otherwise link to my master list here 🫶 AO3 here 🫶
My name is Ashley and I'm doing this for fun and hope people enjoy what I write. Before December of 2025, I really hadn't written anything besides academic papers since high school, which was a LONG time ago (it was creative writing course that didn't teach anything really). So hopefully I am slowly getting better. 🩷
I mainly write for Jensen Ackles' characters, because it is Jensen Ackles. 🥵🫠 Dean Winchester is the love of my life with a really close follow up with Bucky Barnes. (I seem to have a thing for characters with trauma and a weapon. I don't know what that says about my mental health.)
I wasn't really in the fandom world for a long time, because of how I was raised and my friends growing up weren't into it. But I have very vivid memories in middle school of inserting a character in LOTR who was in a relationship with Legolas. I still remember her back story. But now as an adult with adult money, I did go to a supernatural convention last year in Chicago and it was really fun. I'm going to the one in Columbus this year, and I'm really excited about it. 😁
✍️Favorite fic I have written: Seriously (Soldier Boy x Reader)
📖Currently reading: The Night We Met by Abby Jimenez
🎞️Last movie I watched: While you were sleeping
📺Favorite TV shows: Supernatural, Ted Lasso, Parks and Rec
🎮Favorite video games: Disney Dreamlight Valley, Baldur's Gate 3, and I just started Stardew Valley and it has me in a chokehold
🎧Currently listening to Olivia Rodrigo's new album on repeat, but my favorite playlist I always go back to is one my sister and I add whatever is stuck in our heads.
I have two dogs, Moxie and Penny, that are my babies. (pictures below because they are so cute.)
I am a nightshift RN. I did go back and get my master's in FNP and a certificate in psych mental health, but I only work two days a week and don't have to bring my job home with me, so I still work bedside. Sometimes I love it, sometimes I hate it.
I'm still trying to figure out tumblr (I feel like I'm learning new things every day) and I cuss a lot. A LOT.
Also fuck ICE, fuck DJT, and fuck MAGA.
Are these not the most beautiful baby dogs you have ever seen???
when i think of the future, you are there (part 2)
Jack Abbott x F!Reader
Summary: You think about Jack asking you to move in with him for the rest of the night. When you get back to your apartment alone, you realize you really do want to take the next step in your relationship.
Author’s Note: Here is a part two that no one asked for, but my brain refused to stop thinking about. Not that it helped me write it faster.
Part 1
AO3 Link
The rest of the shift went exactly what you expected. Busy with a side of chaos. You and Jack had come to work separately since you had been in the middle of a stretch of several shifts, and you had been staying at your place to try to not disturb each other’s sleep.
After the shift, he walks you to your car, a careful distance apart to not alert suspicion from other staff leaving at the same time. “Are you coming over?”
Yawning, you shake your head. “I think I’m going to go home. You don’t work tonight, and I don’t want to force you to sleep all day if you plan on getting up in a few hours.”
“You know I don’t mind.”
“I know, but still…” You trail off, thinking about what he said last night about how you already spend so much time at his place. You had had time to think as the shift passed; maybe you were both moving a little fast.
He glances around before pulling you in for a hug. Kissing the top of your head, he murmurs, “Be safe driving home, okay? Text me that you made it back.”
You lean into the hug, taking a deep breath, your arms looping around him. “I will. You be safe too, alright?”
“I always am.”
“Bullshit. You were grazed with a bullet yesterday.”
“Grazed. Not shot.”
“That’s too close for me.”
He chuckles, tilting your chin up to look into your eyes. “You worry too much.”
“Maybe if you weren’t out here getting shot at–”
“Alright. Alright.” He concedes, kissing your forehead. “Get home and sleep.”
You breathe him in one more time before stepping back before getting into your car and driving back to your place.
Once home, you jump into the shower, washing away the grime and germs of the shift. Your mind keeps replaying everything from the night before. Jack, the baby, him essentially asking you to move in. Are you ready for that? Can your relationship handle that after only a few months? What if you move in and everything goes wrong?
You try to put it out of your mind as you go about your routine. Right now the most important thing is to get some sleep before your shift tonight.
At least it would be if you could sleep. You toss and turn trying to get comfortable as your mind refuses to calm enough for you to sleep. You grab your phone scrolling through to try and focus on anything else until you are tired enough to fall asleep.
Then five minutes pass. Then ten minutes. After twenty minutes go by and you still aren’t able to even pretend like you can try to sleep, you get up, pulling on some clothes so you can at least be around the man your mind won’t stop thinking about.
You get into your car, driving across town as quickly as you dare, not wanting to risk a ticket for speeding. As the drive passes, your mind goes back to the only thing you can think about, what Jack said about moving in.
You know you love him, you both fit into each other’s life easily when you have stayed the night. But moving in? That is such a huge step. And what if you hate how he leaves cups on the table in the living room? But, who are you kidding? The man doesn’t leave cups sitting around. You were just searching for a reason for this not to work.
You pull into his driveway, beside his truck, jumping out of your car to walk up to the front door. You knock and wait. Nothing. You knock again. You know he is here, his truck is out front. There is no way he is asleep yet. Unless he is just hoping whoever is knocking will just give up and walk away. You pull out your phone to text him.
Let me inside.
Jerk.
You add on for good measure. A few minutes later you heard footsteps getting closer. When he opens the door, he leans against the doorframe, an easy smirk on his face. You open your mouth to start on the speech you had been mentally preparing when he holds out a key.
“I stopped to get one made for you on the way home. Did you know they are buy two get one free?” He says.
You snatch the key out of his hand. “Are they now?”
“If you don’t like the basic key version, there were about a hundred designs you could choose from.” He continues.
You step closer, arms reaching around his middle, hugging him to you. “I don’t need to think about it. I miss you when you aren’t around. I like going to sleep with you next to me. I want to burn breakfast with you in the mornings before we toss it out and order in. I want to watch crappy tv shows with you. I want to listen to you ramble on about the world’s most boring books you can find. I want everything, Jack. I want you.”
He buries his face into your hair, breathing in the scent of your shampoo. “You have me, baby. You have had me since the beginning.”
You smile as he pulls you in the door, pushing it shut behind you. “Now come on, you need to sleep before tonight, and I know what will put you right to bed.”
You giggle. “Excuse me, but not everything can be solved with what you are packing underneath your scrubs.”
“Imagine if it could.” He smirks, pulling you towards the bedroom.
“You would be a busy man.”
Once the bedroom door is shut behind you both, it is significantly darker in the room, the blackout curtains really putting in their money's worth. Clothes are frantically pulled off as you are marched backwards until your legs hit the side of the bed. He follows you down, caging your body against the mattress as you giggle, your hands running up his back, feeling the muscles flex under your touch.
“We’re moving in together.” You whisper.
“It’s about time, honestly.” He murmurs against your skin, lips travelling along the column of your neck.
“We haven’t been dating that long.”
“Long enough to know what I want.” He had you there. Now that you had him, you never wanted to imagine a life where you didn’t get to call him yours. He pulls back to sit on the side of the bed, quickly releasing his leg from his prosthetic before crawling back over you again. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling his body closer until you can feel the bulge of his erection through the layers of his sweat pants and underwear.
“What exactly do you want, Jack?” You ask, kissing along his jaw to nip at his earlobe. You can feel his shiver as he presses his hips down into yours, drawing a gasp from your lips.
“I’m a greedy man when it comes to you, sweetheart. It might be easier to list what I don’t want.”
“Baby, I am willing to give you whatever you want.” You murmur, teeth grazing against the sensitive skin of his neck, threatening to leave your mark for everyone to see. He rolls onto his back, your body following until you are straddling the man, legs on either side of his hips.
“Dangerous offer.” His hands land on your waist as he gazes up at you, pure adoration shining back at you.
“You are the only one I would trust enough to offer that to.” You say leaning down to kiss him.
You slowly make your way down his body, lingering to circle your tongue around one nipple, eyes focused on him to see his reaction before your teeth gently scrape against his skin, tugging enough to elicit a groan from deep in his throat. Slowly making your way down his body, you lick a broad stripe up the center of his abdomen as your fingers tease at the waistband of his sweats.
His head falls back against the pillow as his hands fist at his sides, knuckles white. You smirk against his skin, loving how easily you could dismantle him. At the hospital, he always kept a cool, steady head in the face of every stress and obstacle the ER could throw at him, completely in his element. But under you, he was at your mercy. And it was the sexiest thing you have ever seen in your life.
You slowly peel his sweat pants down, as he lifts his hips up to help you get the offending fabric off. One layer closer to where he needed you the most. His dick strained at the fabric of his boxers, tenting the cotton, leaving your mouth watering. You wanted, no, needed to taste him, to show him just how much you appreciated him. Licking your lips, you hook your fingers in the waistband of his boxers, slowly pulling them down. Once freed, his cock bounces thick, standing at attention with a drop of precum leaking from his slit.
Leaning forward, you press a kiss to the tip, swirling your tongue around the bulbous head, tasting the musky salty flavor as it explodes in your mouth. You moan around him, sucking down like he was the best flavored candy you had ever tasted. His hips buck up, shoving his cock deeper into your mouth, chasing more of the pleasure you were giving him.
One of his hands tangles into your hair, needing to ground himself as you move your head, tongue tracing every vein from tip to base. Your eyes glance up, seeing his closed, head pressed back into the pillow.
“Fuck, baby.” He groans as you pull off him to mouth at his balls, your hand stroking his length, wrist twisting. You grin, his voice hoarse with need as you tease him, drawing his pleasure out just to watch him struggle to keep his composure.
You move your body up to kiss him deeply, as your hand slowly moves around his cock, thumb tracing the slit on each upstroke. He kisses you back, tongue pressing into your mouth. His hands trace up your body, wrapping around you. You know what’s about to happen about two seconds before he flips you onto your back.
You yelp in surprise and he moves over you, your legs widening for him instinctively.
“As much as I love your talented mouth, I need to be inside you.” He mutters against your lips as you moan.
His hand grazes down your abdomen, fingers slipping between your folds, finding just how ready you are for him.
“You are this wet from just sucking my cock?” He asks, two fingers sliding inside you, the heel of his hand pressing against your throbbing clit.
You gasp. “I’m always wet for you, Jack.”
He pulls your bottom lip between his teeth. “Damn straight you are.”
Your hands claw at his back, red lines forming against his freckled skin as his fingers slide in and out of you, rubbing against you as stars form behind your eyes.
“Thought you needed to be inside me?” You question, your back arching off the mattress.
He pulls his fingers out of you, a cheeky smile on his face. “Someone’s impatient. And here I was being a gentleman, wanting to make sure you were ready.”
Reaching between your bodies, you wrap your hand around his cock, sliding the tip against you, covering him in your arousal. “I’m ready, baby. Just need you.”
He bites his lips, looking down as you notch the tip at your entrance. “You don’t play fair.”
“It’s more fun this way.”
He chuckles. “It’s fun every way.”
Your eyes close as your mouth drops open when he starts to push inside you. Your legs wrap around his waist, opening yourself further for him as you pull him deeper. His forehead drops to yours once he is fully seated, giving you time to adjust to him as the slight burn recedes into pleasure.
“So tight for me, baby. Maybe you should have let me get you ready.”
You hum a soft moan as your eyes flutter open, finding his blue eyes staring into yours, radiating complete and utter adoration. You clench around him, feeling the full depth of his attention and affection. He groans, arms braced on either side of your head, fingers tangling in your hair.
You aren’t ready to say the words yet, even if you feel them down to your very bones. And you know Jack wouldn’t push you before you are ready, which just makes you love him that much more. The feeling nearly overwhelms you and you cup his face, pulling him down the rest of the way to kiss him. As he consumes you, his hips draw back, his cock nearly pulling out of you before he thrusts back in. He sets a steady rhythm, one intended to drag you over the edge with him, as each slam of his hips draws a gasp from your lips as pleasure ricochets through you.
Your legs tighten around his waist as your hips move with his, working in tandem with him as his lips move to your neck. You can feel his warm breath against your skin as it comes out in soft pants. One of your hands clutches his side as the other holds his forearm.
“Jack…fuck. Just like that….feels so good.”
He sucks a mark into your neck, his hips not slowing as his cock hits against your g-spot. Your muscles tighten, on the precipice of your orgasm.
“I’m not gonna last much longer, sweetheart.” He murmurs.
You nod your head in agreement. One of his hands finds your clit, rubbing tight circles against you, giving you that last push before you are crying out his name, waves of pleasure running through you as you clench around him, trying to pull him down into paradise with you. He thrusts his hips again before painting your walls white with his seed. His thrusts slow, but don’t stop, trying to prolong your pleasure for as long as possible before you are a puddle of bliss beneath him.
“Goddamn, Jack.” You mutter.
He leans down to press a kiss against your lips. “You know, if you don’t want to foster baby Jane Doe, I could just give you one of your own.”
Your eyes flash in warning, but you clench around his softening cock.
He groans at the sensation. “Don’t lie. You like the idea of having my kid.”
“Don’t push it, old man.”
“Not that old. Just fucked you like a man half my age.”
After he rolls off you, he pulls you into his body, arms wrapping around you as your head falls against his chest. You can hear the beat of his heart as it slows. Looking up at him, you smile, feeling completely sated. He opens his eyes to see you already staring at him.
“Creepy.” He mutters, teasing you.
“Don’t make me take back moving in with you already.” You threaten, even if it is just a bluff.
He laughs, pinching your side. “Baby, you are moving in, even if we have to break your lease. I’m keeping you.”
heyy i absolutely adore your writing, and ive never done a request before but i figured id give it a shot. i was thinking of a sam or dean scenario (whichever you believe would make more sense), where they go to a bar with the reader, which is a popular spot for other hunters. sam/dean go to the bathroom and overhear another hunter bragging about sleeping with the reader, and as much as they despise the way they were talking about it so cockily, they cant stop thinking about what they said, cant stop looking at the reader and imagining them in that context. 😛
Barroom Fantasies
summary: After a successful hunt, you, Sam, and Dean unwind at a rowdy hunter bar. When the boys overhear another hunter crudely bragging about sleeping with you, their minds spiral into vivid, heated fantasies about you
warnings: sexual fantasies, Dean’s rough riding kink, Sam’s oral fixation, voyeuristic thoughts, heavy pining, jealous!Winchesters (mild)
The bar was loud, smoky, and smelled like cheap whiskey and gun oil — exactly the kind of place hunters gravitated to after a hunt. You, Sam, and Dean had rolled in an hour ago, dusty from the back roads and buzzing with leftover adrenaline from ganking a nest of vamps outside Tulsa. A few familiar faces nodded your way; most of them knew the Winchesters by reputation, and you by the way you kept up with them.
Dean had slung an arm around your shoulders as you claimed a booth, his usual cocky grin in place. “First round’s on me, sweetheart. Try not to hustle the whole bar before we get back.”
Sam rolled his eyes but smiled, the three of you falling into the easy rhythm you always did. You hunted together, ate together, bled together. Tonight was supposed to be simple: drinks, pool, maybe some darts. Nothing more.
Sam and Dean headed toward the bathroom at the back, leaving you to rack up a game with a couple of locals. They were halfway down the dim hallway when they heard it — a loud, obnoxious voice cutting through the muffled thump of the jukebox.
“…yeah, man, that little hunter chick with the Winchesters? Fucked her last month in that motel outside Wichita. Shit, she’s wild. Took it like a champ, moaning my name so loud I thought the walls were gonna crack. Tight as hell, too. Bet I ruined her for anyone else.”
The guy laughed, loud and crude, slapping his buddy on the back. Another hunter, some mid-tier asshole with a mullet and a tattoo sleeve, clearly enjoying the audience.
Dean’s jaw tightened instantly. Sam’s shoulders went rigid. They both knew exactly who he was talking about. You.
They didn’t say a word as they finished up and washed their hands, but the second they stepped back into the main room, their eyes found you like magnets.
You were bent over the pool table in that worn black tank top and jeans that hugged every curve, lining up a shot. The overhead light caught the smooth line of your back, the way your hips shifted as you stretched forward. The cue slid smoothly between your fingers, and you sank the eight-ball with a satisfied little smirk.
Dean’s mind short-circuited.
He could see it so clearly — you straddling him in the back seat of the Impala, knees planted on either side of his thighs, riding him hard and slow. Your breasts bouncing with every roll of your hips, nipples tight and begging for his mouth. The way you’d brace your hands on his chest, head thrown back, moaning his name like a prayer while you fucked yourself on his cock. He could almost feel how easy it would be to grip your waist, hold you right where he wanted you, how perfectly tight and wet you’d be around him, clenching every time he thrust up to meet you.
Sam’s thoughts took a slower, darker path.
He imagined you spread out on the cheap motel bed, thighs parted just for him. The taste of you on his tongue — sweet, warm, addictive. He’d take his time, licking long stripes up your folds before circling that sensitive little bundle of nerves at the top. He could practically hear the soft, broken sounds you’d make when he sucked gently, then firmer, burying his face deeper until your fingers twisted in his hair and your hips bucked against his mouth. The way your thighs would tremble around his head, the desperate little gasp when he kissed that spot just right…
They were both staring. Hard.
You straightened up from the table, grinning victoriously as you counted out the bills the loser had slapped down. Sixty bucks. Not bad for ten minutes of work. You tucked the money into your back pocket and sauntered over to the booth where the brothers had just slid back in, beers in hand.
“Hey” you said, sliding into the seat across from them. “While you two were powdering your noses, I made us some drinking money. What’s with the faces? You look like you just saw a ghost.”
Dean cleared his throat, shifting in his seat and trying to adjust his jeans without being obvious. The denim was suddenly way too tight. “Nothing, sweetheart. Just… uh… admiring your form on that table. Nice shot.”
Sam nodded a little too quickly, his cheeks faintly flushed. His long legs were crossed under the table, one knee bouncing slightly. “Yeah. Impressive. You, uh… you looked really focused.”
You tilted your head, eyes narrowing playfully as you took a sip of your beer. Their gazes were heavier than usual — darker, lingering on your mouth, your throat, the way your tank top clung to your chest. But you didn’t catch the way Dean’s fingers tightened around his bottle, or how Sam’s breath hitched when you licked a drop of foam from your lower lip.
“Seriously, guys. What’s wrong? You’re both acting weird.”
Dean flashed that trademark smirk, though it was a little strained at the edges. “Weird? Us? Nah. Must be the whiskey hitting early. You winning all our money tends to do that to a guy.”
Sam let out a low chuckle, forcing his eyes up to your face instead of letting them drift back down to the curve of your hips. “He’s right. Just… proud of you. That’s all.”
You laughed, shaking your head as you leaned back in the booth, completely oblivious to the fact that both Winchesters were rock-hard under the table, minds still spinning with filthy, vivid images of you — moaning, writhing, coming undone beneath them… or on top of them.
The night was still young.
And neither of them was sure they’d make it back to the motel without doing something about the way they couldn’t stop imagining you between them.
a/n: I couldn't decide between these two, so I did about both😝 tysm for the request! Hope u liked it!
Writers! Are you baking something delicious in your WIP folder? Share it with us under the following categories, then tag some fellow writers to keep that oven HOT!
There are 3 options:
🎂Three-tier-cake with cherries on top: this WIP is nearly done and just needs some final touches before it's served.
🧁Cake mix (but it comes from the heart): this WIP has either been sitting in your pantry a while, or lives somewhere between "I'm technically writing it" and "I stopped writing in the middle of it and don't remember the recipe plot"
🥚I forgot to buy eggs: this is a mere idea, a gleam in your eyes, an itch in your balls. You're not totally sure what it's gonna be when it grows up, but you're excited about it nonetheless.
Once you're done, tag some lovely mutuals! I'll start!
🎂Three-tier-cake with cherries on top:
Smut piece one year on from the ending of I wish I'd known you in your wilder days, in which you and Dean have fun on the couch (again).
Cast Away (working title): Sam's arm is in a cast, and when you find out why he's in such a bad mood, you give him a hand (and a mouth, and a...) to cheer him up.
Scream if you wanna go faster: Butcher meets you in a Vegas hotel. No names, no promises. Just sin (and no sleep).
🧁Cake mix (but it comes from the heart):
Office romance (working title): sequel to Late night call, in which Sam and you enter an affair with a strong dom/sub dynamic (and Sam gets subbed the hell out)
It wasn't forever: Pamela Barnes is haunted. When she goes out to escape the ghosts, she meets you and takes you home with her. -> This one's super sad lesbian yearning and internalized homophobia, so I can't always work on it a ton before needing a break.
Moth: Things aren't right. Dean keeps telling you they are. But why do you feel trapped? -> This one's dark as shit so I also need to be in the right mindset to write it.
🥚I forgot to buy eggs:
Demon!reader x Dean (inspired by an ask). Dean comes to you, all righteous anger. If you can't give him the information he wants, he'll take something else. -> Scenes of this keep swirling in my head and I'm taking notes, I just don't wanna fully start this while busy with so much other stuff.
Kidnap fic: two men break into your home and from one moment to the next, your life is changed forever. They tell you you've been kidnapped by demons, your memory erased, but as they take you with them and tie you up in their motel room, you realize they're not gonna let you go.
Modern western McCarthy Yellowstone thing: only specs of this exist, but it's you coming back to a small town rife with corruption, and back into the arms of the Winchesters, the reigning family (and at least a few of them are your ex-lovers). Dark and grimy and nihilistic.
There are many more but I will stop here and tag some lovelies! If you see this and want to participate, please do! ❤️ @kblognar @ambiguous-avery @bettystonewell @jollyhunter @aseafullofstars @thesundontshineontheseeyebrows @theedaythatnevercomes @reginaphalangelobster @raspberry-starship @spectralgalaxygauntlet @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @velvourne @aniresrene @ashlizshack @tinysnacklefan
Thank you for tagging me! 🩷 I know you did as ashlizshack, but imma respond on this account. Sometimes my fight or flight gets triggered when I get tagged in things. Thank you anxiety. 😭 but I'm trying to grow as a person and do things that push me out of my comfort zone. So, instead of ignoring this (the flight response part), here you go.
🎂Three-tier-cake with cherries on top:
Yes, sherrif (Beau Arlen x Reader): You go to check on Beau when he is late getting home and end up getting frisky in his office.
After the show (Steve Harrington x Reader): Your friend convinces you to go see Steve Harrington's band and you catch his eye in the crowd and end up backstage in his dressing room.
when I think of the future, you are there part 2 (Jack Abbot x Reader): You contemplate Jack's offer of moving in together.
🧁Cake mix (but it comes from the heart):
When Did You Get Hot (Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader): I'm still obsessed with Sabrina Carpenter's Man's Best Friend album. You see Jake after years at your family's annual summer neighborhood barbeque.
can something bloom from the ashes (Alpha!Sam Winchester x Omega!Reader): An alternate ending for my Bonds Deeper Than Blood where Dean dies, but not after reminding Sam of his promise to bond to the reader. Sam and reader have to navigate life without Dean a bond neither of them wanted. (I keep crying when I try to write this and I still refuse to watch the series finale so it just be sitting around.)
🥚I forgot to buy eggs:
Untitled Soulmate AU (Dean Winchester x Reader): I was inspired after reading @ambiguous-avery's Moon Without Stars (go figure, I got inspired by you again! 🥰) I don't know how to write/plan a multi chapter fic. But I did talk to my sister about this the other day cause she loves folklore-y monster supernatural stuff. We will see what happens
I Loved Her First (Soldier Boy x Reader): I wrote what was supposed to be a one shot than turned angsty and now I'm trying to figure out how to write a multichapter fic. But the first chapter is done! Reader is engaged to Ben's brother when he comes back after getting the V1.
Desire (Sam Winchester x Reader): The next part in my i'm gonna getcha good series. I was thinking about waiting until I'm back from visiting my sister at the end of the month to start writing this and the next parts so I can really focus on them.
There are many more things in progress, but I'm excited about these!
I need more friends/mutuals so I can tag more people. 🤣 Consider this my application.
Summary: After Homelander is defeated, the world is scrambling to move on, but Soldier Boy is locked away in Vought Tower. That is until you free him.
Content Warning: 18+. MDNI. Soldier boy is one horny mf and only thinks about sex. Even if he should be worried about getting out of the tower. And who are you to deny him anything. Couch sex. Vaginal fingering. PIV sex. Slight cockwarming. Spanking. Squint for the breeding kink.
Word Count: 3k
A/N: I took the title from the Backstreet Boys song. Backstreet Boys > NSYNC. I said what I said and I stand by it.
@shroomshop This is for you! 🩷 I hope it is semi what you were hoping for. Sorry it took so long!
Divider credit: @cursed-carmine; Pictures from Pinterest.
AO3 Link
Sneaking into Vought Tower was fairly easy. After Butcher killed Homelander on national television, you had hoped the aftermath of the fallout would be enough of a distraction that no one would be concerned about one singular women on her own mission.
You had begged Ben to leave without talking to Homelander, but the motherfucker was just too damn stubborn. And when he didn't show at your place that night ready to leave, you knew something had happened. You just prayed it didn't cost him his life in the process. Either way, you were going to find answers.
Your first instinct was to go down to the basement, thinking Vought would want to hide the supe away. But as you entered the stairwell, you remembered Ben telling you that when Homelander had woken him up from cryo, the chamber was in his bedroom. You were operating on the hope that Ben was just in stasis rather than dead, and what were the odds that he would have had the chamber removed?
When you finally broke into Homelander's apartment, you still glanced around the space like he might show up and kill you on sight. Despite showing his true colors after losing his power, old habits died hard. Moving silently through the rooms, you entered his bedroom and your jaw dropped.
In the corner, Soldier Boy was there, eyes closed like he was just asleep. Which you supposed he was, in a way. Rushing over, you look at the controls to the chamber, hoping to figure out how to get him out. It was surprisingly user friendly, and you managed to get the door open without much difficulty.
The next part would be much harder. The man was built like a tank, and he was heavy. There was no physical way you were going to be able to move him. The restraints holding him in place would have to do until he woke up.
Your eyes traced over his body, his skin a map of scars showing everything he has survived over thick corded muscles that you knew initimately. Your fingertips graze his biceps and across his chest, unable to help yourself from touching him. You were so caught up that when he cleared his throat, it startled you, jumping back as your heart pounded against your chest.
His voice was rough from disuse. "The fuck happened?"
"Do you always wake up from cryo this angry?" You ask, stepping closer to him again. "Or do you plan on thanking the woman that just saved your life from sleeping the years away?"
Your hands cup his face as you lean up and kiss along his jaw, his beard tickling your skin as your lips finally meet his. His eyebrows raise in surprise as he kisses you back for a moment, letting your presence surround him before he mutters against your lips, "Are you going to let me out or…"
"If you are as big and strong as you say, shouldn't you be able to get out yourself?" You counter, unable to resist the urge to tease him.
His emerald green eyes flash with amusement or irritation, but knowing him, it was probably irritation. You wish he didn't look so damn attractive when he was annoyed, but when his eyes shot to yours with a promise of punishment, you couldn't be held liable for pushing his buttons further. You might be a brat, but you were a well satisfied one.
Without wasting another moment, the restraints around his wrists snap, no longer connected to the board behind him. You take a step back, undoing the straps across his body to free him as he tears the leather restraints from his wrists, shredding them like paper.
"That was the last time I'm ever going back in that damn box." He grumbles.
"You know what they say about famous last words, Ben."
His hands finally come up to your face, thumbs brushing against your jaw as he tilts your head back. He ducks his head down to fully look into your eyes, like he really wants you to hear him.
"I'm never leaving you again." He whispers, his tone soft, but the words unyielding. A promise he intended to keep until he was nothing more than dust and bones.
You grab his wrists, keeping him close as you swallow past the lump forming in your throat, nodding. "I was so scared. You didn't come home, and I thought…"
"Homelander caught me by surprise. I didn't think the bastard would stab me in the back like that. Where is he by the way? I think I need to return the favor."
"He's dead. Butcher killed him. On national tv. It was…gruesome."
Ben's brow raises in surprise. "The bastard actually did it. I'll be damned."
Then he kisses you. It is desperate, hungry, and laced with something close to relief. Your hands run up over his chest to twist around the back of his neck as you pull yourself closer. He groans in response, his hands tracing down your sides to wrap around your back. Despite your anger at him for leaving you that day, seeing him now, having him back in your arms completely assuages the anxiety and worry you had been feeling.
You melt against his body, solid and firm against your own. He starts slowly walking you backwards, murmuring against your lips. "You are wearing way too many clothes."
When your legs hit the edge of the bed, you nearly fall back. "I don't think now is the best time, Ben. We probaly should get out of Vought Tower. And it's not like I want to do it in your dead son's bed."
Ben grumbles under his breath, like he doesn't understand how you aren't ready to jump into the first bed with him like he clearly is. His hands slide down your body grabbing your ass and squeezing. The action pulls you further into him, and you wrap your arms around his neck.
"Is there anywhere in this god's damned tower you would be okay with fucking me before we leave?" He demands, clearly exasperated.
You chuckle at his annoyance. "Anywhere but this bed."
Hands sliding behind your thighs, the supe lifts you up as your legs wrap around his waist and he carries you straight to the couch before sitting down with you straddling his lap. His erection is pressing against the fabric of the white boxer briefs he has on, straining to get out and sink into you.
His lips travel across your jaw to whisper in your ear. "This better, princess?" He asks facetiously, nipping at your earlobe.
"Much better." You giggle. He starts pulling at your clothes and they threathen to tear under his impatience and strength. "Ben, unless you want me walking out of this building half naked, do you mind?"
He huffs, lips pulling off your neck where he was sucking a deep mark into your sensitive skin. He throws his hands up. "Fine. You do it then."
"With pleasure." You say, winking as you strip off your shirt and bra. You push up to your knees to pull your pants and underwear down, the motion shoving your breasts in his face. Unable to resist the temptation, he licks a strip right up the valley before his lips latch around one nipple, suckling at you. You gasp at the sensation, electricity running straight through your veins to your core.
You kick off your pants, hands flying into his hair as your nails scratch against his scalp and he groans at the feel of your fingers in his hair, the vibrations ricocheting through your body in a tidalwave of pure desire. You pull him closer as one of his hands plays with your other breast, his other hand on your hip, fingers splayed wide. Your head falls back as you moan his name, your tone a desperate whine, and he smiles against you.
"That's right, say my name. Been missin' me something fierce, haven't you?" He goads, pulling your body back down so your core is pressed against his aching cock, his underwear the only thing separating him from entering your sweet tight pussy. Using your hips, he moves your body, sliding you along the ridge of him, each pass dampening the fabric with your arousal until it is nearly translucent.
You gasp and moan as he drags you up and down his length, every movement rubbing just perfectly against your clit, and you start rocking your hips. "More. Fuck, Ben. I need more."
"How much more?" He taunts, his strength keeping you moving at the pace he wants, designed to drag out your pleasure, almost like he wants you to remember how good he makes you feel and only him. Like you could ever want anyone else, the man had ruined you long ago.
"Everything." You gasp out. "I need you."
Your nails dig into the thick muscles of his shoulders as you head drops forward, forehead pressed against his cheek, his beard softly scratching your skin, only reminding you of the feeling of his beard other, more intimate places.
"Tell me how bad you need my cock. I need to hear it. Need to know how much you missed me." He growls in your ear.
"Ben, baby, please." You whimper, knowing you are completely at his mercy. "I need to feel you inside me. I was going crazy without you."
He stills your rocking hips, one hand sliding to your core as his thick calloused fingers quickly find your clit, circling the bundle of nerves as you gasp. Pleasure rushes through you as he plays your body like he knows it better than the back of his hand, fingers dipping into your entrance to gather more of your arousal before moving back.
You kiss him fiercely, your hands running to the back of his neck, holding him still as your lips attack his. You can feel his grin as he lets you control the kiss as he drives you mad with his fingers. You nip his bottom lip with your teeth, and you can feel the change in him as his eyes flash with barely contained desire. This time when two of his fingers slide into you, your mouth drops open with a moan that he swallows, his tongue dipping inside to taste you.
"Ride 'em, doll. Show me how desperate you are for my cock."
You lift your hips, letting his fingers pull almost completely out of you before your hips roll back down, impaling yourself on his thick digits. As much as you wanted feel him inside you, you would gladly take his fingers. You would take any part of him he was willing to give you.
Clenching around his fingers you grind down, your clit rubs deliciously against the heel of his hand before lifting again to repeat the motion. His eyes greedily run over your body, your tits bouncing with each movement. The only thing that could make this better was if he was buried deep in your pussy, but he wanted you good and stretched out before then.
His fingers scissor apart, pressing against your gummy walls, feeling each and every clench of your muscles. You were getting close, panting against his neck between kisses, his name coming out in breathless whispers. But he wanted you screaming his name for anyone in this goddamned tower to hear and know who you belonged to. Who you would always belong to.
"Gonna have you screaming around my cock by the end of the night, doll." He murmured in your ear, pulling the lobe with his teeth.
"So close, Ben." You whimper.
"Come for me, sweetheart. Wanna feel you drench me."
With his permission, you combust in his arms, pleasure running through your veins that you can feel from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. Your skin buzzes, everything feeling more sensitive from the coolness in the air against your skin to the way your breasts rub against his chest. He keeps working you, his fingers rubbing against the sensitive spot inside you until you are trembling in his arms.
When he removes his fingers, you groan at the loss, but are quickly sated as he pulls his underwear down enough to release himself and impales you on his thick, veiny, reddened cock. You gasp, feeling oversensitive after your release and your nails claw down his chest, leaving red lines in their wake. You wish they would still be there tomorrow, a reminder of you on his skin, but you will just have to leave new marks tomorrow since he heals too quickly.
"God fucking damn." He groans. "Always so fucking tight for me."
"Oh my god. Oh my god. So fucking big." You babble, as you adjust to him.
"You aren't sitting on god's cock, doll."
You nod your head in agreement, feeling too blissed out to understand what he is saying.
"Who's cock is inside you?"
You whimper, acting purely on instinct as you lean forward to press your lips against his, barely hearing his question. His hand comes down, slapping your ass.
"Fuck!" You cry out, lifting up an inch before falling back down on him as his dick rubs against your g-spot perfectly. "Oh god."
His hand lands on your ass again, the sting blending together in perfect harmony with the fullness of him inside you. "Wrong answer."
"Fuck! Ben! Yours. It's yours. Your cock." You gasp.
He grins down at you, his hips bucking up, the tip kissing your cervix just perfectly. "That's much better."
You start to roll your hips, enjoying just how much the supe fills you up, your clit pressed against his groin. You swear you could spend the rest of your life perched on him just like this and die a happy woman. But when his hands return to your hips, he urges you to lift up, watching his cock glistening with your slick before he slams you back down.
You take the hint, starting to ride him, as he helps you keep a steady rhythm. He leans forward, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth and sucking down on you, his tongue circling the pebbled bud with a groan that echoes throughout your body. Your hands find their way to his hair, yanking on the soft strands to pull him impossibly closer to your body.
The heat between you builds to an inferno as you move, his fingers gripping your hips tight enough to leave marks that will turn to bruises by morning. He pulls off your breast with a pop, leaning back to watch you.
"Look so fucking good as you take my cock. My perfect little slut. Riding me like you can't get enough. Bet you would let me knock you up, wouldn't you? Do you want to full and round with my kid?"
You moan desperately, your rhythm stuttering at his words as you clench around him hard. You would. You would let him get you pregnant if he really wanted that. A physical reminder of the desperate need you have for each other.
"Fuck, doll. You like the sound of that, don't you? Letting me fill you so deep, there would be no way you weren't pregnant by the time I was done with you. Want me to come inside your pretty pussy?"
You nod, moving faster against him, chasing your orgasm as the echoes of skin slapping against skin and your panting breath is all you can hear over his words. He reaches between you, playing with your clit to try and push you over the edge faster.
"So close…so close Ben."
"Good. I want to feel you milk my cock dry as I fill you up." He growls.
His hips thrust up in time with your downward strokes before he releases inside you, painting your walls and cervix with rops of his cum with a groan of your name falling from his lips. His orgasm sets off your own as your muscles seize. He keeps thrusting up into you as you clench around him, trying to pull him deeper inside your core, like you want to have his cock imprinted inside you. You scream his name loud enough that if there were anyone on the floor, you were sure they would be aware that Soldier Boy was awake and out of cryo again.
When you both finally come down from your combined pleasure, you smile down at him, satisfied bliss clearly written across your features. He returns your smile, soft and sated, his fingers brushing a strand of hair back from your face.
"You are so fucking breathtaking. You know that?"
"Are you just saying that because I let you out of the box and let you come inside me?"
He huffs at your question. "I'm being serious."
"I'm sorry." You murmur, kissing the tip of his nose. "Please keep singing my praises."
"Too late. It's done. You ruined it." He laid back against the couch, keeping you sprawled over him, cock still buried deep inside your cunt, each residual spasm of your muscles reminding both you and him how good you are together. His fingers trail up your spine, much gentler than you expect, and you wonder if he knows the lengths you would go for him. That anywhere he wanted to go, you would follow. That he owned you, body, mind and soul so completely that you didn't feel like yourself without his presence, he was quinessential to your mental health.
He sighed, drawing your attention away from counting every freckle on his tanned chest as your cheek rested over his heart, listening to each steady beat. "Now that Homelander is gone, I suppose we don't need to go to Bogotá. Is there anywhere you want to go, doll?"
You smile, lifting your head to look him in his eyes. "As long as it is with you, we can go anywhere."
Okay loveee seeing Soldier Boy x more demure or submissive reader but can I just say my guilty pleasure is thinking of him with someone who doesn’t take any shit and constantly gives him attitude. An unstoppable force vs immovable object type of deal lollll
dude this is my favourite soldier boy pairing. cause he’s definitely used to most women falling at his feet, doing whatever he asks, submitting to him, etc. he’d be so confused to find a little spitfire that challenges him at every word out of his mouth, cause “no woman’s ever talked to him like that before” and “women used to respect men” blah blah blah. but you? you seriously could not care less.
ben’s pretty sure he hates you. the word insolent comes to mind whenever you invade his brain, like a brat that’s never learnt her place. but if you’re so infuriating, so frustratingly impudent and disrespectful, why does his cock chub up in his pants the second you snap at him? why is he constantly thinking about how sweet you’d taste despite your fiery attitude? why can’t he stop thinking about your stupidly beautiful face staring down at him—of course, adorned with your typical glare—while he eats your cunt? hmm…
Sam Winchester x F!Reader; Dean Winchester x F!Reader
Summary: Back in the bunker, Sam finally manages to get some alone time with you, and you corner Dean in the war room the next day.
Content Warning: 18+. MDNI. Explicit sexual content. Explicit language. Oral sex (m and f receiving). Vaginal fingering.
Word Count: 7.3k
A/N: This is the longest one in this series so far. And it’s all smut, so please enjoy.
AO3 Link
Series Master list. Read previous parts here: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14
Despite the fact that the bunker was old, the Men of Letters must have understood the importance of good water pressure. Because the shower was amazing, you weren’t sure anything could top it, even sex might pale in comparison. And you had your whole routine down to a science, hanging up the new bunch of fresh eucalyptus around the showerhead, turning on your bluetooth speaker to your favorite playlist, and using softer lighting just to make the ambiance that much better of an experience. Both of the boys knew better than to interrupt your time, having been on the receiving end of your frustration for doing just that. You can still see the shock on their faces the first time you chewed them out.
As you stood under the hot water, the steam floated through the air. It was enough to cloud up the mirror, but you were focused on shaking off the residual frustrations from the last hunt. Truly, you were thankful to be back home. Which is exactly what the bunker had become. Home. And with Sam and Dean, it was perfect.
You were caught up shampooing your hair, listening to the music to notice how the bathroom door opened and closed as Sam entered the bathroom. During the rest of the entire hunt, Dean had kept up the lingering grudge, making sure you and Sam never had a moment alone. And Sam was pent up, especially after having to watch Dean get you off. It wasn’t something Sam had expected to enjoy. While he knew he and Dean were sharing you, getting to witness someone else touching you was something he knew he wasn’t going to be able to forget.
The only reason he hadn’t joined in was that he knew Dean would have been pissed. Dean wanted to punish him. If he had thrown caution to the wind and joined in, he wasn’t sure exactly how far Dean would have taken it the next time to teach him a lesson. Would he have fucked you in front him? Eaten you out? Just the thought had Sam half hard, imagining how you would look spread out on the bed, chest heaving, skin flushed and damp, your core leaking with arousal, back arching off the bed, muscles tightening as you tried to control yourself, until you weren’t able to any longer and you came hard enough to see stars and ruin the sheets under you.
Sam shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts as he shed his clothes. He knew he was risking your wrath but he didn’t know what else to do. He needed you. More than he thought was possible. And you were just a few steps away, naked and glistening under the water.
You tilted your head back, eyes closed as you started to rinse the shampoo out of your hair, the suds running down your skin and down the drain. You didn’t see, but you felt a presence as the shower curtain opened and suddenly a very naked and very turned on Sam Winchester was standing in front of you, looking at you like you were his next meal.
You yelp, slapping his arm. “Sam! You fucking scared me!”
He just grinned, grabbing your wrist easily before you made contact with him. “Sorry. I just needed a minute with you.”
“Just a minute?” You tease, as he pulled you closer and your body collided with his.
His other arm wrapped around your back, keeping your chest pressed against his. “Goddamn, sweetheart, why is the water so hot? Are you trying to burn your skin off?”
“What? I always take showers this hot. It feels good. Like I’m getting a really good deep clean.” You take the opportunity to run your hands up his chest, feeling his muscles flex under your touch as his thick cock presses against your stomach.
Sam hums in response. “I missed you.”
You smile. “I’ve been here.”
“Feels like you were still too far away.”
“Well, your brother knows how to hold a grudge like it is his full time job. And he has a knack for knowing when I was trying to get you alone.”
Sam chuckles, his head ducking down to press his lips against yours. “I mean, you weren’t exactly being subtle, but you can say that again.”
You melt against him, the water hitting your back as heat surrounds you from both the water and the man holding onto you. His fingers trail up and down your back, and heat blooms in your core. It could have something to do with his cock pressed against your stomach, the shiver running through you from his fingertips trailing along your skin, or the lust in his eyes as he looks down at you like you were the best thing he has ever seen in his life.
Your arms loop around his neck, hands sliding through his hair as you pull him down. “Well, subtlety wasn’t getting me anywhere with you two. I had to step it up.”
He chuckles, his arms tightening around you. “Eventually we got the message.”
“Thank God.” You mutter, pressing your lips against his. He kisses you back urgently, like he had been waiting for this for too long. His lips are soft, even if the kiss is anything but gentle as he practically devours you like his next meal.
You push up to your tip toes, fingers curling in his hair as you try to eliminate any space between you. Your chest presses up against his, your nipples hardening against the friction of his skin against yours. He groans into your mouth and you take the opportunity to lick inside his mouth, tasting him. His hands travel down your waist to grip your ass, squeezing and massaging the ample flesh in his large hands.
“Fuck, Sam.” You murmur as he turns you both around, his back now under the spray of the water. He leans his head back, wetting his hair as you watch him, your hands sliding down his chest. His eyes are closed as droplets of water run down his face, neck, and chest. You are barely able to contain a moan at how incredibly sexy he looks, how good he feels against you. Unable to help yourself, you lick a stripe up his chest, right between his pecs, tasting the combination of the water, the lingering salt on his skin, as well as something that is just Sam.
You can almost feel his heart stutter as he looks down at you, skin flushed, soaking wet, his beautiful eyes blown out with a desperate want. “You are killing me, sweetheart.” He croaks out.
You bite your lip, a wicked smirk pulling at the corner of your lips as you slowly sink to your knees in front of him. You hold his gaze the entire time before dragging your eyes down his body until you are staring directly at his cock. “Might as well enjoy the ride then.”
You lick your lips, hands running up his thighs, purposefully letting your fingernails lightly graze his skin. His hips buck forwards involuntarily, searching out anything to ease the ache that has been building inside him for the last week and a half.
You tsk, taunting him. “Easy, baby. I haven’t even touched you properly yet.”
Sam chuckles, but his voice is hoarse like it is taking everything in himself not to just grab you and take what he desperately needs. He braces a hand against the wall of the shower, and the other comes down to stroke your cheek. “Careful. You might be calling the shots right now, but when it is your turn, just remember, I have a good memory.”
You hum in acknowledgement, taking him in your hand, slowly stroking him. Just watching his face twist in pleasure before you place a kiss against the bulbous leaking reddened tip. You swirl your tongue around him, giving in to your desire to taste him, as his flavor explodes on your tastebuds. You aren’t sure whose moan is louder, as you continue, working his shaft slowly with your hand as you lavish attention on him with your mouth and tongue.
You don’t let him too far into your mouth just yet, wanting to tease the hell out of him, knowing what it will earn you in return. You keep your movements slow and controlled as his hand slides into your hair, gripping the strands like it can keep him anchored to this moment. With every lick, kiss, and gentle suction of your mouth, he seems to grow impossibly harder. He tries to control himself, but groans deep in his chest.
“Fuck, you look so good on your knees for me.” He says, and your back straightens at the praise, your rhythm staggering for a moment, and just grins wickedly. “Oh. Do you like me telling you are such a good girl while you tease me like you don’t want to be gagging on this cock?”
You moan around him, keeping your hand on the base of his length as your other hand grips his thigh as you take him deeper in your mouth.
“Just like that, baby.” He encourages, knowing he has found the perfect way to get you to do exactly what he wants. “Show me exactly how much you want me.”
If you weren’t turned on before, you definitely were now with his cock hitting the back of your throat and his honey sweet words in your ear. Your tongue swirls over every ridge, every vein, every bit of him that you could fit in your mouth. His hips buck into your mouth, pushing him deeper and you moan, your fingers digging into the skin of this thigh. His mouth drops open on a moan as the slight pain mixes with the sheer amount of pleasure you are giving him. God, if the man would keep praising you would let him fuck your throat until it was raw and had memorized the shape of him.
You suck down on him as your hips start to undulate, searching for some friction to ease the need building inside you.
“You look so sexy, like a fucking goddess. Can’t wait to sink into your pussy and show you everything you have been missing your entire life.” He continues, his hand tightening in your hair, pulling just to the point of pain as his other hand holds your neck, thumb stroking your cheek in encouragement.
You whimper around him, hand and mouth moving in tandem, wanting him to keep going, wanting to hear every depraved thing he could possibly say, wanting to show him everything you need. He starts to pant above you, muscles trembling as he tries to hold still and let you lead, but it is getting harder and harder to hold on.
“Do you want me to come in your mouth? You want that don’t you? Want to taste me and swallow every ounce of my cum like a good little slut? Bet you wouldn’t waste a single drop, would you?”
Your eyes pop open and you look up at him. He grins down at you like he knows exactly what he is doing.
“Yeah, you like that too, don’t you? Come on, baby. Make me come, and I’ll give you everything you want. Everything you need.”
You are functioning on pure instinct without a thought in your mind as you continue, and you can’t imagine anything being more important than this right now. He closes his eyes and you can feel it a split second before he comes, the inevitability as you suck down one last time and he spills himself in your mouth and down your throat with a groan of your name. You keep working him through until you have devoured every drop. He feels heavy on your tongue, softening slowly as you pull away. Sam watches at you with a look of reverence before he is pulling you off your knees to kiss you. More like inhale you with the way his lips moved against yours, tongue dipping into your mouth to taste himself mixed with you, the flavor a perfect combination. His arms wrap around you, holding you up as you melt into his solid body. Your hands move along his water slickened skin, wanting to feel every bit of him against you.
When you try to twine your arms around his neck, his hands follow yours, grabbing and pulling them back down between you both. Then he turns you until your back is against his chest, and he presses you into the shower wall. Your nipples pebble against the cold wet tile, hands pressed against the wall, his hands covering your wrists, keeping them in place for the moment.
“Sam, what are you doing?” You whine as he pushes your hair over your shoulder, lips following down the column of your neck, a shiver running down your spine. He presses closer and his semi hard cock nudges against the cleft of your ass. His hands slide around your abdomen, fingers brushing against the bottom of your breasts.
“I haven’t gotten to touch you in so long. Are you gonna let me make you feel good?” He whispers in your ear. You nod in response. You would let him do whatever he wanted to you.
He palms your breasts, weighing and massaging your flesh as your head falls back against his chest. You moan, arching into his touch, feeling his smile against your skin, the slight scrape of stubble he didn’t shave this morning. His teeth nip your sensitive skin lightly testing your reaction before he is sucking a bruise into your neck. You can barely think as his fingers tug at your nipples, twisting just enough that the pleasure shoots through you straight to your core.
You grind back against him, feeling him harden against you, thick and ready to fill you completely. Which is all you want, all you crave. You want to feel him sliding in and out of you, making you feel like you are the only thing he could ever want. The only thing worth losing his never ending self control for. You want to be the one to push him over the edge again and again.
One of his hands releases your breast, gliding down your body to your heated core. His fingers dance along your slit, a teasing pressure before a finger dips in, sliding past your clit to dip just into your entrance.
You gasp, wanting more. “Please, Sam.”
He feels just how soaked and ready you are for him, your slick coating his finger. “All this for me? I’ve barely touched you. Is this how soaked you get with my cock in your mouth?” He asks.
He brings his fingers back to your bundle of nerves, applying just enough pressure to send pleasure all the way to your toes, as they curl in anticipation. You are so focused on his actions and the bliss shooting through your body that you don’t answer him, a soft whine the only thing leaving your lips.
“Well, sweetheart, that isn’t really an answer.” But he doesn’t stop stroking you, almost like he likes that you are unable to answer him.
“What?” You ask breathlessly.
“I wanted to know how wet you got from just sucking my cock.”
“Fuck. So wet, Sam. So fucking wet. Wanted to know if you would feel as good as you taste.”
His hips buck, pressing his cock against your ass and lower back, feeling just how much he wants to know how you would feel wrapped around him.
“I’m not fucking you in the shower for the first time.” He murmurs in your ear and you whine. His chest rumbles with a chuckle you can feel vibrating through you.
“Why not?”
“You deserve more than a quick fuck in the shower.” He says two fingers breaching your entrance and you gasp at the intrusion.
“I don’t know about that. A quick fuck in the shower sounds really nice right now. Sounds pretty perfect actually.”
Teeth press against your shoulder as he nips at you. You turn your head towards Sam and he kisses you, fingers slowly fucking you, curling perfectly against the sensitive spot inside you. Your eyes close against the overwhelming sensations running through your body.
“God, that feels so good, Sam.”
He keeps fucking you with his fingers as you feel his body moving down yours, his lips kissing down your spine as he lowers himself to the floor. You barely realize what is about to happen when his fingers slip from you, lifting your thigh up so your foot rests on the ledge of the bathtub, leaving you open for him. He pulls your hips back, causing your back to arch as his hands spread your ass, every part of you on display to his gaze, slick, pink and swollen.
He dives in eagerly, like he has been waiting forever to get a taste of you, tongue lapping thick stripes from your clit to entrance. You almost lose your grip against the wall, your legs nearly buckling as Sam wastes no time, seemingly wanting to see you in a puddle on the shower floor as he devours you, the vibrations of his moans ricocheting through you. His hands settle on your hips, helping hold you up.
Your face drops, pressing against the cool wall as you pant, every swipe of his tongue making your eyes clench shut. You arch further, pressing back against his mouth and he groans in approval, keeping you steady. His tongue circles your clit with a delicious pressure that has you seeing stars.
All you can do is moan his name as the pressure builds and builds inside you with every swipe of his tongue. When his lips wrap around your clit, sucking down on you, you nearly scream, and your knees would have buckled if it weren’t for his arms holding you steady. You think he is going to take pity on you when he releases his lips until his tongue is pressing inside your entrance, fucking you slowly, causing you to clench desperately against him.
One of your hands lets go of the wall, sliding down to grip his hand on your hip, like you need to touch him in order to ground yourself in the moment or else you will float away. Then his other hand travels to your clit, his fingers deftly playing you like he knows exactly what you need to let go.
All the sensations are starting to overwhelm you as your thighs tremble against the onslaught, barely hanging onto sanity as he does his best to tip you over the edge.
“Sam…Sam, I can’t.” You whimper. “I’m gonna…fuck, I’m gonna come.”
He groans, keeping steady as he works you into oblivion and when you come, it feels like a tsunami sweeping you away with pleasure, overwhelming and unavoidable. Your nails dig into his hands and you nearly collapse against the shower wall, and Sam doesn’t stop, fingers and tongue working in tandem as wave after wave of absolute bliss roll over you. You can feel everything tenfold, the water droplets rolling down your body, the weight of the humidity in the room with each inhale as you gasp and cry out Sam’s name, the way your muscles threaten to give out on you.
As you slowly come to, Sam pulls back, a grin on his face that you can’t see as you close your eyes, focusing all your energy on staying upright. He stands up behind you, his hands anchoring you as he turns you around to face him. You face tips back as you blink your eyes open.
“Are you good?” He asks as you lean into him.
“Phenomenal.” You murmur, the rest of your shower routine completely forgotten.
When you finally emerge from the bathroom, you are hanging off each other, kissing each other as you stumble into the hallway. His towel is slung low around his hips, and yours is barely hanging on.
“Oh, so he gets to interrupt your showers?” Dean asks, crossing his arms, the look on his face fully judging you both.
You jump apart, not expecting Dean to be there. You hand held against your chest, willing your heartbeat to slow, as Sam says, “It was more efficient. I just got back from a run, and I needed to clean off.”
“Needed to clean off, my ass.” Dean grumbles as he walks away.
“What was that, Dean?” You ask innocently.
“I hope you guys had fun.” Dean calls back.
“We did.” You call down the hallway loud enough for Dean to hear as he turns the corner. All you can see before he rounds the corner is his middle finger up, flipping you both off. You giggle already knowing exactly how you plan on making it up to him.
The next day, Sam decided to go out to get groceries, since no one had bothered restocking since returning from the case and you were running low on everything. Which left you and Dean alone in the bunker. You found him in the war room, on the phone with Sam with his laptop open in front of him. You lean against the wall, just watching him and his exasperated expression as he argued with Sam over whether or not a fruit pie could be considered a fruit salad and hence he was being healthy. The man would go to any length to eat like a child.
Speaking of eating…you were feeling kinda hungry. Pushing off the wall, you slink across the room, closing the laptop and pushing it out of the way to perch on the edge of the table. Dean smirked appreciatively as he glanced over at you, tilting his head like he wasn’t sure exactly what you wanted. Well, he was about to find out. You gesture for him to scoot his chair back from the table, which he does with narrowed eyes. You slide from the edge of the table down until your knees hit the floor.
Dean’s eyes widen in shock as you settle between his legs. He swallows, his words sputtering as his brain tries to comprehend exactly what is about to happen. Like he might have dreamed about this happening, but now that you are here he can barely believe it. And he doesn’t seem to be able to do more than one thing at a time, losing his focus on his conversation with Sam as he watches you reach for his belt, undoing it slowly and pulling it from the loops of his jeans.
He gulps, throat bobbing as your hands quickly undo the button and zipper of his jeans, urging him to lift his hips so you can pull the offending fabric down his legs to get to where you really want. His cock presses against the fabric of his boxers already hard and trying to escape the confines, twitching like he is anticipating exactly how your mouth will feel, how your lips will wrap around him so perfectly.
When you peel his boxers away, licking your lips, Dean thinks he might explode right there as you glance up at him with a wicked smirk, and he thinks for a minute that you might be trying to get your revenge on him for teasing the hell out of you in front of Sam the other night. If so, he might die a happy man. This was the intended outcome, but he wouldn’t complain. He clutches the phone so hard, his knuckles turn white and you wonder for a moment if the phone is going to crack in his palm.
You had been dreaming of tasting his cock for so long, you weren’t about to hold back and tease him. But you take a moment to admire his cock, long and thick, the head rounded, red with a drop of precum already leaking from his slit. Dean could only watch you, his breath deep, heavy as he waits, the conversation with Sam the last thing on his mind, even with the phone still pressed against his ear.
And then you wrap your hand around the base of his cock, stroking him once. Twice. You hold him still as your tongue darts out to swirl around the tip, pressing a kiss against him. Dean groans and it is the sexiest thing you might have ever heard, you might give anything to hear that again.
“Dean, are you okay? What the hell is going on?” Sam asks.
“Sammy, I gotta go. Got…stuff…to do. Yeah. Stuff. Fuck, that’s…” Dean says, and you both know Sam knows exactly what is happening while he is out of the bunker.
You smile up at Dean, raising your eyebrows towards the phone before fully taking him in your mouth. His hips flex in response, and you moan, letting the vibrations run through you into the most sensitive part of him.
“God damn.” He mutters, biting his lip as he watches you, the phone hanging limply in his hand, the conversation with Sam completely forgotten. Then he tosses the phone onto the table, turning his attention fully on you, watching his cock half disappear into your mouth with each bob of your head.
His fingers brush back your hair, one hand gathering the strands in his hand, keeping ahold of you as your eyes glance up. His face is a mix of concentration as his brows are furrowed together, eyes heavy lidded as you move, taking him deeper with each pass. You want to feel him everywhere, willing yourself to always remember this moment where the world has narrowed down to the two of you in this room. His mouth drops open on a groan as your wrist twists moving with your head to drive him right to the edge.
If his hand tightening in your hair and the clench of his thighs weren’t signs enough that the man was about to come, he growls deep in his chest, like he was trying to keep the sound contained. For a moment, you think about stopping just to hear that noise again, but you know the revenge he would enact would be torture. A sweet wonderful torture, but still torture, and you were already on edge yourself.
Instead, you redouble your efforts, trying to make Dean come as you suck down with each drag of your mouth along his cock. His eyes nearly roll back at the sensation and when you moan again, the vibrations set him off, thick ropes of his release hitting the back of your throat as he pants out your name. You grin, swallowing each and every drop you can, even as some spills out of your mouth. He tastes like heaven, salty and musky.
You are tempted to keep going, wanting to see how long he would let you suck and lick and tease until he was pushing you away overstimulated. But you decided to take it easy on him today, there was always time later to push his buttons.
Dean looks down at you as you pull away, a drop of his cum on the corner of your mouth. His hand gently grips your chin, lifting your head up further, thumb swiping at the drop. You open your lips and his thumb slides in and you suck down. His eyes flare with desire again, and when he pulls his thumb from your mouth and you push up from the floor, climbing onto his lap to kiss him.
Dean’s arms wrap around you as he kisses you with a ferocity you should have been expecting, tongue invading your mouth to taste himself on you. You match his passion with your own, moaning into his mouth as your arms wrap around his neck, pulling yourself as close against him as you can get. As you straddle him, the only layers separating you are your shorts and panties. You grind down, his thick length already starting to harden again and search out your entrance.
He pulls back just enough to murmur against your lips. “I’m about to make some bad decisions if you don’t stop.”
“Who says it’s a bad decision?” You ask, nose bumping into his, urging him to give in. He nips at your bottom lip, and your nails drag against his scalp. “Come on, baby. What’s the worst that can happen?”
“Such a fucking temptation.” He groans, hands running down your back before grabbing the hem and lifting the fabric up. You smile, thinking you won, as you lift your arms, helping him remove your shirt. He drops it on the floor, leaning back to let his eyes run over your body.
“It isn’t something you haven’t seen before.” You tease, pressing your chest out, trying to entice him further.
His eyes barely glance up at yours before returning to your breasts. His tongue darts out, licking along the edge of your bra. You swallow, his hands pulling at the straps of your bra, leaving them hanging against your arms before swiftly unclasping your bra and letting the fabric fall down.
“It isn’t a sight I’m ever going to get sick of.” He says, like it is the most obvious thing in the world, bringing a blush to your cheeks.
You toss your bra to the floor and his lips latch around one nipple, teeth scraping against your sensitive skin before his tongue swirls, soothing the slight sting of his teeth. You gasp, hands landing on his shoulders as he sucks down, pleasure shooting straight to your core. You grind down, trying to relieve the pressure building, his cock rubbing against you almost perfectly. You reach down, pulling your shorts and underwear out of the way, sighing in relief as you move your hips.
He groans as the head of his cock presses against your clit. His hips buck in response, pushing himself closer to your entrance, as his mouth switches to your other breast. His hand comes up to massage the now abandoned breast, tugging and twisting your nipple.
“Dean, I can’t. Please. I need…I need…” You gasp out.
“Tell me what you need.” He growls against you.
“You. I need you.” You start to lift your hips, trying to angle his cock at your entrance, but right as you start to sink down, his cock just barely enters you, his hands clasp your hips, stopping you.
Your eyes flare, groaning in frustration. “Please, Dean.”
He nearly gives in to the lust shining in your eyes, reflecting the same need in his. But he lifts you onto the table. “I’m not letting you screw me in a chair with your shorts pulled out of the way the first time I fuck you.”
“You and Sam are fucking impossible. I need to get laid.”
He chuckles humorlessly. “You and me both, sweetheart.”
You lay back on the table, lifting your hips and slide down your shorts and underwear off, kicking them across the room. “I’m literally on a platter, Dean.” The desperation in your voice evident as you plead, trying to convey how much you need him.
His hand strokes his cock lazily, feeling the evidence of your desire spread along his length. He can’t think of anything he wants more in this moment than to slide into you, feeling you stretch around him. He would like to try and break the damn table you are laying on if he was completely honest. He is halfway sure he would be able to, considering how much he needs you too. He barely tucks himself back in his boxers, the fabric tented and barely containing him. He doesn’t bother fastening his jeans, knowing it would be torture to feel the denim strapping him down. Then he stands and leans over your naked body, fingers grazing against your skin as he kisses your neck.
“You are.” He murmurs, starting to leave small biting kisses down the length of your body. “Perfectly laid out for me. And sweetheart—I’m starving.”
Dean drops to his knees, hands gripping your thighs to pull your body down until your ass is at the edge of the table, before spreading your thighs apart so he can see every part of you. He kisses your inner thigh, and you lift up to your elbows to watch him, your bottom lip in your teeth, the anticipation killing you.
Dean glances up, smirking at you. “You can lay down and relax. You know I’ll take good care of you.”
Then his arm presses against your stomach, urging you to lay back and once you do, he maneuvers your legs over his shoulders, his hands grab your hips to keep you from squirming back. One of your hands grips the edge of the table, already knowing you are going to need something to keep you grounded.
He blows gently, the cool air a sharp contrast against your heated wet core and your body jerks. He presses a kiss against you, before his tongue is parting your folds, a thick stripe from entrance to your clit before he circles the tip of his tongue around you. His movements are slow, methodical, like he wants to draw this out for as long as possible. Like he wants to take you to the edge again and again, like he is content to spend hours between your thighs, for the rest of his life if it were possible.
You let out a sigh, a low moan in your throat and Dean smiles against you, repeating the motion, as your taste explodes on his tongue, sweet and musky and perfect.
He pulls back, kissing your thigh. “Does that feel good?”
You groan in frustration. “Of course it feels good. Why did you stop? Do you need more validation?”
He nips at your thigh in response. “Careful, sweetheart. I can make this last forever.”
You take a deep breath, letting go of the table to slide your fingers through his hair as you tug him closer. “Dean, please. Less talking.”
“I do like the pleading.” He murmurs, diving back in as his tongue circles your clit with precision. Your back arches off the table, trying to get closer to him.
“Just like that.” You moan, tugging at his short hair. Dean groans into you, the vibrations spreading throughout your body. Your thighs clench around his head, hips rolling. His hand flattens on your stomach, keeping your movements to a minimum and his tongue sinks into your core, as his thumb strums your clit in short strokes.
You cry out, eyes bursting open as you look down. He feasts on you, lavishing you with his full attention, and you take a deep breath trying to control the tightening in your lower abdomen, threatening you with something you aren’t going to be able to control.
When two thick fingers replace his tongue, your eyes nearly roll back, as you gasp, the stretch perfect as he finger fucks you, his finger scissoring, stretching you further.
“Fuck! Yes, baby.” You pant, your nails scratching against Dean’s scalp. His lips wrap around your clit and the suction feels absolutely divine as his tongue laps at you. Your toes curl and the pressure builds inside your core. You aren’t sure how long you are going to be able to control this until you are free falling into him.
He pulls off you with a pop. “Just let it happen.” He encourages as he adds a third finger, rubbing perfectly against your g-spot. Then his lips wrap around your clit again.
His name is the only thing you can say, as you repeat it with increasingly breathless tones. Your impending release is getting close enough to taste and your thighs tremble. Then you are screaming his name, as your orgasm rolls over you in waves of pure unadulterated ecstasy. With each gasp and pant, Dean smiles, drinking down your release like it is a sweet wine as he works you through until you are a whimpering twitching mess against the table. Your eyes open slowly, coming back down to the bunker in a slow gentle descent.
Dean lays his head against your thigh, watching you with a content grin on his face. His hands rub your hips soothingly, and you lay on the table, dazed. Sated. Like you couldn’t even try to use the brain God gave you.
You are completely content to stay right where you are forever, but after a few minutes Dean shrugs off his flannel shirt, tossing it to you, and you groan as you sit up, pulling it over yourself and buttoning it up.
Dean sits back in his chair, pulling it closer to the table. You lean forward, brushing your lips against his. “Feel free to do that again at any time.”
His fingers trace along your cheek. “If you thought that was the last time I’m ever doing that, you don’t know me as well as you thought you did.”
You smile softly. “Just wanted to give you full and complete permission.”
“Noted.” He says, kissing you back.
When the door slams open and Sam comes down the stairs of the bunker, you and Dean finally pull apart, watching him breathing heavily like he ran all the way back.
“In a rush, Sammy?”
You smile at Sam, clearly still floating in your afterglow. “You missed a very thorough…exploration. But I’m more than happy to continue if you give me a few minutes.”
Dean snorts. “Exploration?”
You shrug. “What’s wrong with exploration?”
“You are making it sound like I didn’t know what I was doing.”
“I said it was thorough.”
Dean gives you the most offended look he could. You widen your eyes at him before looking at Sam. “He knew what he was doing.”
Sam sputters, exasperated. “What the… Yeah. I’m sure he does.”
“I think he just needs validation.” You say, turning back to Dean. “I haven’t come that hard in a long time—”
Sam coughs, his turn to look offended.
“Since yesterday.” You say quickly correcting yourself. “Sam knows what he is doing too.”
“You don’t need to spare his feelings. We all know who the winner of this contest would be.” Dean says, and you smack his chest.
“Good Lord. Not everything is a competition.”
“Ouch!” He says, rubbing the spot you hit.
“That did not hurt.” You say. “Probably hurt your ego more than anything.”
“You might want to be nicer to the man you want to go down on you again.”
You stick your tongue out at him, and Sam clears his throat, pulling up another chair to the table. “Actually, maybe this would be a good time to talk.”
You watch as Dean and Sam look at each other, glancing between each other like they already know what the conversation is going to be about.
“Talk?” You ask.
“We have been talking…” Dean says at the same time Sam starts. “There is something we wanted to discuss with you.”
You tilt your head, looking between the two of them. “Obviously now is the best time.” You say, trying to come up with a cohesive thought. “Considering my brain is functioning at peak performance right now and not almost ready for a nap.”
“Well, you should be in a great mood after all that.” Dean counters, and you narrow your eyes at him.
“What exactly do you guys want to talk about?” You ask cautiously.
“Us. Being together.” Dean says.
“I mean if it is anything like that, I don’t think there will be a problem.” You mumble.
Sam chuckles, squeezing your leg. “It’s not that. We just…don’t want our first time with you to be with each other in the room.”
Dean nods, explaining further. “We just want to have you to ourselves first before we are sharing you.”
That’s fair. You hadn’t considered the logistics beyond what your body was screaming you to have. “I can understand that. It makes sense. But why wait until now to bring it up? It isn’t like I was going to say no.”
It was Dean’s turn to chuckle. “Well, we were going to bring it up tonight after dinner, but since we are all here. Actually, I wasn’t expecting Sammy to show up so quickly.” He turns to Sam. “If you messed up baby by driving her crazy just to get here, I’ll kick your ass.”
Sam does a double take at Dean. “Dude. I didn’t hurt your car. But after hearing that on the phone, you think I was going to be able to stay in the store? I had to get out before it became a problem.”
“If you did hurt baby—”
“I know! You will kick my ass. You said that already.” Sam mutters.
Dean looks like he is going to argue with Sam so you cut in again. “So, like what? Are you both going to take me on a date? Are we having sex here in the bunker with the other person around?”
“Do you want us to take you on a date?”
“That’s besides the point.” You say quickly. “I’m just trying to figure this out. And who is going first—you are not playing rock, paper, scissors to decide this time.”
They both have the decency to look properly repentant. You tilt your head, worrying your bottom lip with your teeth. “You guys are serious though? Are you okay with being with me? At the same time?”
Just mentioning it has your thighs clenching together, even though you just came hard enough to see the entire universe. Especially if what just happened is a precursor for what having them both at the same time would be like…you would be very satisfied. Worn out. Well used. You couldn’t wait.
Sam and Dean’s eyes darted down as your thighs clenched, ever the perceptive hunters they are. Both of their faces broke out into a cocky satisfied smirk, their minds clearly in the gutter. Fingertips danced up your thighs, treading dangerously close to where you were aching for them, your body already wet and needy again.
“Insatiable, aren’t we?” Sam teases.
“Don’t act like you aren’t going to benefit from the fact.” You snap back, but the breathless quality of your voice lessened the sting of your words.
“Oh, I definitely plan on benefiting.” He croons, and you lean forward, smirk on your face as you close the distance between you and Sam. Your lips almost brush together when Dean clears his throat.
“Save that for later or else we are both going to end up fucking you right here.” He says low in his throat. You turn to look at him, seeing how much he wants just that, battling with wanting to have you to himself before he shares you with his brother.
You force yourself to lean back, nodding. If they wanted to each take some time with you, you were going to respect that. Even if all you wanted was to have both of them now, in ten minutes, tomorrow, forever.
“I’ll even let Sammy go first. I wouldn’t want you to be disappointed.” He says, winking. “Gotta save the best for last.”
“First of all, just because you have slept with half the women across the country doesn’t mean—”
Dean holds up his hands, unashamed. “I’m just saying. The results speak for themselves.”
You snort, hopping off the table. You gather up your clothes, starting to make your way towards your bedroom as Sam and Dean argue.
“Can I get my shirt back?” Dean yells back at you.
You pop your head back around the wall. “Come get it yourself.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Maybe that’s exactly what I want to do.” You smile, biting your bottom lip. A silent challenge.
His hands grab the armrests as he starts to move before settling back in the chair. He leans back, crossing his legs. “On second thought…I want you to think about everything I’m going to do to you once I have you by myself. Every single way I’m going to make you scream my name.”
You definitely would be thinking about what was to come from both of them.
Thanks for reading! 😊🩷
I don’t know how long it will take me to write the next three to be honest. I want to make sure to do them justice and I have a feeling they will end up being longer than the 2,000ish words each one has been up to this point.
𓍯𓂃 you should see the things we do in my dreams (p2) || sam winchester x fem!reader 𓍯𓂃
➶ warnings: 18+, angst (sam is a little bit mean UNINTENTIONALLY, but he'll make it up to you), pining, porn with plot, confessions, friends to lovers, oral sex (m! + f! receiving), munch!sam, switch/soft dom!sammy, canon typical violence
➶ summary: how will Sam deal with the fallout from last night? unfortunately, not very well.
➶ word count: 17.5k
quick note: um...sooooo heyyyyy... SURPRISE!!!! Yall have waited way too long for the next installment of this and i just couldn't bare having this sit there until the 11th. thank you all so freaking much for the love and support on the first fic - had me smiling and giggling every time <3 i hope this was worth the wait
(☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞ read part one back here
(☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞ read part three here
Sam doesn’t flick the light switch on. No, not yet. He needs to be in the complete, utter darkness so that it dulls the blindingly sharp edges of guilt.
His jaw clenches tight as he tries to swallow, throat constricting further as he replays whatever that whole thing was.
Oh god. Oh god oh god.
He knows he likes you – knows he loves you. As sure as he knows his own name. Sam.
But Christ, what the fuck? That – that – was not okay.
You’re a freak, Sam.
The bathroom air feels stale against his tacky skin, the salt from his sweat tightening it, probably making his white singlet now a patchy damp grey. Breaths come in shudders. His chest heaving and nostrils flaring. Heartbeat thundering in his ears and throat, hammering at the insides of his wrists. The chill of the tiles underneath his clammy feet mix with the horrid heat pulsing from his body to make him feel like he’s superglued to the floor.
His still semi-hard but softening cock twitches momentarily in his briefs, and he’s suddenly brought back to the sickening wet patch in his boxers starting to dry. Sam groans in disgust, neck craning forward to see how bad of a mess he’s made, but realising there’s no light for his eyes to adjust to, so he throws his head back into the wooden door with a flat thud.
He lifts off the surface with a huff as he starts undressing himself – ruined boxers dragged down each leg first, followed by his singlet ripped over his shoulders – still in the dark, “That was wrong. That was so wrong.”
Sam drops the dirty clothing in a mound to the left of the door, then flicks the light switch up. The overhead fixture splutters to life with a cough, making him wince and quickly scrunch his face up as the bright, searing white light burns his eyes like he was being smote. Hunched, he pads over to the shower, pulling at the grimy glass door and reaching in to turn on the shower head.
He pauses for a second – does he turn the water to hot to scald and scold himself; to burn that even now still persisting hunger for you out of his body and dull the crushing shame of what he’s just done? Or cold to strip him and his undeserving, uncontrolled, and unrequited love for you down into individual parts, clean it all from his filth, and bind it back into something he can quietly survive with, maybe sometimes (selfishly) enjoy, in proper private.
Sam opts for the latter.
He decides to only shut off the cold water when it no longer bites, which, thanks to the roadside motel’s rusting pipes, isn’t very long.
He sulks out of the glass cubicle, cursing at the lack of a bathmat, then reaching out for his hanging towel – still slightly damp from his earlier shower – and running it roughly through his hair, before swiping his face and dragging it down the rest of his body to dry himself off. Sam goes to hang the towel back on the hook, but is met with the realisation that he didn’t bring any clean clothes into the bathroom. Fuck.
It’s really not his night.
A frustrated groan leaves him, head tipping back and blinking up at the ceiling in such tired defeat like it might magically produce at least some underwear for him – because knowing his luck? You or Dean (god forbid it’s his brother) will wake up and ask why he’s had another shower. At this time of the night.
Sam wraps the sodden towel around his hips and walks towards the bathroom door. Just as he’s about to grab the handle with his left hand and flick off the light switch with his right, the pile of his dirty clothing skims the bottom of his vision.
Ha. Great, Sam thinks, barely able to look at it as he rolls his eyes away in disgust.
Bending down, he scoops up the reminder of his crimes in his left arm, straightening back up and turning the overhead fixture off to plunge himself back into darkness before stepping out into the shared room.
Although he can’t currently see anything, he can hear the ceiling fan still whirling above his head, pushing a now mildly warm current through the air that brushes past the raising hairs on his arms.
In the doorway, Sam shudders as he lets his eyes adapt to the low blue and silver lighting and shadows of the moon seeping in through the windows by the shared bed. The bed with you in it.
He can’t focus on you. Not right now.
He blinks a little stupidly, eyes scanning across the room and over worn, dated furniture, books with jutting out pages that are stacked in short, lopsided mountains, bags by the tv that– bags. Bags with clothes in them. His clothes. That he needs right now.
Sam silently shuffles past Dean’s bed over to his own duffel, crouching down to drop the ‘used’ clothing to the side of it and scrounge through the clean and orderly packed clothing to find another pair of boxers and a singlet to wear. He finds what he needs, pulling them out with a quick soothing sigh, and tucking the materials to his right side, then standing up and returning to the safety of the pitch-black bathroom to dress himself. Once the towel is hung back up, Sam quietly closes the bathroom door behind him and pads back over to his bag.
He’s staring down at the small heap of grimy, intermingling clothing like it’s personally offended him. Because it has. And really, it would offend anybody else who saw it, too.
Normally, he’d fold his dirty clothing in a neat pile, ready to be taken to a laundromat whenever necessary during a hunt. There’s already a heap next to his bag from yesterday. However, Sam doesn’t think he should leave evidence of his night emission out in the open. So, swiftly, he squats back down, both hands rummaging through the duffel to find a plastic bag that can hide at least the visible source of shame.
“That’ll do,” he whispers to himself when he finds it, reaching to his left and stuffing that mess into the plastic bag, and shoving it deep into his own duffel.
He rises, a slow and audible breath dragging from him. Then he turns back to the bed. Back to you. His eyes fall on your sheeted figure. You’re still fast asleep.
He takes four steps towards the bed to end up at his side, shins resting against the mattress as he looks down. His eyes glide over you and god, you’re so beautiful; your lips are in a sweet, gentle pout, softly parted as you take in and exhale small huffs of air, your lashes lightly fluttering for a second, then stilling as the ring and pinky finger of your right hand twitch.
He could reach out and touch you if he wanted. He does want to. But no, that’s creepy. And after what he’s done tonight, he knows he deserves nothing less.
Sam’s gaze lifts from you, almost taking physical effort, as he realises he may have left a gross wet patch where he was sleeping. He gulps, preparing himself for the damage, then scanning along the open space to assess with clinical precision.
There’s nothing there but the crumpled lines of the fitted sheet.
Oh thank god. Sam thinks he probably wouldn’t have survived the night – no, the rest of his life – if his cum had stained the bed.
Okay. You’ve got this, Sam.
With one quick, task-driven nod, carefully, he sinks himself onto the mattress next to you – years of hunting guiding his long limbs and breath into almost perfect silence. First, he sits. This is not something to rush. Then, once he’s certain he hasn’t woken you due to the weight change, he lifts just the corner of the flat sheet up and shifts to raise his right leg onto the bed. Finally, at last, he rolls his body smoothly into the open space.
He drops the sheet over him and wriggles ever so slightly, lightly spreading his arms and legs, lifting his head once, twice, and nestling into the pillow as he settles into the somewhat comfort of the old, lumpy bedding. Springs only letting off a faint, almost silent creaking.
You did it. Sam smiles to himself, almost feeling like he should give himself a pat on the back. Everything’s okay.
He closes his eyes, attempting to fall back into a deep and hopefully uneventful sleep, and a solid, warm limb grazes and crosses over his left arm, reaching to the middle of his chest. Smaller, warm hand splayed carefree, the palm and fingertips burning through his singlet to reach his skin. Sam seizes, neck almost snapping as he turns to you, eyes wide and frantic as a sudden wave of panic sweeps entirely over him that you’ve woken up.
He’s fucked it.
But when his gaze locks onto your face – eyes flicking between every space and curve to account for any movement, open features, anything that’s changed since he last looked at you – your own are still closed. Your mouth is softly shut now, though.
And then (and he’s so sure he doesn’t imagine it), Sam hears a small, content, so content, noise leave your throat as you rub your left cheek against your pillow.
Nope. Nope nope nope. He’s not doing this.
He wants your hand there. God, he really wants it there. He’s desperate for your touch, in whatever way he can have it, which is just so fucking selfish of him. He knows it. Beats himself up about it every day. But this can’t be happening. Not right now. Not after what’s happened, after what he’s done. He’s too dirty to have a touch so pure as yours on him.
Almost painfully, Sam carefully grabs your wrist with his left hand, fingers wrapping gently, timidly, around the bone to lift your arm off of him and place it back in the small space between you both.
He slips out from under the sheet and slides himself off the bed, fumbling a little this time as his legs twist under him and his feet miscalculate the distance from the mattress to the floor.
When he fully stands, he frowns, heart aching at the sight, his need for you. Sam has to get out of here. He turns his head to the right to look at the bedside table, specifically seeking the digital alarm clock – it reads 04:55. Way too early to go get coffee, even for Sam.
“Fuck.”
He spins on his feet and rushes back to his duffel to dress himself – sweats pulled up his legs, then a long sleeve flannel, unbuttoned, flung around his shoulders.
The only safe place he can go is outside.
He squints to locate some shoes, opting for his runners because god knows how long he’s gonna have to be gone for. Without even lacing them, just tucking the strings into the sides, Sam almost runs for the door, snatching a set of keys on the wooden table as he passes it.
Quietly, so quietly, he grabs the door knob and turns it, pushing the door with measured pressure, then slipping out through the crack without daring to turn back to look at you.
By the time Sam gets back to the motel, the sun is already warm over the red wooden panelled roof. He doesn’t know how long he’s been gone for, but it was long enough to devise a plan. A solid plan, he thinks. All he’s gotta do is keep his distance from you – limit any sort of verbal or physical (especially physical) contact with you. It won’t be long; just until the case is done. Which is hopefully only a few days. Then Sam can rent a car or something and say he needs to go visit an old friend back at Stanford and will be gone for a couple days.
Solid.
Heat is already brimming in the morning air, the crunching gravel parking lot offering some relief underfoot as Sam walks across it back to the room. Another hot day. Great.
If he’d really thought about it, actually used his usually analytical and cool-tempered brain, he wouldn’t have worn these stupid – now almost fully soaked through – sweatpants on the walk.
Sam pauses at the door, hand outreached for the handle, as he takes in an attempt at a deep and calming, centring breath. It doesn’t work.
“Ah! There you are, Sammy.”
It’s Dean.
Thank god.
“Was just about to send out a search party for you,” he says, quickly looking up from his seat around the other side of the wooden table as his younger brother steps through the doorway. Dean’s eyes fall back to the book splayed in front of him, then – they flick just as quickly back up to Sam, face scrunched, “You wore that for your run?”
Sam pays him no mind, walks straight past him to his duffel, “Didn’t run. Just needed some air.”
“Right.” A pause. “Well, next time you ‘just need some air’, can you take your damn phone with you? Had us both worryin’ about you.” Pages shuffle. “All for nothin’.”
Sam doesn’t say anything. Just riffles through his bag to find a change of clothes for the day ahead. He hears Dean sigh, “You better go tell her you’re back.”
That makes Sam stop. Still crouched, he turns back to his brother and stares at him blankly, a little dumbly. Dean’s already turned towards him, looking at him, eyes sweeping over his face, trying to discretely track any sign of a reaction. Unsatisfied, Dean says your name like it's the most obvious answer in the world. Probably because, now that Sam thinks about it, it is. His brother exhales, shifting his body and attention returning back to the pages in front of him as he leans forward, left elbow braced on the table to prop up his head, “She’s in the reception askin’ abo–”
“Oh Sam! You’re back!”
Shit.
Sam can just see the wisps of your hair to the right of Dean’s face as you come in through the door. He struggles to complete a swallow.
You can do this, Sam. You can do this.
“We were getting a bit worried about you,” you close the door behind you, beginning to walk towards the table, “‘specially cause Dean and I tried to call you to figure out where you’d gone and your phone was here.”
Sam doesn’t respond. Just shifts his neck back to his bag on the floor in front of him as he sifts through the clothing. His clean clothing.
He smells the coffee before he hears you place a cup on the table with a soft thud, Dean mumbling a thank you. To his horror, you don’t take a seat, no; you keep walking. Walk right around Dean’s chair and stop right by Sam’s right side. Your hips level with the side of his face.
Fuck.
“Here, take this one, Sam. I’ll get another.”
He’s frozen. He can see your legs in the far corner of his right eye, denim shorts finishing mid-thigh – but he can’t look at you. If he did, all he’d see is your face above him, looking down at him. Like you had last night. When he was buried in between those warm bare thighs, soft flesh and muscles bracketing and tensing around his head–
He shakes his head. Returns to searching for proper pants and a shirt.
Truthfully, he does want one, but he can’t risk touching you. He’ll just go get one afterwards. He’ll have to be discrete, though, make sure neither you nor Dean catch him. Although he can’t see you, he’s sure you’re nodding your head in that slow, rolling motion you do when you’re listening and processing something. You’re probably exchanging a quick, confused glance with Dean.
“Okay...” God, you do not sound convinced. “Did ya have a good run? Interesting outfit choice you’ve got on there.”
“Um– yeah, no. Didn’t go for a run.” It sounds so much like he’s being short with you. He hates it.
He hunches over more, digging further into his bag as frustration starts to kick in. Not at you – never at you – but at the fact he can’t find his stupid clothes.
“Oh? What were you do–”
“He needed some ‘fresh air’.” The way Dean says it pisses Sam right off.
“Ah. Okay.” You’re not buying it. But you don’t push him. And for that, he’s so thankful. “Well, I just spoke with the man at reception about the kids in the paper and he sa–”, Sam stands abruptly, having found what he needed, and almost collides with you.
You’re wide-eyed. Brows raised, mouth parted in shock at the sudden almost contact. Sam jerks back reactively. His feet stumble, left one tripping on his duffel, but manages to save himself at the last second from fully falling.
Both of your hands, even the one still holding the rejected coffee cup, fly out from your sides to try and grab him. They stop just short of his body as Sam stabilises himself, your hands hovering mid-air, “Sorry, Sam. I– I didn’t mean–“
A rattled breath leaves him, “Y–you’re fine. My fault.”
His eyes drop immediately from yours, skirting and staring down at the thin carpeted floor, but not before he briefly catches the skin of your bare forearms left uncovered by the sleeves of your loose flannel bunched at your elbows. Sam can’t move, otherwise he might touch your arm or your hair or your beautiful face when he does.
You seem to notice this; sidestepping to the right, a little skittish, to give him plenty of room to walk past.
He stands there for a beat, blinks rapidly a few times, then moves, “I’m…I’m just gonna go and... get changed.”
You nod once from the corner of his vision as he passes you before he almost slams the bathroom door shut behind him.
When Sam emerges, showered again and now dressed in appropriate clothing for the day, you’re sitting at the small wooden table over by the wall with Dean, muttering softly and somewhat excitedly to each other, pointing at notes in your journal and shoving opened research books and scanned newspaper sheets in front of one another’s faces.
You don’t look up when he comes out.
But Dean does, craning his neck to the left behind him to track Sam as he passes the table. He shifts back to focus on you as Sam returns to his bag to put the used clothing in a neat pile next to it, “Sam, we think we’ve got it.”
Sam stands straight, arms crossed over his chest, gaze focused on his brother, preparing himself to listen to Dean speak.
But there’s just silence.
Dean raises his eyebrows expectantly, and Sam realises he’s waiting for you to start speaking. When you don’t, Dean kicks at you underneath the table, releasing your attention from the pages you’re staring down at with a small, annoyed sound as you look up at Dean, then to Sam. Sam doesn’t miss the way your big eyes snap away from his immediately and back to Dean’s, then down to your book when it clicks that you’re meant to be talking.
“Oh, um– yeah so...” Sam almost gets entirely lost in your voice right away.
You’d found the article online three days ago: One Teen Dead, One Hospitalised After Suspected Murder-Drowning by Mystery Figure in Local Sanatorium.
Dean had waved it off, said ‘they probably got high and decided to go for a dip, needed a cover up and said they had a ‘Grave Encounters’ moment’.
But you paid him no mind, continued on by saying ‘who drowns in an empty pool?’
Dean’d paused at that – and Sam, equally as curious as you but also wanting to back you up, said ‘we’ve gone on hunts for much less’.
And that was that.
When the three of you arrived in town yesterday, you did your preliminary checks – located the Sanatorium, talked to a few locals about the teens (who then directed you to head to the newspaper office to go over their archives), and established there was only one bar within a 45 minute drive radius. Dean has his priorities.
Sam had gone to the office, scanned the articles he thought would be relevant, then met back up with you at the local library. Dean had busied himself by slinking around the perimeter of the derelict Sanatorium, all its doors blocked off by police.
Before the incident, the one where Sam came in his underwear asleep because he thought he was eating you out, you and Sam had sat at the table together with his laptop, your notebook, and several scanned newspaper sheets in between you both, while Dean was comfortably splayed on his bed with several books for research.
With a ‘I think I’ve read the same paragraph four times’ just before 2am, you’d all called it a night.Then, this morning, while Sam was out getting some ‘fresh air’, you went to talk to the gruff receptionist who ‘smelt like stale wet laundry’ and had that ‘back in my day sort of attitude’(which Sam knows really grinds your gears), finding out that the ‘stupid local teens’ regularly went to ‘that ol’ haunted Sanatorium’ as a ‘dumb rite of passage’ because ‘kids these days got nothin’ better to do, ‘pparently’.
The morning’s research so far had pointed to the cause of death for one teen and hospitalisation of the other being from a pissed off ghost – a nasty doctor who used to secretly experiment on some of his patients and was killed during a major patient breakout.
A simple salt and burn.
‘–Well, I don’t think that, but Dean does. And we all know that Dean is always right–’
‘–Yeah. ‘Cause I’m the oldest.’
You snorted. ‘Whatever, old man.’
Cute, Sam thought.
He wanted to ask what you thought you were all hunting – because you’re smart; your brain considers every possibility, doesn’t let the small or seemingly insignificant details go missed, and you’re a very good hunter; one of the best he knows, and also? He cares what you think – but that would mean having to talk to you.
So Sam just stands there like a butter knife with no butter – technically functional, but not contributing to anything at all. A few nods here and there, maybe one or two ‘yeps’.
When you finish detailing all the research and opinion points for consideration, both you and Dean look up at Sam, clearly waiting for him to say something final. Maybe disagree or question what they’ve offered, because ‘Sam is the best researcher’ (your words, not his. He remembers it fondly when you first said it, the heat that had bloomed in his face and down his neck, the way his heart and chest had swelled). Well, Dean definitely is staring at him, and just in his peripheral vision, it looks like you are, too. Sam can’t be too sure, though. He didn’t look at you the entire time you were speaking – and he’s not about to start now. Can’t start now.
“So, Sam, what do you think?” You sound a little unsure. Timid. Like you’re a nervous student waiting on the teacher to tell you if your answer is right or wrong.
Oh sweetheart. He doesn’t want to make you feel insecure or uncertain.
But he still can’t look at you. “Sounds good.”
An awkward, prickling silence festers in the air. It’s so heavy. Sam could blame it on the summer heat leaking into the room through the old, draughty walls, under the gaping motel door, but he knows it’s not that.
He gulps, words flying around and ricocheting off the walls of his brain as he tries to breath a bit of air back into the suffocating room. “So what’s the plan? We go to the doctor’s grave first? Salt him and burn him, then head to the Sanatorium after nightfall? Make sure he’s gone for good?”
Not looking at Sam, Dean rises from his seat, closing the book in front of him, “Nah, doc’s already been cremated. But the Sanatorium’s got both his hands out on display ‘cause he was this top shit amphibious surgeon who they wanted to commemorate or something – so we needa burn ‘em”
“Ambidextrous, Dean,” you offer absentmindedly. Dean throws his left hand in the air, waving you off.
A small, suppressed grin tugs on Sam’s mouth, “That’s sort of weird.”
His brother shrugs, bending slightly to reach into his jacket hung over the back of his chair to find the car keys, “It’s a weird town.”
Sam notices you don’t move. How quiet you are. Normally, you’d be the first one up, gunning for the door, pushing past and shoving Dean, giggling, as you both race to the car. Not for any real purpose – just because you both can and you think it’s funny. Because ‘not everything in our lives has to be so damn serious, Sammy’. He likes how well you get along with his brother. Means that if you did want to be with Sam, maybe even marry him, life would just be so damn easy, so perfect.
Sam, not a very helpful thought to be having right at this moment.
But he risks a look at you. Because god does he miss looking at you. And when his eyes find your still-seated body, he realises you’re already looking at him.
Shit.
His eyes flick instantly back to the open space in front of him as he tries to play it off, starts to pat himself down as if he’s looking for the spare motel keys or his phone.
Sam didn’t have enough time to properly read you, but you looked...embarrassed. Maybe even a little bit hurt. Is that because of him? Christ, it’s definitely because of him. Fuck. This is not going to plan. He’s totally fucking up any abysmal chance he had with ever getting with y–
“Are you looking for this?”
Sam freezes. His breathing hitches, heartrate slowing like he’s prey playing dead, like motion might kill him. You’re closer, now. Sam slowly raises his head up. You’re not sitting at the other side of the table anymore – you’re standing in front of him, right arm outstretched with his phone in your hand.
He needs to remedy the situation. Just a little bit. Not look like such a complete asshole. So he meets your gaze, tracking you as you take in a quick, audible breath, “Y-you left it in your yesterday jeans. Thought you might’ve forgotten to take it before you left this morning.” Your eyes flick away from his, down to the phone still hanging between you both, “Took it out after we called it. Just in case.”
Sam swallows. For a second, just like he had last night when he passed you the tv remote, he considers spreading his fingers across the phone so that his fingers graze yours as he takes it from you. It’s been so long – too long – since he’s just touched you. No intent behind it. Just contact. But he can’t. “Thank you.”
He takes it, carefully, from you between his left thumb and two index and middle fingers. You give him a tight small smile, one that doesn't reach your eyes. Your hand drops back to your side, almost with a brushing motion as if you’re trying to shake off having to have touched something of his.
Sam notices it. Feels it. Like a metal nail scraping against something rawing – a thin, sharp, scratch slices right over his heart.
He goes to open his mouth, but you turn around towards Dean, waiting by the now opened door, before Sam can say something. Whether it would’ve been something to fix this or make it worse – Sam doesn’t know.
He watches as you quickly look up at Dean when you pass him on your way outside. His brother looks down at you, offering a small, kind smile, and the thrumming wound inside Sam tears open just that little bit more.
Dean’s head shifts back to Sam, eyes barely catching as he skims over him, then tips his head in a silent order to leave.
Sam sighs, then reaches for the spare set of the motel room keys still on the wooden table and follows you out the motel.
By the time Dean closes the door behind Sam, you’re already waiting by the back right passenger door – the side Sam needs to be on – arms crossed over your chest, back leaning against the Impala and away from the two approaching brothers as you take in the surrounding mountains and summer scenery.
You don’t show any sort of acknowledgment of you noticing when Sam reaches the side you’re on, only moving to turn and open your door when Dean unlocks Baby.
A wall of heat drifts over Sam as he slides in, the leather interior already heating up the air.
“Phew, hotter than Hell in here,” Dean whistles as he shuts his door, buckling himself in, then plugging the keys into the ignition, “Well, not quite.”
Rolling his eyes at his brother, Sam places his phone still held in his left hand into his lap to drag the seatbelt across his chest and click it in. The engine rumbles to life, made louder by you rolling down the backseat window behind Sam. Joan Jett & the Blackhearts’ Bad Reputation starts as the cassette player kicks in – your attempt at expanding Dean’s music library – while both Sam and Dean echo your movements, letting a gentle wind current flow through as the car reverses over the gravel carpark and pulls out onto the road.
Sam turns his head to the passenger window, watching paddock after paddock fly by on the way to the Sanatorium as he tries to distract himself from overthinking. His right index finger begins unrhythmically tapping against the side of his right thigh, left leg bouncing restlessly. The repeated movement makes his phone sitting in his lap slip in between his thighs, causing Sam to shift his neck to look down at it. He pockets the phone into his jeans, then turns back to look out the window. A moment or two passes before a cold horror slashes straight through him.
His phone. In the jeans he wore yesterday. Oh fuck. You didn’t see his underwear, did you?
No, Sam. You wrapped them up in the plastic bag. Shoved them into that little pocket near the bottom. The jeans he worse yesterday were in the pile next to his duffel. You wouldn’t have seen it.
Right?
“Dude, what’s with the ice maiden this morning?”
The rising panic building in Sam as he stares wide-eyed out the window is splintered, neck jerking to face his brother, “What?”
Dean throws his head back to the right, motioning towards you sat silently in the backseat, “You’re being so weird to her this morning.” Sam’s face tenses. He doesn’t dare look back at you; his head and eyes starting the movement to the left to look at you, but stopping and snapping back to the front before he reaches too far. Dean stares at him, noticing the restrained and twitchy movements, then continues with a brow raise, “Weirder than usual. Than your Sam-weird–”
“Shut up, dude.” Sam half-whispers, half-hisses, tone clipped and low. Despite the wind whipping past his ears and the loud music, there’s every chance you can still hear them talking.
Dean ignores him, eyes shifting back to the road ahead, with a small smirk brimming, voice needling, “Jeez, d’ya wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning or somethin’?”
Sam’s nostrils flare.
“I’m jus’ sayin’”, Dean’s head tilts slightly to the left for a beat, fingers rapping on the steering wheel – and Sam knows it’s to punctuate his point, “if I’m picking up on this weird emotional brick wall thing you’ve got goin’ on, then–”
“Just drop it, Dean. Seriously not in the mood for it.”
Jaw so tight his teeth might crack, Sam leans sharply forward and cranks up the stereo dial, huffing with irritation as his back returns to the leather bench and he resumes staring out the window – face now in a deep scowl – deliberately drowning out any possibility for his brother to ask any further stupid questions.
“There’s a way in through the graveyard out the back of the Sanatorium. Underground entrance that’s covered by some bushes,” Dean says as he turns Baby’s engine off, “Don’t think the cops know it’s there – ‘s how the kids have been gettin’ in.”
The three of you are parked at a little lookout a couple hundred metres away from the Sanatorium – a lookout tucked off a shabby forgotten road with an even shabbier carpark, surrounded by looming trees so tall and dense that the sunlight barely makes it through the canopy.
“How the hell d’you find that out?”, Sam questions as he unbuckles.
Dean tilts his head, clicking his tongue, “Saw some kids smokin’ pot when I was out here yesterday, thought they might know a thing or two, so I flashed my badge and told ‘em I’d lock ‘em up unless they told me how to get in.”
You scoff – and without looking, Sam knows you’re rolling your eyes, “What made you think they knew something?”
Dean twists back to you with a smirk, “Just a hunch, sweetheart. I’m full of ‘em,” finishing with a wink.
You give him a dismissive yet amused 'mmhhhmm' before opening the car door and sliding out.
Although Sam has no right to be, especially today, he can feel a flicker of jealously briefly tighten his chest, a low heat creeping up his neck and through his head.
Dean follows your movements, smoothly lifting himself off the front bench and closing the door behind him, leaving Sam in the quiet of the Impala all by himself. He sighs deeply, raising his left hand up to his face to massage the bridge of his nose.
It’s not even 10am yet and already Sam’s wishing for the day to end.
He makes an adjustment to his original no-contact-with-you plan. A little contact is okay, he tells himself. Just act like you had when you first met her and not like she’s got the plague. Or that you dreamt about kissing her and making her whine and moan and cum with your mouth and tongue.
Easy.
Despite his limbs still dragging as he climbs out from his seat, Sam moves with a slight more confidence than he had back at the motel. As he closes the door, he sees you and Dean are both standing behind Baby’s popped boot, words passing between the two of you that Sam can’t quite make out. You’re in the middle, on the right side of Dean, meaning if Sam walks over to you guys (which he kinda has to so that he can get some weapons), he’ll have to be next to you.
Okay, Sam. Breathe. Just go stand next to her.
He walks around the car, dried dirt crunching under his shoes he moves to the back and stops next to you. You’re ducked, busy riffling through and grabbing the essential bits and bobs – some salt, a crowbar, some matches, a flashlight, and... a knife?
Sam raises his left arm, gesturing towards the weapon in your hands as you start stepping back and away from the trunk, “What’s the knife for?”
You raise your head towards him briefly, giving him a small, sort of friendly smile, “Just in case.”
Sam goes to open his mouth, but Dean cuts in, saying your name with a gruff tease and a shake of his head, “You know you’re gonna look like a real idiot when we’re done here.”
You raise your left hand up in an acknowledgment of Dean’s snipe before spinning around and heading towards the wooden picnic table. Sam looks back to his brother after his comment, but Dean isn’t looking at him – eyes watching you walk away before sliding right back to the hunting arsenal in front of him. Sam exhales, starting to feel agitated again, then hunches and reaches in to also grab what he needs, while Dean takes a step to the side, left leg resting against the taillight and left hand loosely holding onto the boot’s lid as he waits for Sam to finish.
When Sam steps back to signal he’s done, Dean closes the trunk and locks the car. But instead of walking over to you, he just turns around and leans against Baby’s hood. He doesn’t say anything, just sits there in silence. Sam knows this move – Dean’ll have the palms of his hands against the car, just on the edge, fingers tapping expectantly for Sam to look at him as Dean contemplates if what he’s about to say is worth the reaction his brother might have, if he’ll even listen to him, consider his ‘words of older brother wisdom’.
Sam raises his brows, head still dropped downwards and eyes purposely not meeting any part of Dean, as he finishes tucking in the weapons he grabbed. He takes in a deep inhale as he goes to speak, but before any proper words form on his tongue, Dean lifts himself off the Impala and starts walking towards you.
It makes Sam lift his head. To pause, look for where his big brother’s gone; the brother who’s always meant to pull him back from the edge of a bad decision despite Sam’s persisting objections, talk some sense into him ‘because big brother’s know everything ‘nd someone has to teach the annoying little brother the rights and wrongs of the world’; the brother who’s just made it across the carpark and started talking to you, making it strikingly clear that Dean doesn’t think whatever he thinks is plaguing Sam right now just isn’t worth it.
Sam knows he’s being an asshole. And the fact the Dean won’t step in, even though Sam told him to get lost?
Well, the feeling in his chest is something he can’t name, but it’s along the lines of irritation, anger. But also dejection. Disappointment. And maybe a bit of shame.
Great, Sam thinks, lips pressing into a tight line.
Walking towards you both, he sees you’re perched on the table surface with your feet on the wooden bench, Dean standing in front of you. He notices you look at him – still continuing to talk to Dean – before your eyes flick a little too quickly back to his older brother, your face faltering a little.
Ouch.
Dean must notice it, too, because he turns towards Sam, but doesn’t offer more than a jerk of his head to the woods.
You jump off, waiting for Dean to move first, then following behind him once he starts walking towards a rough path through the trees which Sam assumes is the direction of the Sanatorium.
Normally, Sam and you would be walking side-by-side, close enough for him to catch your perfume that makes him pull in a deep inhale, smile and get a little lightheaded and flushed every time he smells it, your shampoo, too.
He’s too far away from you to do that this time, though. Maybe three steps behind. Further apart than he truly wants to be, but still the shortest amount of distance that he’d consider to be safe.
Nobody says anything the entire trek, the only sounds that meet Sam’s ears are of twigs snapping underfoot and soft bush moving aside, the occasional bird call ringing around the three of you. Maybe someone does say something, but Sam just doesn’t hear it. Or maybe, just neither of you say anything to him.
The quiet means last night’s dream that poor Sammy’s being trying so hard to keep at bay creeps back into his mind. Every time he tries to push it away, a scene paints itself in front of his eyes, demanding he relive it – your hand cupping his jaw, fingers stroking his face; his hand on the curve of your neck, keeping you as close to him as humanly possible; your warm, kiss-swollen lips; his legs tangled with yours; how wet your underwear was, how wet you were; your legs over his shoulders; the sheets fisted in your hands as he lapped at you; your hands pulling at his hair...god, how you tasted—
“Where’s all the cops?” Sam almost walks straight into the back of you. You’ve stopped just before the edge of the clearing that backs onto the Sanatorium, a mass of dilapidated and overgrown grass-covered headstones ahead.
He should probably take a step back. Or away. To the side. Something. You really do not need to feel how hard his dick is right now.
With a small shuffle backwards, Sam refocuses on reality in front of him. From at least where the three of you are standing, all the police cars are gone. No officers in sight.
And, just as Dean had said, the ‘secret’ entrance into the Sanatorium is there, peeking out through some small trees and a couple bushes that have seen better days, a stairwell fenced by a row of rusted metal spikes on either side as the cement steps disappear down to a weathered wrought-iron door.
Dean tsks. “Guess it’s their day off,” he starts walking towards the shrub covered pit off to the edge of the graveyard, “lucky us.”
You turn your head to watch him walk away, “We should still be careful. Just in case they’re still here or they come back.” You’re right. Dean’s being his usual too reckless self. But you look back at Sam – a quick, tight-lipped smile flashing (which Sam notices again, doesn’t quite reach your eyes) – before following after his brother.
A deep, weary exhale leaves Sam, his chest puffing then deflating with the breath for a steadying moment, then moving his legs to trail after you.
Rust and stale moisture fill Sam’s nostrils and lungs as the three of you walk through the damp underground passage. It’s pitch black, save for the three light streams from your flashlights swaying with each step.
Sam knows your nose is scrunched at the reek without even seeing your face. You always do that when there’s a bad smell. And Sam’s ribs always feel too damn small to contain the overflowing of warmth and tender swelling pooling in his heart and lungs from your reaction.
Dean’s humming of ‘Enter Sandman’ can just be heard over the hollow echoing of footsteps, only pausing as you come to the end of the hallway, the transport corridor finishing at an open doorframe leading to a cement ramp.
The three of you make your way up, coming to another door that spits you out into one of the Sanatorium’s hallways. Windows clouded by years of grime line the front wall, weak daylight filtering through the dirt. Dust coats every surface, and rotting windblown leaves are scattered under a partly smashed window.
The three of you shine your torches down both sides of the passage, trying to figure out your bearings. Sam’s light lands on something big and blue ahead to the left and he squints his eyes, “Hey guys? I think there’s a map over there.”
The three of you make your way over and sure enough, he’s right – it’s a large enamel directory map, roughly two metres squared, white lettering and lines marking out corridors and rooms, some graffiti scratched into it.
You all study it for a minute. Then you speak, “Dean, do you wanna check out the West Wing? I think that’s where the doc’s hands are – and I know how badly you wanna see them.”
Oh no.
“We’ll go through the East Wing–”
No no no no no.
“–it’s pretty big and splits off into all the patient bedrooms, so we’ll cover more ground that way. See if there’s anything else of the doctor’s on display that might cause him to stick around and murder some more curious teens.”
Shit.
“We can meet back up at this point here–,” your finger landing on a spot on the map.
Fuck.
“–this bridge or whatever that connects the two wings – I’m betting that’s where this supposed pool–”
“I, um–,” Sam interjects, “I think you should go with Dean.”
The room stills. Suddenly. Violently.
Maybe Sam didn’t think this fully through.
You and him always go together when you split for a hunt. It’s not even discussed; it’s just instinct.
But he can’t be alone with you today.
He sees the hurt crack across your face as soon as the words fall from his mouth. His suggestion like he’s ripped your already rawed and bruising heart straight from your chest with his bare fingers and nails, ground it into almost nothing between his teeth, and spat the bloodied remains back in your face.
Your lips part, brows cinching in visible confusion as you process what he’s just said. You try to recover as quickly as possible, but Sam sees the way your eyes start to glaze, reddening at the edges, mouth closing at a slight downwards curve. Your jaw clenched tight, throat working to swallow.
You’ve really done it now, you idiot, Sam chastises himself.
“Oh.”
The silence is absolutely suffocating. An incredibly sour, guilty taste scars his mouth.
“Um...okay,” you turn to Dean – too quickly, practically forcing Sam out of your sight – as you speak, voice quiet, wavering a little, clipped, “Let’s go, Dean.”
Oh god.
You move, as if any slower and you might completely fall apart right on the spot, straight past his brother down the shabby grey hallway leading to the West Wing as Dean stares at Sam like he just shot him. His face is scrunched incredulously and head shaking, hands raising in a stunned question, mouthing each slowed syllable in ‘what the fuck?’ back at his idiot younger brother.
Sam can feel his heart hurt. Physically fucking hurt. Maybe even tear fully in half. Someone’s skinning the layers off one by one of the lurching muscles, each shredded layer dropping to the pit of his chest to sink him down to somewhere lower and darker than Hell itself.
Dean turns away from Sam – a sharp, cutting scoff leaving him that he definitely wanted him to hear – and starts after you with a quick run, leaving Sam alone by the map as the dragging silence and dark closes in around him and his crushing, pathetic mess of feelings.
“God, you are such an idiot.”
Sam’s stalking through the East Wing, jaw tight, movements snapping but twitchy as he tries to stay focused on the hunt.
“It’s not her fault you had a dirty sex dream about her – just ‘cause you can’t keep it in your damn pants.” He’s muttering to himself now, because he knows himself well enough (at least that’s what he tells himself) that dealing with his stupidity and ineptitude internally will just make him self-combust. Good, actually. Maybe then he’d feel even remotely clean again. Or maybe you would forgive him for hurting you because he was dead and he wouldn’t have to worry about facing you again.
What a cop-out.
“She’s your friend, Sam, fur-rend. Don’t subject her to your depravities.” He sighs, flashlight slicing through the space in front of him as his shoulders drop, that too familiar and well-worn feeling of defeat knowing that you would never reciprocate his love once again making itself proudly comfortable in every muscle and vein within his body, “She deserves better.”
He passes doorways, bedrooms, turned over chairs and scattered paperwork, filthy and torn open mattresses with stains he doesn’t want to think too long or hard about. Footprints of different sizes – probably from teenagers over the years – disturb the debris on the floor.
How on earth is he meant to explain, apologise for his callous, fucked-up behaviour when he sees you next? ‘Oh sorry, I was just sort of going through it and decided you had to take the full brunt of it’. Yeah. Real nice. Asshole.
Sam walks into a tiled room – maybe a medicinal closet – where murky vials are scattered across benches and tables, some still filled with mysterious and sickly liquids, others cracked and dry but still just as gross. He picks up one that’s still whole, turning it over in his fingers to try and decipher the faded writing.
That’s when a high, blood curdling scream cuts straight through the air.
Your scream.
The glass that was just in his hand smashes, thick fluid sludging across the ceramic flooring, as Sam drops it and sprints out the room, blind sprinting down the corridor.
Oh no.
He yells your name. Frantic. In terror. Scanning. Doorways pass in a blur. His footsteps slamming. Flashlight jolting wildly in one hand, fractured light thrown across the walls and floor, crowbar gripped and ready to slash in the other.
Sam didn’t think about this – the fact that you could get hurt and he wouldn’t be with you.
He’s shouting your name. Over and over and over. The words tearing apart his throat as he skids around corners, lungs burning, something horrible rising hot and fast and violent inside him.
You’re screaming his name now. Desperate. Urgent. Fear and pain bleeding. But it’s getting louder, so he must be going in the right direction.
He reaches a room with a large pool – the pool – and he sees you. Finally.
You’re crouched in the far right corner of the drained pool, down at its deepest end, your back to him and facing the walls hunched over and trembling, sobbing. Hands at your face.
Sam calls your name, voice scraped and shot, relief filling his lungs at finally finding you, but thorned panic still simmering underneath his skin at the unanswered question of your screaming. Are you hurt? What happened? Where’s Dean?
Moving from the doorway, he quickly surveys your body to check for any sign of injuries as he jumps down into the empty pit, boots smacking the pool’s tiles as he runs to you. With his left hand, still holding the flashlight, he reaches out to touch your shoulder, his voice already softening when he says your name again.
Just as his fingertips graze your shoulder, Sam’s entire body is thrown backwards through the air by a sudden explosive force.
His back hits the floor with a hard cracking sound, the air punched straight from his lungs. Flashlight and crowbar flying out from his grip and clattering somewhere far out of reach.
Sam tries to suck in a breath, breathe some air into his head to think, process what the hell just happened. Instead, something else starts filling his lungs. Something he can’t see, can’t feel outside his body.
Water.
Warm, suffocating water.
He’s drowning.
Sam tries to move his hands to grab at his neck and chest, to push himself up so that he can claw the bodiless but choking water out – just something – but his arms are pinned flat to the cold tiling.
He doesn’t question why you did that – how you did that – he can’t, because his head’s flooding. Literally. Black spots, rimmed by hot blasts of colour, start forming in his vision.
Slow, smooth footsteps are padding towards him. He can feel the vibrations. The pressure in his lungs and head is building faster. Taking over every single pathetic inch of his helpless body, no space left now for any single thought but one.
I’m going to die.
He does.
Almost.
A thick, chunky slashing sound splinters in the air.
Sam immediately begins spluttering, the heavy pressure evaporating in a sharp, brutal release. Cold air burning its way through him with each gulping breath.
He blinks harsh and rapid, clouded vision starting to clear back into reality, and you’re there above him, looking down at him; wide-eyed, panting heavily, a panicked expression across your face.
Feeling starts to come back to Sam’s limbs as Dean suddenly appears behind you up along the pool wall, gun at the ready, wearing a harrowed look and just as on edge as he stares at you both, “What the hell happened?”
“Was a Mimic,” you push out, voice breathless but still tight with adrenaline, chest puffed from an inhale then dropping, “Not a ghost. Told you, Dean.”
If Sam thought the car ride to the Sanatorium was quiet, the ride back to the motel is fucking death itself.
There’s no music blaring – in fact, no music at all. Silence, except for the rumbling of the Impala when Dean presses his foot down on the accelerator too quick.
At yours and Dean’s demand, Sam’s in the backseat, lain across the warm black leather as he drags himself back from the hunt. His lungs and head hurt, so does his back from the impact of hitting the hard pool tiling, but he’ll be okay. Physically.
You and Dean are both in the front. Eyes fixed on the road ahead. Sam adjusts himself, body shuffling to try and slide himself up to sit against the car door, but wincing at the movement and change in pressure. He carefully lowers himself back down with a shaky breath, defeated. He’ll just have to try and talk to you from here. He calls your name, hoarse and quiet, “how did you know what to do?”
The way Sam’s positioned on the backbench means that all he can see is the back of your head, a little of your left side. You look down at him over your shoulder, eyes flicking briefly back to the moving road ahead, before turning your whole body slightly in the seat to face him as you speak, left arm bending over the bench, “I’ve, uh, hunted one before – they’re like Crocottas, I guess? Maybe a sub-species or something; copy the image and voice of someone you um... love.” Your voice drops on that last word, face flushing, eyes nervously skirting away from him, down to the space between you and Dean, then back to Sam, “But they don’t get you to kill yourself. They usually do that fun part for you.”
You offer him a small smile as you finish your sentence while Sam’s jaw ticks, your left thumb rubbing nervously over your index finger before shifting your body back to face the front of the car.
The three of you ride the rest of the way back to the motel in complete silence. Well, verbal silence, at least. Sam’s stomach tightens sickeningly as your words relentlessly repeat over and over and over in his head, ‘copy the image and voice of someone you love’.
Did you hear him screaming your name?
Did you see yourself on the pool floor with him?
Sam’s pulled out of the scattered thoughts and horrors whirling around in his head as Baby slows, the sound of gravel kicking up in a low scatter audible from the tyres rolling into the motel carpark. Dean parks, the brakes groaning softly then the keys jangling as the rumbling engine goes silent.
Sam sees your head disappear as you hop out the car first, the passenger door closing behind you almost within the same second. He slowly begins to push himself up to also get out, but when he does manage to fully sit upright, he realises Dean hasn’t moved.
“Dean—”
“You better fucking make it up to her.” His brother’s still facing the front, tone low and stern, disappointment and fury edging. Sam swallows. Here come those words of older brother wisdom that he was steeling himself for earlier. “She just saved your ass back there and all you’ve done today is be an absolute dick to her.”
“I—I know.”
“Seriously, Sam. All she does is look out for you. Look after you. And I thought you... you two...” A few moments pass while Sam waits for Dean to continue, but he doesn’t, save for a frustrated huff leaving him. Clearly, his brother’s initial chew out of him is finished. But Sam knows better, knows there’ll be more later, back at the Bunker.
Sam’s throat is even drier, cutting, head starting to prickle with static and shame as he turns in the seat, opening the car door and sliding out. He expects his brother to follow after, but instead, the car engine kicks up again. Sam’s barely taken a step away from the Impala as Dean reverses out the carpark without even looking at him.
A little stunned, Sam looks towards the motel room, expecting that you’ll be standing by the door, wearing a just as confused expression as he is. But you’re not. He can see the room’s door is slightly ajar, so you must have a set of the keys and already walked inside.
He takes in a ragged breath, steadying himself for the inevitable uncomfortable; facing you, and giving you the biggest, most desperate and guilt-ridden apology known to all of humanity – no, to every species of the world and beyond.
Working the words and tone, the pauses and inflections in his stupid brain to make sure he doesn’t somehow make this whole thing somehow any worse than it already is, Sam takes the first step towards the room and feels like he’s learning to walk again.
Time to be alone. With you.
He’s watching you, digging through your duffel bag, as the door closes behind him with a soft click.
Here goes nothing.
Sam starts with your name, careful, like it’s the first word to ever be spoken, then pauses, “Thank...thank you fo–”
“It’s fine. Don’t mention it,” you cut in, still crouched, not looking at him. Your voice is steady, finishing on an uptick, but Sam can hear the effort it takes to keep it that way.
Fuck.
He stands there, frozen, unsure of what to do or say. He’d considered that you might shut him down, but he didn’t think you’d do it before he even got the first sentence out. Before he’d even been able to apologise.
“Are you feeling okay?” you ask, rising before turning to face him. Sam notices you giving him a quick once over from head to toe, shoulder to shoulder, “the Mimic didn’t hurt you too badly?”
Even after he’s been the biggest asshole to you, you’re still worried about him. It makes him feel exponentially, catastrophically worse.
“Y—yeah. Thanks to you.” You smile but don’t meet his eyes. “Just a bit of a sore back. Maybe a little head trauma to add to our library.” The Battle Scars of Alexandria – a little recurring inside gag of yours and Sam’s. He doesn’t know exactly when it started, maybe sometime back on a hunt in Mississippi (he’ll have to check the journal later), but it keeps you both accountable, and never fails to make a smile crack from either one of you.
Only this time? It does fail. You just nod, “Do you want the first shower or...”
Superb.
“No, you have it,” Sam exhales with a light smile, “Don’t think Dean’ll be in any competition for it, either – he’s off somewhere.”
You start walking towards the bathroom, a clean change of clothes looped in your arm, “Probably to that bar we saw yesterday. Told me he wanted to ‘see if there were any hot chicks’ earlier when we were in the West Wing together.”
This is going so incredibly well.
“I’ll be quick,” you say softly from the bathroom doorway, left hand splayed over the wooden frame, offering him a small smile. Sam nods appreciatively, a nauseating ache shrouding his heart and settling low in his stomach, before you close the door.
You are quick. And Sam follows with the same efficiency.
When he steps out of the bathroom in pants and a grey shirt, the ceiling fan is going again. You’re sitting cross-legged in the corner of the shared bed against the wall, pillow propped up behind your lower back, wearing a singlet with a new pair of denim shorts. Sam notices that you’re fidgeting with the bedspread, staring down at the fabric bunched between your fingers. You’re nervous.
You look up from your lap at the noise of him stepping into the room, “Sam, can we– can we talk?”
And for the first time today, yours and his eyes meet and stay. Gazes locked in a charged, fragile silence.
Sam swallows, blinks once, twice quickly, then nods, hands flexing by his side. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. I’ve been wanting to talk to you, too.”
Shit. Okay. Here we go.
You’ve got a timid smile on your face, eyes dropping back down to your fingers as he walks around Dean’s bed. The bed squeaks under Sam’s weight despite the careful way he gently lowers himself down as if not to scare you, deciding to sit opposite you on Dean’s bed, sensing that being on the same bed as you might not be such a good choice given what he’s about to tell you.
Sam brings his hands into his lap as your eyes flick quickly up to look at him, then down to the space between you both, gaze almost unfocused.
You take in a sudden, deep wavering breath, your hands twisting together as you begin to speak, “I’m just gonna get it out of the way–um, about this morning... in bed...”
Oh fuck.
Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.
You did know.
You know that he came in his underwear. Next to you.
Dreaming about you. About going down on you.
You’ve known the entire day.
And Sam’s been the one giving you the cold shoulder, acting like a complete and utter douchebag, when you must be horrified, disgusted by hi–
“I’m really sorry about putting my arm over you.”
What?
“I... I didn’t think it would make you uncomfortable because we’ve... you know... we hug, and we’ve like–cuddled–before. And that’s not an excuse! I just... I think my half-asleep-mind thought it would be okay, but proper awake me knows that I really should’ve asked you first...”
Sam’s looking at you like you’ve just told him the sun is green.
“I’m really sorry for making you uncomfortable, Sam,” you’re looking up at him now, earnestly, your voice impossibly soft, “I’d never want to do that.” Your gaze drops, again. Guilt-ridden. Ashamed because you think you’ve hurt him.
“And I know that’s why you were gone this morning and why you’ve been avoiding me today – and I don’t blame you at all – I’m just...hoping that I can make it up to you and we can go bac—”
“That’s not why I’ve been avoiding you.”
That makes your eyes shoot up to his, “What?”
“That—you putting your arm over me this morning—that’s not why I’ve been...”, a stuttering breath leaves Sam, “...a gigantic but very stupidly apologetic dick to you today.”
“Oh.”
A beat.
“Um... what....what did I do?”
Sam sighs, half-smiling. Of course you think you’ve done something wrong. Oh sweetheart. “I...” You’ve been truthful with him, laid yourself bare and fragile for him to judge. You deserve only the exact same from him. But the hollow churning, twisting burn happening in his stomach might just make him throw up.
Here goes fucking nothing, Sam tells himself.
He lifts his brows, shaking his head a little, “I had a dream. About you. Last night.”
No words leave your mouth. It opens, then closes. Then opens again, brows furrowing and raising with each movement of your mouth.
“I’m—I’m not proud of it.” He quickly adds, mouth dry, eyes flitting, nervous at your (lack of) reaction.
“What sort of dream?”
You’re staring at him, body stilled and a flicker of something Sam can’t quite decipher flashing over your face.
His mouth tightens at your question, a heavy, burning flush crawling out from his chest and up his neck, into his face. He clenches his jaw hard, the bone popping. Adam’s apple bobbing through the dry swallow he tries to take.
Sam thinks he can almost hear each cog turning in your brain as you piece together what he’s just admitted to you. And what he isn’t saying. You make a small ‘oh’, realisation beginning to rise. Then you look to his side of the bed that you’re sitting on, eyes widening as the truth hits you, then back to him, “Oh!”
Yeah...
“Is that why, um– was it...no...uh...” You seem to say more to yourself than to him.
But Sam knows exactly what you’re wondering, what you’re asking – did it make him cum?He can’t blame you. If you told him that you’d had a sex dream about him, he’d also be morbidly, pervertedly, guiltily curious. So he gives a slow, heavy nod, biting his bottom lip, saying what he thinks is perhaps a vague enough but not-too-crude admission that still gives you an answer, “I, uh, had to take a shower.”
The floor beneath his feet could crack wide open and engulf him whole, and he would gladly say ‘thank you’. Thank you thank you thank you.
You move your head in acknowledgment. Understanding and processing this revelation that he’s a freak. And now you’re not looking at him. Shit.
“What—” you take in a sudden breath, clear your throat, “what do you mean when you say ‘you’re not proud of it’?”
Sam rubs his mouth with his left hand. The right words seem too big yet too small, too much and too incomplete all at once. You look up at him, big eyes completely unreadable as you watch him.
He starts with your name, then exhales loudly, “You’re one of my best friends. And—and I shouldn’t have dreams about you like that,” he pauses, tongue poking the inside of his left cheek, “I don’t... don’t want things to be different between us. For you to feel weird or uncomfortable around me.”
God, he can only hope he’s said the right thing. And if he hasn’t? Well, hopefully he’s said enough good over bad. Sam watches your throat work, still holding your measured gaze. You’re biting the bottom corner of your lip, clearly thinking about something. Weighing up his sins and about to deliver his punishment.
But there’s something... different... on your face.
Something he doesn’t think he’s seen before.
“Would it make you feel better if I said I’ve also had a dream, um – like that – about you?”
What?
Sam thinks his whole heart stutters, starts beating impossibly faster. Harder. Pulse in his throat, vibrating almost painfully up the left side into his jaw and head.
“Look, Sam,” you continue, and there’s a low, beautiful blush dusting your cheeks, your hands are twisting again, “I care about you. A lot. And I know you care about me a lot too, but– oh fuck it, I care about you in a different way, too.”
Christ. Are you saying what he thinks you’re saying?
“And it’s okay if you don’t feel that way.” Fuck. You are saying what he thinks you’re saying. “I don’t.... expect—but I just want you to know that it’s okay. Everything’s okay. We’re okay— at least on my end...”
You’re rambling, now. You’re so fucking cute.
“Can I kiss you?”, Sam cuts in.
A small, airy laugh escapes you. “God, yes,” you breathe with a high end. It makes Sam chuckle fondly, his heart going painfully soft. “Even if it’s just to shut me up.”
There’s a stupid, wide grin on his face that he can’t stop from showing as his gaze drops from you for a moment, then rising back up to your face, “It isn’t, but if it helps...”
You huff, leaning forward to grab the pillow he slept on and throw it at him in response. Sam catches it with ease, tucking it into his right arm as he pushes himself up and moves over to your shared bed. Just behind him, he drops the pillow at the end of the mattress as it dips while he settles into the new spot, bending his left leg on the bed and tucking his foot into him while his right leg hangs off the side. He feels the mattress shift as you re-adjust yourself, leaning forward to crawl over from the other side of bed and sit opposite him cross-legged.
You’re facing each other now. And Sam might actually explode from the giddy, heating anticipation of it all. He’s suddenly aware of all his limbs and muscles; his chest visibly rising and falling as his breath drags in and out of him, his arms and legs suddenly feeling like they don’t belong to him, low humming electricity tingling through his fingers.
There’s still a gap between your bodies, maybe one and a half of his hands. It’s that line, again – of friendship that you’re both teetering on crossing and won’t be able to untangle yourselves from, won’t be able to go back to what once was if this goes badly.
Sam really hopes it doesn’t go badly.
Your eyes drop down, noticing that space. Your eyes lift back up to his as you inch closer to him, your right knee bumping his left leg, and Sam’s mouth parts as he inhales then swallows.
Your body starts leaning forward, towards him, and Sam is already moving before he realises it. Your right hand falls lightly on Sam’s left ankle, the touch so light yet grounding that it somehow steadies and unravels him all at once.
Both of Sam’s hands twitch by his sides. He doesn’t want to lock you out of having control by holding your face with his hands, just in case you change your mind about wanting him. He wouldn’t blame you.
But he still needs to touch you. So he moves his right arm to touch your left knee, palm barely against your soft skin.
You’re so close now. Sam can feel your breath tickle his face. Eyes are on lips, breaths slowing, syncing. His nose bumps your face, softly, and then you both slowly close your eyes.
When your lips touch Sam’s, the world all suddenly makes sense.
Sam thought his mind would be racing, a scrambled blur, a mess of every thought and word and everything else if he did ever get the chance to kiss you. But it’s silent. At peace. For one of the very few times in his pained life. Something warm and dizzy is unfurling beneath his ribs. Maybe it’s his heart.
You make a small, soft sound. A hum. And Sam doesn’t mean to, but his control slips for just a second, and he pushes further into you, to have more of you, to taste more of you. Your fingers tighten around his ankle at the movement, and then you mirror him, push forward into him.
Fuck.
Sam makes a low, almost broken noise at the contact, and he can’t help but give in to the consuming hunger to move even more into you.
Neither of you pull back as the moment stretches. Even when it should end, fade into a soft, sweet pause. He should probably pull back, right? Tell you how long he’s been wanting, needing to kiss you; how fucking sorry he is for being such an idiot; how he also cares about you in a different way–loves you. But he can’t tear himself away from your lips.
Instead, the kiss grows needier. More desperate. Pieces of Sam’s hair fall forward to graze your face as both yours and his breathing gets heavier, louder. His lips are sliding so easily against yours, and he can feel the warmth of it, how wet and unsteady its turning as something darker, primal builds more and more between you both.
Sam’s right hand flexes on your knee, starting to slide up and down a few inches, thumb grazing and pressing into your bare skin, fingers grabbing softly at your flesh. Goosebumps are rising under his touch, your skin growing with heat.
You begin rising slightly on your knees, steadying your weight with your left hand on his lower right thigh. Sam’s left hand moves from his side to grab your jaw, thumb against your right cheekbone, fingers and palm splaying across the side of your head as he angles you gently to deepen the kiss. You hum again, content and a little breathless. Sam’s already completely losing himself in you.
He feels your tongue swipe briefly at his lips – tentative and warm, wanting more of him – and he responds by softly biting at your bottom lip, making you gasp. And Christ if that sound doesn’t make his dick go instantly rock hard. The tension in his stomach and groin and balls tightening and dizzying.
Your grip on his thigh tenses, and he can feel the way you smile against his lips, “So tell me, Sam, what exactly we’re we doing in this dream of yours?” you mumble low and teasing, still kissing eagerly at him.
God, the way you say his name like that is so fucking dangerous to what little restraint he has left that he’s holding on to for dear life.
Sam’s mouth curves into a crooked grin at your question. Emboldened, he kisses you twice, heavy and unhurried, before starting to trail hot, dragging kisses across the right side of your jaw, “I might’ve been in between your thighs.” A light but sharp bite to your skin, making a deliciously heady moan fall from your mouth, then soothing the mark with the heat of his tongue and lips. “Makin’ you feel really good.”
“So good it made you cum?”
He chuckles lightly against the space between your jaw and your ear, a hint of embarrassment tinging his ears, but a dark coil burning low in his stomach, extremely turned on at your unfiltered words. “Think that just means I get a hell of a kick out of givin’ you pleasure,” he cooes with a squeeze to your upper left thigh.
“Well, Sammy,” you begin, shifting your right arm up from his ankle to touch his chest, your palm flattening there as your fingers trace so slowly up towards his collarbone – his shirt still separating you both, but doing absolutely nothing to stop the hungry burning of your touch, “I’d like to show you what happens in my dreams first, if that’s okay.”
His dick pulses at that, a wet patch of his underwear making itself proudly known. He pauses against you, warm wet lips still pressed to yours. Shit? Shit. As he pulls back just a little, left thumb rubbing tenderly across your cheek, right hand gently kneading at your plush thigh, you have this soft, seductive look on your face that almost makes Sam let out a very pathetic whimper.
“Of—of course.” You smile at each other, all dimples and teeth and nerves, before you lean forward to kiss him again, but this time with something Sam thinks might be the something he’s been pining for, but doesn’t want to name, doesn’t want to impose on you. Just in case.
“Can you move up the bed for me, please?” You motion with a small flick of your head back. He nods, rising as you shift closer to the wall to allow him to move to where you want him.
When he settles, you crawl up after him – an image fanning the fire sparking hotter and hotter somewhere deep inside him – and get him to lie down with his back against the mattress, still covered by the bedspread. You swing your right leg over him first so that you sit across his lower stomach, your right hand bracing against the plane of his chest to support yourself in the movement, both his hands coming to hold your hips. The heat from your skin with the weight of your body as you press against his own makes Sam’s heart swell in a warm, heavy roll, a light-headedness drifting over him. You both breath in, staring silently with shy smiles at each other for a soft moment as Sam’s fingers begin rubbing slow, gentle circles over your flesh.
Although he successfully fights the urge to flip you over and make you a whining mess below him, he knows without a doubt that you can definitely feel the prominent bulge straining in his pants by your ass.
Your warm hands move to cup his face as you lean down. Sam strains his neck to meet your lips, aching to have them on him again already, and the kiss pushes his head back into the pillow underneath him. A small, pleased sound leaves him, and then you grind your hips back and down lightly, testing, over his cock. He stutters a gruff moan, hands flexing before grabbing at a meatier part of you, making you giggle softly and stupidly beautifully against his mouth. “I like that sound, Sam.”
You move your mouth down to his neck, slow, measured touches of your lips and tongue to him, lingering just long enough to make his body buzz. Sam’s so sure that if you weren’t on top of him, tethering him to this fading bed, the weightless earth, he’d probably float away.
Heat and intensity grows as you begin sucking, paying particular attention at a hollowed part of the curve, before licking a long stripe over and up his neck, grazing your teeth at his right earlobe. You’re already making him feel too good, too powerful, the feeling of you sliding down his body, the changing pressure of your weight on his muscles, only adding to the euphoria.
He’s already missing your lips against his, but he can’t help the way his hips jerk up at you every time you kiss at him through his clothing, electricity trailing. You kneel between his thighs, hands outstretched and claiming at his waist as you press a kiss to his bulge, making Sam moan your name, brows drawing together, hands tightening their grip of the sheets in desire. You hum in acknowledgment, saccharine and smug, and when Sam’s eyes look down at you, your fingers quickly working at the button of his jeans, the metal teeth rasping as you pull down the zipper, he sees a telling damp mark of precum leaking through from his tip.
His heartrate is thundering. Almost choking. You rid him of his jeans, his proud, thick and slicked cock springing up as his boxers go down with them. Then you pause, still knelt between his legs. Sam’s eyes flick to your face, worry quickly threading through his focus and brain working frantically over your movements to determine if you’re okay, if you’re second-guessing what’s about to happen or if you’ve changed your mind or–
“Fuck, Sam. You’re...you’re even bigger than I thought you’d be.”
Sam knows he’s big. He’s a big guy. Got long limbs and all. But hearing you say that sends a bolt of white, breath-taking heat straight to his balls, and a helpless groan leaves him. Cheeks reddening a little, Sam dips his chin briefly, bashful, before his gaze returns back to you, grinning so wide at him.
“Hope I can take you.”
Oh fuck me.
You shuffle, leaning weight on your forearms over his thighs and hips, and then, with the most seductively heart-swelling grin that Sam’s ever seen, you lower your mouth, lips parting as you slowly, carefully, begin to take him in.
“Holy shit,” Sam breathes, head falling back onto the pillow as intoxicating, wet heat surrounds his tip, bone-deep pleasure sweeping over him, making the muscles in his legs tense.
Sam feels more than hears the breathy chuckle come from you, the softness of your lips rolling just over the sensitive ridge of his swollen cock head, tongue bumping his leaking slit, before you pull back up, lips grazing along the reddened skin of his tip.
At the next dip of your mouth, your tongue slides along the underside of his sensitive, red tip, pressing flat against and around him. Sam grunts at the sensation, hips stuttering up in lapsing control as you run the tip of your tongue along his ridge and let more of his hard length into your warm mouth.
You still, only for a few seconds, eyelids hung low, moaning with him still in your mouth, “Mmhhmm, Sammy. Knew you’d taste so good.”
He’s going to go crazy. You’re going to make him go crazy.
You start bobbing your head, the motion guiding his tip to slip further and further down the back of your tongue. Sam raises his right hand from his side, resting it heavily on top of one of yours holding the upper side of his thigh, the warmth of his palm pressing into your knuckles. You hum as Sam’s breathing quickens, turning ragged, nostrils flaring and mouth gaping. The sound of your heated and wet mouth sliding up and down his cock is fucking maddening, overwhelmingly erotic.
His brows are pulled up in sweet, shuddering ecstasy as he holds back whimpering, trapping the burning ache in his chest, but the pleasure you’re giving him is making it a herculean task. Sam is strong, though. He can hold it back. Right?
You hollow your cheeks, beginning to suck him, your spit and his pre-cum combining to make the movements deliciously lewd and sloppy, working him up and up.
“That—hng, shit. You feel so good.” He’s trying so fucking hard to not thrust deep into your mouth – he’s worried he might hurt you, might make you choke on him.
Lids hung low in desire, you look up at him, meeting his hungry gaze on you. Your left hand squeezes at his thigh before sliding out from underneath his right one atop of yours, only to lace and interlock your fingers with his as you continue building the starved bliss swimming in his body, the tenderness and intimacy of it in such a dirty, salacious moment incredibly heart stopping. And completely undoing.
Sam feels it. The tension coiling low in his stomach, his balls pulling tight. Quick. Too quick.
He squeezes your hand twice.
“Sweetheart–,” he rasps, head straining off the pillow, trying to keep it forward to watch you, indulge in you, but only failing as the intense rushing feeling and pleasure of your tongue and mouth on him becomes too much, “–y-you need to– need to stop– I wanna– fuck–wanna make you feel good. Feel good with my cock.”
You moan filthily around him, the vibration almost tipping him right over the edge, as you pull your mouth off him with a dick-twitchingly erotic noise that sears its notes into his memory, looking up at his panting and tensed face over his heaving chest from under your lashes. He doesn’t miss the way a wet string of saliva is still connecting you to his throbbing cock, “It’s okay, Sammy. I’m sure we can do something to get you ready again.”
Oh. He catches your tone.
And who is he to deny you from enjoying yourself?
“Yes, ma’am.”
There’s a ridiculously sexy smile on your face that makes Sam’s hips uncontrollably flex up just a little as you lower your face back down to his cock, placing a deceptively sweet kiss to the swollen tip once, before letting go of his fingers and wrapping your left hand around his length. Your right hand moves to between his thick thighs, beginning to gently massage his aching balls while your mouth opens again to let your tongue run over his leaking slit and around the head’s ridge.
As your fingers close around his slicked cock, you squeeze it slow twice, then start a measured stroking movement, your grip tightening as you reach his head then loosening as you slide back down to his base. You repeat the motion, drool pooling down from your lips and mouth to make each run velvet smooth and mind-numbingly hot and pornographic, your right hand fondling his left ball, then moving to the right, igniting the pleasure.
But poor Sammy can’t stop the pathetic, needy whimper (that you definitely hear) rip from him this time at the renewed, devoted attention of your hands on his taut and ridiculously sensitive body.
Fuck.
Searing heat shoots up the back of his neck all the way to the crown of his head, creeping over his face, prickling his cheeks. His body goes rigid, worried you’re going to stop – because fuck, that was embarrassing.
But you don’t. No. In fact, you moan, deep and hard, the sound reverberating through his cock and washing over his body as you give him more, squeezing with your left hand what you can’t fit in your mouth while you take his length further down your tight, warm throat, his swollen tip bumping the back and making you gag as you mumble a low ‘mmm, good boy, Sammy’.
Oh.
Oh.
Christ, that’s way too hot.
He whines, even more wantonly, hips jerking up in a quick stutter at your touching, your praise. Sam didn’t know he’d like that, that he needed your praise – needed more of it like air – that he could possibly get any more fucking turned on than he already was.
You chuckle this time, he can feel it in the way your lips curve in a smirk when they glide back down his length, a hard suck following when you come back up.
Sam’s breathing shallows, chest flaring, the muscles of his entire body tensing as he lets himself give in to you. Now, unapologetic and desperate. The taut coiling in his stomach is winding again, numbing heated pleasure creeping over his skin and flowing throughout him, his fingertips and toes curling and beginning to tingle.
Your right hand lifts from between his thighs, reaching up to the middle of his lower chest before your nails press into his skin to rake down and over his abs – sharp, angry red marks left glowing behind. The hand slides to his hip, moving almost underneath him as you grip his flesh to try and rock him into your mouth, moaning for him to give you more. He surrenders, his hands grabbing at the sheets beside him, his entire body desperate as he begins to feel his cock swell.
You look up at him, nodding your head frantically, your mouth tightening around his tip and tongue swirling faster and sloppier while your left hand starts to pump and twist his cock, deepening the intense, white-hot burning inside him, “Please, Sam. Please cum down my throat.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
He’s gone. His stomach and abs seize as the first euphoric wave pulls him under. Sam cums hard, mouth slackening and brows scrunched, a swear with your name drowned by his shamelessly loud and broken moaning, his eyes rolling up and his upper back and head lifting off the bed as three long, hot white ropes spurt into your mouth. You continue working him, your hand slightly slowing, drawing out his pleasure for as long as possible as you swallow him down through each wave.
Your mouth switches between softer, more careful sucks and licks of his sensitive cock to ease and guide him down. Sam realises he’s covered in sweat as his back meets the bedding again, bliss and warmth flowing through him from head to fingers to toes.
Gently, you take him out of your mouth, big, lust-blown eyes meeting one another’s.
“Holy shit.”
You giggle, sweet and seductive, wiping along your bottom lip and the sides of your mouth with your thumb before sliding it into your mouth, sucking and then licking it with your tongue to make sure you don’t miss a single drop of him, “Good, Sammy?”
God, I wish I could eat you.
He responds with a low and wrecked, feral moan as he grabs your arms and pulls you up into a filthy, claiming kiss, all saliva and heat and longing hunger for you, tasting the salt of himself on you. A sharp noise leaves you, surprise at the sudden contact, before you kiss him back with just as much unbridled need as him.
Sam’s lips never leave you as he manoeuvres you, manhandling your body under him as he drops his weight, rolls his hips into yours. You moan, high and wanting, your fingers fumbling for purchase on his big shoulders, running up the nape of his neck and tangling in his soft curling hair.
His dick should be softening, maybe twitching in overstimulation, but Sam can already feel the blood pulsing into his swollen tip again, bare skin prodding insistently at a warm soft spot of your inner right thigh.
“Sam. Sammy.”
Oh he needs to hear you calling his name like that when he’s between your thighs.
He groans against your lips, the kiss urgent and demanding, “I know, sweetheart. Gonna take good care of you – such good care of you, yeah?”
It’s not a question; he just wants you to know that he means it, but the way you nod urgently at him only spurs him on, makes his stomach and balls tighten and twist almost painfully in arousal.
Sam braces himself on his left forearm against the mattress, hand cupping the side of your neck, bare legs shifting to bracket your left one, while his right hand moves in between your bodies, snaking slowly down the expanse of your clothed stomach, past your navel, down to the button of your shorts. Your breath hitches, hips thrusting up at his heavy touch, and you push your mouth up into him. Unbuttoning it with devastating precision, Sam drags the zipper down like his sanity depends on it. If he’s being honest, though, it does a little.
The thought that he should go slower, take his time with you as his fingers and palm slip hastily over your mound crosses his determined, lust-driven mind. Next time. Next time.
Despite still being separated by your underwear, he groans possessively as the pads of his index and middle fingers finally touch you where he most desperately wants his face to be, fingers separating as they run down the outsides of your puffy folds before sliding back up through your slit to give you one, two measured circles of your clit, making your body flex up at him. You’re perfect. How could you not be. “God, you’re fucking soaked. Could probably taste you through your damn shorts.”
You smile, fingers tightening your greedy gripping of him, whining against his lips with a breathy ‘mmhhmm’.
Sam places one last lingering, searing kiss to your swollen lips before he takes his right hand out from between your thighs, repositioning both his arms to either side of your body. Lifting himself up from his forearms to his hands, he lowers slightly and begins to ease himself down the bed, down your body. He dips his head, his lips leaving a heated, wet and branding kiss to each spot where your nipples are peaking through your bra and singlet. It makes your back arch, breasts bumping into his face as you moan softly.
Smirking, pride stirring, a breathy huff slips past his lips. He looks up at you from just below your breasts, keeping eye contact with you as he continues his slide down your torso, shifting his leg still between your own lower first. He can feel his heavy and hard cock sticking to his shirt-covered-stomach, already ready and desperate to go again. His right hand pulls up the hem of your singlet to expose the soft warm flesh of your lower navel, dragging it further up to your waist and ribs, scattered kisses dotting your skin. He bites at a spot to your right, teeth sharp but careful, rolling his tongue over it and tasting the faint glow of your shower gel and light sweat, then blowing cool air at the blooming mark, your breathing going quick and shallow, sucking in air.
Big, warm, calloused yet tender hands gripping at your hipbones, Sam pauses at the space between them, making sure that you’re looking at him. Your nostrils flare, “You’re such a tease, Winchester.”
“Well,” he rasps, dark and dangerous, your name hanging in the air as, kneeling, he begins pulling down your shorts without breaking eye contact, “you seem to be enjoying it.” You bite your bottom lip, blushing and grinning, eyelids hung low as you lift your hips and move your legs to help and watch him as he slides the shorts down your legs. Sam brushes a kiss to your bent right knee as he draws the fabric lower. You kick them off, a little impatiently (Sam notices), letting them fall somewhere out of sight to the floor.
And when Sam’s gaze drops to between your now parted thighs and he sees your underwear, well, fuck. He knew you were wet – could feel it – but your underwear is literally soaked through with your arousal, outlining every curve and dip of your wet cunt.
An absolutely fucking rough, animalistic groan tears from him, the exhale rattling his bones.
Sam thinks he almost blacks out for a few seconds as a possessive hunger drags over him. He drops back down in a sharp, controlled motion to kneel lower between your plush thighs, beginning to peel off your drenched underwear. He can’t wait any longer. He’s not patient enough.
A small shiver runs through your body as the air of the motel hits your core. He settles hurriedly, his thick cock throbbing against the firm mattress, precum dribbling from his slit and smearing the bedding beneath him.
Gonna have to burn these sheets afterwards.
“I gotta be honest with you,” he murmurs, a little wrecked, guiding your legs over each of his broad, muscled shoulders, “I made a fuckin’ mess when I did this last night.”
“Jesus, Sam,” you moan low. He knows he looks like a wild, rabid animal with the way the blacks of his pupils are blown wide, mouth gaping and panting, drooling. He slides his grabby, greedy hot hands up the outside flesh of your thighs, over your hips, fingers gripping at your waist, palm cupping the soft curves. Muscled forearms deliberately push your thighs against the sides of his head, the pressure and warmth adding to the growing, fever haze he’s swimming in.
Just like he’d done last night, Sam starts slow, reverent; kissing the softest part of the inside of your left thigh, then shifting to the right one to place an equally as tender yet heated kiss. He looks up at you from between your thighs, admiring and drowning in how the colour of your irises is almost fully swallowed, the way your chest is rising and falling in weighted, staggered pulls. His shuddering warm breath brushes over your pussy, his nose nudging at your slicked clit and swollen folds. With a heavy inhale, he takes in the first heady scent of you, blooming across his senses as if he can taste you through the air alone.
Fucking fuck fuck fuck.
You start squirming, hips slightly twisting and hips bucking. Oh you want him badly.
Sam’s not a cruel man. He’s enjoying this, how badly you want him to eat you out just as much as he does, how it’s making your body react so much in anticipation. But making you wait any longer after today is cruel. So he pushes forward, letting the tip of his tongue run from the top of your puffy slit all the way down to your soaked, clenching entrance.
“Oh, fuck—” a sinful, heavenly gasp cuts you off, and fuck that sound needs to go straight into a museum, your right hand flying up from your side to grip the pillow under your head, left hand flexing hard by your hip, scrunching up the bedsheet.
Fucking. Christ. You somehow taste even fucking better than he’d fantasised as you flood his mouth and nostrils. Rich and warm and smooth and sweet, intoxicatingly and simply you. This – everything – is so much better than last night. So much better.
“Fuck,” Sam groans, “fuck. You taste too fucking good.”
He means to go slow, make sure that he doesn’t hurt you by going too fast or do something that isn’t pleasurable, but Sam can’t help himself as he licks you again, this time really pushing his nose and flattening his thick tongue into your cunt, and his cock jumps between his stomach and the bedding below him. You both whimper. Maybe an attempt at trying to say the other’s name, but lost entirely to the sensation of and pathetic need for each other.
Sam didn’t realise, but his eyes had closed, rolled so hard to the back of his head that if you weren’t just as consumed as he was – your head tipped back in soft radiating, tingling pleasure – you would’ve only seen bits of white peaking from underneath his fluttering eyelids.
He moans heavy and deep and rough into your heat, then buries his face into you to show you just how starved he is for you.
Despite the almost violent urge to suffocate in you, Sam begins small, slow, measured kitten licks at your clit and wet puffy folds, doing everything in his willpower to keep his heavily hooded eyes open and locked on you.
Soft, high gasps shatter around him as his big hands dig into you, thumbs pressing into the front of your waist as his splayed fingers curl and grip at each of your ribsets. He’s already getting drunk on it, on you, in him and all around him.
I hope you let me do this every night, Sam thinks.
He can feel the sheets beside his head shift as you claw at them, chasing to move and grab something. “You can pull on my hair, honey. It’s okay. Show me where you want me,” he says with your name, somewhere between a weak coo and a pleading beg, “Show me how you want me.”
Sam sucks your clit into his mouth and your left hand shoots to his head to bury in his hair. He moans in encouragement, the feeling of your fingers and nails running through the soft brown curls and against his scalp lighting up every single nerve in his entire body, leaving a pleasant, warm tremor to roll through him.
He tests something from his dream, licks the left side of your folds and rubs his nose in a circle over your clit. And fuck. Fuck. You look like you might cum then; mouth slackening and brows pulling into the most beautiful, holy scrunch as your hips buck off the bed. Sam grins, dark and hungrily, moving his left arm from his hold on your waist to drape over your hips and press you into the mattress to keep you, pin you in place so he can keep making you feel like that.
Maybe he does still have some of those psychic abilities...
The muscles of your stomach under his forearm shudder and tense as Sam’s tongue starts moving up and down your cunt – spit, slick, and heat coating his chin and cheeks and nose, sliding down his throat as his mouth works to swallow every single bit you give him.
You’re even more responsive to him than he could’ve possibly dreamed or hoped. He’s in heaven. This is his heaven.
“Sam—Sammy, oh my god,” you cry, voice high and needy.
There we go.
“Yeah, sweetheart? Makin’ you feel good with my tongue? My mouth?” Unable to speak, you tug the locks of his hair in your left fist in response, making him grunt, brows cinching and hips rutting into the mattress below him. “Good girl,” he growls against your soaking sweet and heady heat, words vibrating up into your core, doubling his efforts, “Keep tellin’ me– need to...need to know how good I’m makin’ you feel. Please.”
You whimper, and he’s greeted by a fresh flush of wetness when he licks into you again. Your hand releases from its grip, nails scraping down and over his scalp, palm pressing to push him further into you. Devour more of you.
Fucking yes yes yes.
Desire is pulsing in his blood and ears, pulling deep in his stomach, coiling tighter and tighter.
You start writhing, trying to roll your hips, grind up into his face as Sam increases the speed and swirling of his tongue and lips; the wet, lewd squelching sound of him hungrily eating you out mixing with the desperate, feral noises coming from both of you and reverberating off the motel walls.
Sam pushes his tongue into your gushing hole, making you clench around him at the intrusion and giving a new, beautiful sound he’s cataloguing. Your breathing’s getting tighter, higher, thighs tensing, shaking around his head, the heel of your right foot digging into his clothed back as the pleasure from his movements builds and builds and builds.
Oh you’re about to fucking cum.
“Yes, baby, yes,” he slurs, shaking his head side to side then up and down, dragging his curled tongue over and through your puffy folds, messy on your clit, “Just like that. I know, I know— doing so well for me, honey. Just wanna cum, don’t you?”
“Unngh, ye—yeah. Fuck, Sam!” He can’t help rolling his hips and cock into the mattress – it’s all feeling too fucking good. You feel too fucking good.
Your right hand is suddenly over his one across your hip, palming into the back of his hand, nails biting at the skin. Sam hopes you leave long, pretty red marks and scratches, dark purple bruises that’ll be a reminder of how completely undone you both are.
He’s feverish. Hands hot and heavy, tight in awe and indulgence of your bare flesh against his touch. Loose, wet brown curls cling in damp strands to his forehead as he starts grunting, whimpering into your pussy, burying his face impossibly further into your slick warmth, sloppily mouthing and slurping and lapping at every part of you he can reach.
A seraphic mixture of his spit and your arousal is dripping down onto the bedding below you both, marking it in a sticky, filthy, widening wet patch of sin and lust, and too-long-harboured, needy, aching love.
Definitely burning the mattress.
There’s a sound.
Not from you. Not from him.
Metal scraping against metal.
Sam only just registers it over your high, desperate moaning and the way your soft, warm thighs are twitching, tensing, pressing firm against his ears as your back starts arching.
With a surge of fear, he stops his movements between your legs, rushing to lift himself up. You realise at the same time, a pained sound leaving you, heaving heavily as you sit just on the precipice of your orgasm, panic stiffening your body. Sam starts ripping at the sheets underneath and around you to pull them over your body, to shield you from the cock-block-of-a-brother named Dean Winchester.
“Dean, stop!” Sam shouts, scrambling for the bedspread and rolling over the top of you to the side closest to the door so that your half-naked body now shivering with adrenaline is even more protected.
But Dean? He doesn’t hear his brother.
No, he swings open the door, one hand holding onto a plastic bag presumably filled with a hearty, greasy takeaway lunch, a six-pack of beer in the other.
Dean pauses as his eyes land on the scene before him – his brother; flushed and panting, hair wild, face smeared and glistening with something wet, in bed. With you. Both of you under rumpled sheets. Clothes scattered on the floor.
“Oh– hah– oh fuck.”
“Dean, just get out!”
The older brother stands in the doorway, motel door wide-open as he looks away from the scandalous and unexpected situation of you two in the bed in front of him, head shifting around in every direction and unable to stop anywhere, “Sammy, you sly dog. When I said ‘make it up to her’, this,” he gestures vaguely with his right hand at you both, “wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
“Dude!” Sam yells, while you loudly groan Dean’s name at the same time, annoyed and exasperated, but equally as mortified.
“Alright! Alright! I’m leaving.” He chuckles, backing out the door with his eyes stuck to the motel floor as he pulls the door shut with him, food and alcohol still in his grips.
Sam turns his head back to you, ducked in front of his broad chest, legs slightly tangled with his own. You peep up at him, face red, brows and nose crinkled in embarrassment.
Both of you burst out in laughter, Sam dipping his jaw with a shake of his head, then rolling to the side and falling back onto the mattress with a groan from the bed springs, eyes facing up at the whirling ceiling fan.
He huffs, nostrils expanding with a sheepish, dimpled smile creeping across his face as his gaze shifts back onto you lying beside him.
“Well, shit.”
OOPS. sorry for leaving yall in the lurch. again. BUT NOT NEXT TIME. YOU WILL BE REWARDED FOR YOUR PATIENCE. I PROMISE.
and a GIGANTIC thank you to my lovely @theedaythatnevercomes for proof-reading this first - would be lost without you ❣️ AND @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth for their formatting support 💗
(i'm not going to lie, I was really nervous about posting this. like almost hyped myself out of it. i hope it somewhat satisfied. please let me know :) )
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Pre-Relationship: Bucky accidentally discovers one of your kinks and uses his knowledge to his advantage
Bucky Barnes had always been good at blending into shadows.
Even now, post-Wakanda, with the weight of decades lifted from his mind, old habits died hard. He moved silently through the dimly lit corridors of the Avengers compound, boots barely whispering against the floor. It was well past midnight, and he’d just returned from a solo recon that wrapped earlier than expected. All he wanted was a shower and the quiet of his room.
But as he passed your door—left ajar just a crack—the low, breathy sounds drifting out stopped him cold.
He shouldn’t have lingered. Should’ve kept walking.
Instead, his enhanced hearing picked up every hitch in your breathing, every soft whimper. Your voice, usually so steady in the field, was wrecked.
“…please, Bucky… fuck, yes—harder…”
His name.
In that tone.
Heat slammed into him like a freight train. He froze, fingers curling at his side.
Through the narrow gap, the blue glow of your laptop screen painted the room. You were on your bed, sheets tangled around your legs, one hand between your thighs and the other gripping your phone like a lifeline. The audio from whatever you were watching—or reading—filtered faintly: a low, gritty voice murmuring filthy praise.
But it wasn’t just any voice.
It sounded suspiciously like someone had spliced together clips of his voice.
The realization hit low in his gut.
You moaned again, hips rolling desperately.
“Good girl… that’s it, take it for me…”
Bucky’s breath caught.
You were getting off to him.
Not just him—the way he spoke, the quiet commands he gave during missions. The subtle dominance that slipped out when he corrected your stance in training or hauled you out of danger. The praise kink you kept buried so deep he’d never suspected.
Until now.
He should leave. He knew that.
But the soldier in him—the part that still cataloged every advantage—locked the moment in place.
You wanted this. Craved being told you were good, being guided, being taken by that voice.
By him.
Bucky backed away silently, heart hammering.
He didn’t sleep much that night.
---
The next morning in the training room, he tested the waters.
You were already there, stretching in leggings and a cropped tank, earbuds in as you warmed up. Bucky entered like nothing had changed, but everything had.
He wore a black compression shirt that clung to his shoulders and left the metal arm bare—something he usually covered more around you.
“Morning, doll,” he rumbled, voice pitched deliberately low.
The same timbre you’d played on loop last night.
You startled, yanking one earbud out. “Hey, Buck. Didn’t hear you come in.”
He stepped closer than necessary, crowding your space under the pretense of spotting you on the pull-up bar. “Need a hand?”
You nodded, jumping up.
His flesh hand steadied your waist—warm, firm.
As you pulled yourself up, he murmured right by your ear, “That’s it. Good girl. Keep your form tight.”
Your arms nearly gave out mid-rep.
You dropped, cheeks flaming, but he caught you easily against his chest, arms wrapping around your back.
“Easy,” he soothed, that same velvet-rough voice. “You’re doing so well. Always so strong for me.”
The praise landed like a spark on dry tinder.
You swallowed hard, eyes flicking to his before darting away. “Thanks,” you managed.
He didn’t let go right away.
His thumb brushed your lower back, just above the waistband of your leggings. “You push yourself hard. I notice. Makes me proud.”
The effect was immediate—your pupils dilated, breath shallow.
Bucky filed it away with ruthless precision.
---
It escalated over the week.
In the kitchen, while you reached for a mug on the top shelf, he appeared behind you. Chest brushing your back, his arm extending effortlessly to grab it.
“Here you go, sweetheart. Always reaching for things you shouldn’t. Let me take care of that.”
His breath ghosted your neck.
You shivered visibly.
During a briefing, when you offered a solid tactical insight, Steve nodded approval—but Bucky leaned in, voice low enough for only you.
“Smart girl. Knew you’d see it. You always do what’s best for the team.”
Your pen snapped in your grip.
He found excuses to touch you more.
A hand on your shoulder after a successful drill.
“Perfect execution. Good girl.”
Each time, delivered in that quiet, commanding tone you’d clearly fantasized about.
Each time, you melted a little further—flustered, thighs pressing together, avoiding his gaze but never pulling away.
Bucky told himself it was just advantage. Information used strategically.
But the truth was darker, hotter:
He wanted you squirming for him.
Wanted to be the one who finally gave you what that secret audio never could.
---
Friday night, the compound was nearly empty.
Most of the team was out on a low-stakes mission. You were in the gym again, pounding the heavy bag like it owed you money. Sweat glistened on your skin, hair sticking to your neck.
Bucky watched from the doorway for a long moment before entering.
“Rough day?”
You paused, chest heaving. “Just… restless.”
He circled you slowly, metal arm gleaming under the lights. “C’mere. Let me help.”
Before you could protest, he positioned himself behind the bag, holding it steady.
“Hit it. Hard as you want. I’ve got you.”
You struck.
He absorbed the impact without flinching.
“Again. Good. Just like that.”
The praise flowed naturally now, laced with intent.
You hit harder, frustration bleeding into each punch. After a dozen, you were panting, leaning into the bag.
Bucky stepped around it, crowding you against the wall instead.
One hand braced beside your head, the other tilting your chin up.
“Look at me.”
Your eyes met his, wide and dark.
“You’ve been wound tight all week,” he murmured, voice dropping into that exact register from your late-night fantasies. “Working so hard. Being so good for everyone. But you don’t have to carry it alone, doll. Let me take some of that weight.”
His thumb traced your jaw.
“You’re allowed to need things. To want things. And if you want me to tell you how fucking perfect you are while I give them to you… all you gotta do is say it.”
Your breath hitched audibly. “Bucky…”
He leaned closer, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“That’s right. Say my name just like that. I heard how pretty it sounds when you’re desperate for me.”
The confession hung between you—shocking, electric.
Your face burned, but you didn’t deny it.
Couldn’t.
“I—I didn’t mean for you to—”
“Shh.”
His fingers skimmed down your side, pinning your hip lightly to the wall.
“I’m not mad. Been driving me crazy too, knowing what you need. How wet you get just from a little praise. From me calling you my good girl.”
A broken sound escaped you.
Your hands fisted in his shirt.
Bucky’s smile was slow, predatory—but his eyes held something softer.
“We’re not there yet. Not until you tell me you want this—for real, not just in the dark. But I’m done pretending I don’t know. Done pretending I don’t want to ruin you for anyone else.”
He stepped back just enough to give you air, but the promise lingered in the charged space between you.
“Think about it. I’ll be in my room. Door unlocked.”
He walked away, leaving you flushed and trembling against the gym wall, heart racing with the terrifying, thrilling knowledge that the Winter Soldier had just turned your deepest secret into his sharpest weapon and you’d never wanted to surrender more.
hi friend, next chapter of im gonna get ya good when?? miss you and your amazing writing
tomorrow is the plan. i just finished it and it is 7k words, so it ended up taking awhile for me to get done, but i just finished it. i still need to read through it. i have to take one of my dogs to the vet tomorrow morning, so hopefully tomorrow afternoon/evening i'll get it posted?
as my introduction to this account, im presenting:
#dean winchester who loves to snuggle while he's drunk. his weight is on top of you, chest to yours, face pressed between your neck and a his hoodie that youre wearing. he's nuzzling his nose against your jugular, lips and tongue darting against any bit of skin he can reach. his freezing hand — cold from the downpour that had kept you from joining the boys on their night out, a celebration for another successful hunt — slides up your side before settling across your back. he ignores the hitch of your breath, the way your body squirms away from his frigid fingertips. "shh, baby, just lemme—" his words are slurred, his arms tighten around you. "so fucking beautiful, so warm. all mine, right?" he'll mumble into your jaw. you remain quiet, nodding along, letting him have his moment. because you know the steady weight of him will be gone in the morning. so you let yourself have this —your fingers running through his smooth strands, legs spread to accommodate his body on yours, pretending that you are his and he is yours. just for the night. because he only looks at you like this when he's drunk. but at least he's looking at you? right? as his breathes even out and his weight sags further against you, you relish. you memorize his warmth, his smell, the tender touch of his thumb stroking the back of your shoulder. because tomorrow. tomorrow, you'll wake up empty, with the ghost of dean branded onto every inch of your body. and dean? dean will gaze at you as if he hadn't begged you to never leave him. because you're just hunting partners, right?
who’s gonna drive you home tonight? - steve harrington
frat! steve harrington x sorority girl! reader
part one of ???
masterlist tag list steve masterlist
summary:
you’ve hated steve harrington since the day you met him. unfortunately for you, your sorority and his frat go hand in hand, and you can’t escape him. he gets no greater joy in life than to piss you off. when a frat party like any other turns into something heated with the guy you hate more than anyone else, neither of you are sure how to deal with it.
warnings:
smut (18+), protected p in v, dubcon? (they’re both high), oral sex (f receiving), thigh riding, fingering, messy, rough sex, big dick steve, mention of masturbation (m and f), drinking, drug use (weed), pervy comments, steve is actually insufferable at first
word count: 17.5k words
a/n:
there is soooo much left of this fic, i have the whole thing outlined and i’m so excited! it will def be 4+ parts but i really wanted to share the beginning with you and hopefully it will motivate me to finish it soon 😁 i really hope you like it!!
The first time you met Steve, you almost slapped him.
His reputation preceded him. Even your freshman year at Ohio State University, fresh out of rush week, you’d heard plenty about Sigma Chi pledge Steve Harrington. They were singing his praises from day one—he was handsome, a baseball genius, the life of any party. He commanded the attention of any room he stepped into. You were a little sick of him to begin with from how your Delta Gamma sisters wouldn’t shut up about him for two seconds even before that first party.
And when you walked into the Sigma Chi house for the first time, you didn’t even need to be told which one was the Harrington. The world gravitated around him like he was the sun itself, and he seemed to glow like it, too. He was handsome, devastatingly so. His smile was blinding. He had a stupidly good head of hair, gorgeous sun-kissed skin dotted with moles like constellations, and big hazel eyes that made him look deceptively sweet.
You’d met eyes from across the room, and at the time, it had felt like something clicking into place. Two puzzle pieces who had finally found where they belonged. Your breath hitched as he left the group he was talking to and sauntered over, that brilliant smile now directed specifically at you and you alone. Your heart had felt like it might burst from your chest.
“Oh my god,” one of your sisters, Margot, had said, grabbing onto your arm. “He’s coming over here.”
He didn’t even glance at her. He only looked at you. He wore a polo with jeans that fit him just right, a red plastic cup clutched in his large hand. When he reached you, you could smell his cologne, something intoxicating that made your head spin. He really was everything everyone had promised.
And then he opened his mouth.
“Hi,” he’d said, extending a hand towards you. “I’m Steve. And you are fucking beautiful.”
Embarrassingly, you’d giggled like a total fool, given him your hand, and introduced yourself. “Nice to meet you, Steve.”
He’d actually taken your hand and kissed your knuckles, like the prince he absolutely saw himself as. And then, that suave grin turned into something more like a cocky smirk, a look you’d grow to know and loathe. “You know, you look like a girl who deserves the very best,” he’d said. “And, wouldn’t you know it—by sheer coincidence, you’re looking at the best this frat has to offer.”
Okay, a little eye roll worthy, but that wasn’t abnormal for these frat guys. You’d raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? And what could you possibly offer me?”
His smirk had widened, and he moved in, grabbing you by the hip and pulling you against him. “Oh, things beyond your wildest dreams, baby,” he’d murmured, even as you gasped at the sheer audacity of this guy. “Why don’t we go up to my room and I can show you?”
You’d shoved him back by his chest, making him stumble, the beer in his cup sloshing over the sides and onto his light blue shirt. “You’re a fucking perv.”
Steve’s expression had immediately transformed into something harder, all traces of the charming smile from moments ago completely erased. “What the fuck?”
“You don’t get to just walk up and touch me. I don’t even know you.” You’d scoffed, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “Does that actually work for you?”
“Yeah, actually,” he’d said, looking at you with pure distaste now. “With girls who aren’t an uptight cocktease.”
You’d laughed, but only in an attempt to keep yourself from punching this guy square in the jaw. “Oh, wow. Fuck you.”
“Fuck me, huh?” he’d said, that stupid smirk back in place. “You know, that’s a good idea, maybe it would help if I got that stick out of your ass and gave you something else—“
“Oh-kay, let’s go get a drink!” Margot had said, dragging you away before you could land the slap you were winding up. You heard him laughing behind you, the sound loud and infuriating.
“See you around, baby!” he’d called after you. Margot just dug her fingers into your arm, pulling you to a completely different part of the house as fast as she could.
Things with Steve did not improve after that. And, unfortunately for you, you couldn’t escape him. He was everywhere you turned. Not only the golden boy on campus—his photo was used on any and all promotions for the championship winning baseball team—but, soon, also the president of Sigma Chi. And your houses went hand in hand.
Every party you went to, Steve was there, holding court among his adoring subjects. The guys on campus thought he was the coolest guy who ever lived, and the girls were practically stepping over each other for a chance with him. You attempted to keep your distance, but Steve loved annoying you more than he loved the girls begging to go up to his bedroom.
Delta Gamma also partnered with Sigma Chi for just about everything. As the top houses, it was just a given. Every event, every fundraiser, every charity event and mixer and rager. As much as you adored everything about your sorority and had never felt like you’d made the wrong choice, Steve was the one thing that made you question it.
It was no secret, either. Everyone knew you and Steve hated each other. Steve’s frat brothers found it hilarious, while your sisters tried their best to keep you away from each other. You just couldn’t get along—being in each other’s space for too long always ended in disaster. A loud argument, heated insults, or sometimes even a thrown drink, if Steve was feeling extra mouthy that night. You were best kept far away from one another.
You’d grown close with another girl who’d pledged Delta Gamma, Nancy. Nancy was sweet and smart and although you loved all your sisters, you’d clicked with her immediately. Nancy also happened to know Steve well. They’d grown up together, even dated briefly in high school.
“Steve is an asshole,” Nancy had told you, confirming everything you already thought. “Seriously, don’t let him try to charm you. He’s full of it.”
It kind of seemed like you and Nancy were the only ones who saw it, though. Of course there were the girls he’d already scorned, but the vast majority of the Ohio State female student population were head over heels for Steve Harrington. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes every time you saw it.
That would never be you.
Your junior year had just begun, and by the end of September, homecoming season was well underway. Sigma Chi had already partnered with Delta Gamma, a surprise to no one.
What was a surprise was that you had a chance at being crowned queen this year. Homecoming court was something you’d never given much thought to. Your attention was already divided in so many directions—between your classes and honor society, track, event planning and sorority obligations with being Social Chair, and being a TA for the first time this year, you were booked and busy. The crown was the least of your concern. Even now, you didn’t stress about it. Everyone knew your chapter president, Lindsey, would be taking the crown anyway.
The week of homecoming itself was always busy and filled with excitement—stuffed full of events and activities, a good chunk of which you had a hand in planning. But still, courting had begun, and Tommy Hagan had been going all out to catch your attention.
It started with a bouquet of flowers so huge you had to divide them up into three different vases just to display them in a way that didn’t look ridiculous. Then, it was the food. Fruit baskets, a mini cake, so much of your favorite candy and chocolate you had to beg your sisters to eat some of it. The day you walked out of the house to the entire OSU choir serenading you on the front lawn, you’d been utterly speechless.
Tommy was nice enough, you guessed. If you had to partner with someone, he wasn’t the worst choice. That would be Steve Harrington, who, by expectations alone—because Steve didn’t put much effort into anything that wasn’t baseball or getting his dick wet—was courting Lindsey. He didn’t even have to try and he knew it.
There was a new gift or grand gesture from Tommy daily, while Steve had sent a single box of milk chocolates, a half dozen and definitely the cheapest on the shelf even though everyone knew the Harringtons were absolutely loaded—and Lindsey was allergic to dairy. You could tell she was annoyed about it, but she was going to partner with Steve regardless. Every time you brought another elaborate gift into the house, the look she gave you was cold and cutting. It was…awkward.
At least for now, you could push thoughts of homecoming from your brain. It was Saturday night, and you were ready to have some fun. Or at least try to, because you were about to walk right into King Steve’s kingdom.
You’d think you would have gotten used to his presence by now, but he never got any less annoying. It’s not like you could just skip every party. Everyone knew Sigma Chi threw the best parties of any frat on campus. Were you just not supposed to go because the president was a total pain in the ass? You could kiss your social status goodbye real fast.
Sometimes you’d get lucky and wouldn’t see him at all the whole night. Maybe just a flash of his stupid hair, or the sound of his laugh from another room. A glimpse at his cocky smirk as he led some poor girl up to his room. And other nights, he seemed hell bent on annoying you as much as possible.
You really, really hoped for the former tonight. You walked into the house with Nancy and Margot, the bass already thumping, the place overrun with college students in various states of intoxication. You looked good, you knew you did. Tiny skirt that showed off your legs, a top that displayed just enough chest to have guys staring every time they walked past. Not that that was hard.
“Do you want me to get us drinks?” Nancy asked, leaning over to yell over the music right in your ear. You nodded, and she gave you a soft smile before pushing her way through to the kitchen.
There was no sign of Steve so far, which you hoped was a good omen. Your eyes scanned the room, mostly familiar faces, but a decent amount of freshmen you hadn’t gotten to know well yet were there, too.
Nancy was back quickly, walking through the crowd holding the two red cups up high in an attempt to not spill them or get anything on her white blouse. She let out a sigh of relief when she finally reached you, handing you a drink.
“It’s a total madhouse in there,” she said. “Like, more than usual.”
“How many new pledges are there this year?” you asked, taking a sip of your beer. You linked hands with Nancy and began pushing through to the living room. You eventually found a place to stand against the wall, surveying the rest of the party.
“I have no idea,” she said. Her curls were pulled back on top with a bow, and she held her drink between both delicate hands. “It’s gotta be more than last year, right?”
It certainly seemed like it. The Sigma Chi parties were always intense, but it felt like you could barely move. “With Harrington in charge this year, who knows.”
Nancy rolled her eyes. “God, I know. When I heard he was president, I almost thought about dropping out.”
You laughed, shaking your head and taking another sip of your beer. “At least in two more years, I’ll never have to see him again.”
“Lucky you,” Nancy grumbled. “I’m sure I’ll always be seeing him at some point when I’m back in Hawkins for holidays. It’s like I can’t escape him.”
The sound of your name being called caught your attention. You looked around, looking for the source—and saw Tommy Hagan on his way over, hand held up in a wave and a bright smile on his freckled face.
“Here comes your loverboy,” Nancy mumbled into her cup, looking away like she was minding her own business.
“Hey,” Tommy said as he reached you. He wasn’t as bad as Steve, but they were best friends and looked like they could have shared a wardrobe. He wore a dark red polo and jeans, one hand now in his pocket and the other holding his own drink. “Wow, you look beautiful.”
“Thanks,” you smiled politely. “Um, thanks for the flowers this morning. Blue this time, huh?”
“Yeah,” he said, his smile somewhat sheepish as he ran a hand through his short hair. “I was thinking, like, a different bouquet for every color of the rainbow, or something.”
You nodded, eyebrows raised. “Ooh, yeah. I see the vision.”
A soft blush colored the pale skin on his cheeks. “Did you like them?”
He was being so sweet, you couldn’t help but soften. You weren’t interested in Tommy romantically, but you were happy to partner with him if that’s what he wanted. “They were beautiful. Seriously.” His eyes lit up, and at the fear of yet another bouquet to make your bedroom look even more like a greenhouse, you added, “But I am starting to run out of room to put vases.”
Tommy laughed softly, looking down at the floor. “Yeah. Maybe I should try to get creative.”
A shout came from the sliding glass back door, drawing all of your attention behind him. “Hagan! Come out here and show the new brothers how a keg stand is done!”
Tommy turned back to you. “Sorry. Duty calls, I guess,” he said, although he didn’t look all that sorry. Sigma Chi took their keg stands very seriously. “I’ll catch you around later though, yeah? You’re not planning to turn in early or anything?”
“I’ll be here,” you confirmed, drinking from your cup again. “Go show ‘em, Hagan.”
His grin only widened. “See you later, beautiful.”
You watched him go, laughing softly as he immediately switched gears from gentleman to frat bro the second he reached the back door.
“Please let him be done with the bouquets,” Nancy said as soon as he was gone, done acting like she hadn’t been paying attention the whole time. “I’ve already got half of the flowers in my room.”
The party went on, and eventually you lost Nancy to the crowd. She’d started seeing this guy a few weeks ago, Vance, a transfer student who had her totally smitten like you’d never seen before. While Nancy had always been your partner at these parties—more like your shield from Steve Harrington—she’d started wanting to spend more time with Vance, and who were you to stop her?
It wasn’t until later in the night, when you were leaning against the wall with yet another drink, that you finally saw him. Or heard him, rather, because his obnoxious loud voice and laugh usually entered a room before he did. At least he had a warning bell, you thought.
When Steve entered the living room with his friends, telling some story that was definitely not funny enough to warrant how hard they were laughing, you thought about making a run for it. But then his eyes locked with yours from across the room, and he shot you that stupid fucking smirk that made you irritated immediately. And he knew it.
He stared at you even while he kept talking to his friends, and you stared back. He liked to do these little power plays. Even the women around him weren’t drawing his attention away. And finally, much to your disappointment, he turned away long enough to excuse himself before walking straight for you.
You really regretted not making your escape while you had the chance.
Steve greeted you by your last name, something none of the other guys did, since they cared about actually impressing you. “How sweet of you to grace my house with your presence. I almost didn’t expect you to show.”
You scoffed. “Just because you’re president this year doesn’t mean you’re special—“
“Actually, it does,” he smirked. “This is my kingdom, baby.” He held his arms out, as if the opulent house crammed full of sweaty, drunk college students was supposed to impress you. “And you’re talking to the king.”
You couldn’t have rolled your eyes harder if you tried. “Do you even hear yourself when you talk? It’s like everything you say comes from the official douchebag handbook.”
His smirk only widened. “Maybe it does. Maybe I even wrote it.”
“Steve, I’m not even sure you can read.” You shook your head, looking off to the side, searching for any lifeline out of this conversation with your least favorite person on earth. “Why are you over here bothering me, anyway? Don’t you have some poor girl to flatter long enough to get in her pants?”
“I’d much rather get under that skirt,” he quipped. When your head snapped back in his direction, eyes practically glowing with the fire behind them and the promise of pouring your drink all over his dark blue shirt and stupid khakis, he held his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, okay,” he laughed. “I came over because you looked fucking miserable. Why do you always look so bored? You’re at a party.”
“I’m not bored,” you retorted simply.
“Could’ve fooled me,” he said, leaning a hand against the wall next to you. “You look pissed off to even be here.”
“That’s because you’re talking to me.”
Steve laughed, which was maybe your least favorite sound in the world. “Every time I see you here, you look bored. Like you think you’re too good to even be here.”
“Well, unfortunately, Sigma Chi has the most annoying guy possible as their president, so…” you trailed off, a hand on your hip. You took a sip from your beer again, but you would need a lot more alcohol to make Steve’s presence bearable.
He hummed, as if he were considering it. “I don’t know. I think you feel like you’re above all this.” He gestured around the room. “Why would you join a sorority if you hate parties so bad?”
“I don’t hate parties,” you argued. And it was true—you didn’t. You could have plenty of fun at a party. You were Social Chair.
“Well, whatever it is, you’re bringing down the mood,” he said. He downed the rest of his own drink, sitting the empty plastic cup on the mantel, where it would surely sit until some poor pledges were tasked with cleaning the whole place tomorrow.
“I don’t think anyone cares what I’m doing,” you muttered. “Other than you, for some fucking reason.”
Steve grinned again. “I know what you need.”
“Yeah?” You raised your eyebrows. “Is it for you to leave me alone and never speak to me again? Because I could agree with that.”
“You need to get high.”
That made you pause. “What?”
His smile grew. “I think you need to loosen up. Like, a lot.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder, back towards the staircase. “I could roll us a joint. I wanted to go smoke anyway.”
You just blinked at him. “You’re—“ You were genuinely stunned. “You’re inviting me to go up to your room and smoke? This isn’t, like, some weird attempt to have sex, right? Because that is never gonna happen—“
“No, Jesus,” he laughed. “I just think you need to stop being so damn uptight for once. It would help, believe me.”
“I’ve smoked before, I’m not some prude,” you mumbled, because you knew that’s exactly what Steve saw you as. “If you’re offering, why can’t you just, like…roll me one and bring it back down here?”
“I keep the good shit hidden in my room,” he shrugged. “Otherwise, these assholes would steal it all. They don’t need to know about it.”
You hesitated, because no matter how badly you wanted to accept the invitation for some free weed, it came with a cost—spending time one on one with Steve Harrington. He looked at you expectantly while you looked around the room, biting the inside of your cheek as you fought with yourself over it.
“Fine,” you said finally. “But we smoke, and then I’m coming right back down here and finding Nancy.”
“Deal,” he smirked. “At least you’ll be more fun. We have a reputation here, you know.”
You rolled your eyes yet again as he turned, leading the way back to the staircase. The crowd always seemed to part for Steve like he was true royalty, a deep seated respect that you personally would never understand. Your eyes darted around to every face you passed, absolutely mortified at the idea of someone seeing you following him upstairs, but no one seemed to notice.
The polished wood of the banister was smooth beneath your palm as you followed. You’d never even been up these stairs at all, the second floor a total mystery you had never been too eager to uncover. Steve’s shoes thudded against the shining hardwood floors, passing room after room occupied with couples, some of them not even bothering to close the door all the way. You scrunched your face up in disgust at one particularly shameless makeout session with the bedroom door wide open.
Steve reached a room at the end of the hall, turning to look at you over his shoulder before turning the doorknob, as if it were some grand reveal. You had to admit—only to yourself—but you were a little curious about what waited on the other side.
You trailed into the room behind him, closing the door behind you. You looked around as Steve kneeled by his bed, pulling out a shoebox. The bedroom was neat, bed made, clothes put away besides the ones piled in the laundry hamper. There was a desk with a lamp, soft light shining over a mess of papers and textbooks. His dresser was cluttered with hair products and a few bottles of expensive cologne. There were a few posters tacked to the walls, mostly sports related, a few of scantily clad women, and the year’s OSU baseball schedule. He had a bookshelf against one wall, holding his textbooks and a staggering amount of baseball trophies. A framed team photo sat on one shelf, along with one of all the Sigs taken at the beginning of the semester.
“Having fun?” Steve asked, making you jump slightly as you turned to look at him. He was sitting on his bed now, the shoebox open next to him. He was smiling at you as his fingers worked dexterously to roll the joint. “Didn’t know you could be so nosy.”
You scoffed, but your cheeks felt a little hot. “Shouldn’t have stuff sitting out if you don’t want people to look at it.”
He laughed. “You can look at whatever you want.” He licked along the seam of the joint, perfectly rolled. “Go ahead and search the whole room, if you want. The porn mags are in that drawer.” He nodded towards his nightstand.
You scrunched your face up. “Ew. You’re so gross.”
Steve laughed again as he put his baggie of weed and papers back in the box, pushing it beneath his bed again. You took a seat on the plush carpet, back leaning against his dresser. He placed a muscular arm on the end of the bed frame and lowered himself to the floor to sit across from you.
“You can do the honors if you want,” he offered, holding the joint out towards you.
There was a moment of hesitation before you reached forward, taking it from his fingers. “I don’t understand why you’re being nice to me,” you said, brows furrowed even as you placed the joint between your lips, flicking the lighter and holding the flame to the end.
“I’m not being nice to you,” he said. He still had that same look he always had when he looked at you, like it was one of his life’s greatest joys to piss you off, to get you worked up and upset. “Like I said, you’re ruining my party. Can’t have word spreading around campus that people are here looking bored. Sigs are the party kings of campus, and that’s not changing, especially not with me in charge.”
“Oh, right,” you said, exhaling that first cloud of smoke. “The new ruler can’t appear weak, and all that.”
“Exactly,” he smirked. He watched you take another hit, then leaned forward, accepting the joint back from you and taking a long pull himself.
“I don’t think anyone pays as much attention to me as you do, Steve,” you said. That warm feeling was starting to settle over you, and he was right—you were relaxing already. It was the first time you’d been in a room with him and didn’t want to scream or punch him.
His gaze was heavy on you as he hit the joint, looking at you with that intensity he always seemed to hold when you were in a room together. But now it was making you fidget, the room suddenly feeling hot.
“Who says I pay attention to you?” he finally asked. His voice was lower now, and when he leaned forward to pass the joint back to you, your fingers brushed together. It sent a jolt through your body, and you jerked your hand back quickly, bringing it to your lips to give yourself time to think before you spoke again.
“It’s kind of obvious.” Smoke billowed from your lips as you responded. The room was growing thick with it, a haze surrounding you both in and outside of your head. “Always staring at me, coming over just to annoy me…”
“It’s fun,” he admitted, laughing softly. He ran a hand through his hair, starting to lose its shape and flop into his wide hazel eyes. “Every time you get mad, you get that cute little furrow between your eyebrows, your lips get all pouty, and you roll your eyes about a million times.”
You paused—and then giggled, leaning forward to pass the joint back. “Seriously? I told you, you pay attention to me.”
Your laughter was starting to get Steve going too. He took another pull. “I mean, I notice things that are nice to look at. I’m only a man, after all.”
The laughter felt like something you could no longer control, bubbling up in your chest and filling Steve’s bedroom much like the smoke in the air. It was contagious, the two of you laughing together as you finished off the joint.
“You know you always say the cheesiest stuff possible,” you giggled, your body fully relaxed into the floor at this point. Your limbs felt heavy in the best way, like every bit of tension in your muscles had faded. “It’s kind of amazing how everyone thinks you’re so cool, because you’re kind of a total dork.”
Steve laughed hard, his head tilting back. You couldn’t help but notice the strong column of his throat, the way the muscles flexed in his neck and chest. “I have to get creative,” he said, fixing his eyes back on yours once again. “I aim to keep you entertained, after all.”
“I guess you do,” you smiled. “Annoyed, yes. Bored? Never.”
He watched you for a minute, something thoughtful seeming to cross his face. Your eyes locked in that way they often did, just staring. Seeing each other. Steve always had a way of making you feel like he could see right through you, and it made you wonder if he felt the same about you, too.
The fact that you were enjoying Steve’s company seemed to strike you all at once. It was confusing—maybe concerning—but for now, you were too high to care. He’d been right. This was what you needed.
Steve nudged your foot with his own. “I’ve never seen you look so peaceful,” he grinned. “Who knew there was more to you than being stuck up and…snobby.”
You snorted a laugh. “Fuck you, Harrington.”
The grin on his face grew. “Oh, would that help you relax some more?” he said, looking a little too proud of himself. “Because I’d be happy to help you with that, too.”
Your eyes widened, and Steve was pretty sure you were about to tell him off again—but then you tossed your head back, laughing harder than he’d ever heard from you. “Oh my god. In your dreams.”
Steve smirked, that same look you’d grown to know as cocky and insufferable, but right now, you didn’t seem to mind it. It was endearing, almost. Handsome, maybe. “Baby, you let me fuck you, and you’ll be dreaming about it for months.”
It’s like everything he said, every stupid, corny line that would usually have you irritated, was suddenly the funniest thing you’d ever heard. “You really think you’re god’s gift to women, huh?”
“I know I am.” He tilted his head to the side, body relaxed as he leaned back against his bed frame. “Never heard a single complaint.”
“That’s because girls know how to fake it,” you mumbled. “Guys can never tell.”
“Oh, I can tell.” His hands flexed where they rested on his thighs, the veins beneath his skin suddenly extremely distracting. “Some guys can’t, sure. But I know the difference between some fake pornstar moans to boost some pathetic dude’s ego, and how it really feels to make a girl fall apart.”
Your cheeks felt hot now. Your whole body did, even though your outfit didn’t cover much skin. “You’re not that good in bed.”
“How would you know?” he asked, looking at you with genuine curiosity and something like delight.
“I can just tell,” you answered quickly, looking down at the soft beige carpet beneath your bare thighs. “Guys never care about making girls feel good. Just themselves.” That’s how it had been with every guy you’d ever slept with. Not a single one had been different.
“I’m not other guys,” Steve said, voice lower now. It made your breath hitch in your throat, slowly raising your head to look at him. He was still smiling at you, but there was something different behind his eyes now, something heavy and burning.
You returned his smile, laughing softly even as you felt your heart speed up in your chest. “Yeah, well. I don’t think any guy is different in that department.”
“You wanna bet?”
That almost earned him another eye roll (playful this time, but still)—until he shifted, moving over to sit next to you. You tensed as you felt his shoulder brush against yours, feeling both electricity and heat even through the fabric of your clothes.
“Steve…”
His large hand came up slowly. Now he was looking at you in a way you’d never seen from him before. The familiar cocky smirk was gone, his soft lips parted slightly as his eyes raked over every part of you like he wanted to memorize the way you looked right now. Your chest rose and fell with your heavy breaths, watching his intense gaze travel slowly, taking his time. From your eyes, to your lips, down your throat. Lower, to your chest, but not in the pervy way he’d done in the past. No, it wasn’t that—it was…reverent. Like he was seeing something holy.
His hand finally moved, brushing your hair back softly. It made you draw in a sharp breath, chills spreading across the skin of your neck where he’d made contact.
“I like you like this,” he said, voice low and quiet. His eyes were locked on the side of your neck, where he’d just touched.
It took you a second to find your voice, although it came out more like a whisper. “Like…what?”
“Happy,” he said. His gaze finally moved to your eyes. “Comfortable. Real.” His eyes dropped to your lips. “You know, you’re really pretty when you smile like that.”
You were pretty sure you had to be dreaming, because in no world were you sitting in Steve’s bedroom while he looked at you like that. Like he wanted to kiss you. Like he was actually moving in, leaning in slowly to close the distance as if giving you all the chance in the world to run away—
You didn’t. Your eyes fell closed and then, with the force of a meteor crashing into the earth despite how soft and gentle it was, his lips met yours. His hand rested against the side of your neck while yours moved up to grip onto his bicep. He tilted his head slightly and your lips slotted together perfectly, moving together with a practiced kind of confidence and a sense of rightness you never should have felt with Steve Harrington ever.
There was no time to think with the way he was kissing you, slow and deep but utterly consuming. It was careful at first, exploratory. It felt so good, your lips moving with his like it was second nature. Steve was a good kisser. You knew he had plenty of experience, and it’s not like you didn’t, but he was taking the lead and you were happy to let him.
His tongue traced along your bottom lip, and you parted your lips on instinct. His tongue met yours with a soft groan that had you digging your nails into his arm through the sleeve of his shirt, pulling him closer.
Steve laid you back on the soft carpet with way more care than you’d ever seen him show anything. He braced himself on a strong arm planted next to your head, never breaking the kiss for a single second. His body hovered over yours, one knee moving between your thighs where your skirt had fallen up around your waist, pressing against you through your panties. His free hand rested on your hip now, holding onto you. You let out a soft moan against his lips, delirious from every point of contact, rocking your hips down against his leg to feel that friction you craved so desperately.
He groaned, moving from your mouth to kiss across your jaw, down to your neck, his lips brushing over the sensitive skin, giving you chills. Your breaths were coming in hard and heavy now, holding onto his broad shoulders like a lifeline, eyes closed as you felt every sensation he provided.
“So pretty,” he murmured against your neck, grinding his knee against you to meet every needy movement. He nipped lightly at the sensitive spot below your ear. You could feel his smirk against your skin when you gasped, hips bucking against him in response. It made no sense how he knew exactly what to do, like he somehow knew your body better than you did.
“Steve…” you whimpered, the only word your brain could conjure.
“That’s it, baby,” he said. His breath was hot against your skin, sucking at your neck, biting then soothing the sting with his tongue. “Let me hear you. Gonna make you feel so good.”
The hand on your hip slowly slid up the smooth skin of your side, rucking your shirt up. You sat up long enough to help him pull it off completely, leaving you in the lacy bra you wore beneath. He wasted no time lowering his head to mouth at the top of your breasts, practically burying his face in them, kissing and sucking and biting at the exposed skin.
“Always had the best fucking tits,” he moaned, losing himself in a way you could only describe as worshipful. He reached behind you to unhook your bra easily, pulling it away and tossing it to the side. He pulled back to look down at your body, the look in his eyes one of pure hunger. “Actually insane fuckin’ pair, Jesus Christ.”
You laughed, because yeah, there was the Steve you knew. That laugh turned into a gasp, then a moan, when he leaned down and wrapped his lips around one of your nipples.
“Fuck,” you gasped, hands shooting up to tangle in his hair. “Oh my god—“
He swirled his tongue around the stiff peak, groaning as he sucked on it. He grabbed the other, massaging your breast in his large hand, slightly calloused from years of pitching. The friction on your sensitive, hardened nipple was maddening, back arching and pushing your tits further into his face.
He never let up with the movements against your soaked cunt, either, even as he switched back and forth between your tits. Your clit was swollen and throbbing and begging for more, and you were pretty sure your panties were utterly ruined. You could feel the pleasure building in your core with an intensity that felt like it would completely take your breath away.
You’d never had a guy make you cum in your life, and now Steve Harrington was about to do it in five minutes, fully clothed, with his fucking thigh?
Steve could sense the tension coiling in your body—and he pulled away, taking away every delicious ounce of pleasure he’d been building.
Your eyes opened, still heavy lidded and hazy. “What—?”
“My bed,” he said, and you noticed he was breathing hard, too. “Not gonna fuck you for the first time on the floor.”
You didn’t give yourself time to think about his words. He helped you up, then pulled you into another frantic kiss as you both shed clothes as fast as you could with your lips still attached, utterly desperate for each other.
Steve’s mattress creaked softly as you fell back onto it, now in nothing but your panties. You moved back towards his pillows, leaning up on your elbows as you watched him.
God, he looked good with his shirt off, you absolutely hated to admit. He had thick hair covering his chest, which was muscular and strong, but his stomach was still a little soft. His skin was sun-kissed, those moles dotting his body all over. The desire to kiss every single one of them surged suddenly within you, but you pushed the thought away. That was…intimate.
His gaze remained heavy on you as he worked his belt open without drawing away his attention once. The way he looked at you was like a starving man preparing for a feast. Your thighs were slightly parted, and he didn’t miss how damp your panties were. For him.
Finally down to his boxer briefs alone, you could see more of him than you ever had before. He was fully hard, the outline of his dick visible as it strained against the thin, snug material.
And the rumors were true.
“Jesus,” you breathed. That cocky smirk returned to his face as he watched your wide-eyed stare. Truthfully, he was used to that reaction. “You’re…”
“I know, baby,” he purred, crawling onto the bed over you. He leaned down, peppering kisses along your legs as he moved higher along your body. “It’ll fit. I’ll be careful. ‘m gonna take care of you like you deserve.”
It felt like you were melting into the soft sheets and comforter surrounding you. Steve was taking his time, placing hot, open mouthed kisses against your calf, his hand roaming up the other leg in time with his mouth. He rose higher, over your knee, up the inside of your thigh.
He laid on his stomach between your legs, kissing and nipping all along the sensitive skin of both inner thighs. Your legs trembled. The sight of him there, with his mouth all over you, was almost too overwhelming to even take in. Your head dropped against his pillows, just giving in to his every desire, your body coming alive with every touch. Trusting him.
“You’re so wet for me,” he breathed in pure admiration. His nose nuzzled against your core through the thin material, and you drew in a sharp gasp. He looked up at you from between your legs, fingers moving to dip beneath the waistband of your panties. “Has anyone ever tasted you before?”
You froze as you realized what he was asking you, what he was planning to do. By the time you found your words, he’d already slipped the delicate material down and off your body. You shuddered as you felt his breath against your pussy, cool against the wetness there, for him.
“I—“ You jolted when you felt him rub his nose against your folds, breathing in the intoxicating scent of you. Your whole body was flushed and hot. “…No.”
Steve groaned. The idea of being the first to pleasure you like this had his cock throbbing between his body and the mattress. “Fuckin’ idiots,” he grumbled, drinking in the sight of you for a little longer before he finally moved in, dragging his tongue against your cunt, moaning like he’d never tasted anything better. “You have the perfect fuckin’ pussy. Tastes so sweet.”
Your hips jerked against his mouth, crying out at that first unfamiliar contact. You heard his low chuckle, but there was no humor behind it, just pure want. He dove in, devouring you properly.
The feeling of his tongue against you was more intense than you’d anticipated. Your fingers tangled in his perfect hair, making a mess of it, pulling just hard enough to earn a groan from his chest that vibrated against your clit. You were nearly seeing stars already, hips rocking up against his mouth as he flicked his tongue against the swollen nub, sucking gently before moving down to your hole. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he was pulling you apart piece by piece until you could hardly stand it.
You’d heard of this before, of course you had. Your sorority sisters had mentioned it a few times, and you’d seen it in that trashy porno you, Nancy, and Carol had spent the night giggling at after sharing a joint and some vodka crans. But you always thought of it as a myth. No man you’d ever been with had even offered, even if you’d gone down on him first. You figured it was something guys just didn’t do, or at least something they didn’t want to do.
Not Steve, apparently, because he was worshipping you like he could have spent hours with his face buried between your legs. His skilled tongue worked against you in all the right ways, moaning against you and grinding his hips against the bed, even harder if you tugged on his hair, which you were quickly learning he liked.
“Steve—“ you gasped, body writhing and arching beneath him. “Oh my god, I—-“
“That’s it,” he praised, pulling away from you just long enough to speak, eyes glazed and lips and chin shining with your wetness, before diving in again. “Doing so good for me, sweetheart. You’re so fucking hot.”
You whimpered when you felt his thick finger pressing against your entrance, moaning as he pushed inside while his mouth focused on your clit again. With how wet you were, he slid inside easily, fucking you before quickly adding a second finger. He curled them deep inside, pressing against something that nearly had you screaming his name loud enough for the whole party to hear.
“Steve!” you gasped, one hand still tangled in his hair while the other gripped onto the pillow, feeling like you would actually float away if you didn’t hold on. The pleasure he was giving you was nearly overwhelming, your body beginning to tremble harder as that coil tightened again, faster and more intense this time. He slipped in a third, fucking you deep, stretching you around his thick fingers.
“Gotta get you ready for me,” he panted, dragging his tongue through your folds one more time just to taste you. “Fuck. You’re so good, gonna take me so well, every fuckin’ inch, I know you will. Gonna stretch so perfectly around my cock.”
A whine crawled its way from your throat, hips rocking against his fingers as he fucked you deep with them, pressing against that bundle of nerves that had you losing your mind. “Steve…Steve…oh fuck, I’m—“
He didn’t let up with his fingers for a single second. But it was when he wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking, while his fingers thrusted in hard and deep, that made it finally snap.
Your vision went white, your body tensing and mouth dropping open in a scream that was silent at first, before you let out what were probably the most pornstar-worthy sounds you’d ever made in your life. “Steve! Oh, fuck!”
Steve groaned at the sound, lapping up every bit of you, letting you grind your pussy against his tongue and working you through every shuddering aftershock until your body went limp beneath him. When he finally pulled back, you fully expected him to look up at you with that look he almost always wore, the one that made him look so proud of himself, so punchable. But instead he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before sucking his fingers clean greedily, looking down at your body with that same heated, wanting expression.
He sat up on his knees. You didn’t think it was possible before but he was even harder now, a wet spot on his boxers at the tip of his cock where he’d been absolutely dripping for you. His thumbs hooked into the waistband, pushing down just enough for you to get a glimpse of the hair that disappeared below.
“You ready for me?” he asked, voice a low rumble.
You let out a shaky breath, looking up at him with wide eyes. “…Yeah.”
Steve smirked down at you and pushed the material down in one go. His cock sprung free—and it was even more impressive than it looked before. He was thick and long, a slight right curve, vein prominent along the underside. His tip was flushed red like he was real desperate, and glistening from the precum he’d been leaking the whole time he was taking care of you. Another drop was beading at his slit. You’d never had a man look like he wanted you this bad.
You knew you were staring, and Steve certainly saw it, too. “See something you like, baby?”
You let out a breathless laugh, but truthfully, you were in no position to crack a joke or even deny it. You simply watched as he shed the last bit of clothing completely, leaving you both completely bare in his bed.
He leaned over you and reached to open the bedside drawer. There really were porn mags in there, which might have made you laugh if you couldn’t feel that thick length twitching against your thigh. He grabbed a condom and shoved the drawer closed, sitting back up on his knees. He ripped the foil packet open with his teeth and rolled it onto his cock.
When he leaned over your body again, one arm braced near your shoulder and the other stroking his cock slowly, your heart began to pound fast. There was that brief moment of I’m really doing this, right now, with him, but you’d never wanted anything more in your life.
Steve lined the head of his cock up with your entrance. You were still soaked, so he wasn’t worried, but you were. You’d heard rumors of how some girls couldn’t even take him, only getting him halfway in before giving up and jerking him off instead. You hadn’t believed them, because starting a rumor about the size of his dick was absolutely something you could see Steve doing. But now you were here in his bed, seeing firsthand that it was very true.
He traced his cock up and down through your folds, coating himself in that slick wetness, showing a surprising amount of care. He placed hot, gentle kisses along your jaw as he did, voice a soft, low rumble in your ear.
“I’ll go slow,” he promised, lips brushing against your skin. “You don’t like it, we don’t have to. But I’ve got you, baby. You’re so good, I think you can take it.”
You could hear the need in his voice, how badly he needed you to let him fuck you. But you also knew he was true to his word.
But, god, you wanted to take all of him. To show him you could, to feel him buried deep. To make him fall apart.
Steve kissed his way back to your lips, kissing you slow and deep, tongue massaging against yours. You felt the sting of the thick head of his cock pushing inside you, and you let out a soft whimper into the kiss. He moaned against you and pushed in just a little deeper.
“That’s it,” he whispered between kisses. He grabbed your thigh with his left hand now, spreading you wide for him. “Doin’ so good, baby, letting me in.” He rolled his hips in shallow thrusts, just that little bit inside of you, sinking in another inch with every slow, deliberate thrust, working you open.
Your nails dug into his shoulders, but he kept your attention on him, entirely on the way he was kissing you. You weren’t sure why or how but it was working, his slow, languid kiss distracting you from the sharp sting where he was stretching you around the girth of him, coaxing your body to relax.
The feeling of being filled was like nothing else. Sure, you’d had plenty of sex, but Steve made you feel absolutely stuffed full before he was even completely inside. He held your thigh up, keeping you open for him, your flexibility not lost on him. He rolled his hips in a few more slow thrusts—and then you felt his hips pressed flush against you.
“Christ,” he breathed, pulling back just enough to lean his forehead against yours. “So perfect, baby, you fuckin’—took it all, Jesus—“
You’d never heard Steve sound so utterly wrecked. He rolled his hips against you a few times, just enjoying the feeling of being completely sheathed inside your tight heat. And fuck, you were stretched around him perfectly, tight and hot. You felt like absolute heaven around his cock.
His cock throbbed inside you, so hard you could feel it. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, palms rubbing over his hot skin, a thin sheen of sweat coating it from the sheer effort of holding back from pounding into you.
“Steve,” you whimpered. Your cunt fluttered around him, and he dropped his head to your shoulder with a broken moan.
“Yeah?” he rasped. His hips rocked lightly against you, betraying his desperation.
“You can…” You gasped as the coarse hair at his base rubbed against your clit, still so sensitive but aching for him again. “…You can move.”
Steve moaned again, placing a few hot kisses against your neck as if thanking you. Finally he pulled his hips back, slowly withdrawing almost fully. Only his tip remained, and you could have cried at the loss of that perfect full feeling. But then he sank back in—slow at first, filling you to the brim again. Your desperate sounds of pleasure mixed together in the hot, charged air of his bedroom, a symphony intertwined much like your bodies.
“Shit,” he cursed. He set a careful rhythm, every thrust measured and slow and deep. “You’re taking me so fucking good. Fuuuuck. That pussy is fucking unreal.”
You could barely think straight. Your entire world narrowed down to the feeling of Steve inside of you, stretching you open perfectly. The sting was still there, but it was quickly fading into pure ecstasy with every movement of his hips. Your body was adapting to him like it was made for it.
Hands tangled in his hair again, you pulled him down into another messy kiss, all tongue and desperation, sloppy and hungry and hot. He groaned loudly into it, hips rutting into you faster.
Whines and whimpers and keening moans were spilling from your lips with little control. Your hips moved in time with his thrusts, meeting him every time. His cock was deeper than you thought possible, brushing against that spot that quickly had you gasping and babbling complete nonsense.
“Feels so good Steve, oh fuck, oh god, please don’t stop, don’t fucking stop I’m gonna cum again, Steve please, oh god—!”
Every word that tumbled from your lips was like fuel to the fire of his intense need. He couldn’t hold back anymore, couldn’t worry about if he might hurt you, too lost in the feeling of your body wrapped around him. His hips rocked against yours in a frantic pace now, his breaths coming in ragged pants, eyes locked on the way your tits bounced with the force of his thrusts. You arched your back and he leaned down to wrap his lips around a nipple again, moaning as he laved his tongue over it, eyes closed and completely pussydrunk, all because of you.
He sucked hard on your nipple one more time before letting go with a wet pop and sitting up on his knees. He held onto your waist and used your body, pulling you down onto his cock with every rough snap of his hips. His eyes were locked on the sight, watching himself disappear into your perfect cunt, seeing you stretch around him, take him whole.
“Holy fuck,” he panted. The sight of the muscles in his arms and chest flexing as he took what he needed from you, watching you with such heat, made you feel utterly delirious. He looked powerful and strong, like an absolute god. “Jesus. Look how you take me, baby, fuck. Knew you’d be good, but—“ His hips stuttered, eyes rolling back for a second. “—shit, holy fuck—“
“Baby,” you gasped, grabbing onto the pillow above your head. Your cunt was tightening, throbbing around him, soaking his cock. The sound of him driving into you was loud and obscene—the slick, wet sounds, the sound of his skin slapping against yours. You might have felt a little self conscious if you could think about anything other than his cock coaxing that second orgasm from your trembling body. “I can’t—oh god, Steve, please…”
“You can do it,” he was nearly begging now, his cock beginning to twitch within your tight walls, so close to his own end but determined to get you there first. “Come on, baby, give it to me. Let me feel it. Cum all over my cock, show me how good it feels, how much you like getting fucked by me.”
You turned your head, biting down on a pillow you held to your face in an effort to muffle the scream that ripped from your lungs. Your body arched, cunt clenching around him as wave after wave of overwhelming, perfect pleasure washed over you. Your ears were ringing, moaning and gasping and babbling his name again and again.
“Shit!” Steve cursed, hips pounding into you reckless and fast. “That’s it, god yeah, let me feel it—oh fuck—you’re so good, so fucking good baby, letting me fuck you like this, squeezing around me—shit—oh baby, gonna make me—gonna make me fuckin’ cum—“
His body pitched forward over yours, bracing himself on an arm and burying his face in your neck. His cock buried deep in you, hips snapping in a few more frantic, shallow thrusts before he tensed, his groan muffled against your skin as he spilled into the condom, repeating your name over and over, body shaking with the intensity.
Your head was spinning. You could hear your heart beating in your ears. Steve’s body was heavy on top of you, your sweat-slicked skin pressed together, as he tried to catch his breath. It was a minute of heavy silence before he finally slid his softening cock out of you, collapsing onto his back.
The loss of that glorious full feeling was disappointing, to say the least. But as Steve removed the condom from his spent cock, tying it off and tossing it into his trash can, the moment finally, properly, broke.
And you realized you were naked in Steve Harrington’s bed. That you had fucked him.
The effects of the weed seemed to have worn off, leaving you feeling suddenly cold and exposed and panicked. Even as you began to freak out more and more, Steve looked totally fine, laying back against the headboard with an arm behind his head. His chest still rose and fell with heavy breaths, skin still shining with sweat, but he looked satisfied. Proud of himself in that way that always pissed you off, but especially now.
“So,” he said, and like so many times before, he’d ruined it all the moment he opened his mouth. “You let me fuck you after all, huh?”
“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, sitting up and reaching for your clothes. You felt like you couldn’t stand to be exposed like this to him for another second, holding every article of clothing you grabbed to your chest until you found it all.
Steve laughed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He didn’t seem to have any qualms about being totally naked in front of you, comfortable in his own skin the way he always was. “Those panties might be ruined. They were pretty soaked. You can leave them here with me, if you want.” He grinned wider. “I’ll keep them safe. Won’t even wash ‘em.”
“You’re a pig,” you spat back at him. He wasn’t exactly wrong, though. You didn’t want to put them back on, but you weren’t about to walk out of this room wearing that tiny skirt with nothing underneath.
“But was I right?”
“About what?” you asked as you hooked your bra, roughly pulling your shirt back on. The scowl on your face was a permanent fixture at this point, which was amusing to him.
“That I’m good?” he raised his eyebrows, and the grin on his face told you he knew the real answer no matter what you said in response.
“You weren’t that good,” you mumbled. You pulled your skirt back onto your hips, grabbing your shoes.
Steve laughed. “Oh, come on. That’s not what you were saying when you were practically riding my face, or when you were cumming on my dick, begging me not to stop.” His words made your face burn, unable to even say something smart in return. “You don’t have to lie to me, baby. I was there.”
Fully dressed now, you moved to his dresser mirror, trying to fix your appearance. “Don’t call me baby.”
He crossed his ankles, just watching you with that infuriating grin. He made no move to cover any part of his body, his cock laying against his thigh. It was huge even when he was soft, which you hated that you even noticed.
“Aw, why’re you so mad now?” The condescending tone in his voice made you shiver with the effort of not losing your absolute shit. “Personally, I had fun. And I just gave you your first orgasm ever—“
“Not my first orgasm.”
“Sorry, your first orgasm that you didn’t give yourself.” He tilted his head, smirking. You could feel his eyes all over your body, shameless. “Two of them, actually. So really, you should probably be thanking me.”
You barked out a laugh as you wiped a lipstick smudge from the corner of your mouth. You turned around, noticing for the first time that some of it had transferred to his face. “I’m not thanking you for shit. This never should’ve happened.”
Steve watched you head for the door. He had no intention of stopping you. He’d never let a girl stay in his bed after sex, and he wasn’t about to start now. He moved lazily even as he sat up and began to grab his own clothes.
“You can pretend you didn’t like it all you want, baby,” he said, not even looking at you anymore as he pulled his boxer briefs back onto his legs. “But you and I both know what happened in here tonight, and I don’t think you’ll be forgetting it any time soon.”
You held back a frustrated scream as you walked out of his bedroom, slamming the door behind you. Thankfully the music was loud enough that it didn’t draw any attention. You stomped down the hallway and down the stairs, back into the chaos that now felt suffocating and overwhelming in a way it never had before.
You found Nancy in the kitchen, laughing with some of the other sisters. When she spotted you her expression turned serious, saying something to the girls before walking straight to you.
“Where did you go?” she asked, reaching for your arm. Her hand was a little cold and every touch to your skin right now felt like a scalding burn, but you didn’t pull away. “I’ve been looking for you for ages.”
“Just got wrapped up talking to some people,” you mumbled, unable to make eye contact with her. “I’m gonna head home, though.”
Nancy’s brows furrowed. “Now? Already? It’s still pretty early.”
“I just don’t feel good,” you said. All you really wanted was to get back to the safety of your own bedroom and freak out about this in private. “You don’t have to leave.”
“No, don’t be silly. I’m going with you.” She drained the last of the contents of her cup and tossed it into the nearby trash can, intertwining her fingers with yours. “This party kinda sucked tonight, anyway.”
You smiled at her, genuinely grateful. Nancy was your best friend for a reason, and you loved her. But you could never tell her what happened tonight.
As you walked hand in hand to the front door, you felt a creeping feeling up your spine. Just as Nancy turned the doorknob, opening the door and letting the cool September air inside, you looked back over your shoulder.
Steve leaned against the railing upstairs, watching you. When you locked eyes, he lifted a hand in a wave, smiling down at you.
You left the house, letting the door close hard behind you.
Steve was haunting you.
Not even in the way he always had, constantly in the same places, an unavoidable physical presence. No, this was worse. He was in your head now. And for the first time ever, you felt you had actually been lucky before.
The night after that first fateful mistake, you’d gotten back to the house, told Nancy you didn’t feel good, and went straight to bed. You removed your clothes from the party, shoved that pair of panties straight in the trash. You didn’t think you could ever look at them again.
Sleep didn’t come easily. You laid in bed, thinking about Steve and what you’d done without a moment’s reprieve. It was miserable, but you figured it was normal. Something terrible had just happened after all; a horrible mistake had been made, so of course you were going to think about it. It would fade. You would feel better tomorrow.
The problem was that it never stopped.
You woke up thinking about Steve. Went to class thinking about him. Every time you saw him on campus—and he always saw you first, smirking at you and giving you that douchebag nod, or a casual wave that he knew was anything but—you averted your eyes and headed quickly in the other direction.
If the fact that you’d done it at all didn’t disgust you enough, it was nothing compared to the horrible truth. That you’d liked it. Loved it. Wanted more. He really was the best you’d ever had, and you didn’t think he’d ever done a single thing that had pissed you off more than that.
Of all the guys you’d been with, guys who were plenty hot and popular and well liked, not a single one of them had ever cared about your pleasure in any way. They were only interested in getting themselves off. You were pretty sure they wouldn’t have been able to find the clit if they’d even bothered to try.
But Steve? He had absolutely rocked your world exactly like he promised. The only orgasms you’d ever experienced had been by your own hands, and you figured no one ever would or could know your body better than you did. How did he know the exact right places to touch, the right things to do? Every girl was different, right? Did he have some kind of stupid fucking superpower?
He had you completely spiraling. You felt like you were losing your mind. Even Nancy and Carol and the other girls noticed there was something up with you. Nancy was the only one who asked, but you quickly made up some excuse about being stressed over classes and homecoming. Tommy was still doing everything in his power to win you over, but there was only one Sigma Chi member on your mind at all hours, day and night.
You laid in bed at night with the memory haunting you. His mouth, his tongue, his fingers, his stupidly huge dick that he knew exactly how to use, that he’d taken so much care with so he wouldn’t hurt you. How hard you’d cum when he went down on you, the way he made you cum again with nothing but his cock. The memories replayed through your mind nonstop until the ache between your thighs became unbearable and you couldn’t help it anymore, your hand slipping beneath your shorts and panties and burying your moans in your fist until you came moaning his name, picturing his face the way he looked staring up at you from between your legs.
That was the worst of it, the guilt and confusion and disappointment you felt when it was over. When you were laying there in the quiet dark of your bedroom, realizing that you were really, truly fucked.
You wanted Steve. You wanted him bad. And you didn’t think you could keep lying to yourself.
By the time the next party came around, you were done even trying to pretend.
You spent a little extra time getting ready in your bedroom, picking out a cute little dress after trying on nearly everything in your closet. It was form fitting, short, and a bit revealing. You knew it would catch his attention. You honestly weren’t sure why you were even trying, since you’d never had to try to get him to notice you before, even when you desperately didn’t want him to.
When you met Nancy and Carol in the front room, their eyes widened at the sight of you. “Woah. That’s the slut dress,” Carol remarked right away.
It made you laugh even as your skin flushed with embarrassment. It was true. This dress rarely ever came out, and when it did it was because you were going on a date you really wanted to end happily—hence the nickname your friends had dubbed it with.
“Is there something you wanna tell us?” Nancy asked, her brows raised. “I mean, you look great, but…who’s it for?”
The question made you freeze for a moment, even though you should’ve known they’d ask. Of course they would. But you recovered quickly, making up a lie on the spot that you prayed sounded believable. “No one in particular. Just…hoping to catch the attention of someone interesting, at least.”
That seemed good enough for Carol, who turned away and started digging through her purse to make sure she’d packed her lipstick, but Nancy watched you a little longer. She was always so analytical with everything, and as your best friend, she knew you too well for you to get away with lying to her about much. And you hated lying to Nancy, you really did, but how would you explain this?
The three of you left Delta Gamma as a unit, arms linked together. The walk to the Sigma Chi house wasn’t far, and it was a chilly evening, but nothing too bad. The bare skin of your thighs felt the sting of the cold the most, but before you knew it you were walking in the front door, the packed frat house instantly hot enough to make you grateful for the amount of skin you had showing.
For the first time, you were grateful to be separated from your girls so quickly. And, equally as unusual in this alternate dimension you’d somehow stepped into—you wanted to find Steve. Your eyes scanned each room for him, ears focused on listening for his voice. Something you couldn’t explain led you to the backyard, a place you didn’t often venture here.
The hot tub was on, and overcrowded. Some of the guys were in with a handful of girls, most sitting in someone’s lap. A larger crowd just hung out on the back deck, some even into the yard beneath the lights. You heard the sound of his laughter quickly, turning your head to the left at the exact time he looked in your direction.
And god, you hated to admit it, but he looked good. His hair was once again perfectly styled, and he wore a long sleeve dark green shirt with a pair of jeans that he wore…really, really well. They were tight, perfectly fitted, and you didn’t know how you’d never known about his size when he wore pants like that. His ass looked great, too.
Fuck.
You locked eyes with him. He held your gaze for a minute, smirk on his face even as he kept talking to his friends. Then, for the first time ever—he turned away. Going right back to his conversation as if you’d never even been there at all.
You were stunned.
Never in the history of your time at OSU had Steve seen you and not immediately approached to piss you off. He had never dismissed you like that. If the rage hadn’t already been boiling in your blood, it certainly was now.
You scoffed, turning around and walking back into the house. If he was expecting you to come to him, it wasn’t gonna happen. It had never happened that way before and wasn’t going to start now. Instead you pushed your way to the kitchen, heading straight to pour yourself a drink.
Just as you were reaching for one of the red plastic cups, another hand came around your shoulder and grabbed it before you could. You turned around, more confused than angry, to see Tommy Hagan standing right behind you, a warm smile on his freckled face.
“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, looking like he just realized how awkward of a move it was. “I just—can I get you a drink?”
You paused for a second. “Um…yeah, sure. Thanks.”
“No problem,” he said, his expression becoming a little more comfortable at your acceptance. He moved around to the counter that held a keg and multiple bottles of liquor. It was surrounded by people, as it always was, but they moved for Tommy out of respect in the same way they did for Steve. “What’re you drinking?”
You scanned the selection—there was a bit of everything. Sigma Chi took pride in keeping the alcohol flowing at every party. “Tequila?”
“You got it.” Tommy grinned. He filled the red cup from the keg and passed it back to you, then reached for the bottle of tequila, pouring two shots. He handed one to you and held the other out in a toast.
You smiled softly as you gently tapped your cup against his, then brought it to your lips, downing the burning liquid with ease. Tommy laughed when you scrunched your face up in disgust for a second.
“You’d think Harrington would splurge for the good shit,” Tommy said, leaning back against the counter as he looked at you. “I guess I can’t complain about free alcohol, though.”
“True,” you smiled, even though you really didn’t want to talk or think about Steve anymore, especially right now. “Thanks. Again. For the drinks.” You held your beer up towards him before taking a sip.
“No problem,” he said, a soft blush touching his pale skin. “Pretty girls shouldn’t have to pour their own drinks.”
Even though you didn’t like Tommy as more than a friend, he really was sweet, and his attention made you feel good. Special. “What would I ever do without you, Tommy?”
He laughed, looking down at his shoes for a moment. “Hey,” he said, meeting your eyes again. “I was just thinking…if you’d maybe want to go out? Maybe…Monday?”
Your eyes widened. You hadn’t actually expected him to ask you on a date. Your lips parted, closed, then opened again, but you couldn’t figure out the right words to say.
“Nothing serious,” Tommy said quickly, noticing your hesitation. “It doesn’t have to be…y’know. I just thought we could maybe get some food, talk about homecoming…” His soft smile returned. “…and, you know, I’d really like to take you out.”
It was hard not to soften around him, especially with the way he spoke to you. Every Sig was great at turning on the charm, but there was something about Tommy that felt so genuine. And would it really be so bad to go out with him? “Sure. That sounds good. My last class ends at 4?”
“Great,” he said, the words leaving him in a breath of relief. “Yeah, awesome. I can pick you up from DG? Like…6?”
“That’s perfect,” you nodded. You drank from your beer again just as another Sig walked up to Tommy—Billy Hargrove. You hadn’t spoken to him much yourself, but he was nice to look at for sure. You knew a few of your sorority sisters had been out with him, and he had a bit of a reputation for being a ladies man. He had a gorgeous smile, tan skin, blue eyes, and dirty blonde hair that hung to his shoulders in soft, beautiful curls.
“Hagan,” Billy said, clapping a hand on the other boy’s shoulder. He looked like he was about to say something else, but then his eyes landed on you. “Well. You didn’t tell me you were busy entertaining DG’s most beautiful.”
Even though all these frat guys pulled the same cheesy lines, you still felt the heat rise to your skin. “Hi, Billy.”
“Hi, gorgeous.” He smiled down at you, showing off the dimple in his cheek. Something about it brought out the ‘smiling shyly, twirling your hair around your finger’, teenage girl-type feeling buried deep within you. Tommy’s confident smile had dropped, now shifting awkwardly on his feet.
“Uh, what’s up, Hargrove?” Tommy asked, trying his best to look unbothered.
Billy glanced at him for just a second before those clear blue eyes found you again. “No rush, Hagan. What, don’t wanna share her attention?” His smile was bright and friendly, the kind that would have any girl’s heart beating fast.
“It’s not—“ Tommy sighed, leaning back against the counter.
“We were just talking,” you said, glancing between the two boys. There was an unspoken tension there, but you didn’t dwell on it. “How’s basketball?”
Billy’s smile grew. “It’s great. We’ve started conditioning. Right, Tommy?” he asked, turning around to look at his friend for only a moment, a weak attempt at acting like he had any intent to bring him into the conversation. “You should come to some of our games this season. I think I play better when there’s a pretty girl cheering for me.”
You laughed, the sound light and airy and genuine. “Is that right?”
Billy shrugged. “Could be just a theory, but why take the risk? Wouldn’t be very good for school spirit if we didn’t do everything possible to make sure we take home that championship, right?”
You rolled your eyes lightly as you laughed again, but it was more amusement than irritation—not like with certain people. “I guess that’s true. We should all do our part.”
“Exactly.” He smirked. “And maybe I can come watch you run some time. See that record-breaking sprinter I’ve heard so much about in action.”
You weren’t sure why exactly, but it surprised you that he knew anything about your athletic achievements. It was talked about on campus—the school loved to celebrate their top athletes—but it’s not like most of the school cared about track and field the way they did about other sports. You were no Steve Harrington, star pitcher. “Yeah, that would be cool. I’d like that.”
“I’ve heard you’re good. Like, insanely fast.” He leaned against the counter next to Tommy with an instinctual swagger, exuding the confidence that came so naturally to him. “And, uh…long jump?”
“High jump,” you corrected, hiding your shy smile behind your cup as you sipped your beer again. “But, yeah. I’d love for you to come watch.”
“Maybe I’ll call you sometime.” Billy winked at you before finally acknowledging Tommy again. “Hagan. We’re waiting for you out back.” He looked back at you. “Sorry, came over here to grab him and didn’t expect to get…distracted.”
“Go do your thing,” you said, waving your hand in some kind of vague gesture. You were starting to feel a slight buzz, at least. “Have fun. Don’t let me hold you up.”
“I’ll see you around,” Billy said with one last flash of that charming smile. When he looked back at Tommy, his expression was more serious, nodding his head towards the back in a silent command that didn’t seem to have any other option.
Tommy smiled at you, but it was more forced, the comfort from before long gone. “I’ll see you Monday,” he said. “It was…good to talk to you. I hope you have fun the rest of the night.”
“Bye,” you said softly, but he was already gone. You watched him trailing after Billy towards the back door, where Steve and some of the other guys waited, a cheer erupting as soon as they walked out the door. Frat boys.
Left on your own again, you tried to enjoy yourself. Bouncing around the house, talking with people you knew from around campus, from sports, from Greek life. Still, you couldn’t shake the thought of Steve from your head. You knew what you’d come here to do, and even though you hated yourself for it, you hadn’t changed your mind. You didn’t think you could.
You saw him again a few times. Through the back door, in the living room, passing him in the hallway on the way to the bathroom, where he bumped into your shoulder and turned around long enough to smirk at you before walking on like it was nothing. Every time you saw him he saw you too, but he didn’t approach you once. It had you fuming.
A few hours into the party, unfortunately, you were getting desperate.
When you walked into the kitchen for another refill, you saw him again. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest with one hand holding his cup, talking to some girl you couldn’t name. You weren’t jealous—you were not jealous—but it just made you even angrier. Especially when he glanced at you for just a moment before turning back to her.
This was humiliating. It was demeaning. You hated it. You hated him. But you swallowed your pride, took a deep breath, and walked over to them anyway.
Steve looked at you again, and grinned wide, his eyes lighting up with an infuriating delight as he realized you were coming over. The girl by his side gave you a dirty look as soon as she noticed, but Steve’s attention was now entirely on you.
He said your name, a simple acknowledgement. “How are you enjoying the party?” He tilted his head to the side, his expression smug. He knew exactly what game he’d been playing all night, and he also knew he’d just won.
“It’s great,” you said, your deadpan voice doing nothing to hide your irritation.
“Good. I pride myself on my hospitality.” You didn’t think you’d ever seen Steve not looking proud of himself, but he certainly did right now. “Did you need something?”
You glared at him, biting the inside of your cheek as you refused to back down from the eye contact he was holding. The girl next to him looked between you. “I was…wondering if you had any more of that…weed.”
The grin that spread across his face was nothing short of euphoric. His hazel eyes seemed to shine with it. The girl next to him might as well have no longer existed. “Actually, you know, I might have a little more. I’d have to check.”
Your jaw clenched, looking off to the side before meeting his eyes again. Your whole body buzzed like a live wire. When he didn’t make a move, just kept looking at you, you raised your eyebrows at him expectantly. “Well?”
Steve laughed. “Now, huh?” He downed the rest of his beer and turned to the side, dropping the cup in the trash. You were momentarily stunned when he grabbed yours from your hand, too, doing the same. “Well, if it’s that urgent. Come on, we’ll go look.”
He pushed off the wall, walking in the direction of the staircase. He didn’t give the girl he’d been talking to another word or look, but she was certainly glowering at you when you glanced one last time before following after him. You felt ashamed, trailing behind exactly like he wanted you to. But worse than that was the relief.
Still, as you walked up the stairs behind Steve, you looked around to make sure no one was watching. You’d survived the first hookup without rumors starting, but you knew you had to be careful. If there was one student on this campus everyone paid attention to, it was Steve Harrington.
Even worse than some random students seeing and whispering would be Nancy or Carol. You didn’t want to have to even begin to figure out how to explain this to them. It was humiliating enough doing it, confusing even trying to justify it to yourself.
Steve led the way into his bedroom, although you’d dreamed about the same path so many times over the past week, you could have walked yourself there with your eyes closed. His room was still tidy, and the scent of the cologne he was wearing now permeated the air. All his usual hair products sat out on his dresser, and you could practically see the ghost of him there getting ready before leaving for the party downstairs, not putting it away.
He closed the door behind you, the sound of the lock clicking into place like a bomb in the silence. You turned around to face him. You hadn’t really thought this far ahead.
“So…” Steve began, walking over to you slowly. You felt like a rabbit that had run right into his trap—willingly. “Did you really want that weed? Or did you come back for something else?”
You gritted your teeth, fists clenching and unclenching at your side. Drawing in a deep breath, you tried to relax your muscles, your entire body tense. “I…”
Steve was still smiling at you as he approached. He knew you weren’t going to say it, but he had already won. You’d come. His hand came up to rest on your cheek, and you found yourself relishing in the warmth of his palm rather than flinching away.
“You don’t have to say it if you don’t want to,” he murmured, his voice low. No bravado, soft, meant only for you. His eyes were locked on yours. “I know what you need, baby.” His thumb stroked your cheek, then moved to rub slowly over your bottom lip. Your breath hitched, but you couldn’t break the intense eye contact if you tried. “Have you been dreaming about it?”
You didn’t know what to say. Your brain was short circuiting. Your hands hung loosely by your side, eyes wide, as he looked at you with pure heat. Goosebumps covered your skin, breath coming in strained.
“I already know,” he continued when you said nothing. His words were a low purr, a sound that had you hypnotized. You didn’t even react when he pulled down slightly on your bottom lip and slipped his thumb inside, pressing down against your tongue. “You’d never been fucked like that in your life. You’ve been thinking about it. Trying to recreate it with your own hand, getting off to the memory.”
Body on autopilot, you closed your lips around his thumb. Your eyes never left each others’ as you ran your tongue over the calloused pad of his finger, sucking on it. For all he tried to act unaffected and in control, you saw the shudder that wracked through him. You didn’t have to look to know he was hard already.
When he pulled his hand away, the trance was broken. But still, you both stood there, just looking at each other. The whole room felt charged with electricity, the air around you heavy enough to feel like a physical, oppressive weight.
Your lips crashed together in a kiss both hungry and frantic. It wasn’t slow and romantic, not this time. Steve’s hands dug into your waist, pulling you close, the kiss all tongue and teeth and messy desperation. He groaned into your mouth, and when he pulled your hips into his, you could feel the hard proof of what you’d already known.
He pulled back to pull his shirt over his head, your eyes drinking in the exposed skin shamelessly. He was breathing hard, eyes glazed over with unfiltered want. Shoes were kicked off, Steve’s jeans hit the floor, and he wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you with ease and laying you on his bed.
“You wore this little thing for me?” Steve whispered in your ear as he settled over you. His lips attacked your neck, sucking at that spot he remembered was so sensitive. You wouldn’t be surprised if he left marks, but you couldn’t think straight long enough to care.
“No.” The denial was weak, even you knew that. You had watched him all night, approached him yourself after sucking up your pride, and now you were beneath him on his bed. But, fuck, hadn’t you given him enough satisfaction tonight?
“No?” He chuckled darkly against the hot skin of your neck. He didn’t believe you for a second. He was rolling his hips against you, the straining in his boxer briefs rock hard where it pressed against your dripping core. “That’s a shame, baby. It looks so good on you.”
The little whimper that escaped when he bit down on the skin beneath your ear would have been embarrassing if you were able to even process it. You arched your back beneath him, pressing your tits against his chest. Your nipples were hard through the thin material of your dress—a bra didn’t work with it, so you’d gone without—and the feeling of friction against them had a breathy noise falling from your lips.
Steve moved down your body, pushing your dress up roughly until it was up around your waist. He lowered himself between your thighs, pressing his nose against your already soaked panties, letting out a low, primal groan. “God, you’re so fucking sweet,” he growled. Unable to wait any longer, he hooked his fingers into the waist of your panties and pulled them off.
“Steve—“ you said in a voice that sounded more like a squeak than anything, spreading your legs for him, breathing hard. His big hands slid up your smooth thighs, opening them wider for him. His nose brushed lightly against your folds, making you draw in a sharp breath.
“Yeah, baby?” he murmured. He was looking at your cunt like he wanted this as badly as you did—maybe more. “What do you want?”
“Just do it,” you whined, your body writhing against his sheets with the overwhelming need. “Please, just…”
“What do you want me to do?” He was looking up at you now, smirking, even as his mouth was hovering an inch from where you needed him more than anything. “You’ve gotta tell me, sweetheart. I can’t read your mind.”
You groaned, eyes opening as you looked down at him. “You are such a fucking asshole.”
His big eyes widened with feigned innocence. “What?” You could feel his breath ghosting over your pussy, so wet for him, and it had you trembling. You couldn’t take much more of this and he knew it.
“Stop trying to make me say it,” you grumbled. You pressed the heels of your hands to your eyes.
“Not trying to make you do anything,” he hummed. He moved his head, nose brushing against your clit and making your breath catch. “I just don’t know how I’m supposed to know what you want me to do if you don’t tell me, and, y’know, I’d never want to do anything you didn’t want—“
“Oh my god, Steve,” you huffed, hands running through your hair where you laid against his mattress. “Are you gonna keep running your mouth all night or put it to good use again?”
Steve laughed genuinely, eyes sparkling with amusement. “You’re so feisty. I always liked that about you.”
Before you could complain anymore, he buried his face against your pussy, diving in like it had been killing him to hold himself back, too. You cried out, loud, a hand moving to slap over your mouth a second too late. You could feel his lips curling in a smile against you.
He was good, so good, you didn’t have to have any prior experience to know that. It was no wonder he had girls lining up to get in his bed. You couldn’t keep yourself quiet, his tongue fucking inside of you, drinking in all the sweetness you dripped for him, rolling his tongue over your clit. It felt like he was everywhere at once.
“Steve, fuck!” you cried, gasping and clutching onto the pillows behind your head. “Oh my god, fuck, how are you—oh fuck—“
He groaned against your cunt, the vibrations going straight through your clit and to every nerve ending in your body. He flicked his tongue over the swollen bud, wrapping his lips around it and sucking as he sunk two fingers into your fluttering hole.
“God!” you choked. Your thighs were trembling around his head already. Your hand moved down to card through his hair before gripping onto the soft strands for dear life, pulling another moan from him when your fingers tightened in them.
Steve’s fingers fucked into you, nice and slow at first, slipping in a third finger before curling deep to hit that perfect spot. He was getting you ready for his cock again, your heart beating out of your chest at the thought alone. You could see it when you closed your eyes, just as you had for the past week, and it had you growing even wetter for him.
“Steve…” you whined, your hips starting to grind against his face. He let you, moaning and working you even harder, begging for it without any words. “I’m gonna…”
“Give it to me,” he rasped, pulling away just long enough to say the words before his mouth was right back against you, delving his tongue between your folds and focusing on your clit while his fingers worked you open.
Stars exploded behind your vision. Unable to hold it back, you cried out, mindlessly babbling combinations of his name and curses and desperate pleas of don’t stop don’t stop oh please fuck god don’t stop—
Steve worked you through every last aftershock, playing your body like an instrument he knew wholly, intimately. Your body was still shaking when he pulled away. The sight of him looking down at you like that, with his lips and chin glistening with your release, made you whimper. God, why did he have to look like that?
“So fucking good,” he said, eyes dark and awed. His cock strained hard against his boxers. You could see it twitching through the material, throbbing visibly.
His hands slid up your body, looking at you with a deep reverence as he slid the dress up until it was over your head, tossing it to his floor. His eyes raked over your naked body, every inch of it, the smooth skin and the way your chest rose and fell, how wide your eyes were looking up at him, your pretty lips parted.
“I thought about you, too,” he whispered, lips ghosting over your cheek, back to your ear. “Thought about how you tasted. How tight you felt around me. The way you said my name. The noises you made…god, I came so fucking hard playing those noises over and over in my head.”
You gasped, the throbbing between your legs starting up again at his words. You’d had no idea. Why would he be thinking of you when he could have any girl at this whole school? He wasn’t just saying it. The unfiltered heat in his voice made that clear.
Steve lifted off of you slowly, eyes staying on you until he turned away to open his bedside drawer and grab one of those foil packets he seemed to have an endless supply of. He pushed his boxers down, flushed cock springing free, and kicked the last bit of clothing off the bed with the rest.
You watched him rip the foil open and roll it onto his (impressive, huge, perfect, achingly hard) cock, your pussy clenching around nothing, your body itself begging for him. He settled between your legs, wrapping his big hands around your thighs, opening you wide.
“Dreamed about this pussy,” he mumbled, wrapping a hand around his shaft and dragging his tip through your soaked folds. He pressed the thick head against your hole, pressing forward just slightly, just feeling you. You whined, rocking your hips down, begging for him inside. He smirked as he noticed, but didn’t push in yet. His expression was almost dreamy, pupils blown. “Best pussy I ever had. Fuck. Never came so fucking hard as I did inside you.”
“Steve…” you breathed, the word itself a plea.
“Tell me,” he breathed. It wasn’t a tease anymore. The need in his voice was staggering. He was begging. “Please, baby. Need to hear you say it.”
The sight of Steve, utterly wrecked like this, was almost too much to bear. You didn’t have it in you to refuse, not anymore. “Please,” you keened. “God, Steve, please fuck me.”
His eyes fluttered closed and he let out a ragged groan, even before he finally rolled his hips forward, piercing you with that perfect, thick cock. You nearly sobbed in pleasure as you felt it, that overwhelming fullness as he sank into you inch by inch. It was easier this time but still a stretch, still that distant sting until his hips pressed flush against you.
“Christ—“ Steve choked, falling forward on his hands, planting them on either side of your shoulders. “Oh, fuck.”
You rocked your hips up against him, telling him it was okay to move. Begging him to move. “Oh my god,” you moaned. Your walls throbbed around him, which was undoing him way faster than he’d care to admit.
He pulled his hips back before sinking back in. Starting slow, as if he were still trying to be careful with his last shred of restraint. It didn’t last long. The perfect clench of your heat around him was driving him mad, his thrusts quickly working up into a punishing rhythm.
Your name left his lips in a shuddering breath, his forehead dropping to rest against your shoulder. The sound of his skin meeting yours filled the room, your cunt so slick and wet around him you could hear it every time he drove in. He fucked you harder than he had last time, something you didn’t even know you’d craved until you had it.
“So fucking—god—you feel so fucking good,” he grunted, his body slick with sweat where it was pressed against yours. You hooked a leg around his waist as he reached down with one hand to grab your thigh and press it up against your chest.
The angle was devastating, his cock hitting deeper inside of you than you thought possible. Your eyes rolled back as he punched soft, mindless little “ah ah ah”s from your lungs with every thrust.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. His eyes squeezed shut, sweat beading on his forehead with the effort of how hard he fucked you. The headboard knocked against the wall, chipping the paint from the force of it, the sound unmistakable for anyone who happened to walk by. “Gonna make me cum so fucking hard again. Fuck. Oh, fuck, baby, you’re so perfect, so goddamn—oh shit—“
You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling on it the way you now knew he liked. The desperate groan he let out was muffled as you pulled him down to your lips, his tongue immediately licking into your mouth. The kiss was utterly filthy, saliva dripping down the side of your mouth—yours, his, both.
The whines he was letting out were growing higher, needier. All signs of that cocky, insufferable personality were gone, nothing but pleasure and desire coursing through him. His fingers dug bruises into your thigh as he snapped his hips forward harder, and oh fuck, he was hitting that spot again—
“Steve!” you gasped, head tossing back against the pillows. Steve’s lips moved down the exposed column of your throat, placing hot, wet kisses everywhere he could reach. “Oh, fuck, Steve, I’m gonna fucking cum—“
“Please,” he begged, his voice a ragged growl against your throat. “Let me feel you. Squeeze my cock, milk me fuckin’ dry, please.”
That coil snapped again, hard, the moan it forced from you more like a scream. It was loud, you knew it was loud, but you couldn’t help it, completely delirious with the intensity of the pleasure. Your back arched beneath him, moaning and crying out and calling his name again and again.
Steve let out a choked noise at the feeling of you tightening around him, clenching and throbbing hard. His hips rutted into you with a desperate, frantic intensity, rhythm completely gone as he chased his own orgasm. He was right behind you, only a couple more shallow thrusts until he was stilling as deep inside you as possible. He groaned roughly, his head dropping to bury his face right between your tits as his body shuddered with release. You could feel him pulsing inside you even through the condom.
The room calmed, your heavy breathing the only sounds remaining. His weight was heavy over you, but you didn’t mind. You didn’t exactly want him to move, at least not yet. In the quiet aftermath, you relished in the feeling of him, his cock still throbbing inside as he slowly softened.
When he finally mustered up the energy to move he lifted off of you, pulling out and removing the condom, tossing it in the trash. You couldn’t bring yourself to look and see if there was proof of him having any other girls in here since you’d been with him. You didn’t know why you cared.
Steve sat on the edge of the bed, his arms resting on his knees. He was still catching his breath as you sat up, reality beginning to creep back in like unforgiving daylight after the safety of the night.
He turned his head to look at you, lips curling into a smile again. His skin still glistened with sweat. “Was it as good as the first time?” He asked, once again breaking the spell with his big mouth. “What you were hoping for when you showed up here tonight, dressed like that?”
You scoffed, sliding off the bed to collect your clothes again. Now that you’d gotten what you’d been craving, the desperation that had been clouding your brain was gone. That familiar shame was crawling over you again.
“What?” he laughed. “You can say it, y’know. Doesn’t mean you have to like me just because you like fucking me.”
You hesitated for a moment, then moved again, pulling your panties back over your legs. “Don’t.”
“Come on, baby,” he goaded, leaning back on the bed. He watched you, propped up on one arm, once again unbothered by being completely exposed to you. “Would it really be so bad to admit it?”
You didn’t look at him, but you could feel his eyes staring at your ass as you pulled your panties back on. “Fine,” you finally huffed, turning around. You clutched your dress in your hands, nearly throwing it at him when he didn’t even try to hide the way his gaze dropped down to your tits. “You’re good. It was amazing. Is that what you want to hear?”
He grinned. “I just wanted to hear the truth.” He shrugged playfully. “I mean, I already knew, just wanted to hear you admit it. Not for me, but for yourself.”
“Aren’t you altruistic,” you muttered, pulling the dress back over your head. The way his brow furrowed for a moment showed he didn’t know what the word meant, but he didn’t press.
Finally he sat up, beginning to replace his own clothes. “It’s okay that you can’t stay away. I get it. It’s good sex.”
“I can stay away—“
“Sure,” he interrupted, lifting his hips to get his boxers back on. “But you don’t want to, right?”
You paused. You hadn’t let yourself think about that. If it was okay to let yourself want this. Just because you hated Steve so bad, because you didn’t want anyone to know this was happening. But did that make it bad? Did it make you wrong? Weak, like you’d felt all week, and especially tonight?
Maybe he was right. It was good sex.
After buttoning his jeans, Steve stood to face you. He ran a hand through his hair, looking in the mirror behind you for just a second before focusing back on you. “Look,” he started, but it was hard to pay attention when he was standing there shirtless like that. “I think we could help each other.”
You forced your eyes back up to his face, the smirk sitting there evidence that he’d seen you staring. “Help each other?”
He walked over to you, hands resting on your hips again. You didn’t push him away, holding his gaze. “Yeah. Help each other. I told you I liked it too, didn’t I?”
You weren’t sure what to say. You’d heard him say it, when he was buried inside you, moaning your name, but you figured it was just…talk. Heat of the moment. Nothing real. Nothing you said or felt when you were fucking was real.
Your lack of a response didn’t deter him. His fingers flexed on your hips, but he didn’t pull you closer. “We could make this a casual thing,” he offered, finally putting the words out there. “You like it, I like it. Why not keep having fun together?”
You turned his words over and over in your head. It felt like far more than the seconds it actually took as you thought over his proposition. What it meant, what it changed, how it felt.
But the memory of the past week played through your mind on repeat. How miserable you’d been, the way you couldn’t get him out of your head. That he was right, the sex had been so good you’d craved it day and night, and the second time had been just as good, if not better.
Steve waited patiently, but he knew your answer before you finally forced it out. “…Okay. Yeah. I guess.”
He grinned, squeezing your hips one more time before moving back. “Okay then. Good.”
“But we keep this between us,” you added quickly. “I’m serious. Just us. You don’t tell your friends and I won’t tell mine.”
He looked amused, but he didn’t argue. “What kind of guy do you think I am?”
You stared at him. “Steve.”
“Okay,” he laughed, pulling his shirt back on. “I won’t tell a soul. You have my word.”
You let out a sigh, both relief and anxiety at once. Turning to his mirror, you fixed your hair, cleaning up your smudged makeup. “It means nothing, and no one knows.”
The heat of his body suddenly behind you made you jump. But he just stood next to you, fixing his own appearance.
“It means nothing,” he repeated. “And no one knows.”
part two soooooon
as always, comments and reblogs are so appreciated!
Dean's been at it for over an hour, head between your thighs, tongue inside your cunt.
You've cum more times than you can count- they've got it at every angle now, every sound you can imagine, moaning, gasping, begging. It's almost getting ridiculous at this point- you know they won't use all the footage.
But you're also not gonna stop him. You're not sure you've ever felt like this- it's overwhelming in the best way possible, your whole body feels like syrup, you're soaking over him, over the sheets. You'd be sobbing by now if you weren't so painfully aware of the camera only inches from your face.
He pushes his fingers into you again, deep and hard, curling in a way that makes your head spin.
Your hips lift off the mattress, he grabs hold of you quick, pushing you back down hard, "Stay still-"
You know they'll keep that. They'll make sure to keep anything he says. Those are always the parts that get the most replays- hell they're the parts you replay. When you're up late, watching his videos, hand between your thighs.
"-I didn't tell you to fucking move."
You don't know how it still works for you. You know it's not him, he even ran through ideas of lines he was gonna use before you started. He was very sweet about it, almost shy when you were alone- he's anything but shy now.
His grip on you tightens as he moves back to your clit, his tongue working against you rapidly. You're gripping the sheets, trying to keep yourself steady, your whole body convulsing as another orgasm starts to rise quickly.
"Fuck- please-"
He's already told you to beg, a couple times actually. You know he will again. It gets you hot just thinking about it, the stern tone in his voice. You bite your lip hard, trying to stop your hips from rising again. Your gaze falls to the camera, a reminder that you're supposed to be performing, you batter your eyelashes, let out another loud moan.
He pulls back suddenly, his sticky hand wrapping around your thigh, his other hand moving up to wipe his mouth. He looks like a mess, hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead, chin glistening with your arousal. He glances around to the set, speaking louder, "Sorry guys- I've gotta- I've gotta take a break."
The room picks up in a flash, people moving around, cameras resetting. People come running over with robes, one gets draped over your shoulders, a plastic cup of water pushes into your hands. You take a big swig of it, suddenly realizing how dry your mouth is.
People move around you, you see a few people checking the monitors, gearing up for the next shot. You glance at Dean, he's pulling in a shaky breath, pushing his hair out of his face with his long fingers.
You try to go over everything that just happened- why he wanted to stop. Maybe it's the way your bare heel had dug into his back the last time you came, maybe it's the way you tugged his hair a few minutes ago. Maybe he's just getting sick of being the only one actually doing any work.
He moves closer to you on the mattress, settling close enough that he could reach out if he wanted to. He looks up, gaze falling over you, then turns away fast, back to his own cup.
You speak quickly, nervously, "I'm sorry- did I-"
He cuts you off, leaning his head down slightly so he can speak in a hushed voice, "I'm gonna cum, sweetheart."
It catches you off guard, "What?"
He takes a swig of water, then speaks slowly, "If we keep going, I'm gonna cum."
You're still not sure you've understood him, "What do you-"
"I'm not kidding here, I feel like I'm gonna fuckin' explode- if they catch that on film my whole tough guy act is fucked-"
"We haven't even- I haven't touched you-" you manage to get out.
"I'll never live it down if I blow my load just from tongue fuckin' you- jesus-" he shifts awkwardly, you realize he's trying to hide his boner- it's not easy when his cock is larger than any you've seen before.
"You're gonna cum just from going down on me?"
"You're moaning like you've never had a guy touch you before- it's not exactly helping."
You raise an eyebrow, "I can stop?"
He grins at you, "Don't you dare."
Your heart skips a beat, thighs clench together. Forget any video- this is what you're gonna be thinking about tonight.
He takes another gulp of water, then looks back at you, "Just give me a minute to cool off, and I promise I'll fuck you so hard you can't walk tomorrow-"
summary: In an attempt to seduce a past hookup, you accidentally send your attending, Jack Abbot, a lewd photo.
tags/warnings: MDNI 18+, smut, oral (f receiving), piv sex, pussy eating, fingering, pussy slapping, jack abbot certified bush lover, overstimulation, implied age gap (reader is a resident), medical inaccuracies (peritoneal lavages are rarely used nowadays, but who cares), no use of y/n, trauma scene based on an episode of ER teehee.
wc: 9.5k
a/n: okay this is fully like two weeks late to the trend but it was inspired by that “you shaved your bush” tiktok trend lol. I genuinely do not know how this got so long, It was supposed to be a cute little fic but i got carried away, oopsies! I hope you enjoy <3
credits: gif credits to @ho-ii !!
It was Friday afternoon and you were desperately, achingly horny.
You’d tried your old faithful vibrator, which was doing the job fine, but you were desperate for some human connection. Your mind drifted through the mental rolodex of who you could call up for some casual fun. It was a short list, your demanding schedule not lending itself to a particularly vibrant social life. You’d only been on a handful of dates in the past year, most of which ended in disaster.
Alex was out of the running because of his unfortunate odor problem.
Sam was out due to a creepy doll collection he failed to disclose until you made your way to his apartment.
And Daniel was out because, frankly, he was terrible at sex, which is kind of a sticking point for you right now.
That left James, a guy you met on one of the apps and who was decent enough with his mouth that you’d seen him a handful of times. You didn’t hook up with him often, mostly because he was particular about your pubic hair. He preferred for it to be cleanly shaven, or at least heavily trimmed before he would consider going down on you.
So despite the fact that he wasn’t much good at fucking, you tended to go back to him when you needed a release. Yes, your standards were abysmally low, but the truth of the matter was that residency didn’t really give you any time to get out and meet new, better hook-ups. So James it was.
It had been a couple months since you’d hooked up, mostly due to this preference of his. Unfortunately, taking the time to take an ‘everything shower’ just to get your pussy eaten was a luxury that you were not often afforded due your residency schedule.
But today you’d had the time, energy, and desire to get devoured, so you hopped in the shower to take care of everything. By the time you emerged your hair was double cleansed, you’d applied a hair mask, exfoliated, shaved your legs, applied moisturizer and body oil, and–most importantly–your pussy was cleanly shaven.
You had a renewed pep in your step as you made your way over to your bed, ready to entice James. You maneuvered onto the bed and experimented with a few poses before landing on one that showed off your assets the best. You propped up your phone–timer set for 10 seconds–and you scrambled into position, perching back on your haunches and settling back on your feet, back arched a little uncomfortably.
You heard the shutter of the camera going off and quickly extricated yourself from the uncomfortable position. Looking over the image, you were very impressed.
The photo pictured your nude body from the chest down, beginning with the barest hint of the underside of your breasts showing, then the expanse of your stomach and curve of your hips. Lower, your fingers were on your pussy, parting your lips just enough to tease. It was a damn good nude, if you did say so yourself. James was lucky to receive it.
It had been so long since you texted him that instead of scrolling through endless scam messages and bill reminders, you just typed in the first few letters of his name to pull up his contact. As soon as you typed ‘ja’ it popped up, and you quickly began composing your message.
Gnawing at your thumbnail, you went back and forth on a few messages, trying to sound sexy, but playful. After five minutes of deliberation, you decided to just go with what you had. Honestly, it’s not like James was going to give it more than a second thought–if he wanted to fuck he wasn’t going to care about how sultry (or not) the message you sent him was.
You settled on:
you: shaved just for you. want something sweet to eat? ;)
You looked it over for a minute, nodding to yourself and hitting send before you could psych yourself out.
What a mistake.
Jack sat at the work station, mouth open and slackjawed, still staring at his phone screen.
Not at the photo anymore–no, that had been quickly swiped away–but the image was still burned into his retinas, the after image projecting onto the back of his eyelids when he closed them.
Why?
Because three minutes ago he received a text message from one of the day shift residents. He was concerned, initially, because there was little reason for day shift residents to contact him as opposed to Robby. Which is why Jack opened the message as soon as he saw it come in, thinking it might be an emergency, especially because it was you.
Instead, he was greeted with a sight he thought he’d never have the pleasure of seeing.
You, stretched back on your heels, breasts barely visible, pussy on full display for him. Your fingers held you open, your folds glistening in the late summer light that was streaming in, your pretty little clit in the center, just begging to be sucked. It was, quite possibly, the prettiest pussy he’d ever seen.
He couldn’t take his eyes off of the photo for a good 30 seconds, before the logical side of his brain kicked in and he remembered oh yeah, I’m at work and can’t be caught looking at my resident’s cunt.
He wasn’t unfamiliar with you, even though you’d only worked a handful of shifts together. But he saw you every morning at handoff, and you two shared warm smiles and easy jokes, your sardonic wit matching his bar for bar. He knew you were smart, able to hold your own in a trauma, and compassionate and empathetic underneath it all. And he couldn’t ignore the fact that you were gorgeous either.
And he would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of you in this sort of light before, either. Jack Abbot was not a proud man–he could admit that on more than one occasion, he’d stood in his shower fisting his cock to the image of you on your knees for him.
It was especially bad when you did something impressive at work. Like the time you went toe-to-toe with a surgeon about whether a patient really needed surgery when you insisted that all they needed was a pericardiocentesis, and to prove your theory, you stuck the needle into the pericardium and extracted the fluid despite surgery’s objections. A ballsy move, one that would have been deeply problematic if you were wrong, but paid off. He’d had to rub one out in the bathroom that day. He apparently has a thing for competency.
“You’re gonna catch flies, Abbot,” Ellis said, walking out of an exam room, IPad tucked under her arm and smirk wide on her face. Jack shook himself out of his reverie, trying desperately not to think of your photo (but failing miserably).
He cleared his throat, “Sorry, what’ve you got for me?” he asked, still a bit dazed. Ellis looked at him skeptically–there wasn’t much that threw Dr. Jack Abbot–but proceeded to present her case anyway.
Once he approved her plan of treatment, Jack returned to his phone. He sat there for a long moment, contemplating what to do. You hadn’t said anything else, no frantic “I’m so sorry, that obviously wasn’t meant for you,” texts that explained the situation. Jack was positive it wasn’t intended for him, and he didn’t want to embarrass you more than you were sure to be.
His thumbs hovered over the keyboard, dancing nervously as he typed out his reply.
You started getting ready after sending the text, anticipating that James would want to meet up tonight. You did your hair, applied a bit of light make up, and threw on a cute little sundress.
It was about an hour later when you went to check your phone again, fully expecting to see a cheeky message from James inviting you over for some fun.
What you saw made your stomach drop instead. You felt dizzy, nausea washing over you in roiling waves. The text thread you were looking at was addressed to Jack Abbot, not James. And staring back at you was your nude body, followed by a response from Dr. Abbot.
Jack Abbot: I don’t think I’m the intended recipient for that photo.
Jack Abbot: But for what it's worth, a real man would eat it even if you didn’t shave. Would prefer it, actually.
Jack Abbot: Sorry, that was inappropriate. I’ve deleted this text thread, along with the photo. We can pretend this never happened.
There’s no fucking way. Absolutely not. There is no possible way that you accidentally sent a nude photo of yourself to your fucking attending. Not just any attending either, but the one you'd had a big fat stupid crush on for the better part of a year. The one you’d spent endless nights fantasizing about with your fingers plunged deep into your cunt, whose visage you’d pictured hovering over you, fucking you hard and deep; the name you accidentally moaned when James was eating you out the last time you hooked up.
Your mind refused to accept that this was reality, hoping against hope that this was some twisted fucking nightmare.
Shame welled up inside you, your cheeks hot from embarrassment and tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, mortification settling in earnest now. In addition to being humiliating, you also felt like a fucking creep. From his perspective, you just sent him a completely unsolicited nude photo.
Even more so, you hated that this probably killed any chance you had with him, even if that chance had been slim to none to begin with.
You paced your bedroom, thumbnail chewed raw as you tried to do damage control. What does one even say after they accidentally send a nude to their boss? After far too much deliberation, you decided to keep it simple, apologize, and crawl into your bed for the remainder of your two days off.
You: Dr. Abbot, I am so sorry about that!! I obviously didn’t mean to send that to you.
You: I meant to send it to a James and must not have looked closely enough before I sent it.
You: Thank you for deleting the photo, and I’m so sorry once again that you were subjected to seeing that.
You threw your phone as far away from you as possible, recklessly disregarding its safety despite the fact that you most certainly could not afford to repair said phone if it was damaged, and flopped onto the bed, screaming into a pillow. Your throat was raw by the time you surfaced for air, your body limp and exhausted, mind shuffling through worst case scenarios.
In the midst of your spiral, your brain drifted to the other part of his message: a real man would eat it even if you didn’t shave. That was, admittedly, inappropriate, but no more so than sending a nude to your superior, so you figured you were even. He probably just meant it to be supportive; to try and diffuse the awkward situation.
But another part of you wondered if he meant something else. If he was signalling to you that he would eat it, bush or not. The thought was indulgent, if not utterly preposterous. He was an attending; you were a resident. There was no way he’d meant anything by it. But you couldn’t help thinking…
Did he like the photo? Was he picturing you with a bush? Did he think about tasting you, about swirling his tongue around your clit or plunging it deep into you?
A notification dinged, shaking you out of your daydream, and you contemplated whether or not you actually wanted to see what he said, if anything at all. Curiosity eventually won out, hands grappling for your phone and swiping open the notification.
Jack Abbot: No worries. 👍
It was a completely normal response, which almost made it worse. Part of you wished he would lash out, call you disgusting or a whore, at least you’d know what to do with that. Shame or disgust were easier to digest than nonchalance.
You didn’t bother to send the photo to the correct person, your lust dampened, the fire doused with cold water, remnants pulverized to ash. Groaning, you burrowed into your bed with no intention of leaving for the next two days.
You had no idea how you were going to face him Monday.
You woke up two days later and ran through your options.
Flee the country and never return to Pittsburgh ever again (unrealistic, you’d devoted too much time to becoming a doctor, you weren’t giving up because of some catastrophically stupid mistake)
Arrive to work 20 minutes late, hopefully avoiding Jack Abbot by all costs (unlikely, the man worked more overtime than anyone except Robby. He was sure to still be there, and all you’d get was attendance point for your trouble)
Be a mature adult, apologize, and forget this ever happened, like he suggested (undoubtedly the best choice, but could you really ever forget that your attending has seen your pussy? And, a far sicker thought, did you want him to forget?)
Indecision weighed on you as you got ready, ultimately deciding on lucky number option 3. Your only saving grace was the fact that you were on day shift, and Abbot rarely worked days. The only interaction would be at handoff, and maybe if you could busied yourself enough getting a jump on patients, you could avoid him for as long as possible.
That was your plan of action as you walked into chairs, head down as you scanned into the ED and approached the nurses station. You didn’t hear his voice, which was a good sign; typically, you could hear it as soon as you entered, steady barking out orders over the hum of the department. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself and thinking for the first time since you sent that photo that things might be okay.
You spot Ellis at a work station, and beeline to her to get the handover started.
“Hey Ellis, how’d the night go? Any weird and wild cases?” you ask,
“Oh, you know, the usual,” she said, “foreign body extractions, a couple MIs, an insomniac who overdosed on benadryl and swore that the hat man was after him for money,” she laughed, shaking her head.
“To be fair, the hat man could be after him for money,” you said solemnly, face straight for a second before you burst out laughing.
Handover continued smoothly, Ellis updating you on which patients needed labs or imaging and which needed to be discharged. You almost made it through unscathed, your body turning to make your way to North 5 when you heard his voice calling to Ellis.
Your shoulders tensed–body betraying you by freezing in place–and he was next to you before you could scuttle away. Resting his forearms on the counter next to you, he continued talking to Ellis–about what, you couldn’t say, static filling your ears as you remembered what you’d done.
“Morning, Doc,” he said, startling you out of your daze.
“G-good morning, Dr. Abbot,” you stuttered, eyes glancing briefly at him before settling on his chin, unable to meet his eyes for more than a second.
He looked annoyingly normal, showing no sign that anything unseemly had occurred between you. You chanced another look at his eyes, the hazel orbs showing no hint of amusement or belittlement. But there was a look of acknowledgement, a steady one that should have reassured you that everything was okay, that you weren’t a laughingstock. The same look he’d give you in a trauma when things went sideways through no fault of your own.
And In any other situation, it would be reassuring. But right now, all it did was remind you that he’d seen your most sensitive parts, that he’d commented on the state of your pubic hair (or lack thereof). Heat bloomed in your cheeks, and your breath caught in your throat, eyes unable to breakaway from his gaze.
When you did manage to look away, it was, traitorously, to look down at his lips. They looked so soft, and for a split second you imagined yourself leaning in, capturing his lips with yours and kissing him into oblivion. You snapped back to reality half a second too late, seeing the edge of Abbot’s mouth turn up in the barest hint of a smile.
Clearing your throat, you quickly excused yourself to see a patient, all but running to the exam room. You managed to slow your breathing and compose yourself before you entered the room, squaring your shoulders and getting back to work.
This was going to be a lot harder than you anticipated.
Jack was being honest when he told you he deleted the text thread with that photo in it, a fact he was coming to regret as he laid in bed post-shift, body tired but too wired to relax and fall asleep. He’d committed the photo to memory, though, losing himself in it as he dragged his hand up and down his cock, thinking about how soft you’d be, how sweet you’d taste, the sounds he’d pull from you as he fucked you with his tongue. He’d fallen into this routine an embarrassing amount of times since he received that photo, feeling like a pervy, dirty old man all the while, but doing nothing to stop himself either.
His hand glided over his shaft once more, imagining that it was your warm, wet walls wrapped around him instead, and he was coming hard, painting his stomach with streaks of warm, wet goo. He sat there, breathing heavy, as a twitch of shame rolled over him. He shouldn’t be jerking it to the remembered image of a resident’s pussy, a woman at least 15 years younger than him, if not more.
But it was harder than he’d thought it would be to put that photo behind him. It was all he could think about as soon as he saw you that first morning, the image looping in an endless projection in his mind. It was completely unprofessional, and frankly dishonest. He’d told you that you could both pretend it had never happened, but he wasn’t so sure that was possible anymore.
And it was clear you hadn’t forgotten either. You were jumpy around him, the easy quips you used swap in the morning abandoned for stuttered greetings and awkward silences. He’d also caught you looking at his lips on more than one occasion and stealing glances at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention. He wasn’t sure if it was true attraction, or just some morbid curiosity that was sparked by the unusual situation you two found yourselves in, but Jack wasn’t about to get his hopes up for the former.
As difficult as it was to keep his head on straight after seeing that photo, the more troubling part was that he’d lost the 10 to 15 minutes he spent every morning talking to you, a small ritual he looked forward to every shift. He hadn’t realized how much those moments meant to him until they were gone. Even the worst nights were magically better when he was able to make you laugh at handoff, your smile making his chest swell with pride and head fuzzy with feelings he had no business feeling.
Jack knew he had to do something to ease the tension, to get things back to normal. Or maybe a new normal, if he had anything to do with it.
The days passed in a similar fashion to that first day. Jack would greet you politely and attempt your typical banter, and you would awkwardly stutter out an adequate reply before making your escape as quickly as possible. You weren’t sure why you weren’t able to be a fucking adult and put it behind you, but you just couldn’t. Every time you thought you had the courage to revert back to your typical routine with Abbot, you chickened out almost immediately, bumbling your wall through some moronic excuse.
To make matters worse, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. It was worse than it ever had been before; what used to be an errant thought that would arise only in the throes of pleasure were now occurring during the most mundane tasks. You thought about what his full, silver curls would look like buried between your thighs while you were doing laundry; what his mouth would feel like on your breasts, teeth pulling at the pebbled skin of your nipples while you cooked dinner; how he would fuck you–would it be soft and slow, or hard and punishing?–while you cleaned the bathroom.
Your luck ran out about a month after the incident, as you were calling it. For the most part, you were able to keep your interactions with Abbot brief, albeit awkward. But today he was scheduled on day shift, covering for Al-Hashimi while she was home sick with her son. You’d only found out when you walked in, seeing his name on the board despite the fact that he was off last night.
You felt a wave of nausea wash over you; how were you supposed to go a whole day avoiding him? You managed pretty well for the first half of your shift, presenting exclusively to Robby, which wasn’t all that different from your normal routine. You avoided the traumas Abbot was running, hiding in exam rooms under the guise of checking vitals or reviewing scans. It was working fairly well until midday, when you were unfortunately in the vicinity of the ambulance bay when paramedics burst through.
“Santos, Mohan,” Abbot paused, eyes flitting over to where you stood before calling your name as well, “with me!” he said, already moving into the trauma room and gowning up. You reluctantly followed, slipping on your own trauma gown. He was behind you before you could secure your gown, fingers brushing against the nape of your neck as he tied the strings for you. It shouldn’t have sent a thrill down your spine, but it did. You stuttered out a thank you as you moved to assess the patient.
The paramedic was halfway through the bullet when you arrived at the bedside, hands moving to transfer them from the stretcher to the bed. “– multiple lacerations, bruises to the face, chest, and abdomen. Possible tib-fib and facial fracture.” You looked down at the patient, a teenage boy who couldn’t have been older than 15.
“BP’s low, 70 palp; pulse ox is 85,” Princess called out.
You slid the chestpiece of your stethoscope over the patient's chest, listening to the lungs. Unfortunately, your brain went blank when Abbot sidled up next to you, arm pressed tight against yours in the cramped trauma room.
“What do you think, Doc?” he asked, listening with his own stethoscope now.
You blinked, brain lagging as you tried to compose yourself; to try and save this boy’s life.
“Uh-um good breath sounds?” you said, a question more than an answer, though you were certain about the breath sounds. “Airway is patent, no tracheal deviation, no blood in the canal,” you finished, regaining a bit of confidence as you averted your gaze from his.
“Good,” he said, hand grasping your elbow and moving you down to the end of the bed. “What do we need to order?”
Santos, blessedly, answered before you could embarrass yourself further, “C-spine, chest and head CT.”
“BP is down to 60!”
“Alright people! What are we dealing with?” Abbot called out, eyebrow quirked at you.
Every differential evaporated from your mind. “He’s bleeding from somewhere,” was all you could come up with, though that was obvious. Instead of dwelling on that, you turned your attention to the boy, your eyes examining his body, searching for the source of bleeding. With Samira’s help you flipped the boy over, desperate to find a stab wound or gash, but coming up empty.
“Must be the belly,” Santos said.
“Alright, lavage kit please!” Abbot said, turning to you, “you ever done one of these?”
You shook your head.
“Well, today’s your lucky day, then,” he said, handing you an 11-blade.
Despite your best efforts, your hand shook as you pressed the blade against the skin.
“I-I can’t,” you whispered, low enough that only he could hear.
“You can,” he said, stepping behind you to steady your hand, guiding as you made the incision. He handed you the tubing next. “Make sure you’re into the peritoneum,” he whispered, lips right next to your ear. His hand was still on top of yours as you slid the tubing in, “I’m in, hook up the saline and extension tubing,” you said, breathing a sigh of relief.
Your relief was short-lived. The results of the lavage came back–negative. “Shit, nothing. It’s not the belly,” you said, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“What the fuck? Where the hell is this kid bleeding from?” Abbot cursed, pacing around the bed to see if anything was forgotten. “You check his back?” he asked.
“Yes, nothing there. Maybe it’s a faulty blood pressure cuff?” you said, grasping at straws, but moving to flip the boy over and recheck his back again anyway.
Abbot was next to you, eyes raking over systematically to find the source when suddenly Mohan pointed out a tiny mark on the boy’s lower right side, “What is that?” she asked.
“That is a very small puncture wound. Probably an ice pick, if I had to guess,” Abbot answered.
Fuck. You should have caught that. You were standing right there, staring at the lower quadrant of the boy's back. You’d even seen the small mark, but dismissed it as a mole. You felt sick to your stomach, fear and shame welling up in you. You had never had a reaction like this in a trauma, not even on your first day as a med student.
Garcia burst through the door just as Abbot was getting the patient ready to head up to the O.R. “Puncture wound, probably hit the kidney or renal artery,” he said, passing off the patient. She nodded, taking over from there.
“Good pickup,” you congratulated Mohan weakly as you walked out of the trauma bay, hoping you could make it to the bathroom and wallow in self-pity for a few moments.
You heard him call your name shortly after you exited the trauma bay. Heart sinking, you turned to face him. “Yes, Dr. Abbot?” you asked, fidgeting with the hem of your scrub top. You weren’t sure you could handle being yelled at by him today. You’d never been one for tears at being reprimanded, but you could already feel the tell-tale prickling behind your eyes, and you were almost positive that the dam would burst at a harsh word from Abbot.
“A word, please?” he asked, gesturing you to the stairwell, the only place with a semblance of privacy in the ED. You sullenly followed after him, bracing yourself for impact.
You leaned back against the wall, fully expecting him to start yelling as soon as you were situated under the staircase, hidden well enough from passersby, but all you felt was a warm, heavy weight on your shoulder.
“You have to settle down, okay?” he said, one hand planted firmly on your shoulder and the other grasping your chin between his fingers to direct your gaze to his. “Look, I know what you sent me was embarrassing, and we probably should’ve talked about it, but you can’t get this worked up over it when I’m on shift as your attending. It can’t affect your work, you're too good of a doctor to let something like this throw you,” he said earnestly, eyes sincere when you looked into them.
You stood there, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. Your mind still hadn’t fully caught up. “I… you didn’t bring me out here to yell at me?” you asked, voice coming out weaker than you intended it to.
He shook his head, confused, “What? No, of course not. I barely noticed that puncture wound myself,” he said, alleviating your anxiety somewhat.
“What I’m concerned about is how wound tight you are around me. I’m not saying you have to like me or anything, but you have to be comfortable working with me. You didn’t make an error in this trauma, but you could have. And I know it would eat you up if something like that happened,” he said, thumb gently sweeping over your chin.
“I can’t let you jeopardize your education because you’re embarrassed about mistakenly sending me a revealing photo. It would kill me if you didn’t reach your full potential because of something like that, if I had any part of it,” he shook his head, a pained look on his face.
Oh. You couldn’t breathe, your cheeks surely inflamed at this point. You were suddenly very aware of how close he’d gotten–and of his hand on your face. His fingers were warm against your face, skin rough, providing delicious friction as his hand repositioned, thumb stroking along your jaw as he subtly tilted your head back. He smelled like clean laundry and coffee, with a slight tang of antiseptic.
Your lips parted, ragged breaths falling from your lips.
“Dr. Abbot–”
“Jack. Call me Jack,” he murmured, so close that you could feel the heat radiating from his body. If you tipped your head up just a fraction, it would close the distance between you; would bring your lips flush together. Your eyes fluttered shut at the thought.
“Jack, I don’t know why I can’t stop thinking about that picture,” you admitted quietly.
“Can I tell you a secret?” he asked, tongue darting out to wet his lips, “I can’t stop thinking about it, either.”
“Really?” you looked up at him from under your eyelashes.
He nodded, moving impossibly closer, lips ghosting against yours. He hesitated briefly, a look of doubt flashing across his face before his gaze steadied–a decision made; a line ready to be crossed. His grip tightened against your jaw, “I can’t stop thinking about you spreading that pretty little pussy open, or about the prick who wanted you to shave before he’d think about going down on you,” he said, shaking his head in disgust.
“You know how many times I fucked my fist to the memory of that photo? How much I’ve thought about how you taste, what sounds you’d make when you cum?” he asked.
A strangled moan escaped your lips at his words. You’d never seen this side of Jack Abbot before, and it was intoxicating. “I-i think about you when I touch myself too,” you whimpered, your admission seeming tame compared to his vulgar words, but you wanted him to know you were also going crazy over him; that this wasn’t one-sided.
“Yeah, pretty girl? You think about me when you stuff that little cunt with your fingers? Wish it was my cock instead?” he asked, his other hand snaking down to your hip, fingers inching their way under your scrub top to caress the skin there.
You nodded, the proximity and dirty talk stealing your breath and leaving you unable to form an intelligible sentence.
“Did he eat your pussy, sugar? You got all dolled up for him, did he at least treat you right?” he asked, breath fanning over your lips, stubble just barely grazing your sensitive skin.
You shook your head, dazed. “I didn’t send it to him,” you said, a little bashful, “was too embarrassed after I sent it to you.”
He groaned, forehead falling against yours, “poor baby, put in all that effort and didn’t even get to cum, did you?” he asked, just the slightest bit condescending.
You let out a pathetic whine, shaking your head ‘no’ at his question. Heat pooled deep in your belly and you felt your panties quickly dampening.
He tsked, “we’ll have to rectify that,” he said, “You shave again? Or you let her grow back natural?” he asked.
You bit your lip, still a bit shy despite all the filthy words that he’d spoken in the last 5 minutes. “I’m au naturelle,” you whispered, a slight smirk tugging at your lips.
“Good fucking girl,” he growled before his mouth was on yours. His lips moved against yours with a ferocity you’d never experienced before. There was nothing uncertain about the kiss, his lips firm as he devoured you, tongue licking into your mouth and sliding against yours deliciously. One of your hands slid up the side of his neck to play with the curls at his nape while the other fisted in the fabric of his scrub top.
His spit tasted like the stale breakroom coffee and the spearmint of his gum, and you couldn’t get enough. You suckled at his tongue, trying to keep up with his relentless pace, but eventually let him take the reins and kiss you silly.
You were both panting when you pulled away, a string of spit drawn taut between your lips before snapping. Jack held your head between his hands, thumbs brushing softly over the apples of your cheeks.
“Talk with me. Tonight. Come have dinner or a drink with me, and we can talk about it all,” he said, a borderline pleading look on his face.
You nodded, still a little dumb from the kiss. “Yeah, yeah, sure. Okay,” you said, slowly extricating your hand from his scrub top.
He let you go with a final squeeze to your jaw, moving to re-enter the ED before you.
You stood there a moment longer, wiping your lips to get rid of your combined saliva and to lessen the kiss bitten look you were sure you were sporting before getting back to work.
The rest of the shift was painfully slow, the hours passing by like molasses. You couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss, the way his lips molded against yours like it was their rightful place. You did make a concentrated effort not to let it impact your work, though. Jack was right about that; nothing could come between you and finishing your residency.
It was just after 7:30 when you exited the hospital, and you immediately spotted Jack leaning against his truck waiting for you. You smiled as you approached him, nervous butterflies erupting in your stomach. Despite that breathtaking kiss, you still didn’t know where you stood. Was he just satisfying a sexual curiosity? Or was it possible that he also had feelings for you?
He cleared his throat, “So I was thinking we could order something to my place and talk there. Unless you want to go somewhere else, to a restaurant or your place,” he rambled, nerves undercutting his typically confident energy.
“Your place sounds good,” you nod, still a bit shy.
His hand was warm on the small of your back as he guided you to the passenger side, opening the door for you and helping you step up into the cab. The ride to his house was quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Some 90s alternative rock playlist hummed quietly in the background while you ordered pizza for the two of you–on his phone, with his card, he insisted. His hand rested lightly on your knee, the heat of his palm burning through the fabric of your scrubs.
You arrived at a beautifully manicured house in a suburb far enough from the city to be peacefully quiet. It’s different from what you pictured, you realize as you walk in. You assumed that a man who worked as much as he did wouldn’t have the time or energy to put into making a house a home; you pictured a sterile kitchen and minimalist fixtures, white walls with abstract art.
But it was homey. The walls were painted, photos scattered across them. The couch looked comfy, something picked out with intention, not the first option plucked from a furniture catalog. There were plants, beautiful, well taken care of ferns and pothos littered about. Warm light filtered through the kitchen, the island topped with butcher block and bracketed by two upholstered stools.
“Do you want anything to drink? Water, wine, beer?” he asked, opening the fridge and grabbing a beer for himself.
You focused your attention back on him, abandoning your pseudo-psychoanalysis of his house and drifting over to perch on a stool. “Wine would be nice,” you said, grateful for something to occupy your hands. He nods, pours you a modest glass of red–something French that probably costs ten times the amount of your shitty grocery store wine.
The pizza arrives soon thereafter, and you sit down at the island to eat. Conversation is easy, and you feel more at ease with him now than you ever had before, a drastic 180 from this morning. You talk about your day, life, post-residency plans; he lets loose a few embarrassing stories from his own residency days, one featuring a very unfortunate Robby being pantsed by a 6 year old in the middle of the ED. Eventually, though, plates are cleared and glasses are downed, a natural lull falling over the conversation.
“So,” he starts, head resting against his palm, arm propped up on the counter, “that photo…” He’s got that sly smirk on his face now, comfortable now to tease you about it.
You groan, burying your head in your arms. He laughed, “you don’t have to explain yourself, but I am curious what series of events led to me receiving that photo,” he said… “a series of events for which I am very thankful for, by the way.”
You turned, resting your head sideways on your arms, and started explaining all about James and his preferences, how he was your only real option for some skin-to-skin contact. Jack, for his part, listened quietly, offering little commentary until you finished your great tale.
“So you’re telling me that this kid can’t even fuck you right, yet he demands you shave before he’ll go down on you?” he asks, a horrified look on his face.
“Welcome to the joys of modern dating,” you joke, shooting him a halfhearted smile.
He shook his head, “unacceptable,” he said before hooking his leg around your stool and pulling you closer. You gasp, steadying yourself with a hand on his thigh as you fight not to topple onto him completely. He was close now, one hand coming up to rest on the hollow of your neck while the other slid up your top, thumb strumming over your ribs.
Jack didn’t hesitate this time. This kiss was different–no less searing, but a little more leisurely–like he wasn’t worried about scarcity anymore, confident that he had the time to take you apart and put you back together again before the night was over. His mouth was molten against yours, tongue delving deep in your mouth and swallowing up the steady stream of desperate whines escaping you.
The hand on your neck coasted upward, tangling in your hair and angling your head back to deepen the kiss. Your hands slid under his shirt, groaning as they came to rest on his tummy. He was warm, the muscle firm under your hands as you lightly scraped your nails over his flesh. His chest rumbled under your touch, the hand in your hair tightening, the twinge of pain a welcome contrast to the overwhelming pleasure of his lips against yours.
He barely broke the kiss to whisper into your mouth, “let me show you what its like to have a real man fuck you. Please, sugar,” he pulled away finally, resting his forehead against yours.
“Please fuck me, Jack,” you said, eyes hooded with lust. A moment later you were being scooped up from the stool and carried toward his bedroom. While Jack focused on not running into anything, you trailed open-mouthed kisses along the length of his neck, sucking the skin between your teeth before soothing it over with your tongue. You nipped gently at his adam’s apple, smiling when he yelped at the contact.
“You’re trouble, you know that?” he chuckled before dropping you down onto his bed, your body bouncing slightly before settling. He stood between your legs, face cradled between his meaty hands. “I want you to listen to me, okay?” he asked, waiting for you to nod before continuing, “I want to do so many filthy, obscene things to you tonight; want to fuck you into oblivion as many times as you’ll let me, but I want you to know that if you want to stop, at any point, you just say the word and we’re done. No questions asked. Understand?”
You nodded once more, but that was insufficient for Jack. “need you to use your big girl words, okay, pretty? Tell me you understand,” he said.
“I understand, Jack. If I want to stop, I’ll tell you,” you replied seriously, even though you knew there was no chance you’d want to stop.
“Good. Now, I want you to take off your scrubs, scoot up to the headboard, and get comfortable while I take care of my leg, okay?”
You did as he bade you, left only in a pair of pink cotton panties and bra. You hadn’t planned on being in this situation, but you were glad they were a matching set at the very least. Settling against his pillows, you watched as he shucked his pants off, the sleek metal of his prosthesis glinting in the low lamplight.
He sat down at the edge of the bed, fingers undoing the mechanism with practiced motions, twisting the appendage off and setting it to the side. The skin looked a little chapped, but not raw, which was a good sign.
“Is there anything I could do to make things more comfortable for you?” you asked. You wanted to make sure he knew you weren’t put off by his leg, wanted to make sure he didn’t feel like he had to overcompensate because of it.
“No, thank you, sugar. You’re doin’ plenty already,” he assured, turning around to face you. His eyes darkened as he took you in, his gaze hungrily raking over your newly exposed skin. He moved to hover over you, forearms braced next to your head as kisses you again, this time a sweet press of his lips against yours before he began trailing his mouth along your jaw and down your neck, laving hot kisses all across your neck and collarbone.
A gasp punches out of you when he sucks harshly at the spot just below the ear, the spot that turns your insides to putty. He grins against you, focusing his attention there until you’re a writhing, moaning mess under him. A hand reaches behind you to make quick work of your bra clasp, the flimsy material soon thrown across the room, forgotten immediately. His hands are on you in a flash, thumbs teasing along the underside of your tits.
Whining, you claw at his shirt, desperately wanting to feel his bare chest against your nipples, and he obliges, one-handedly throwing the thing off. The fine silver hair on his chest scrapes against you, your nails digging into his back as you pull him flush to you. Jack groans, hips involuntarily rutting against you, his hard cock a delicious pressure against your aching cunt. Your hips cant up, chasing the friction and grinding yourself against him.
“Careful, you keep doin’ that and this’ll be over before it even starts,” Jack warns, nipping at your bottom lip before continuing his maddening descent, mouth exploring your breasts–conveniently ignoring your painfully hard nipples. “Jaaaack,” you whine, thrusting your chest upward. He takes the hint, lips suctioning against a nipple and using his tongue to flick the pebbled flesh. Your hand fists in his curls, holding him there as his hand moves to tug at your other nipple. When he decides he’s given enough attention to one nipple, he switches sides, giving the other the same treatment. By the time he moves on, your tits are sure to be sore and red tomorrow, but you could not care less about that right now.
He kissed down your stomach, lips lingering at your navel before pulling back, eyes travelling down between your legs. “Fuck sweetheart, is all this just from me playin’ with your pretty tits?” he asked, eyes fixated on the wet spot on your panties. You whimper in response, mind too fuzzy to form words. His fingers skate over your waistband, your tummy contracting in anticipation. Ever so slowly, he drags your panties down your legs, discarding them over his shoulder as he settles between your legs.
His pupils were blown wide, utterly entranced by your pussy. The attention made you want to shrink in on yourself, your legs subconsciously moving to close, but his wide shoulders and firm grip on your thighs stopped you. “Fuck, sugar, this is what she looks like with some curls on ‘er? And you let some boy convince you she needed to be bald?” He shook his head, a genuinely pained look on his face.
He moved to spread you open for him, thumbs stroking up and down your lips as he took you in. Without warning, he surged forward, pressing a chase kiss against your clit before sitting back and continuing to admire your pussy. You squealed, hips twitching forward in search of more friction, the brief contact making you dizzy with need. It was slightly embarrassing, being watched like this, but you were growing impossibly wetter anyway.
Jack’s hands moved back to your thighs as you squirmed, grip tightening, fingers sinking into your soft flesh just enough to ache, and spread you further open. “Don’t hide from me, pretty girl,” he said, pressing hot kisses from your knee to your inner thigh, stopping right at the crease between your pussy and thigh, breath fanning over your puffy folds. Your clit was throbbing, your hips subtly shifting against nothing.
“‘m gonna show you just how pretty this pussy is, not gonna stop until you feel it,” he said, looking directly into your eyes, “you okay with that?”
No sooner had you nodded than he was on you. He didn’t waste any time, swiping the flat of his tongue through your folds from entrance to clit in one long stroke. His tongue was hot against your cunt, the muscle firm as it lapped hungrily at your folds, exploring every inch of you. He groaned, nuzzling his face deeper into your pussy. “Fuck, you taste better than I could have ever imagined,” he moaned, tongue dipping into your hole to collect the slick gathering there.
He didn’t surface for air, mouth working against you relentlessly; like he’d been deprived of something vital that had been restored to him, and he wasn’t about to let it go again. It was primal, almost animalistic the way he licked, sucked, and nipped at your cunt. Your back arched almost painfully off the bed, hands fisted in the sheets and moans slipping from your lips unbidden.
He alternated between circling your clit in tight little circles with the tip of his tongue, and suckling on it, lips wrapped snug around the bundle of nerves. Your body was hot, your legs trembling as the coil in your core wound tighter. One hand moved to grip his curls, the hair soft between your fingers as you tugged at it. He moaned into your pussy, the vibrations bringing you right to the edge.
“Fuck, right there, Jack,” you gasped, “I’m so close, so–”
“Cum for me, sugar, let me taste you,” he said quickly, head bowing back down to suck your clit harshly, teeth grazing it just the littlest bit.
And you did, white hot pleasure coursing through you, body contorting, legs squeezing his head between your thighs as you rode out your orgasm. You felt like a live wire, your nerves firing on all cylinders while Jack kept gentle pressure on your clit, drawing out your release as long as possible. Jack lapped up all your spend, not letting a drop go to waste. Boneless, you weakly pushed his head away, the overstimulation too much.
He sat back a fraction, face dripping with your juices and his saliva. There was a gleam in his eye as his thumb replaced his mouth, rubbing soft circles against your clit. A high-pitched whine escaped you, your sensitive nub begging for reprieve.
“You can give me another one, can’t you pretty girl?” he asked, voice brooking no argument.
“I d-don’t–fuck–I don’t know,” you blabbered, the painful overstimulation quickly giving way to pleasure, your hips canting forward against his thumb.
“I think you can,” he murmured, swiping a thick finger through your folds before sinking it in and curling lazily against that sweet spot on your front wall. “Fuck, Jack, feels so good,” you moaned, moving you hips in time with his finger. Before you knew it he was adding another finger, a slight sting accompanying the stretch. All you could do was whimper, his fingers switching between slow and deep, and fast and hard strokes.
Your second orgasm hit you without warning, pleasure reverberating through your body from the top of your head to the soles of your feet, your toes curling as you came harder than you ever had in your life. Jack’s fingers kept moving, wringing every last after shock from your body. You were panting now, trying to catch your breath but failing miserably.
And yet, Jack’s fingers were still moving, scissoring you open now. It was too much, the sensations bordered more on pain than pleasure. “I can’t–can’t do a-another one like this,” you stuttered out.
Jack looked at you, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Tell me you have the prettiest pussy,” he said, fingers slowing a fraction as he waited for you to answer, gaze leveled directly at you.
You whined, face heating at the order, “J-Jack, please, just wanna cum on your cock,” you said, hoping it would break his resolve.
“I’ll fuck you as soon as you say it, sugar. Say you have the prettiest pussy.”
You squirmed, cheeks hot as you whimpered, “I can’t–I’m not–” was all you managed to get out before a sharp slap landed on your pussy. You gasped, the pain shocking but not unwelcome.
“If you want to cum on my cock, you have to be a good girl,” he said, face severe as he continued curling his fingers against your sweet spot. “and good girls do what they’re told. So, I want you to say, ‘Jack, I have the prettiest, sweetest pussy’ okay? Can you do that for me, pretty girl?” he asked, thumb circling your clit.
You huffed, trying to catch your breath. “Ja-aack, fuck, I-I have, hng, I have the p-prettiest, sweet–ah–sweetest pussy,” you stammered out.
“Knew you could do it for me,” he praised, fingers leaving your cunt to pull off his boxers. His cock sprang out, curving slightly and resting against his abdomen. It stole the breath from your lungs–It was obnoxiously thick and decently lengthy, tip flushed red and leaking precum steadily. Your hand reached out to feel him, maybe jerk him off a little before he fucked you, but Jack stopped you, pinning your wrist down on the bed. You whined, lip jutting out in a not-so-faux pout.
“I’m trying not to cum in 5 seconds like a teenager, sugar, and if you put your soft hands on me right now I’m not gonna be able to last,” he said, reaching over to his bedside table to grab a condom. He stroked his cock a few times before rolling the condom on and lining himself up with your entrance, neither one of you interested in teasing anymore.
He eased the tip in, your walls fluttering around him to accommodate his girth. Your legs spread open wider for him as he settled between your hips, pushing the rest of his length in slowly until he was flush against your hips, his pelvic bone rubbing your clit just right. The stretch was intense, your walls fluttering and clenching harshly at the intrusion. Your hips wiggled slightly, trying to get used to the twinge of pain from the sheer size of him.
Jack hovered over you, one arm resting next to your head while the other gripped your hip tight. His face was twisted, almost painful looking. “You gotta relax for me, sugar, you’re gripping me like a fuckin’ vise,” he grit out, head falling into the crook of your neck, placing chaste kisses there, trying to loosen you up. You tried, willing your muscles to relax around him.
A few moments passed before Jack was able to move, pulling out to the tip before thrusting back in harshly, setting a brutal pace. You moaned, Jack’s hips snapping hard against you, cock dragging through your walls exquisitely. You tried to keep up with his pace, your hips meeting each thrust, cunt greedily sucking him back in each time.
Your back was arched, hair splayed out across the pillow as you took what Jack gave you.
“So pretty for me, sweetheart,” he said, sitting back on his haunches, “my perfect little pussy.” He grabbed at your thighs, pushing them up toward your chest, knees nearly at your ears. The new angle forced him deeper than before, his thrusts fucking you into the mattress. You were entranced by the view of him fucking you, curls dripping and chest glistening with sweat as he pounded into your pussy.
The room sounded obscene between the slapping skin, your combined moans, and your squelching cunt. Moans were falling from your lips at a near constant rate, and Jack was louder than you’d expected, throaty groans and grunts reverberating like music to your ears.
You’re honestly not sure you’ve ever come more than twice in a night, but it didn’t take as long as you thought for your third orgasm to build, the waves cresting fast. The only thing you could think about was Jack’s cock hammering into your pussy.
“I think I’m gonna, gonna cum again,” you breathed, “don’t stop, Jack, pleasepleasepleasepleeeeeeease,” you keened.
Jack’s hand found your jaw, tilting your face up to kiss him sloppily, “cum for me, baby, let me feel you milk my cock,” he said, thrusts growing more uncoordinated as he neared his orgasm.
It only took a few more deep, punishing trusts before you were coming undone around his cock. You held eye contact with Jack as your orgasm washed over you, your mouth parted wide, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes at the overwhelming sensations. You felt so full, your walls pulsing mercilessly around him.
Jack gripped your hips in both hands, his trusts faster and harder than before as he chased his release. “wanna feel you cum in me Jack,” you croaked, throat raw, hands reaching out to paw at any skin you could.
Jack groaned, hips stuttering a few more times before thrusting deep into you once last time and cumming. He ground his hips into yours, milking every last drop from his cock. You felt the warmth of his cum through the condom, your cunt clenching again at the feeling, your mind already flashing forward to imagine him fucking you raw–you let about another garbled moan at the thought.
Spent, Jack collapsed into you, cock softening inside your still pulsing cunt. His weight on top of you was comforting, grounding you back to earth. You were content to lay there, coming down and catching your breath.
Eventually Jack rolled off of you, disposing of the condom and grabbing a few wet wipes from his nightstand to clean you both up.
He pulled you against his side, big hand petting your hair, “You okay, sugar? Was that too much?” he asked, voice hoarse.
“no, was so good, Jackie,” you mumbled, feeling floaty and sated.
“Good,” he whispered, pressing soft kisses onto your hairline.
You sat in comfortable silence for a while, head resting on his bare chest, his heartbeat a comforting thrum in your ear. One large hand ran up and down the smooth expanse of your back while the other held your hand against his chest, fingers intertwined together.
“I hope you know this isn’t just a one time thing,” he said suddenly, his arm tightening its hold around you.
“No?” you asked, trying to keep the hopeful edge out of your voice.
“Uh-uh, you’re mine,” he says possessively, hand snaking down to cup your sensitive mound, “this is my pussy now.”
You want to be offended, want to point out that you’re more than your cunt. But you know Jack knows that, and more than anything your head grows warm and fuzzy at the thought of being someone’s. Of being Jack’s.
“Yeah, ‘s all yours, Jackie,” you mumble, falling asleep against the gentle rise and fall of his chest, happier than you’ve been in a long time.
a/n: whew that was a lot!! thank you if you made it all the way through!!
pairing: mafia boss!bucky barnes x female reader x mafia enforcer!steve rogers
summary: you've been caught by the boss of the Brooklyn mafia and his most trusted enforcer while trying to steal the Blue Diamond of Alqualondë. though you refuse to tell them who you're working for, the two ruthless men will find out what they want to know—one way or another.
a/n: here's the second part of my fic for @thezombieprostitute's Let's Plan A Heist challenge!! it's the smutty resolution to the setup of the first part and will hopefully live up to everyone's expectations 😅 i had a lot of fun writing this mafia Bucky and Steve, along with their tricksy little thief, and i hope y'all enjoy the resolution of their story!!
In the life of a thief it was important to always know your escape routes, to have a backup plan if something went wrong. That was how you’d always operated. That was how you’d always managed to get out of any difficult situations you’d found yourself in.
But your perfect record had finally come to an end. You were trapped with no escape routes and no backup plan, in the house of the feared Brooklyn mafia boss Bucky Barnes, all because you’d been caught by his most trusted enforcer, Steve Rogers. They had you caged in between their large bodies, Steve’s strong hand a shackle around your wrist.
It didn’t matter that Steve’s other hand, along with Bucky’s two palms, were resting possessively on your waist and hips, feeling less like restraints and more like a promise of…something you didn’t want to think about. Not when you needed to get out.
Gathering your courage, and the fire of desperation simmering insistently in your belly, you shoved against Steve’s chest, trying to twist your knee up into his groin while creating some distance between you and the two men. But Steve was stronger and quicker, and he simply yanked you closer, allowing Bucky to crowd you into the broad body of his enforcer.
You were stuck, and it didn’t take long before you recognized that trying to fight your way out from between a rock (Steve’s firm chest) and a hard place (Bucky’s broad body) would only leave you tired. When your struggles finally ceased, Bucky gave a low, teasing chuckle, the warmth of his breath ghosting down your bare neck as he loomed above you from behind.
“It’s a shame you caught her so soon,” Bucky said, speaking to Steve even as his hands shifted higher on your body, curling around your ribs. His palms were scorching hot and greedy through the thin fabric of your gown. “We might’ve been able to learn what she was up to without having to pry it out of her—but it is more fun this way.”
The casual way the mob boss spoke about you, as if it was a foregone conclusion you’d spill all your secrets to him and his enforcer, pricked at your pride. You straightened your spine and tossed your head in annoyance, glaring at Bucky over your shoulder.
“I’ll never tell you anything,” you hissed.
The steel in your voice had no effect on the mafia boss.
If anything, he looked even more amused, the slight curve at the corner of his mouth deepening infinitesimally, and his blue eyes sparking with a glimmer of delight. The tips of his fingers brushed the underside of your tits, distracting you, and it took everything in you to stop yourself from shivering at his touch.
God help you, but it felt good to have Bucky’s hands on you—and not just his, but Steve’s too. Their fingers were deft, their palms warm. It didn’t matter that you were certain their hands had, at one time or another, been stained in blood. Not when they touched you with so much greedy possessiveness, it was liable to make you forget your mission and why it was so important you get that diamond and get free.
“Y’know, when a woman tries to infiltrate my organization, the first thing they do is sleep with me,” Bucky went on, as if you hadn’t spoken, his tone entirely too conversational. You tried to focus, but it was difficult with both men touching you.
“Oh, have a great many women infiltrated your organization, then?” you shot back before he could continue, ignoring the thorn of jealousy that had lodged between your ribs, making it hard to breathe. It certainly had nothing to do with the proximity of the mob boss and his enforcer—nothing at all. “Sounds like you have a security problem.”
Your eyes found Steve, giving him a sarcastic sneer that had his gaze heating, his hand tightening around your wrist in a warning. Bucky’s fingertips dug into your ribs and he pulled your back flush against his chest, the long line of his body fitting perfectly to yours—so perfectly that you could feel the hard bulge of his cock against your lower back.
“But not you, doll,” Bucky said, ignoring you again. Instead, he ground his hardness into your ass until you were sucking in a gasp, heat pooling between your thighs as your body ached to shift so that thick bulge was pressed against your heated center. “Did you think teasing me, making me hard for you and leaving me wanting, would make me a dumber, easier mark?”
Truthfully, that had been your plan. Sort of.
In your life as a thief, you’d learned that every job needed its own approach, and that most men were much easier to manipulate when they were thinking with their dicks. With his playboy persona, you’d thought Bucky Barnes would be a simple mark who would be too distracted by your tits and ass to notice you robbing him blind—and that his most trusted enforcer, Steve Rogers, was too much of a meathead to catch you.
What you’d failed to account for was how much the two men would intrigue and charm you. Bucky, with his charismatic smile and dazzling personality, and Steve, with his handsome glower and too-sharp eyes, had snuck their way beneath your defenses, stealing more of your heart than you’d even realized.
Well, on some level you’d understood how dangerous they could be. That was the real reason you hadn’t slept with Bucky—you knew that if you fell into bed with the mob boss, you might start envisioning a life where you were free to be with who you wanted, rather than indebted to your employer. Leaving Bucky wanting had just been an added bonus.
Still, your pride smarted from how easily he’d nailed it on the head, and you couldn’t let that slide. So, you raised your chin and managed to look down your nose at the mob boss, giving him an imperious look as you responded to his question.
“No, I just didn’t want to fuck you,” you taunted, lying through your teeth. “I may be a thief, but I have standards.”
It was the wrong thing to say if you’d wanted to placate the mafia boss—which made it exactly the right thing to tell him, since your only play was to poke and prod at the men trapping you until a chink appeared in their armor and you could slip away. You just had to bide your time, you were sure, and then you could escape.
Bucky’s expression darkened, like storm clouds rolling in to block out the sunny blue sky, and you had to bite back a grin at the obvious ire on his face. You didn’t know what to expect from him, didn’t know if you were prepared for Bucky’s anger, but a part of you welcomed it with open arms. You wanted to see what he’d do if you pushed him far enough.
But it wasn’t just outrage in the mob boss’s expression—there was amusement and desire, too. Maybe even a hint of respect. It swirled into a heady cocktail that had your body clenching tight in anticipation despite you trying to ignore your attraction to him.
Quick as a flash of lightning, Bucky shoved one of his hands between your thighs, cupping your heated core through your dress. Your body jerked in surprise, even as your pussy pulsed with desire at the warmth and strength of his palm. You squirmed in Steve and Bucky’s arms, trying to get away from the burgeoning pleasure you felt.
Sucking in a sharp breath, you intended to ask the mob boss what the fuck he was doing, but before you could, Bucky’s hand was pulling back. Then, he gave you a sharp smack, right between your thighs—right against your pussy.
“Ah!” you cried, a little stinging pain mixing with a whirlwind of pleasure that tore through your body, making you lurch forward, only for Steve to hold you tighter. You braced against the enforcer with your free hand, turning your head to catch Bucky’s eye over your shoulder. “What the hell was that for?”
Instead of answering your question, Bucky only grinned unrepentantly, and did it again. He spanked your pussy while he watched your face, waiting for your reaction, which you were determined not to give him.
The fabric of your dress and panties softened the blow, so it barely stung, but despite your best intentions, you couldn’t hide the way it left you panting and feeling empty. A dizzying desire surged through your body, clouding your mind and making your eyes go hazy, your mouth dropping open on a soft sound of need.
“For every lie you tell, doll, you’ll get one spank,” Bucky rumbled, his chest pressing against your shoulders until you were pinned to Steve in front of you.
There was nowhere for you to go, nowhere to look but into the mafia boss’s heated, sparkling blue eyes while his enforcer held you up. It was embarrassing to realize how shaky your legs were after a couple of soft spanks, and you resented how grateful you felt toward Steve for keeping you upright, so you didn’t lose your dignity—not yet anyway.
“If you keep lying,” Bucky went on, rubbing his palm against your smarting center and making your breath catch in your throat as you held back a moan. “You’re only torturing this sweet little cunt, and she doesn’t deserve that, does she?” He petted you between your thighs, managing to make the soothing gesture feel condescending.
“I…I haven’t lied,” you said, wincing a little at how breathless you sounded. But you dug deep for your own self-preservation and scrounged up a glare, hurling it at Bucky while he loomed over your shoulder.
The mob boss tsked low in his throat and slapped your pussy again, harder, making you squirm and bite back a whine. Your heart pounded in your chest and you were growing uncomfortably wet, your panties sticking to your damp flesh, but you tried to rein yourself in, not wanting to give Bucky the satisfaction of seeing any more of your reaction.
“That’s lie number three,” Bucky tutted, soothing your pussy with soft, teasing touches that were working you up just as much as his spanks. “Should I tell you what the first two were, or would you rather be a good girl and confess?”
Something in your belly swooped at the words ‘good girl’ and you had to tamp down on the urge to do what he asked. Instead, you gritted your teeth and glared at him, shaking your head. Bucky remained completely unfazed, chuckling at your furious expression like you were nothing more than an unruly kitten.
“Looks like our little thief isn’t ready to be good for us, huh, Stevie?” Bucky commented, tossing a cavalier grin at his enforcer, who grunted in agreement, the sound hotter than it had any right to be. “But that’s alright, we’ve got all night, don’t we?”
“All night,” Steve repeated in confirmation, and you angled your head so you could look up into his face. He was watching you with stormy blue eyes, lust and a possessive kind of promise roiling in the depths of his gaze. “All week, all month—hell, we could keep her forever if we wanted.”
Your breath inexplicably hitched at the word ‘forever’, your heart beating so hard against your ribs that you wondered if Steve could feel it through his suit. From the way his eyes darkened and narrowed on your face, you could tell he was reading your reaction—and he liked what he saw, a hint of a smile flickering around the edge of his mouth.
“The lies you told,” Bucky began, amusement in his tone as he dragged your attention back to him. “First, you lied when you said you weren’t going to tell us anything.” His hand stroked your pussy through your dress and you had to fight not to writhe against him. “And the second lie was when you said you didn’t want to fuck me.”
An affronted scoff burst from your lips, your mind momentarily clearing of the pleasure Bucky had been stoking in your core. “You think real fucking high of yourself, boss,” you sneered, ignoring the fact that he was telling the truth, and you did, in fact, want to fuck him—and his enforcer.
You’d hoped your comment might push Bucky to breaking, but he only grinned, sharing the expression with Steve before ducking down so his face was close to yours.
“Oh, so you aren’t soaking wet for us, doll?” Bucky mocked, his fingers teasing along the seam of your sex. You were so embarrassingly wet, you wondered if he could feel it even through the fabric of your dress and panties. “If I pulled your dress up and pushed your panties to the side, you wouldn’t be dripping wet for us, huh?”
You couldn’t answer, couldn’t protest because you’d only be lying, and you didn’t need Bucky spanking you again. You weren’t sure you could hold in your moan if he did. So you simply rolled your eyes and refused to give him the satisfaction of answering truthfully. Pouting, you stared petulantly at Steve’s chest.
“That’s what I thought,” Bucky rumbled, a smile in his voice as he grabbed your face, refusing to let you ignore him. Your stomach flipped at the sight of his small grin, and you glared harder, which only made the mob boss chuckle under his breath. “Just wait and see, doll, we’ll make you our good girl yet.”
It was difficult to speak with the way Bucky’s fingers were digging into your cheeks, but you rolled your eyes and managed a testy, “Doubtful,” that he completely ignored.
“Get rid of her dress, Stevie,” Bucky ordered, a smirk on his face as he glanced at his most trusted enforcer. When he looked back at you, there was an eager kind of hunger in his eyes that had your belly bottoming out with anticipation.
It was a good thing the mob boss had such a tight hold on you because without it, you would’ve stumbled when Steve stepped back. Cold air rushed against your front, and you couldn’t hold back a shiver at the loss of his warmth, your nipples pebbling against the lace of your undergarments.
Steve’s eyes lingered on your chest, his expression too calm and stoic to be leering, which somehow only made you hotter. You had to stop yourself from squirming in Bucky’s arms, belatedly remembering you were meant to be planning your escape.
Your mind was lethargic as you tried to assess your surroundings and look for a way out. You were too distracted by the sight of Steve lowering his big body down onto one knee, an image flashing in your mind of Steve tossing one of your thighs over his shoulder and burying his face between your legs. Your hips twitched toward his head, and you could’ve sworn a smirk flickered at the edge of his mouth.
But then Steve was gathering the skirt of your dress in his big hands. He tore through it easily, like he was ripping a piece of tissue paper instead of rending the fabric of a designer dress.
“This cost me three month’s rent!” you screeched before you could stop yourself, not realizing just how revealing those words were.
Steve paused, his eyes finding Bucky’s over your shoulder. The men had a silent conversation that would’ve annoyed you if you weren’t so focused on appraising the damage done to your dress and wondering if there was any way to fix it.
It had been an extravagant purchase, even after your last score, but you’d looked at it as an investment, something you could wear for multiple jobs. But it was ruined. You knew just by looking at it that there was no salvaging the tear right up the center of the skirt. It was such a shame because the dress was beautiful and, more importantly, you’d looked exquisite in it.
You were very near to tears when Bucky’s hand shifted, his palm pressing beneath your chin, fingers digging lightly into your cheek to turn your head to look at him. You tried to blink the tears from your eyes, but you weren’t quick enough and you were sure he saw them. Embarrassment blazed hot in your face.
“I’ll get you another one, doll,” Bucky said softly, his tone gentler than you thought possible from the mob boss. “I’ll pay for it.”
An uncomfortable feeling snuck between your ribs, burying deep in your heart and it was such a foreign emotion that it took you a moment to recognize it as gratitude. No one, let alone the men you stole from, had ever made such a generous offer before, and you didn’t know what to do with it.
Rather than do something stupid, like thank the mafia boss, you set your jaw so your lower lip wouldn’t wobble and nodded your head in acceptance.
Bucky stared at you for a short moment longer, an almost affectionate smile playing on his lips, before gesturing for Steve to continue. The sound of rending fabric wasn’t nearly so painful when you knew the dress would be replaced, and you simply watched as the enforcer continued his rough removal of the garment.
In no time at all, Steve was yanking the tattered shreds of your gown away from your body and leaving them in a pile of fabric on the floor of the storage room. Squaring your shoulders and raising your chin proudly, you feigned a practiced poise as you stood before the handsome men in nothing more than a matching set of lacy lingerie and heels.
“Pretty,” Steve mumbled as he stood, one of his hands skating up your ribs, the rough callouses on his fingers teasing your soft skin. His other hand traced the edge of your panties where they sat snugly on your hip, his blue eyes warm and molten as he stared at your body, making your breath stall in your lungs.
For a brief moment, Steve explored the curves of your body—the dip of your waist, the weight of your breasts, the roundness of your hips and ass—before he seemed to remember himself. With an audible swallow, the muscle in his jaw popping, he forced his hands to his sides, meeting your gaze with hard eyes.
“For a thief, anyway.”
Steve’s scornful words felt like a thorn pricking your heart, and it took every bit of your self-control not to show it on your face. You weren’t sure how successful you were when something flickered in his eyes, something that looked a bit like regret.
Behind you, Bucky gave a soft chuckle, like he was amused by you and Steve. But you didn’t have the capacity to think about why you’d responded to Steve’s dismissive comment the way you did, not when Bucky was ducking his head so his mouth teased the shell of your ear.
“You’ve been torturing my enforcer for weeks, doll,” Bucky murmured, a hint of teasing in his tone. “Whaddya say we put him out of his misery?”
It was on the tip of your tongue to point out that you’d offered to put Steve out of his misery before Bucky had made himself known—and the enforcer had refused your advances. How tortured could he possibly be if he’d turned you down?
But you didn’t say any of that, you just let Bucky guide you backward, watching Steve trail after the two of you, his eyes on your body, like he was entranced by the sight of so much of your skin on display for him.
Bucky’s hands were on your hips, leading you deeper into the room and away from the door. Glancing over your shoulder, you spotted a wall of books, all of them looking old and priceless. When Bucky bumped into an antique sofa, he sank down into the sumptuous seat, pulling you into his lap.
Your ass pressed flush against the hard bulge of Bucky’s cock in his pants, and you shot him an unamused look over your shoulder, but he wasn’t paying attention to you. Truthfully, you weren’t even sure why you weren’t fighting back, only that you’d abandoned trying to form an escape plan. You were curious where things were headed with Bucky and Steve—and hopeful that you be able to have some fun before you fulfilled your mission.
Focusing back on the men, you watched as Bucky gestured for Steve to come forward, until the enforcer was standing right in front of you, practically blocking out the rest of the room and its treasures. But Steve was a treasure unto himself.
The thick length of his cock jutted against the zipper of his slacks, twitching when your tongue darted out to moisten your lips. You glanced up at Steve, your eyes dragging languidly over his narrow waist and broad shoulders until you met his eyes.
His face was fixed into a glower, but deep in his gaze, you saw the hunger that had been there earlier, when you’d thought he was about to kiss you. The longer you looked, the easier it was to see the naked yearning in Steve’s pretty blue eyes, and it made you want to nuzzle your cheek against his bulge before paying homage to his gloriousness.
“Go on, doll,” Bucky’s voice, soft and entreating in your ear, compelled you as he leaned forward, urging your face into Steve’s lap until your nose brushed the ridge of the enforcer’s cock through his pants. The hard length gave a responding twitch that made the corner of your mouth curve in a slight smile. “Stevie’s been hard for you since he met you, so why don’t you be a good girl and suck his cock—show us what that mouth can do besides lying.”
A shiver of desire raced down your spine at the rough velvet of Bucky’s voice, and you tipped your head back, your eyes finding Steve as he stared down at you with his own lust written plainly across his handsome face. You wanted to suck his cock so bad, but you hesitated.
So far, Bucky had been the one pushing you and Steve together, and although the enforcer looked like he wanted you to suck him off, he hadn’t really given you any indication that he was consenting to it. So you waited, your mouth a hairsbreadth away from his hard length, looking up at him with a question in your gaze.
Something in Steve’s expression cracked, and his fingers brushed softly against your cheek, tracing your jaw with one finger while he stroked his thumb along your lower lip. You let your mouth fall open and Steve pushed the tip of his thumb between your lips. You gave him a teasing suckle, the edge of your mouth flickering in a smirk when his eyes darkened, his pupils blowing wide with lust.
“Yeah, sweetheart, let me see what that mouth can do,” Steve rumbled, his voice low and gravelly, as he pulled his hand away from your face.
As you watched, he shed the jacket of his suit, tossing it onto the back of the sofa, and began rolling up the sleeves of his white button-down. You were fascinated by the way the muscles of his forearms shifted beneath his golden tanned skin, and you watched in rapt attention until Steve’s hand settled on the crown of your head, pushing your face back into his lap.
“Show me how a little thief like you would’ve made it worth my while to betray my boss,” Steve teased roughly, using his grip on your head to drag your parted lips along the length of his cock through the soft fabric of his pants. “Be a good slut and suck my cock—and if you’re any good, maybe I’ll ask Buck to go easy on you.”
At those words, you narrowed your eyes, shooting a glare up at Steve in an effort to show him how unmoved you were by his offer. But then you took a deep breath and all you could smell was Steve. Instantly, you forgot your annoyance. You forgot that the men were playing with you hoping to extract information—you even forgot your entire damn reason for being in that mansion in the first place.
The masculine musk of Steve’s smell invaded your senses, filling your head with cotton candy clouds of lust that pushed out all thoughts other than the man and the cock in front of you. Instinctively, you swayed closer to Steve, pressing your lips against his bulge in a hot, open-mouthed kiss, reveling in the way his dick twitched in response.
You settled your hands on Steve’s thick thighs, your fingers lightly groping the muscles you could feel beneath his slacks, while you pressed kisses along the length of his cock. Although you could feel him getting harder beneath your ministrations, when you tipped your head back, the enforcer’s expression was hard and unyielding as he stared down at you.
The only indication Steve was at all affected by what you were doing was the blaze of possessive heat in his darkened blue eyes, and the rigid set of his jaw. You could tell that Steve was enjoying your mouth, but you wanted him to come undone, to let loose of that control he held onto with an iron grip.
But before you could set your mind to your task, Bucky reminded you of his presence, his hands grabbing your hips and yanking you deeper into his lap, until the softness of your pussy was pressed against the hard ridge of his cock. You let out a lustful moan, sinking into the sensation while you suckled on the tip of Steve’s thick length, feeling him throb against your lips.
For long moments, you indulged in being pinned between the two men, your mouth worshipping Steve’s cock through his pants while Bucky’s hands explored your mostly naked body. His palms swept down your ribs, groping your hips and guiding you to rock gently in his lap before his hands moved back up your body to cup the swell of your tits.
Bucky’s mouth kissed along your neck, his teeth nipping at your skin and his tongue soothing over every spot he bit while he learned the curves of your body. His fingers dipped beneath the lace of your bra, teasing over your nipples and playing with them until they were hardened peaks and you were whining helplessly in the mafia boss’s lap.
When Steve was hard and throbbing enough that his precum had left a little wet spot on his pants, he let out an impatient growl, thrusting his hips into your face and shoving the shaft of his cock into your mouth. All you could smell was him, your drool soaking the front of his slacks while you moaned against his bulge.
“Enough teasing, doll,” Bucky rumbled, nipping at the spot on your neck just beneath your ear, the one that turned you liquid in his arms. “Take him out and suck his cock like the good girl we know you are.”
You were so far gone in your lust that you didn’t protest. Your fingers fumbled eagerly at the button and fly of Steve’s pants, undoing them in just a few, breathless seconds. When you shoved his pants down his thighs, along with his navy blue boxer briefs, his thick cock bounced free and nearly hit you in the face.
All you could do was giggle in excitement, your job and the reason for why you couldn’t get close to the two men completely forgotten. All that mattered was getting what you wanted, which in that moment, was a taste of the hot enforcer in front of you.
Taking him in one hand, you dragged your tongue up the underside of Steve’s cock, indulging in the filthy decadence of him straight from the hot, hard source. Your tongue flicked at his tip, lapping up the dribble of precum that had gathered there, and you moaned at the taste of him, so clean and musky and perfect.
When you opened hazy eyes and looked up at Steve, he looked like a man on the verge of breaking, his eyes so full of greedy lust and his jaw clenched so tight, the muscle in his cheek was popping wildly. It made you want to give him a little push and see if the tension that had his muscles pulling so taut would snap.
“How’m I doing?” you murmured huskily before pressing a wet, suckling kiss to the tip of Steve’s cock, swirling your tongue around the crown and watching as his eyes darkened even further. “Do you like the feeling of my hot little mouth on your big cock, sir?”
You didn’t think it was possible, but Steve’s jaw clenched tighter, his eyes filled with so much unchecked desire and possessiveness that they looked like a churning, stormy sea. You parted your lips, sucking Steve’s cock into your mouth, and watched him get even closer to losing it.
Not to be forgotten, Bucky’s hands groped your tits, pushing your bra down until the swells of your breasts popped free. He touched you like he already owned you, his fingers plucking teasingly at your nipples, making you moan around Steve’s shaft.
“Answer our girl, Stevie,” Bucky growled, and you could see him shooting a hard look at his enforcer out of the corner of your eye. “Tell our little thief how good she looks sucking your cock—tell her how good she feels.”
“Fuck,” Steve groaned on a deep exhale. His hands settled on your head, guiding you up and down his cock, pushing his hard length deeper into your mouth with every thrust. “She looks so fucking gorgeous sucking my cock, and she feels like heaven—I could fuck her slutty mouth every goddamned day and never get sick of it.”
Warm pride and something else, something you were too frightened to try to name, bloomed in your chest and you eagerly sucked on Steve’s cock, wringing another groan from the big man. He responded by shoving your head closer to his lap, until the tip of his dick was bullying the back of your throat, making you gag in surprise.
“I wanna fuck our little thief’s mouth like the slutty cocksleeve that she is, wanna see her throat bulge from my cock,” Steve rambled, sounding half-feral, half-possessed as the filthy words tumbled off his tongue. “I wanna cum all over our girl’s face and mark her as mine—mark her as ours. Our fuck toy, our perfect set of holes.”
You couldn’t help it, your eyes rolled back in your head and you let out a loud moan at Steve’s words, at the way he’d finally lost control and was fucking your mouth like you were nothing more than his toy to use. It was all you could do to brace your hands on his muscular thighs and try not to gag while the enforcer worked his cock deeper and deeper into your throat.
“That’s fucking right, use our girl, Stevie,” Bucky crowed, cheering his friend on while he kept groping and playing with your tits. One of his hands slid down your body, cupping your pussy through your panties, and pressing his fingers into the wet fabric at the seam of your sex. “She’s our good girl, isn’t that right, doll?”
Pleasure and sensation made your mind go blank, until you were nothing more than a creature of lust, focused entirely on giving Steve the satisfaction he sought in your mouth and getting yours from Bucky’s fingers. You rocked your hips, humping Bucky’s hand while you sucked eagerly on Steve’s cock, feeling him beginning to throb in your mouth as your pussy pulsed and fluttered, both of you getting close.
You were right on the precipice of coming, and could feel that Steve was as well, when Bucky pulled his hand from between your thighs, pushing them wide across his lap and tugging your head off his enforcer’s cock. For a moment, you sat stunned in Bucky’s lap, panting and wondering what the hell had just happened.
The frenzied beating of your heart slowed and you focused on the sight in front of you, Steve’s big hand wrapped around the base of his cock, squeezing the hard length so tight, his knuckles were turning white. The flushed tip of his dick was so red and angry, you tried to sit forward and lick it better, but Bucky’s arm banded around your waist, holding you pinned to his lap.
“Tell us what we want to know, pretty doll,” Bucky murmured silkily in your ear, his hands soothing over your body, though they didn’t touch you anywhere you wanted them—your tits or between your thighs. “What are you here to steal? Who are you working for?”
It finally hit you what was happening, how Bucky had let you get close to your release only to yank it away at the last second. Your body throbbed with unslaked pleasure and a sob bubbled up in your chest. You had to bite your lip hard to keep it from spilling free.
It just wasn’t fair.
You’d been such a good girl for them, you’d done everything they asked, but you couldn’t give them this. You couldn’t tell them about the mess you were in, you couldn’t trust them—no matter how much a part of you wanted to. It was there, like a niggling thorn stuck between your ribs, the desire to trust them with the truth, but you ignored it.
Crossing your arms over your chest, you shook your head in refusal of Bucky’s questions, fear and anxiety swirling uneasily in your stomach. It wasn’t until Steve cupped your face with his free hand, his thumb stroking over your cheek, that you realized a few tears had escaped without you noticing.
“You’re even prettier when you cry, sweetheart,” Steve said softly, his voice so sweet it took you a moment to understand his words. When you did, you tried to pull away, but Steve’s hand gripped your face tightly, his blue eyes burning with a possessiveness that nearly stole your breath. “Answer Buck’s questions and we’ll fuck you so good, baby, we’ll make you cry so prettily on both our cocks.”
A shiver of want raced down your spine and you trembled in Bucky’s lap, your eyes falling miserably away from Steve’s face as emotions swirled turbulently in your chest and stomach. “I can’t,” you whispered, your voice breaking as you curled in on yourself, making your body as small as possible.
All the while, your mind raced as you tried to think of a way out of your predicament. Your employer wouldn’t suffer failure, and if you didn’t return to him with the diamond he’d commanded you steal, it could have deadly consequences. But you were so thoroughly trapped by Bucky and Steve, and even if you were able to get away from them, they’d destroyed your dress, which made escaping the mansion without being seen even more difficult.
Behind you, Bucky huffed out a sound like a bitten off sigh and wrapped his arms around your body, holding you in a tight hug while he gently nuzzled his cheek against yours. The rough stubble of his scruff soothed some of your anxiety away, enough that you could focus back on the moment, back on the two men who were staring at you with something like concern in their eyes.
“Are you afraid of us—afraid we’ll be upset with you,” Bucky began, his voice rumbling in his chest and teasing down your spine where he was pressed flush against your back. “Or the person who hired you?”
Your heart gave a pathetic lurch in your chest at the gentleness in Bucky’s voice, and in the watchful look in Steve’s eye as he crouched down in front of you, so his face was level with yours. The enforcer’s hand cupped your cheek almost tenderly, and his eyes stared deep into your own, like he was imploring you to answer.
“If I tell you, he’ll kill me,” you whispered, your eyes avoiding Steve’s face as you hurried on to explain the mess you were in that had led you to infiltrating the mob boss’s party in an attempt to steal from him. “And not just me—he has my father.”
Both Bucky and Steve let out harsh breaths, and when you glanced up at the man in front of you, you found him looking at his boss over your shoulder. The two of them were having a wordless conversation that you couldn’t even begin to decipher, so you simply waited for them to be done.
“We can protect you,” Bucky murmured a moment later, his arms settling more securely around your body until he held you in the tightest hug you’d ever felt. It felt so good, so safe, you nearly sobbed. “Steve and I will make sure nothing happens to you or your father. Right, Stevie?”
“Right,” Steve confirmed, his expression and tone so resolute, you had no choice but to believe him. The calm, stoic enforcer was back, but his eyes were still stormy, still simmering with emotion—all of it for you. “We’ll keep you safe, but you need to tell us what’s going on.”
Steve looked so earnest, so ready to step in and save the day, that it overwhelmed you. It was too much to hope that he was being honest, that he really could save you from your predicament. You had to close your eyes to think. But even then, you still felt Bucky’s steady, strong presence wrapped around your body, holding you while you trembled with indecision.
In the life of a thief, it was imperative that you only rely on the right people. In your life, you’d learned the hard way that it was better if you didn’t rely on anyone at all. Your father, the man who was supposed to protect you above all others, had instead offered you up as the solution to his problems. He’d been in debt to your employer and had promised your skills to repay those debts.
It didn’t seem to matter to your father that you’d be killed along with him if you were unsuccessful, and unfortunately for you, you weren’t as unfeeling. For all his poor decisions, he was still your dad and you didn’t want to see him killed.
For a brief, blistering moment, you wished the night had gone to plan and you’d been able to sneak in, steal the diamond and get back to your employer to free your father from him. But that’s not how things had worked out, and now your only option was to trust the men you’d planned to steal from. They were your only hope.
“Tony Stark hired me to steal the Blue Diamond of Alqualondë,” you murmured, your eyes still closed so you didn’t have to see Bucky or Steve’s reactions to your confession. “If I don’t bring it to him tonight, he’ll kill my father and then me.”
The men were quiet for a moment, long enough that you finally gathered the courage to open your eyes, finding them both staring at you, their expressions filled with a tender kind of sympathy. Before you could scoff at their pity, Steve broke the silence, his voice ragged with emotion.
“We won’t let that happen, sweetheart,” he vowed, catching your eye and staring deep into your soul. It was hard to believe him, but he sounded so genuine, how could you not?
“Make the call,” Bucky ordered from behind you, talking to his enforcer while his arms tightened around your body. His hold was the same reassurance Steve had given you, and you relaxed slightly into it.
But before Steve followed his boss’s command, he shocked the hell out of you by leaning forward, his mouth meeting yours in a kiss. Sparks danced inside your head at the soft press of the enforcer’s mouth, and you sucked in a gasp that allowed Steve to lick between your lips. He kissed you gently, teasingly, an unspoken promise on his tongue.
When Steve finally pulled away, you were too dazed by the kiss to pay much attention to him standing up and pacing away from the sofa where you and Bucky sat, pulling a cellphone from his pants pocket and pressing it to his ear. He spoke in low tones you couldn’t make out, not that you would’ve been able to understand whatever orders he was issuing when you were still stunned by his kiss.
Bucky leaned back into the sofa, drawing you deeper into his lap and turning you slightly. His eyes roamed freely over your features as he tipped your face toward him so he could look into your eyes. The mob boss chuckled lightly at the surprised expression still on your face, tracing his thumb idly along your plump lower lip.
“Seems you’ve won over my best enforcer, doll,” Bucky murmured, his tone lightly teasing as he gently coaxed you back down to earth. “I guess I have no choice but to keep you now.” Bucky ducked down until his mouth hovered a mere fraction of an inch from yours. “Steve has been telling me it’s past time to find a wife—and I like you far more than I should, little thief.”
With that pronouncement, Bucky closed the gap between your lips, claiming your mouth in a searing kiss. In contrast to Steve’s gentleness, Bucky was demanding, licking into your mouth and stroking his tongue against yours, making your mind melt and your body go suddenly hot with renewed desire.
You turned more on Bucky’s lap, grabbing onto his shoulders so that you could kiss him back. Despite how small you’d made yourself a moment ago, you weren’t some wilting flower who needed to be handled like you were breakable. You were the best damn thief in the world, and you wanted Bucky just as much as he clearly wanted you.
The kiss turned hotter and heavier when you pressed your body into Bucky’s, your tits crushed against his chest and your ass wiggling against his hard bulge. Liquid lust pooled low in you belly, and you gasped in delight when Bucky’s rough hand slid up your thigh.
He’d almost reached your pussy when a polite cough interrupted your moment. Bucky ended the kiss with a groan, and turned his attention to his enforcer, whose blue eyes sharpened on your kiss-swollen lips for a moment before he shook his head and focused back on his boss.
“We’ve located your father,” Steve said, meeting your eyes with his calm gaze. “He’ll be at one of our safe houses within the hour. I’ve also doubled security here and the partygoers are being sent home. You’ll be safe in the mansion while we figure out how to deal with Stark.”
“Good,” Bucky answered before you could thank Steve. Your head was still spinning from both their kisses and it was taking more effort than usual to follow the conversation. “And you called in the underbosses?”
Steve gave a quick nod. “They’re all coming in,” the enforcer confirmed. “They’ll be assembled here by tomorrow afternoon.”
The two men continued to talk about specifics, but you were distracted by the revived desire thrumming through your body. Your gaze traveled lazily down Steve’s body, finding that he’d pulled up his pants and boxer briefs, but hadn’t zipped himself up, so his cock was tenting the navy blue cotton in a particularly enticing manner.
“Then there’s just the matter of dealing with our little thief,” Bucky was saying, and at the mention of you, you tuned back into the conversation, glancing first at the mafia boss and then his enforcer. Both were watching you closely, lust and a feral kind of possessiveness in their eyes, though Bucky wore a charming smirk while Steve’s expression was more like a glower.
“What, me?” you asked as innocently as you could manage—which wasn’t innocent at all, the breathless excitement in your tone making you sound like an eager slut. You tossed your head and sat up primly on Bucky’s lap, giving each man a haughty look before continuing. “You could deal with me by finally making me cum, if you boys are up to the task, of course.”
Steve growled at the obvious challenge in your words while Bucky just chuckled. The mob boss manhandled you on his lap until you were facing away from him again, your legs thrown over his thighs as you perched on his knees. He gently pushed your upper body toward Steve, and you didn’t need any more encouragement than that to tug down the enforcer’s briefs so you could pick up where you’d left off.
In the time it had taken Steve to make his calls, his cock had softened slightly, so you pressed suckling kisses up and down his shaft, delighting in the feel of him hardening against your mouth. Behind you, you felt Bucky working his pants open, and you moaned when you felt his cock spring free, slapping your ass with its thick, heavy length.
“Ready to take both our cocks, little thief?” Bucky murmured, tugging your panties to the side and sliding the tip of his cock along the seam of your pussy. You were already wet for him, but you felt even more desire leak from your hole at the teasing slide of his tip between your folds. “You gonna be a good girl for us, doll?”
“Ye-es,” you moaned brokenly against the crown of Steve’s dick, licking greedily at the precum dripping onto your lips. “Want your cock, boss,” you murmured dreamily, your eyes flicking up to find Steve’s expression twisted into something feral as he watched you. “Want you to fuck me, sir—use my holes, make me your slut, make me cum, please.”
When Bucky chuckled, the sound was strained, and your heart warmed with pride at how much you were affecting the mafia boss. You rolled your hips, pressing your pussy against the tip of Bucky’s dick, making him suck in a sharp breath as your warm, wet hole teased his sensitive cock.
“You heard our girl, Stevie,” Bucky rumbled, his hands grabbing your hips and lifting you up. You reached between your bodies, wrapping your fingers around his thick length to guide him into your pussy. At the same time, you opened your mouth wide, letting Steve feed his cock into your mouth. “Don’t hold back—fuck her like the filthy slut she is.”
“You got it, boss,” Steve ground out through clenched teeth, his hips stuttering and his cock twitching as you swirled your tongue along the underside of his thick cock. “Hold on, sweetheart,” he said, his voice roughly tender as he grabbed your head in a firm grip.
Then both men were thrusting deep into your body, Steve’s cock hitting the back of your throat while Bucky bottomed out in your cunt. They groaned loudly, pausing for only a second to revel in the heat and wetness of your holes before they began moving, pounding into you from both ends.
“Take it, fucking take my cock like a good fucktoy, sweetheart,” Steve growled, driving deeper and deeper into your mouth while you tried not to gag, but that only seemed to make him go rougher. “Wanna see you cry while you choke on my cock, little thief. Let me see those pretty tears, crybaby, c’mon.”
Something cracked open inside you, and you let go, giving in to Steve completely. You sobbed around his cock, drool dripping messily from your lips as you choked on his pounding girth. Tears streamed from your eyes and Steve let out an indecently hot moan, his cock throbbing against your tongue while he fucked your mouth harder, bullying deeper into your throat with each thrust.
“You feel so fucking good, pretty girl,” Bucky rumbled from behind you, pressing his clothed chest flush against your back, the heat of him surrounding you as he wrapped you up in his arms. The mob boss rocked his hips against your ass, fucking you hard and deep with his cock while his hands played with your tits. “You’re taking us both so well, like you were made for us—our perfect, precious girl.”
Bucky’s praise had you crying out around Steve’s cock, pleasure swirling through your body until you were overwhelmed with the thrilling sensation. Then one of Bucky’s hands slipped down between your thighs, his fingers strumming your clit in rough strokes that had your thighs shaking in seconds, your pussy fluttering around his dick as you surged closer to the edge of your release.
“You gonna cum on our cocks, pretty doll?” the mob boss murmured entreatingly in your ear, pressing kisses to the heated skin of your neck. “Gonna be a good girl for us and cum all over our cocks while we use your body like our own personal toy, huh?”
“Our good girl,” Steve growled, holding your head and using your mouth like it was a fleshlight. “Ours—all fucking ours.”
It was too much. Their thick cocks, their possessive words, their greedy hands on your body—you were lost to the overwhelming pleasure of it all, and you came harder than you ever had in your entire life. A strangled scream spilled from your lips, every muscle in your body pulling taut as you broke apart into a million stars of ecstasy, pleasure crashing through your body in devastating waves.
Your release spurred on both Bucky and Steve, who fucked you harder, rutting into your holes like men possessed. They followed you over the edge a few moments later, Bucky sinking his teeth into the tender flesh at the base of your neck, where it met your shoulder, and groaning against your skin while he emptied his balls in your cunt.
At the same time, Steve pulled free from your mouth, his fist pumping his cock until his cum erupted. With a loud, feral groan, he coated your face and tits with his cum, ropes of his release falling onto your skin in heated evidence of his possessiveness.
The big enforcer moaned lewdly, his eyes dark as a stormy night while he watched his thick cream cover your tear-stained face. Your lips curved into a blissed out smile as you felt the warmth of Steve’s cum on your skin, waiting patiently while he pumped his shaft and painted your mouth with the last drops of his seed.
When he was spent, Steve cupped your cheek in his big hand, rubbing his sticky cum into your skin while you licked it from your lips, moaning softly at the musky taste of him. You’d never felt so degraded and exalted at the same time, and you thought, distractedly, that you could get used to this.
“Pretty as a picture, baby,” Steve murmured, staring at you like he’d never get tired of the sight of you covered in his cum. Your heart thumped happily in your chest and you grinned sweetly up at him, your pussy pulsing around Bucky’s cock, making him groan lightly.
The mob boss was busy kissing the spot on your shoulder where he’d bitten you, soothing the slight sting with his lips and tongue. Your hips twitched, feeling Bucky’s cum leaking out around his softening cock, and you luxuriated in the filthiness of the moment, being full and coated with both men’s cum.
“So, how about it, little thief, are you going to let us keep you?” Bucky asked in a ragged voice, his arms holding you tight while Steve retrieved a handkerchief from his suit jacket and began to clean your face.
Closing your eyes, you gave a soft sigh and let Steve and Bucky take care of you while you thought about the question.
In the life of a thief, it was important to recognize a precious opportunity when it presented itself—and Bucky’s offer was exactly that.
You’d known from the moment you met Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes that they were different than any other marks you’d stolen from. They were men you could see yourself falling for, which was why you’d been so off your game on this job. They were men you could see yourself spending your life with, if only you agreed to stay with them.
It didn’t take much thinking to realize you’d be a fool to pass up the life and the safety Bucky and Steve were offering. They clearly cared about you, and you cared about them. So you followed your instincts and nodded your head, opening your eyes to meet first Steve’s gaze, then Bucky’s.
“Yes,” you said simply, answering the mafia boss’s question. And then, because you were you, you couldn’t help but add primly, “And I expect my men to take good care of me.”
Bucky huffed a laugh into your neck, and even Steve cracked a smirk, sinking down onto the sofa beside his boss so the two of them could hold you. The mafia boss captured your lips in a kiss, responding to your bratty comment with a promise, before he pulled back and allowed his enforcer to seal your agreement with a kiss of his own.
When the three of you had recovered enough, Bucky helped you to stand and Steve draped his suit jacket around your shoulders. They led you up to the mansion’s master suite, where they continued to have their way with you for the rest of the evening.
It wasn’t until the sun began to peak out over the horizon that you finally fell asleep, entwined in the arms of the mafia boss and his most trusted enforcer. You were safe, content, and fully satisfied with how your night had turned out, even if it hadn’t gone to plan.
After that evening, Bucky and Steve made good on their promise to protect you, moving against Tony Stark and ensuring the leader of the Manhattan mafia knew you belonged to Brooklyn’s crime boss. They also ensured your father was taken care of, and wouldn’t get himself into trouble again.
With your men seeing to your every whim, you were able to retire from being a thief. But you still used your skills for fun sometimes.
Every once in a while, you played the part of their little thief, attempting to steal from Steve and/or Bucky and letting yourself get caught so that they could punish you how they saw fit. Occasionally, Steve would let you convince him to betray his boss, until Bucky caught the two of you and punished you both.
But no matter what, you always ended up entwined with both the mafia boss Bucky Barnes and his most trusted enforcer, Steve Rogers, happy and loved in their arms. All told, it was a much better existence than the life of a thief.
the life of a thief part 1
thank you for reading!! comments and reblogs are appreciated ♡♡♡
pairing: mafia enforcer!steve rogers x female reader x mafia boss!bucky barnes
summary: you've spent weeks conning the boss of the brooklyn mafia, but when you're steps away from stealing the Blue Diamond of Alqualondë for your employer, you're caught by the boss's most trusted enforcer. then, things take a turn for the worse when you realize you weren't conning the mob boss—he was luring you into his trap.
warnings: mature content, eventual 18+ content (minors dni!!!), sexual tension (resolved in part 2), almost kiss, teasing touches, possessive touches, attempted sexual coercion, enemies to (eventual) lovers, bit of a cliffhanger ending
word count: 3.0k
a/n: i had an idea for @thezombieprostitute's Let's Plan A Heist challenge while i was working on my chef Jack Abbot fic but i didn't want to start it until i finished that fic. then by the time i got around to writing it, i realized the challenge was almost over. so! i've split what was supposed to be a one-shot into two parts, and this is the first part. part 1 is mostly setup/sexual tension while the next part will be mostly smut, and i'm going to work on it next, so it should be posted soon-ish! thank you Zombie for hosting such a fun challenge, and i hope everyone enjoys reading about our tricksy little thief!!
prompts used: mansion, party/celebration, you were hired, long con, solo, rival
“You shouldn’t be in here.”
In the life of a thief—the life you’d chosen, mostly willingly—it was important that nothing rattled you. You had to keep your cool in any situation you found yourself in, or else you could end up dead. It was a skill you’d honed over the years and it meant you could be held at gunpoint and not even break a sweat.
But those words, said by that voice, sent a shiver of unease down your spine like nothing you’d ever felt before. A guilty grimace contorted your face before you could stop it, and you could only thank the universe that the man the voice belonged to was behind you, so he had no way of seeing it.
Taking a breath and reaching for the calmness that seemed to exist in endless reserves on all your other jobs, you steeled yourself. You schooled your features into an expression that was much more innocent before you turned around and faced the source of that voice.
Steve Rogers cut an intimidating figure, clad in a tailored suit that exquisitely highlighted his tall stature and broad shoulders. His narrow waist and thick, muscular thighs looked like a million bucks in a simple black suit with a white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, giving you a tantalizing tease of all that golden skin he had under his clothes…
You nipped that thought right in the bud, focusing your gaze on Steve’s face—his stupidly handsome face—which was contorted into a cold, furious scowl. You couldn’t help but notice that even that expression looked good on him, and you had to force yourself to concentrate on the problem at hand.
Because the frown on Steve’s face wasn’t the one he typically wore in your presence. No, this particularly charming glower was because he’d discovered you in the secret, locked room in his boss’s Brooklyn mansion. The one that housed the mafia boss’s private collection of art, jewels, and other priceless valuables in a cramped maze that looked like an elegant version of a museum’s storage room.
It was a room that you absolutely, one hundred percent, shouldn’t be in.
But not everything in that room was priceless. The Blue Diamond of Alqualondë would fetch your employer a cool $5.8 million on the black market. All you had to do was retrieve it, steal it away from the mansion and put it in your employer’s hands. Then you’d get the $1 million you were promised…and your debts would be forgiven. Finally.
Giving your head a subtle, impatient shake, you reminded yourself that you didn’t have time to ruminate on the mess you were in. It didn’t matter that you’d been forced to get close enough to a mafia boss to be invited to one of the exclusive parties at his mansion—or that you’d enjoyed your time with the Brooklyn mob boss more than you should’ved.
You had to focus on the problem in front of you. Namely the fiercely protective and extremely dangerous mafia enforcer standing between you and your freedom.
“Would you believe,” you began, sauntering toward Steve and putting a little extra sway in your hips. The gown you wore hugged your curves lovingly, a slit up the side offering teasing views of your bare thigh. It was meant to be a distraction of a dress and it was doing its job. “That I got lost while looking for the bathroom?”
A little zip of satisfaction shot straight down your spine when Steve’s cold, blue eyes dipped briefly to your body, raking quickly over your chest, your hips, your legs, like he couldn’t help himself. But the excitement you felt at getting the man’s attention fizzled when his gaze returned to your face, harder than before.
But you wouldn’t—couldn’t—be deterred. It was imperative that you distract Steve and get him out of the room so you could sneak back later and steal the Blue Diamond of Alqualondë from his boss’s collection. How exactly you’d do that when the enforcer who already didn’t trust you, would be on higher alert? That was a problem for later you.
All you could do was deal with one problem at a time. So you moved closer to the big, intimdating man and slunk into his personal space, placing a hand over the breast pocket of his jacket while you fluttered your lashes at him.
“This place is just so big and confusing,” you murmured demurely, trying to play the role of damsel in distress while you surreptitiously searched his jacket for something, anything to help you get free.
But aside from a couple guns in shoulder holsters, all you found were the hard muscles Steve hid beneath his tailored suit. You forced yourself to ignore the twist of attraction in your belly, the melting warmth that sang in your blood, and urged you to do something stupid, something too fucking reckless, even for you.
It became easier when Steve’s lithe fingers wrapped around your wrist and he stopped your wandering hand in its tracks. He gave you a tight warning squeeze before letting his hands fall and stuffing them in his pockets, making a show of how little of a threat he thought you posed.
“From anyone else, I might believe that excuse,” Steve rumbled, staring down his nose at you. His eyes were like two chips of ice, sending even more cold anxiety down your spine, and it was only your years of practice that kept you from wilting under his angry stare. “But not from you, sweetheart.”
It disturbed you how much you liked hearing Steve call you by that pet name, even if his tone was dripping with disdain as he said it. In your head, you reached for the calm that typically came so easily when you were working a job, but you found it was rapidly depleting.
There was something about Steve Rogers that left you feeling stripped bare and defenseless, and it took much more effort than usual to gather your charm and clever tactics around you like protective armor. Giving an indignant, offended huff of a laugh, you swatted Steve’s chest like you were old friends.
“You’re so mean to me, Stevie,” you whined in your sweetest, most ingratiating voice, batting your eyes at the scowling enforcer. “I’m just a little lost,” you said, pouting up at him with your most pathetic expression.
At the same time, you pressed closer, your tits brushing against his chest, sending sparks of pleasure rioting in your belly, your nipples tightening beneath the thin, slinky fabric of your dress. It took everything in you to hold back a shiver as desire ran rampant in your body, making you feel hot and achy.
“Cut the shit, sweetheart,” Steve snapped, his anger bleeding over into his tone in a way that made his voice hard and unrelenting. It got you thinking about other things of his that would feel hard and unrelenting and could help soothe the ache between your thighs…
“This room is kept locked, so try again,” Steve growled, leaning in until he was looming above you, using that stupid heigh to his advantage.
However, the movement also pressed you closer to him, your tits brushing his chest and making your breath hitch as your nipples rubbed against him again. Steve’s eyes dropped to your tits, which were heaving in the low neckline of your dress, in danger of spilling out.
A sound, like a choked off, hungry growl, rumbled in Steve’s chest, and the air in the room crackled with unresolved tension. It went straight to your head, that sound, and you could feel your brain melting a little at how much pure, undiluted lust was etched into Steve’s handsome face.
For a moment, between one breath and the next, you thought Steve Rogers might kiss you. You were already sagging in relief at the thought, your body sinking deeper into him, your hands pressed flat against the lapels of his jacket, ready to grab him and haul him even closer.
You knew the kiss would be good. It would be devastating for the both of you, and your body lit up with the anticipation… but the kiss never came.
With a violent jerk of his head, Steve wrenched his gaze from your mouth, where he’d been staring at your lips like they were the answer to all his life’s problems, and he looked past your shoulder, deep into the maze of the room. He swallowed thickly, put some space between your bodies and finally looked back at you.
When he did, his expression was guarded, and all the lust that had filled his face had been buried deep within the span of a few seconds. All that remained was the distrust that had haunted his blue eyes since you first appeared in his boss’s life.
“Now, answer me, sweetheart,” Steve rumbled, his voice going infinitesimally softer on the pet name before he continued on. “What were you doing in here?”
The sudden shift in Steve’s mood was effective in waking you up from the lust spell you’d fallen into, and you realized you had one last card to play in an effort to get out of your disastrous situation. It was a long shot—Steve was so loyal to his boss, that it was unlikely he’d betray him for anything—but you had to try.
So you pressed your soft body more deliberately against the hard, unyielding bulk of Steve’s form, taking care to keep your wits about you as you danced your fingers along the line of his jacket. You let your fingertips trace the buttons of his white dress shirt, down to his abdomen, feeling the muscles of his stomach spasm at your touch.
Steve’s face remained a stony, unforgiving mask as you teased your nails along the hem of his pants, toying with the leather of his belt. You sucked in a breath for courage, emboldened by the bulge brushing against your hip and looked at the handsome mafia enforcer from under your lashes.
“What’ll it take to make you leave and forget you ever saw me in here?” you asked silkily, pushing up onto your tiptoes so you could murmur in Steve’s ear, your breath ghosting tantalizingly against his bearded jaw. “I promise to make it worth your while, sir.”
You were pressed so close to Steve that you felt his body go rigid at the honorific, his breath rushing out of him like you’d knocked the air out of his lungs. A pleased smirk teased the corners of your lips and you took his reaction as a sign to press your advantage, brushing your hand lower until your fingertips teased along the hard ridge of his cock in his pants.
But before you could cup his bulge through his clothes, Steve’s hand shot out, grabbing your wrist and pulling it none too gently away from his lap. He yanked so hard on your arm that it put you off balance, and if it wasn’t for Steve’s other hand settling on your hip, his palm a possessive, heated touch, you might’ve tumbled back onto your ass.
“You’re delusional if you thought that would work on me, sweetheart,” Steve growled, the barest hint of teasing in the pet name as it rolled off his tongue.
A shiver skated down your spine, one you weren’t able to temper, and you felt more than saw Steve’s smirk. Using his grip on your wrist and your hip, he drew you closer, and—damn him—your stomach swooped when you felt the hard length of his cock press against your belly.
It was all you could do to breathe normally and not pant over the hot mafia enforcer like a dog in heat. But that had its downsides, too, because Steve smelled good. Expensive cologne mixed with something dangerous, like gunpowder, and god help you, but you thought you could get high off his scent.
You were so close to huffing Steve’s scent like a desperate hussy when his hand around your wrist squeezed, making you blink the lust from your gaze and look up at him. A smirk teased around the edges of his mouth and he looked so fucking devastatingly handsome, you wanted to kick him—or kiss him.
“Tell me what you were doing in here,” Steve rumbled, looming over you once more in a clear attempt to intimidate you into answering. “And who you’re working for. Be honest, be honest—if you’re honest, we might go easy on you.”
At the reference to your employer, your spine went ramrod straight, and panic flooded your mind. You were so distracted by the thought of who’d hired you that you didn’t notice the way Steve’s eyes flicked briefly over your shoulder. Nor did you notice his use of “we” when it was only him in the room.
As far as you were aware at least.
In the life of a thief, these were the kinds of rookie mistakes that could get you caught, could get you killed. Unfortunately for you, you were too scared of your employer and too off-balance by the closeness of the mafia enforcer, to even realize you’d made such amateur errors.
You thought you were still in control of the situation, so you huffed an indignant sound and tossed your head, giving the appearance that you were offended by Steve’s words and the implied accusation.
Tipping your head back, you managed to look down your nose at the taller man as you scrambled for another way out of the room so you could return later for the diamond you’d been hired to steal. It took only a moment for your clever mind to come up with something, even if it wasn’t your best work.
“Your boss told me to meet him here,” you said, latching onto the first excuse you could think of that you hadn’t tried already. It didn’t matter, in your mind, that it probably wouldn’t work. It had to work because you couldn’t disappoint your employer. It wasn’t an option. “He said he wanted to show me something, but I think he just wanted to get me alone.”
It felt stiff and fake, even to you, as you winked at Steve, but using his boss’s attraction to you was your last-ditch effort to get the enforcer to let you go. You just needed his grip to ease up long enough for him to check in with his boss so that you could use the distraction to escape.
However, you hadn’t accounted for the universe—and the mafia boss and his most trusted enforcer—to be working so expertly against you.
That time, you did notice when Steve’s gaze moved from your face to something over your shoulder, something deeper in the maze of the mansion’s secret room. Anxiety flooded your body and no matter how much you tried to remain calm, you could feel yourself beginning to panic.
“Is that right?” Steve asked, and despite all your instincts telling you that he wasn’t speaking to you, you opened your mouth to answer him. But he went on before you could. “Did you ask her to meet you here—did you give her your key?”
Your stomach was sinking down to your knees, which were in danger of wobbling as panic consumed your chest, making your heart hammer against your ribs like a bird trying to escape its cage. Your mouth was dry, and for once in your life, you were too stunned to speak.
You could only watch in horror as Steve’s gaze—cold, blue and knowing—returned to your face, even as he continued speaking to someone else. You had a sneaking suspicion that you already knew who that someone else would turn out to be.
“Or did she pilfer it and sneak in here like the dirty little thief that she is?”
“That depends,” came a voice from behind you—one that was warm and filled with humor, even as it held a dangerous edge. One that you recognized.
It was the voice that belonged to the man of the house, the one you’d spent the past weeks cozying up to so you could steal from him. The one you’d secretly begun to like, along with his loyal enforcer, though that was a secret you planned to take to your grave. Unfortunately, it seemed tha might happen sooner rather than later.
“Does it count as stealing if I let her lift it off me so I could see what she’d do with it?”
Bucky Barnes sauntered into you line of view, shooting you a devastatingly charming grin that made you feel like your panties wanted to melt right off your body. You’d worked hard to ignore your attraction to the Brooklyn mafia boss, but in that moment, you couldn’t deny the way your body responded to him.
With his broad shoulders, bright eyes and towering stature, Bucky was one of the handsomest men you’d ever met. He was hot enough to give Steve a run for his money, and he had the charisma to wield those good looks like a dangerous weapon. You thought you’d been impervious to his hotness and his charms, but in that moment, you realized you weren’t.
Still, it wasn’t until Bucky slid in behind you, curving his big hands possessively around your waist, and caging you in between him and Steve that you realized just how much trouble you were in. Because the whole time you’d been thinking you were conning the head of the Brooklyn mafia and his right-hand man, they had clearly been three steps ahead of you.
And now you were caught in their trap—literally. You were caught between their big, strong bodies, with nowhere to go and no tricks left up your sleeve. All you had left was to see what they’d do, and hope you could escape with your life, if not with the score that could save you from your employer’s wrath.
The life of a thief wasn’t for the weak, and it was a good thing you were made of stronger stuff than most. You just had to keep your head in the game and not get distracted by Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers, and maybe, just maybe, you could still win your freedom.
But too bad for you, that might be easier said than done…
the life of a thief part 2
thank you for reading!! reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! ♡♡♡
