Your back arches before you can stop it. He makes that low sound he only ever makes when you catch him off guard, and finally—

You wake up.

Dark room. Racing heart. Sheets tangled around you. Spencer asleep beside you, one arm loose over the blanket, sleeping face looking almost innocent.

Which is offensive, frankly.

You lie there for a second, staring at the ceiling, willing your body to get a grip. You’re hot everywhere and exhausted and painfully aware of the man breathing softly inches away from you.

You shift carefully, trying to settle yourself without making the mattress move too much.

Spencer makes a sleepy sound and rolls slightly toward you.

His hand lands, warm and heavy, at your waist. Not low enough to be indecent, but not innocent enough to help. He blinks awake halfway, hair a mess, eyes barely open behind the smudge of sleep.

“Y’okay?” he murmurs.

You almost laugh. “Mm-hm.”

His thumb strokes once over your side. “But you’re awake.”

“Astute observation, doc.”

He gives a drowsy little hum that might be a laugh, then presses a soft kiss to your shoulder without opening his eyes all the way. “C’mon. Go back to sleep, angel.”

The tenderness of it nearly kills you.

You manage some kind of affirmative sound and lie there stiffly until his breathing evens out again. By the time you finally drift back under, you’re more irritated than sleepy.

Morning does nothing to improve your mood.

By lunch, you are deeply tired of yourself.

Spencer notices, of course. He notices when you answer too quickly, when you mutter at the coffee maker, when you snap at a cabinet door for existing too loudly. He lets the first few things go. Lets the next few go too. By the time the sun sets, you’re in the kitchen tidying absolutely nothing with far more aggression than the task requires when he leans in the doorway and says, very carefully, “Did I do something?”

You don’t look at him. “No.”

Spencer comes a little farther into the room. “You’ve been weird all day.”

You turn and look at him flatly. “That’s rich coming from you.”

His brows draw together. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” You gesture vaguely at his whole irritatingly beautiful existence. “You’ve been acting bizarre since the appointment yesterday.”

Something flickers across his face. 

“Okay,” he says slowly. “So this is about the appointment.”

“Partly.”

Spencer folds his arms. “What’s the other part?”

You glare at him.

He waits.

You hate when he does that. Calm, patient, terrifyingly sure that if he stands there long enough, you’ll crack on your own.

“Nothing,” you mutter.

“That’s definitely not true.”

You exhale sharply through your nose and look away. “You’re just… being annoying.”

“Annoying how?”

You stare at him a moment and suck in a tight breath. “You’re being so polite and respectful that it’s looping back around into driving me insane.” The words come out too fast, almost tripping over one another.

Spencer blinks.

You push on before your pride can stop you. “Ever since the doctor said—” You cut yourself off, grimacing. “You know. Ever since then, you’ve been acting like if you touch me, a panel of experts is going to kick in my front door and revoke your boyfriend privileges. Which makes absolutely no sense, since the doctor essentially gave you permission to act exactly opposite of that.”

To your annoyance, the corner of his mouth twitches.

“This isn’t funny,” you say.

“I know.” He pauses. “It’s a little funny.”

You glare at him until the twitch fades.

Then Spencer sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. I’m…” He trails off, visibly searching for the least embarrassing version of his own thoughts. “I’m trying not to make it feel like some sort of… medically approved finish line. Or a milestone we have to hit right away because somebody in a white coat told us we could.” He pauses, gaze softening into something even more earnest. “Sex with you is always a big deal to me, and I— I didn’t want it to feel forced.”

The room goes quieter around the truth of that.

You look at him for a long second, your irritation shifting shape. “That’s… annoyingly sweet. And very thoughtful,” you huff.

Spencer looks wary. “You say that like being sweet and thoughtful is a bad thing.”

“Sometimes it is a bad thing!” you tell him. “Because now you’re acting like a monk.”

His eyebrows go up. “A monk.”

“Yes. A weirdly hot, deeply annoying monk.”

That gets a laugh out of him. He ducks his head once, and the sound of it loosens something in your chest.

Then he looks back up, eyes softer now. “You know I want you. I just…”

“Just what?” you ask.

His jaw flexes. “I don’t trust myself to get this exactly right. I… I want it to be perfect.”

You let that sit for a second.

Of course that’s what this is. He’s been silently tying himself in knots because the first time after all this matters to him enough that he’s terrified of getting it wrong.

As if anything about Spencer touching you has ever felt careless. As if every time he’s ever had you hasn’t felt exactly, devastatingly right.

“Spence,” you say, quieter now. “You have literally never gotten this wrong.”

His eyes flick back to yours.

“You should give yourself a little more credit,” you add.

Something softer moves through his expression at that, but the tension in the room doesn’t entirely loosen. 

“I’m sorry I’ve been on edge all day,” you mumble. “I just… uh, didn’t sleep well. And things were already weird after the appointment, and then you spent all day acting all monastic, and it was annoying.”

Spencer’s mouth twitches. “Monastic.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do.” He tilts his head slightly. “But I can see that there’s something else you’re not telling me.”

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t profile me, Reid.”

He gives you a look that says really?

You fold your arms tighter. “Drop it.”

Spencer steps a little closer. “Please, just tell me. Did I do something specific to upset you this morning?”

“No,” you say. “My annoyance started when you were still asleep.”

He blinks. “What does that mean?”

You drag your hand down your face and refuse to look at him. “It means I was already in a bad mood by the time you woke up.”

“Why?”

“Spencer.”

His voice drops. Gentle. Curious. Much too perceptive. “Why?”

You stare at the cabinet over his shoulder like it might save you. It doesn’t.

When you finally speak, it comes out flat with embarrassment. “Because I had a dream about you.”

He goes perfectly still.

You can feel the heat climbing your neck now, which is deeply humiliating and somehow still not enough to stop you from making it worse.

“A very explicit dream,” you add. “And then I woke up next to you, and you were being all sweet and sleepy and impossible, and I’ve spent the entire day trying not to lose my mind while you’ve been walking around like you’ve taken a vow of chastity.”

For one long second, Spencer just stares at you.

“Oh,” he says faintly.

You glare at him. “Yeah. Oh.”

His hand comes up to run through his hair, which should not be as attractive as it is, before taking one slow step closer. “You had a sex dream about me.”

“Please don’t say it like that.”

“How should I say it?”

“Preferably not at all.”

That almost gets a laugh out of him, but his eyes stay fixed on your face. On your mouth.

“And you’ve been angry at me ever since,” he says softly.

“Not angry.” You fold your arms tighter, then immediately regret the defensive posture. “Just… severely inconvenienced by your entire vibe today.”

Spencer huffs a quiet breath. “My vibe.”

“Yes. All of your weird, noble self-restraint bullshit.”

His gaze drops for half a second. When it lifts again, it’s darker. Less careful. “You want me to stop being noble?”

The question lands low in your stomach.

You look at him for one long second, then say, “I want you to stop acting like you have to be afraid of this.”

“That,” he says, voice rougher now, “I can do.”

You tilt your chin up. “Good.”

That does it.

He crosses the space between you and kisses you before either of you says another word, fast and warm and far less careful than he’s been in weeks. You make a startled sound into his mouth and then he’s got one hand cupping the back of your neck, the other sliding around your waist, pulling you into him with a kind of urgency that feels so familiar it almost hurts.

You kiss him back just as hard, because whatever awkward, polite, maddening restraint has been sitting between you since the doctor’s appointment goes up in smoke the second his tongue slides against yours and his grip tightens on your body like he’s finally allowing himself to remember what it feels like to want you out loud.

He backs you into the counter.

Your hips hit the edge, and Spencer catches himself immediately, pulling back just enough to search your face.

“You okay?”

You could laugh at the reflexive question if you weren’t so busy trying to catch your breath.

“Yes,” you say, and then, because his eyes still look full of concern and guilt and about ten other things, you hook a hand into the front of his shirt and drag him back in. “Spence, please.”

That does something to him.

You feel it in the low sound he makes into your mouth, in the way his hands slide over your waist and hips and ass with a greedier kind of certainty now, in the way his body presses against yours until there’s nothing left between you except clothes and frustration.

You’ve missed this. Not just his mouth, not just his hands, but the particular electricity of being wanted by him. The way he’s never casual about it. The way wanting seems to move through his whole body like a current, making him shake just a little when he’s trying too hard to hold still.

You drag your fingers through his hair and he exhales against your lips, rough and wrecked enough to make heat slide lower in your body.

Then his hands are suddenly everywhere — one at your waist, one under your thigh — and before you can fully process it, he’s lifting you.

A startled laugh breaks against his mouth. “Spencer!”

“I know,” he murmurs, sounding like he absolutely does not know anything except that he needs you closer.

You hook your arms around his neck automatically, and he kisses you all the way down the hall, slow one second and hungry the next, like he keeps getting distracted by the fact that this is really happening. By the time he reaches the bed, both of you are breathing harder, the room suddenly too warm, the air charged with all the weeks of not doing this.

He sits on the edge of the mattress with you still in his arms, settling you into his lap like muscle memory.

You straddle him carefully, and for one suspended second, neither of you moves at all.

You can feel how hard he already is beneath you. He can definitely feel how wet you are. The realization lands between you like a match struck in the dark, and both of you go a little quieter with it.

Then Spencer lifts his hands to your face and kisses you again, slower now.

His fingers eventually slip under the hem of your shirt, and your breath catches. He peels the fabric up slowly, reverently, exposing skin inch by inch until he tosses it aside and just… looks at you.

Not at your breasts at first, though he notices those (obviously). Not at the waistband of your pants, though his hands twitch toward it. Instead, his gaze drifts to the scar on your side.

You suck in a sharp breath.

It isn’t that he hasn’t seen it before. He has, in bathroom fluorescents and early-morning light and the thin gray blur before dawn. He’s seen it while helping you change bandages, while handing you clean shirts, while pretending very valiantly not to stare as you step out of the shower.

But this is different.

This is the first time he’s looking at it with his hands already warm on your skin and his mouth pink from kissing you and want written so plainly across his face that you can’t hide from it. This is the first time the scar is here, in this moment, as part of something hungry instead of something clinical.

Some small, stupid muscle deep in your body braces before you can stop it.

Spencer notices, because of course he does.

His expression softens. He lifts one hand and traces the skin near the scar with the backs of his fingers, light enough to make you shiver. Then he bends his head and presses a kiss just above it.

Nothing dramatic or mournful. Just warm mouth, careful breath, and the kind of tenderness that makes your eyes sting before you can stop them.

He feels you react and looks up instantly. “Sorry, should I— Would you rather I didn’t?”

You shake your head too fast. “No, no. It’s not that.”

Spencer waits.

You swallow. “It just feels… different.”

Understanding moves through his face so gently it almost hurts. 

His thumb strokes once over your waist. He nods softly, then he bends again.

This time, he lets his mouth linger. One slow kiss over the scar itself, then another just below it, then one at the curve of your ribs beside it, unhurried and unafraid and so heartbreakingly natural that whatever you’d been bracing for just… dissolves.

Not because he makes it disappear, but because he doesn’t.

Because he folds it into the wanting of you without making it something tragic or fragile or strange. Because he touches it like it belongs exactly where it is: on your body, in his hands, in this moment, as much a part of being wanted as any other inch of your skin.

Your fingers thread into his hair.

“Spencer,” you whisper.

He looks up, and there’s so much raw emotion on his face that your chest goes tight all over again.

“I need you to stop being perfect for, like, one second, or else I’m gonna explode.”

A startled, breathless laugh slips out of him. He ducks his head once, almost shy, then looks back at you with his mouth still curved.

“I’m just being myself,” he says.

You narrow your eyes. “Exactly.”

He laughs, then mouths at your breast over the thin lace of your bra, and all coherent thoughts leave your body.

A broken moan escapes before you can stop it. Spencer groans softly at the sound and does it again, more deliberate this time, his tongue teasing through the fabric until your hips roll against him and he slides one hand around to your ass to help you move.

Your head falls back. The room spins pleasantly.

It’s not enough. Nothing about this feels like enough after waiting this long.

Your hands fumble with the buttons of his shirt, and he helps with shaking fingers, both of you half-laughing at how badly your coordination has abandoned you. By the time the shirt is open and pushed off his shoulders, you’re almost dizzy with relief.

His chest. His skin. His stupidly beautiful body, warm and solid under your hands.

You drag your palms over him, down his chest and stomach, and Spencer sucks in a breath that makes you feel downright vindicated.

“Missed this?” you tease.

He looks at you with pupils blown wide. “You have no idea.”

You hum. “Try me.”

Spencer takes his glasses off and drops them onto the nightstand with a clatter that would’ve made him twitch on any normal day. Then he cups your breasts through your bra with both hands, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they harden further under the lace.

“I’ve been trying,” he says quietly, and his voice has gone rough enough to make your thighs clench. “Every single day.”

Heat flashes through you.

You kiss him before he can see too much of that on your face, grinding down against him with a little more pressure this time. Spencer swears into your mouth and his hands tighten on you immediately.

“That,” he says, breathless, “is not fair.”

You do it again.

“Who said anything about fair?”

His laugh catches halfway to becoming a groan. Then he drags your bra straps down your shoulders before undoing the clasp and easing it off you with a slowness that makes your skin feel tight. The second he sees you bare, his whole face changes to that particular Spencer look, the one that says he’s overwhelmed by wanting and trying very hard to stay in his own body.

He kisses you like that too. Mouth at your throat, your collarbone, your breasts, one hand spanning your back while the other squeezes your ass almost helplessly whenever you make a sound he likes.

You’ve almost forgotten how noisy the two of you are together. How impossible it is not to be when everything feels this good.

“Take these off,” you whisper against his hair, tugging at his belt.

Spencer obeys immediately, getting you both undressed in a rush of hands and fabric and impatient mouths. Shirts first. Then his slacks and boxer briefs, your leggings and panties, one by one, until you’re both bare except for the mismatched socks he forgot to take off and you laugh so hard you nearly ruin the mood.

He looks down, mortified. “Oh no.”

“Keep them on,” you say. “It’s weirdly working for me.”

Then he’s laughing too, and the absurdity of it makes the whole thing sweeter somehow. Less like a medical milestone, and more like what it actually is: the two of you, still completely yourselves, finally getting each other back.

Spencer pushes you back onto the bed and kisses down your stomach and inner thighs with such obvious devotion that by the time his tongue finally drags through your slick cunt, you’re already shaking.

There’s nothing tentative about his mouth once he starts. Careful, yes. Attentive, obviously. But not tentative. He moves like he’s making up for lost time, like he’s learned your body by heart and spent the last two months being denied the chance to prove it.

Your thighs tighten around his head. Your fingers twist in the sheets.

“Spencer,” you gasp.

He groans into you at the sound of his name, the vibration going straight through your body. Then two fingers slide inside you and you practically sob with relief.

The stretch. The fullness. The filthy, perfect drag of his fingers while his mouth works your clit in the same steady rhythm that’s always destroyed you.

You come faster than you want to, sharp and bright and helpless, with both hands in his hair and his name falling out of your mouth like a prayer and a curse and a sob all at once. He works you through it with maddening patience until you’re twitching and trying to squirm away. He catches your hips, holding you open while he gentles, savoring you, listening to every little sound that spills out.

You drag him back up your body the second you can breathe.

Spencer kisses you then, deep and lingering, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. He’s already so wound up that your first touch around his cock makes his whole body tense.

“Jesus,” he breathes.

“Hi,” you murmur, smug and breathless.

He gives you a desperate sort of half-laugh and lets his forehead fall to yours while your hand works him slowly. He’s always been beautiful when he’s close, but this is different. Softer, somehow. More open. He’s not trying to be polished or sexy or anything but exactly what he is: a man very much in love and losing his mind about it.

Your thumb brushes the tip of his cock and his hips jerk.

“Okay,” he says, a little wrecked. “Okay, if you, uh, keep doing that, I’m going to…”

“You’re going to what?”

Spencer looks at you, offended and helpless all at once. “You know what.”

You kiss him to stop being mean, and that’s what undoes him in the end. Your mouth on his, your hand around him, his own body too gone to hold back any longer. He comes with a broken sound against your lips, his forehead pressed hard to yours, one hand gripping your thigh tight enough to leave marks.

Afterward, neither of you goes very far.

He folds down beside you, still breathing hard, and you end up half tangled together in the sheets, your fingers drifting through his hair while his mouth moves lazily over yours, your jaw, your throat. 

The heat doesn’t disappear. It just softens around the edges, turning tender without losing any of its bite. His hand keeps returning to your side in those absent little strokes that aren’t really absent at all, thumb sweeping the skin near your scar like some part of him still needs the reminder that you’re here, warm and real and under his hands. You kiss and kiss and kiss until he’s hardening again between you.

“You okay?” he asks after a few minutes, low and serious again.

You kiss the corner of his mouth. “Very.”

“Any pain?”

“Just from how annoyingly good you are at all of this.”

Spencer closes his eyes and laughs against your shoulder. “That’s not really what I meant.”

“It’s the only answer you’re getting.”

He hums, unconvinced, and shifts up on one elbow to look at you properly. His gaze moves over your face like he’s checking for something only he can see.

“I know you want this,” he says quietly. “I also know abdominal surgery recovery, especially from something like a major gunshot wound, can be deceptive once the surface pain starts easing off. So I need you to be honest with me for a second.” His hand slides slowly over your waist, then lower, skimming your thigh. “Are you actually comfortable enough to keep going, or are you trying to tough your way through it because you’re impatient?”

You reach up and touch his face, letting your fingers trail over his jaw. “I’m not toughing my way through anything.”

Spencer’s eyes stay on yours.

“I’m comfortable,” you say, more clearly this time. “I want this. And if something hurts, I’ll tell you.”

He searches your face for another beat, then nods once, like he’s accepting terms more than asking permission.

“Okay,” he murmurs.

He kisses you once, deep and unsteady, then reaches into the nightstand drawer without taking his eyes off you. You watch him roll a condom on with careful fingers, his focus so intense it nearly makes you laugh.

Spencer settles between your thighs slowly, bracing most of his weight on his forearms, as if the idea of pressing too hard against you is enough to make his whole body tense. One of his hands slides down to your hip, thumb rubbing once, soothing and nervous all at once.

“Still okay?” he asks.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Promise.”

He nods, but you can feel the restraint in him. He kisses you once more, like he needs it, then reaches between you to guide himself into place.

The first nudge against your entrance is so careful it aches in an unexpected way — not physically, but just in how much emotion is packed into his restraint. Spencer’s breath catches. His forehead drops briefly to yours.

“You can stop me,” he says quietly. “At any point. Even if it’s halfway through. I mean it.”

Your fingers tighten on his shoulders. “Spencer.”

“Sorry.” He swallows. “I just need you to know.”

You soften, even through the heat thrumming low in your body. “I know,” you whisper. “Now come here.” 

You take his face in your hands and kiss him softer than any of the other times tonight.

He pushes in slowly, inch by inch, with enough care that you can feel every part of the stretch as it happens. Heat, fullness, pressure — all of it building so gradually your body has time to register each sensation before the next one arrives. You inhale sharply, and Spencer goes still immediately.

“Talk to me,” he says, voice rougher now.

You take a breath. “I’m okay. Just— just give me a second.”

Spencer nods, motionless except for the trembling effort it takes to stay that way. He kisses the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then the line of your jaw while he waits, his hand stroking slowly up and down your thigh like he’s trying to soothe both of you at once.

When the initial intensity eases and your body finally starts to open around him, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding and shift your hips the smallest bit closer.

“More,” you whisper.

Spencer’s eyes search yours. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

Spencer’s eyes close briefly at that, and then he slides in deeper.

It feels like being split open and soothed at the same time. Stretch and heat and relief so intense it’s as if your body is melting around him. 

He still moves carefully, still watches your face for microexpressions. But the restraint loosens enough that each thrust gets a little deeper, a little less tentative, until the two of you find that familiar rhythm that belongs to you and no one else.

Spencer’s mouth stays everywhere. Your throat, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. Every time you make a sound he likes, he kisses you harder. Every time your nails drag down his back, his hips stutter and he loses another inch of control.

You wrap a leg around his waist as best you can and pull him deeper.

Your orgasm builds slowly. It comes from the steady drag of his cock, the angle of it, the way one of his hands slips between your bodies to circle your clit without breaking rhythm. He’s so focused, so wrecked and earnest and needy, that you can feel yourself coming long before it actually hits.

“Spence,” you whine, and it comes out strangled.

His eyes lock on yours. “I know. I know, sweetheart. Come for me, please.”

You break around him with a cry, body clenching hard enough that Spencer shudders and nearly loses it with you. He keeps moving through it, slower now, like he can’t bear to stop just because either of you can barely think.

You drag him down into a kiss, and somewhere in the middle of it, the words come out:

“I love you.”

Before this very moment, you’d always assumed saying those words during sex would feel forced somehow. Cheesy. A little ridiculous.

But… it doesn’t. Right now, nothing else would be honest enough. There’s no other phrase in the English language that encompasses what you’re feeling quite like that one does.

Spencer goes still for half a heartbeat, then his whole face changes.

“I love you too,” he says tenderly. He kisses you once, hard and full and almost aching with how much he means it. “I love you so much.”

His movements start to falter then, because there’s only so much a man can do after weeks of restraint, one hand between your thighs, your cunt squeezing him on the heels of two orgasms, and an I love you still ringing through his bloodstream.

He comes with his face buried in your neck and your name on his lips, hips rocking once, twice, before he stills and just breathes, shaking a little.

For a long moment, neither of you moves.

Then Spencer lifts his head just enough to look at you.

You look wrecked. He looks worse.

“Hi,” you whisper.

He huffs a disbelieving laugh. “Hi.”

You brush his hair back from his forehead. “You okay?”

Spencer kisses you once more, softer this time. “No,” he says. “I think I might actually be dead.”

“That’d be awfully inconvenient.”

“Very.”

You laugh, and this time it doesn’t hurt.

Later, after the condom is gone and the sheets have been straightened and Spencer has made you get up and pee and drink an entire glass of water, he slides back into bed in just his boxers, warm and familiar and yours.

His fingers drift to your scar again.

Your hand finds his hair. “Spencer.”

There’s so much in his face that for one impossible second, you almost can’t breathe. Love, obviously. Relief. Want that still hasn’t gone anywhere. Something close to awe.

“Yeah?” he asks quietly.

You shake your head. “Nothing.”

His expression says liar with devastating affection.

You lean in and kiss him before he can call you on it.

When you settle back against the pillows, Spencer draws you into him with one arm and tucks the blankets up over you. His hand stays splayed over your waist, warm and grounding.

For a minute, the room goes quiet except for the sound of both of you breathing and the faint hum of the city outside the windows.

Then Spencer laughs under his breath.

You tilt your head enough to look up at him. “What?”

His mouth twitches. “I still can’t believe you had a sex dream about me.”

Heat creeps up your neck all over again, and you bury your face back against his shoulder. “Can we not debrief the most humiliating parts of today now that you’ve benefited from them?”

Spencer’s laugh is warmer this time, low in his chest. “I’m not making fun of you.”

“You absolutely are.”

“I’m really not.” He tips his head down, trying to catch your eye. “I’m just… kind of flattered.”

You groan into his skin. “Please stop saying words.”

His hand slides slowly up and down your back. “You’re the one who told me.”

You lift your head again and narrow your eyes at him. “You pried.”

Spencer looks delighted by that accusation. “I asked one follow-up question.”

You should let it go. You really should. But instead, still dazed and loose-limbed and apparently incapable of self-preservation, you mutter, “It wasn’t even the first time.”

Spencer goes very still.

Slowly, very slowly, he shifts onto one elbow, looking at you now with open fascination. “What do you mean it wasn’t the first time?”

“I mean nothing. Go to sleep.”

His hand tightens at your waist, not enough to trap you, just enough to let you know escape is not on the table. “No, absolutely not. We are not moving on from that.”

You make a muffled sound of regret into his shoulder.

“When was it?”

You wave a hand vaguely. “A… while ago.”

“That’s not quantifiable. How long is ‘a while’?”

“A while, Spencer.”

He waits.

Of course he waits.

You should know by now that Spencer Reid can outlast almost anyone in a standoff, especially when curiosity is involved.

You stare at him, mortified, still a little dazed from the sex, too happy to put up a fight, and sigh.

“Do you remember when I had the flu, and you bribed Garcia with cake pops to get my address so you could check on me?”

His eyebrows lift. “Of course I remember. That was the first time I ever saw your apartment.”

“Right. And do you remember what I said when I first let you inside?”

You watch his face shift into that classically Spencer expression of deep focus as he searches back through his memories.

“Yes,” he confirms after a few moments. “I believe you said, ‘You woke me up from a dream,’ and then I—” He stops. “Oh.”

His expression softens so completely it almost hurts to look at.

“It was that kind of dream?” he asks, sounding genuinely stunned.

You shove your face back into his shoulder. “Yes,” you groan. “I was just getting to the good part when you knocked on the door, actually, so thanks for that.”

His shoulders shake with another laugh. “Wow.”

You glare up at him. “You are enjoying this far too much.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, which would be more convincing if he weren’t smiling like this is the best news he’s heard all week. “It’s just…” He shakes his head a little. “That’s a lot for me to process.”

“You’ll survive.”

He shifts, gentler now, and presses a kiss to your forehead.

“That really was a while ago,” he muses.

You close your eyes and groan again, too tired to fake outrage properly. “Please drop it.”

He smiles against your skin. “In a minute.”

His hand finds yours under the blanket and laces through your fingers.

“If it’s any consolation, I had a crush on you back then too,” he whispers. “I’m sure you already knew that, but just so we’re clear, I did. I nearly passed out when you asked me to brush your hair and sent me into your bedroom to look for your hairbrush.”

You crack one eye open. “You hid it well.”

Spencer huffs a quiet laugh. “I absolutely did not.”

“No,” you admit, sleepier now, letting your fingers curl more tightly around his. “You really, really didn’t.”

That earns a softer smile from him. He brushes his thumb over your knuckles once, the gesture so familiar now it makes your chest ache in the best way.

“I’m glad you let me in,” he says quietly.

The words settle warm and heavy between you. You know he’s referring to you letting him into your apartment that day, but it could mean so much more than that.

You tip your face up just enough to kiss the underside of his jaw. “Yeah,” you murmur. “Me too.”

Spencer answers by drawing you a little closer.

You let him.

And sometime after that, with his hand still wrapped around yours, a dreamless sleep finally finds you.

ᝰ.ᐟ

this fic is part of the greenaway!reader universe/series! you can read more about this pairing here ♥️

PSA: likes do very little for promoting posts on tumblr! if you'd like to support a fic, please reblog!

[amobigode]

spencer reid fanfics i dont want to lose 🤟🤟🤟 +18 ver. gonna keep updating this list forever and think im also gonna do a non smut one im just lazy to edit it into a cute post

★ are personal favorites but honestly all of them are peak

all ao3 links but some of the authors are on tumblr too so (or) if you wanna get ur work removed please just dm me

applied knowledge

shameless

golden brown

mismatched socks ★

love you more ★

the first move

edged

chery bomb ★

[godmadeaterribleerror]

sweetener

✦Read on aO3! - Masterlist - Dean Masterlist✦

✦summary: everything was fine between you and dean until you moved into the bunker. everything is tolerable until you get hurt on a hunt. dean loses his mind. and when you try to apologize, dean tells you exactly why.✦

✦warnings/tags: Dean Winchester x female!reader, no use of y/n, no description of reader, age gap (20s - 40s), angst, pining, average dean winchester emotional intelligance, shameless smut (dry humping, knee riding, praise kink, soft!dom Dean, oral f!reciving, pussy slapping, fingering, breif mentions of spanking, dean's dirty talk, big dick dean, overstimulation, body worship, dumbification, crying, creampie, squirting), love confessions, fluff✦

✦wc: 10.3k✦

✦author's note: old dean you've done nothing wrong ever. murder? what murder? i can't hear you over how fine he is.✦

“She should stay in the car.”

“I’m not staying in the car-“

“It’s a small nest.” Dean doesn’t even acknowledge you, tapping his thumb on the wheel as he addresses Sam. “She’d just be an extra block, you know we can clean that place up blindfolded and ball-gagged-“

Your nose wrinkles. “Why would you be ball gagged-“

“We leave her with a knife.” He keeps ignoring you. “Lock the doors, crack the windows, and we’re in and out like-“

You slam your feet into the back of Dean’s seat, cutting him off with a grunt. He whips around to shoot you a glare, and you stick out your tongue.

“What the hell was that.”

“I’m not a dog, dipshit.” You snap, and he scowls.

“I know you’re not good at listening, sweetheart, but I didn’t call you one-“

“It was implied.”

Dean rolls his eyes, giving Sam a you see what I gotta deal with expression, like he’s not the one making the whole fucking issue.

“I’m not staying in the car.” You repeat, louder than before, and Dean chuckles dryly.

“Yeah. You are.”

“I’m not-“

“You are-“

“You lock me in here, I’ll start screaming-“

He gives you an unimpressed look. “I’ll gag you.”

You grin at him, crossing your arms over your chest. “Kinky.”

Dean jaw clenches. You beam. Somewhere in the background, Sam sighs.

“Guys…”

“You’re staying here.” Dean snaps. “That’s that.”

“You’re not the boss of me, Winchester-“

“The hell I’m not-“

“You don’t offer me health insurance-“

“None of us get health insurance, sweetheart, that’s why I’m telling you to stay in the car-“

“Guys.” Sam sighs, looking between you with the same, exhausted expression as usual. “We only have until the sunrise, and it’s already 4am. Can you please do this after?”

You don’t look away from Dean. He doesn’t look away from you. You raise your brows mockingly.

“He’s talking to you, Dean. Can you do this after?”

Dean narrows his eyes, and he opens his mouth to bark something at you that you probably would’ve deflected now—using taunting words and matching his harsh tone—then cried about later. In the safety of your bedroom, where Dean can’t see you. The only place that you can go to let everything out. It’s safe in your room. Dean never even knocks on your door, always sending Sam in his stead. But you don’t go to his room either. It’s an unspoken rule that you’ve never had steady enough feet on the ground to bother breaking. You’re pretty sure that if Sam doesn’t kill you both over this, he’s going to strangle you later for making him a messenger pigeon.

But you need that solace. That quiet, where Dean can’t shake your world with sneers and glowers. It hits something raw in you, a wound that you’ve never bothered to stich up or cauterize because you love the bleeding too much. It pours all over your hands when you hug your stomach, out of your mouth like bile when you try to defend yourself—to make him stop just seeing you as some stupid, naive civilian girl he needs to heard around—and out of your eyes when you cry over all of it.

The things that do make you that naïve civilian girl. The things that make you barely any better than a teenager with a crush, wandering around after the boy you like and pulling at his sleeve for just an ounce of attention.

No one can blame you for falling for the hero who saved your life and swept you off your feet. Offered you a new life, taught you how to shoot a gun with his arms around your body—you can still feel him sometimes, when you rub your shoulders—and told you that he’ d always keep you safe.

Dean had been straight out of a romance book. You’d let yourself get starry eyed, you’d daydreamed that he lingered around you out of affection rather than obligation. You’d been an idiot, and you’d gotten comfortable, and when Sam said you had a knack for the lore and were more than welcome to stay, you’d said yes without a thought.

You’d thought Dean would’ve been happy.

But you’d told him, and he’d looked like he was going to put his fist through a wall.

Everything had shifted, like a picture into the negative. Dean stopped seeking you out for anything, stopped training you, almost stopped looking at you all together. In the first months, he’d walked out of a room the moment you entered. At one point, you’d overheard him having a very loud fight with Sam about letting you stick around. 

He hadn’t been speaking to Sam either. They’d gotten over it, because they always seemed to. Your second foolish fantasy was that Dean would get over whatever you’d done to him—you’re still not all that sure—and decide that he actually did like you. That he’d remember how good things had been at the start, and if you proved yourself to him, everything would go back to normal.

But it’s been a year.

And normal is this now.

Dean hates you. He must hate you. There’s no other reason he’d argue with Sam about bringing you on hunts, even when they need the extra hands or your research. And even when Sam wins the fight—which is always, you think he might have a cheat code that makes Dean always agree with him, and you’d very much like access to it please—Dean still acts like you don’t exist. Or worse, like you do, and it’s the bane of his entire life. For the whole fifteen hour drive, and you get handed snacks without eye contact and checked on like you’re a dog he’s making sure didn’t piss all over his precious car.

For the entire hunt, you’ve been able to feel his attention burning through you. Whenever you’d look over, he would’ve already looked away, but you could feel it. And you’re the one who tracked the nest and identified the mutation in these vamps that made them daywalkers, but when you’d looked to Dean with a hopeful smile for approval, he’d looked away again.

You might’ve sat in the bathtub with the water burning yours shoulders and useless tears sliding down your cheeks after. Clawing at your face like you could remove the pain, remove all the love you felt for him with all the brutal precision of a hungry animal. But if you did, it’s none of his fucking business.

And you might not want to join in on the actual hunt—that sounds gross, and bloody, and kind of scary—but Dean doesn’t get to win. You can handle it, and if you can’t he’s there.

It makes you feel safer than it should. Dean always makes you feel safer, and you hate him for it.

The thing about loving him is that it’s not so much a choice as something that slammed into you like a comet. Dean left a massive depression in something so vital you think it might be your soul, and now it blooms all the time. Alone and in the dark, finding sunshine in every piece of him that’s worthy of such a feral, unyielding devotion.

It’s most of him. He’s still that hero who saved you, and your body knows it better than your head sometimes. He opens doors for you even when he keeps his gaze fixed firmly over your head. He makes you coffee in the mornings before stalking out of the room like you make the whole place reek.

He’s going to keep you safe, even if he bitches about it and shouts at you the whole time.

And it’s so easy to love him for all of that. In the end, most of your desperation isn’t really to stop loving him.

It’s to scream loud enough that he stops pretending he can’t hear it. That he saves you again, even if it’s from yourself.

You win the argument about going into the house. For all his postering and deep, commanding grunts and threats, Dean’s not actually that good at telling you know. You’ve told Sam it’s because you have the numbers against him. Sam always gives you a strange look and says uh huh, like you’re supposed to know what that means.

“You stick with me.” Dean snaps, pulling out his dainty little baby gun and passing it into your hands. “You wanna speak, think five times, then don’t say it. These things are noise-sensitive, they hear you breathe, they rip you up.”

“I know.” You grumble. “I discovered them.”

Dean sighs heavily, just loud enough for you to know he heard you. “I don’t want you out of my sight.” He mutters, and you give him a flat look.

“So you’re planning to look at me today?”

He shoots you a glare, saying your name in a low warning, and you roll your eyes.

“Never mind.” You mutter under your breath, like a petulant child. “Guess it’s easier to look at ugly things when they’re in the dark.”

That makes him flinch back, like you punched him in the gut. He’s going to say something again, and you really don’t want to hear it.

You stalk over to Sam, leaving Dean gaping and rigid at Baby’s truck. Sam looks between you, but doesn’t bother to ask what you’re fighting about. He rarely does, and it’s always followed by an annoyed now, like it’s somehow your fault Dean thinks everything you do is a sin. What are you two doing now. Why are you mad at him now. Why is Dean being an idiot now.

He’s always an idiot. A handsome, insufferable idiot you want to sucker punch, then make out with until you can’t breathe. If you tried to hit him, maybe he’d catch your wrist and pin you to something. His massive body crowded over yours, his face inches away, lips brushing as he shouted at you, then gave up when you moaned—he’d be too close, his crotch pressing you down, you’d probably moan—and started touching and kissing you until your legs gave out and you were putty in his hands and he worshipped you with the same soft attention he used to offer-

“Stop flirting and fall in.” Dean snaps at you and Sam, standing in complete silence.

Sam rolls his eyes, and hisses something to Dean when they walk past each other that makes Dean look murderous. You flush—thankfully hidden in the dark—and grip your baby-gun tight as you follow.

“Stay with me-“

“I know.” You snap, not looking him in the eyes. “I’m not an idiot.”

Dean grunts, and you can’t tell if it’s an agreement or dismissal. You’re not sure which would be worse.

The moment you’re in the nest, you remember why you don’t usually do this. Why you actually prefer waiting at the motel for them to come back, or just staying in the car with an anxiously bouncing knee. You always ask to go with them because you hate the dread. Hate watching them—both of them, because you might not be in love with Sam but he’s sort of your only friend anymore—walk out the door for what always might be the last time. They never think it will be.

You do. Every time, Dean pulls out of the parking lot with your heart in his dumb, big hands, and you know it could stop beating any second. That you won’t even know until you get a phone call, and a part of you withers that’s never going to be reborn.

So you ask to go with them. To help. Do first aide, be extra hands, anything so you don’t just have to wonder if they’re okay.

But then you actually get here, and you hate it.

It’s scary. Scary and quiet and loud all at once. You have to physically yank yourself back from grabbing Dean’s forearm and clinging to him. He radiates heat, and this barn is so fucking cold, and you’d like to go back to the car now, thank you very much-

Everything happens so fast. It always does, on a hunt.

You find the vamps. Sam offs one, Dean gets another two, and your fingers tremble but you manage to kick a third back into Dean’s machete. He gives you an approving look, and you feel like you’ve grown wings.

Then another on comes out of nowhere. Slams into Dean and starts driving him backwards.

You scream, and shoot. It won’t kill them, but it’ll distract.

And it does.

The vamp stumbles when you hit his calf, dropping Dean to the floor. It turns on you with glinting eyes, and lunges.

You’re thrown to the ground with teeth gnashing near your throat. There’s a roar in the background, and you feel a rush of pain through your stomach as the vamp hits you. Heat burns over your neck, and your arms are starting to get weak, and-

 All the noise stops. The body over you slumps.

You open your eyes to find Dean standing over you, just like that first time he saved you.

Only now, he looks like he wants to cut off your head next.

He’s staring at you a strangely furious and pallid expression all at once. There’s something glinting in his eyes that you can’t place. His breath is heavy through his nose, and he’s not even blinking as he scans over you.

His eyes widen, when he sees the blood blooming through your shirt. He drops his machete, bends down, and scoops you up into his arms.

The rest of the night is a little hazy.

Dean carries you to the Impala. He smells good, like leather and pine trees and something a little spicy. He looks really good, too. Covered in blood and grease and so angry he’s almost feral. His hands are warm, and make you feel fuzzy when they brush over your stomach, checking the wound.

The whole thing feels like a dream. Especially after he coaxed some painkillers down your throat, and the world all becomes just color and Dean’s undivided attention, pressing over you.

He doesn’t speak to you the whole time. He’s humming something, fingers brushing over your bare skin, and the feel oddly light. Almost shaky.  

You breathe out his name. You don’t know why. Through the drugs, it’s sort of the only word you know.

His hands still for a heartbeat, then grab you a little tighter.

Before you pass out, your vision swimming and thoughts covered in a fog, you could swear you see him bow his head against your chest. He holds your hips tight, lips brushing against your exposed stomach.

Your weak fingers reach up, brushing through his hair. A deep sound rumbles from his chest, and it’s soothing.

The world goes peacefully dark, and Dean stays wrapped around you all the way into your dreams.

He hasn’t spoken to you.

It’s been three weeks, and Dean hasn’t said a single word.

It’s worse than before. Worse than it’s even been. Even those first months after you moved in permanently, he’d at least acknowledge your existence. It had been via avoiding you like the plague and snipping and glaring, but at least you’d known he could still see you. That he still thought of you.

Now, he’s treating you like a ghost.

The first week you’d expected. The drive back from the hunt had been tense, everyone dead silent. Rest stops happened when Dean decided they would. Sam never once asked him to turn down the music. You turned your face into the window and hid behind your jacket, hoping to hide the shame burning through you.

Dean had been right. You couldn’t handle that hunt.

But he hadn’t even rubbed it in your face. Hadn’t done an I told you so.

When you got back to the bunker, he’d shoved the door open and marched inside without looking back. Sam had rubbed a hand over his face, given you an apologetic look in the mirror, and you’d just shaken your head.

“He’ll get over it-“

“It’s fine, Sam.” You’d muttered. “I’m fine.”

You were not fine.

You hadn’t even been able to sit up without Sam’s help. He’d half carried you out of the car, a hiss of pain escaping your with every movement, and when you’d finally gotten on your feet you’d looked up to find Dean standing in the doorway.

His hands had been fisted at his sides. He’d been staring at you like he wanted to say something, jaw clenched so tight you could see a vein.

You hadn’t quipped. Hadn’t pushed. You’d just watched him, praying he’d do anything but just stand there. Part of you had wanted him to yell. To let out all the anger you could see simmering behind his gaze, so you could all move on.

But Dean had turned, and stalked back into the bunker.

The ignoring had begun. And you didn’t think you could last a day of it, let alone almost a month.

When you’re in the same room, he pretends you’re not even there. If you’re talking to Sam, he cuts you off like he didn’t hear. If you pass each other in the hall, he looks firmly ahead and bumps your shoulder. If you’re blocking him from getting something in the kitchen, he just reaches over you like you’re part of the room.

His chest presses against your back, and your breath hitches. You bow your head, fighting the instinct to moan and push back into him. He’s so warm, a secure and unwavering pillar of resolve that you want to worship at the feet of forever. He’s sturdy, he’s safe, his muscles flex around you and his breath is warm on your neck and he’s acting like you don’t even exist.

It’s cold when he pulls away.

You retreat to your room, and lie on the floor until you’re out of tears.

Part of you wonders if Dean even knows what he’s doing to you. He can’t. He thinks you hate him with all the fever and loathing he hates you. There’s no possible way for him to understand that every second he ignores you, something in you cowers and whines. That you’ve been passing the door to his room just to try and run into him, even though that breaks the unspoken rule of never invading such a sacred space. That this is killing you more than the injury did, because at least that was allowed to heal.

Dean fixed you, there.

Here, he’s just clawing you wider and wider, until there’s a gaping pit in the cavity of your chest, and you’re about to fall through.

He’d been going out drinking every night. He comes back reeking of liquor and perfume, but he comes back. Every single night, he’s back around 1am.

You know, because you stay up waiting.

Dean always walks past your room, when he gets home. His shadow lingers under your doorway, and sometimes you swear you hear a thud against your door. As if he’s knocking, or just leaning there.

Breaking the rule himself.

It’s the only way you still know you’re not a ghost. That he still knows you exist.

But that’s it.

Otherwise, you’re nothing to him at all.

You can’t take it anymore. Sam says you haven’t been eating as much, but you barely even noticed. You’re too tired, from losing sleep. And everything tastes like ash, anyway.

Sam also says that Dean’s being a dick, but he’ll get over it. They went on a hunt a few days ago—they’re talking again, although from what you’ve seen it’s clipped, and they’re both still pretty pissed—and Sam told you he’d try to talk some sense into Dean and his silent treatment. You have no faith it will work. Sometimes living in the bunker feels like a pissing contest of who can be the most stubborn, if every contestant had an infinite bladder and thought they’d die if they lost.

You’ve been checking your phone for updates every ten minutes. You’re getting itchy and restless, and you can hardly breathe. What if this is it, and foul voice reminds you. What if he dies, and he dies angry at you, and you can’t even remember the last thing he said to you because it was a month ago.

The seams in you are coming apart. Sam sends you a brief text, saying the hunt is over and they’ll be back tonight. You don’t bother to ask how the talk went. If Sam even went through with it, you already know the answer.

But you can’t. You can’t keep living like this. That voice is only going to get louder, and you’re only going to waste away, and Dean won’t even notice with how determined he is to make you nothing at all.

You’ve been crying too much. Your eyes are red when you look in the mirror, and your lips are swollen.

Maybe you shouldn’t stay here. Maybe Dean’s right, and you never belonged here at all.

He once acted like you did. And you still don’t know what made him change his mind.

And you don’t want to leave. This is home. Dean is home, because despite everything you still think of him, and you feel safe.

You know that’s why it hurts so much. You’re not weak. You can stand to be ignored, and you’ve certainly had louder and more violent and cruel fights with people you’d actually been dating. But Dean being so mad feels like your heart is trying to eat itself. And you can’t take it.

It takes all night, but that’s the perfect amount of time. You go out to the grocery store and get everything you need, then haul up in the kitchen and bake like your life depends on it. A fairly big fraction of it does.

You think about writing I’m sorry or You were right on the pie with whipped cream. That feels like a little too much. Hopefully, that part will speak for itself.

When they get home, it’s with a slam of a door. There’s no shouting, but you have a feeling it’s because the fight already passed. You watch Sam give you a tight smile before slumping off to his room, and you know he tried. You appreciate it. But only you can fix this now.

“Dean.” You force your voice to be steady. It doesn’t work that well. “Dean.”

He looks up at you with a heavy, tired glare. He doesn’t speak, but he looks at you, and it makes you sit a little taller. You can do this.

“I’m sorry.” You push the pie forward, and he blinks.

“You’re sorry.” He echoes, like he doesn’t believe what he’s hearing. “You’re sorry?”

You nod, chewing your lip nervously. “Yeah. For- For the hunt. And anything else I did to you.”

“Anything else you did.”

“Um- mhm.”

Dean stares at you, and you push the pie again. Look down to it, then back to him, swallowing the nerves in your throat.

“I- I made you pie.”

“Yeah. I can see that.”

“Oh- Okay.”

The silence is suffocating. Your face is starting to burn, and you’ve never cried in front of him before, but the tears are insistent. The ache of loneliness, of just missing him, it’s insistent. Like a hurricane, devastating and impossible to ignore. You bite the inside of your cheek to hold them back, and that usually works.

It’s useless now. The first tears burn on your cheeks, and you wipe them away with trembling, frantic hands.

Dean rasps your name, taking a lurching step forward. As if someone shoved him, his hand reaching out before he yanks it back.

You swallow, and find a painful, barbed lump in your throat. You shake your head, and look to the side.

Dean repeats your name, his voice thick and strained.

You realize this is the first time he’s said it in a month.

A damn breaks in your chest. Something snaps near your ribs, and a pathetic, choked sob rips from your throat. You can’t stay here.

“I- I’m sorry.” You shoot to your feet, pushing the pie roughly forward. “It’s- It’s cherry.”

“Sweetheart-“

“The pie.” You clarify, staring at Dean’s knees.

“Yeah, I know-“

He takes a step forward. You take a step back, and he freezes. 

When you look up, he’s watching you like you’d just smacked him in the face. You swallow, lip wobbling as you keep losing the battle against your own tears.

“I- I’m sorry.” You choke out, wrapping your arms around your stomach. 

Dean works his jaw, shaking his head. “You said that already-“

“I- I know. I’m sorry-“

“Stop saying sorry!”

He takes a larger, firmer step forward. His voice echoes off the walls, and you bite the inside of your cheek until it stings.

Dean rubs his face, lowering back down to rough, low words as he says your name. “Just- Fuck- I don’t want a sorry.”

“I-“ You cut yourself off, shrinking further into your body.

He doesn’t want an apology. He doesn’t want you.

“I’ll go.” You whisper, looking down to his shoes.

Dean makes a choked sound. “You’ll- What-“

“I’m going to go.” You can’t be here right now. Can’t break down when you’re really not sure if he’ll pick you back up. “I- I’m-“

You swallow another apology, and duck past him. Dean shouts after you, so you walk faster. Almost running to the safety of your room, to the one place he won’t follow. Where you can fall apart alone, and wrap yourself in blankets you pretend are his arms, because you’re the exact, pathetic, stupid girl he thinks you are. You’re crying so hard you can’t breathe, and you hate him, and you hate yourself more for knowing you’ll still love him once the tears dry out.

There’s a knock on the door. The fight must have been that loud.

“Go away, Sam.” Your voice is muffled through the sheets.

Dean’s is muffled through the door. “Not Sam, sweetheart.”

You sit up, still holding your blanket to your face. As if he might somehow see you. There’s a long silence—he’s not supposed to be here, why is he here—and Dean coughs.

“It’s, uh- It’s Dean-“

“I know.”

“Oh. Okay.” He pauses, then, “Are you gonna open the door?”

You shake your head, then remember he can’t see you. “No.”

Dean grunts your name, and you raise your voice a little.

“Leave me alone-“

“No. We gotta- There’s stuff I have to- Fuck.” There’s a thump on the door. You think he’s leaning against it. “You’re crying, alright? Just let me in so I can fix it-“

“I’m fine.” You snip, and he laughs dryly.

“I can hear you. I know you’re still upset, and-“

“Why do you care?”

Dean goes silent, and you glare at where you think he’s standing.

“Why do you care, Dean. You never cared before-“

“That’s not true.” He snaps, and you roll your eyes.

“Don’t lie-“

“I’m not lyin’, I just-“ He cuts himself off. “Just open the door, alright-“

“Not until you tell me why you give a shit-“

“I just do, alright?”

“No, you don’t-“

“Stop- Stop saying that.” He’s not shouting, but you can hear him fighting against the urge. “Stop telling me what I care about, you don’t get to decide that-“

“I’m not deciding.” You push the words out, even as they burn on your tongue. “You just don’t get to act like you care about me when you wish I didn’t exist.”

The silence falls again. It’s thicker than before. So heavy it pulls your heart down to your stomach. You’re so sure he’s going to walk away, just leave you there to finally, fully break. 

Instead, when he speaks, his voice is rough.

“Don’t say that.” He grunts. “I’ve never wished that. Not once.”

Your heart flutters. You want to smack it, remind it that it’s only hurting because of him. “Whatever.”

The door shakes again, as Dean’s shadow shifts.

Despite yourself, you lean closer.

“Open the door.” He says your name again, the tone a command.

You raise your chin. “No.”

“Come on, just open it-“

“Go away, Dean-“

“No.” It’s shockingly firm. You sit up in surprise. “No, I’m not- I’m not just gonna leave and let you go, no. That’s not fuckin’ happening, sweetheart, just- Open the door-“

His voice is getting louder, every word sounding more and more strangled. You shift to your knees, saying his name softly through your tears, but he doesn’t seem to hear.

“You can’t leave me, alright? You win, you fuckin’ win, I’m the idiot. You can stay and run me into shape, whatever the hell you want, just- just open the door, please-“

You’ve never heard him like this before. Rambling like a broken record. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was crying.

“I’m sorry for being a dumbass.” He’s not pushing the door anymore, but his voice is muffled and loud all at once. He’s leaning against it. “Sorry for being a dick, sorry for- For whatever the hell you’re cursing my name with, I know I deserve it, I was a douchebag and if you wanna hate me you got every right, but-“ His voice breaks. “Don’t leave me. Fuck- Please don’t leave me, please-“

You slide off the bed, gliding across the room like you’re in a trance, and open the door.

Dean stumbles forward, catching himself against the doorframe. He’s only inches away, and you can read it all over his face. How much he means every strangled word.

His hair is disheveled, his eyes red as he scans over your open, sad features, his jaw clenched so tight you think he might break his teeth. His arm flexes over your head, hand fisting and unfisting at his side. There’s a stain of a tear on his cheek, gleaming in his stubble like he’d half wiped it away.

He watches you like he’s a dog, bracing to be kicked.

You hold his gaze, letting your voice stay small. You have a feeling he’d cling to every word if you only breathed it out.

“You’re sorry.”

He nods. You swallow.

“Why-“

“All of it.” Dean mutters. His eyes are locked onto yours. It’s almost too much, making you feel molten when you need to be unmovable.

You look down to your fingers. “What you said?”

“And did. And-“

“Being a douchebag.”

He chuckles, but it’s more of a rasp. “Yeah.”

“For how long?” You look at him under your lashes, and maybe it’s a bit of a test, but you need to be sure he understands. The sheer magnitude of how this—all of this—has hurt you.

“The whole year.” He says immediately. “From when Sammy told me you were staying to- Shit, five freakin’ seconds ago. I’m sorry.”

You hear it again, even if he doesn’t say it.

Don’t go.

“You didn’t want me to stay here.” You say lightly.

Dean shakes his head. “That’s not true-“

“You told Sam he never should’ve asked me.” With all the bravery in your body, you meet his gaze. “You said you wanted me far away from here.”

Shame almost pours from Dean’s expression. He bows his head, as if he’s trying to make himself smaller. “I- Uh- I didn’t know you heard that-“

“You’re both very loud.”

“Ah.” He pauses, shifting on his feet. His handsome features twist into a tight frown. “But- That’s not what I said.”

“Yes, it is-“

“I said you should be far away from here.” He mutters. “Not that I wanted you there.”

“That’s the same thing-“

“No, it’s not.” Dean gives you a firm look, his voice dropping impossibly lower. “What I want and what’s right?” He chuckles dryly. “Ain’t ever really the same thing.”

For a long moment, you just watch each other. And he means it. Every inch of you knows that, right into your bones. But you’re still fragile from a year of him acting like you were nothing. And you want that to be enough, you want that so desperately. To just give Dean all of you to freely break, and trust that he won’t. But-

“What about me.”

Dean blinks. “What?”

“Am I right?” You raise your chin, crossing your arms over your chest. Dean’s frown deepens.

“Are you-“

“You’re sorry. You said you don’t me to leave.”

“I don’t.”

“So I was right.” You challenge. “I was right to stay.”

Dean swallows. You don’t waver.

“Do you care, Dean. If you don’t want me to leave then you have to tell me why you’d even fucking care-“

“I care.” He grunts, pressing further over you. “I care more than you can imagine.”

You snort. “I don’t know about that-“

“I can’t imagine it, sweetheart.” Dean reaches down slowly, cupping your jaw. You freeze. “Sometimes I- I can’t even work it out in my head. Can’t measure it, can’t justify it, can barely even understand how it’s possible.” His thumb drags over your cheek. “How much I fuckin’ love you.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Love is different than care.” You whisper, and Dean’s lips twitch.

“Yeah. But not by that much.”

You stare at him. He stares back, and when you don’t move away he drops his brow. Presses it against yours, his voice lowering gently.

“You don’t gotta forgive me. Just-“

“I love you, too.” You blurt, and Dean’s eyes shoot open. “And I’m not leaving.”

Dean swallows. Searches your gaze, like he’s trying to find the a tell that you’re lying. “You don’t have to-“

“Shut up.”

You grab his neck, and drag him down. You’re tired of talking. Of fighting and crying and being so far away. Even an inch feels like too much right now.

Dean must feel the same way.

When you pull him into a kiss, he’s rigid for a second. The brief, electric brush of your lips. Your noses bump, and your nails dig into his neck. He grunts, his hand on your doorway sliding down. You flush and try to pull away, but he’s not having it.

Dean melts over you so fast your brain can’t keep up.

He grabs your hip, blunt nails digging into your shirt, and tugs your head gently back as his lips work over yours. It’s so sudden you don’t immediately kiss him back, just grabbing the collar of his shirt for balance. Dean grunts, the hand on your hip sliding around your lower back. Grounding you against him as he almost bends you backwards, never once breaking the kiss.

His lips are softer than you dreamt of. Plush and a little chapped, but still so soft. He moves them slowly but insistently over yours, tasting and letting his tongue brush slightly. When you shiver and try to rise up a little higher, he meets you immediately. He kisses like he already somehow knows exactly how you like it. Easy but a little messy. Close, so close he’s almost eating your face while you try and claw closer. He tastes like salt from the tears, but under that is a little bit of cherry. 

“You-“ You speak between kisses, dizzy from desire. “You ate the pie-“

“Tasted it.” He grunts, walking you back into your room. “Checkin’ it wasn’t poison.”

You lean back, glaring up at him. “I would not poison you-“

“I know.” He grins, kissing your pouted lips. “But I woulda deserved it if you did.”

You want to argue with that, too, but Dean’s faster. He kicks the door closed behind him, grabs your waist, and picks you up with barely a grunt. Your arms fly around his neck as you yelp in surprise, but the sound quickly falls into a loud, long moan when he pins you against the door.

His kisses are turning more frantic. Hungry and bruising, but still restrained. His hands stay politely on your clothing, his lips pressed over yours with only small grazes of his tongue.

You open your mouth in a long, shaky moan. Dean takes the permission, grabbing your jaw and tipping it a little further back. His tongue brushes over your teeth, and you wrap an arm around his neck. His chest is pressed right against yours, and it’s secure and sweet and hot. You’ve never been this hot just from a few kisses.

Passionate, messy kisses. With Dean. His broad fingers on your soft skin, and his solid body right against yours. You comb your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, and he groans. The noise vibrates through you, and you shudder with that burning, needy heat.

Dean notices. Of course he does. He’s Dean.

“Do you want-“

“Yes.” You moan against his lip, trying to spread your legs. “God, Dean- Fuck-“

He sucks on your lower lip before releasing it with a wet pop. Licks over the hurt before travelling down. Over your cheeks, then your jaw, repeating the same motion. Your arms wrap tight around him, your hips bucking mindlessly up.

“Oh- Dean-“ Your nails scratch his neck, and he hums. “You- You can’t just- Holy shit-“

He shoves his knee right between your thighs, the sudden pressure a curse and a relief. Your hips roll like they have a mind of their own, and head dropping against Dean’s shoulder as you cry his name. He moans, his hand on your waist tugging at your shirt.

You grab it and move it under the fabric, moaning at the feeling of his rough callouses, his warm palms, how possessive just a light touch can be. His fingers splay, the tips pressing into your skin, and you’re fully humping him now. He hisses when your knee bumps into his hard crotch, and you giggle, dragging a hand down his spine.

Dean pulls back, watching you ride his thigh with hooded eyes and a lazy grin. “Something funny, pretty girl?”

You giggle again, pressing purposefully against the bulge in his jeans. He groans, pressing his brow to the top of your chest.

“Shit- You’re tryin’ to fucking kill me-“

“Nuh uh.” You breathe out, not caring how convincing it is. You can feel the pressure building in your core, but it’s not quite enough. You need him to give you more. “De- Dean-“

You grab his wrist again, trying to pull it to your ass, but he resists. He yanks his hand from your grip, sliding it up your ribs slowly. His thumb brushes under your breast, and you bow into the touch with another loud moan.

“Jesus.” He mutters. “You look fuckin’ gorgeous like this, sweetheart. Think putting you on my cock might turn me into a religious man.”

You grab his shirt, yanking desperately, and he clicks his tongue. His voice is deep and taunting, and he leans forward so his lips brush yours with every word.

“Easy, baby girl.” He coos, his thumb grazing over the curve of your breast. “Thought about this for so long. Wanna take my time with you, show you that I mean what I’m saying. Love these pretty tits,” he palms it as he speaks, grinning as you moan like a shameless whore. “And this smart fucking mouth.” He nips your lower lip. “And your whole, sexy fuckin’ body. Love it almost as much as that impossible, pretty head you got. And I’m not wasting my shot on making you mine.”

You shake your head, the wet heat becoming almost unbearable. “Al- Oh-“

Dean’s mouth attacks your neck and shoulders, and you have to take a deep breath to remember how to speak.

“Already yours, Dean, always been yours, always- Fuuuuck-“

He grabs you hips and moves them so your clit is always dragging against him, the friction from his jeans and your panties making your head spin.

“I know.” He mutters, breath warm against your ear. “You think I didn’t know, princess? That I didn’t see every time you’d give me those Bambi eyes and beat my cock in the shower that night, thinkin’ about what  you’d let me do to you?”

You moan as shock and surprise burns on your cheeks, but it also floods south. Right to your core, making you squirm in his arms. Dean chuckles, watching you with a dangerous smirk.

“Thought it was just a crush, at first. Thought you’d get over it, move onto someone better-“

“No- No one better.” You breathe out despite yourself, and Dean’s eyes flash. “No one better, Dean, just you, just you-”

He grabs your jaw, kissing you long and rough. You whimper, pressing your tongue into his mouth. He pushes you further back against the door, kissing you with teeth and spit. You give in immediately, just trying to chase anything, anything he can give you at all.

“De- Dean-“

“Always someone better for you.” He growls against your lips, grabbing under your knee. He squeezes it tight before hiking it up, offering even more friction.

You moan, dropping your head back against the door. He’s almost fucking you through your clothing, his bugle pressed right against your throbbing pussy. Dean’s mostly just letting you grind down onto him, but every few moments he gives a shallow thrust of his hips, grinning when the pleasure shakes through your whole body.

“Look at you.” He coos, reaching up to smear some of his spit on your cheek. “You deserve the fuckin’ world, sweetheart. Deserve a guy with his shit all in order, someone half as sweet as you are-“

“You- You’re sweet-“ You gasp when he shoves his hips up, slamming right against your clit. “Holy shit- Dean-“

“I’m sweet.” He mocks, and it shouldn’t make you feel as needy and light as it does. “I treated you like shit, baby. Thought it would help you get over it, but look at you. You like this. Like bein’ my pretty fuckin’ slut.”

You let out a guttural, strangled noise of desire, and Dean taps his thumb against your lips. When you open them, he slides his thumb inside. You suck obediently, watching him under dazed eyes. His throat bobs, eyes blown out with lust.

“Good girl.” He mutters, lips twitching when you hum happily around him. “Oh, you like that, too. My good girl.”

He leans forward, whispering into your ear, and your eyes flutter hopelessly.

“You’re such a fuckin’ brat, sweetheart. You’d sass me and I’d think about kissing you nice and stupid, then giving you the whole fuckin’ world.”

You whine, and Dean pulls his thumb out to let you speak.

“Don’t- Don’t want the world.” You gasp. “Just want you, Dean, please-“

He hauls you off the bed, and your legs wrap around his middle. This time when he kisses you, he’s holding you over his body like you’re something for him to worship. He’s slow and sweet, just like you know he is. He tosses you down onto your bed before pulling off his shirt and prowling over your body. He pulls your pants down, kissing back up your ankle, your knee, your hipbone. He sucks your clit lightly through the fabric of your ruined panties, pinning your pelvis to the bed when your hips slam up.

You fist a hand in the sheets. “De- Dean-“

He hums, pressing you down harder. His tongue flicking, and you pant, desperately trying to wiggle out of his grip, to chase release.

Dean stops suddenly, chuckling when you whine like a spited child. Two fingers hook around the center of your panties, and he yanks away the ruins fabric like it was made of paper.

“So wet.” He mutters, dragging two fingers between your pussy lips. “You’re like a fuckin’ dream, baby, son of a bitch.”

He slaps your clit once, grinning when the reaction shakes through your whole body. You can almost see him making the metal note, before moving on. Dean grabs the hem of your shirt and tugs it over your head, kissing your tummy, your sides, the valley of your breasts and a tiny mark he’d left on your neck.

His lips meet yours, lazy and gentle. He palms at your exposed breasts, slowly kneeing your legs apart.

When he settles between them, he slows down even more, his breathing ragged and voice low and almost desperate.

“Say it again.” He mutters, and you hum.

“I want you.”

Dean kisses the corner of your mouth. “And- The other thing.”

“I love you.” You say, easy as breathing. “Love you, Dean.”

He grunts, planting a kiss on your nose. “Thank you, my love.”

You smile, letting your hands wander over the broad planes of his back. You’re still so close to the edge, tingly and aching, and maybe he’s just going to fuck you stupid like he promised right now-

Dean pulls away.

He sits up on his knees, one hand pressing you into the mattress. His thumb lingers just above your clit, capable of reaching it if he reaches. But instead he just watches you, shuffling out of his own pants and tossing them off to a corner of the room.

You swallow, salivating at the sight. He’s thick. Long and thick in every way you’d imagined. Broad and angry at the top, leaking with pre-cum that he swipes with his thumb. You’ve only see cocks like that made of silicone with a vibrator built in. You bought one once, feeling pretty brave. You’d given up very fast.

“De- Dean-“

“Yeah, baby?”

He squeezes your thigh, and you look up to him with wide eyes.  “I- I can’t take that.”

“Yeah, you can.”

“No, I-“

“Shh.” He coos, thumb grazing over your clit. You shudder, grabbing his wrist.

“Dean-“

“I’m gonna help, princess.” He says. “You’re gonna take it.”

He says it so certainly, you fucking believe him. He’s got a goddamn monster-porn cock, but his rich, deep tone has you convinced you can somehow fit it easy.

“Guess that’s why you’re so confident all the time, right?” You giggle nervously, and Dean raises his brows.

“Excuse me?”

“Just if- If I had- That-“

“You mean a big dick?” He drawls, and you flush.

“Um. Yeah.” You turn your face into the pillow, trying to hide. “Shut up.”

He laughs, guiding your face back up as he leans down. Dean kisses you slowly, and you hum dazedly into his lips. He starts to drag his thickness up and down your soaked cunt, and your mouth falls open in a loud moan.

“You’re so fuckin’ cute.” He mutters. “My girl.”

“Yours.” You echo, and he grins.

“Can we try something, baby? You trust me?”

“Mmmm,” you mumble, mostly thinking about the friction he’s giving, the pleasurable shock every time his dick bumps your clit. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You breathe, and Dean smirks.

“Good girl.”

Then he’s gone again. Your fluttering eyes shoot open, and you try to reach up but he slams you right back down. Pinning you to the mattress as he sits on his knees, watching you drink him in a slowly stroking his cock.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do.” He drawls, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “You’re gonna tell me exactly what you want me to do to you, then I’m gonna make you cum until you can’t even talk.”

 You gape at him. “Wha- What-“

“You’re so smart, princess.” He taps your clit, and your breath hitches. “Talk.”

“Dean, don’t tease-“

 “Not teasing. I’m dead fuckin’ serious.” He gives you a stern look. “You don’t tell me what you want, you don’t cum.”

You glare at him, and he just shrugs. He’s still pumping himself with thick, long strokes, and you’d kill him if you didn’t feel like a firework only he could set off.

“Touch me.” You grumble, and he gives you a flat, amused look.

 “How.”

“I- I don’t know- With your hands- Oh-“

Dean’s thumb starts to rub around your clit, and your let out a shaky breath. The gleam in his eyes tells you all you need to know. You listen, you get a reward.

“Touch me there.” You breathe, nervous and breathy. “Keep- Keep doing that, Dean- Ooh-“

He snorts as you hug yourself, pressing his thumb directly down and making you squeak.

“Fuck-“

“You’re bad at this.” He observes, and you reach up to whack his forearm.

“I’ve never done it before, dick-“

“So I’m givin’ you a new skill-“

“You’re making me insane.” You whine. “Just- Just fuck me, Dean, it shouldn’t be that hard!”

“Yeah?” He grins down at you, letting go of his dick to rub your thigh. “Big words from the girl who’s not gonna do any of the work.”

You stick out your tongue, and he laughs.

“I knew you liked being a little cockslut, dripping just thinkin’ about taking me, probably gonna call me daddy and beg-“

“Shut up-“ Face burning, you kick his chest, and Dean catches your ankle, kissing it before moving it back to the bed. 

“Well if it’s so easy, I should be guessing right-“

“I just want you to fuck me stupid, Dean!” You shout, the words desperately pouring out of you. “Just- Just take your hands and toss me around, use me and- and kiss me and touch me- Fuck-“

He’s rubbing your clit again, eyes almost black with desire. You push on, grabbing his arm to keep focus.

“Use- Use your fingers and make me cum on your hand.” You breathe out. “Then- Then flip me over and fuck me- Fuck me until I can’t talk, fuck me stupid, Dean, please-“

Your words fall off in a moan as Dean rubs faster, leaning down over your body.

“You want me to talk?” He rumbles, and you nod.

“Talk- Talk the whole time- Oh my god-“

“Tell you how good you’re doing for me?” He mutters, a finger teasing over your entrance. “How good your pussy feels, how crazy you make me, what a perfect fuckin’ girl you’re being when you take my cock-“

 “Yes.” You whine, pussy squeezing as he presses that finger slowly inside of you. “Yes, fuck, yes-“

“You want it rough?” He pumps slowly in and out, his thumb still working your clit. “Wanna feel me? Be fucked like you deserve?”

You nod, babbling agreements. He drags lightly against your g-spot and you let out a shuddering gasp, scratching at his shoulders. Dean groans, adding a second one, pushing them knuckle deep and scissoring the thick digits inside you.

“Fuck- Fuck-“ He’s kneading that gooey spot, and you’d already been wound so tight. “Dean, oh my god- Yes-“

“And where am I gonna cum, princess?” He coos in your ear, setting a shallow, deep pace with his fingers. They open you up and massage your pussy until it’s fluttering, until there’s a fuse burning your tummy that needs to be lit, that needs Dean to light it-

“Inside.” You breathe. You need more of him. All of him. “Want you to cum inside Dean, God, please-“

He moans—fully moans—and rubs your clit in furious, tight circles as he kisses you.

“Knew you could do it.” His thumb flicks as he presses your g-spot, and you whine. “Cum for me, baby girl, show me what you’ve got-“

Your release hits you with a scream of Dean’s name, making your toes curl and your back arch off the bed. Dean groans, twisting his hand so his palm is flat against your clit, rubbing and pressing down until you’re trembling and trying to shove him away.

“Look at you.” He says under his breath, like he’s admiring some sort of art. “Look at you, so goddamn sexy, making such a mess on my hand. Bet you’re gonna look even better, getting wrecked on my dick.”

“De- Dean-“

“I know.” He mutters, pulling his fingers fully out. “Soon. I’ll fill you up nice and pretty, fuck you ‘till you can’t think. It’s gonna feel so good, sweetheart. This tight fuckin’ pussy, strangling me while you beg.”

He lands a sharp hit on your pussy, and you barely get out a broken plea before he’s grabbing your hips and flipping you onto your stomach. You squeal, scrambling for a grip on the sheets as Dean drags your ass into the air.

“Such a mess.” He hits your pussy again, and you press your cheek into the mattress, panting as heat floods your body. “Greedy little pussy, don’t even gotta do much to get you ready for me. No,” he pushes his fingers back inside of you, the angle letting his knuckles massage your g-spot. “Basically fuckin’ begging for it, trying to fuck yourself on my fingers. Dirty girl.”

You hadn’t even realized you were doing that. Fucking back onto Dean’s hand, ass wiggling in the air as his free hand soothes down your spine. You’re shaking, but already ready for more, the sensitivity from the first orgasm building you back up.

“Deeean-“ You whine, spreading your knees wider. “More, need more, please-“

“Ah. Just feel this.” He yanks his fingers out, spanking your clit three sharp times before shoving his fingers back in. “You asked me to touch you, I’m touchin’. Touching you real good.”

He starts to knead your g-spot again, kissing slowly up and down your spine.

“Want you to come for me again, baby girl.” He mutters, lips wandering over the curve of your ass, then your thighs. “You’re gonna cum until you can’t stay up, then I’m gonna fuck you. Alright.”

You nod, but there isn’t something he could ask you that you’d say no to right now. “Oh- Okay.”

“Awesome.” Dean sucks on the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, pushing you higher in the air. “Hold onto something.”

Your hands fist in the sheets, right before his sinful mouth latches onto your clit.

You almost scream. Dean starts to make out with the bundle of nerves like it can kiss him back, shifting below you until you’re almost sitting on his face. His fingers keep grinding down onto your g-spot as his tongue flicks back and forth, your button sucked between his soft lips, and you push your hands into the sheets, almost unable to take the pleasure.

“Dean- Dean- I- I’m gonna- Fuck-“

A sharp spank lands on your ass before grabbing a handful of the fat and shoving you fully down. You cum with a scream of Dean’s name, the pleasure rolling through your body like a wave.

But he doesn’t stop.

Dean keeps you trapped against his face, working you so hard you see starts, then other universe. His stubble burns against you and it’s perfect, his tongue moving so relentlessly—in tight little kitten licks, working you into a blind frenzy—and the feeling to overwhelming you can’t even remember how to close your mouth. Dean drags you on his face when you try to pull away, chuckling against your pussy, and the vibration is too much.

This time when you cum, you’re shaking and boneless. You think you might be about to cry, but maybe that’s just how hot this is.

He still isn’t stopping, and you might be in heaven. Blissful and dumb from pleasure, just a fuck doll in Dean’s big, careful hands.

You’re about to cum again, and you didn’t know you could do twice, let alone four times.

“De- Dean-“ You whimper. “Can’t- Can’t do it again-“

Dean grunts, lifting you over his head. “Yes, you can.”

He yanks his fingers out, rubbing your clit quickly before flipping you back over. You blink up at him, the coil in your stomach burning to snap. You’re so cockdrunk and dazed you almost don’t feel it at first.

Dean’s cock, slowly pushing into you.

When it hits you, he’s already got the thick head inside. You mewl, trying to cover your chest as he presses in deeper, but Dean grabs your wrists and pins them next to your head.

“Let me see you.” He mutters, sounding just as wrecked as you are. “Wanna watch you. So pretty, fucking crying for me.” He leans down, kissing your cheek, and you sob with delight. “Feels good, doesn’t it. So- Shit-“ You clench around him, and he hisses. “So fuckin’ good.”

“Good.” You repeat, just trying to stay conscious as Dean drags through your oversensitive, abused pussy. “So, so good, Dean, so fucking- Ooooh-“

He bottoms out, and you could swear you feel him up your spine and in your mouth. You’ve never been so full before, never had someone hit so many sensitive spots inside of you, and it lights you up like a summer sky.

Your eyes cross, as the almost peaceful orgasm blooms from your womb to your lips. You smile up at Dean, twisting to tangle your fingers together, and he swallows.

 There’s a soft shine in his eyes. Pure, utter affection as he watches you come undone around him. It even moves into his voice, all the teasing and dominant command coated in devotion.

“You’re so beautiful.” He murmurs, bowing over you until there’s no telling where you stop, and he ends. “Feel that, baby?” He gives a long, lazy roll of his hips, and you gasp. “Yeah, that’s right. That’s you, takin’ my cock. Just like I said you could.” He kisses you, repeating the motion. “Good girl.”

You pant, grabbing his bicep as he fucks slowly into you. He mutters low praise in your ear, bullying your pussy open with every thrust. You’d asked for it rush, but this is better. You feel priceless. You feel like Dean’s.

“Breathe.” He reminds you, and you take a stuttered gasp. “Good job, princess. Don’t want you passing out on me. Need to see those pretty eyes when I cum inside of you,”

You moan, body moving in a mindless rhythm with his, and Dean grins.

“Yeah, I’m gonna fill you up, sweetheart. Make this pussy mine, let it drip out, show everyone who fucks you so good.”

“You.” You whimper out. “You, Dean, ‘s you- Fuck-“

“Damn right it is.” He grunts, dropping his hips so he hits your g-spot even better. “You’re my girl, never gonna let you think anything else again.”

You nod, your breathing getting short and desperate. The room is filled with the wet sound of his dick sliding in and out of you. Your body is slick with heat and Dean’s kissing every inch of it he can reach. Grabbing and squeezing soft skin until you’re sure you’ll be covered in handprints and finger-shaped bruises in the morning, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

Not as his cock drives deep into your with every, precise thrust.

Dean kisses you, dragging his tongue over your upper lip, and your pussy flutters.

Oh. God. “Dean, I- I think-“

“I know.” He grunts, like he’s just attuned to that. “You can do it, baby girl.”

“No- No-“

“Yes.” Dean kisses the tears, streaming down your cheeks from overstimulation. “Do it for me, come on. Just feel it, let it happen. Bet it’s good, isn’t it. Nice and sweet, right here.”

He presses down on your pelvis, right over where the fire is building. You sob with pleasure, and Dean grins.

“That’s right, there it is, come on-“

You cum like you were struck by lighting. Every muscle in your body seizes, the pressure where Dean’s pressing breaking like a damn. You gush and squeeze around his cock, arching off the bed like you’re trying to take flight, and Dean drops over you with a shameless moan.  

“Fuck- Fuck yeah-“ He presses his face into your neck as you milk his dick. “Holy- Christ-“

 Thick spurts of Dean’s release fill you up. They’re hot, and you hug Dean’s head, whimpering in his ear as you take them. He’s kissing your shoulder, but it’s unmeasured and desperate, and you’re sure you’re having the same control issue right now.

The feeling is so consuming you can’t think of anything but Dean. You’re saying his name like a prayer, as he ruts into you, sloppy and desperate. Neither of you really come back to earth, as your orgasms fade. Dean just slumps over you, cradling your body in his arms, and you smile at the ceiling, completely fucked out.

“Shit.” Dean rasps, and you giggle.

“Yeah.”

“You know you could squirt?”

You shake your head, and he grins against your neck.

“Awesome.”

 His cock twitches inside of you, and you hit his shoulders.

“Dean, oh my god-“

“Not now.” He groans, rolling onto his back and hauling you with him. “But later, right?” He gives you a hopeful, almost boyish look.

Like you might reject him while he’s still fucking inside of you.

“Cause I meant it.” He adds quickly. “Everything before, uh- This. Meant every word, promise, and- You can hit me or something, if that makes you feel better-“

You lean down, taking his sweet, dumb face between your hands and kissing him. Dean hums in surprise, but kisses you back immediately. One hand slides through your hair, the other up your spine, but he lets you lead. Looks up at you with a drunken smile when you pull away, like you’re some kind of god.

“I don’t want to hit you.” You say, tracing his tattoo.

He nods quickly. “Good. I mean- for me-“

“But you have to ask me out for real.” You give him a firm look. “And take me on a nice date.”

“I can do that.” He grins. “And then… You’re my…”

He trails off. Lets you fill in the space.

You think he got it right, just like that.

“Yeah,” you smile. “But you’re mine, too.”

And there’s nothing on Dean’s face that tells you he’s going to argue with that.

✦End note: im drooling. i know most of you prob dont read my main dean series, but every day i dream about getting to the end and just making him old and happy. very normal about how i want this old ass man.✦ ✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦ ✦Buy me a coffee!☕️ (and get early access!)✦ ✦Taglist (Fill out this form to be added!)✦

[milleniumpire]

♱ ... dean winchester ... ♱ 18+ MDNI inspired by this gif

"Yeahhh you just like to take it, huh. Fucked so dumb and deep all you can do is drool on my hand."

You moaned against the palm he had pressing against your mouth to muffle your whines, completely immobilized by the press of Dean's body against yours. His mouth was hot against your ear, forcing your eyes to meet his regardless of the strain. His cock slipped into you easily, the angle and your slick making his head catch on your spot with every thrust.

"So fuckin' cute like this. Actin' like a brat when all you wanna be is daddy's little girl."

So this is what you get for acting a little too needy, acting like he doesn't treat you right. You were just trying to have a little fun, coax him into fucking you hard on the couch, but after he didn't bite... then it was personal. All day, making goading comments, acting like you don't have a man that caters to your every whim and whose favorite activity is being nose deep in your cunt. Dean didn't like that very much, but was happy to play dumb enough that you'd get yourself into some real trouble. Fucking spoiled, is what you are.

Your hips bucked, trying to escape the deep pressure of his cock.

"Nuh, uh, sweetheart. This is what you wanted, right? My cock and my attention? Well now you fuckin' got it."

It felt like he was touching you everywhere, his voice sending vibrations through your ear and down your throat. When your feet started kicking up, trying to wiggle free from the stimulation, he widened his legs, locking his ankles above yours to keep you still. All of his body weight landed squarely on you, and the warm hug of restriction slowly soothed your body into submission.

"Yeah, there you go, honey. Not so smart now," he cooed, still bullying your pussy. "Kind of pathetic how easy it is to shut you up, how quick you give in. Just takes a couple inches of cock."

Your eyes rolled back, too fucked out to protest that what he's giving you is a little more than a couple inches. Your mouth went slack in his hand, and feeling your pitiful little gasps against his palm only spurred him on.

"What? Got nothin' to say?"

You moaned, the drool leaking out of your mouth becoming evident when he switched his grip to your neck.

"How about 'thank you, daddy, for treating me exactly how I asked you to.'"

The words came out embarrassingly slurred. You fought your way through, trying to show him you are appreciative of the way he is claiming you right now. Every part of you feels like it's his when he fucks you like this. Not just the position, but the way he's showing you that he'll always give you exactly what you need. His hand snaked around to play with your clit. You felt yourself gush around him, impossibly more pliant underneath his strong body.

"Can you take a little more f'me?"

Without waiting to hear your answer he slid his middle finger in alongside his cock, groaning into your ear when he feels you stretch around him. His long digit rubbed at your spot, as if he wasn't hitting it before, and you felt him smile into your neck at the way you thrashed underneath him.

"C'mon, honey. I'm just givin' you what you asked for. All you gotta do is cum out some of this attitude and we'll call it even."

His fingers prodded at you relentlessly, his cock still shoving it's way it. All the fight left your body when his thumb started circling your clit.

"Yeahhh, that's all you needed, huh? Pussy just needed some of dad's attention." He drew the pleasure from you in pulsing waves, your cunt fluttering around his finger and cock as he fucked you through it. "There you go, honey. Cummin' around dad's cock like a good girl." His thrusts stayed unhurried, enjoying the feeling of your warm, spasming pussy. The only sign he was getting close was the way he started babbling, his filter and restraint completely gone.

"Love fuckin' this little pussy honey, sucks me in all nice even when she's pretending to be a fuckin' brat. Know just what to do to get her all warm 'n welcoming. Need to fuck her more to teach her how bad she needs her dad's cock. She should feel empty whenever I'm not fillin' her up to the brim. Need'a get a little plug to keep her all full've my cum even when I can't be there for her. Gonna breed her nice 'n deep so she can't forget who she belongs to, who she's gotta listen to. I'm gonna-- fuck."

You felt him paint you deep inside, his grip on your neck moving back to lock around your mouth. He fucked back into you, groaning when a little bit of his spend dribbled out.

"Remember how you feel right now next time you try to say I don't treat you right."

Dean's hand didn't move from your mouth, and you had a feeling it wouldn't until he decided he was done with you.

[inadoves]

drunk words are sober thoughts

boyfriend’s dad!dean winchester x reader (18+)

part 1: there’s nothing like your boyfriend’s dad

warnings: infidelity, car sex, angst if you squint, creampie (wrap it up), reader is intoxicated the whole time, fingering, dumbification if you squint, praise kink.

wc: 3k

note: the people have decided. hopefully it passes inspection goodnight guys!

You didn’t have anyone else to call.

That sounds like an excuse, sure, but it’s the truth!

This week had been horrible; your car broke down, then you ran out of every product you owned and had to spend, like, a million bucks. You and Adam proceeded to almost get killed by a pair of werewolves, having to retreat from the hunt. He ended up going back, leaving you in Wichita.

So you did the only thing a girl can do alone in a city—clubbing!

Honestly, you’d lost track of how many clubs you went to. You’d lost track of a lot of things. Time, your dignity, and how many drinks you’d had. You’d been texting your boyfriend every so often, but now your phone was dead.

“Fuck,” You murmured, rubbing the sweat off your forehead. Stumbling off the steps of the exit of the club, you managed to find way to the curb and sit down. You dug through your bag until you found your portable charger, sticking the magnetic bit onto the back of your phone and holding it in your lap.

You stared out at the cars passing. You were sure people were heading to and from work. It must’ve been around 4am.

Eventually your phone buzzed to life. Quickly, you began to look through your contacts. Your eyes were squinted at the light, pupils fighting to contract against it.

Adam was already off the call list. He was pretty far anyway. Your mom? Not even close. Same for your dad. All your friends were back near your hometown, so that was also out of the question. Dean? Well, he—.. he.. yeah, he’d probably do. Reluctantly, you pressed his contact.

You two hadn’t spoken much since the incident. It was just too awkward, the sexual tension between you two was just too much. You also felt so guilty afterwards it made you sick to your stomach.

You waited for it to connect. It rang once.. twice.. thrice.. fo—

“Hey.”

You felt your breath hitch. The phone pressed against your ear now, small vibrations coming through and buzzing at your skin.

“Dean?” You managed, voice tight and a little slurred. You heard him say something, but it was pretty inaudible to you. “I-I need a ride.. can’t drive. Went clubbing.” He made a disappointed noise. “Alright. Adam’s not there f’you?” You shook your head like he could see it. “No. Hunt.” You flipped your hair out your face, hugging your body with your other arm. “Right. Send me the address. I’ll come.”

“Thanks, like, so much, De.”

“..Welcome.”

The call cut shortly after.

You placed the phone into your lap with the charger again, mindlessly texting him the location. Until then, you sat staring out at the distance. It was a little weird to go out like this alone in a random city, but it was fine. You needed it. And when Dean comes, you hoped you didn’t need him, too.

The time seemed to pass by quickly. You kind of disassociated, focusing on a singular tree until something blocked it from vision.

The Impala roared as it pulled up in front of you. The passenger side window opened and Dean’s face came into view.

“Come on. Don’t got all night.” He called out.

You smiled sheepishly, pushing yourself off with the grace of a newborn cow and squandered to the car. You pulled open the door with all your strength (which wasn’t much right now) and sat in the passenger. Dean barely looked at you, one hand gripped on the steering wheel.

“You went all by yourself?” He asked, pressing his foot on the gas. You pursed your lips and nodded, throwing your purse onto the floor and kicking your heels off. “Yeah.. wasn’t bad! Lonely.” You heard him hum in acknowledgment, but that was that.

It was really, very awkward.

You didn’t know what to say.

You just rested against the window to avoid having to look near him, and you were sure he was doing the same. Maybe a bit of fidgeting every so often, the squeaking of the leather breaking the silence then and again but tension filling the gaps inbetween.

It was like that almost the entire ride, all the way until you got to his place. It wasn’t anything flashy, just a one-floor he’d been renting for the last month. There wasn’t usually vacations for Winchesters, he told you once, but he tried to rest sometimes.

Dean parked the car and turned the engine off, the car coming to a gentle halt finally. “C’mon, let’s go.” You blinked heavily and looked over at him, watching him slide his leg under the wheel and press his hand on the door handle.

There was this sinking feeling building in your stomach. This casualness was horrifying. You hated it. You didn’t regret that night, but the silence made you feel that way sometimes.

“Dean, hey,” It was automatic, your hand reaching over and grasping onto his arm. He turned and gave this funny look—confusion and stoicism overlapping. He was trying extra hard to not feel any kind of way about it. He’d been trying the whole ride. “What’s wrong?”

You pursed your lips. “I-I don’t.. I don’t want.. fuck,” You groaned, letting him go and shaking your head. “I don’t want stuff to be weird. And awkward. Not anymore. Really.” He let a breath out through his nose, strained and heavy. “What? Sweetheart, that’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever said t’me. Shit’s gonna be awkward. You understand why, don’t you?” You shrunk into yourself somewhat. “I do.”

“So don’t act like you don’t.” He murmured. He stared at your expression, all soft and sullen like a child. It was cute—unbelievably adorable. He couldn’t deny the fact that he’d been subtly glancing at you every so often, taking in your beauty while you faded in and out of consciousness against the window. You nodded slightly, face burning red with embarrassment.

That was dumb.

To think you could smooth things over like that, it was an idiotic move. At least you had alcohol to blame it on.

You bit at your bottom lip, looking back up at him wearily. He was still looking at you with this pitiful expression now. Was it because you were drunk? Or maybe because you looked like a sad dog. You didn’t like it either way. “..Do you regret it?” You asked. He reeled his head back incredulously. “What? I- Sweetheart, what kind of question even is that?”

“Do you?” You pressed, reaching back for him. Your brows were furrowed into a knot, eyelashes fluttering up at him expectantly. You felt like you knew the answer, but you didn’t want to give yourself false hope. “Oh, Jesus Christ! We- we’re both.. consensual.. um, consenting adults. We know right from wrong!” You were honestly being a bit louder than you should’ve been, but volume control wasn’t on the top of your priority list at the moment. “It’s not horrible to admit it. I-I’ll even go first! I don’t regret it, not one bit.”

Dean was looking at you like you had three heads.

The color was slightly drained from his face by how mortifying the question even was. There was no good way to answer it—god damnit, this was his son’s girlfriend! You weren’t just some random drunk girl in his car, you were his son’s girlfriend. The same girlfriend he’d fucked almost two months ago.

“What the hell do you want me to say?” He managed. He shook his head, sliding a hand down his face nervously. You frowned. “The truth! I’m saying the truth. We should both just be honest. Come on.” You begged. He felt a deep pit in his stomach at the sound of your voice—sickeningly sweet in his ears, and with your hands grabbing at him he couldn’t help but give in. “Alright, fine. Y’want honest, I can do honest. I’m the fucking greatest at honest.”

It was so quick, the way his hands grasped at your face and pulled you in. His lips met yours immediately, a desperate, messy kiss enveloping your lips. You gasped, eyes widening and hands scrambling for purchase on his body, eventually finding it against his shirt.

Dean’s mouth was warm and wet, and you could taste beer on his tongue when he forced it between your teeth. You whined softly, pushing yourself into him. He pulled away with a sharp inhale as he attempted to catch his breath.

“Was that honest enough for you?” He asked, breath unsteady, chasing a comfortable rhythm. You nodded dizzily. “Ever since that damn night I’ve wanted you so bad. It drives me nuts every time I see you and him, which is fucking horrible all things considered.” He exhaled, letting go of you. “That shit.. that shit fucking eats me alive.”

You wobbled a bit, still grasping onto his shirt. “Really?” You asked softly, sitting up on the seat, knees now pressed onto the leather. “You have? Oh, god, and I thought I was losing my mind.” You smiled sheepishly, shuffling until you were sliding into his lap. Dean’s hands grasped at your waist instinctively.

“We can’t keep doing this,” He murmured. He swallowed hard at the feeling of your hands pawing at his chest. “You’re just doing this shit because you’re drunk, hon’.” You shook your head. “N-No. I want it. I want you. Dean, please.” You whispered softly. It was that same tone you had the first time, all breathy and sultry. He felt himself getting hard beneath you, hands rubbing at your waist.

“You.. you’re sure?” He asked. You held onto his shoulders, fingers drumming against him while you awaited his signal. “Very.”

You tightened your hold, leaning into him and kissing him messily. It was uncoordinated as hell, with Dean needing to grasp onto the back of your head and guide you into him. His tongue prodded between your teeth, a gesture you happily accepted.

You suckled on his tongue lewdly, a soft ‘pop’ sounding when you let go. His hands were wandering against your back and all the way down to your ass, fingertips peeling the skirt of your dress up to reveal your body beneath.

There were no shorts under, just a lacy black g-string to match your dress. You giggled when he snapped the elastic onto your ass.

“Shit, baby. Feels like you knew you’d see me today.” He murmured against your lips. You laughed breathily again. “Mm, I mean, I missed you a lot.. maybe I, like, manifested or something.” You kissed him again, hands crawling under the collar of his shirt and grazing his shoulders. Dean bit your bottom lip and simultaneously trailed his fingers under your thong, sliding the small slips of fabric to the side and uncovering your cunt for him.

“So fuckin’ wet.” His fingertips slid between your folds, a soft mewl escaping your throat. “Adam doesn’t make you feel like this, does he?” You shook your head, jaw falling slack when he pushed two fingers inside you. “Oh my fucking god,” You whined. Your hips bucked up against him, desperately trying to find some sort of friction from his jeans against your clit.

His mouth found solace at your shoulder and neck, soft kisses and love bites scattering themselves lightly. It wasn’t enough to show, never enough to show.

He slapped your ass with his free hand, fingers kneading into the flesh. “C’mon, answer.” Inside you, his fingers curled effortlessly into your g-spot, the spongey muscle fluttering against him. “Can his fingers reach right here perfectly every time?” He asked, rubbing the pads of his fingers relentlessly right there. “Fuck, no!” You sobbed, shaking your head. “Really?” He acted all shocked, a grin crossing his face. “Y’should’ve met me sooner.”

You leaned your head onto his shoulder, forehead pressed against his collar. Your breath became labored the moment his fingers started sliding in and out of you relentlessly. Dean watched your hole suck him in every time he pulled his fingers out, his skin glistening with a thick coating of your self-lubricant.

“So pretty, baby..” He cooed, pulling your hair away from your shoulder to kiss at the skin again. You could only whine softly at the feeling, head practically in the clouds. “She’s so perfect f’me. Most perfect pussy ever, y’know that?” He gently slid a third finger in, ripping a loud moan from your throat that bordered a scream. “Dean, oh mm—! my god!” You groaned, toes curling into the air.

“Feels good?” He asked, pulling your head up to face him. Your face was red, eyes bleary and lashes wet with tears of satisfaction. You nodded lips trembling as you tried to form words. “Don’t say anything. I know it’s a lot.” He pressed a kiss to your lips. His tongue gently moved against yours, and he felt you relax against him at the feeling, your body completely melting into his.

Your orgasm was building up from just his fingers inside you. It was a new feeling you’d never experienced before, typically you needed some outer stimulation, but not this time.

You groaned against his mouth, bottom lip shuddering as it approached closer and closer. “Y’gonna cum?” Dean whispered against your mouth, smiling when he felt you nod against him. “Fuck, I can tell. You’re so tight, sweetheart. Let it all out, okay?”

You whimpered and nodded again, moving to press your forehead against his cheek. With a few more thrusts of his fingers, you felt your orgasm wash over you. It was so, so much heavier than any other one you’d had; your legs trembled and jerked up when it crashed down, stomach convulsing like you’d run a fucking marathon.

“Such a good girl.” Dean praised, pulling his fingers out of you. You sank onto his lap fully, your cunt dripping and leaving wet stains all over his pants. The friction of the denim was too much all of a sudden, and you lifted your hips up uncomfortably. He brought his fingers up to your mouth, prodding them at your lips until you opened and started sucking them clean.

“Sweet girl, there you go..” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. His free hand unbuckled his jeans, thumb sliding under the band of his underwear until his aching cock was freed from its cotton confines. It bounced against your cunt, eliciting a soft gasp from you. “S’okay. You’re gonna be fine, just keep sucking, babygirl. Bite them if you gotta.”

You nodded hazily, eyes fluttering shut. You felt the tip of his cock press at your entrance, his hand finally finding way to your hip. Gently, he slid you all the way down until you were sunk fully onto him. You blubbered against his fingers, teeth sinking into his fingers. He’d experienced worse—a little bit of biting wouldn’t kill him, but your cunt squeezing his cock might.

Dean let out his own whimper, nostrils flared and his lip quivering between his teeth, soft, short exhales escaping him as he bottomed out.

“So tight, even after three fingers.” He murmured.

Speaking of, he pulled his digits out of your mouth, using his hand to fully hold onto your hips.

You barely registered it, only nuzzling your head deeper into the crook of his neck. At first it was gentle, his hands slowly lifting you up and down along his cock so he wouldn’t break you.

Tonight he had all of the time in the world to savor the feeling of being inside you. There was no rush.

“Gonna start moving a bit faster now.” He warned. You just nodded. True to his word, he lifted you up until just the tip was in, then slammed you back onto him. You gasped and squealed, hands clawing at his shoulders.

Dean wrapped one arm across your back to your shoulder and one around your waist, using the sudden leverage to thrust up into you where he sat. With his feet planted on the ground, he was able to go as rough as he needed to in that moment.

He groaned, listening to your sobs and cries of intense pleasure. Everything was overwhelming him, from the light of the moon to the squeaking of the leather below. He felt his thigh twitch beneath you.

“Y’like it?” He rasped, hand squeezing your ass and slapping it hard enough that a mark formed. You couldn’t find the words—didn’t have them at all, actually. All you could do was nod into him and hold onto him tighter.

You dug a hand into his hair, gripping his soft, bronde locks between your fingers. Dean wasn’t expecting that, the sudden pressure making his cock twitch excitedly. “Oh my god, don’t fucking let go, angel. Feels so good.” He groaned, eyes shutting tightly. He kissed at your shoulder, inhaling the scent of your sweat deeply. You did as told, nails finding way into his scalp to anchor yourself properly.

That was his final straw, the sharp pain at his head causing him to unexpected bust himself all inside you. Dean squeezed your body tight against his, burying himself deep inside your cunt as he spilled his load. You whined and kicked your legs, sniveling against his shirt like a baby. Your hands slid from his hair to cling onto him as best as possible, which wasn’t too good.

“God, sweetheart,” He managed to groan.

His heart was racing as was yours—he could feel it against his chest. Another kiss was placed on the side of your head. “Greatest pussy I’ve ever had.” You smiled somewhat when the words eventually registered. “Will.. will we keep doing this?” You murmured, head unmoving from its spot. Dean shrugged. “Just for now.”

⠀︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹

taglist: @angel1withacigarette @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @satanswillysworld @sparklingvelvet @rafesgirl-14 @blv3rd @sb-bitch @hopelessbrain @melusinetears @sunwlwr @ibislate @dean-osaur-winchester @theodosi-love @gisellesutcliff @c1eepypas1a @angelsqint @peachimi69

[godmadeaterribleerror]

messy

✦Main Masterlist - Read on aO3!✦

✦summary: You know Steve doesn't see you like that. You know because you asked him, and he said no. So it's not really fair, that he'd reject you and keep making you love him after, is it. ✦

✦warnings/tags: steve rogers x female!reader, modern!au, no use of y/n, pining, rejection (at the start, off page, and steve's a liar about it), no description of reader (pictures for aesthetic only), fluff, angst, love confessions, some plot to get to all that porn, feral level smut, (dry humping, teasing, making steve lose control, fingering, light spanking, praise kink, manhandling, big dick steve, squriting, p in v sex, creampie, breeding kink, soft!dom steve), soft!steveoutside of smut✦

✦wc: 10.9k✦

✦Author's Note: this one hit ME too hard bc i based it on real life too much. oops. all the better for the horny ig. Enjoy!✦

You’re not looking for him in the crowd. And if anyone says you are, they’re a big, fat liar.

Active scanning is not looking. It’s a part of the job, to see who’s here. What kind of interviews you’re going to be able to get, who’s already closing in on who, who’s snuggled up and gossiping and might not notice you eavesdropping. If you’re smart about this—and you always are—you’re going to walk away from tonight with a comment from Secretary Ross, Pepper Potts, or even an Avenger themselves.

But not him.

You have no interest in walking away with a comment from him.

“They’re here.” Your coworker Stacy bumps your shoulders, her eyes wide and fixed across the room. “Holy shit, they’re actually here-“

“It’s their fundraiser.” You mutter, keeping your attention on a senator bumbling about near the drinks. “It would be crazy if they weren’t here.”

“Yeah, but- It’s all of them. I’ve never seen all of them-“

“Yes, you have.”

Stacy glares at you. “Well, not so close.”

You glance over, pointedly only looking at their feet. “They’re not that close.”

“I could touch one.” Stacy breathes, and you snort.

“You should go try that.”

That earns you another glare, and a smack on the arm. And you deserve it, but you just laugh and look back to your target. The tipsy, red-eyed senator who’s going to have a few more drinks, and tells you all about that bill congress is trying to pass about the Enhanced. You’ve read it three times, and it’s a disgusting invasion of privacy, but those documents were off the record. If you can get a Senator, talking about how he wants to force all superheroes to either be sterilized or record their sex lives-

Stacy pinches your arm, and you squeak so loudly it echoes off the domed, ballroom ceiling. Some attention darts in your direction, but everyone quickly loses interest when they realize it’s nothing all that interesting. Your face is burning as you smooth your dress, and it doesn’t stop burning. It feels like someone is tending to the hot embarrassment, fluttering in your tummy and restless in your fingers. Like someone is looking right through you, monitoring you, watching you-

“He’s looking at you.” Stacy hisses in your ear, buzzing with so much excitement you’re sure she’s about to turn into glitter and explode like fireworks, and you’re going to throttle her.

“He is now, because you,” you shove her shoulder. It doesn’t do anything to stamp out her thrill at your worst nightmare. “Fucking made him notice-“

“No, he was looking before-“

“No, he wasn’t-“

“Yes, he was-“

“No, he wasn’t-“

“Who wasn’t what.”

You freeze, and Stacy looks over your head with a fawning, dazed expression. You’re going to kill her. You’re going to cut her up into tiny pieces and burn them all in separate furnaces, and then you’re going to steal her dog and make it forget all about her, and marry her husband and make her cute little kid your Cinderella as bloodline punishment-

“Hi, Mr. Captain Sir.” She giggles, looking back down to you with a wide-eyed it’s him expression.

I’m going to kill you. You mouth. She doesn’t seem all that bothered by the threat.

“Uh- Hi. You don’t have to-“ You hear him shift on his feet behind you. “Steve is alright.”

You can picture him rubbing the back of his neck, trying to look smaller. More humble and approachable, when he’s a modern walking Hercules. A better version, who doesn’t kill his wife and kids. Who gets you drinks and tries to be your friend and is so stupidly polite and kind and you hate him, you hate him so much-

He says your name. You plaster on the widest, most plastic and sickly sweet smile you can manage. You want him to feel like you’re a bit of plastic that’s stuck between his teeth. To give up talking to you, because it’s not fair.

Steve’s just as handsome as the last time you saw him. And the time before that. And the time before that. If anything, he’s more handsome. You don’t know how he does it, changing absolutely nothing about his appearance and looking hotter every time you get eyes on him. His hair is styled the same as always, but it looks so soft. You could run your fingers through it and it would probably feel like a cloud. His stupid, sharp jawline is slack as you glare up at him, and he’s so tall it makes you dizzy, and he’s fixing you with that puppy look that makes you feel like you’re important to him.

And you’re not. You know you’re not.

You went down that road once. You tried to be important to him, and he said no. And he’s Steve, so he was sweet and perfectly kind about it, and still wanted to be your friend, and you’d thought you were already over it so you’d said yes.

You thought you could just be his friend. He hadn’t made anything weird. Neither of you had ever even brought up your failed attempt to ask him out again. And at the time, you’d thought you were over it.

But Steve is Steve. And he’s got some titanic hold over your heart that’s left finger marks dug in through the landscape. There’s a depression over the cavity of your chest, and your ribs have molded to fit it, and now it’s far too late to go back. You only know how to have feelings for him. You’ve tried to get over it. To ignore it. To forcibly re-mold your love into something platonic, or clawed your way through some relationships in the hope they’d help you move on.

They don’t. They won’t. Nothing can.

The big stupid boy-scout standing over you owns you completely, and you can’t even tell him without making it a problem.

Your new strategy had been to ignore him. Stacy ruined that.

She thinks he secretly has feelings for you. You tune her out every time she starts to crow and preach about it, because you know your heart is going to take it as gospel and not parody, and you can’t afford false faith. All you have is what’s grounded between your fingers.

Steve’s right here. He’s smiling at you, all pretty and nice, and you have to smile back or else it will make him feel bad. He’s got a drink in his massive hand for you. You’ve had a million wet dreams about that hand around your throat or cupping your pussy.

You’re aching thinking about it. In an ideal world, this would be the part where you ran without looking back.

In an ideal world, you’d be standing on his arm right now, instead of all stiff and weird in front of him.

You need to get a fucking grip.

“Hi.” You say, and it’s sounds lame and idiotic and pathetic-

Steve’s face splits into a big, happy smile. “Hi. How’s the night going for you, do you have your victim picked out?”

You scowl. “It’s not- They’re not victims-“

“You treat them like they’re victims.” His grin widens. “Sometimes I feel like I should be saving them.”

“They’re all fine. It’s not like I’m drugging them or something.”

Steve’s brows raise. “That makes me think you are drugging them.”

“Nuh uh.” You stick out your tongue, and he laughs under his breath.

“One day you’re gonna say something that actually gets you in trouble, you know.” He holds out the drink he brought you.

It’s your favorite. It’s always your favorite.

You told him what your favorite drink was, the very first time you attended one of these parties. He’s never forgotten since, and it makes you love and hate him all the more.

“I don’t think I will.” You mumble, both trying and desperately failing not to brush his fingers. His skin is warm. He’s warm. He’s like a walking furnace, and you’d like to just bury your face in his pecs and breathe him in and-

“Kid, you already have.”

Steve looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room. His eyes are sparkling, and in the background you think Natasha Romanoff is circling like a shark, trying to get his attention, but if he notices he pretends he doesn’t. He just looks at you and calls you kid, and the word plummets like a cold stone into your gut.

Kid. That’s all you are to him. Kid.

“But if I got in trouble, you’d save me.” You take a long sip of your drink, and you like to torture yourself.

With his presence. His closeness.

How fast he nods. How certainly he answers.

“’Course I would. Already saving you by pretending I don’t see you getting all those Senators drunk.”

You laugh softly, but the sound hurts. When you look over your shoulder, Stacy’s abandoned you for the food table. You catch her eye, and she shoots you an excited thumbs up. She probably thinks this is going great.

“Are you feeling alright?” Steve says suddenly, and he sounds like he really, really cares. “You been looking kind of sick- Not that you look bad- You look good, uh- Really good, but-“

“I’m fine.” You turn back to Steve, and you wonder if he can see it.

The pain, leaking down like a toxin from your eyes. Everything kind of blurry. You’d throw up, if you didn’t think he’d take care of you after.

“Everything’s fine.”

Steve’s lips twitch. You’re not sure he believes you.

But it doesn’t really matter anyway. You’re not his to get an answer out of. He decided that.

And you’re just doing exactly what Steve wants, all the time.

“You do look nice.” He mumbles, taking a sip of his own drink, as if it could even do anything to him.

You smile, and there it is again. The shameful, unrelenting heat in your stomach. “Thanks.”

I dressed up for you.

“I think he’s in looove with you.” Stacy says, spinning around in her chair. You flip her off, not looking up from your computer.

“Is the printer out of paper still?”

“I don’t know, you print everything for me.” She pokes your chair with her foot. “Pay attention to me, I said Steve’s in love with you-“

“No, he’s not.”

“Yes, he is.”

“No, he’s not-“

“Yes, he is-“

“Is this the same thing you were fighting about last time?” Steve’s voice comes from over your shoulder, and you freeze. “Or is that just… How you two talk.”

Stacy looks awfully fucking pleased with herself for a dead woman. “It’s the same fight as last time.”

“Oh.” He pauses. You can hear his concern, and it makes you want to vomit. “Is everything okay?”

“Mhm.” Stacy beams. “Hi, Steve.”

You glance up, and Steve looks properly bemused and adorable about her whole demeanor. It makes you want to hold his face and kiss the tiny, pouting frown off his lips. You smack yourself internally. Get it together.

“Hi, Stacy.”

She almost glows. “You remember my name?”

“Yeah.” He glances down at you. “I try to remember most people’s names.”

Stacy swoons. “Of course you do.”

Steve blinks, and you clear your throat.

“What are you doing here?”

“Uh-“ He rubs the back of his neck, giving you a small smile. “Lunch, remember? We planned it last week.”

Oh. You did do that. “I told you to wait outside, my boss is going to try to interview you-“

“Oh, she already did.” He laughs. “But I’m here for you, not a front page.”

You flush, and Stacy giggles like she’s watching TV.

“So…” Steve shrugs. “Lunch?”

Right. Lunch.

“How’d you even get in the building.” You grumble, grabbing your jacket as you stand. He shrugs sheepishly.

“I took a photo with the guards.”

“Steve, I told you to stop doing that-“

“It made them really happy, okay? And I went through all the metal detectors, same as everyone else-“

“I know, but you hate taking the photos, you can tell them no.”

Steve frowns. “It’s not that big an inconvenience for me-“

“But you hate it.”

“I don’t hate it-“

“Steven Rogers.”

You glare at him, arms crossed over your chest. Steve sighs, slumping like a scolded child.

“I don’t love them.” He mumbles, and you nod.

“Next time, tell them no.”

“But then I can’t come upstairs.”

You shrug, starting at the door, your shoulder bumping against his. “You can text me. Like you’re supposed to-“

“Or I can just do the photos-“

“No-“

“Bye, guys.” Stacy calls from behind you, and you look her with wide eyes. You’d forgotten she was there.

“Um… Bye.” You wave awkwardly, and she grins.

He’s here for you. She mouths, and you roll your eyes.

No hope. It just makes everything else harder.

If Steve wanted you, he’d say something. And you’re a big girl. You can handle just being his friend, because he won’t leave you alone long enough for you to properly avoid him. You can handle it.

His hand finds your lower back, when he opens the door for you. You almost trip over your feet from the dizzying touch.

You can’t handle this at all.

The most annoying part about having undying feelings for Steve Rogers is that it’s Steve Rogers. Captain America. Golden Boy Number One. Mr. Perfect Specimen.

You’re in love with the little blond boy with abs and a dopey smile and sweet blue eyes. You’re obsessed with Mr. Muscles. You lose sleep over the guy who looks like he could crush you in a headlock then kiss you to sleep after.

Incredibly original. Groundbreaking, even. The love of your life is the masculine celebrity who’s respectful and kind. Never before heard of stuff. You’re really shattering glass ceilings with that one.

You want to shoot yourself in the face.

It’s impossible to avoid even thinking about him, when he’s everywhere. You go out to the corner store, and he’s on the little TV mounted in the corner. Avengers brand yogurts line the grocery store, and you glare at Strawberries and Cream and Justice until your head hurts. He told you about that. He was pretty proud of how all the proceeds were going to charities.

“It’s a stupid name, though.” You’d said, and he’d shrugged.

“Tony says the name doesn’t matter, as long as it’s got our faces on it. Apparently that’s what people are buying for.”

He’d frowned at that, and you’d given him an affectionate smile. He hates the glory of all of this. You know he does, and you’d told him gently you’re sure people will also buy for charity.

You’d been lying through your teeth, though. When you grab the yogurt and shamefully shove it into your basket, it’s not for cancer research or orphans or to save the bees. It’s because Steve’s face is smiling at you from the plastic, and you’re no better than the fangirls who get all doe-eyed over his every breath.

Not that you’re much better about that, either.

“I could give you an interview.” Steve offers on day, when you’d been complaining to him about slow news. “It can be about whatever you want-“

“I don’t want your pity journalism, Steven.”

He frowns. “It’s not pity. I’m trying to help you.”

You shrug, wrapping your arms around your stomach. “Well, I can’t accept your help.”

“Why not-“

“It’s unethical.”

“I… don’t think that’s true-“

“Well, I didn’t earn it.”

“You don’t have to earn it.” He says, all earnest and sweet and kind, and you want to die. “You work hard, I know you work hard, and if this can help you- Here, we can do it right now-“

“I don’t have questions ready.” You cut in quickly. Flatly.

Steve just shrugs. “Make some up. I know you can.”

You wish he’d stop believing in you. It makes your heart flutter.

“I have nothing I want to ask you.” You mumble hopelessly, and he frowns.

“I don’t believe that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you always have something to ask me. To ask anyone.”

You flush, turning to the side to avoid his gaze. “Maybe I just know everything about you,” you mutter, and he snorts.

“No. You don’t.”

That gets your attention. You snap your head in his direction, and he smiles at you. Like he already knows he won.

“There she is-“

“Shut up.” You lean across the table, and his smile widens. “What don’t I know about you.”

“A lot.”

“Like what-“

“You have to ask me to find out.”

You narrow your eyes. He keeps fucking smiling.

“You suck.” You grumble.

He shrugs. “I know you think that.”

You’re both leaning across the table. If you reached up, just an inch, you’d be able to trace the line of his nose. He’s so handsome. It’s unfair, and you can feel a smile tugging at your lips in response to his.

“I’m going to punch you in the face-“

“I’d like to see you try, kid.”

Kid.

You lean back, ice water feeling like it was poured through your veins. Steve notices the shift. He frowns, but you don’t give him the chance to question it. You just push on.

“I need a napkin.” You mutter., leaning back into your seat. “To write questions.”

“Yeah. Right.” He rubs the back of his neck. Opens his mouth, then closes it again, shaking his head slightly. “I’ll go get that for you.”

Of course he will.

And when he’s talking to the waitress—paper and a pen in his hand—she twirls her hair and giggles. Same as you would, if you got to know him where he didn’t know you. Where he might just find you pretty, and give you a chance, because you were friends first and you think that’s where you all went wrong.

This all might’ve been easier, if he really was just a celebrity crush. If you loved him because he was Captain America and not Steve. Your Steve. Who brings you back two pens in case you don’t like the first, and shares his food with you while you gloss through the interview—feeling little detached from your own body, like he’s a million miles away—and touches your lower back again when you finally leave lunch.

You might’ve gotten to touch him more, if he didn’t mean something to you.

But you wouldn’t trade knowing him for the world.

And that just makes it all hurt even more.

Steve’s been trying to get you out with his team for years. You’ve said no, over and over and over. You don’t need to feel even more mortal than you already are. Don’t need the reminder that he probably rejected you because you’re not even a quarter of what he and his friends are.

Not that you think Steve would think you’re any less because you’re not enhanced. You know he wouldn’t.

Consciously. 

But that doesn’t change the reality of it. He wouldn’t want you, when he’s surrounded by other Gods, like he himself, far more worthy of his attention. You can be mean and sharp, but you don’t have the cool, collected, deadly beauty of Black Window. And you’ve heard the rumors about them.

You’ve heard all the rumors. About Steve with everyone, because people like to talk. There isn’t a pair of people on the Avengers that the public hasn’t theorized about secretly dating.

And you know none of it’s true. Steve’s told you himself.

But that doesn’t make it hurt any less, when you think about him with someone else more worthy. Someone he wants.

Which is why you didn’t want to do this. And Steve had always respected that—because he’s perfect, and he respects everything—so you’d thought you’d never have to. He asks. You say no. He doesn’t push it, or demand to know why. He waits months before asking again, and you know he only does that because he thinks you’re just too busy to go out the other times. That you’re saying no because you simply don’t have the energy, and not because the idea makes you feel itchy. And you don’t want to tell him. You like that he asks you. It makes you feel important.

But you still kept saying no.

Until Stacy overheard him ask you, and said yes for you. And Steve beamed, and you couldn’t stand to burst the delicate little bubble of his joy, and now you’re here.

Huddled in the corner of a bar with the fucking Avengers all around you. Hawkeye and Thor are throwing darts in the corner. Hulk, Black Widow, and Falcon are playing pool. The Vision is eating onion rings, and everything feels like a very, very bizarre dream.

Steve hasn’t left your side since you got here. It’s been the only anchor you have. You’d been able to hide in his shadow and duck under his arm, avoiding pressing questions and conversations you don’t really want to have. It’s not too weird for him to bring a civilian friend, at least. None of them have commented on it, besides throwing you passing looks. Steve mentioned that they all do it, from time to time.

But you’re the only one here right now. And if you could, you’d sew your hand into Steve’s so he couldn’t leave you alone.

And that’s always a little true. You want that all the time.

More than usual right now. But all the time.

“I’m going to get drinks.” He mutters, and you grab his bicep like a scared child.

“Wait- I’ll come with you-“

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it.” He grins down at you, patting your head like you’re a dog or something. “You don’t have to stand up.”

You want to shout at him that this isn’t about him being a gentleman, it’s about him not leaving your sight. But you’re weak. And pathetic. So you just nod, and Steve smiles at you before walking away.

You try to hide in the shadows, avoiding any attention. It doesn’t work.

“You’re the journalist.” A cool, lazy voice cuts through the air, and you look up to find Tony Stark standing over your table.

“I’m a journalist-“

“No. You’re Roger’s journalist.” Stark drawls, sliding into the booth. You stiffen, but don’t dare to move away.

That’ll make it seem even more obvious, when Steve comes back and you don’t inch away from him.

“I understand what he’s been going on about.” Stark continues, looking you up and down slowly. “Didn’t know they made them like you anymore.”

Your eyes narrow. “Like me?”

“Mhm.” Stark smirks, and you raise your chin.

“What am I like, Mr. Stark?”

He chuckles, leaning back. “Little spitfire, aren’t you-“

“Only to people who deserve it.”

That makes him laugh louder. Everything feels more and more like a fever dream by the second.

You look out to the bar, trying to find Steve. Internally begging him to come back. He’s by the bar, your drink already in his hand. It’s the same one you always get. He’s holding it close to his chest, like it’s something priceless.

There’s a woman standing next to him. Just another random girl, in a tiny dress with some pretty good makeup, giggling and batting her lashes at him.

And Steve’s entertaining her. smiling at her.

The same way he smiles at you.

You don’t want to be here. You didn’t want to be here. You don’t want to see how it’s not even the Avengers that he’d want more than you, it’s everyone else. She’s getting the same attention you try to drown yourself in, but you’re not the one who might go home with him. His grin is a little tighter with her, because he’s probably restrained and trying to play his cards right. She looks like she’s talking sweet, and he’d probably want that more than you, poking and mocking him all the time. He’s a God. He’ll say he’s not but he is, and what kind of god would want to be worshipped by someone who shows love with insults and eye rolls.

There’s a tight feeling, around your throat like rope. Your eyes are burning, and the world is blurring, and you don’t want to see this. You can’t see this.

You tried to be his friend. You really tried.

But you can’t.

“What’s wrong with you?” Stark asks, and you look over to find him watching with a strange expression.

“Nothing.” You clear your throat, fumbling for your bag. “I just- Remembered something. That I have to go do.”

You glance over to Steve again. He’s laughing at something she’s saying without shaking his head and tipping his head back, without looking away from her. Like he does with you.

“Right now.” You mumble. “I have to go do it right now.”

Stark hums, tapping his fingers on the table. “Right now, huh.”

“Yep.” You stand up, and he gives you an almost amused look.

“What is it? If it’s so urgent.”

“Stuff.” You snip.

Stark chuckles, shaking his head. “Jesus, he’s batting in a whole other sport with you.”

“What the fuck does that mean-“

“Nothing.” Stark smirks again. Like he knows something. “Go on. I’ll tell Cap you had stuff.”

You scan over his relaxed features, and he just keeps grinning, lazy and unworried. You could get an answer out of him, if you tried.

But you look up, back to Steve. And he’s grabbing his own drink from the bar. Still chatting with the girl. If he brings her back to the table, you’re going to vomit.

You have to go now.

“Thanks.” You mutter, giving Stark a tight grin. “Have a good night.”

And Stark laughs, as you turn away.

“Oh. I’m sure I will.”

You avoid Steve for a week.

Properly avoid him.

He calls ten times, just the night you leave the bar. He texts almost every hour for the days after that, and you mute him. If you look at the messages, you’re going to respond to them. If you respond to them, he’ll convincing you to talk to him. If you talk to him, or see him, or even stand near him, you’re never going to get over him.

You’re going cold turkey on him, like he’s a drug.

To you, he is. And you need to get clean. You need to move on.

Steve doesn’t come into the building to steal you for lunch, but he calls you every day. Your fingers fidget, still trying to pick up the phone.

You don’t know how you manage not to, but you do. When you ask the guards downstairs, they say he’s walked through the door and walked back out five times. You force yourself not to think about it, and somehow manage to do that too. And you’re going to be able to do this. You’re finally going to move on.

Moving on means moving. Not staying in the same little pit, waiting for his sun to change its path and shine on you. You have to climb out, and find a new place to be. Someone new to want.

You’ve done this part before. The whole dance of downloading the apps and going on the dates and telling yourself you want them, even though they aren’t Steve. But this time is going to be different. If you tell yourself that enough, it will feel more and more true.

There’s a guy you’ve been chatting with all week, and he seems sweet. He compliments you, and he was polite when you met for coffee, and he’s far from bad to look at. And it’s not like you’re going to marry him. You just need someone to be close to you that isn’t Steve.

And maybe this guy—you can’t really remember his name, but you’ll learn it—is blond haired and blue eyes and broadly built. Maybe you swiped through photo after photo, looking for a phantom of him, but that’s nobody business expect yours, and your pillow’s. It knows better than anyone that there’s only one way you can fake it.

Which is exactly what this game is. Faking it until you make it. Until you’re over Steve, and there’s never any temptation to look back.

You dress up, telling your brain you’re going on a date with Steve himself so you put in all the effort. Another thing that’s nobody’s business. You’re doing what you need to, and it’s going to get you over him. You’ve got lashes and glossy lips and heels that are going to hurt in the morning, and this guy doesn’t seem strong enough to carry you like Steve would, but that’s where you need to shut your brain up. There’s not going to be anyone who’s like Steve. This guy looks like him enough to get you out the door, but it’s not him, and that’s okay. That’s good. It’s going to help you move on. You’ve got your jacket, and your purse, and you’re going to do this and move on-

You yank the door open, and freeze.

Steve stares at you, hands his pockets, mouth hanging open.

This is usually the part where one of you says hi, but you can’t remember how to speak. He’s here. Why is he here. He’s been giving you space, because he’s amazing and polite, and it had been so much easier to pretend it was just because he didn’t care when he wasn’t right in front of you. Looking like you’d just punched him in the face, all pale with sagging shoulders and sad, dull eyes. As if he’s lost sleep.

He scans over you. Over your revealing outfit and makeover. His throat bobs, and you could swear he slouches further. When he meets your gaze, he doesn’t smile. It makes you want to cry.

“Steve-“

“You’ve been avoiding me.” He mutters, the words thick and low. “And- I’m not here to fight about it. I didn’t think you were going to open the door, I didn’t- I wasn’t going to bother you. Just- Never mind.”

 You blink. “I- What are you-“

“You got a date?” He nods to your outfit, and something in his pockets shift. He’s fisting his hands.

“Um-“ You glance to his pockets again, then back to his weighted gaze. “Yeah. I do.”

“With whom.”

Shit. You still can’t remember. “Someone I met on an app. Steve, what are you-“

“On an app.” He echoes, the words sounding hollow. He chuckles under his breath. “You know, Stark made me try those once.”

You swallow. You don’t want to hear about his dating life. “How did that go.”

“Bad. And I tried, I just…” He trails off, shaking his head, and you think you can feel his stare burrowing into your heart, shaping it even further in his name. 

This is exactly what you were trying to avoid. Seeing him makes you love him more, think about him more, need him more. He’s got a gravity over you, and he doesn’t know it, and why is he here.

“Is he nice.”

Steve’s voice is low. Pained. You don’t understand the question.

“Who?”

“Your date.” He grunts. “Is he nice to you.”

“Oh.” You forgot about that part. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

Neither of you speak for a second. Steve stares at you so hard our head spins, and you can’t look him in the eyes.

“What did I do?”

His voice breaks suddenly, and you feel the crack in your ribs. It yanks your gaze up, and you’ve never seen him so sad. Frustrated and annoyed, sure. Tense, all the time. But never just… Sad. Defeated. Like even he isn’t sure what to do. It feels wrong. Like the world is bleeding together and caving over itself.

“You didn’t do anything-“

“I must have.” He scans over your features, his own so openly aching. “You’ve never been mad at me before, and- Now you’re-“

He waves to your outfit, and you frown.

“It’s just a date-“

“Just a date.” He mutters under his breath, and your mouth falls open.

“I’m allowed to date, Steven-“

“I know you are!” His voice raises for a second, but he quickly pushes it back down. “I- I know, but that’s not- Why are you avoiding me?”

He’s pleading. It’s almost bleeding out of his voice, staining all over you, and you wrap an arm around your stomach like you can stop yourself from bleeding back. This isn’t fair. Steve’s not stupid. He can’t have just forgotten your mistake of expressing your feelings, he’s not nearly oblivious to be unable to put two and two together, and he certainly can’t be dense enough to not tie together that you’re avoiding him, and going on a date. You don’t go on dates. You’re usually too busy trying to steal some love from his shadow.

Yet here he is. Looking at you like he really doesn’t understand. Being so nice about it, when it’s clearly been bothering him. No demanding to understand. No shouting about how hurt he was. Just pleading.

Because he’s golden and perfect. All respectful, like you’re just another lady to him.

Like you’re not worth enough for him to fight a little dirtier for.

A lump is pressing up your throat. It’s a battle to hold his gaze.

“Why do you think I’ve been avoiding you.” You mutter, and he shakes his head.

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.” Steve rubs his face, working his jaw. “I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me what I did-“

“Steve-“

“And I’ll fix it, whatever I did, I’ll fix it-“

“You can’t fix it!” You shout.

He stumbles back like you slapped him, and tears burn at your eyes.

“You- You can’t fix it, Steve.” You whisper, staring down at his shoes. “Just- Stop.”

“Stop what?” He rasps. “I- I know I messed something up, but-“

“Stop being so nice to me.”

He’s silent for a moment. You don’t even know how to justify that one. It sounds pathetic to your ears.

“I... I’d rather not.” He mutters, and you sigh.

“Then please leave me alone.” The words hurt, but you push them out like an apple lodged in your throat. “I- I tried, okay? I really tried, but I can’t.”

“Can’t-“

“Can’t be your friend.” You whisper. The tears burn on your cheeks. “I can’t be your friend, Steve, it’s too hard. I- I-“

You sniff, and Steve rasps your name. You have to shake your head. He can’t talk right now. It’s already too hard.

“I love you.” You say, barely a breath. It doesn’t matter. He’ll hear anyway. “I love you too much, and- It’s not your fault that you don’t- That it’s not the same. But please.” You shift on your feet, hugging yourself tight. “I- I need space.”

Steve doesn’t say anything. There isn’t anything he could say to make it better, not anymore. But something in you still fractures, when he just steps to the side. Giving you a path out.

Letting you go.

You think it’s hope. The hope that one day he might feel the same, the dream that you’d tried so hard not to feed, but tended to bloom on its own. That one day he’d look at you and realize he made a mistake.

But he steps to the side. And that’s all it’s ever going to be.

A dream.

You bow your head and shuffle past him, face burning and skin crawling with shame. You’re going to go on this date and pretend like everything is fine, if you can even make it out of the hallway without breaking down. Your knees are wobbly and tears are coming faster than you can wipe away, but you just need to get out. Out of this hallway with its suffocating air.

Away from Steve, and your heart, broken at his feet.

You’ll get over it. You’ll get over it. It’s hard to breathe right now but you’ll get over it-

“God- Screw it.”

A strong hand wraps around your wrist. It takes you by such surprise you don’t even think to fight.

Steve spins your around, grabbing your jaw and picking you up in a single movement. You gasp as his lips slam over yours, sudden and demanding. He kisses you like he doesn’t know he’s already got a claim on you. Like he’s trying to brand your lips with a bruising, hungry desire. All you can do is breathlessly kiss him back, scraping at his shoulders and trying to keep up with what’s happening. Steve tastes a little like honey and salt, and you’re sure he ate something earlier but you don’t really care what. His hair is just as soft as you thought, and you’re being crushed under the force of him but it’s intoxicating and exhilarating and you feel like you’re being remade-

It’s over. Just as fast as it started. Steve stumbles back, fumbling with his hands like they’re still trying to reach you against his will. He braces them on his hips, staring at you with wide eyes.

You gape at him, trying to catch your breath. You reach up to brush your own lips, trying to make sure the tingly feeling there is real. Maybe press it deeper in, until you can feel it forever.

Steve clears his throat. You blink at him through the slowly drying tears, not really sure what’s happening.

Neither of you dare to speak. Or move. You’re breathing shallowly, like anything too big is going to tip the whole world over, and it will all slip through your fingers.

He takes an uncertain step forward, and you should take one back.

But you’ve never been all that good at moving away from him before. You have no interest in learning that skill now.

This time, you grab him at the same time he grabs you. You stumble into each other, uncoordinated and desperate, unbothered by bumping noses and smushed limbs. You just need to be close to him. To feel him as much as possible, as fast as possible.

He’s never been a drug. You’d been getting a secondary high, but this-

This is a hit.

And you need to have more.

You grab at his collar, pressing up to meet his every kiss, and you’re quickly making out with teeth and tongue in the middle of the hallway. Steve’s arm wraps around your ass, lifting you effortlessly off your feet, and you moan into his mouth.

He trips as he walks back into the apartment, and you end up pressed against the wall at least three more times before you make it through the door. Every time Steve slams you back, devoting all his attention to kissing you until you’re drooling and sloppy and just trying to push further into his open mouth. At one point he slots his knee between your thighs, and you start to shamelessly grind down as he sucks your lower lip between his teeth.

You giggle, dazed and sore with overflowing need for him. He kicks the door closed behind you, and you think you’re going to end up riding his thigh against the wall, but he starts down the hall. To your bedroom.

He makes it about five steps before you rake your nail through his hair and start kissing over his jaw. Steve moans into your ear, lagging a little sideways, and you shriek as you both topple down onto the couch.

It takes you a second to catch your breath, and that’s all Steve needs to get the upper hand. He grabs your jaw, tipping your head back as he starts to suck and nip at your neck. You squeak, grabbing his head, and he moans against your skin. His knee pushes back between your thighs, and this angle is even better than before. You can’t help the roll of your hips, down onto the muscle of his thick leg.

“St- Steve-“ You voice is high, and he hums, licking up your throat before making out with a soft spot under your jaw. “Jesus fucking- God-“

“I know.” He mutters, dragging his hand down your thigh and grabbing under your knee. He squeezes gently, hiking it up to your chest, pushing his knee down even harder than before.

“Fuck- You-“ You gasp, your pussy clenching around nothing as your clit gets rubbed through his jeans, through your panties.

At this angle, you’re almost exposed to him. Your dress pooling around your tummy, the wet spot on your underwear growing bigger and bigger. You grasp at the skirt, trying to tug it down a little. It’s one thing to be riding his knee, another for him to see you.

Steve grabs your wrist, pushing the fabric further down than it had been before. Your eyes almost cross when he starts to rub his knee back and forth, the pressure overwhelming and perfect. You didn’t think you could cum like this, but there’s a familiar pressure building up in your stomach, and you have to bite your tongue to stop a wanton moan from escaping your lips.

He sits up to look at you, and you’re sure it’s a shameful, lewd sight. Your makeup smudged, your hair ruined, a picture of depravity and sin as you chase pleasure on his leg. This isn’t the kind of thing you thought he’d be into. He’s too perfect, too good, and maybe you’ve wanted to be put in a headlock and manhandled and used, but Steve’s all about honor. You’d been so sure that, even if you got to have him, it would be lovely, vanilla sex that was filled with such emotion it would make up for the simpleness.

But that’s not what you see in Steve’s eyes. They’re hooded and black with lust. His jaw is clenched as he watches you, and he pushes your leg further up with a gentle squeeze.

“Oh-“ You gasp, trying to reach up to grab him.

Steve grabs your second wrist without letting go of the first. Holds him in one hand, and leans over you as he pins them both over your head. Your mouth falls open, breathing fast and needy. 

His own chest is heaving. He looks down to his knee against your core, and a deep sound rumbles from his chest. You’re wound so tight you’re certain you could snap, sudden and fast like a rubber band. You strain against Steve’s hold, and his attention snaps back up.

“You’re good, doll.” He coos. “Relax for me.”

You blink at him, shaking your head. You can’t stop grinding against him, but you need him close. Need to be under the pressure of his body, to feel like there’s nothing else in the world.

Steve picks up the speed of his knee, almost drilling it down into your cunt without touching you at all. You gape, head lolling to the side, and he grunts.

“Look at me.”

His voice is deep. Not a suggestion. An order.

You blink up at him, almost drooling, and he leans down until his lips are ghosting over yours.  

“I don’t want space.” He mutters. “I want you.”

You swallow, still rubbing your pussy up into his knee. “You- You can’t just-“

“Shh.” He pushes further down, until it feels like he’s almost inside of you. You snap your mouth shut. “Is that all I did?”

“Wha- Oh-“

He drags his knee in slow circles, and you make an incoherent, starved sound. Steve doesn’t even break a sweat.

“You and me.” He mutters, studying your every expression. “That’s it. That’s what was gonna make me lose you.”

“You- You didn’t lose me-“

“Almost did.” He squeezes your knee. “You walked.”

You glare up at him. “You let me-“

“No, I didn’t.” 

Steve’s lips slam back over yours, and you can’t really argue with that. Your eyes flutter as you give into the kiss, your body sparking with a million, delighted nerves. Steve groans against your lips, fucking his knee against your core, and he’s hitting your clit just right, the fabric soaked and filled with rough friction.

Your back arches off the couch as you cum, and Steve lets go of your wrists. You grab his face, trying to pull his lips closer, and he wraps around your back, holding you up. Your toes curl, body shaking as the pressure becomes sensitive, your pussy gushing and clenching around nothing.

Steve rubs your spine, kissing along your shoulder, up your neck, over your cheeks. You hum softly, floating down and tucked into his arms. He leans back against the couch, taking you with him. You slump over his chest, burying your face in his neck as his hand slips under your dress. Thick, calloused finger pads gently graze your hips and waist, and you squirm. 

“I- I didn’t want to ruin something.” He murmurs in your ear, and you pause.

“Ruin…”

“Us.” Steve’s face presses into the curve of your neck, warm breath tickling your skin. “You were my friend, we work in a lotta the same places, and I just- I didn’t want to risk that.”

You swallow, leaning back and waiting until he meets your glossy, sad gaze. You take his face between your hands, and he covers them with his own.

“I was willing to risk it.” You whisper, and he sighs.

“I know. But-“ He looks away, words choked and low. “I thought it was a crush. That you’d get over.”

You laugh weakly. “Well, it wasn’t.”

“I know.” He sighs. “Mine wasn’t either.”

You lips part with a sharp breath, and Steve looks back to you with nervous, hopeful eyes.

“I love you.” He squeezes both your hands, guiding them to his lips. “It is the same. So- Tell me that fixes it. Please.”

It does.

Just as fast as they’d shattered, your dreams weave themselves back together. They’re clearer than before. More colorful. It’s no longer like looking through a mist, or watching a reflection in the water. When you touch Steve, he doesn’t ripple away. And that’s more than enough.

You lean down and kiss him. It’s slower than the other kisses. Steve grabs your hips, but lets you press his head down. You wrap your arms around his neck, tracing his lips with your tongue, and he hums in content. Drags you further forward in his lap.

Something thick and hard presses right against you, and you almost go limp. Like your body is already trying to get ready to take it. To take Steve’s cock that can’t be as large as it feels, straining against his jeans and twitching when you drag yourself slowly back and forth.

“Hey.” Steve grunts, grabbing your hips firmly. You hope he’s holding tight enough to leave a bruise. “Easy.”

You snort, leaning back to give him a pointed look. “Easy?”

“Yeah, that’s what I-“

“I just came on your knee.”

His ears turn a little pink, and he coughs. “I, uh- Fair.”

“Mhm.” You hum, smiling smugly, and you take all the strength in your jelly legs and grind right now onto his clothed cock.

Steve hisses, his fingers digging into your soft skin. “Jesus- Baby-“

You brace your arms on either side of his head, dragging back and forth as slow as you can. Steve’s eyes flutter, his tongue darting over his lips as he watches you move on him. His muscles flex with the effort not to grab you.

You’d very much like to see him give up.

“Does that feel good?” You whisper, making your voice sweet and innocent.

Steve grunts. You’re going to have handprints on your body in the morning. The thought just makes you move faster.

“I don’t want to go slow, Stevie.” You purr, and his chest heaves under you. “I want you to fuck me. Pleeease.”

You whine dramatically, thrusting forward, and Steve’s face drops against your chest.

“Jesus, woman.” He lips graze over your breast, and you moan. “Come on, ‘s not playing fair-“

“Don’t wanna play fair.” You hum, slowly reaching between your bodies. “Wasn’t fair how you turned me down.”

“’M sorry about that-“

“You should be.” You kiss under his ear. “Hurt my feelings.”

“Thought-“ He grunts as you palm his balls through his jeans. “Thought I was helping-“

“You weren’t.”

“I got that now-“

“But you know what would make it better?” You lean back up, holding Steve’s gaze with a lazy smile.

He nods quickly, and you giggle, wiggling down onto his bulge.

“Fucking me.”

Steve looks down, and a rumble echoes through his chest when he sees it.

You’d peeled off your ruined underwear without him noticing. Leaving your bare, sweet and soaked pussy pressed against him. You moan, watching him as you grind down, and he’s so close to snapping. You can see it in the tension of his jaw, feel how his fingers keep twitching on your hips. You smile at him, licking your lips, and that dark look flashes over his features. The same one from earlier, that had him overtaking you like a storm.

Steve’s a good boy. A sweet boy.

He also doesn’t like things that he can’t account for. Used to pick fights in alleys as a kid, always wanted to be the person everyone looked to for help.

You’re sure that, between the two of you, you can let him have a little fun without compromising his moral compass.

He has to, if you’re begging him for it. Not very chivalrous, to ignore a lady in need.

“Pleaseee.” You whine again, ghosting your lips over his. “Fuck me, Stevie, fuck me until I can’t walk-“

He mutters your name under his breath, and you just pout at him.

“Make me yours, make me cry, fuck-“ You throw your head back, the teasing him going straight to your own core. “God, fucking- Please, Steve-“

That does it. The explicit, wet cry of his name seems to snap something in Steve’s resolve, and he’s on you in a blur of hands and lips. Grabbing a fistful of your ass before hauling you up his chest, kissing you breathless as he stands. He keeps carrying like you weigh nothing, and you want to be trapped in his arms forever.

“Steve- Shit-“ Your jaw drops he tosses you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Fuck, slow down-“

“You said you didn’t want to slow down.” He reminds you in a deceptively soothing voice, big hands rubbing on the back of your thighs. “Said you didn’t wanna play fair.”

“I- Um- Ooooh-“

You drop your head against Steve’s shoulder, biting at his shirt as thick, strong fingers tease the lips of your pussy.

“Wet fuckin’ pussy.” He muses, spreading you open so the cold air hits your cunt. “Knew you got soaked for me, princess. Didn’t know it was this bad.”

“You- You-“ He needs to stop humiliating you and touching you at the same time. It makes you feel like you’re burning alive in the best way possible. “You knew?” You squeak, and Steve chuckles.

“Always knew. Told you, thought it was a crush.”

You try to twist and glare at him. “And you didn’t tell me-“

“Like you would’ve wanted me to tell you I could smell how badly you wanted my cock.” Steve smacks your ass with a scoff, and you flop right back over his shoulder.

“Fuck-“ You whimper. He’s right. You can barely even stand that right now. “Steve, please- Please-“

You’re not even sure what you’re begging for anymore. Mercy, maybe. More mocking attention. Anything he can fucking give you, because you feel like you’re about to explode.

Steve spanks you again, this time on the other cheek, and you moan.

“’Course you like that.” He mutters. “Dirty girl, testing me every fucking day.”

He drags his thumb through the mess between your legs, and your pussy clenches, trying to drag him in. He laughs, pushing down for half a second before dragging down to your clit and rubbing in quick, tight circle. You gasp, pushing uselessly at his back, already overstimulated and still needing more.

“Felt that.” Steve flicks your clit, and your whole body shakes. “Greedy, princess. You’ve been waitin’ this long, you can hold it a little longer.”

“Ca- Can’t-“ You gasp, pressing your cheek against the broad muscle of his back. “Can’t, Steve- Can’t wait-“

“Yeah, you can.” He grunts. “Christ, you’re dripping all over my hand. Going to take me no problem, aren’t you, baby.”

He’s playing with your clit like it’s just a little button for his whims, and you have to bite your inner cheek to stop yourself from falling apart all over his hand.

“Steve- I- I’m going to- Oh my god-“

Steve slaps right over your pussy, the wet sound echoing in your ears as he shoves those two fingers right into your pussy. He finds your G-spot in a second, crooking his fingers and dragging them over your sensitive walls. You cum with a cry of his name, sudden and harsh. White dancing at your vision, your body seizing up as Steve dumps you down onto the soft mattress.

He presses his wrist further, folding your body up. You grab his neck for an anchor, and he kisses your wrist as he slides a third finger into your dripping mess of a pussy.

“Getting you ready.” He mutters, wiping some hair from your face. “It’s okay, babydoll, you’re doin’ real good.”

You whimper, the orgasm still shaking through you. You’re struggling to breathe when Steve finally pulls his hand away, and the loss makes you whimper.

Steve laughs softly, leaning down to kiss you all sweet and loving, like you haven’t been turned to a puddle under his hands.

“Breathe.” He murmurs, squeezing your breast gently, and you take a loud, stuttering gasp. Steve kisses your nose, smiling like he’s being offered ice cream, and you watch him in a starry-eyed daze.

You hear the click of his belt, and as much as you’d like to reach down and feel him, you can barely manage to hold onto his shoulders right now. Steve pulls slowly up with one last chaste kiss on your lips, and your breath hitches in your throat.

He’s massive. That’s the kind of dick you’ve only seen in cartoons, because even the porn industry can’t replicate it. You’re not sure how he gets around so easily in his tight suit, with that fucking horse cock acting like a third leg. Thick and veined, already beading with pre-cum as he strokes it slowly in his hand, a sheepish expression on his face.

“I was… Endowed.” He mumbles, ears red. “Before the serum. Then…”

He nods to his cock, and you laugh breathlessly.

“Jesus, Steve-“

“It won’t hurt you.” He says quickly. “I know there are those rumors ‘bout be being a virgin, but-“ He sighs, pouting slightly. “God forbid a man tell Tony Stark he doesn’t want to talk about his sex life, suddenly he’s never even touched a boob-“

“Dude.” You smile up at him, and he cuts himself off. “Look me in the eyes and tell me if I still think you’re a virgin after that.”

You tilt your head to the hallway, but Steve just frowns.

“Dude?”

“Um-“

“Don’t call me dude when I’m about to fuck you.” He grumbles, and you’d laugh at him if that didn’t make your heart skip. e

“Sorry, sir.”

You say it half to mock him, half to test something.

Steve’s jaw ticks, and his already rock-hard cock twitches in his hands. You giggle as his eyes narrow, and you’re still laughing as he prowls over you, that dark, hungry look back on his face.

“You think something’s funny?” He grunts, and you shake your head.

“No, sir.”

Steve groans, dropping his face between your breasts.

“Gonna be the death of me.” He mutters under his breath, and you’re still laughing softly.

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

You laugh again, because you’re really not. It’s hilarious, and he’s adorable, and this is going to yield some fantastic results.

Steve assesses you like you’re a mission to be accomplished. And you know him.

He never does anything halfway.

“Alright, princess.” He mutters, tapping the head of his cock on your clit. “Open.”

You squeak, still giggling, and spread your legs slowly.

The last laugh is pushed from your chest as Steve slowly starts to sink himself into your heat. Your mouth falls uselessly open as you bow off the bed, your body almost unable to rationalize how full you are. 

Steve splits you open, his cock slowly driving through you and hitting spots you didn’t even know you had. He grinds slowly down into your pussy, bullying you further open, and you think he’s found a button inside you that just makes you a limp, sensitive fuck-doll, because you whine out his name but it takes everything you have.

“I know.” He grunts, the tip of his cock pressing into your cervix. “You’re taking it, baby, there you go.”

“Steveee-“

“Feels good, doesn’t it.” He presses at sweet kiss to your lips as he bottoms out. His fingers lace slowly through yours, and you nod.

You’ve never had so many pleasure points being hit at once. Steve’s still got a hand on your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers as you try to breath around him. He’s patient. You don’t want him to be.

“More.” You push out, and he raises his brows.

“Sweetheart-“

“More.” You roll up into him, moaning loudly as he hits even deeper. “Fuck me, Steve- Mmm-“

He kisses you, passionate and messy, and you almost scream in satisfaction as he starts to move.

He’s unrushed. Completely in control of you, and aware of it. His dick pulls almost all the way out before slowly pushing back in, the torturous pace making you feel like a live wire.

“Yeah, that’s it.” He coos, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. “Pretty girl, you like being stuffed up with my cock, don’t you.”

“Ye- Yes-“ You tip your head back into the pillows, your free hand grasping at the sheets. “Yes- Oh my god, yes-“

Steve’s started to grind against your g-spot whenever he hits it, letting his thickness press and drag over the sensitive, gooey spot until you’re moaning and writhing around him.

“Feel that, don’t you.” He mutters, pushing in a little harder than last time. “Feel my dick inside you, baby, feels so good, doesn’t-“

“So good.” You babble, but who can blame you. “So good, Steve, you’re so-“

Your words turn into a broken moan as Steve drives back into you, and he’s going harder and harder every time. Still pulling almost fully out slowly, letting your arousal gather and drip down your thighs and ass, but then slamming back into you so hard it makes you think the world is shaking.

A breathy sound escapes your lips, maybe a plea, and Steve moves your tangled hands between your bodies, pressing you down into the mattress as he rises up for a better angle.

“You’re so fuckin’ wet.” He growls, pounding into your cunt like he owns it. “If I’d know you wanted me this bad I woulda had you all over this city.”

You whine, squeezing around him. Steve chuckles.

“Oh, you like that. Like the idea of being my good little cockslut, letting me play with you wherever I want.” 

Big, steady hands press your knees up, letting Steve hit even deeper than before. A strange, tight feeling is building in your gut, but it feels good. All of this feels so good. You’re spent and cockdrunk, but you feel used in the best possible way. The filth Steve is drawling in your ears makes your brain go all quiet. You’re just a happy, humming bundle of pleasure, Steve’s massive body draped over yours, and you’d probably do anything he wanted, if he just fucked you like this after.

“You were made for me.” He groans, lips wandering all over your face as his cock drills into you. “I’m gonna take such good care of you, baby, swear it, just sing for me, come on-“

You moan, long and loud. Steve grins, kissing under your ear.

“Good girl.” He coos. “There you go, just like that. Come on, doll, I know you’re getting close.”

You are. You’ve been close the whole time, but this feels more and more different by the second. There are wet, sinful sounds filling the room as your skin slaps together, and Steve’s breath is hot in your ear as he starts to lose a little control of himself.

He moans when you start mindlessly humping up to meet him, forcing his cock into the tightest spot into you that makes everything all colorful and hazy. You gasp softly, chasing up from a little more, and Steve wraps and arm around your back.

“Fuck- Fuck- You feel so good,” he groans your name in your ear. “So good, it’s- Christ-“

That strange pressure in your tummy is going to burst. It feels like Steve is driving right against it, daring it come undone.

“Steve.” You breathe out. “Steve- I- I’m gonna-“

He growls, deep in his chest and rolling through you.  Steve grabs you and wrestles you down into the mattress, pushing your legs up to your chest and fucking you fast and brutal.

It’s a sight above you. Steve, panting and moaning as your pussy sucks him in, glistening arousal shining all over his cock when he pulls out and smearing on your tummy. Your tight walls are starting to contract, and he doubles over, groaning your name as his thrust become shallow and unmeasured.

Tears start to stream down your face. Steve looks at you like you’re an angel, fucking you like you’re just a toy, and you can’t even remember how to tell him how good it feels.

“Steve…” You wiggle below him, crying out as he just fucks you hard. “Steve- Ooooooh-“

Your eyes roll back, the tears burning on your cheeks from the impossible to handle pleasure. Steve leans down and kisses them off your cheeks, the softness in such contrast with how he’s turning you into a bundle of nerves and tears.

“My pretty girl.” He mutters, kissing your lips sweetly. “Close. We’re so close. You can make it. Make it for me.”

You nod, almost hypnotized into agreeing. And Steve’s abusing that spot inside of you. Sensitive and overwhelming, making your toes curl and eyes cross.

“Steve- I- I can’t-“

“Yes, you can.” Not a suggestion. Steve’s thumb finds your clit, rubbing it back and forth as he ruts into you. “Come for me, now.”

The command rolls through you, and that pressure bursts. Heat washes over you, making you bow off the bed as a funny, wet feeling gushes out between your thighs. Steve groans, slamming his mouth back over yours, groaning your name as you start to milk his cock.

“Fuck,” he groans, and you wrap your arms tight around his neck. Tight enough to strangle him, if he was a normal man. But Steve just splays his hand possessively over your back and moans against your lips, driving home into your cunt as his release rippling through him.

It’s almost as good as your own orgasm. You’re tucked into a shaking, flexing heat of muscle, his deep voice moaning your name in your ear, his cock still thrusting and twitching inside you. Over, and over, and over-

You can barely breathe in the best way. You’ve never had a man cum so much. It starts just hot and sticky, then it’s drooling out, down your ass and onto the sheets. You can feel it in your throat, almost taste it, and even after Steve pulls out it’s everywhere. Painting your pussy creamy and white, branding your abdomen, your tits, your thighs.

Steve stares down at you with a gaping mouth as you both come down from the high. You laugh, hoarse and breathy.

“Woah.”

“Shit.” Steve mutters, grabbing at the remainder of the clean sheets and wiping them over your body. “I- I didn’t- I usually pull out, you just-“

“Steve-“

“We need to get you in the shower, it’s everywhere-“

“Steve-“

“I’m so sorry-“

“Steven.” You smack his shoulder, and he stops dead.

You’re already bridal style in his arms, naked and covered in his cum, some of it dripping all over the floor. You’re going to need to hire a cleaner. Or invest in really, really big buckets that you’ll keep next to the bed.

“Does that happen every time?”

He swallows, and nods.

“Uh- Not that much.” He mumbles. “But yeah.”

Pride glows in your chest. You get the most of him. “Okay.”

Steve blinks. “Okay?”

You nod, and he shakes his head.

“I ruined your room-“

“I liked it.”

He stares. You smile.

Steve rolls his eyes, and presses a kiss to your brow.

“You’re impossible.” He mutters, and you giggle.

“Yeah, but you love me. And you can’t take it back now, you already said it-“

He grabs your chin, turning it so he can fully capture your lips.

“I do love you.” He mutters against your lips. “And no one could make me take it back if they tried.”

You smile. You have no plans to do that.

Steve is somehow more than you ever dreamed. And there’s no way you’re letting him go now.

✦End note: this was so fun for me to write i love a puppy dog man. i hope you enjoyed it!✦ ✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦ ✦Buy me a coffee!☕️ (and get early access!)✦ ✦Taglist (Fill out this form to be added!)✦

[tianalsworld]

As someone who would definitely be in love with bestfriend!steve I loved this. Also HOT🔥🔥

[epiphanyrogers]

do you have any recs for longer steve fics?? like 9k+ or so

pookie… oh boy do i!! please find below some of my favourite longer steve fics. if you enjoy, don’t forget to show them some love in their comments or in your reblog!! <333

neighbourhood watch - @blowingbarnes dilf!neighbour!steve does things to my coochie that i genuinely don’t think i’ll ever recover from. like it is THAT serious. fran i will never stop glazing this fic actually 😭 i was gasping, biting my fist, twirling my hair the entire time, and the smut??? full bingo card of my favourite kinks (face squishing i am staring directly at you).

the right questions - @juniebjonesin i genuinely adore the way june writes steve, she just gets him. he’s so warm and soft it actually makes me melt into a little puddle of goo. and this fic??? had me kicking my feet, fully unwell. so so delicious. the way she built the slowburn between steve and reader is so perfect. PROFESSOR STEVE COME HOME TO ME

dog house - @lunexiax seriously i don’t even know where to START with this fic… like i’m still in disbelief that this is shay’s only fic for steve because she got him SO right. like that is steve. the tension, the subtle yearning, the way it just simmers the whole time until they finally snap… and the smut 😵‍💫😵‍💫 UGH it’s so so sooo good.

no strings attached - @viperbarnes this is one of those fics where you get so wrapped up in it you don’t even realise 15k has passed until you hit the end and just sit there like… oh. oh wow. i need a moment. and the craziest part is i don’t even usually go for exes to lovers, but THIS??? this is the exception. like.. it’s executed so perfectly - the yearning, the idiots in love energy, the smut??? genuinely a must read

manchild - @miasvelvetvoid i absolutely adore reader’s internal voice in this one. she’s so self-aware, so funny, and just painfully real. the fic honestly captures the trials and tribulations of being a woman dating men in the 21st century a little too well 😭 and god, steve in this??? perfect boyfriend material, i was losing my mind over him. this one is part of a larger series with other marvel characters, including other steve fics in the same universe which i’m so excited to read!

erot!ca - @onsunnyside a two-parter and genuinely one of my favourite fics EVER. i will yap about this to anyone who will listen. the aesthetic and world building are actually insane??? and it gives us sexy, beefy bearded steve in a way i’ve never recovered from. like he’s FILTHY in this, but still somehow feels completely like steve?? it’s masterful. the chemistry between him and reader is electric. urghh i would give anything to read this again for the first time.

exiled nomad series - @buckets-and-trees wasn’t sure if you were only after one shots because this is a series, BUT one of the parts alone is like 11.5k and it’s so so good i physically couldn’t leave it out. the yearning??? the fleeting little encounters??? the feelings they absolutely should not be having??? OH GOD. and steve in this??? jaded nomad steve done so perfectly, he’s so delicious. and the final part hit me right in the feels it’s so beautiful.

“still with me, soldier?” - @laufeydottirs-writings subby!steve lovers this one is for YOU. he’s so delicious in this i actually want to take a bite. the dynamic between him and reader is scrumptious, and their little drive-in date had me smiling like an idiot like he’s just sooo perfect actually 😭… and then the smut?? oh my god. subby steve if you have no fans i am DEAD. i’m so excited to read part two for this i can’t wait to see more of these two!!!

the garden - @wkemeup i actually haven’t read this one yet, but it’s been added to my tbr after being recommended by my fellow steve lover and wife @love-stucky 🙂‍↕️ and trust… if jazz recommends something, you KNOW it’s gonna hit because she just gets steve on a spiritual level. even just reading the summary has me so excited to dive in omg.

the taste of a lie - @solivagant-reverie i literally JUST read this and had to immediately add it to the list because HELLO??? the concept of angel!steve x demon!reader had me GAGGED (like it just fits steve so well and yet i don’t think i’ve come across it before??) and this fic delivered and then some. steve is so quietly needy in this in a way that had me (s)creaming, and the smut??? OH BOY. i genuinely don’t even have the words it was so so SO delicious.

these are all the fics i can think of right now, but i’m sure my tired brain will have forgotten some absolute bangers that absolutely deserve to be on this list - if anyone else has any recs (your own fic or someone else’s) please drop them below!!

hope you enjoy angel 🫶🏼🫶🏼