#reader insert one shot

[very-merry-birthday]

Late Night Encounters

Summary: After studying with Sam runs late you run into John while leaving. Barely any plot, just smut

Warnings: Smut, Older John

I'll make up for John with a bunch more Dean stuff soon I promise.

~~~

"I'm so sorry I didn't realize the time!" Sam said as he helped you pack up your bag with books, the clock clicking over to 1am.

"No it's okay, I really think we made some great progress." You smiled back. Studying with Sam was far easier than by yourself, you were grateful for the company.

"Are you really okay driving back? It's not too late?" He said as he handed you your final book.

"Seriously Sammy it's fine, thank you for having me over!"

You slipped out of his room, quietly padding along the hall and down the stairs towards the front door, careful not to wake his older brother. You'd only met Dean a few times, and knew he worked long shifts to help support Sam at college while their father worked away.

You creaked through the living room, the cold air hitting your skin. You hadn't planned on staying this long, dressing for the summers day in a tank top and shorts, the chill was biting at you.

"And who", the lamp flicked on, a tall man stood in the corner of the room, a beer bottle in hand, "might you be?"

You stopped, your heart catching in surprise. "I- I'm sorry I'm just leaving."

"That didn't answer my question. Come over here." He stepped forward and you took him in, realizing he was the man from the photographs Sam had shown you of his parents. You walked towards him, suddenly feeling small in the presence of such an intimidating figure. He looked down at you, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry, sir, time got the better off us I wasn't supposed to stay this late."

"Which of my boys are you fucking?"

You took in a small gasp. "Neither, sir, it's history- me and Sam are in the same class we just study together."

He took another drag from his beer, looking you up and down, not hiding his stare at your chest. Your lack of bra was coming back to bite you as you felt your nipples hardening in the cold air. You shifted your arms, trying to subtly cover your body from embarrassment. "A perky young thing like you deserves a decent fucking-"

"Sir I should get going." You had to admit he was hot, and his voice was starting to turn you on.

"-tell me, do my boys give it to you?"

"Sir we're not- I promise it's just studying."

He stepped in front of you, reaching out to push your arms away from your body, once again exposing your thinly covered breasts to the air. "Have you ever had even a half decent fucking?"

You looked up at him, meeting his steely gaze, "Half."

He chuckled, taking another swallow from his bottle, "You're funny. How old are you?"

"Old enough, sir."

"Sir's a good start, manners are important..." he reached out, pushing one of your shirt straps off your shoulder, your shirt slipping slightly down. He smiled down at you, tracing his finger down your collarbone. "You want this?"

You held his gaze, lowering your voice to a whisper, "Yes."

"You understand this won't be like making love to your childhood sweetheart? I'm going to fuck you and leave you, you get that?"

"Yes sir."

"Good girl, on your knees."

You sunk down quick, the hard wood slamming against your knees- you knew it would cause bruises.

"You know how to follow orders, I like that." He said, undoing his belt. "You ever suck a dick before, darlin'?"

"A few." You lied. You'd only ever sucked your on an off again boyfriend's in senior year of high school.

"Open your mouth."

You opened, waiting for his cock. He pulled it out from his pants, pumping it in his fist as he looked down at you. He put his hand hand under your chin, tilting your face up to look at him, and brushed his thumb lightly against your bottom lip.

With a lopsided smile, he roughly shoved himself into your mouth, your eyes growing wide as he filled you up. He barely gave you a second to get used to his length before he began lightly thrusting his hips into you, his tip hitting the back of your throat. He groaned and you looked back up at him, watching as he threw his head back, exhaling deeply.

"Gooood girl," he combed his hand through your hair, pushing you lower, "that's it, you're a natural."

You reached up to his cock, placing your hand on it's base, barely able to hold his girth.

"Nah-ah babygirl", he knocked your hand away, "you have to learn to take it all in your mouth. Hands behind your back."

You pulled your hands behind you, pushing your wrists together as though tied, and focused yourself on taking him deeper. He groaned again as he held your head down, enjoying the feeling of your lips wrapped around him and thrusted his hips hard, getting into a rough rhythm.

You looked up at him, eyes wide, and he swallowed hard, pulling his cock back slightly. "Stick your tongue out."

You opened your mouth wider, doing as he said, and he pressed his tip against your tongue, allowing you to taste him.

"You're good at this darlin'", he let his dick glide over your tongue, "usin' your mouth like such a good girl."

You felt your arousal growing, desperate to be touched.

"You like sucking my cock?" His hand cupped your cheek, an eyebrow raised. You nodded, locking eyes with him. "You want to feel good?" You nodded again.

He pushed his boot clad foot between your knees and you clasped your hands together tight behind your back. "You're gonna have to work for it- grind on me."

You lowered yourself down into him, slowly grinding against his boot. You felt vulnerable here, in the Winchesters' cold living room. Suddenly you remembered Sam upstairs- he thought you were on your way home what if he came down now- but as your clit rubbed against him you didn't care.

You let a small moan escape your lips, pulling yourself away from his dick as you focused on your own pleasure. You let the feeling wash over you, and he watched as you became undone on your knees below him, loving every second.

He licked his lips, drinking you in, his mind spinning from the beer and the image of you before him. He watched as another moan escaped your lips, your eyes closed.

"Stand up." You barely heard him in your needy state, but looking up at his serious face made you pause. "Stand up now, like a good girl, and let me see how wet that pussy is."

You stood up shakily, and he pulled you towards him, letting you feel the heat of his body radiating off him. His hand fumbled down into your shorts, fingers tracing over your panties. You let out a moan, your head leaning against his chest as he circled your clit, desperate for him to actually touch your skin. One of his fingers hooked around the corner of the fabric, pushing it to one side, and he dipped a finger into you, your wetness dripping over him.

"Jesus you're wet-" he laughed lightly, a surprised look on his face, "A cock in your mouth get you that turned on?"

You replied with another moan as you felt a second finger enter you, thrusting unevenly as your knees buckled. His other hand roughly grabbed your hip, keeping you steady, as he found his rhythm.

"You want more darlin'? You want me inside of you?"

You nodded, looking up at him, a whimper escaping your lips. He pulled his fingers out, and put them up to his own mouth, sucking on them one at a time. "You taste like cherry pie darlin." He said with a wink.

He found your shorts again, pulling them down to your ankles and you stepped out of them. Lifting your arms up he pulled up your tank top and stepped back, looking at you in all your naked glory. You felt vulnerable again, wearing nothing in front of this fully dressed man, but he gave you another smile that caused your thighs to squeeze together.

He pushed you roughly against the wall, pushing his pants down lower on his hips and pumping his cock in his hand. Your leg found purchase wrapped around him as he lined himself up with your entrance, giving himself a few gentle glides through your folds with his tip.

He pushed into you achingly slowly, letting his cock stretch you out, and you leaned against him again, desperately trying to hold yourself up. You let out a wining gasp at the feeling, wanting to feel him deeper.

He pulled out and began thrusting, hard and fast, barely giving you a second you catch your breath. His hand found your exposed breast, flicking at your nipple and causing your pussy to tighten around him.

You began to let out a loud moan, his hand moving fast to clasp tightly over your mouth. "You've got to be quiet darlin'. Can't be waking up the whole house now can we?"

He continued to thrust, his own head rolling back in enjoyment, hand still covering your mouth. You'd never felt this good before, his large cock almost splitting you in two.

You stayed like that for long enough to feel your knee buckling beneath you, desperately trying to keep yourself standing. He pulled himself out of his daze and looked down at you, hungry for more. "I'm gonna take my hand off your mouth, and you're gonna stay quiet for me, you understand?"

You nodded ferociously.

"Good girl."

He moved his hands down to your ass, lifting you up in a quick motion as both your legs wrapped around your hips. He pushed you back hard against the wall as he lowered you back down onto his cock, savagely plowing into you. At this new angle, you felt your orgasm rising quickly, biting your lip to keep yourself quiet.

He pressed his lips to your ear, speaking with hot breath into your skin. "You like that darlin'?"

You nodded, a small moan escaping you lips.

"When you cum you gotta keep quiet, you can do that for me?"

You nodded again.

He sped up his thrusting, driving into you hard. "Good girl. Go on then, cum for me."

You let the waves of orgasm wash over you, your head rolling back, nails digging into the back of his neck to keep your noises at bay. Your hips bucked into him, hungry for him to stay inside you.

Your orgasm barely over, he lowered you back to the ground and pulled his cock out, causing you to desperately whine.

"On your knees."

You did as he said, your buckling knees barely giving you a choice. He looked down at you as he pulled your hair out of your face, his large cock just inches from your mouth. You stuck out your tongue, wanting more.

"God you're good." He gave you a wink as he pressed his tip to your tongue, and you could taste your own wetness on his cock. He wrapped his fist around himself tightly, jacking himself off into your mouth. "You gonna take all of this darlin?"

You nodded, pushing your mouth around him.

"Good girl."

He let out a grunt as he came, and you swallowed it down, desperate to please.

He stepped back, giving himself a second to become composed, and looked back at you naked, kneeling before him.

"You're something else-" he laughed as he stuffed his cock back in his pants, grabbing his beer bottle from the side.

You stood up shakily, having to steady yourself for a second before slipping your shorts back on and tugging your shirt over your head.

He stepped back up to you, a hand reaching out to your breast and cupping it, pinching your still hard nipple between his fingers before stepping back again, eyeing you over.

"You best get going darlin'- it's getting late." He gave you a wink before retreating out the room, leaving you stood in the cold night air.

[danddymaro]

Stay | Sam Bridges X Reader

 Yeah, just a head’s up …It’s not a nice fluff.

There is no real placement within the actual storyline... it’s all some bull I wanted to put out. 

Also, B.B’s Gender...I figured it was a girl no? He named it Loiuse...soo, I just assumed its a girl. Sorry if I’m mistaken and it was said otherwise.

 Either way, that sweet, little angel has our love ʚ♡⃛ɞ(ू•ᴗ•ू❁) Boy or gal, right? I’m sure everyone is already familiarized with these types of fics, and most of the inserts, but I’m not sure if these are so easy to understand so : 

‘ Italics ’ = Thinking.  Italics = Flashback

A/n: Originally this started out As a Sam x Reader, But if you want Higgs it can def. head a different direction.

Just keep following the link below

Word Count: 3933

Stay

Her finger lightly tapped the glass before her, (e/c) eyes gleaming with adoration as she stared down at the small creature protected within the thick, see-through container.

She beamed at its joyous little dance, something she found absolutely precious.

“Adorable…” she said softly, fully enamored by its cute little mannerisms, until a low chuckle brought her attention back to the man also there with them.

“I’m right here too…” Sam voiced out while raising his hand up in a halfhearted manner.

“ Sorry,” she said, still bent slightly down to face the B.B. “You’re adorable too,” she said in a teasing manner.

Giggling she looked at him briefly, seeing him roll his eyes at her.

“ Oh, come on now...Don’t tell me you’re jealous…” she said playfully, a small, quirky smile directed at him as she peeked up with the cute upturn, wanting to know what the male would answer back with.

With the same sentiment, he shot her a grin back, being just as bashful in doing so, the words instantly spewing without a second thought, “I did come all this way to see you,” he replied back to her making her eyes open more in surprise before they fell back down to the B.B.

“You did…didn’t you?” she answered back, trying to play cool, pretending she wasn’t affected by the reply, but really, she felt butterflies play within her stomach.

Silence followed afterward, both adults not knowing what to answer with, what to follow up with.

A small pause settled between them, and though they both felt uncertain about their next moves, it wasn’t an uncomfortable moment to settle with.

If anything, it felt natural.

While she occupied herself with the little being, the Porter stood watching, content.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to her, ' Well...it wouldn't hurt,' she reasoned, knowing she’d been wanting to ask him something important.

And if not now, when?

She took a steady breath before speaking, hoping not to stumble, “ You know…” she started, peering her eyes up to the porter again, her attention derived from the curious, dark eyes silently staring at her with wonder. “You know… I set up a room for you,” She informed him, and as she said so a precious, little gurgle came from the BB, almost as if to remind her that it was present as well.

It was someone too…

“Oops… ” (f/n) said with a chuckle, her shoulders shaking as she showed her amusement, “I’ve set up the room for the both of you,” she corrected herself with merriment while poking the glass one more time. And she knew that If there hadn’t existed a barrier between them, she would have certainly poked the small child on the tip of it’s little, button nose.

“Anyways…” she continued on, her voice mellowing again, attention back to the man while straightening herself out to face him, “ You’re welcome to stay,” she said with her face glowing with pink, a perfect little color to match the little wildflowers he often came across from time to time.

He’d pick them every so often, twisting the stems with his index and thumb, his mind instantly drawn to her and the little color that would glow over her face.

In fact, any time he had to truly muse over his surroundings, he found something that brought him back to her.

Sometimes it was little flowers to match the color of her glowing cheeks, which would also occasionally compare to the hue of her natural lips that curved so beautifully when she smiled.

From time to time the sun was merciful, softly glowing over his skin, basking over him a similar warmth he’d feel when they sat near each other, talking, musing over the little things in life he’d only ever talked to himself about because he was usually so damn lonely.

And he couldn’t help but always find sweet, little comparisons between her and the beauties of the outside world he’d come across, mindlessly doing so as he currently stared on at her as well.

“Yeah?” he said softly, dumbly to be more specific, somewhat droning on as she spoke, also taking notice that her hair had grown more since he last saw her. It wasn’t much, but it had gotten a good inch or two, and he realized it had been far too long since he’d actually seen her face to face.

She nodded, taking her lower lip within her mouth for a moment, seemingly finding the right words, “ Yeah,” She answered back, “ In fact… I’d love it if you would,” she admitted, receiving a small grunt from the brunette male, something that didn’t entirely disheart her.

Because a small grunt from him could also be a good sign.

His blue eyes found hers, staring attentively at them as the (e/c) orbs gazed back at him with expectancy, wanting nothing more than for him to accept her kind offer, to just upright say it.

- To tell her that he’d love nothing more than to stay with her.

‘ That wouldn’t be such a bad idea… would it?’ He wondered, unable to stare away from the shining (e/c) gems.

Why were they so pretty..?

Striking...

“You’re going through too much trouble, ” he answered her, grateful, of course, but feeling guilty for making her go through the hassle.

She didn’t have to do anything for him…

She didn’t owe him anything…

‘She goes through too much trouble,’ he thought to himself with a long exhale, thinking of all the worried looks she’d adorned every time she sent him off, imagining she’d look the same whenever he told her about some new bullshit he’d encountered along his way via their emails.

Emails he always checked up on and read with a smile…

Ones he never left unanswered and didn't plan to discard either...

‘She worries too much…’ he realized, as though he’d never actually thought about it before like it was some new information to him.

And it stirred him up inside, something beautiful, yet frightening weaving through his heart, ready to burst out.

Because he worried too…Possibly as much as she did, maybe even more.

Even as he’d find himself stuck in some dangerous territory, he’d have her somewhere in his mind.

Stuck...Waiting...

‘Shit…’ He cursed.

“ No,” She shook her head, “ Look, I just really appreciate everything you’ve done for me, “ she told him. “ Though you might think it’s not much, I really do…” she went on, feeling the need to explain, of course without saying what was probably obvious to him already.

She tried to hide the true reason behind simple appreciation, feigning it as thankfulness for a man that was just doing his job, even though she was well aware that every one of her other actions and reactions was something meant for someone on a deeper level than just mere professionalism.

She couldn’t even say it was because he was her friend...her best friend, which in a sense he was.

She’d never spent so much time talking to anyone else that strolled by, never feeling so magnetically pulled by anything else.

Sam was different.

‘ What would you do if you actually knew Sam…’ She wondered, swallowing hard, nervous, knowing her face was at a boiling point.

Nodding he listened to her, understanding, discreetly enjoying the sound of her sweet voice as she spoke.

He’d learned that a simple delivery, even with its contents being something as frivolous as an old pebble could bring untold joy to the receiver. The countless emails he received in feedback were proof, and if that wasn’t enough, the glowing smiles he’d been shot told their own stories.

Everyone else called him a hero, some sort of legend.

‘She’s just thankful…’ He tried to convince himself, knowing deep inside that it was a damn lie, ‘Just like everyone else,’ He added.

But there was much more to it.

And there was much more on his side as well.

“- In fact, I could never thank you enough. I don’t know what I could do that could possibly repay you for what you’ve done for me,” she babbled on, small tears gleaming within her (e/c) eyes, making his entire body warm up with a little feeling he couldn’t place, the unease he felt due to his pondering dispersing.

Like magic, it vanished, gone with the wind.

“Ah, I’m getting so worked up,” she mused, using both her index fingers to swiftly wipe away her collecting tears. “I’m sorry,” She apologized with a small chuckle, still releasing the tiny drops from her gleaming orbs. “I’m sure you didn’t come all this way to just see me cry,” she added with amusement laced within her words.

He smiled softly, even though his heart was in no good shape, running tired, beating itself widely in his ribcage with each powerful jump.

His hand fell over his bb’s container, absentmindedly placing it there out of habit now.

“I wish I could stop,” she said with an annoyed sigh, roughly wiping them clean away, not knowing her little show of emotion was affecting him in such a manner.

“ But you just have no idea…” she trailed off.

‘ You have no idea…

No idea how much I appreciate you…

How much I miss you every time you’re gone…

How happy I am when you come back…

How much I just want you to stay…

Stay….’

(F/n) shook her head, trying to shake the thoughts away before she suddenly admitted any of them to him.

“ Anyways like I said, I set up the room for you. I even put some stuff in there you might like too,” she told him, her eyes straying down and shying away, something she did when she felt his gaze too strong.

He’d been staring at her so much she felt her body tingle from head to toe, and it was making her stomach turn over, flopping over wildly.

‘Why are you looking at me so much?’ she wondered to herself, ‘Can you hear my heart?’ She wondered, flustered. ‘Or is it that I’m I being too obvious?’

“ And…And…And if you need me… just knock on my bedroom door,” she advised, playing with her hands absentmindedly, something she wasn’t even aware she was doing, but he watched, hooked on everything she did.

“ It doesn’t matter what time of day… I’ll be there for you,” she said softly, feeling her heart pitter-patter with growing excitement.

Because what if he did need her? What if he came to her door in the midst of the night, wanting to see her, the same scenario from her frivolous fantasies finally finding their way out into reality.

Nodding, he watched her walk away, walking to the room she would stay in for the rest of the night. She was ready to go into it when she stopped, looking back at him, her chest rising, “Goodnight Sam…” she breathed.

“Goodnight Lou,” she added, her eyes falling down to his chest where the BB.’s pod was attached.

Nodding at her, Sam bid her the same, watching the same lovely smile she always gifted him rise, remaining as she slipped within her chambers, hiding for the night.

Once she was gone he looked right at his room’s door, taking a few steps to reach it.

“ Well,” he muttered. “I can’t wait to get these things off,” he added, staring down at his filthy gloves, his sweaty palms feeling steamed within the article of cloths.

“…And just sleep,” he said with a deep exhale, his tense shoulders melting after he rolled them.

Once in the room, he carefully placed the pod in its area, smiling at his little partner, seeing the child place it’s small hand onto the glass, staring at him with its enormous globes of sweet chocolate.

“You get really happy when we come around here…” he mused, shaking his head.

“I guess it’s pretty obvious I do too… Right? ” he added softly, seeing Lou return into her fetal position, eyes closed to sleep.

Stripping himself off his sticky clothing, he stepped into the shower, where not a second later warm water cascaded over his aching body.

He looked down, the sight of diluted red falling into the drain, courtesy of a few open wounds he had, nothing which bothered him by then.

He’d gotten used to getting cut up every now and then, so it wasn’t an issue to him anymore.

But of course, to her it was.

“You should stop being so reckless,” She said softly, bringing him some bandages, her eyes falling over his naked arms, the shirt he wore leaving them exposed and visible to her.

Hand marks were tattooed over him, and how she wished she could trail her hand over them, warm up his skin with a touch that wasn’t linked to death, or forced upon for that matter.

“You don’t have to worry,” he told her, beginning to clean his open cuts.

“I know…” she answered back sullenly, “I’m well aware...But I still do,” she added, defiance in her tone.

“I always do,” she added in a quieter tone, leaving him be, “So please be careful out there,” she said with plea.

“You mean a lot to me,” she told him, giving him a tight smile, not staying for his reply, instead off to search for more wrappings, knowing he’d probably need some more.

His socks were probably soaked bloody too, she could only assume as she had caught sight of his chewed-up boots, the darn things close to falling apart, put together crudely enough to work momentarily.

‘His idea of fixing them,’ She thought shaking her head.

“That man...” she grumbled with frustration.

He couldn’t do anything else but smile, hiding it as he looked down at his bloody knuckles, wrapping them up securely knowing they'd be bruised ugly later on.

Even with the exasperation on her face, she was a lovely sight.

Closing his eyes, he leaned his forehead onto the wall, his right hand trailing up to his chest, thinking about how annoying, yet endearing it was to have her chide him.

“Ah… Damn,” he groaned with aggravation, feeling his heart bounce enthusiastically, his mind still on the woman just a door away. “She really didn’t have to,” he said lowly, shutting off the water, thinking back to all the short instances she showed him she loved him.

“Why does she do this?” he asked himself with a huff, drying off and putting on the clean clothes she set aside for him, neatly folded and fresh smelling.

He could just imagine the sweet smile she wore as she set them aside, making sure everything was perfect.

- The little accomplished quirk of her mouth as she finished up.

‘It’s different when she’s around,’ He thought frustrated, falling on the bed, finding himself staring at the ceiling, tired eyes focused on it. They ached, bloodshot and needy for rest, but he just couldn't find the peace to do so.

‘When she’s so close…’ he added, wondering if she’s going through the same frustration he is, the same annoying itch buried deep within.

Did she love him just as much as he did her?

Did she feel just as willing to look for him now?

Rolling for the hundredth time, he sneered, completely setting himself off of the mattress, standing in the center of the room with hardened eyes set onto his sleeping, pacified B.B.

Staring...

Thinking...

Contemplating...

He reached for his uniform, changing into it, every step of the way hesitating, willing himself to go through with it.

His hand landed over his heart again, shaking his head furiously, “I can’t...” he muttered. “I shouldn’t...” he added.

Reaching for Lou, he carried the child out with him, grabbing the tube needed to connect them.

His face was drawn stern, his mind set on leaving.

And he would have preferred to leave in silence, cowardly drawing out, but as luck would have it the woman had stumbled awake just a few moments prior, a cup of warm tea in hand that she was ready to take back into her quarters.

“Hey…” she started softly, rubbing her eyes with her free hand, setting the warm cup down on a small table she had near her.

“You’re not leaving already?” She asked with concern as she eyed his gear, all ready for departure.

"Yeah,“ he said flatly, connecting himself to his BB with just a click.

” Sam, I doubt you’ve actually slept,“ she went on following him as he made a straight line to the exit. Silence followed, and she knew then she was right.

One thing he wasn’t, was a liar.

He couldn’t lie, and the best he could do was keep quiet, revert to the man he’d been before and draw back before he let his problems escape.

"Are you ok?” She asked, worried, of course.

- He could hear it in her voice how much it concerned her.

“Sam…Are you alright?” she said with the same unease, seeing him ignore her. “Why aren’t you saying anything?” she asked him, Immediately going to grab his arm, desperately wanting to hold him back from touching the door.

‘ If just for a few minutes…

If only he’d stay just a moment longer…’

“It’s still midnight…” she said in a small voice, getting a hold of him.

‘At least tell me what's wrong...Because you're not even looking at me...’

What was the matter with him?

At the touch he flinched, his face contorted into disdain, a flash of something more In his eyes that made her hand recoil as though his body scathed her.

Stepping back she shook her head, “ I’m so sorry.” She said with a caught breath. “I’m really, really sorry!” She said with even more worry.

She couldn’t remember the name, the name of that phobia of his.

And it wasn’t that she didn’t care.

She really just blanked on the lengthy word every time she tried to remember.

But even if she was fuzzy on the word itself, she always was cautious to keep her hands to herself, their closeness coming naturally, gradually the more he trusted her.

But his departure had her worried…Anxious.

She knew she messed up, overstepped a boundary she shouldn’t have dared cross.

She tried to speak through her knotted throat and to her misfortune she was unable to find anything intelligible to muster.

Her vision became hazy as she stared at him, tears welling up in her eyes, ones that weren’t of joy, all unlike the last time.

Sam broke the tensed silence, his voice gruff, as rough and painful as the cut of an old, rusted knife. “Look,” he started, turning away from her again. “I know what’s been going on,” he said lowly.

He’d known for a while…And he’d kept it going himself.

He’d known for a while, strung on the same high she’d feel, desperately obscuring the truth about his own desires.

- the true reason behind the connection he’d kept with her despite the long distances.

He’d kept it from her, and partially from himself, desperately trying to ignore it, because he assumed that if he did play the fool, somehow it’d just disappear.

But he was wrong.

He’d forgotten what it felt like to love…To love and be loved in return.

what it felt like to want to be touched…Touch and be Touched back with caresses that could only come from the furthest depths of someone’s heart.

He’d once forgotten what it was to crave for another’s affection, but then he met her.

He met the seldom woman, and she was as sweet as she was isolated.

She was just as lonely as he was, but not by choice.

She yearned for love, craved to be reached, desiring nothing more than to find a connection with someone, finding completion in the middle of nothingness.

But he wasn’t the guy, because if he was, he was certain that somehow, she would end up like his last love.

‘You’re better off...’ He reasoned.

At her sides her hands took hold of her nightgown, crumpling the silken material with clammy hands. “What are you talking about?” She breathed, biting her tongue at the notably shaken tone she spoke in.

But she couldn’t help it…she could feel it.

- The tension.

Tension, that made her nervous, but not in the usual fashion, because It wasn’t the sweet feeling of having him close.

It wasn’t the tension she felt when they were just a bit too close, damn near touching. It wasn’t the same as when they'd thread on falling closer to racier responses and questions, flirting like a couple of dorks.

This time it was there, her anxious heart recognizing rejection she knew was rounding its ugly head.

‘Please…’ she begged, not wanting it to end, not wanting to lose him.

His lips pressed together tightly before an extended breath left him.

‘You could at least look at her dumbass,’ He advised himself.

Sighing with a lingering sadness he turned to her, finding what he had, of course, expected.

Her pretty face was already married with worry, her (e/c) watering with a light sheet of held tears caught in them. And it hurt him.

Honest, it did.

He wanted to reach out to her, he wanted to get over his godforsaken curse and hold her.

Kiss her, press his lips to hers to show her he wanted her, do everything he could to prove that he loved her.

He was in love with her.

But he was afraid.

He was afraid of leaving her, knowing that uncertainty awaited him.

He knew she’d wait, imagining the worst, seeing him only when they were lucky enough to cross paths again.

He was afraid of losing again.

Afraid that somehow that asshole Higgs would get to her, threatening him the same way he did with Amelie.

His hands fisted, hard as though he was about to sock someone in the face with all the rage he had, shaking like he couldn’t hold back any longer.

‘I’m sorry...’ He apologized, too ashamed to voice it out, knowing he could have his voice fail him.

‘I don’t want to hurt you more...’

They stared at each other with silence, both staring at the other with each Blink of the eye capturing what would probably be their last moments together.

She knew it.

He knew it as well.

“Imma be heading out now,” He informed her, coughing roughly into his fisted hand, whipping around fully while biting his tongue, his eyes trained on what would lead him outside.

Her head dropped, her tearing eyes falling to the ground.

He didn’t say anything else, and it made her heart grow heavier.

However, her tears remained held in.

‘ Please stay,’ she begged him silently.

She felt her body grow heavy, falling to her knees as her vision blurred to unrecognizable blobs of muted colors.

But she didn’t burst out into tears, nor did she cry out and curse at the world.

And while it hurt, it was a pain that was numbing.

Instead of the outcry she would have imagined, she was rooted to the ground for what felt like hours, blanked and deadly quiet.

“Be safe,” she uttered, hearing the door close, knowing he went out into an uncertain fate. “Just be safe ok?” she added her small voice cracking, knowing he was already gone.

“Because you know how much you mean to me...How much I love you...”

(￢ω￢;A) I’d like to think that wasn’t so bad, or yah? I hate that I'm not good at finishing things. Sometimes I feel I have good direction and then poof...GONE. A/N : YOOOOOO I just reread this and actually teared up ˚‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )‧º·˚ Next Part : Goodbye

[bloodiedskirtts]

Little Love Affair | Chapter Two: It’s Better To Forget Me

Summary: After leaving Paris, Y/N bumps into a handsome man with just what she needs to get to her dream destination

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Fluff and smut

A/N: TAG LIST IS OPEN!

Feedback is always appreciated! Thanks for reading. I hope you guys like it! Gif not mine, credit to owner.

Little Love Affair Masterlist

‘No, no, no, no,’ she shouted as she ran down the jetty to the edge of the water. Her suitcase in hand, her legs carrying her as fast as they would go. She was waving her arms and jumping when she reached the edge, but it was too late - the ferry had left. All her planning, all her dreams of reaching the island had been quashed. The next ferry wasn’t for another week! 

What was she supposed to do for a week? She let out a defeated groan, before letting her slump to the ground. She put her head in her hands, of course she missed the ferry! It was just so typical.

She had spent a week roaming around Athens and then taken a train all the way to the coast, just to miss her ferry. That she had specifically planned her whole trip around. She huffed out, she shouldn’t have stopped to try those oysters. They weren’t even nice! 

And now she was stranded! 

‘Well I’ll be damned!’

She recognised that voice, shit! Her head whipped up to see the smirking face of Samuel Wilson. She tried to contain her eye roll. Sam’s parents were rolling in money, his dad was some big shot movie producer and his mother was an actress. They ran in the same circles as Y/N’s mother, so she bumped into Sam more often than she would like. Although she had managed to stay out of the playboy’s way for a few years.

Sam was a handful of years older than her, but it didn’t stop him from being a shameless flirt. He was known for his Casanova ways back in LA - he spent half of the year in the south of France or Italy on a yacht. She hadn’t expected to see him off the coast of Greece, but it looked like she couldn’t catch a break today.

‘Samuel Wilson, I can’t say it’s a pleasure,’ she hissed, looking up at him as he stood over her. 

‘Oh, you’re still denouncing the life of the one per cent?’ he said, lowering his sunglasses to take in her outfit over the frames. She was wearing cut off jean shorts and a loose fitting white shirt, that was so worn it was basically sheer. She rolled her eyes at his comment.

‘Yes, well some of us don’t want to live off mummy and daddy’s money forever,’ she replied.

Now it was his turn to scoff at her, ‘Ah, yes, because you’ve paid for your world trip out of your own pocket.’

She opened and closed her mouth at this. Shit. He was right, there was no way she could have made it to Greece if her mother wasn’t rich and famous.

‘How do you know that I’m travelling around the world?’ she asked instead.

‘Hollywood isn’t as big as you’d like to think,’ he replied with a shrug. ‘So, princess, what are you doing crying your eyes out on the pier?’

She narrowed her eyes, Sam was handsome, she wasn’t going to deny it. But he was insufferable - end of discussion. Even though she had drunkenly admitted that if she had to, like gun to her head, last man on earth, she may consider having sex with him. Maybe!!! 

‘And why would I tell you, Samuel?’ 

‘First off, princess, it’s Sam, Samuel is my father,’ he winked at her and she scoffed. ‘Secondly, it seems as though you need to get somewhere. And, you, my dear, are in luck.’

‘Sam, what are you talking about?’ she groaned out, shaking her head.

He stepped back, making a swooping gesture with his hands at a boat moored in the marina. She was laughing, holding her belly, almost rolling on the ground laughing. She had tears streaming down her face by the time she composed herself, and looked at the very grumpy looking Sam.

‘You expect me to get in a boat with you? The biggest Lothario in the whole of the northern hemisphere?’ she gasped out.

He smirked at her, ‘Don’t think you’ll be able to resist my charms, princess?’

‘Oh I can resist all of you, Sam. I just don’t want to spend any time with you in a confined space!’ she snapped back.

‘You just don’t trust yourself around me,’ he teased.

‘No I just don’t trust you!’ she retorted.

‘You wound me, princess. But if you want to wait on the dock for seven days and seven nights, all alone, then so be it!’ he said with a shrug.

She was certainly stuck between a rock and a hard place, but she stood up, placing her hat on her head, sticking her chin out and gathering her bags.

‘Okay, Samuel, let’s do this. No funny business!’ she said with pure determination covering his face.

‘I would never try anything with the ice queen herself, don’t you fret!’ he teased as he began to walk back up the pier. ‘I have dozens of gorgeous models waiting for me back in Cannes anyway.’

She rolled her eyes again as she followed him.

‘So why are in you Greece?’ she asked.

He turned to look at her, throwing her a cocky smile as he did, ‘There’s a sailing competition here every year. I’ve been coming since I was a kid and I think I could win this year.’

She nodded, trying to hide her own smile as Sam began to passionately talk about his love for sailing. She knew that he had competed in races his entire life, there had even been talk about him going to the Olympics at one point. That never panned out, and she was left wondering why. He was a strong sailor, she had seen him at several races growing up in LA. But somethings just weren’t meant to be. But as he spoke about his passion for sailing, a tiny part of her hoped that he would win the race.

And as he helped her onto his boat, she couldn’t help but think maybe Sam Wilson wasn’t as bad as she thought he was. He was definitely much more interesting when he wasn’t trying to get a girl into bed. And she didn’t mind helping him get the boat moving, she liked how serious he was about it. It was a side of Sam she had never seen before. He was always the one goofing off or making a joke of things. But seeing him take control of a situation and actually care, truly care about something...well...She shook off the thought as he finally set the boat on route. Sam Wilson was still despicable.

She was giggling as he refilled her wine glass - making it across to the island had been longer than she had thought. It was dark by the time they arrived, Sam had offered to let her sleep on the boat because they was no way she could find somewhere to sleep now. She had reluctantly agreed - but now after almost a full bottle of wine she was feeling a lot better about the situation.

‘Okay, okay, let me get this straight,’ he gasped out, tears forming in his eyes again. ‘The first time you gave a guy a blowjob, you didn’t realise you had to move your head?’

She nodded, tears rolled down her cheeks as she laughed at the memory. 

‘So, what, you just sat there with a dick in your mouth?’ he asked.

‘Basically, yes,’ she replied before laughter over took them both. Being with Sam was a lot easier than she had thought it was going to be. Reminiscing about school days was something she hadn’t expected, he had been a senior when she was a freshman so they never really spoke in school. But they knew each other regardless. Their private school wasn’t that big.

‘Okay so who was it?’ he asked a few moments later.

‘Oh, no! Nope I am not telling you that,’ she replied with a smirk.

‘I’m not going to give up til you tell me. And I obviously know him,’ he said, leaning back in his chair. ‘Okay. Thor?’

She shook her head.

‘He’s not really your speed is he? Loki? Loki is definitely more your type.’

‘No!’

‘Okay...Pietro Maximoff?’

She shook her head, continuously as he listed boy after boy from their school.

‘I’m running out of people. Rhodey? Bruce? Tony? Bro- TONY!’

‘I didn’t say that!’ she gasped, eyes wide.

He laughed, ‘Oh my God. You tell me that I’m a playboy and yet, Tony fucking Stark is all good?’

‘I was young and naive!’ she responded.

‘Okay, Tony had to be at least a sophomore in college when that party happened!’ 

She nodded slowly, sipping her wine.

‘Oh my God, you little player,’ he teased.

She kicked him under the table, ‘Anyway, my blowjob skills have improved immensely since I was sixteen!’

This caused Sam to smirk, ‘Care to put that to the test.’

She didn’t know how it happened but her lips were suddenly on his, her legs wrapped around his waist as he carried her to the bedroom. Clothes were being torn off, until she was in nothing but her bikini top and panties, while Sam hovered above her in his tight fitting boxers. She bit her lip as she noticed the growing bulge covered in the designer underwear. She had heard stories about Sam’s infamous...well...She had thought, no she had vowed, to never see it in the flesh. But as she crawled up the bed to him, her mouth was actually watering.

She pulled down his boxers and without hesitation took him in her mouth. She knew there was no hope in hell that she would fit him all in, so as she began to bob her head painfully slowly, she wrapped her hand around the base of his cock. Her tongue was swirling as she moved over his cock, dragging along the underside of his thick length. She was soaking wet, her hips grinding of their own accord, trying to get some friction as she traced patterns over the veins of his cock. She pulled almost completely off, her hand following her mouth to keep pulling him off as her tongue kitten licked his tip which was leaking pre-cum. He was groaning loudly, causing the wetness between her legs to grow. She reached down into her panties to tease her clit as she continued her blowjob. She moaned softly at the release of tension as she grinded against her hand.

‘Fuck,’ he hissed pushing her away, back onto the bed. His brown eyes were filled with lust and her panties and bikini top were flung across the room before she could think about it. He rubbed his cock over her soaking folds, she was aching for him, aching to feel him inside her. She didn’t care that she was just another name on Sam’s lists of conquests. She honestly in that moment couldn’t have cared less.

A loud, ‘yes’ slipped from her mouth as he pushed inside her, and she didn’t miss the smirk that covered his face. As he began to fuck her mercilessly into the mattress she knew what all the fuss was about. Sam really had a magic fucking cock! She was seeing sparks like she never had before, he was kissing her neck, kneading her tits, hitting every single button she needed to reach her orgasm. He knew exactly what she needed and how to give it to her. And as he pounded into her, her hips rose to meet him, her release coming closer and closer until she screamed out his name as she was overcome with pleasure. Her legs tighten around his waist and her pussy clenching his cock and the way her voice broke with pleasure was enough to send Sam over the edge just moments after her. He collapsed on top of her as his cock twitched and they both came down from their highs.

They lay there for a few moments before, Sam rolled off her onto his back. They slowly caught their breath, before sleep quickly overtook both of them. She was tired from travelling and had probably more wine than was sensible, so sleep came quickly to her. And Sam was snoring loudly just a few minutes later. 

The next morning they said their goodbyes, a smirk on Sam’s face as she waved him off. He had told her that he would be back on the island by the end of the mouth after the race. She laughed at him, telling him that once was enough. But she did admit that she would miss him. That night with Sam may not have been anything more than a fling, but she saw him in a completely different light now. He was sailing away and she turned on her heels, suitcase in hand, head full of dreams and as she took in the island she knew this is where she was meant to be.

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[ellen-reincarnated1967]

Just For Once...

Summary: Breaking the Zone Challenge. Prompt: “You know everything about this is illegal, right?”

Perfect for the boys with a Sassy Reader 

“You know everything about this is illegal, right,” Sam looked to his older brother as they both whipped out their forged FBI badges, smacked them up against the glass door of the latest witness and Dean snickered,

“Everything we do is legal as long as we don’t get caught.”

Sam whipped his head to his brother’s left and rolled his eyes, “I just feel something is off about her and this case, she’s hiding something Dean,” Sam waiting impatiently for you to open the door.  You sure as hell took your damn time.

You finally opened the partition and sized both men up, before speaking, “What can I do for the infamous Winchesters?”

Dean stuttered, Sam huffed an “I knew it”, and groaned, “I think we’ve been caught,” and you threw your head back and laughed.  

“Bobby told me you were goin’ to be sniffin’ around town,” you spoke through the glass, “think I was goin’ to let you both get the win on this case?”

“Listen, YN, if that’s even your real name,” Dean started but you held up a hand to silence him, “this coming from Agents Stark and Banner, really?”

“YN is my real name and I don’t have to go pretendin’ I’m someone I’m not to get a case solved, so do us both a favor and leave town, before it gets ugly.”

You went to go slam the partition closed, when Sam placed a placating hand on the glass, his eyes pleading, “We’ll leave if you answer some questions first.”

“First being, just who the hell are you, we haven’t heard your name on the hunter’s circuit.”  Dean wasn’t pulling any punches with you and you kinda found that hot, but the hunters you traveled with warned you about his silk laced tongue.

You licked your bottom lip in hesitation and tried to stall the inevitable, but you sighed, opened the glass door, and ushered them in.

“I’m YN Singer,” you held out a hand, “Dad doesn’t like me getting my nose into the life, but it’s in the blood, you know?”

“Just for once, I wish Bobby would tell us everything, it’s like pullin’ teeth with the old bastard.”

“Hey! That old bastard’s still my father, watch that tongue of yours Dean Winchester.”

Tagging the crew: @atc74 @d-s-winchester @iwantthedean  @chelsea072498 @tankcupcakes @like-a-bag-of-potatoes  @paintrider13-blog @death2thevirgin @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms @ellen-reincarnated1967 @just-another-busy-fangirl @waywardjoy @winchesterprincessbride

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[ellen-reincarnated1967]

I Could’ve Sworn (An Imagine turned One Shot)

A/N: anything in CAPS is the reader thinking to herself. that is all.  take this as the french mistake i’ve always wanted to write but don’t really have the time to fully delve into.

Characters: Reader, Dean, Sam, Cas

Pairings: None as of now

if you like this, let me know to continue. if not, it’s being scrapped.  and by ‘letting me know’ leave me feedback please. 

I fell asleep watching Dean standing over his brother Sam’s anguished face, as he turned the tables and swung the scythe straight into Death’s chest.  That was the last thing on my mind as I dreamt a dreamless sleep.

The static on my TV faded as I jolted awake, reaching for the remote, that was no longer on my four post bed. In fact, the four post bed was a simple double, in a dreary ecru painted room, with one dresser, end table, and lamp.

What the fuck, I mumbled to myself, as I made my way to the wooden numbered door. Why was this all to familiar, yet alien at the same time?

“YN, coffee’s warm, pancakes are fluffy, and there’s pie, just ‘cause.”

That voice. A bit gruff, but silky, a bit of a tease in his cadence, and why would there be pie for breakfast?

I opened the door walking towards the aroma of coffee and entered a dank hallway.

I was in the bunker. THE BUNKER.

This couldn’t be happening. THIS WAS HAPPENING.

I was dreaming, I began to pinch myself until I bruised my forearm. FUCK.

I turned the corner and ran smack into a broad chest, craned my neck, until I was staring into the hazel eyes of Sam freaking Winchester.

“You’re Sam,” I wanted to smack myself, how stupid did I sound?

“And you’re late, Dean’s on his second helping of pancakes, YN.”

“So…are you just goin’ to stare or join us, YNN?” Dean asked with cockiness.

You sat down at the kitchen table, running your hands over the coffee mug that Dean offered you, and cautiously brought the tepid liquid to your  lips.

How was this even happening?

“How’s what happening, Sweetheart?” SHIT.  You said that aloud?  

“Umm, you know me, right?” you asked timidly and Dean and his brother both looked at you as if you  had three heads.

“YNN, what’s going on?” Sam sat down next to you, his knees bumping the undercarriage of the table.  

“You’re not goin’ to believe me.” FUCK. I DON’T EVEN BELIEVE THIS.

“Whatever it is, we’ll help you, you know that,” Dean reassured you.

“This, place, you, him,” you shot a finger into Sam’s chest. YUP. REAL.

“You’re characters on a television show, I just watched you kill Death, Dean, and now, I’m here in the bunker, and you’re both acting like it’s just any other day.” DAMN DID YOU JUST BLAST THEM? YUP.

The brothers shared one of those silent know it all stares where their eyes held an all knowing conversation.

Dean yelled, “Cas, get your stupid trenchcoat wearing ass down here!” OMG. THE ANGEL?

“Hello, Dean,” you both said simultaneously.  The brothers looked at you with curiosity.

“Sorry, it’s just, I’ve always wanted to say that, like he does, in that deep, sultry, voice.”

“Okay, enough,” Dean stood up, his knee jerked the table, the dishes clattered, “what in the hell is goin’ on with you, YN?”

SHIT.

“YN?” Castiel looked at you and then back at the brothers, “this is not your YN.”

HUZZAH.  WINNER WINNER CHICKEN DINNER. THANK CHUCK FOR THE ANGEL.

“See, I told you,” you said matter of factly, even though you were screaming on the inside.

“What do you mean, not our YN?” Sam inquired.

Castiel put two fingers to your forehead and instructed both brothers to place a hand on his shoulders, “Take a trip inside her mind, see for yourself.”

“Hold the phone,” you jerked back, “I may have always wanted a Winchester inside of me, but both, mind frakkin’ me, I’m out.”

SHIT. DID YOU JUST SAY THAT?

Sam just stood there, mouth agape, in shock, at your confession while Dean kinda straightened his shoulders, smirked, and puffed out his chest,

“Which one of us, not YNN?”

“Uh, Dean, I don’t think that’s relevant right now,” Sam interjected, “she’s not our YN.”

“On the contrary,” Castiel spoke up, “in her realm you two exist, but as actors,” he used air quotes for the word actors.  “She is defintiely YN, just not of this universe.”

“How is that even possible?” you asked, and silently your eyes grew wild.

DOPPLEGANGER. 

“Doppleganger,” Castiel looked at you sideways, as if he could still read your mind.

WHY IS THE BABY IN THE TRENCHCOAT STARING?

“I am not an infant nor am I staring,” he cleared his throat, “I was just curious.”

“Yeah, well, buddy, curiosity killed the cat, ya know.”

WAIT. DID HE HEAR ME?

“Yes, YN, of the other world, I heard you.”

“But, but,” you whimpered and stomped your foot, “how are you doing that?”

“I do not know yet, but what I do know, is that a doppelganger is a conduit to evil.”

“Whatever or whomever sent you here, may be soon on their way.”

“Son of a bitch!” Dean growled, while you and Sam stood stunned.

“Dean,” Sam drew out his name, “you think you know what’s behind this?”

“I’ll give you two guesses, Sammy,” Dean curled his lip in disgust, cueing both you and Sam to shout,

“Crowley!”

“But where I’m from, he’s Mark Sheppard, father of Isabella, sweetest man on Earth.”

“Yeah, well here, he’s far from sweet, Princess, he’s the…,” you interjected,

“King o’ bloody Hell, yeah, watch the show remember?”

DAMN. I’M COCKY IN THIS UNIVERSE.

“Okay, our YN or not, you’re cocky as hell, Sweetheart and it’s turning me on.”

Castiel could sense your flush and semi arousal and interjected on your behalf, thinking he was doing you a favor,

“Dean, while she is flattered and aroused, here is neither the time nor the place.”

“CAS!”  you didn’t need to internalize this time.  The Angel was going to be the death of you, one way or another.

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[magpiescratchings]

Sanctuary

Rating: M Relationship: Henry Bowers/Reader Tags: Canonical Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Teenagers in a Relationship Summary: Henry sneaks through your window and joins you in bed, waking you up. Words: 1093

You don’t hear the window sliding open, don’t hear him climb in or close it or kick his shoes off, but you do feel him sliding into your bed behind you.  He smells like cigarettes and alcohol, night air and sweat and blood, and his hands are ice cold as he slides one over your side to your stomach and the other under your neck, past your shoulder.  You shiver and push yourself back into his chest, and he hisses briefly before he nuzzles his face into the back of your neck. The tip of his nose is cold, but his lips and breath are hot, soft on your skin as his mouth opens to sigh.

“Did he hit you again?” you ask softly, a gentle whisper that still feels somehow too loud for this quiet moment where you’re afraid to roll over and look at Henry’s face, afraid to see if there’s bruises, a black eye, a split lip.  It’s not the blood that makes you feel sick, it’s the hopeless emptiness in Henry’s face when he can’t look at you, the question of why doesn’t my father love me? hanging heavy in the air around him.  

Butch Bowers calls him a coward, but watching Henry walk back into the hell he calls home is probably the bravest thing you’ve ever seen anyone do.

“Nah, just wanted to see my girl,” Henry says with warm nonchalance, but his tone is hollow, forced, and you take a breath before you roll over.  You’re careful as you do it, notice that he hasn’t pulled you any closer despite the arm draped over your waist, catch the the way he winces as you turn.  You settle, holding your breath as you look into his shadowed face.

He’s smiling, but it’s rigid, frozen, something vicious looking he put there to make it look like his split lip doesn’t hurt.  His teeth are outlined in black blood that he hasn’t licked away yet, and there’s a bruise starting to darken his cheek and jaw, too big to be ignored.  Your breath is soft and shallow as you reach up to touch the part of his bottom lip that isn’t bleeding, your fingertip so light that it feels like you’re barely touching him.  His deadly grin fades away into something soft and searching, something lost as he looks past your face to the wall.

“Stay with me tonight?” you say lightly, but your hand has drifted to his jaw, to his neck, to his shoulder, his arm and then he flinches.  You wonder if his father grabbed him or hit him or shoved him into a wall, brush your hand over his side to check for more injuries there. He flinches again, then firmly takes your wrist and pulls it back up to his neck.  You comb your fingers through the hair at the back of his neck, and he hums with satisfaction.

“What, you think I climbed up here just to kiss you goodnight?” he responds with mock offense that he softens by leaning in to nudge his nose against yours, his lips so close that you could kiss him if you only tilted your head a little.

“You haven’t kissed me goodnight yet ,” you say before you kiss him, your lips meeting his in a tender, lingering kiss that’s worlds away from the kisses you usually share with him.  At school, he’s constantly pushing you up against the wall, the lockers, into closets or bathrooms, any place where he can pin you, rub against you, kiss you in that way that’s needy and possessive and staking ownership all at once.  

This kiss, like all kisses that happen in your bedroom, isn’t weighted with the pressure to claim you or to prove that he’s a man, that he has energy, that he’s desirable.  In your bedroom, they’re about comfort, about telling him that he’ll be okay, that you don’t think less of him for being hurt. They’re about telling you that he trusts you, that he loves you the way he never thought he’d love anyone except his mom.

You both sigh when you pull away, and then you stare at the line of his jaw where the bruise is darkening, idly rubbing your fingertips against the center of his chest through the shirt he’s wearing.  Under the fabric, he’s whiplash lean, all sleek muscle drawn tight over his bones, skin still colored from spending all last summer under the sun. You hadn’t been friends then or whatever it is that you are now which feels like something more than friends and more than boyfriend and girlfriend.  Here and now, you have the not-so-distant memory of him stretched out on your bed under you, shirt off, languid with late spring heat.

You sigh, loudly and theatrically when Henry takes your hand from his chest and guides it lower, smirking, and then wincing when it splits his lip again.  You leave your hand cupped around his half-hard cock, smiling wryly when you say, “Just because I’m awake doesn’t mean you have to come onto me.”

“You don’t want to get me off?” Henry asks, his voice lazy, but he doesn’t mean it because he hasn’t rolled onto his back the way he does when he’s serious.  You lean in to kiss him, your hand finding his so you can lace your fingers through his. He tilts towards you, the arm under your neck wrapping up and over your head so he can cradle your head in the crook of his elbow.  You can feel the rest of his body starting to relax, the tension that’s always present melting away now that there’s no one to see, no one to judge, no one to hurt him.

You wriggle closer, and he untangles his fingers from yours and drapes his arm over your waist, hand sliding under your shirt to rest against your bare skin.  It’s still cold, and you shiver and press closer to his chest, wanting more of his heat. He throws one jean covered leg over yours, anchoring you to the bed, making it impossible for you to move away from him without waking him up.  You kiss him again, a soft brush of your lips against his, too soft to disturb the split in his lip because he’s experienced enough pain for today.

“Night, Henry,” you whisper, and you feel more than see the sleepy smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“Nigh’, babe,” he murmurs back, thumb stroking the skin of your lower back.

[magpiescratchings]

Transition

Rating: E Relationship: Clyde Logan/Reader Tags: Boss/Employee Relationship, Touch-Starved, Mutual crushing, Harassment by phone from your ex-fiancé, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Slight Possessiveness Summary: There is no Death! What seems so is transition; -Resignation by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Words: 5215

You pause in wiping down the back counter to turn your plugged in phone over, grimacing when you see the string of texts and missed calls.  You turn it back over and turn away from it, distracting yourself by picking up a tray of dirty glasses and taking them into the back to load them into the dishwasher.

It’s hard to keep busy at Duck Tape on a Tuesday night.  There are the day drinkers and then there’s the after work rush, but even that’s not the kind of rush you thought it would be when you first asked Clyde for this job.  Business picks up on weekends, from Thursday to Sunday, and Mondays and Wednesdays are moderately busy, but Tuesdays rarely are unless it’s a holiday.

You finish loading the glasses into the dishwasher and sigh as you wrap your hands around your waist, pressing your thumbs into your lower back.  The mats Clyde bought a month ago to cover the floor behind the bar help, but you still find you’re tired at the end of your shifts and your feet and legs and back still ache.  It’s worse today since you’ve worked six days in a row, but you’re not too keen on taking days off.  You’ve been getting restless and homesick recently, missing your friends and family back-

You shake your head and move back out to the bar, looking at the clock as you continue massaging the sore muscles in your back.  1:45 AM, only 15 minutes until Clyde usually closes.  You could probably start mopping up, the only customer left is at the end of their beer and Clyde is hovering awkwardly near the man.  

You smile and step out from behind the bar to go to the closet, turning your back on Clyde and the customer.  Clyde is endearingly awkward, tall and lanky and all limbs, like a fawn.  He has the same kind of sweet innocence, which might be the effect of his wavy black hair, big brown puppy eyes, and pouty, petal pink lips.  He’s a bit of a superstitious man, reminds you of pilots from movies set in World War I and World War II.  They believed in luck and talismans; Clyde believes that his family is cursed, a curse that struck long before you met him.

You’ve heard the story before, heard him tell it to customers, though he’s never told it to you directly.  He had finished his tour of duty in Iraq, had been on his way to the airstrip to fly back to the States when there’d been an incident with an improvised explosive device and he’d lost his left hand.  He has a prosthetic that he wears, a sleek and aggressive looking appendage in dark plastic that somehow doesn’t seem out of place when he wears it.

You think about that a bit as you roll the mop bucket out, wonder why you don’t find his prosthetic out of place on him.  Is it because you know he was a soldier?  He never feels dangerous to you, although you can’t deny that he runs an orderly bar and has no problem breaking up fights.  That makes you wonder if he realizes that he’s taking advantage of the fact that the people who come through the bar think of him as a cripple, if he knows that that’s the reason why most of them don’t want to take a swing at him when he wades into the fray.

You’re not the only one who finds him endearing, and you’ve gotten the sense that the locals think of him as a kind of mascot.  You feel a little insulted on his behalf that they would reduce and trivialize him in that way, but you’ve kept your mouth shut, not knowing if he knows or if he even wants to know.  This is his place, and you’re still an outsider, even after having lived in the area for nearly a year.  Speaking up could mean losing your job if Clyde doesn’t appreciate your attempts to enlighten him.

You frown as you fill a bucket with hot water to fill the mop bucket with, chastising yourself for the tone of your own thoughts.  “Enlighten”, like you think you’re superior to him, like you know better.  You’re a little more educated on privilege and discrimination, what it is and how it works, but that doesn’t make you better than he is.  If he prefers to remain ignorant, that’s his choice, and your interference won’t sway him one way or another.  It’s not as if West Virginia exists in a vacuum, even if it feels like it does to you.

You add a little soap to the water and stir it in with your hand as you reflect on how different your life is now compared to before.  You can’t deny that it’s taken you some time to adjust, no more than you can deny that you’re still adjusting in many ways.  Moving from an urban area on the west coast of the country to a rural area on the east coast was probably not one of your better ideas.  Some things are better, some things are worse, but they’re all different .  

The pace of life, for instance, is agonizingly slow in comparison to where you came from.  Back home, it felt like you never stopped having places to go or people to see.  After your nine-to-five workday, it was drinks, dinner, coffee with your coworkers, friends, parents, your fiancé’s parents-

You slam the door on that thought, dumping the water into the mop bucket and shoving the mop into the water with more force than really necessary, splashing water onto the floor.  You drop the other bucket out of the way, and it clatters as you swish the mop in the water with both hands, grimly plotting your path across the floor to keep the thoughts away.  You drop the mop into the wringer, squeeze it, then start sweeping it across the floor, slowly blazing a soapy path across the room.

Things are still slower here, you think, cautiously testing this avenue of thought to see where it leads.  Part of it is that you have no social life here and part of it is that you have so few obligations.  You wake up, you go to work, you go home and sleep.  You talk to your friends and family regularly, but otherwise, your time is your own and you spend the majority of it alone.  The closest thing you have to a friend here is Clyde, and he’s your boss.  He might be the nicest boss you’ve ever had, but he’s still your boss and he could still fire you.

You knew that it was a risk, choosing to stay here in this community.  It’s a small community, no matter how many people visit the bar, and small communities are more difficult to become a part of than larger communities.  There’s a certain amount of tribalism underlying every interaction you have with another person here, worse than the cliquishness you remember from home.  At least with the smaller groupings, you knew that you had a group of your own.  Here, you feel almost ostracized-

“You should take tomorrow off,” Clyde’s voice breaks through your thoughts, and you startle, jerking upright to look at him.  He blinks at you from behind the bar as he drops something you can’t see into the trash beneath the counter without looking.  

“I can’t,” you say, “I need the money so I can pay rent.”

“How much is Mrs. Jones chargin’ ya to stay in her cottage?” Clyde asks, starting to frown, “You work more ‘n forty hours every week.  Am I not payin’ ya enough?”

Someone else might say no and ask for a raise, but you’re not someone else and Clyde pays you an extremely generous $18 an hour that more than provides for your basic necessities.  You can’t stop yourself from smiling a little, though truth be told, you’re still feeling anxious and depressed and angry and-  

“I need to stay busy,” you say lightly, wondering if you should explain, but not really wanting to, “The pay is fine.  Better than fine, actually.  Besides, tomorrow is Wednesday and Wednesdays are busy.”

“I can handle Wednesdays just fine,” Clyde counters, tilting his head as he looks at you, enhancing the puppy impression, but you just blush and duck your head in shame.  Of course he can handle Wednesdays just fine, he handled them just fine before you ever came here.  You resolutely sweep the mop across the floor and try to come up with another reason why you’re still planning to come in even though you’ll have worked seven days in a row.

“Well, maybe I want to come in,” you say because it’s true, “Are you going to make me take the day off anyway?”  You pause in your mopping to look at him, unsure of what you’re feeling and what he might see in your face, hoping he won’t ask.  He looks thoughtful for a moment, his eyes narrowing a little as he takes you in.

“Why don’ you put that mop down an’ tell me what’s upsettin’ ya,” Clyde suggests, and you can feel your mouth twist because you don’t want to talk about it.  More accurately, you’re afraid to talk about it, because talking about why you’re upset will mean you have to tell him everything when you don’t want to tell him anything.

“Come on over here,” he says, patting the counter, and you hesitate, debating the wisdom of doing as he’s telling you to do.  For reasons you can’t quite explain, but that you’re sure have something to do with how much you genuinely like Clyde, you stand the mop in the mop bucket and make your way back behind the counter of the bar.  You stand there for a moment, not sure what to say, but then Clyde is bending down and wrapping his right arm around your waist as you gasp and lifting you off your feet as he straightens up.

He twists and sits you on the counter while you’re still trying to process what his touch did to you, the way the warmth of his skin lanced through your body with enough potency to make you want to break down and cry.  You want to grab his shirt and pull him close and inhale the spicy scent of the deodorant he uses, bury your face in his neck and wrap your legs around his waist.  You can see in your head how you want that scenario to play out so clearly.  He’d wrap his arms around you and rub your back and tell you to let it all out, comfort you and maybe even kiss you.

You know what’d be more likely to happen: he would pull away, uncomfortable, awkward, unsure, and you’d have done nothing besides embarrass yourself.  You wrap your hands around the edge of the counter and adjust yourself, looking anywhere but at Clyde.  He waits for you to speak, and out of the corner of your eye, you can detect no anxiety or impatience.  He’s content to wait for you to explain yourself.

“My ex has been calling me,” you admit finally after a moment, “And it’s… really stressing me out.”  

“What’d he do?” Clyde asks after a beat, and when you look at him without comprehension, he clarifies, “What’d he do to make ya leave him?”

You feel the flush in your cheeks first, and then it spreads to your forehead, your ears, your neck, a rush of heat that lingers as you look away again so that you can say it out loud.  “I didn’t leave him, he-  He left me.”

There’s a long silence that makes you increasingly nervous, and you shift your weight on the counter, about to climb down so you can finish mopping the floor when Clyde says, “Well, that’s stupid.”

The statement leaves you blank, confused by the blunt appraisal of the decision without him asking why, and suddenly you have to wrestle down the compulsion to explain what happened and why you think he left and why it’s not your fault but also why it is.  

“Is that why you’ve had your phone turned over all night?” Clyde asks, interrupting the drunken reeling of the emotions in your stomach and the whirlwind of thoughts in your head.

“Yeah,” you mumble, “It’s-  He started this last night, texting me about how he made a mistake and I-  He was clearly drunk so I didn’t answer and I don’t want to talk to him anyway, but then he kept on going today.  And he started calling and leaving voicemails about how he’s changed and he was happier with me and-”

Abruptly, you press your lips together, aware that you’re rambling on.  Even though Clyde is listening, watching you with a kind of wide open attention that you’ve never seen him give anyone else, you feel too self-conscious to let yourself go on.  You can feel your face getting hot again and you rub your hands over your cheeks, hoping that maybe that will disguise any blush at least a bit.

“You want me and Jimmy to beat him up?” Clyde says, and you can’t help but laugh at the thought.  You have no doubt that Clyde and Jimmy could do it and would; it’s unfortunate that your ex is across the country and therefore unavailable for the beating Clyde clearly feels he deserves.

Even more unfortunately, you find your laughter turning to tears and then you’re trying very hard to stop crying.  The tears are hot and won’t stop rolling down your face, no matter how many times you wipe them away on your fingers or the back of your hand, and Clyde is looking alarmed and reaches for a stack of napkins and clumsily pushes them into your hands.  You have to sort out the napkins as you sniffle, and then you’re dabbing at the tear trails on your face.  It’s a bit of a lost cause since you can't seem to really stop, and then Clyde picks up one of the napkins and starts dabbing at your face.

“Don’t cry,” he says plaintively, like it hurts him to see you cry, “Me and Jimmy’ll tell him to leave you alone.”

“No, no, you don’t have to do that,” you say, gently taking the napkin from his hand, “Really.  He’s thousands of miles away in San Francisco.  I’ll block his number like I should have after he left me at the altar-”

“He what ?” Clyde demands, suddenly sounding almost furious, and you flinch away from him.  Clyde sees it and his body language shifts to something more indignant than angry as he picks up another napkin and starts to dab at your cheek again.

“He ran off on ya at the altar ?” he asks, and you just nod.

“Yeah,” you croak, and then clear your throat, “We were-  We were together for four years.  He had proposed and we had it all planned and everything and-  He didn’t show up.”  

It’s still painful to talk about, scrapes at something that’s still too raw to be touched.  It makes you want to curl up to protect it so it can heal, but there’s something relieving about finally telling Clyde, about him wanting to know and wanting to protect you.  You feel like maybe you can trust him now, since you’ve told him and he’s still here fussing over you like you need taking care of.

“You’ve been here almost a year now,” Clyde says, shuffling sideways so that he’s standing directly in front of you and can reach your other cheek with the napkin, “So how long ago was it?”

“About a year and a half,” you tell him, “I stayed for a couple of months after but-  I needed to go somewhere new, so I gathered up all the savings I had left and-  Well, I ended up here.”  It feels like such a lame end to your story, but it’s the real ending.  You walked into Duck Tape, asked Clyde if he didn’t need help, and when he’d said no, you’d just admitted that you needed a job.  He had taken a long look at you, and then he’d started rattling off what he expected you to do and told you that he’d pay you $18 an hour.  Impulse had made you accept, practicality made you start looking for housing the next day.

Ten months later, you’re sitting on the counter crying while Clyde dries your tears and asks if your ex fiancé needs a beating because he’s been texting and calling you nonstop for more than 24 hours.  It feels almost surreal to have someone here in this new life you’re still trying to construct for yourself that cares enough to do that.  You know you’ve been lonely, but being close to Clyde like this-

The impulses are coming hard and fast now, the desire to pull him close and kiss him out of gratitude, out of a desperate need to be close to someone, to touch and be touched.  It rises to a fever pitch and you’re trying to wait it out, but Clyde can see the panic on your face and he pauses, opening his mouth to say something.  You stop him by snatching the napkin from his fingers and pressing it to your face with both hands.  

The damp paper square is at an angle so that one of the corners juts up and covers your eye, blocking your vision, but at least now your hands are occupied and your mouth is covered.  Clyde stares for a moment, unsure of how to take this, and you can feel your face coloring with shame again.  He’s not shying away, but it’s hard for you to keep facing him like this and feel like he’s seeing you at your worst.  

“I can take tomorrow off,” you tell him, the words muffled by the napkin, “I’m-  I think you’re right, I should-  I need a break.”

Clyde doesn’t respond right away, still studying you like he’s trying to understand what he’s feeling or decide what he thinks about you, about everything.  His lack of response is almost unbearable and you can feel your throat getting tight again and you want to jump down and go back to mopping, anything that’s not just sitting here and waiting for him to respond.  

Slowly, his hand comes up and takes hold of a corner of the napkin under your hands, tugging, wiggling it back and forth.  He keeps on trying to work it out from under your fingers, and finally you let go and he drops it onto the counter beside your hip before he pulls your hands out of the way.  He nudges one down beneath your chin and then wraps his fingers around your other wrist and pulls it aside.  He gets nose to nose with you, close enough for you to feel his breath against your skin, and you go nearly cross-eyed trying to hold eye contact, looking for some kind of cue or reaction.

Somehow, it’s a surprise when he closes his eyes and kisses you.  For a moment your panic crests, but then it melts away and his lips are soft and warm on yours, gentle, kind.  You gasp and you’re not sure exactly what happens; did you pull him forward or did he just step forward?  Either way, your hands are wound into the worn fabric of his navy shirt and your calves are wrapped around his hips and he’s warm .  You didn’t know how cold you were until he touched you, and now you’re shivering and can’t get enough.

His beard rubs against your chin, the hair soft, and then his hand is reaching around your waist to the small of your back.  It’s massive, spanning the majority of the space there, his palm pressed to your spine and feeling just as hot and solid as the rest of him.  You let go of his shirt, reach up and wrap your arms around his neck, trying to pull him closer, twining your fingers into the silky softness of his dark hair.  His lips part against yours, his breath hot on your mouth as you inhale, a sharp little gasp that he seems to swallow as his tongue makes a quick, tentative foray to find yours.  When your tongue slides against his, his hand presses into your back, sliding you over the counter so that you’re pressed up against him.

His hand runs up your back after that, rucking up the hem of your shirt around your waist, passing hot over your ribs before wrapping around the back of your neck.  He adjusts your head with light pressure on his finger or his thumb, changing the angle as he catches his breath and then licks into your mouth again, sighing with satisfaction like he’s been waiting months to do this.  Your fingers tighten in his hair, and your awareness of everywhere he’s pressed against you is excruciatingly clear and overwhelming.  You hesitate, but then you can’t help wrapping your legs more fully around him, your calves resting over his ass and then pressing into the muscle as you pull him harder into you.  Heat flashes through your senses like lightning, and then you can feel yourself arching, rubbing up against his body and melting all at once.

He breaks the kiss, but can’t bring himself to pull away completely, his lips still touching yours as you gasp for breath.  His lashes flutter as his eyes open, deep and dark with desire-dilated pupils, and then he growls .  It’s such an unexpected sound from your plain-spoken, otherwise gentle boss, and your reaction to it is purely physical.  You whimper, a high-pitched, needy sound, and shudder, clutching at his collar and wondering when your hands slipped out of his hair.  The hand at the back of your neck drops to your shoulder blades in response, rubbing in a soft circle, and then you’re blinking up at him as he peers into your face from beneath his hair.

“You alrigh’?” he asks, sounding breathless and concerned, and a sudden wave of warmth in your chest makes you feel as if you’re glowing.  You can feel a smile you can’t help forming as you nod.

“I’m okay,” you whisper, and then while you’re still riding that wave of warmth, you say, “Clyde, please…”  Your whisper trails off as self-consciousness rears its head, and a crooked little smile full of fondness pulls at his mouth.

“Yeah?” he asks softly, “Please?  Please what, darlin’?”

“You,” you tell him, letting go of his collar, your hands dropping to his chest and gesturing lower, “I want you.  Please?”

The way he sighs catches your attention, the way it’s full of relief and satisfaction, the way he closes his eyes and nudges your forehead with his nose.  Uncertain, you lift your face and brush a soft kiss against his lips.  He leans in, pressing his mouth against yours, humming deep in his throat.  When he pulls away, he looks down at you smiles, saying, “Hearin’ ya say it for real… better ‘n I imagined.”

You feel yourself flush at the thought that he’s imagined you like that, like this, wanting him, all thoughts of propriety and Clyde being your boss flying away like birds in the night.  The only thing you can feel is a thrill that Clyde has been thinking about you, watching you in the same way you’ve been watching him.  You wonder how long it’s been, what stopped him from saying anything before.  Was it for the same reasons as you?  Or for different reasons?  Was it insecurity about his hand?  You want to ask so badly, but then he’s stepping back and his hand is at the button of your jeans, popping it open with his thumb and finger before he pulls the zipper of your fly down.  

Your hands drop to the counter to brace yourself so you can lift your hips, and Clyde works your pants down over your hips with one hand, first one side then the other.  You wonder why he’s not using his other hand to pull your jeans down, but then you frown, realizing that your boots are still on and there’s no way your pants will come off over them.  The counter is icy against your ass through the thin cotton of your panties, but before you can say anything, his fingers are under them and against your skin.  It’s impossible not to moan as they slide against you, the tips of the digits dipping into your body as he nudges your legs to one side with his prosthetic hand and steps closer.

“Jesus, you’re so wet,” he whispers in reverent awe, and you’re gasping for breath as he pushes two fingers deeper into you.  You whimper, feeling yourself gripping his fingers as he twists them inside you, curls them against your walls, rubbing, rocking his hand so that they drag along your insides.  Your arms are shaking as you try to let yourself down onto at least one elbow easy, but you still fall the last couple inches as Clyde pushes his fingers back into you.  Your elbow hits the counter with an audible smack, but then your back is arching and you’re trying to push your hips down onto Clyde’s hand.  With your thighs bound by your jeans the way they are, you can’t get any leverage unless you put your feet against him, so you just press your knees together and curl up as you moan again.

Another finger pushes into you, stretching you further, broadening the area he can work you with and you’re shaking and shivering, trying to hold on and not just fall apart on the counter.  He spreads his fingers apart inside you, forcing the walls of your pussy apart and your breathing hitches as you involuntarily squeeze them.  Over the haze of white noise made by your panting, whimpering, and soft moans, you can hear him breathing hard.  You focus on Clyde’s face for a moment, and you’re stunned by the look of concentration there, the purity of intent in his expression.  You’re breathless for a moment, and then something, probably his thumb, settles on your clit and begins to circle over it.  You twitch and jerk reflexively, letting out a little cry, and then you’re pulsing around his fingers, so close-

You whine when he pulls his fingers out of your body, grabs your panty covered hip and drags you to the very edge of the counter.  You’re balanced precariously on it, but Clyde is fumbling at his waist, his belt jingling after he’s unbuckled it.  He tears the fly of his pants open, yanking the button free of the buttonhole and hurriedly unzipping.  He pulls his cock out, and then you’re catching your breath at the sight of it.  It’s huge, to say the least, both long and thick, and for a moment you’re scared, but then Clyde has pulled aside your panties again and is pushing into you and you can’t stop the sound escaping your open mouth.  Part of you suddenly understands the need for three fingers, the rest of you is consumed by the heat and stretch of having him in you as you writhe.

Clyde braces his prosthetic hand on the counter under your legs and wraps his other hand around your hip, and then he snaps his hips in a hard, steady rhythm that knocks the breath from your lungs.  You squirm, but the hand on your hip pins you against the surface of the counter, still half on your side.  You buck helplessly when Clyde buries himself deep in you and grinds, circling his hips, moaning, “ Fuck , you feel so good-”  

Clyde groans again and you shudder, feeling your pussy clenching around him, releasing it’s grip, and then tightening again.  Clyde starts his rhythm again, still just as hard, still just as steady, and you’re gasping and writhing as your cunt clamps down around his thrusting cock, clutching him until-

You’re melting, going liquid around Clyde’s cock, too heavy to support yourself anymore, but completely weightless as you tremble and cry something that was supposed to be his name.  You’re too lost in the rushing currents of heat under your skin to enunciate the collection of consonants and pair of vowels.  You feel a sense of pressure on your hip and then Clyde’s cock is no longer thrusting into you, no longer withdrawing.  He’s settled deep in you and you hear a deep grunt as Clyde reaches orgasm too, hips stuttering and jerking in tiny, spastic movements.

The rush of climax fades, but leaves behind a warm glow that centers in your chest and spreads through your body.  Clyde lets himself down onto the counter, his body curving over yours as he rests on his elbows, one of either side of you.  He presses a messy kiss to your mouth and you kiss him back with as little finesse before breaking away.  For a minute, there’s only the sound of you both panting and the slickness between your legs as it cools in the air.  The post-orgasm glow casts a haze over your thought process, fogging everything beyond the immediate sensory experience of Clyde’s body heat radiating onto you, his breath against your cheek, the kiss he presses to your jaw.  His lips are soft, and then they’re on yours again, sweeter this time, more controlled.

“Was it good?” Clyde asks, touching the backs of his fingers to your cheek and stroking gently.  You can’t help laughing a little because the question almost seems absurd considering how satisfied you feel.

“So good,” you murmur, turning your head to kiss his knuckles, and when you glance back up at his face, Clyde’s eyes are lit up with hope.

“Wha’ ‘bout doin’ it in a bed?” he asks, and that makes you laugh too because it makes you feel like younger, like you’re nineteen or twenty or twenty-one again.

“A bed sounds nice,” you say, curling your legs around his hips before you lean up to press a soft kiss to his lips, his hair brushing your face in a dark halo of downy softness, “But what about the bar?”

“Can come in early tomorrow, I ‘spose,” Clyde muses against your lips, “‘S’not like anyone’s goin’ to notice if the floor weren’t mopped though.”

“I’ll make sure to wipe down the counters really well,” you reply, “I don’t think most of them want to know what I taste like.”

The remark slips out of your mouth before you can really think about how it sounds, but Clyde growls again, possessive, his hand snaking under your back and pulling you up against his body.  “Wantin’ isn’t the problem, babe, I’m not fixin’ to share ya.”

Your face flushes with heat, but you want to reassure him so you reach up and wrap your arms around his neck and say, “You won’t have to.”

Clyde purrs in response, a wordless sound of pleasure as he nuzzles your cheek.

[magpiescratchings]

Payoff

Rating: E Relationship: Orson Krennic/Reader Tags: Professor Krennic, Professor/Student Relationship, Age Difference, Vaginal Fingering, Mild hair pulling, Choking, Breath play, Light Dom/sub overtones, Pet name, Responsible Dom Orson Krennic, Aftercare, Reader-Insert, POV Second Person Summary: It's the end of the semester, finals week is over, and you're picking up your final from your hot professor. Words: 4446

Despite being the chair of the department of engineering, Dr. Orson Krennic still teaches a class or two every semester.  He’s widely acknowledged in the engineering, math, and physics departments as one of the hardest professors around, maybe even the hardest.  He assigns two problem sets per week, has three hard midterms, and a final that most students can’t finish.  He doesn’t have a sign-in sheet for attendance, but every class starts with a thin smile and a brief bit of praise for showing up.  Similarly, he ends every class with a reminder of when his office hours are, should someone need help.

You’re not an engineering major.  You’re not a math or a physics major either, in fact, you’re not in any of the STEM fields.  You’re actually an english major with a minor in creative writing.  So how did you, of all people, end up in one of Dr. Krennic’s engineering classes?

A dare.  Your (crazy) physics major roommate had dared you (while you were both tipsy) to take a class with Dr. Krennic.  She’d told you that he was teaching a beginning engineering course next semester, one that probably even you could do.  She promised to help if you got stuck, or (and she’d said this very slyly at the time, for reasons you didn’t understand until later) you could always go to office hours.

It wasn’t until the first day of class that you knew why she’d said it the way she did.  You’d barely heard the “You’re adults, and I expect you to understand that your grades will reflect the effort you put into this class.  I’m not your mother or your babysitter or your high school teachers.  If you don’t show up for the midterms or the final or don’t turn in your problem sets, I won’t be chasing you down” speech he gave that you’d heard from other professors throughout your undergraduate career.  You were too busy staring at him.

He was about average height, with startlingly blue eyes set in a narrow face and wavy, silvery hair that might have been a light brown when he was younger.  He dressed well in a suit and coordinated tie and had an erect bearing that suggested a stint in the military somewhere in his past.  He liked to stride back and forth across the front of the classroom while he was lecturing and had a kind of energy that was as intriguing as it was intimidating.

The fact that Dr. Krennic was handsome made an already difficult class even more challenging for you, and you had had to wonder whether office hours would actually be any help.  

You’d gone anyway.

While it was true that Dr. Krennic was distracting and made you nervous, he’d actually been incredibly helpful.  He’d patiently explained all the basic concepts you’d been having trouble with in a way that you understood, and then he’d walked you through a few different types of problems on the next two problem sets.  He’d told you to feel free to continue coming to office hours if you were still struggling with the material, so you did.

Tonight, you’re back again, but it’s because you’re here to pick up your final.  You didn’t mean to wait until the last minute like this, there’s maybe 10 minutes before Dr. Krennic leaves and is officially done for the semester too.  You walk faster down the hallway of closed doors, their occupants already gone for the night.  Dr. Krennic’s is the only door still open, and you realize as you reach it that he’s packing up to leave.  You rap on the door as he slides papers into his bag and he looks up sharply.  His expression is initially suspicious, but then it relaxes and he smiles.

“Ah, yes, come in.  I thought you’d be here earlier,” he says conversationally, gesturing to a thin stack of papers on his desk, “I have the finals right here.”

“I’m sorry, I thought I’d be here earlier too,” you say apologetically, “I wanted a chance to look over the test with you before I left, but I guess there’s not really any time time for that-”  

“Why?” Dr. Krennic asks without looking up from leafing through the remaining tests, “Engineering isn’t your major.”

“Oh,” you say, startled, feeling like an imposter, “No, it’s not, but how did you know?”

“I noticed that yours was the only email that wasn’t already in the department list at the beginning of the semester,” Dr. Krennic says with a little smile, plucking one test from the few remaining and handing it to you across his desk, “There we are.  Well done.”

There’s a circled, red 87 written on the top of the paper and your face lights up with delight as you see it and take the stapled pages, eagerly flipping through them.  The glowing sense of pride only expands as you look through the problems, see that all the time and effort you’ve put in during the semester has finally, really paid off.  Every problem you attempted, you completed correctly, including the extra credit.  You might not have finished the test, but the score is more than respectable and you’ll be coming out of the class with at least a B+, maybe even an A-.

“You look pleased,” Dr. Krennic says with a brief chuckle, “But then you’ve a right to be.  Are you sure you don’t want to change majors?  You’ve talent that the engineering department would certainly benefit from.”

“Ah, thanks, but no thanks, Dr. Krennic,” you say as you flip your test closed, feeling your cheeks heat a little as the feeling from before comes back, that you never really belonged in Dr. Krennic’s beginning engineering class, “This class was really hard for me and I-  I really want to write.”

Dr. Krennic sighs, settling his hands on his hips as he says, “Well, I suppose that was too much to ask for, but I wish you the best in all your endeavors.  I’m sure your work ethic will serve you as well in writing as it did for this class.”  He smiles fondly as he looks at you, seeming to pause before adding, “You should still drop in if you’re passing by, I’d like to see how you’re doing.”

You blink, feel your lips part in shock because while Dr. Krennic has been approachable throughout the semester, he’s never been personal.  He never told anecdotes about his family, friends, or life despite being both glib and charming.  In spite of the ease with which he talked, Dr. Krennic was, you’d gathered, a fairly private person, but here he was saying that he’d like to see you again-

You stare at Dr. Krennic, feel your heart skip a beat before your pulse starts racing, pounding in your ear.  He’s not looking at you with confusion or concern, instead he’s watching you with a half-hidden wariness like he doesn’t know if you’ve understood what he’s said, but he wants you to.  In all honesty, you don’t know if you have, but you think you have, so you decide to take a chance.

“Would you like to get coffee sometime, Dr. Krennic?” you ask him as innocently as you can, just in case he didn’t mean what you thought he did.  

“Sometime?” he asks in return, his wariness fading into something you can’t quite place.  It makes you a little nervous, but you step closer and put your test down on his desk.

“Well, how about now, then?” you push, testing the shifting grounds, trying to see if you were right, if this is what Dr. Krennic was insinuating with his unexpected comment.

“Perhaps,” Dr. Krennic murmurs, motioning for you to come around his desk as he licks his lips, “We could skip the coffee tonight.  And close the door, please.”

You’re relieved that you interpreted Dr. Krennic correctly, but mostly you’re excited.  Who hasn’t wanted to get with their hot professor?  Dr. Krennic might be a little older, but he has the energy of a younger man and the silvery hair doesn’t make him any less attractive.  He’s not married, a fact that is frequently talked about by all the students in his classes.  He also has the appeal of being more emotionally mature than your peers.

You push the door shut, hear the latch click as you step around the desk.  Dr. Krennic pushes his chair, his bag still sitting on the seat, away.  It rolls across the floor until it bumps into the bookshelf along the back wall of his office.  You stop when there’s maybe half a step’s worth of space between you and Dr. Krennic, pause and wait for some kind of cue that you can touch him, or maybe kiss him.

“You’re not scared,” he comments idly, lifting a hand to brush the back of his curled index finger against your cheek, “Or overeager.  I thought you might be one or the other.  You’re a good student, but I’ve seen the way you stare at me.”  His curled index finger is suddenly under your chin, lifting your face as Dr. Krennic bends.  His lips touch yours lightly for a second, and then he pulls away just far enough for his mouth to hover over yours.  You can feel his breath on your lips, a warm, gentle movement of air that you inhale on instinct.  You’re so distracted by this that you forget what he’s said to you.

Dr. Krennic laughs, kisses you again, his hand dropping so that he can gently take hold of your hips.  He turns your back to the desk, guides you back against the edge.  It presses into the curve of your ass, sharp and hard, until Dr. Krennic reaches a little lower and lifts you onto the cool, smooth surface.  He nips your lip gently as he adjusts your position, running a finger along the waistband of your shorts, chuckling when you inhale sharply.

“How much experience do you have?” he asks briskly, both of his hands sliding under the hem of your shirt and running along the curve of your waist to your lower back.  He settles one palm on your spine, but the fingertips of his other hand slide down the back of your shorts, teasing at the cleft of your ass.  You can’t help a shiver before you try to answer.

“An ex-boyfriend,” you reply, wrapping one of your legs around the back of his thigh and clumsily trying to pull him closer.  Dr. Krennic smirks indulgently, steps closer so that his groin is right up against yours as both his hands slide over your skin to your hips.  He grips you, tugs you a little closer.  You’re balanced precariously on the edge of the desk, his body the only thing between you and overbalancing and stumbling back down to the floor.  

“Really?  That’s it?” Dr. Krennic asks after a pause, and he looks genuinely surprised as he says it, but you shrug.  Boys have never paid much attention to you.  Every once in awhile there might be one, occasionally two, but you’re not their first choice and you’re rarely interested in them in the same way.  

“Shame, they don’t know what they’re missing, do they?” Dr. Krennic says casually, leaning in to kiss you softly once, twice, three times.  By the third you’ve draped your arms over his shoulders, stretching up to return his kiss, sighing for more.  

“Dr. Krennic-”

“I think ‘Orson’ would be a little more appropriate, don’t you think?” he interrupts, sounding highly amused as he looks down at you, one eyebrow arched, “Unless you wanted to pretend to be a failing student that the morally questionable professor punishes?”

You feel your face flush with heat as you sputter some nonsense because you can’t decide what to say.  You started with “No! Of course not!” but then changed your mind halfway through to “It’s not like that” only to realize that you wouldn’t mind the scenario and tried to change it again to something like “Not right now”.  You bite your lip to stop yourself from embarrassing yourself further, and Dr. Krennic only laughs again, letting go of your hip so that he can run his fingers through your hair.

“I’m sorry, you’re very cute,” he tells you, “If you’d like to play that out another time, we could do it right here in my office.  I can stash a riding crop and a few other interesting things in the drawer.”  There’s a teasing lilt to his tone as he says the words so that you can’t tell if he’s being serious or not, but a peek up at his face reveals only a warm, wicked kind of fondness that seems to promise in genuine affection that he’ll do anything with you that you’d like.

“You could wear a short skirt,” he suggests, his voice dropping into a seductive purr, hands sliding up your body, “And no panties underneath.  I could bend you over this desk and-”  His fingers twine into your hair as he tugs your head back, forcing you to arch your neck and expose it, forcing you to look at him, unable to look away because of the strength of his grip on your hair.  “-spank you.  Would you like that?”

“Yes,” you moan helplessly, panting through an open mouth, feeling your pussy clench around nothing twice.  You squeeze Dr. Krennic’s hips between your thighs, squirming on the desk, wishing he would do just that.  The intimation of the pain and the probably ensuing pleasure has you drunk on anticipation.

“I bet you’re soaking right through your panties, aren’t you?” he murmurs, releasing your other hip so that he can deftly pull open the button on your shorts, unzip the fly so he can push his fingers into the fabric, lets the tips dance over your sticky panties, applying pressure in just the right place.  You wriggle, trying to ride his fingers, wishing he would touch you properly.

“I should call you something,” Dr. Krennic goes on, sounding more thoughtful than aroused although he’s currently switched to rubbing a firm circle over your clit that has you whimpering and wordless, “Some special little pet name for times like these.  And a title for me, so you could be a proper submissive, don’t you think?  I can see you’re interested.”

“Interested might be an understatement,” you gasp, trying to sound cheeky, but only managing to sound breathless and needy.  Dr. Krennic just tightens his grip on your hair and nearly kisses you, hovering a hair above your lips, smirking as you try to reach him and fail.

“We’ll have a conversation about it later,” he promises, and then he stops talking as you lick his bottom lip with the tip of your tongue.

“Definitely later,” he says, suddenly sounding a little breathless himself as he releases your hair, extricating himself from between your thighs.  He hooks his fingers in your shorts and your panties, tugging them down over your hips and under your ass and over your thighs.  He only pulls them over your shoe on one side, leaves them hanging from your other ankle, but it’s enough to leave your thighs and pussy completely bare and unimpeded.

The sudden exposure make you pull your knees together, but Dr. Krennic coaxes your thighs apart again, his eyes riveted to your naked cunt.  He brushes his thumb over your clit, a light touch that you feel, but only just.  You’re too busy watching him lick his lips, his expression suddenly gone from seductive to predatory, from knowing to hungry.  He steps in between your thighs again, freeing his hands up to touch you.  He settles one palm over your pubic bone, applying light pressure as he strokes your clit with his thumb, and with the other hand he eases one thick finger, then a second, into your slick pussy.  He curls the tips of his fingers upward, adding a little extra intensity to the gentle thrusting motion he starts.

“Ahh, fuck,” you moan, bracing your hands on the desk behind you and trying not to just let yourself fall backwards.  It’s tempting to do, if only so you can really revel in all the sensations Dr. Krennic is creating with both his hands between your widespread thighs, but you’re worried about all the things he keeps on his desk.  Hitting your head on his paperweight would be very not-sexy, so you just try to support your upper body although it seems to take more concentration than you really have available at the moment.

“Sensitive,” is Dr. Krennic’s brief comment, his voice having dropped again into something much closer to a growl, “You’re just my cup of tea.”  

“Am I your teacup?” you ask, though you’re so distracted that you barely realize that what you’ve said isn’t quite the same thing, but Dr. Krennic laughs suddenly.

“Are you my Teacup?” he queries playfully, “Is that what you’d like to be called?  I have to admit, I like that.”

“I-” you start to say, then lose track of the thought as Dr. Krennic fits a third, thick finger into you.  You shudder at the stretch of accommodating three fingers, something you’ve never dared try on your own, but it’s not overly uncomfortable.  Instead, it just feels good, and you whine, trying to push your hips down, trying to pull Dr. Krennic’s fingers deeper into your body by squeezing them with your cunt.

“Is my little Teacup enjoying herself while her Master fucks her with his fingers?” Dr. Krennic purrs, and although the statement has an experimental quality lurking under the words, you feel yourself melt as you try to stammer an answer.

“Y-yes!  Yes, Dr-  M-master,” you say, catching yourself at the last second, “Please!”  

“We’ll be working on that, among other things, I see,” Dr. Krennic says, sounding pleased as he leans in to drop a quick kiss on your lips.  You try to return it, but he’s already pulling away, the hand on your pubic bone lifting so that he can undo his own pants.  The buckle of his belt jingles as he tugs it open, chiming again as he opens the fly of his trousers and reaches in to pull out his cock.  Your eyes widen when you see it, the length and the thickness of it.  Dr. Krennic is bigger than your ex-boyfriend, and he’s already proved that he has more skill than your ex-boyfriend.

You whimper at the loss of Dr. Krennic’s fingers when he pulls them out, but you’re holding your breath as you watch him smear the slick on his fingers over the shaft of his cock.  He grips his cock, guides it to your entrance, and then he’s sliding into you, slow and steady and sure.  You groan with the satisfaction of feeling him stretch you open in a way even three of his fingers couldn’t achieve, his cock sinking deeper into you than they could.  Dr. Krennic moans too, a long, breathy sound that’s almost a sigh as he bottoms out in you and grins.

“You feel as good as I imagined,” he tells you in a rough murmur, lifting his hand and pressing his wet fingers between your parted lips.  He shallowly strokes your tongue, pushes down on it lightly, a suggestion of what he could be doing, a tantalizing, teasing hint of things he might do to you another day.  You suckle on his fingers, curling your tongue under them, tasting the tangy flavor of your pussy on them.  It’s then that Dr. Krennic rolls his hips and your breathing hitches and you moan embarrassingly loud.  

The slow, slick slide of his cock as he draws it out and then sinks back into you is mind-numbingly good, makes you wish you were with him on an actual bed.  You’d push him down or roll him over and ride him until you were both satisfied, until you were whimpering and tight around him, until he was gripping your hips hard enough to leave his fingerprints in your skin.  Instead, all you can do is wrap your legs around his hips and try to make him thrust harder-

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, wraps his hand around your throat instead.  It’s a firm grip, but he’s not squeezing, a warning of some kind as he opens his mouth, probably to chastise you, but he never has a chance to say the words when you keen, high-pitched and desperate.  For a moment, Dr. Krennic looks astonished, and then his eyes narrow with concentration as his hand tightens on the sides of your neck.  Even through your lightheadedness, his focus is reassuring, a sign that he won’t take you too far.

You’re gasping for breath as he continues rocking his hips, thrusting into you, his rhythm slightly faster than it was before.  You’re clenching around him, trying to keep him in you, but between trying to hold yourself up on the desk and his hand around your throat, there’s no way for you to control the situation.  You have to wonder if that was intentional on his part, or if he’s just reading your reactions and exploring what you seem to like.  Either way, you love it.

“Ordinarily, I wouldn’t introduce something so sensitive into a relationship so early,” Dr. Krennic says, sounding impressively conversational considering he’s still fucking you at a steady, tireless pace, “And I don’t have as much experience with breath play as I’d like, but you look like you’re enjoying yourself, Teacup.”  

“Y-yes, Master,” you stutter between labored breaths, loving how easily the pet name rolls off his tongue though it only presented itself maybe ten minutes ago.  It’s hard to tell how much time has passed when you can’t see the clock, not that you could concentrate long enough to read it.  You’ve gotten wetter, every one of Dr. Krennic’s thrusts terminating in a filthy, wet squishing sound, an audible testament to how helplessly aroused you are.

“Listen carefully, Teacup,” Dr. Krennic says, his voice low as he catches your gaze, pinning you with an intense stare, “I’m going to make you cum, and when you get close, I want you to tell me so that I can let go, alright?”

You want to tell him that you don’t want him to let go, that you want to feel this way forever, the fullness of his cock in your cunt and the security of his hand encasing your throat, but instead you nod as much as you can.  He smiles, leans in to drop a quick kiss on your lips that you’re not quite fast enough to return.  You whine as he pulls away, but his other hand has dropped to the juncture of your bodies to rub your clit with his thumb as he picks up the pace.  His hips are thrusting steady and fast, his cock bottoming out in you on every stroke, every withdrawal accompanied by a wet sucking sound, every forward movement punctuated with a slippery squish.  

You can hear yourself getting loud again, inhaling quick and shallow between high pitched cries of pleasure that should embarrass you, but Dr. Krennic only looks encouraged as he continues rubbing his thumb back and forth over your sensitive clit.  The stimulation has your pussy twitching spastically, tightening, relaxing, then clenching again, leaves your legs shaking as they fall open, unconsciously trying to give him more access to your body.  You can feel yourself trying to somehow ride his movements, although moving too much will only dump you off the desk and you know it.

“You’re a good girl, Teacup,” Dr. Krennic growls, “Remember to tell me when you’re going to cum.”

You try to respond, to let him know that you remember, but you’re so lightheaded and lost in the pleasure that you’re not sure if you actually do.  There’s a heat building under your skin, pulsing in your twitching cunt, swirling in your clit under his thumb.  You’re getting close and-  

And you’re supposed to tell him, you need to tell him, so you gasp for breath and say, “Master-  Ah!  Master, I-  Oh god, please-  Master, I’m so close-”  

Dr. Krennic releases your throat and for a split second you think he’s about to pull away, but then the rush of it hits you and you’re orgasming.  Liquid heat snakes up your spine, diffusing through the rest of your body while pleasure lances through your nerves like lightning.  In the middle of it, you feel Dr. Krennic’s lips against your open mouth and his hands gripping your hips as he grinds against you, shoving his cock as deep into you as he can get it, his hips jerking.  

For a minute, the two of you remain like that, letting the final aftershocks of orgasm melt away, both of you shivering when you twitch around his sensitive cock.  At some point, his hands leave your hips, one settling on the desk beside your ass, the other running up your back to cup the back of your head and draw you forward until you’re resting your cheek on his shoulder.  You wrap your arms around Dr. Krennic’s ribs and try to focus on breathing as you lean against him, as he leans on the desk and tries to catch his breath too.  He shifts his stance a little and his cock slips out of you along with a steady dribble of wetness.  You have the far away thought that you should do something about that, but you can barely think about moving yet.

He turns his head, nuzzles your cheek, his soft, satisfied sigh gentle on your skin before he kisses your cheekbone, chuckles lightly.  He strokes your hair with light fingertips, and you close your eyes and purr at the simple, sensual pleasure of the touch.  He hums briefly before saying, “It’s really too soon to ask, but would you like to be my Teacup on a regular basis?”

“Oh,” you murmur, opening your eyes and trying to make your way out of your post-orgasm haze, “Yes, Dr. Krennic-”

“Orson,” he interrupts with a little laugh.

“Orson,” you repeat, lifting your head to nose at his jaw, “I would like to be your Teacup on a regular basis.”

“Where were you planning on going after… this?” he asks, “If there’s no one expecting you…”  He trails off meaningfully, tilting his head to look at you.

“Take me home, Orson,” you murmur, releasing his torso and lifting your arms to drape them over his shoulders again, “Please.”

“It would be my pleasure,” he purrs.