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soft-persephone · 8 months ago

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Strange Kind of Feeling: (The Spell You Put me Under)

Grey McConnell x Black!Fem!Reader

I write with black women in mind, but all women are still welcome!

M // MDNI // WC: 5k // WA: mention of SA in conversation, but nothing graphic and no details. Biting during sex. Teasing. Dirty talk. Nipple play?// AN: I know nothing about Portland. Please don’t come for me // masterlist // summery:

Your friend tricks you into going to this bar for a mess you have nothing to do with, but a certain bartender has your attention, and you can’t find it in you to stop staring at him.

“Why do we need to be here?” You raised an eyebrow.

The Bad Alibi didn’t look like every other bar in Portland. It was rustic, full of metal, it was clean, but there could still be a thin layer of soot. Who knows?

Maybe it was just the vibe that made it feel that way, or there really was a thin layer of the stuff everywhere.

There were still homemade IPAs and all of those goodies in abundance, but you could tell whisky reigns supreme in this place.

One look at the bartender alone affirmed that belief.

A well taken care of and equally well worn red flannel was rolled up at the sleeves, he was thick and stocky, but it was accompanied by a sensible height, a lovely head of hair you wanted to run your fingers through, and a beard you were dying to touch.

He looked up with a quick smile and a wave before his face fell into a more neutral expression. You just as quickly averted your gaze back to your friend.

Fuck.

You hoped he wouldn’t notice you staring.

“I met this girl, and she was talking about you, so now we need to be here and talk to her.”

You did not like the forced casual straightforward tone or the vagueness in everything Luna was saying to you. Nothing about Luna was straightforward and to the point.. or weirdly and dangerously vague.

“A girl you just met was talking about me?” You looked down at her, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes.” Your friend averted her gaze before looking back up at you apologetically.

“And you think that’s just some type of coincidence?”

Luna fiddled with her fingers.

“Would you have come here if I told you?”

“From the way you are asking me that, no.”

“It’s about Dillon.” She said flatly, furring her brow in an effort to stand up to your bereavement at her.

“Dillon?!” You laughed dryly at that.

“Dillon Tryson,” a voice interrupted, making a beeline into your eye of vision and slamming a folder on a table in front of you, “you know him?”

“Unfortunately,” you sighed, taking a seat, “however I don’t see what this has to do with me.”

Two long excruciating hours later, and you both finally reached a conclusion she was happy with.

Dillon was an old client of yours at a PR firm. You were representing him until he committed the ultimate fuck up of character and career assassination of sexually assaulting someone.

Per protocol, you did one final statement and you guys fucking dropped him. A PR firm is only as good as its results, and this guy was a fucking failure.

She was looking for him.

You give her what you could, but for some reason she thinks you're lying, and you are running out of ways to prove how you, obviously, are not lying to her.

“He was a client of yours? How are you not protecting him through this? Your firm is clearly in on what he did with this poor young girl. There is no way you guys can just wash your hands of this!”

You were trying to take this moment seriously. You really were, but your eyes kept meeting the bartenders. You wanted to observe him in his natural habitat, and he was trying to figure out the commotion going on at your table.

You found your eyes at his arms again which soon led you to the new discovery of his hands. God, his hands., massive things they were. Your eyes trailed the path of veins on his arms to his hands. You admired the dexterous arches of his fingers as he maneuvered glasses of drinks and bottles of beers. How he’d towel freshly washed ones before putting them away.

Thoughts of how they would feel soon plagued your mind. Were they soft? Were they rough? Would he caress your skin gently or knead your flesh roughly in an effort to amass your inevitable destruction, pushing you to a point of no return until you beg him to stop. Breaking your skin and pulling at flesh, molding himself to you with such harsh thrust you feel the shadow of his body in you for the rest of the week. Until that deep seated ache becomes a memory.

Would he tease you with those hands or would he worship you?

You needed to stop thinking about him before you were too far gone, but you couldn’t fight the new desire to study his face just as intently. You Just need to watch him a little bit longer. Then you would stop, and move on with your life. You slowly eyed up his torso, savoring the last glance before you pinched yourself back into reality, back into the conversation you were having.

When you reached his face, you were met with a heady gaze.

You sucked in a sharp breath.

Dark pools of brown were staring into you. You couldn’t prove it, but you could feel his eyes boring into you, exposing you for what you are, what you were doing. His jaw pulled taught as he silently studied you from afar. He didn’t smirk, he didn't gloat laugh. . . He just stared into you.

A hand snapped its fingers into your face.

“Hey! Are you listening?” Dex seethed at her. “Do you not take this seriously?”

“I do, I do!” You raised your hands in defense before licking your lips and ripping your eyes away from his heated stare to face the woman in front of you.

She narrowed her eyes at you, turning around in her seat to see what could possibly be holding your attention.

She berated you with more questions even opting to go back to the beginning, asking you questions she already knew the answer to.

You cant take her questions, you cant take the gaze of this man you had never met before, the atmosphere of the room itself was starting to close in on you.

“Calm the fuck down!” you hissed. “ You wanted to scream, but the result of having even more eyes on you was a nightmare. You just needed the yelling to stop before it got worse. “Here is the key to my office and the password to my computer as well as my work phone, “you threw it on the table along with the napkin you just wrote on. “Have a blast.”

“Well.” Dex stood up, pursing her lips. Her expression unreadable to you. Her regards of ambivalent contemptment for you was now replaced with judging disdain. “You're staying here until I can prove your involvement –

“ – or lack of involvement.” you interrupted.

‘We’ll see about that.” She scoffed before turning to your friend Luna, “You're coming with me.”

Before walking out the door, your friend slyly turned around without the other women noticing and gave you a smile of complete glee.’

You mouthed an, ‘you owe me’ and she gave you a thumbs up.

You stood awkwardly for a moment. The bar was less than quiet, people were petering out one by one, save for a few lonely souls left at the main bar, quiet and long gone.

Avoiding his eyeline, you made your way over and took a seat at one of the barstools.

“What do you like?” his voice flooded your senses. It was low and gravely, but with a hint of teasing that didn’t match the heaviness of his gaze. As much as the butterflies in your stomach were fluttering in a storm of fury within you. The titlewave of his presence was worth focussing on instead, your nerves be damned. You bit your lip and braved to make eye contact with him once more.

“Aside from the staring?” half of his mouth turned up into a smile before falling back into its neutral more intense state.

“Whisky.” You lkcked your lips before settling into your seat and finding a comfortable position to place your hands.

He grabbed two glasses before reaching high above several shelves to a tiny dark cabinet before pulling out a very complicated wooden box to reveal a small fat but decadent glass bottle, barely dented.

“Whisky.” He deftly poured a generous amount into each glasses.

You licked your lips nervously before nodding to him in thanks. He stared into your eyes and smiled, but you felt no mirth from his gaze, “my treat.” He leaned closer to you, the natural musk of his skin smelt as earthy as the whisky you were nursing in your hand.

You brought the glass to your nose and took in a deep breath of it, your eyes not breaking contact with his over the brim, licking your lips you took a sip.

It was smooth, the smoothest you’ve had in a while. The subtle notes of dark brown sugar didn’t help either. As slightly sweet as it tasted, it was even stronger, going straight to your head.

“Girl knows her whisky.”

You couldn’t help how quickly your eyes met his. How the slightest movement from him in this moment affected your posture, how your face changed and your eyebrows rose at his words, but you could hate yourself for it. No matter the fact that it was a human act out of your control, you could still regret it.

You finished off your glass, letting it thud against the counter as you bared your teeth at the strength of it. You felt headier than you should. You weren’t that drunk off of one drink, but from that serving alone you knew it could get you into trouble.

Were you looking for trouble?

He made a similar face. Letting out a strong low huff of appreciation before filling up both your glasses again. You opened your mouth to protest, but he leveled you with another look.

You licked your lips. “Please, I don’t think I—“

“Drink.” He said it low and gravely. The sound of his voice dancing against your ears filled your belly with a warmth stronger than the whisky ever could.

“I—“

He leaned over the counter, his face closer to yours, and oh what a mistake it was, what a mistake it all was. Your eyes glanced over every bump and curve of your face. The alchohol coursing through you was too strong to let you feel embarrassed about it.

“If your going to keep staring at me, then you drink when I say drink.” He graveled lowly in your face. His voice sounded even warmer than before. His breath tickled your nose and fanned across your face. You could smell the drink on his breath. You could smell it on him, and they both went so well together.

You should stop. You really should, but the temptation of his presence, being this close to him, was much more promising. It was worth risking.

“Drink.” He pulled away from you, and you bit your toughe at the loss of his presence before taking your glass and sipping on its contents once more.

“What do you want?” He said after a sip, darting his tongue across his lips before shifting his stance and tilting his head to the side.

You didn’t answer, weakly holding onto your glass.

“What do you want?” His voice sounded lighter, the words flowing out of him like a chuckle, but his eyes weren’t laughing.

“I,” you stopped yourself this time. You were both adults. There’s was no point of beating around the bush. He wouldn’t have kept you here for no reason.

“I want another shot of whisky.”

He nodded.

Taking the bottle once more he poured you a generous serving. You brought the glass to your lips. Instead of sipping its precious contents, your took the biggest gulp of it you could. Some of it sloshed on the side of the glass, your tongue darted out to catch it.

Upon doing so, this time you caught him staring at you. Somehow his gaze felt even heavier on you, his irises looking even darker than before.

You took your last drink, not breaking eye contact with him. He walked out the little opening on the side before stepping into your space. The little area between bar stools leaving him no other option other to crowd your space and you to let him.

Slowly, he brought his hand to your cheek, letting his thumb wipe at the corner of your mouth before slipping it into his mouth.

With a soft pop, he grabbed your glas from you and placed it on the counter.

“If we’re going to do this, your going to follow my rules.”

You nodded. Your chest was heaving and he barely touched you. You felt so overwhelmed you didn’t trust yourself to speak.

“You started this,” he slid his hand on the nape of your neck and roughly pulled you into him, “so you’re going to finish it,” he ended his sentence by bringing his mouth to yours. As if he was trying to take back every drop of whisky he gave you. His mouth was hot and heavy like his eyes. He mouthed at yours, he sucked on you, devoured you whole. His hands keeping you in place as he swiped his tongue roughly against yours.

He didn’t let you go until your lungs were screaming for air, but at that point you didn’t need air. You needed more of him.

Your chest rose and fell. Your mouth agape and panting. You felt almost dizzy as if cast under a spell.

“Yes,” you breathed out, fisting your hands into the fabric of his shirt, “please,” you panted, “please let me.”

He lived above his bar.

You figured it out as he dragged you up the stairs with his mouth on yours. His grip strong and tight as if you’d suddenly disappear on him, so you kissed him back with just as much desperation, licking into his mouth as he had done yours. The whisky tasting so much better on him. You longed to taste more to lick and suck every last drop of it out of his mouth..

You bit his lip as he sat on the edge of his bed, taking you down with him.

You started kissing away from his mouth, nipping at his cheeks in between, but you wanted his jaw. You wanted to start there and trail them down his neck, to get his shirt off and go even further. Mouthing at any and every part of his chest you could get to.

As if sensing what you wanted, he stopped you with a hard grip of his massive hand on your jaw.

“Now just what,” he huffed into your face, “do you think you’re doing?”

“Kisses.” Was all you could manage to pant out.

“Like I said earlier.” He squeezed his grip on your jaw a little tighter, making your cheeks puff up and your glasses slip a little too high onto your forehead. He gently took them off with his other hand before tossing them on his nightstand, “this all goes down how I want it to.”

He rubbed at your cheek gently with his thumb.

“That doe eyed look isn’t going to get you whatever you want, so you can put those puppy dog eyes away.”

A sound you’ve never made before fell out of your lips. It was high pitched like a wine, but even needier.

You squeezed your thighs around him, grinding slowly, chasing the feeling of his body.

He squeezed harder at your cheeks, bringing water to the edges of your eyes.

“What did I say?” He slowly peeled your skirt off your body after he rid you of your skirt, his hands roamed over your thighs, feeling and savoring every inch of your soft supple skin. They were calloused but not too harsh, smooth, and strong. They were large and hot on your body.

You leaned into his touch.

The thought of him slipping his fingers into you had you biting your lip. You wanted it. You wanted him oh so badly. So badly.

“I said it was going to be my way or not at all,” he let go of your face and slowly trailed his hand down your neck to your breast. He slowly thumbed at your nipple before pushing harshly, making you hiss, “and you said yes.”

He brought his other hand to your other breast, matching his movements for each one as he circled roughly at your nipples, each swipe of his thumbs caused you to cry out or wince at every turn and swirl of them on your skin. The flat of his palms were pushing and pulling at the swell of your breasts.

Every second felt like a lifetime, and with each small death and revival you grew wetter and wetter.

“You make such pretty noises.” He leaned in closer, kissing on your neck. “Wonder what you sound like when I do this.”

He wrapped his mouth around one of your nipples, sucking hard.

Balling your fists into his shirt, you keened.

The combination of hot wet mouth seeing into your skin as he sucked at your breast and the scratchiness of his beard was sending you over the edge.

You couldn’t cum yet, you just couldn’t. Not like this.

Moving, you tried to pull away, but when he switched his mouth to your other one, making sure to bite the nipple first before soothing the sting of with a swipe of his tongue.

You came with a small cry, wining and writhing in his lap.

He whispered words of encouragement in your ear, gently rubbing your back.

“Fuck.”

He looked at you with such reverence. The dark irises of his eyes almost sparkling at you in the dark, catching you off guard.

“You're perfect.”

You snapped your head to the wide, refusing to look at him.

“Pretty,” he grabbed your chin, making you look. “Beautiful even.,”

He slid you off his lap, placing you on the bed.

“Take your shirt off.”

As you clumsily fingered your buttons undone, you watched him slide his shirt over his head. His low simmering gaze shifted into one of half incredulous as he watched your jaw slack once his undershirt was off and he was unbuckling his belt.

You didn’t have time to process seeing all of him as he shoved his pants and underwear in one motion, he was already siding himself over you, pushing you slowly onto your back.

“Thought I told you to take this off.” He smirked before finishing the last buttons and throwing your shirt somewhere far and forgotten.

“Tried t—“ he plunged two fingers into your pussy, cutting you off.

“Toosoon.” Your chest tightened causing your voice to rise unexpectedly shrill.

He added another finger, making you flutter around the three of them curling in and out of you.

“This what you wanted when you kept staring at me down there?” He leveled at you, quickening the pace of his fingers. Your whines and pants, the wet squelching sounds of his fingers moving in and out of you filling the room.

“Yes.” You replied sharply with a moan.

“Aren’t you just a dirty little thing.” he abruptly pulled his fingers out of you and smacked your ass hard.

You yelped and he slapped your ass again before digging his fingers into the meat of it, pushing you down roughly into bed.

You couldn’t keep up. From the handful of moments he was sweet, the small moments where he was cruel and hurting you, and the moments he liked to mock you and praise you. Which one was he? Which one was really him?

But you couldn’t find the time to care about it now. You would take every morsel of praise, each sliver of praise, the sparingly few moments of gentleness, and the sprinkles of pain and cruelty. You would take it all. Any and every little thing he gave you.

His body smothering yours into the bed, you took each and every hard thrust of his hips into yours. His nails digging into the flesh of your skin and every hard slapping sound of his hips meeting yours caused you to gush around his cock every little bit more.

You fisted the sheets and clenched your teeth together to keep them from clattering together at one particularly hard thrust.

“Please,” you moaned. “ more. Harder.”

He bit the side of your neck hard, his tongue chasing the new indentions of his teeth on your skin before doing the impossible and obliging your request. Taking a fist of your hair, he pulled, thrusting down in unison.

The pleasure and pain tickled down your spine. It felt so good. You wanted his mouth on you once more. To bite you one more time. But as his cock slipply slid out of you, he cursed, tightening his grip on your hair even more.

“You're so wet.”

Your low howl of pain morphed into a moan as he pushed into you once more, letting go of your hair, he laid down on top of you, wrapping his hands around your front.

He moaned lowly in your ear, matching the responding harmony of the one spilling from your lips.

He set a new fast and languid pace that made your toes curl. He took this opportunity to twist and tease at one of your nipples.

“You're so pretty like this.” He kissed and sucked along your jaw, your neck, your collar, “making a mess just for me. Letting me use you however I want.” His words, the scratch of his beard as he focused on mouthing at your skin, if you didn’t wake up with a rash from the friction, you’d be surprised.

You managed to snake your hand behind you into his hair, pulling him closer to you.

“Bite me again,” you rasped, “hard.”

And he did, way harder than before.

You squeezed around him tight, and you both moaned as you came. His thirsts became shaky, his grip on your sides even harder, before he pulled out.

“Turn over.” He growled through his teeth.

With shaky legs and your head in a daze you managed to fall over into your back. Your hands splayed beside your head as you looked up at him with parted lips, your chest frantically heaving up and down as you made eye contact with him.

The site of your swollen nipples, the way your plush lips parted at him without a throught on your mind as your lust blown eyes took him in, desperately trying not to miss the way he fucked his own hand as he looked into you, as you looked into his eyes once more as you’ve done all night, he came, thick wet hot spurts of him spilled all over your chest. Littered with marks of his teeth.

—

You squint your eyes even further shut as the late morning rays of sunshine perturbed you from sleep.

You rolled over in bed, reaching to find a certain someone only to feel nothing.

You bolted upright in an instant.

Your body protested the moment as well as your head as it grew even fuzzier at the movement. You groaned.

You were hungover and your body aches everywhere, some places more than others. For good reason too.

“Slow down,” a voice from the other side of the room called, “don’t move so fast. You're going to hurt yourself.”

Large warm hand pushed a mug in yours.

“Good morning by the way.” He kissed you on the forehead before bounding off back into the kitchen.

Without thinking you slowly raise the mugs to your lips.

Everything was fuzzy. Why was everything fuzzy? Were you that hungover? What….

“Glasses!” You gurgled out in a mumble.

“Oh!” He plated whatever he was cooking on the stove before placing two on the table, already set with forks and knives.

He padded over once more. Grabbing your glasses from the nightstand on the other side of the bed. He wore a casual pair of pajama pants and a wife beater that complimented his wide shoulders.

You thanked him softly and reached for them, but he pulled them closer to him.

“Uhh uh.” He smiled down at you, making you sigh in defeat.

With a silent laugh he placed them on your face for you before kissing you in the forehead again.

“I can offer you breakfast if you like.”

“I’d like that.” You hummed, smiling softly.

He beamed, taking your mug from your hands to place it by your plate.

He was sweet.

Your skin held no sticky or uncomfortable residue and you were wearing a worn green t shirt .. or was it blue. It was so faded it was hard to tell. Maybe it used to be gray.

You stood on shaky legs and he rushed over to keep you stable. You jabbed him lightly in the chest.

“I got it.” You huffed.

He raised his hands in mock defeat before crossing his arms.

“If you say so..”

You laughed before putting your hand under your shirt, raising it a little as you softly touched one of your nipples. Still swollen and it hurt like hell as you moved. Even the smallest bit of friction from the t shirt was too much.

He swallowed, looking at you with intent before quizzically raising a brow.

“You, alright?” He gruffly asks before gesturing at your chest with a hand.

“I think I’ll live.” You huffed out a laugh as you both made your way to the table, but it was more at his supposed bashfulness. He caused this with his own mouth, but seemed too shy to talk about it.

“Let’s eat!”

Whenever a man brags about his cooking you take it with a grain of salt. However, his eggs were no joke.

“These are so good!”

“Right?” His chest puffed a little as you devoured your food.

Placing your fork down, you winced again.

“Are you sure we don’t need to—“

“No!”

A few beats of silence passed and he scratched the back of his neck.

“No,” you said softer again, “just give me a few painkillers and it’ll pass.”

He stood there. His face scrunched and unsure.

“I’ll be fine,” you stood up and placed your hands on his shoulders, “I promise.”

“Okay.” He tentatively looks at you once more time before heading to his bathroom.

You were about to sigh when you heard the door rattle before opening.

What the..

“What are you doing here?”

Dex.. the lady from last night who wouldn’t stop berating you. Was now berating you in—

“Grey what the fuck!”

“Dex?” He frowned, “uhh, what’s going on ? Why are you up so early?”

Oh that’s right. That’s what was missing. You were so desperate you both overlooked the obvious.

“Your name's Grey?” You asked.

You felt pretty dumb after the fact, but it was automatic earnestness that overridden your brain and made you ask.

“Grey McConnell.” He smiled at you, making his way over to your side as you both faced off against Dex.

The action had you forming one of your own. You fought the giggle bubbling inside you and told him your name.

He said it aloud, feeling how it sounded in his mouth, wishing he could have known it last night, and you slightly froze at the sound.

“I like that.”

Your face grew unbearably hot and you looked away, refusing to look at him saying your name, like that.

“Un-fucking-believable.” Dex hissed once more.

“Meet me downstairs!” She glared at you, “we didn’t finish our conversation about Dillon Tryson!”

She looked Grey up and down .“You two.” She pointedly looked at him before storming he way down the stairs out of his apartment.

You stilled stunned for a moment, blinking.

“She’s not that bad.”

“You’re friends?” You asked incredulously. Thinking about it, it probably wasn’t the nicest thing to say given the situation, but he didn’t seem to take it personal.

“Yeah, yeah.” He slowly moved you towards his bed, “let’s find you a pair of pants that fit.”

“I think I can fit into some of your pajama pants or sweats if you have any.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

As you both slowly made your way down the stairs he placed his hand on the small of your back, you hummed in surprise as your back arched into the touch. He breathed sharply through his nose which made you realize what you were doing.

“Fuck if you do that one more time I might have to drag you back upstairs and fuck you until you can’t walk.”

Your aching pussy throbbed at his words as you had to swallow your moan as Dex came into view at the bottom of the stairs.

“Sorry.” You managed to squeak out. Not entirely sure why you were saying sorry.

“I didn’t find anything comiramising, but I can’t shake the feeling that you're a liar! You're involved in this in some way!” Dex accused.

“You know you're not keeping that shirt or that pants right?” Grey questioned you as if Dex hadn’t said anything.

You purse your lips and force yourself not to look at the death glare she was sending your way.

“I’m sorry?”

“You're not walking out of here with this on.” He added before pinching at the fabric of your shirt with a smile, flapping it back and forth which made it rub against your painfully swollen nipples.

You couldn’t hide the wince of pain.

Mortified, your head snapped toward Dex, but she was looking up at the ceiling, rolling her eyes.

You grabbed Grey’s arms, but he didn’t let go, moving the shirt again, so you resulted in standing closer to him, but he only pulled you closer into him, your chest rubbing into his.

You were about to cry out but he shoved your face into him, muffling the sound of it as Dex snapped her head toward you both.

“Will you two knock it off! There is a woman's life at stake who deserves justice! This isn’t some fucking game!”

You looked up at Grey with a frown, and he only looked down at you with a casual smile. Like he was doing nothing wrong.

He might be sweet, he may be good at taking care of you, but he was a fucking menace.

He was going to be the death of you.