- DEFFFFF lets you lay your whole body on him when cuddling bro like dont matter how much u weigh cuz bfr he buff
- wouldnt care if you were chubby or wtv cuz like..i dont think he can be talkin 😬😬 and also i think he would find it cute and stuff (idk bro im a bad writer)
- LIVESS FOR WHEN YOU HAVE A GOOD SENSE OF HUMOR BRO LIKE ITS PROB A NECESSITY ATP
- if you walk in on him streaming like he’ll ask if you want to stay and stuff and when you do you burst out laughing at the jokes that the ppl send
- you deff put your cold feet in his belly rolls to heat them up
-earthquake when he walks around the trailer that shit be shaking 😭
-takes absolutely DIABOLICAL shits bro. IT STINKS like you have to let the bathroom air out at least 15-20 mins before going in.
-you n jynxzi are deff friends
- one time you and caseoh were playing fnaf and he got jumpscared so bad he farted..
- its definitely thick
-not very kinky bro yall weird its js normal sex he is NOT a freak a leak🙅♀️
-takes you to waffle house 7 days of the week and would probably propose there ngl
summary: when the team return to the rook after visiting the science facility in kentucky you hear a bump in the night. good thing case is back to protect you, right? (takes place after the 'emergence' mission. inspired by this post. please heed the tags!!)
read on ao3
tags/cw: nsfw, dubious consent, f!reader, angst, (case is) under the influence (of the cradle), rough sex, size difference/kink, biting, choking, case is hung, animalistic/primal behaviour?? i guess?? reader is confused but loves case too much, case is obsessed w reader, aftercare (ish), author goes mad with power at the use of italics
wc: 4.8k
a/n: umm sorry to case + the case enjoyers, i wish i’d written something softer for him first... trust that my first full nsfw fic on here would be icky nasty dubcon w poor confused reader. promise she likes it. since there’s not a whole lot of case content to base his characterisation on, i hope this suffices!! shoutout to lovely lacie @dearlydevoured, case's actual irl gf who put up w my brainrot while i wrote this <3
title from “alone”, edgar allan poe.
You wake gasping.
The bedroom is pitch black, offering little but a sliver of moonlight to orient yourself, cutting the room split in two as you try to discern what the hell that sound was. A slam, booming like thunder and carried in with the draft and the dust. It takes much to hear it across the old house, the Rook as big as it is barren, and it takes much more again to wake you. But whatever it is, it had, and your body jolts in its instinct to get up and investigate.
But as you do, you stop. You’re half a leg out of bed and a finger upon the nearby flashlight when you catch something in your periphery. You don’t even look at it head on- the figure in the open door. Just stare ahead at the wall and freeze, trying to clock if whatever stands there has spotted you sooner than you’d spotted it.
Any other night, Case would have awoken before you. Hell, he would have dealt with the problem himself before you’d even stirred. But the space in the bed where he usually sleeps is cold, and it had been all night- they’d left for Kentucky a couple days ago now, and you hadn’t received much word in between. Only a call from Marshall on the way back, to keep an eye on Case when he returns. That he wasn’t quite right.
But you know Case better than anyone. You know he already isn’t really quite right as he is; you never minded it, the odd pauses between words and the bitten tongue, like he’s always holding something back, or the distant way he sometimes seems to regard you from across a room, before the colour floods back to his face and he finds the courage to smile. Whatever warmth you possess encourages a similar feeling in himself, and Case had found himself sweet on you quicker than he would most. He sees in you a kindred spirit, maybe. A missing piece. Enough that when he sleeps next to you, the screaming stops. Most nights.
But whatever it is in the door, you’re almost sure it isn’t Case. Almost. Until—
Breathing. Quick, shallow, raspy. For a second it doesn’t even sound human, until you recognise it- the same sound when he wakes from a nightmare, the same panting in your ear when you hold him tight and let him ride it out. The fear, primal, pacified by your patience and care. Your heart tugs- it’s him. You know it’s him.
With that knowledge alone enough to brave your panic, you turn your head to the open door, and regard the figure stood in it with an embarrassed laugh.
“Oh, god, Case. It’s you. Jesus,” you huff, a hand clutched to your chest. “Scared the shit out of me.”
A smile, sheepish, spreads over your lips as he just stands there in the doorway, filling it with his shadow. Tall, stocky, broad-shouldered as he is, arms held stiffly at his sides as he just stands there, shapeless face cast in darkness. His hulking figure eclipsing the moonlight trying to come in from the hallway windows. You can’t see his expression, only the whites of his eyes, and though it’s hard to tell at first, they look to be open wide. And staring at you.
Your smile slowly drops. You sit up.
“Case? What’s wrong?”
But he doesn’t talk. Doesn’t say anything. Just- fucking- just stands there- just you and him, locked eyes, for a fleeting moment feeling like prey and predator at a stand-off in a too-open clearing. Vulnerable, is the feeling that creeps up your spine and staples you there, still and rigid in the bed.
There’s a pause. He blinks. You think he snaps out of whatever daze he’s in, because he comes into the room and kicks the door shut with his heel, but where he’d usually sigh, sit on the bed, and undress, he just moves straight towards you. Unhurried, but urgent. Single-minded in his pursuit.
Case’s knee dips into the mattress, sinking under his weight, and though you aren’t scared you feel the urge to move back into the bed, hitting the headboard in your scuffle.
“Case, you’re still dressed,” you worry, voice lilted like a question. He must suddenly notice, or perhaps hear your concern, because he glances down at himself, though decidedly mustn’t care at all- even as you go for the zipper of his windbreaker yourself, he’s wholly intent instead on closing in on you. Scarred hands curl around the headboard as he leans in to kiss you- no, to- smell you? He noses your hair, behind your ear, licking a greedy stripe up the side of your neck. You do your best to ignore it, focusing your quivering fingers upon the zipper, and somehow you manage to push the jacket off him and onto the floor. His hands are immediately on you then, dug into the back of your hair and cradling your skull as he kisses sharply along your jaw, your cheek, the corners of your babbling mouth.
“H-hey, um,” is all you can manage as you’re jostled by his movements. He isn’t rough, isn’t even hurting you, but his fingers dig into your arms and pull at your hair in a way that’s unfamiliar, uncharacteristically desperate, like you’ll slip into dust any second. It’s enough to make you wince. “Case- Case, c’mon. Talk to me. Whatever’s wrong, we can—”
“Want you.” Is all he says.
“What?”
“Want you,” he repeats, an animal grunt in an octave you’ve never heard before. It thrills you as much as it frightens you, but you steel your focus, more concerned than you are anything else. That excitement that tingles at the base of your spine is unimportant, insignificant in the grand scheme, when he’s acting so strange.
“Case, I think you should sit down a sec,” you say, trying gently to pry his hands off you, but he won’t budge. He’s stronger than you- much stronger- and before you can open your mouth to protest his hands are on your waist, pulling you out of the bed and stringing you out atop the blanket like you weigh nothing. “Wh- oh!”
You land with a hiccup, disoriented as he climbs on top of you, and in your befuddled state you’re half worried about shoes on the bed as he wedges a leg between yours, coarse grey cargo pants chafing your sleep-soft thighs. A tiny yip makes its way out of you as you bear the sudden weight of him- as is always so stifling, yet now seems suffocating- a thick scarred forearm braced in the pillow beside your head as he buries his nose in your neck, not quite kissing but breathing you in, huffing like a dog, something primal, savage.
It’s so unfamiliar, and yet so like Case; never having seen him this way but always sensed, known, that there lingered in him something like this, some growling thing seated deep inside just waiting to get out, biding its time and snarling. It frightens you, but not enough to fight it off. Just enough to lay there and let whatever thing that’s reared its ugly head in him feel you out, get its bearings of the girl trembling beneath him.
You catch a scent on his shirt then, tart as it wrinkles your nose. It’s a strange smell, acrid, not entirely unpleasant but foreign to you- like chemicals or detergent, coppery like blood but lacking its warmth. It clings to Case’s clothes like something parasitic. You breathe it in, and strangely it has a texture, almost like smoke, but whatever it is your body rejects it, tangled in a cough as your vision blurs. It’s enough then to just let him close over you as he likes, pressing your face to his hair instead as he mouths at your neck, starved.
You’re burned by the heat of him. Heavy as he envelopes himself around you, greedy hands moving down your body to touch and grab and grope, undecided whether he wants to be gentle, whether he can be, calloused hands like sandpaper as he slides them under your shirt. Your own hands try to turn his jaw so you might see his face and deduce the expression into an answer, a reasoning for his behaviour. But every touch you give has him shuddering beneath you, near enough purring as he careens his cheek into your hand, lapping up your warmth.
Case feels like he’s on fire. Tunnel-visioned. Drunk, almost. He’d cooled off whatever substance he’d breathed in that facility on the flight back to Bulgaria, but part of it still sticks to him like sap, simmering and seething all red and angry in a place inside he can’t reach. He’d claw it out of himself if he could, if he had the guts, but he swears he could smell you from the fucking front door- and by then it was over, decided for him before he even knew what he was doing. Something else took hold then, brutish and hungry, overcome with the base animal need to stalk, hunt, fuck.
His hands run down your body, kissing wetly into your open palm. You whimper frantic and confused as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and tugs them down your legs, falling frail as petals somewhere off the bed. You gasp as he pushes himself forward, hips bullying your legs apart, while he peels back your shirt to knead your breasts and latch his mouth upon a perked nipple with a moan.
“Hey, slow- slow down,” you rasp, barely a whisper, dying on an open-mouthed sigh as a spike of pleasure needles you. You can’t help it. It’s him, Case, always so soft with you, so slow and gentle, now pawing at you like he’d sooner die than go without touching you. Your hands knot into his hair as he sucks at your nipple, tangled at the base of his neck, unsure whether you’re trying to push him off or pull him closer. “I think we should- just- calm down and—“
“No,” Case says, a low noise, almost strangled as he unlatches himself from you, shaking his head. He sounds pained, sick, emitting a whine as he unfolds himself, hands wrestling with his belt. In your sudden shyness, feeling all too exposed, you pull your shirt down and make a move to close your legs, but Case’s hand nudges your knee, as thoughtless as if he were swatting a fly as he pries them back open.
“Gotta have you now, baby, I-I gotta,” he mumbles, repeating it under his breath over and over like a mantra. Is it for you to hear? Is it for himself? You don’t know. But even as you try and move his hand away it’s a hopeless thing. He’s firm, resolute. Won’t so much as let you budge. He slides his belt off with one hand, shoving his cargo pants and boxers down his hips, and stamps your arm back at the side of your head with the other, wrenched tight around your wrist.
“O-ow, careful, Case—”
Your words are cut short by a jarring thud. His cock thumps thick and heavy against your tummy, and wide-eyed, you freeze. Oh. Case tugs around the base to give it some hopeless attention, something, anything to take the edge off. The shock of it all pulls out a breathless whine from you. He’s never usually so forward. He rocks himself slow against you, moving his hips down, nudging your clit with the leaking head of his aching dick. It’s- it’s so much that you don’t know whether to stop him or just surrender, craning your neck down to try and catch a glimpse of- of—
Fuck, you forget how big it is. Every time. It always looks so much more intimidating than it feels, but that’s because Case has always been careful with you, patient, always working you up on his fingers first before even attempting to split you open on him, even then only feeding you inch by tentative inch until he’s seated nice and deep inside you. Eager, but takes his time with you, never in any rush to give his sweet girl what she needs.
But you have the feeling that this time is different. Not- not bad, but- different. His hands are hard on you, bruising, kisses impatient and starving, even the way he’s slowly fucking his tip against your clit, hazy-eyed and mindless as he watches himself slide the length of his shaft between your folds, so pink and sweet- it’s maddening. It’s only then that you realise you’re moaning, bleating like cornered prey.
As if suddenly reminded of the fact he ought to prep you, he shoves two fingers unceremoniously into his mouth, sucking them wet before pulling them out with a pop and delving his hand between your legs. It’s done so fast you flinch, a panicked sound pulled out of you. His usual patience is swapped with hurried desperation, a flit of his eyes to yours- your lips, your face, God, the prettiest thing he’s seen in his life- measuring your reaction. Your shock and confusion must be evident in your wilted expression, because he moves his fingers just a little slower, watching with enamoured reverence as your face flushes hot, savouring the way he can see the thoughts just spill out of your head like honey as it empties itself for him. So, so pretty.
“U-um—” you stammer, as dumb as the day you were born. You want to say something, want him to say something, but your mind goes blank. Whatever good sense might linger is gone- there’s only Case, much too broad and much too big in your bed as he looms over you. He slides his fingers against your clit, tender with need; he thumbs at your slick entrance, soaking his knuckle as he teases against it, and moans at how reflexively it clenches around him, begging to be filled. How badly it wants him. He barely humours your poor, needy pussy as he slides his middle finger inside, thick as it stretches you, just about managing the first knuckle before you keen, body bowing into him.
“G-God, Case, please—”
Sobriety spurs vaguely into him then, the light coming back into his eyes as he blinks down at you, strewn like a blushing favour over the pillow. His perfect girl, his. As he looks at you, he slides his finger out of you slowly, relishing with a faraway look on his face the way you crumple and cry, grasping at his wrist to try and pull him back in again. He thinks he’d go mad for it. For you, he thinks he’d die.
“S’okay,” he grumbles under his breath, a click of his tongue as he tuts at you like one might a skittish animal. He pulls back, lining his cock up with your soaked entrance, his pupils blown black, drunk. “I’m gonna make it better. M’gonna make it better, baby, I promise.”
He has to make it better. Has to. Has to apologise for what he’s doing, how he’s acting- he has to apologise for what he is, the thing growling inside him, tearing, clawing, screaming to get out—
He’s still sucking the syrup of you off his fingers as he pushes himself inside you, eyes rolling into the back of his head with a loud, broken groan. He’s so lost to the white haze of bliss for a second as your slick heat all but swallows him in, pushing only a little resistance at the sudden intrusion and God, he knows you’re not used to it so quick, so soon, but you’re his good girl, his baby, and he knows you can take it.
And you’re not quite used to the stretch even on a good day- feeling it rip into you now is near agony. Your mouth opens wide but not a sound comes out. Useless anyway, given Case bends down and closes his own around it, tongue delving hot inside to seek yours. It’s so fast and so much that you barely find time to adjust, just letting your mouth loll open and surrender itself to him as he tongues you, trying so hard to focus on accommodating to his cock pushing- forcing- its way into you, too much, too much, too big—
The hand around your wrist loosens as though some pliant drug has washed cold over him, and you open your eyes for just a second, enough to catch the way his dilate, black melting into the white before he sinks himself all the way inside you. Filling you to the hilt, suffocating. Bliss is written into every line of his face, softening as he lets out a whine. He bottoms out, and you see it in him- complete and utter relief. Some awful agony in him quelled immediately, his body slack against yours. He feels, in you, complete. Home.
It’s evident enough that it puts you at ease, whatever it is that’s compelled him like this. He’s not trying to hurt you. You don’t think. He’s just rather like a big dog that believes itself to be no larger than a puppy, unaware of its own weight and strength. Case’s body goes almost flat atop yours and the only way he notices at all is how it pushes a wheeze out of you, a silent beg for release.
But just then you feel his hips pulling back, cock sliding out of you inch by agonising inch. A whimpering plea is all you’re given to let out before he slams back into you again and fuck, it’s too much, he’s too big, you’re not used to—
“F-fuck, Case, wait—”
Your legs tremor involuntarily as they part further to let him closer, let him in, his hips welded to yours as he buries himself right to the fucking root of you. Case groans, delirious as his face falls against your shoulder.
“Oh, fuck.”
“Case- s’too much, you’re—”
“I know, baby, I know,” he coos, an attempt at comfort that leaves you dizzier than it does much else. He licks a wet kiss to your neck, meant to calm you, but only riles himself up more, setting off a dormant bloodthirst in him; he does it again, and this time he- he bites you.
You squeal. “O-ow!”
Like an apology he can’t voice he laps his tongue flat against your skin, mulling hungrily over the bitten flesh like he’s savouring it. It’s only when he’s sated himself on you that his hips start moving, slow, languid thrusts that quicken each time you yelp, hurried pace picking up once he feels you clench reflexively around him.
And he’s usually so gentle when he fucks you, almost hesitant, always like he’s half afraid of breaking you. Not like this. He fucks into you mindlessly, a rabid thing with a single razor sharp splinter of desire- you. Wants you. Has to have you, has to split you open and- take you. Fuck you so there’s nothing left in him to think of or breathe in but you. Every thrust is merciless and messy, Case pounding into you again and again as the sound of him fucking into your wet cunt smacks luridly in the air; loud enough that it makes you wince, cringing to hear yourself so shamelessly, how your body makes itself so slick and malleable just for him. His hips slam into you faster than you can take it- but you can take it, you can, he insists, demands it, grunting it into your ear, baby, please, jus’ take it for me, take it take it take it—
Your orgasm slams into you, a violent punch that singes you hot-white and blind; your thighs clench around his hips of their own accord and pull him in even deeper- as if there’s any more room- unbidden as you cry out, wailing helplessly as he just- keeps- fucking you. Wave after wave of pleasure drowning you over and over and over. It almost terrifies you, how willingly gone your body leaves itself, all sense and reason fleeing you all to make room for this- him.
You babble incomprehensibly as you ride it out, words lost in your throes of euphoria, smothered completely beneath the sweet and tender violence of him, your ravaged cunt milking and just taking him in its refusal to let go.
You don’t know if you’re crying- it all feels so good you can barely make sense of where you are- but through the red haze of it all you feel Case’s hand cup your cheek, caress your face, mumbling choked apologies into your shoulder as he keeps impaling you on his cock, chasing his pleasure into you. It’s the sweetest thing, his voice very almost pathetic, incongruous to the way the rest of him seems dead-set on pummelling you into the mattress as he garbles a knotted string of I’m sorry, baby, can’t help it, s’too good, I’m sorry—
As if you’d even care if he wasn’t. As if you wouldn’t let him break you and cradle the pieces in his mottled hands. As if you wouldn’t let him carve out a home inside of you, broken and bloodied, and nestle himself within. Where no one can hurt him ever again, where nobody could ever find him. Nobody but you.
You’d promise him that much, you think- the times when he wakes up screaming in the night, when he sits up in bed and stares empty at the wall, when mid-conversation he’s just suddenly stunned into white-noise silence, the Case you know, the Case that’s yours, absent for but a moment. Replaced by something else entirely, something you’re not quite sure you recognise. You take him then, like you take him now, your body so dumb and fragile in his big arms as he fucks you hard, cock punching into you so bad you go dizzy.
And isn’t this much like that? Don’t you love him even now, as he is? While he violently breaks you?
“C-Case,” you choke, his chest pressed so tightly to yours you can hardly breathe. His hand snakes up your neck, closing around your throat with a satisfied moan, stars dotted in your view. You feel something cresting again, down your legs, up your spine, the back of your neck— “Oh, god, Case, please, I’m gonna—”
But you don’t know what you’re gonna. It hits you before you can even find out. You come again, you think, some viciously delectable feeling severing you and flinging your body straight up off the mattress, holding him to you, begging him closer, as though he could be any more than he already was. Flesh melting into flesh, sweat sticky and waxen, indistinguishable from his. Inseparable. As you cry out again, he groans, thick and low and not quite human, spilling himself so deep inside you that you feel it pooling hot in your gut, molten sweet; your own climax is slow, tender agony, gorging you open, rippling warm and pink behind closed eyes like the thin warbling of blood in water… and then… and then…
It’s a short moment later, or maybe a few, when the black spots in your vision clear.
You’re staring up at the ceiling, cracked white, a picture much like Case’s eyes had been in the doorway, veins struck blood lightning across marble sclera. He’s there too, you can hear him, his voice a distant echo as you feel large hands cup your face, your whole world oscillating.
It’s bliss. It’s perfect. You lie there, barely coming to, your body sinking into the mattress as though you weren’t even there, floating, feeling so, so nice.
When the shadow pulls over your vision, you smile. Case holds himself over you, his thumb peeling back your eyelid, letting out a choked sound of relief when your eyes, lucid, finally fix on him.
“Oh- oh, thank god- oh- baby, I’m so—”
He scoops you up like a ragdoll in his arms, clutching you so tight to his chest that you can feel the erratic thrumming of his heart, quick as a rabbit’s to the slow drum of yours. A series of strangled noises leave him as he buries his face into your shoulder, wet, whether from kisses or crying, you don’t know- but you know that you love him, and he’s yours. It’s the only thing on your emptied mind as your face burrows against him, breathing him in. That strange chemical smell is long gone now, enveloping you back into the warm embrace of pine and petrichor, the smell of home. Of him. It’s all you can think of, the only thing you can form into words, when you mumble, exhausted, into his chest.
“‘Love you, Case.”
And he must hear it, because his heartbeat slows then, decelerating a steady hum to match your own. His death grip on you loosens, his body going slack as he falls into you. Whatever noise that screams endless in his mind seems to cease, because through it all he hears you, hushing and cooing at him as you pull your fingers softly up his arm, pulling him slowly, slowly, down into bed. You stay still as he sifts frantic hands over you, smoothing you over like he’s trying to keep the shape of you, checking you like he would for bruises. You know this is his way of taking care of you, of fixing you, of making everything right and keeping his precious baby together with all her pieces intact; he kisses you slow but trembling, lips finding every swath of skin he knows he’s bitten, pinched, groped too hard.
“Didn’t mean to,” he murmurs, quiet and worriedly into your hair. He kisses, again and again. “Didn’t mean to be so rough. Didn’t mean—”
“I know,” you whisper, “it’s okay. I’m okay. Look- feel.”
You find his hand in the dark, pulling it around yourself to press it against your chest, your heart beating heavy against his palm. You keep it there, proof of your wellness, showing him you’re unharmed. Where it matters, anyway. You’re so strung out from your orgasm that all you can do, want to do, is just lie there and hold him, body limp and satisfied in spite of it all.
It’s just that, then, quiet, the soft sounds of his breathing slowing in time to yours, a conscious effort to calm himself, to prove to you that he can be, that he isn’t that thing that lingered in the doorway glowering at you- to prove to himself that he isn’t a monster.
He tells you again that he’s sorry, but you just tut your forgiveness and shake your head, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. And he tries to tell you why, but when he opens his mouth, no words come out. Just the voice in the back of his head again, the knife kept lodged in his throat all this time. We don’t talk about that. His vision warps, chromatic as he blinks away pictures of the lab, the lights, the Cradle. We can’t talk about that.
Case just sighs then, settling into your arms and cocooning himself around you like he’s not the very thing he’s trying to protect you from. He thinks he tells you he loves you too- that, at least, he knows is his- but he isn’t sure if you hear, fallen asleep before you can utter a response.
He just looks at you, and he’s completely besotted. Utterly and madly. He kisses you sweet and gentle, stamping his one last apology as soft fingers thread through your hair. He’ll fix it, he vows, for you, for you. Then he slides in next to you, curling his arms around your tummy to pull you in close, swearing until he falls asleep to make good on that promise. Then, as sleep slowly takes him, there are no more bumps in the night.
reposting as a standalone, originally reblogged via this post.
i think to love case is truly to see him most vulnerable.
he was a willing volunteer in the cradle trials, the executioner's favorite sacrificial lamb.
even after all was done, they promised to help, promised even more of an everyday life after. but what does it look like? they put a wall in his mind, expecting him to simply move on, to exist with the hollow erasure of who he was in 1981. he knows something is missing, but he doesn't know what. to endure something so inhumane and cruel is to bear wounds unseen, to be changed forever, yet to hope desperately that someone out there still loves you.
he sleeps on the couch. the bed used to feel so empty, and he can’t help but lose sleep over not being able to fill the space. when you moved in, he thought it would stop. you didn’t even know it was a problem until the first time you found him passed out on the couch, head on the armrest in a very uncomfortable fetal position. some nights, you make the effort to pull him back to bed. hand in hand, you lead him through the dark hallway to the bedroom. you undress and help him to bed, even when he’s too tired to manage more than a drowsy “thank you” as his head hits the pillow. other nights, you squeeze in next to him and listen to the sounds of his breathing and unfunny, rehearsed jokes from late night talk shows, with the television illuminating you both in a soft blue glow.
case never used to sit on the bathtub floor facing the wall, letting scalding hot water hit his back while making no moves to clean himself. he thinks for so long that your knocks are only heard once he's finally thinking of getting out. it's only so long he can mull over the same possibilities and reasons for forgetting six months of his life. "hey, everything alright?" you slip your hand into the shower and past the curtain, not wanting to entirely intrude on his privacy. droplets bounce and land on your hand, which is gently squeezed and taken by case's, letting him hold it for a few seconds before pulling back the curtains. "want me to wash your hair and get your back?" neither of you mind the water getting on the floor and your clothes, working shampoo into his hair and watching it foam. you are gentle, nails grazing his scalp in a soothing privilege. he has only ever once asked for you to do it again. you subconsciously tucked it away so you'd know to do it each time.
Everyone was supposed to be out, so you and Case took advantage of having the Rook to yourselves. Except, some people apparently don't understand what 'we'll be out all day' means.
The long table was rock hard under your back, and the varnish squeaked against your skin as you shivered against it, wishing you’d taken Case up on his offer to lay his jacket out underneath you. Earlier, when he’d suggested it, you’d dismissed his concern, saying that it would ruin the point of fucking on the old mahogany table in the first place.
The whole thing was Case’s idea originally. Everyone else on the team was out on some errand or mission or personal soul quest, and that meant you and Case had the Rook completely to yourselves; which he’d been keen to point out to you when you’d said you needed to kill some time. Case had been sat on one of the stools dragged up to the kitchen island, apparently having nothing better to do until you spoke. Then, he’d sprung up, the stool rattling against the tiles as he tucked his body against yours from behind and steered you out of the kitchen and into the main room; where soft afternoon light streamed in through the windows, bathing the neatly cleared, (you’d almost say specially prepared), table in glowing, golden light.
It had been his idea, but you’d happily gone along with it. You’d missed Case’s company, his jokes, his touch, how your bodies melded together like a perfect match. Between the whole, ‘critical missions to uncover a mole, save the world, and clear your own names in the CIA’s books’, thing, and the ever-growing team and their gear that filled up every nook and cranny of the old crumbling house; it had been nigh on impossible to find moments just between you and him.
Case had been feeling it too, judging by how well he was making up for last time. He’d always been efficient at getting you naked, but today it was almost brutally so, as he got you bare and lying on your back on the table in under two minutes. You’d struggled to settle, feeling stranded in the middle of it, until Case lay his upper half over it too, putting him in prime position to eat your pussy.
And, he had. You’d already come twice, eyes glazed over as your moans echoed through the wood panelled halls, broke only by your panting breaths in the precious seconds he gave you as a break, letting you stave off overstimulation as he used the sharp pinch of the table edge to push back his own orgasm, again and again. Neither of you wanted to waste this opportunity before you’d even properly started.
Sometime soon after your second, Case had climbed up onto the table, levelling his body over yours and half crushing you into the wood as he fucked you, making you come again, but the awkward angle left him grunting as he missed out himself. He quickly rectified that, by sliding off the table to stand at its side again, dragging you with him so your legs hung off the table around his hips.
The change in angle left him facing the windows, the golden light now scattered across his skin, making his dark hair shine, eyes squinted as he looked down at you again. You didn’t even have time to tell him how good he looked, before he started fucking you again, now with each thrust hitting you hard and deep, each knocking breath from your lungs as he filled you, over and over, dick hot inside you as your legs twitched.
Sobs tore out from your chest as your fingernails scraped the surface of the table, uncaring if anyone would see them later as your back arched, and you come again. Your sweat didn’t help the sticky feeling of the table against your skin, as Case gripped your hips, brow furrowed as he breathed heavily, a sure sign he was about to come, just as Marshall’s voice cut through the room.
“What the hell are you two doing?”
“Oh shit…” Case murmured, his hips stilling as your head snapped back to see both Marshall and Woods stopped, open mouthed in the doorway.
You yelped, and immediately covered your chest with your arms, trying to sit up to retain the last bit of your modesty.
“Look, we all know you too like to… spend time with each other, but really? This? Here?” Marshall sounded like he was in disbelief, despite his words. And, like he was dreading the idea of reporting this after you got back into the CIA’s good books.
“You lot were all supposed to be out.” Case gripped as he snatched his shirt up from the floor and helped you pull it on, reaching for his trousers as he slowly pulled himself out of your pussy.
You were wet and hot, your pussy aching as your last orgasm ebbed away, taking with it the burning instinct to pull Case back in and tell him to keep going, your audience be damned. “We won’t be back till dinner, you said.”
“That’s… true.” Woods sighed, evidently tired of waiting as he rolled further inside, going past the pair of you towards the mission board. “Still. We make our plans on that table, Case.”
Case snorted, looking up from gathering your clothes up. “What? Would you prefer we fucked in the kitchen?”
Everyone responded negatively to that. Woods groaned that that was not the point; Marshall said something about how could you even be fucking at a time like this, with your mission to DC less than a day out; and you, crouched on the floor pulling your pants and jeans back on, muttered some unheard words telling Case to chill out and start thinking with his head, not his hard as rock dick.
“Well… No.” Marshall concluded. “Let’s just… This never happened, alright? Let’s all focus back on the matter at hand. But, for the record, keep it out of the kitchen.”
“Fine.” Case grumbled, looking down at you as you suddenly stood up, after remembering why you’d been trying to kill time in the first place.
“My bread!” You cried out, shoving Case aside as you hurried back to the kitchen.
You had a loaf of bread in the oven. How could have you forgotten that?
Case trailed after you, the rest of your clothes in hand, leaving Marshall and Woods to try and talk about anything other than what they just saw, as you opened the oven and lifted the loaf tin out.
It was perfect perfectly golden-brown, with a good crust, a springy weight, and beautifully hollow when you tapped it underneath.
“See? Your bread is fine.” Case tossed your shirt onto the counter, folding his arms over his bare torso as he waited for you to give his back.
You set your bread on a cooling rack, and swapped shirts, wadding his up and throwing it at him as hard as you could. “But only because we were interrupted. If we’d kept going, it would have burned.”
Case shrugged, catching his shirt with ease, before he reached across the island and flicked the tip of your nose. “I guess. Just means we’ll have to go back and finish off later tonight.”
“What do you…” You looked at him, swiftly understanding what he meant. “Case… everyone will be back here tonight!”
“Yeah.” He grinned, ear to ear. “So what? You’ll just have to be quiet.”
You stood there wordlessly as he kissed your cheek, then sauntered out of the kitchen, the fire in your cunt already reawakened, and the instincts tempting you to go against Marshall’s orders already making itself known in your head.
released a few parts of my case fic on ao3 : ) will upload it here to when it's done in one big part, 4/6 parts on there if anyone wants to read.
i haven't got time to check it over properly but will do so please don't be too mean about spelling mistakes and that sometimes my eyes don't catch em.
but enjoy anyway im really enjoying writing these bo6 fics
Thinking about Case telling you he ‘knows a spot’ and takes you down into a creepy ass bunker, then into a replica living room with mannequins and numbers painted on the walls. He sits you on the sofa before giving you the sloppiest head you’ve ever had in your life, content to moan and groan as loud as you want because no one in the safe house upstairs can hear you
wait wait wait case coming back to the rook after emergence still tweaking off the cradle and the heightened aggression making him mindlessly animalistic and wanting to pound poor reader thru the mattress somethin nasty while they have no clue where this side of him came from 🥴
