#brett dalton x reader

[lefteagleblizzard]

𝔍𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔶 𝔞𝔱 𝔅𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔨𝔴𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔐𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫

Mike Munroe x male reader

Summary: At the lodge, your friendly chat with Matt sparks Mike's jealousy. In the woods, he finally confesses his feelings, igniting a passionate connection between you and him, culminating months of hidden desire.

Tags: Male reader. He/him pronouns are used towards the reader. Oblivious reader. Friends to lovers. Jealousy. Emily is hostile to the reader. Mike and Jess are not together in this. Smut out in the open. Gay smut. Top Mike munroe. Bottom male reader. Blowjob (r giving). Anal sex.

ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

Words count: 4500

Can also be found on wattpad and ao3

The cold mountain air bit at your skin as you trudged up the snow-covered road toward the lodge. A chill ran through you, and you tugged your jacket tighter, glancing around at the quiet landscape. Your boots crunched softly against the thick blanket of snow with each step.

You didn't hear it at first, but you felt a presence behind you and soon two large, warm hands suddenly covered your eyes. You froze for a split second, your heart leaping into your throat as a familiar voice whispered in your ear, low and teasing.

"Guess who?"

For a second, you were caught off guard and frightened, but then, just as quickly, you let yourself relax, recognizing the rough feel of his calloused hands, the deep timbre of his voice, and the warmth radiating from his body as he stood close behind you. His chest was almost touching your back.

Mike.

Of course, it was Mike.

You sighed, half-exasperated, half-amused, and leaned back slightly against his chest, letting the warmth of his body seep into yours. With a gentle push, you pried his hands away from your eyes and spun around to face him.

"Real subtle" you said, shaking your head as you met his eyes.

He chuckled, his breath visible in the cold air. "Hey, it worked, didn't it? You jumped, so I won."

"You're an idiot," you retorted, though your tone was more playful than annoyed.

Mike shrugged, his grin widening. "Yeah, but I'm your favorite idiot”

You shot him a quick glance, unsure if you'd imagined the shift in his tone, but the playful grin on his face remained, as if daring you to respond.

"You really are full of yourself, huh?" you teased, hoping to mask the sudden warmth blooming in your chest.

Mike grinned wider, clearly unfazed. "Someone's gotta be, right? Besides, it's fun getting reactions out of you."

"Yeah, well, enjoy it while it lasts," you muttered, trying to sound casual, but your heart was racing.

Mike chuckled again, his tone softening as his gaze lingered on you. "You look good, by the way," he said, almost offhandedly. "Really good."

You opened your mouth to respond but faltered for a moment, unsure how to take the compliment without overanalyzing it.

"Thanks," you muttered, trying to play it cool. "You're not so bad yourself."

"Not so bad?" Mike echoed, raising an eyebrow. "Come on, I know I look better than 'not so bad’ “

You rolled your eyes again, but you couldn't stop the grin from spreading across your face. "Okay, fine. You look good, Monroe."

He flashed you a cocky grin, clearly pleased with himself. "That's more like it." His voice was smooth, laced with the kind of playfulness he always reserved for you. He was standing closer than usual, his gaze unwavering. You cleared your throat, trying to break the tension.

"So, how are things with Emily?" you asked, your voice slightly shaky.

Mike's smirk faltered for just a second, he ran a hand through his hair, glancing away before looking back at you. "We broke up."

You blinked, surprised. "Oh... I didn't know. Sorry."

You had already an idea of why it might have happened.

"Nah, don't be," he said with a casual shrug, though there was a heaviness in his tone that betrayed his words. "It wasn't working out."

The ease in his voice didn't quite match the tightness in his jaw, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of guilt for bringing it up.

"Besides," he added, stepping a little closer, "I'm single now."

His voice was low, almost suggestive.

He glanced at you, trying to gauge your reaction. A part of him wanted to see something, anything in your expression that hinted you cared about his relationship status, that maybe you were glad he was no longer with Emily. He didn't know if he could ever tell you how much he'd thought about you while he was with her.lo

You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the scent of his cologne mixing with the crisp mountain air. There was something about the way he was looking at you that made your pulse race and your thoughts blur.

You both continued talking, light and casual conversations together and Mike's thoughts were only on you. How good you looked standing there, snowflakes clinging to your hair, your cheeks flushed from the cold. How amazing it felt when you'd leaned back against him earlier, even if it was just for a second. He'd wanted to hold you there, to wrap his arms around you and never let go.

He caught himself glancing at your lips more than once, wondering what it would feel like to kiss you right here, right now, in the middle of the snowy mountain. To show you, finally, how much he cared, how perfect things could be between the two of you if you'd just let h

But he hadn't said anything yet. Not because he didn't want to, but because... well, because he wasn't sure how you felt. He'd never seen you with anyone else. Sure, you were always friendly, always laughing, but he didn't know if that meant anything more.

So, instead of saying what he really wanted to, Mike kept the conversation light, teasing you, making you laugh and you shot back with your own sarcastic retorts.

Eventually the moon was already high in the sky and it got dark really quickly. You started making your way up to the lodge together, racing on who could arrive first.

When you both arrived at the lodge, the warmth of the fire greeted you, along with the sound of your friends chatting and getting settled in

Mike scanned the room, spotting a seat on the couch. He dropped down into it, stretching his arms out, hoping—praying—that you'd sit next to him. It was still cold, and having you close would have been perfect.

"Come on," he called, patting the empty spot next to him. "I saved you a seat."

You rolled your eyes, shrugging off your coat and getting rid of the snow stuck in your hair. "How generous."

"Hey, I don't offer my couch space to just anyone," he replied with a wink. "Consider yourself special."

You shook your head, laughing softly as you made your way toward him. But just as you were about to sit down, you noticed Matt struggling to carry a mountain of bags. One of the suitcases slipped from his grasp, and without thinking, you stepped over to help him, bending down to pick it up.

"Thanks, man," Matt said with a sheepish grin, adjusting the rest of the bags. "I swear, Emily packed like we're staying for a month."

You chuckled, handing him the suitcase. "No problem. Need any more help?"

"Nah, I think I've got it now," Matt replied. "But I appreciate it. How was the drive up here?" Matt asked, shifting one of the bags in his arms. "Did you come up with anyone?”

"Nah, I came up solo," you replied, shrugging. "It was a nice drive though, peaceful"

"Yeah, I get that. I bet it's nice to have some quiet," Matt said, nodding in agreement. "Emily barely let me get a word in the whole ride. Nonstop talking."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Sounds like a nightmare."

The two of you exchanged a few more words, just casual small talk. Mike' eyes narrowed as he watched the exchange, his jaw tightening. You were talking to Matt, laughing with him, and it bothered him more than he was willing to admit.

The way you smiled at him and the way Matt's eyes lingered on you made Mike's blood boil.

He sat back on the couch, his arms spread out across the cushions, his body language as casual as he could manage.

His fingers drummed impatiently on the armrest, the cold air from outside still lingering in the room, but the warmth of the fire did little to chase away the chill in Mike's mood. He wanted to be near you. Hell, he wanted you sitting next to him right now, your body close to his. The couch had more than enough room, and he'd made sure to stretch out, hoping you'd notice and join him. But instead you kept chatting up with Matt.

It wasn't fair. How could you not see what was happening? How could you not see how much it bothered him? How much did he wanted you? He had spent the whole walk up to the lodge teasing and flirting, practically laying his feelings bare, and yet you were there, caught up in conversation and acting the same way you did with him.

Matt's hand lingered just a little too long as he reached out to take the suitcase back from you and Mike's fingers curled into fists, his jaw tight as he tried to keep his cool.

"So, are you thinking about moving soon?" Matt asked, setting the bags down all together in a spot. "Or are you staying put for a while?"

"I've been thinking about it," you said, nodding. "It'd be nice to have a little more space, you know?"

Mike's grip on the couch tightened, his knuckles turning white. Moving? Why hadn't you mentioned that to him? And why the hell were you telling Matt about it?

Matt smiled, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, I get that. More space is always nice. Have you thought about getting a roommate?"

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Maybe, but for now, I'm good with my own space."

Mike's stomach churned at that. Good with your own space? He had been thinking about how to get closer to you, how to spend more time with you, and you were chatting with Matt about moving and staying solo.

Just as Mike was about to get up and interrupt the conversation, the door swung open, and Emily stormed in, her eyes zeroing in on you and Matt.

"Didn't take you long to start flirting" Emily sneered, crossing her arms over her chest as she approached you and Matt.

Matt looked bewildered, the expression in his face telling you that he knew something you had no clue of. "Emily, it's not like that-"

"Right in front of me? Really, Matt? And with him?" She jabbed a finger in your direction.

You blinked, confused. "What are you talking about?"

Emily's eyes blazed with fury as she took another step closer, her voice rising. "Don't play innocent. You think I didn't notice?"

Your brows furrowed in confusion as your brain tried to make sense of her words. "What?"

"You heard me," Emily snapped, crossing her arms over her chest, her eyes cold and accusatory. "I arrive a bit late and you're already cozying up to him. You couldn't wait, could you? You can't stand to see me with anyone, can you?"

Matt tried to intervene, raising his hands defensively. "Em, come on. He's just helping me out-"

"Stay out of it, Matt," Emily snapped, not even bothering to look at him. "This is between me and him."

"Me?" You were taken aback, genuinely baffled by her sudden hostility. "I didn't do anything."

"Didn't do anything?" she scoffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Right. You're so innocent. Always playing the victim, pretending like you don't know what's going on."

Everyone was watching the scene unfold with varying degrees of tension and discomfort. Jessica, sitting by the fireplace, leaned forward slightly, her brows raised in interest. She exchanged a glance with Ashley, who was seated on the arm of the couch beside Chris. Both of them looked uneasy, but there was a flicker of recognition in their eyes. It was as if they knew something had been bubbling beneath the surface for a while, and now it was finally spilling over.

Sam has been sitting near the fireplace, quietly observing, her usual calm demeanor now tinged with a hint of concern. She was the one who had always noticed things others didn't. She has seen the looks Mike had given you, those quick glances that lingered a little too long, the way his whole body seemed to shift when you entered a room.

"You always had to have everything, didn't you?" Emily continued, stepping closer until she was practically in your face. "It wasn't enough that you had to get Mike wrapped around your finger, now you're going after Matt too?"

"Emily, that's not what's happening," you protested, trying to maintain your calm despite the rising tension.

"Don't lie to me," she hissed, jabbing a finger into your chest, her voice cracked slightly, though her bitterness held strong. "God, you probably loved every second of it, didn't you? Just waiting for me to get out of the way so you could swoop in. It's pathetic."

Was she even talking about Matt at this point?

You opened your mouth to respond, but the venom in her words made it hard to get a word in. Her words hit you like a punch to the gut. It was as if all of her insecurities, all of her anger and hurt, were being poured out in this moment, directed squarely at you.

"I never tried to get between you and Mike."

"Oh, right, because it's totally normal for you to be all buddy-buddy with my boyfriend—"

"Ex-boyfriend," you corrected, your tone sharp now.

"Don't get smart with me. You might fool everyone else, but I know what's going on."

"You really want to know why i think Mike left you?" you asked, finally meeting her gaze. She wasn’t the only one with the privilege to say her thoughts. "It wasn't because of me. It was because you couldn't stop being a controlling, manipulative—"

"Watch it," Emily warned, her eyes narrowing dangerously. Her finger jabbed into your chest again, harder this time.

Josh stepped forward, his voice cutting through the thick tension like a knife. "Alright, alright, can we all just take it down a notch?" he said, his usual easy-going grin plastered on his face, but there was an edge to his voice. "This is not why we came here. This is not... helping. If we can’t get along for 10 minutes then we need a little bit of a break, right?"

Emily shot him a glare but didn't argue.

"Mike," Josh said, turning his attention to the brooding figure standing silently by the couch. "Why don’t you check out the guest cabin? The one I told you about."

Mike, still seething, nodded stiffly. "Yeah. Sure."

But before he left, he grabbed your arm, pulling you with him. "Come on," he muttered, his voice low and tense. "Let's go.””

The grip he had on your arm was firm, almost too tight. He seemed angry, and you could feel the heat of his frustration radiating off him as he pulled you out of the lodge.

The cold air hit your face immediately. The heavy wooden door creaked behind you as it closed, and you wrapped your arms tighter around yourself, feeling the chill set in. You glanced over at Mike, expecting some kind of lighthearted comment regarding what has happened. He remained silent however, his jaw tight as he walked ahead of you, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his jacket.

You sped up slightly to catch up to him, your breath visible in the cold air. "Hey, thanks again for stepping in back there," you said, hoping to ease the awkwardness that had settled between you. "I thought she was gonna tear my head off."

Mike barely glanced your way, his eyes fixed on the snow-covered path ahead. "Yeah," he muttered, his voice flat. "No problem."

The curt response caught you off guard.

"Come on," you tried again, forcing a chuckle. "It's not every day someone gets accused of breaking up a relationship they weren't even part of. I should be charging for that kind of drama."

Mike let out a short, humorless laugh, but it felt forced, and he didn't even look at you.

You watched him carefully as he walked ahead of you, his shoulders tense, his stride a little more aggressive than usual as his boots crunched heavily through the snow.

"Okay, seriously," you said, picking up your pace again to keep up with him. "What's going on with you?

Mike didn't respond immediately, and you could see the way his jaw tightened as he pressed on, his eyes focused on the path ahead.

"You're not secretly plotting revenge on Emily, are you? Because I'm not sure I'm up for a 'Revenge of the Ex' scenario tonight. My ears would bleed if I have to hear her whine again"

Mike's lips twitched slightly, but he didn't say a word, his eyes locked straight ahead. It was like you weren't even there, and the silence between you was becoming suffocating.

You let out a frustrated sigh, shoving your hands into your jacket pockets to ward off the cold. "You know, this silent treatment thing? Not your best look. Seriously, you're acting like I kicked your puppy or something."

Still, nothing. Mike's footsteps crunched against the snow as he moved toward the metal gate blocking the path ahead, his movements jerky and impatient. Mike tugged on the latch, trying to force it open, but the gate stayed stubbornly in place.

"No power," you reminded him, trying to keep your voice light. "The generator should be nearby by"

With a growl of frustration, Mike yanked on the gate harder, the metal clanking loudly in the quiet night. He muttered something under his breath, clearly losing patience as he tried again, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the cold metal.

"Goddammit," he cursed under his breath, giving the gate one more angry shove, but it didn't budge. The clang echoed through the trees, and he stepped back, running a hand through his hair, clearly trying to rein in his temper.

You blinked, watching him in stunned silence for a moment. "Mike," you said cautiously, stepping toward him. "What's going on?“

Mike didn't turn to face you immediately. "Nothing. I'm fine."

"Bullshit," you shot back, crossing your arms. "You're not fine. You've barely said two words to me, and now you're trying to rip a gate off its hinges. Come on. Talk to me. What's really bothering you?"

Mike finally looked up at you then, but the look in his eyes wasn't what you were expecting. Mike's jaw tightened, his frustration bubbling over as he finally spoke, his voice rougher than intended. "Do you even know what Emily was talking about?"

Your eyes widened slightly, and Mike hated the uncertainty that flashed across your face. He should have said something sooner.

"God, you really don't see it, do you?" He stopped pacing, standing still in front of you, his eyes locked onto yours. "I've had a thing for you for... I don't even know how long. But I never said anything because I thought maybe I could push it down. If I ignored it long enough, i thought it'd go away."

Your heart skipped a beat at his confession, but he continued talking and gave you no time to respond. "But it never did. And then seeing you with Matt, it just... it fucking killed me, okay?"

"Mike..." you began, but he cut you off, stepping closer, his eyes burning with intensity.

"I'm tired of pretending," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "I don't want to hide it anymore.”

The weight of his confession hung in the air. You had never expected that Mike, of all people, had been harboring these kinds of feelings for you.

He backed you up until your back hit a tree behind you, the rough bark cold against your jacket, his hands gripping your shoulders as his body pressed against yours. "You have no idea how much I've wanted this," he growled, his breath hot against your lips.

His lips crashed against yours in a heated, desperate kiss. The force of it caught you off guard, but you didn't pull away. Instead, you kissed him back, your hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer.

He pinned you against the tree, his larger frame hovering over yours as his tongue pushed past your lips. Your legs parted instinctively, allowing him to settle between them.

You could feel his erection pressing against your thigh, the fabric of his jeans doing little to hide how hard he was for you.

Your soft moans only spurred him on, the sound sending a rush of heat through his veins. Mike's lips moved from your neck to your collarbone, then lower still, trailing a line of kisses down your chest as his hands slid beneath your shirt.

"How long?" you managed to ask between ragged breaths. "How long have you had a thing for me?"

Mike groaned against your skin, his teeth grazing your neck as he pulled back just enough to look at you. His voice was rough, almost guttural, as he admitted, "Too fucking long." His fingers dug into your hips.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice trembling with sincerity. "I didn't know... I didn't see it."

You had been oblivious to all of this. The guilt gnawed at you, and you felt the need to make it right, to show Mike just how much you regretted not noticing, not acting sooner.

Your hands moved down his body, fingers sliding under his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin. Mike inhaled sharply at your touch, his breath catching as you began to undo the button on his jeans.

He looked down at you, confusion flickering in his eyes for a moment as you knelt in front of him. The snow beneath you crunched satisfyingly with your movements. "What are you doing?" His voice was low, unsure but curious.

You glanced up at him, your hands deftly working on his jeans, a shy yet mischievous grin forming on your lips. "I need to show you just how sorry I am," you whispered.

Mike's breath hitched at your words, and he bit his lip as you pulled his jeans down just enough to free him, your hand wrapping around him firmly. He groaned, the sound deep and needy, as his head tilted back slightly, his grip on the tree tightening as he watched you.

You stroked him slowly at first, your movements deliberate, watching the way his hips bucked slightly toward you.

"Fuck" Mike breathed out as he felt your lips brush the tip of him, teasing him just enough to make him curse under his breath. His hand moved to your hair, fingers tangling in the strands as he fought to keep control.

When you finally took him fully into your mouth, Mike let out a strangled moan, his hips instinctively thrusting forward. The heat, the wetness of your mouth, it was overwhelming. Every time you moved, it sent sparks of pleasure shooting through him. He looked down at you, his chest heaving, and the sight of you on your knees for him, your mouth wrapped around him, made something snap inside him.

He couldn't stop himself from moving his hips, thrusting deeper into your mouth, each motion filled with desperation and need. His voice was low, almost growling as he murmured your name between pants, barely able to keep himself in check.

"God, you feel so good," Mike groaned, his eyes locked onto you as his hips moved in sync with your rhythm.

Your tongue swirled around him, sending shivers up his spine, and Mike couldn't think straight anymore.

Just before he could reach the edge, he pulled you back up, his lips crashing against yours in a heated kiss. He wasn't ready to let go just yet. Not when he still had so much more to give you.

His hands slid down to your thighs, lifting you up effortlessly as he once again pressed you against the tree. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, and you could feel the heat of his body against yours, the hard lines of his muscles as he held you up and settled between your legs again.

Mike's hands were everywhere, sliding under your jacket, under your shirt, feeling the warmth of your skin. His teeth grazed your neck as he sucked a mark into the tender flesh there. His fingers moved to your belt, undoing it with a quick flick of his hand.

His breath hitched as he pulled your pants down just enough for your ass to be exposed, the cool air hitting your skin and making you shiver.

His hand slid down between your legs, his fingers brushing against your entrance, teasing you with the lightest of touches.

He kissed you again, rough and urgent, his tongue slipping into your mouth as his fingers slowly began to prep you. He was careful, the last thing he wanted was to hurt you. He took his time, letting his fingers slide in gently, one at first, then two, stretching you carefully as his other hand gripped your waist to hold you steady.

He kissed you harder, his tongue moving in sync with the rhythm of his fingers as he continued to work you open.

"You're so fucking tight," he groaned against your lips, his voice thick with desire. "You're going to feel so good around me."

He stretched you further, his fingers moving faster now, more deliberately. His heart was pounding in his chest, his own arousal pressing hard against his jeans.

His fingers curled inside you, brushing against that sweet spot that made you gasp and arch against him.

Your moans were the only answer he needed and Mike knew you were as ready as he was. He pulled his fingers out slowly, the absence making you whimper, but before you could protest, Mike was already undoing his own jeans, pushing them down just enough to free himself.

He pressed the tip of his cock against your entrance, his hands gripping your waist tightly as he held you steady.

"Tell me you want this," Mike growled, his voice low and dangerous as he looked into your eyes, his breath hot against your lips. "Tell me you want me."

"I want you," you gasped, your voice breathless and desperate as you tightened your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "I need you... please."

That was all he needed to hear. With a low groan, Mike pushed into you slowly, inch by inch, his cock stretching you in a way that made you gasp. The tightness around him was almost too much, the heat and pressure overwhelming, but it felt perfect.

"Fuck," Mike grunted as he buried himself inside you, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises. He could feel every inch of you, the way your muscles clenched around him.

For a moment, he didn't move, just savoring the feeling, the way you fit him so perfectly. His forehead rested against yours, both of you panting, trying to catch your breath.

"You feel so fucking good," Mike groaned, his hands sliding up your back, holding you tight against him as he finally began to move.

You moaned his name softly, your nails digging into his shoulders as you clung to him, and it only made Mike more desperate. His pace quickened, his hips snapping forward with more force now, driving deeper into you with every thrust.

Mike's hands roamed your body, gripping your ass, your thighs, anything he could hold onto as he lost himself in the feeling of you.

His voice barely audible as he kissed you hard, his teeth grazing your lower lip as his thrusts became more frantic, more desperate.

He slammed into you harder now, his hands gripping your hips to pull you down onto him as he thrust up, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you with every stroke.

Mike could feel his own release building, the pressure becoming almost unbearable as he thrust into you with reckless abandon. His breath was ragged, his heart pounding in his chest, and he could feel the way your body was trembling, the way you clenched around him, pulling him deeper.

"I'm gonna-" Mike's voice broke off into a low groan as the pleasure overwhelmed him, his body tensing as he came hard, his release spilling inside you. His hips jerked forward, his thrusts becoming erratic as he rode out the wave of pleasure.

Both you and Mike found yourselves leaning against the tree, your bodies still pressed close, the cold air doing little to calm the heat that lingered between you. Mike's chest heaved with deep breaths, his forehead resting against yours as he tried to steady himself. His arms still held you securely.

Mike's fingers gently trailed down your back. He gave a low, satisfied hum, his lips grazing your temple as he pressed a soft kiss there.

"I wasn't expecting that kind of apology," Mike murmured, his voice still rough and low, the hint of a smirk pulling at his lips. "But damn... I could get used to it."

You let out a breathy laugh, still a little dazed and breathless yourself. "Well... I owe you after all this time."

Mike chuckled softly, his lips brushing against yours in a lazy kiss before he finally pulled back, his eyes flicking toward the direction of the lodge. He ran a hand through his messy hair, shaking his head slightly in disbelief of everything that had just happened.

"We should probably get to that cabinet," he said, though his voice carried an unmistakable teasing edge.

His hands still hadn't fully left your waist, and you could tell that he wasn't quite ready to let you go. There was a playful glint in his eyes now.

"Yeah, we should," you agreed, your voice soft as you glanced up at him. "I could use a break from the cold."

Mike grinned, finally letting his hands drift from your waist as he helped you adjust your clothes and brushing off the snow that had clung to your clothes. His touch was gentle now, though the way his fingers lingered on your skin as he fixed your jacket told you that his thoughts were far from innocent.

"But you know..." his voice dropped to that low, teasing tone that you were becoming all too familiar with. "I'm not sure one apology is enough. I might need a few more of those. Just to make sure you're really sorry."

You raised an eyebrow at him, unable to stop the smile that tugged at the corners of your lips. "Oh? And what exactly do you have in mind, Monroe?"

Mike leaned in closer, his lips just barely brushing against your ear as he whispered, "Maybe I'll show you when we get to that cabinet. It's nice and private... perfect for a few more 'apologies’."

Mike pulled back slightly, that smirk never leaving his face as he took your hand, leading you back toward the path.

The night had only just begun, and with Mike by your side, it was clear that this was just the start of something much, much deeper.

If you liked this story please leave a comment, I love reading them <3.

[ruewrote]

𝑒𝑥𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑖 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑒𝑑.

PAIRING: mike munroe x gn!reader WARNINGS: no use of y/n GENRE: fluff SONG INSPIRATION: j's lullaby by delaney bailey WORD COUNT: 882 REQUESTED: yes

navigation | ask | mike munroe masterlist

the day had dragged on endlessly. work, errands, more errands, and by the time you finally stepped outside, the biting cold made itself known immediately. you pulled your jacket tighter around yourself, shivering, muttering complaints under your breath as you trudged toward home. 

each step felt like an eternity, but the thought of getting back to mike kept you moving.

by the time you swung open the door, teeth chattering, mike was already there, lounging on the couch. he took one look at you and smirked.

“you look a little chilly,” he teased, getting up and grabbing a blanket.

“no kidding,” you retorted, peeling off your gloves and nearly fumbling them onto the floor. “i might actually need you to defrost me.”

before you could protest, he unzipped your coat and shrugged it off your shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. then, with expert precision, he wrapped the blanket tightly around you and pulled you against him.

“wow,” you muttered, raising an eyebrow. “is this part of your rescue strategy, or are you just trying to cop a feel?”

“who says i can’t do both?” he shot back with a smirk, his arms slipping around your waist under the blanket. “you’re welcome, by the way.”

you snorted, but a new idea struck as you felt your frozen hands thawing. without warning, you slipped them under his shirt and pressed them flat against his warm back.

mike’s reaction was immediate and utterly satisfying. he jumped about two feet in the air, yelping, “oh my god, what is wrong with you?!” he shouts, trying to squirm away but your hold tight.

you burst out laughing, nearly collapsing into a heap on the floor. “ i’m just making use of the services offered.”

despite his sharp intake of breath and the obvious shiver that ran through him, mike didn’t let go. in fact, his grip on you only tightened as he groaned dramatically. “you know,” he said through gritted teeth, “the fact that i’m still holding onto you, even with those ice blocks you call hands, just goes to show how much i love you.”

you grinned, looking up at him. “that, or you’re too stubborn to admit defeat.”

“love,” he countered with a smirk. “definitely love. stubbornness is just a bonus.”

you smirked up at him, still pressing your freezing hands against his back just to see how far you could push his patience. “oh yeah? love, huh? prove it. keep holding on.”

he narrowed his eyes, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “oh, you want proof? alright, don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

his arms slid around you, and in one swift motion, he scooped you up off the groundg.

“mike!” you squealed, wrapping your arms around his neck as the blanket nearly slipped off your shoulders. “what are you doing?!”

“proving my love, obviously,” he said with mock seriousness. “if i’m going to freeze to death, i’d rather do it somewhere more comfortable than the entryway.”

you tried to pout, but the warmth of his chest and the way his grin softened every time he looked at you made it impossible. “you’re ridiculous,” you muttered, though your voice betrayed the smile tugging at your lips.

“and yet, you’re still clinging to me,” he teased, kicking open the bedroom door. “admit it, you’re impressed.”

“maybe a little,” you admitted, letting your head rest against his shoulder. “but don’t let it go to your head. i’m only saying that because i can’t feel my toes.”

he laughed, his chest rumbling against you as he carried you the rest of the way to the bed. when he got there, he laid you down carefully, but instead of letting go, he climbed in beside you, tugging the blanket over both of you in one smooth motion.

“there,” he said, pulling you close and wrapping you up in his warmth. “now you can thaw out, and i get an excuse to keep holding you. pretty perfect if you ask me.”

you grinned, nuzzling closer to him. “smooth. i see what you’re doing.”

you rolled onto your side to face him, your breath finally starting to even out as the warmth of the blanket and his presence settled over you, he raised an eyebrow, smirking. “it’s practical and romantic. plus, you’re smiling, so don’t pretend you’re not into it.”

you couldn’t argue with that, especially when he reached over to place a kiss to your forehead, staying close, admiring your features. the playful glint in his eyes softened into something warmer.

“you know,” his voice dipping into that gentle, familiar tone that made your chest ache in the best way, “i’m just glad you’re home.”

something about the way he said it. simple, sincere, hit you harder than you expected. you let out a small breath, resting your head against his chest as your voice softened. “i missed you.”

he paused for a moment, his arms tightening just slightly around you, as if he wanted to make sure you wouldn’t slip away. “yeah?” he murmured, his lips brushing the top of your head. “i missed you too. but don’t worry, i’m not letting you go for a while.”

you smiled, your fingers curling into his shirt as you leaned closer. 

“good. i wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

comments and reblogs are appreciated ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

© ruewrote 2024.

[barkbre]

Can be bruise my pussy already like I want him to make my clit all red and swollen I want to break his dick in half so bad like omg I want him so bad I want to pull Thoes sweats down and give him the best blow job he ever had ngl

DEAR FUCKING GOD?

[jackiequick]

In fifty years, will all this be declassified? | Agents Of SHIELD Fanfic

Pairing: Amelia M. Parker & Grant Ward (WardParker)

Summary: In other words, suffering is worse than falling down low..

Characters feature/mentioned: Kara Palamas, Melissa Wallace, Marlene Kassdy, The Young Avengers

Timeline: Set a year after Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014), Agents Of Shield Season 2 (2014-2015)

Warning: Mentions of torture, blood, needles, heartbreak and fighting

Fic Type: Angst

——

A/N: Goodness, someone help them all. Also sorry if it's a long fic! I hope you enjoy it ;) And yes I reference a Taylor Swift song as the title hehe

Inspired by: Agents Of Shield 2x21/22

—

Dry pastel lit color faded between the clouds, as the soft yet grime shades filled the room. 

The air thick with dust and the distant sound of wind howling against the cracked windows. A mild, yet faint screeching pierced the silence, mingling with the rhythmic dripping of water somewhere in the shadows.

The autumn chill that sinked though the cracks of the door made its way towards her body, responding her eyes to slowly flutter open. She squinted her eyes turning her around to see the area she was set in.

Confusion wrapped around her like a mask; the last thing she remembered was sifting through the scattered remnants of an old agent’s life in a deserted apartment, searching for files that could’ve been used for other purposes.

It was darkly and dimly lit when she made herself present in that apartment reaching for the last lines of the forgotten report, hearing a soft thud, a shadow looming behind her—then nothing.

Amelia blinked, forcing her mind to piece together the fragments, but all she grasp was the nagging dull pain against her neck. Her fingers twitching waking themselves up only to hit a wooden board. She glanced down to noticed her wrists were against a table, yet her ankles were tied backwards to the chair.

She tugged against the restraints, but they held firm, the rough fibers biting into her skin. Panic clawed at her throat as she took in her surroundings: the rusted beams overhead, the scattered debris underfoot, and the faint light filtering through the grime-coated windows.

With every strained breath, the cold air seeped deeper into her bones, heightening her senses. The screeching outside grew louder, mingling with the pounding of her heart.

Just then, a door creaked open somewhere in the warehouse, and her breath caught in her throat. Amelia huffed and winced catching sight of who it was.

Grant Ward.

Following behind him was Agent 33, Kara Palamas, an a former SHIELD agent. Her was brain given some deep suffering, due to memory loss from Daniel Whitehall and of course she was helped afterward, tested by Fitzsimmons, then she left again. More or less…

Grant smiled sitting across the table from her. One of fingers lightly pushes a strand of hair away from Amelia’s face to see her clearly. Grant will never admit it but he didn’t like having her kidnapped, but he needed SHIELD to reveal any information that had on the Projects and Daniel Whitehall.

Amelia was one of SHIELD most well known and possibly active agents they had. According to the rumor mill she was loved and appreciated, having help put The Young Avengers together, being his co-captain in the very beginning of Coulson’s team back in 2013 and the list went on.

But he knew that Amelia Parker only scratched the surface, of the people she was surrounded by. He knew that none of the recruits and so-called friends truly cared for her, watched her six. If they did care, they would’ve found her by now. Hell, Agent Hill was the one who pushed her senseless into being the agent she was today. 

The poor workaholic agent who was pushed to the brink of it all, making the choices to see the good in others and step in to put herself in danger for the sake of the people around her. 

For the sake of the mission. 

Pushing down all the hurt and blame for her own sake. Taking the hits, making the kills and watching the ones she cared for suffer. 

All Grant wanted to do was keep her safe, have her join him in the mist of SHIELD’s fall back in 2014 and live on the run. But she refused to stay with him.

Because her loyalty was too high and her trust in others were on the balancing act of being destroy right before her eyes.

And yet, here she sat in front of him, her own green eyes staring right into his brown ones.  

“Hi baby.” He said in a calm low tone. 

She held a tight calm smile as she responded, “Hi.

“I’mma cut to the chase. You do know why you’re here, right?”

“Cause you miss me, hon?”

Kara, who was standing a few steps behind Grant, crossed her arms and held back a scoff at her remark. She knew the two had history, which annoyed her completely.

“Miss you? That’s a bold assumption,” Kara shot back, forcing the humor even as her pulse raced slightly.

Grant leaned forward, the smile fading as he studied her. “You’re in a warehouse, tied to a chair. I don’t want to play games, Ames.”

Kara shifted, her posture rigid as she eyed Amelia. “You don’t have to protect her anymore, Grant. She’s not one of us…”

“Not one of us?” Amelia echoed, the bite in her voice sharper than she intended. “You think that just because you’re playing for a different side now, it makes you less of a traitor?”

Kara bristled, but Grant raised a hand, silencing the tension in the room.  “This isn’t about sides,” he said, his tone even but strained. “It’s about information. SHIELD’s been sitting on something big, and I need you to help me find it.”

Amelia’s mind raced at the thought. The thought of betraying her former team sent a chill through her. “And what if I refuse? What makes you think I will help you?”

He leaned closer, intensity radiating from him. “Then you’ll stay here. And trust me, we both know I always find another way to get what I need. But it won’t be pretty for you.”

“Is that a threat, baby?”

“Call it a promise. I said don’t ever want to hurt you, Ames, not again, but if it comes to it, I will.”

Amelia’s eyes fell of Kara and exhaled, “And her?”

Grant noticed her gaze and leaned backwards. His expression turned serious as he said, “Kara, is none of your concern.”

“Liar. What is it that I did that so wrong to her?”

Kara shifted and met her gaze, leaning forward with a slight glare. “You know what you did, you're responsible for my kidnapping, you and Wallace had my location rigid and led me to Whitehall. When I did escape, Marlene and the others were late to get me back to base. I was tortured and enslaved for what felt like ages!”

Amelia’s eyes darted as she shifted, trying to stand up from her chair. She snarled, “The location was rigid to begin with! It wasn’t mine or Melissa’s fault. It was none of our faults!”

“Then apologize!”

“For a miscommunication? I did weeks ago!”

“It wasn’t enough.”

“..why have it be just me? Not strap Melissa or anyone else to a chair?”

That’s when Kara allowed a small smirk to appear on her face.

“Because. Melissa will just give me a snarky remark and scream, she’s not trained for the physical and mental discomfort across the body. But you are.” Kara explained to Amelia.

Amelia’s eyes darted back to Ward with a warning tone. “Grant.” She muttered. 

Grant stood from his seat and grabbed a device from the wall as he contained the explanation to a minimum, “We’re using you as an advantage here, Ames. If we want SHIELD to give us what they want as well and see a piece of them crumble, why not have one of their finest agents be the representation of it all?”

“Which means?” Amelia asked.

“We will keep you here.” Kara said, “In result, disorient the other agents such as Melissa, Marlene and your precious boyfriend, who I bet has no idea that your gone, into running around in rampage looking for you. The more pain you inflect, will give the others no choice but to give us the information needed.”

Amelia’s heart raced with a mix of fear and defiance as the words hung in the air. 

She scoffed as a small smile broke across her face. A shake chuckle escaped her hips for whatever reason. “You’re both just petty and delusional.” Amelia remarked. “Even if it I am not found by them, and I’m tortured. You realize that The Young Avengers will get concerned and try to find me, right?”

Grant crossed his arms and shook her head, as he strapped a wires and tightened the chair a bit more. Beforehand, he used anesthetic to remove any sensation of pain from Morse-Parker, however the sensation of the shockwaves and needles will be an unbearable pain, hitting her body all at once. 

Kara claimed to many beforehand, that was the pain she felt when she was harmed by Whitehall and when she regained control of her mind once again. 

When no one answered her remarked about The Young Avengers—Liane, Rick, Rochelle, Cole and the others—would grow panicked and try to find her, it was a clear as day response. They were too busy and selfish to care for others’s turmoil to save them. Kara and Grant convey that answer by just exchanging a glance at Amelia.

 Amelia's heart raced, a mixture of defiance and dread coursing through her veins. “You really think that will work? You’re underestimating them.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm, masking the worry gnawing at her.

Grant tightened the straps, his brow furrowed with frustration. “It’s not about underestimating them. It’s about making them desperate.”

Kara’s smirk faded as she stepped closer. “You think they care enough to risk everything for you? They’ve got their own battles to fight. You’re just a pawn in this game, Amelia.”

The weight of her words hit harder than any blow. Memories of laughter and camaraderie flashed through Amelia’s mind, but the shadows of doubt loomed larger. She shook her head, unwilling to let them see her falter. “You’re wrong. They won’t stop searching for me.”

Grant leaned back, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. “And if they do find you, what then? You think they’ll storm in here and rescue you? They don’t even know where you are.”

Kara stepped closer, her voice low and chilling. “They’ll waste time chasing ghosts, and by the time they figure it out, it’ll be too late.”

-----

A silence fell, heavy with unspoken truths. Amelia felt the chill in the air deepen, a reminder of her vulnerability as the hours went by. She felt herself growing hungry and weak by the second, as her eyes tried their hardest to not give into the weight and close themselves.

Deep into the night, the weight of Grant and Kara’s words hit pierced harder than any words. Every moment spent in the room, tied to the chair, her wrists trying to wiggle out of the restrains and the needles digging into her fingers send an engulfing pain across her body. The wires sending shockwaves through her body, were just as bad, she could practically taste the metal in the air, under her skin. 

Amelia was on the brink of giving into the pain and torment, that she was lost caused. She wasn’t going to be saved. That Kara and Grant were right. She was fool to think SHIELD and The Young Avengers—her friends—would care to save her. To release any evidence in hopes of having her come back to them.

That loyalty and trust that tied her to her team was slipping between her fingers.

She could’ve sworn she heard typing of a laptop and invoices being messaged between the two in another room, whenever Kara or Grant weren’t inside with her. She could hear Grant’s low murmur, the occasional sharp retort from Kara. The sound of certain agents from the messages, such as Marlene, her voice was faintly heard, so was Melissa. A flicker of Jeremy’s tone of voice and a few others that she didn’t quite recognize.

She wondered if Jeremy was negotiating a deal to the data on Whitehall or some kind of information in general. She wondered if Melissa trying to relocate the trace of the phone's pattern to her location, or maybe Marlene had just threaten to murder Ward.

Gods know what the others on the line must've been discussing.

However nothing from The Young Avengers.

As for their mouths moving? Conversation between the three echo though the warehouse, a mixture of screams, snarky remarks, and words that were sharper than a knife. Grant was one of the few people, who knew her better than anyone, he had a hand in training her and sense her downfall from a mile away. 

He knew that she knows that there was no one coming from her. And if they did. They would be too late, suffering the lost of someone who they assumed, they care for deeply. It was a twisted symphony of betrayal and desperation that echoed around her, each note driving the point home: she was alone.

Speaking of echos being said, at one point, when Amelia refused to once again to apologize to Kara, the closure to heal according to Grant, the brunette slapped Amelia across the face before she walked around the chair with a wicked smirk.

“If you want a nice view of my ass, sweetheart, that will be...” Amelia said in a slight witty tone, however her voice trailed off, hearing the sound of fabric and a wince of a blade, “..what is she doing?”

Grant didn’t let her swift her neck around to see the damage about to inflect upon her, instead snatching her chin under his fingers, forcing her to face him. For a fleeting moment, his gaze softened, a hint of regret flickering in his brown eyes.

“You don’t have to do this, Ames. We can work this out—” He said in a soft tone. 

“No.“ Amelia cut him off, her tone resolute, almost shaking in a hush tone, “Not like this..”

Before she can even repeat her words, a sharp passing of a knife slide across the back of her knees, her inner knees, as she let out a deep whine. She squeezed her eyes and gasped breathing heavily, her chest rising and fall, due to the action taking place. Her eyes water as she gulped, catching Grant’s gaze as she tried to wipe her face towards Kara.

Amelia’s breath came in ragged gasps, the pain radiating through her legs, refusing to show weakness, however it was clear. Grant’s grip on her chin tightened, his gaze searching hers for a flicker of compliance.

Kara stepped closer, a glint of amusement in her eyes. “You really think you’re in control here? You’re tied up, and your friends are miles away. This is your reality now.”

Amelia felt the weight of her words sink in, but she wouldn’t give in just yet. “And if I break? If I give they what you want? What happens then?”

She shrugged, a cruel smile curling her lips. “Maybe we’ll let you go. Maybe I won’t. It all depends on how entertaining you are.”

Before Amelia could respond, Grant’s expression shifted, a flicker of anger crossing his face. “Enough, Kara. This isn’t a game.”

Kara rolled her eyes, dismissing his concern. “Oh please, Grant. You’re not her keeper. She made her choices.”

Amelia’s eyes flickered between the pair. Despite Grant’s protectiveness over her, he was true as day that he cared for Kara just the same. He may claim to still love her, but his heart had made space for Kara. She scoffed, honestly, with how delusional they both were, they desires each other. 

“Choices?” Amelia scoffed, her voice steady despite the pain. “Um, I didn’t choose to be here, and you know it.”

Grant’s jaw tightened, a mix of frustration and a hint of guilt flashing across his face. “I didn’t want this for you, Amelia. I wanted to protect you.”

“By letting Kara and yourself torture me?” she shot back, her gaze unwavering. “You’re not protecting me, Grant. You lied to me once, you’ll do it again.”

He always said that one thing, she will understand everything he ever done, but she won’t. One look from Kara and Grant, and she realized she was more than a pawn, in this sick game. She’s the queen. The moment she decide to cooperate or her teammates come and find her, give them any information about Whitehall, the game changes. 

If she might even survive this.

----------------------

The hours went by, no help, no hope of salvation—none. 

It was hopeless.

She whimpered and winced, gasping for air as her fingers were being pierced by needles and her body was attached to the wires from earlier. She has been yelled at, bleeding and bruised.

She was purely shaking at this point. At least she was able to convince Ward to release her ankles for some breathing room. However, she was cold. From her feet to her toes, despite the clothing she was wearing, she was feeling the air bouncing against her skin.

As she wiggled her wrists against the restraints, searching for any weakness, the faint sound of footsteps approached. She held her breath, heart pounding, readying herself for whatever was to come.

The door creaked open, and Grant stepped inside. He paused, meeting her gaze with a mixture of concern and resolve. 

“You okay?” he asked, a hint of sincerity breaking through his hardened facade.

Her voice was slightly shaky under her breath, “Is that even a question?”

“Ames.”

“Not even close, and you know it.” 

“It’s gonna be a long night, I knew you’ll be tough. Coulson’s got an eye for talent.”

“So did you..”

He sighed, his harden facade slowly returned, as a tone that was undoubtedly unreadable appeared. He sat down across from her. Her breathing was deep and hitched, her glares softened ever so slightly, before slowly hardening once again.

“You and I are a lot alike, Ames.” He began, his voice simple yet smooth. “Emotions buried deep inside where nowhere will ever find it.”

She shook her head lightly, “Why’s that? Because you know me very well?” “Because the reason why you kill and fight and recruit others..it’s not because you feel it’s a duty.”

“It is..you caught onto that lesson very early on. Being pushed to the prime level, because it hides whatever uncertainty you have..”

“That’s what you think? Are you referring to me or yourself?”

Amelia paused remembering a conversation she had with Skye involving the context of Ward. He kills because of his emotional attachment and his desire to help, not just for his own desire but for a gain. 

But there was something more to that.

After a moment Amelia said under her breath as she admitted, “..it’s not because of nothing, or that it’s a duty to serve..it’s because you feel too much..i feel too much..”

Grant watched her eyes gearing up, the shift in her eyes, at the realization. The pain, the despair, the suffering, the repeated questions and conversation. It was like memories flashed—every laugh, every time she was snapped at, every snarl or glare, every moment of believing in trust and faith—it all came crashing down upon her.

The right push and she can be forced to see the truth, even if she denied it. Hell, the words that Amelia said hit Grant as hard a brick. It wasn’t false, he did care, sometimes way too much. But like he said, he buried it deep, to save himself the heartbreak and torment.

However he did say if Amelia didn’t corporate, or if SHIELD didn’t release information on Whitehall, he will do a certain job. One that she has seen done before..

“Baby, listen to me.” Grant said, bringing her back to the moment holding up needle in-between his fingers. “Kara needs closure. Your teammates are already suffering with no idea where you are, thanks to Kara. But you, just admit you betrayed her and we can end this.”

She scoffed, “You’re such a hypocrite, you know that? Betray her? Honey, may I remind you that you betrayed your whole entire team! You betrayed me.”

“For the—! For the hundredth time, I was loyal to Garrett, not HYDRA!”

“For the hundredth time, I don’t care!”

“Amelia!”

“What?! You always have that excuse or decide to blame Garrett for your choices!”

“We both know, if it was the other way another and you were in my shoes, you would understand! We talked about this!”

“I know! And for the that, I say, screw you!”

That’s when Grant leaned forward against the table, his body dangling among the chair he sat in. Their face were mere inches apart, they can feel the other’s hot breath against one another’s face. Every scare, bump and bruise, laced across their face.

The tension was heating off their bodies, their breathing was thick and hitched. 

“You don’t know me as well, as you think you do.” He growled under his breath, his back arched and his palms pressed against the table.

“Sure I do, baby.” She responded, growling in the same exact intensity.

However she held a light smirk, ripping off her restraints that she spent the last hours  loosing up, grunted as she both hands grabbed the back of his neck and slammed his face into the table.

She held out a breath, snatching the needle from his grasp and stabbing him with it. Grant broke free from her grasp just as quickly, as Amelia stumbled backwards. He launched at her as she jumped over the table and kicked him the chest. 

Before they two knew it, they were dancing around, blocking and trying to punch one another into corners. Spinning, turning and trying to slam the other into a wall. Grunts, pounding from footsteps against the ground, shouts and screaming were heard from within the warehouse, as they broke though the walls and into the hallways.

--------------------------

At one point, Amelia raised her height was going to cause her a real disadvantage, Grant was taller than her by a lot. So just as he was about to launch at her once again, she reached up to a poll, grasping a tight grip before swinging her legs forwards launching Grant to break though the window of the door. 

“I taught you well..” He muttered, a hint of pride in his voice, before grabbing her and swinging the brunette around as they head butted one another hitting against the tight narrow hallway.

Amelia head was slammed backwards, pounding firm near a wall, before her body slid downwards onto the floor as she grunted and let out a groaned. Grant towered over her just as Kara hurried in, holding her gun towards Amelia.

She was ready to shoot her, but didn’t, yet. She wanted to hear the apology, understand her pain. She exchanged a look with Ward.

“Anything you want to say to Kara?” Grant asked, letting out a deep breath.

Amelia’s eyes darted between the door of them, her vision was blurry as she said, “..yeah.”

“She’s waiting.”

“I’m not sorry anymore..” Amelia muttered under her breath. 

Kara exhaled, lowering the gun, “This isn’t right..I’m not feeling, she’s not sorry..”

Grant took the gun from her stuffing it into his back pocket and placed a hand on her shoulder, “It’s alright, baby, I know what to do..”

Her gaze flickered between the pair, one look from Grant and Amelia knew what was coming for her, he going to pull the trigger. The hours were running up. 

He’ll do the one thing she seen him do, only once, years ago. 

It will not just make her suffer but the ones who claimed to love her...

~~~~~~

~~~~~~~

AHH! It was a lot I know but let me know what you think! Thoughts, comments and what you love about it all. Pls like, comment and share for more.

Tags: @gaminggirlsstuff @gcthvile @missstrawbs2001 @djs8891 @starkleila @aidanxsophxoxo @mandylove1000 @yetanotherwells @rickb-chaos @topgun-imagines s @hardballoonlove @buckysteveloki-me @sherloquestea @ximehs @savemewattpad @theonlyblackcanary y @terry-perry @triptuckers @daughter-of-melpomene @superspookyjanelle @infinetlyforgotten and etc

[nino-rox]

SHADOWS OF BETRAYAL

PART 1

Grant Ward x Male Reader

Show SPOILER ALERT ! Do not read further if you wish to watch the show

Content Warnings : Angst, Agents of Shield AU, Male OC, Betrayal. {Context: After the Shield collapse (Team Coulson including Y/N ( Your/Name) is at secret base Providence), when Skye finds out about Ward)}

Disclaimer : This is a Fan-fiction story written for entertainment purposes only, no part of the story implies or affirms anything regarding real world events or individuals. Please be of the appropriate age ( i.e, Adult as per your country’s stipulations and regulations) before interacting with this post.

Author’s Note: Please keep in mind that watching “Marvel’s Agents of Shield” is important to understand the plot of this story - Contains Spoilers.

In the dimly lit and eerily quiet Providence base, suspicion saturated the air, casting a shadow over every corner. Grant Ward, once a trusted agent, now sat on the edge of a worn-out couch, his rugged features marred by a mix of angst and determination. Y/N, a formidable agent in his own right, observed Grant with a keen eye, his mind racing with doubts and unspoken truths. The weight of his relationship pressed against Y/N's every thought, the delicate balance between love and betrayal hanging in the balance.

Providence, a top-secret base that had become a refuge for Coulson's team after the collapse of S.H.I.E.L.D., was eerily empty. It was just Y/N, Grant, and Daisy, who had stumbled upon the evidence that shattered Y/N's trust in Grant. In the bathroom, Y/N had discovered Daisy's damning message scrawled on the wall, revealing Grant's allegiance to Hydra and his role in the murder of agent Koenig.

The Day turned into a sleepless night as Y/N meticulously gathered evidence, piecing together the fragments of Grant's secret life. His conversations grew strained, laced with unspoken accusations. Grant, sensing the weight of his knowledge, made no attempt to deny his actions. Instead, a storm brewed within him, a potent mix of fear and determination. One pivotal moment, amidst the hallowed silence of the empty Providence base, Y/N intercepted Grant's path. His eyes locked, and the charged atmosphere crackled with unspoken words. Y/N's voice quivered, his resolve mingling with a tinge of vulnerability.

"Grant," Y/N's voice held a mix of strength and uncertainty. "I can't let you go."

Grant's features contorted with a mixture of resignation and trepidation. He knew the consequences of his actions and the revelation that awaited him. With a deep breath, he met Y/N's gaze, acknowledging the intelligence and perceptiveness that lay behind his eyes.

Their confrontation escalated swiftly, the years of shared intimacy and trust now fueling the violence that erupted between them. Grant, aware of Y/N's lethal skills, recognized that he was as competent and cunning as the renowned “Cavalry” (Melinda May) herself. Every move was calculated, each strike intended to incapacitate without causing lethal harm.

But in the midst of the fight, as Y/N's love for Grant battled with his duty, a fatal misstep occurred. A swift motion, a flicker of hesitation, and Y/N found himself on the receiving end of Grant's blade. Pain seared through his body, shock registering in his eyes.

The realization of what had transpired washed over Grant, his panicked gaze locking with Y/N's. Fear mingled with regret, as he never intended for things to reach such a devastating climax. But his desperation to pursue Daisy and secure the hard drive had clouded his judgment, leading to irreversible consequences.

As the agony coursed through his veins, his love for Grant remained steadfast. It was the love that had held them together, and it was the love that pushed him to fight for the truth. With his remaining strength, he locked eyes with Grant, the unspoken words of forgiveness and understanding passing between them, eyes laced with a glint of hatred for their predicament. Their world, once filled with promises and shared dreams, crumbled in that moment. Grant's conflicted emotions mirrored his own as he cradled him in his arms, their intertwined destinies entangled in a web of pain and remorse.

As the darkness closed in, Y/N's consciousness faded, slipping away, leaving behind a shattered bond and the weight of a choice that Grant would carry for the rest of his days.

[thewritingofamadwoman]

Hate To Watch You Go, But Love To Watch You Leave

A/N: Brett Dalton has my heart and watching him be all flirty and give heart eyes to the stunning Gabi Mosley in NBC’s show Found has me giggling like a school girl. Thought I’d toss in my two cents with an OC included in the fun of Episode 4.

Let me know what you think! 🤗

Pairing: Mark Trent x reader (no descriptions used but feminine pronouns are used by other characters when describing the reader).

Warnings: fluff! And a bit of harmless flirting.

I stepped out of my house and turned back to lock the front door. As I was done securing it, the car waiting for me by the curb honked loudly. I offered a middle finger behind me before walking down towards the car and smiling at the driver. Dhan smirked at me and rolled his eyes as I opened the passenger door and sat myself down.

“Was the beeping necessary?” I asked, buckling myself in as Dhan took off.

“Absolutely, annoying is my favorite past time. Was flipping me off necessary?” he said with a deadpan expression, his voice mocking mine. I scoffed at him but smiled nonetheless. Dhan and I were always like this, teasing and annoying each other to the point where people naturally assumed we were siblings. Truth is, Dhan was my best friend. Ever since we started working at Mosley & Associates, Dhan and I were inseparable. I turned back to look at him as we drove to our destination.

“Thank you for picking me up, the mechanic swears that my car should be ready by Monday at the lastest,” I smiled sweetly at Dhan as he rolled his eyes playfully once more.

“You sure it isn’t because you want a guaranteed designated driver so you can get smashed?”

I laughed, shrugging.

“I mean, I was being genuine but be careful cause I might just take you up on that. You ready for another rousing team bonding night?” I teased, knowing that he would rather be doing anything else than playing silly board games at Zeke’s house.

The whole team bonding experience was curated by Lacey, who truly was a sweetheart, and wanted everyone to come together and celebrate a night without any cases to solve. A night where we could let loose and just enjoy each others company. I thought it was a genius idea; things often got too dark in our line of work and a night of inebriated fun sounded like heaven. Every 3rd Friday night of the month, we would all meet up at Zeke’s house for booze, food, board games, charades and even karaoke.

Dhan huffed out a laugh, turning onto Zeke’s block.

“Whatever you say, Short Stop.”

I gave him another middle finger while we searched for parking. We finally found a great spot down the block and walked up to Zeke’s side door. It seemed that the door already ajar with laughter and music seeping through. Lacey was the first to spot us and ran over to me with two beers in hand.

“Yessss the team is all here! Just one more person to go and then we can get this shit started. I’ve only had one drink and I need to rectify that ASAP.”

I laughed while Dhan took his first swig, thanking Lacey for the drink. I went around giving everyone while asking Lacey what she meant.

“One more person? Who else is coming?”

I plopped down on the couch as Lacey answered, wiggling her eyebrows at me.

“Oh you know, just Trent.”

The look she was giving me screamed “the cat caught the canary” and I could only smile. Lacey has been doing her absolute BEST to try and get Mark Trent and I together for the majority of this past year. Little did she know, he and I were already in a secret little situation-ship of our own. We had been keeping it quiet, not wanting to let anyone into our own bubble for as long as we could help it.

I kept a neutral face and smiled back at Lacey, ignoring her suggestive glances.

“Oh is he? That’s great, it’ll be an amazing ego boost for me when I kick ALL of your asses at Catan.”

Lacey gave an annoyed huff and I took a generous swig of my beer. Dhan groaned out loud and I looked back at him.

“Why the fuck does the cop have to be here? He’s pompous as shit.”

I laughed loudly and Gabi chuckled from across the room. Dhan hasn’t been Trent’s biggest fan for quite some time now, but his dislike only seemed to intensify over the past few months when Trent and I got together. Of course he didn’t know we had gotten together, but it just seemed that Dhan’s brotherly figure senses kicked in magically and he felt the need to always make a snarky comment about Trent.

“Remind me again why you don’t like him?” Margaret asked from her spot by the fridge.

“He’s annoying as fuck and I don’t know if anyone else can see it, but he just eye fucks Short Stop over here any chance he gets. It’s kind of disgusting.”

I almost spit my drink out and snorted out a laugh while Lacey rebutted before I could speak.

“Disgusting? I think it’s hot, he clearly has a crush on our girl here. And he’s such a nice guy, always helping us out,” she smiled at me again, winking as if that was the selling point that would make me finally jump into Trent’s arms.

“I can’t help it if he stares, have you seen me? Fucking gorgeous!” I teased, standing up and giving a little shimmy while I walked to the kitchen to grab the bowl full of chips.

The sound of Zeke’s door opening caught my attention and I looked up, crunching on a chip as I did so. Mark Trent popped his head in and smiled, holding up a two cases of beer as he walked in.

“Hey guys,” he smiled in greeting, nodding at everyone. He hugged Gabi on the way to the kitchen counter to place beer cases down. I smiled at him, and he walked around the counter to say hello with a hug. I took in a breath after wrapping my arms around him, inhaling his cologne and smiling to myself. He gave me a gentle squeeze before pulling back.

“Hi,” I said sweetly as he smiled back.

“Hey you,” he said before addressing the rest of the team.

“I caught the tale end of whatever conversation was going on here before I walked in. Who’s gorgeous?”

Before I could reply, Lacey spoke up. I could see Dhan rolling his eyes and turning around to tune out the conversation.

“Our girl! I mean look at her, isn’t she just stunning, Trent?”

I blushed and threw a chip at Lacey as she pointed at me, and Zeke’s chuckled loudly at her ridiculous attempt at playing matchmaker. Trent looked back at me, a twinkle in his eye as he smirked and gave me a quick once over.

“Yeah, she’s alright.”

I let out a incredulous laugh and slapped Trent’s shoulder. “Dick,” I laughed again and moved away from him. He grabbed my hand and pulled me back, laughing as he wrapped his arm around my shoulder and squeezed me in close.

“I’m just kidding, you’re beautiful.”

I beamed under his praise, his voice melting my heart. I stared up at him, loving how his brown eyes shined with mirth as he stared right into my own. We smiled at each other, forgetting where we were for a split second before a loud cough from Dhan’s brought us back to reality.

“Anyyyyy way, who’s ready to play! Guys verse girls, let’s go ladies!”

Lacey dragged me and Gabi towards the couches to get settled. I was laughing before my eyes connected with Gabi, who had a smirk on her lips. She quirked her eyebrow at me as if she knew something. I gave her an innocent smile and ignored her stare as we began to play.

Hours went by and we were having the best night. We were all slightly buzzed and finally relaxed. I had gotten up at some point to use the bathroom and retuned back to find that the only seat free was by Trent. The rest of the gang was busy watching Zeke and Margaret battle each other in Mario Kart on one of the giant flat screens. I plopped down next to Trent and smiled at him. The feeling of his thigh pressed against mine and his arm tossed nonchalantly over the couch behind me warmed my heart again. I suppressed a shivered, loving the idea of being close to him physically while everyone else was none the wiser. Almost as if he had read my thoughts, Trent leaned down to speak to me.

“Hey,” he whispered, eyes full of happiness.

“Hi,” I whispered back. “Having fun?”

Trent shrugged and nodded, looking back at the team as they all cheered Margaret on.

“Yeah, it’s fun. Everyone’s nice, even Dhan mellowed out after giving me dirty looks all night. What the hell is that about?”

I giggled and looked back to see Dhan place his hands on Zeke’s shoulders, shouting at him to speed up.

“Yeah, apparently he doesn’t like the way you “eye fuck” me,” I said nonchalantly but gave him a teasing look. I leaned in a little closer, the alcohol in my system making me braver in this current setting. “Is that what you do, Trent? You like eye fucking me?” I said sultrily, looking at him with a small smile on my face.

Trent’s eyes tracked from my lips back to my eyes and he gave me a playful smirk, leaning closer to me as well. The arm that was behind me on the couch moved closer, Trent’s fingers playing gently with the bottom of my ponytail.

“Okay, so what if I do like eye fucking you. You have a problem with that?” He said, licking his lips and giving me a smile that made my knees weak. I giggled and looked back behind me to make sure everyone else was still preoccupied with Mario Kart before speaking.

“I don’t have a problem with it. Gonna demonstrate how you do it?” I teased and reached up to fix the collar of his checkered button down. Trent adjusted his position on the couch to face me even more and leaned closer, making my smile wider.

“I could…or I could get you alone and demonstrate a different type of fuc-“ He was cut off by the loud sound of Margaret, Gabi and Lacey cheering while Dhan and Zeke groaned. Trent and I straightened out, both of us with stupid smiles on our faces. I got up to go join the girls, but before I did, I leaned back to whisper in Trent’s ear.

“Maybe you can show me that demonstration you were talking about later at your place…” I winked at him and walked away, swaying my hips just as tad more than usual before leaning my chin on Lacey’s shoulder. In that moment, I knew that Trent probably hated to see me go, but I know damn well that he loved to watch me leave.

*gif not mine*

[buckseb]

traps and angry confessions

pairings — grant ward x fem!coulson!daughter!reader, featuring, bff!skye x bff!fem!coulson!daughter!reader, and bff!jemma simmons x bff!fem!coulson!daughter!reader

summary — in which, she’s avoiding her feelings and ward all together and their friends take the two agents’ fate into their own hands and decide to trap them in coulson’s office, forcing them to face their unresolved issues.

word count — 6.1k.

warnings — flashbacks, soft!ward, use of pet-names [princess], HELLA angst, fluff, mentions of both reader’s and ward’s separate traumas and past, first meeting in italics and so is the team talking about her behavior, both reader and ward get very heated and angry at each other near the end, SEXUAL TENSION, passionate (HEATED) kisses.

notes — hi! i’ve noticed that there aren’t a whole lot of fics for ward. so, i’ve decided to write my own (since not a lot of the ones i’ve already read/seen have really interested me). anyways, i’ve just started aos (finally! although, i’ve been wanting to start the show for awhile for fitzsimmons and skyeward.) and i just started s3 and i absolutely adore ward! i know a lot of the things he’s done and that he’s hydra (mostly, from spoilers because it’s marvel and we ALL know how obsessed i am with that universe, etc.), but i still love him (and i’m lowkey simping for him!). i truly can’t wait to see more of his character as i finish the show. anyways, i hope to make more fics about him and the same with general kirigan, since i’ve just started (and finished) shadow and bone, and i usually like to write fics for characters for ALL shows i begin and finish (if i end up liking them). also, please forgive me if i get any of the surroundings’ details wrong. after all, i just started the show! gif and divider creds to owner!

p.s., feedback is very much encouraged and appreciated <3.

main masterlist

THE MOMENT HE GIVES UP on knocking on her door and the sound of his footsteps finally fade away, [y/n] heaves in a deep sigh of relief. finally. 

after yet another one of her decisions to avoid him, ward instantly noticed the distance she had put in between the two of them and kept trying to approach her every time she walked into the same room as him. 

honestly, it was not easy avoiding him — when they’re literally colleagues and on the same team, it’s kind of hard to stop going to the places she normally would.

and it truly hurt him when it had crossed his mind that she may have decided that she doesn’t want to be around him. i mean, we all know that — as much as he tries to hide it and act all tough — he’s really just a big old teddy bear with so many sensitive emotions that he tries to hide.

and it didn’t just hurt him to come to this realization; when [y/n] had first realized she was failing to keep her feelings hidden and in check, it broke her to even think about ignoring him.

she may have feelings for him, but he has always been one of her friends, not just a teammate. thus, why she felt like she had to keep her feelings completely hidden and buried.

and the second she began to avoid him? she felt immense guilt and regret for hurting him — that had never been her intention. she wants him to be happy and she hates that she’s causing him pain like that. but, she doesn’t really have a choice. at least, in her head, she doesn’t.

because there’s something else that she fears way more than hurting him; ward finding out the truth.

she’d rather die than admit the truth and ruin what they have. because... surely, he could never love her, right?

after ward had found out about [y/n]’s distant behavior, it wasn’t very long before skye had found out about it, too.

the rest of the team found out about it soon after skye — [y/n] hadn’t been very discreet about her most recent behavior and actions.

skye, being the nosy and clever one of the team, was able to find out before fitz and simmons — although, they’re geniuses and all, they’re only able to figure things out fast enough when on missions.

but, in real life? it took the brilliant geniuses awhile to figure out what ward and skye had first noticed right away.

and coulson and may? coulson may have spent most of the time worrying over his only daughter, but he had his own problems to focus on. and may was too busy brooding and training to notice her friend’s — or rather, teammate’s — weird behavior.

but, one day, while most of the team was relaxing about in the lounge — for once, considering that most of the time, they’d be out on a mission — skye blurts it out

she’d been overwhelmed by the bizarre behavior from her friend for the past week. 

and not only did she have a reason to be worried, but it was in her kind nature to be concerned for [y/n].

with a trembling sigh, [y/n] nervously ignores the lingering gazes of some of her teammates — and the burning one of ward’s — as she stumbles over to a cupboard to grab a glass to fill with water.

as he continues to watch her do something as simple as getting water, a cloud of darkness overwhelms him deep in his gut — her ignoring his existence was really getting to him, more than he’d like to care to admit.

after noticing ward’s broken expression, fitz stops talking and moves forward to place a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder. 

“mate, you alright?” he questions, still clueless of what’s going on between two of his closest friends, but still noticing the hurt that ward’s clearly trying to hide. 

usually, ward’s very good at compartmentalizing his emotions.

but, when it comes to [y/n]? it’s very easy for him to forget that he even needs to act a certain way, in order to hide his true feelings — he doesn’t need to necessarily hide his feelings, but with the trauma he endured as a child, and how he went through his childhood, he’s always felt like opening up was something he just couldn’t do.

realizing where he is and who he’s surrounded by, ward shakes himself out his daze. “i’m fine, fitz.” he mutters, not bothering to even look at him. 

the rest of the team’s eyes follow the upset and poor-looking woman’s figure as she hurriedly makes her way back to her room. 

sighing, jemma grows quickly frustrated. “does anyone know what’s going on with her? fitz and i have been trying to figure it out, but it’s been unsuccessful. she’s bloody good at not giving out any clues.” she questions, turning to ward, raising a brow at him in question.

“you guys, seriously haven’t figured it out yet?” skye bursts out incredulously, causing a more-brooding-than-usual ward to look up at her confusedly.

fitz and simmons turn to her, sputtering. 

“how would you know what’s going on with her?” ward questions in a suspicious tone of voice, brows knitted together. 

“did she tell you?” he asks again, trying to figure out how she could know that [y/n] is ignoring him. 

everyone stares at her expectantly as she opens her mouth to respond, but closes it again and repeats the action like a fish under water.

“well?” he questions once more, raising a brow at her, causing her to groan in defeat. 

“fine! no, she hasn’t told me. you all should know that; she doesn’t like opening up. she thinks it’s weak to be vulnerable. but, i have noticed that she rarely talks about herself anymore and spends most of her time in her room when there’s not a mission she needs to be on.” she states, catching may’s and coulson's attention. 

“and have any of you noticed how she’s never in the same room with ward anymore? or how she will race out of a room if he’s there? she’s clearly ignoring him for some reason.” she explains in a obviously-tone. 

ward deflates at skye’s confirmation. 

he was really hoping to get some answers. too bad he was unsuccessful.

after skye’s outburst about the truth behind the reason why [y/n]’s acting differently, ward forced himself to snap out of his self-pity and tried harder to talk to [y/n], even if it was damn near impossible.

and while ward kept trying — and failing — to get to the bottom of what was going on with his friend, the team, including coulson, began more aware of [y/n] and her behavior. 

and skye? well, she set out to speak to her friend. 

a knock sounds at [y/n]’s wooden door, startling her and snapping her out of her anxious thoughts about the current situation with ward.

“yeah?” she hesitantly calls out, moving away from the door and smoothing down her hair as she hopes to god that it isn’t ward back to try to talk to her some more. 

“hey, it’s skye. can i come in?” the calming voice of her best friend slowly eases her nerves.

“y—yeah.” [y/n] answers uneasily.

as skye opens the door and enters, quickly shutting it behind her, [y/n] shakily crosses her arms over her chest. 

“hey. how are you doing?” skye gently asks, moving to sit down on her friends bed. 

[y/n]’s brows furrow in confusion. “i—i’m fine.” she stutters, staying frozen in place. 

“can i ask you a question, [y/n/n]?” skye asks softly, trying to show her friend that she’s on her side. 

“sure, yeah. what’s up?” [y/n] nods, finally moving to sit beside her on the bed.

“you’re avoiding ward. is it because of your feelings for him?” she questions, raising her brows at her. 

[y/n] swears her blood runs cold, heart stopping. “w—what?”

“you heard right. [y/n], i’m not going to tell anyone, i promise. but, seriously, i see the way that you look at him.” she states seriously, not ready to let go of her question. 

“w—what makes you think that? how would you know?” [y/n] questions, quickly realizing that it’s too late to lie — skye would see right through her. 

“c’mon. you look at him like he’s your whole entire world. but, there’s also a nervousness and hesitance there, too. you’re scared that you’re going to do or say the wrong thing, right?” skye explains further more. 

“i—i don’t—” [y/n] stutters, not quite fully understanding how she found out. 

“—don’t beat yourself up over it. it’s not like it’s obvious to anyone else. not even ward knows that it’s because of your feelings. i think he just thinks that he did something wrong.” skye states gently, trying not to overwhelm her friend with the information as she places a comforting hand on [y/n]’s shoulder.

“w—what? he thinks he did something wrong?” she questions, heart stopping once again. 

skye nods. 

“how could he think that? he hasn’t done anything wrong and it’s nearly impossible for him to!” [y/n] exclaims to herself in shock.

“it’s not your fault that he’s clueless.” skye says, giggling, obviously choosing now to crack a joke. 

a trembling sigh leaves [y/n], not even hearing her friend’s joking statement — she’s too focused on her emotions that seem to be heightening by every passing second, after hearing this new information.

she didn't want to hurt him. but, now that she knows that it’s more than just pain he’s feeling — that he thinks he did something wrong — the guilt and regret quickly intensifies. 

tears begin to cloud her [y/e/c] eyes as [y/n] begins to think about their first time meeting, and how she’d do just about anything to go back to that. 

a groan leaves the young woman’s throat, rolling her eyes at the worried voice of her father’s on the other side of the phone call as she makes her way to the back of her parked car.

“dad, seriously! i’m going to be fine, alright? i have the training down. and besides! when i’m not out in the field, i’ll be behind a computer and helping out the two other brilliant geniuses you’ve added onto the team and acting as a guide for anyone out on mission.” [y/n] states in a matter-of-factly tone of voice, popping the trunk with her keys and making sure to grab the bags she needs. 

“i know that, honey. as much as you’re trained and know exactly what you’re doing, you’re still my daughter — i’m going to worry as much as i want to.” he replies seriously as [y/n] begins to sense the lecturing-like tone of his voice.

“okay, dad. i get that. but, you’re going to be there with me most of the time. so, you can worry about me then. i just need you to trust me, alright?” [y/n] sighs, hoping that agreeing with him will make the worried phone call end faster.

especially, when she and him can easily talk inside what he prefers to call ‘the bus’. 

a sigh is heard on his side of the call. 

“okay, look. dad, i’m already here and i need to bring in my things. so, i’ll talk to you when i get inside, alright?” [y/n] questions, still balancing her phone in between her shoulder and ear as she tries — and fails — to grab some of her things.

then finally, she’s able to grab each bag and her suitcase, and places them all on the ground, before shutting her trunk gently.

“alright, alright. i’ll see you inside.” he sighs again as [y/n] smiles in victory at getting everything out without any clumsy acts of hers. 

she snaps herself out of her little victory-daze. “okay, dad. bye. i love you.” she murmurs and then is quickly taking the phone away from her ear to end the call. 

with a sigh, a small excited smile twitches on her lips as she tucks her phone into the back pocket of her jeans.

excitement begins to consume her at the thought of doing something that could help people — it’s everything that she’s ever wanted.

the small smile quickly turns into a frown, anxiety easily forming deep in her gut as she senses the nauseous feeling in her stomach intensifying. what if the team doesn't like her? what if she messes up and disappoints her father? what if she ends up getting someone innocent killed?

more anxious thoughts swirl around in her head, causing her to take a few calming deep breaths as she places a hand on the edge of the trunk, leaning forward. 

“okay, [y/n]. just breathe. you’re going to be fine. don’t freak out just yet. you can do this.” after stating this to herself, she gets a few judgmental stares.

ignoring the sudden temptation to flee the area — the best that she can — [y/n] takes a deep breath and goes to grab her duffle bags, placing them wherever she can; her shoulders, her hands, her arms.

the heavy weight of the bags on her body weighs her down a bit as she goes to grab her suitcase. 

as she starts to turn around, dragging her suitcase with her and holding the handle by her hand, she only focuses on her bags and suitcase.

now, considering the area of the globemaster that she’s on, is almost completely filled with agents roaming around hurriedly, it may not have been the best idea for her to not be watching where she’s going. but, she continues to do it anyways. 

and if agent ward himself hadn’t been one of those agents walking in her general direction, maybe it wouldn’t have been such a big deal. but, he is.

and being the brooding and closed-off man that he is, he snaps at her when she accidentally runs straight into him. “mind watching where you’re going?”

“oh god! i—i am so sorry. gosh, i was really hoping to avoid being clumsy, but it seems that’s impossible.” she stutters out an apology, not even realizing the harshness of his tone as she instantly moves to bend down to grab the duffel bags that fell to the ground when she’d ran into him.

thank god she hasn’t really gotten a good look at the agent yet. because if she did, she’d be stumbling over her words more than she already is.

ward bends down to grumpily hand her some of her bags as she continues to grab the rest of her bags and her suitcase. “again, i’m, uh, i’m really sorry about that. i really don’t understand how i’m the daughter of a shield agent, yet have the klutz gene.” she stutters once more, nervous giggles leaving her lips as she looks up.

and when she does, her heart nearly stops. 

her throat goes dry and her heart starts to beat faster than ever, in the sense of her being nervous. even her hands start to get clammy with sweat.

all because of the extremely attractive man standing in front of her. 

agent ward stands in front of her, eyebrows raised and arms crossed on his chest, waiting for her next nervous response.

“w—wow...” she trails off, not even realizing she’s not being too discreet on checking him out from head to toe. 

he clears his throat, snapping her out of her very aware daze.

shaking her head, she nervously runs her fingers through her hair, anxiously beginning to fidget.

“uh, sorry. i—i’m [y/n].” she stutters once more as she lifts a hand up in the air to shake his, only for him to stare at it warily. 

without another response, he turns around and walks back inside.

“o—okay then?” [y/n] mumbles to herself in question form, confused. what is his problem?

a nervous laugh comes from behind her, causing her to turn around.

“sorry about him. agent ward usually keeps to himself — he’s pretty closed-off and rarely relaxes. but, he’ll eventually warm up to you.” jemma simmons states with her accent, giving [y/n] an easy-going smile as she goes to reach for two of her duffel bags that are hanging back on her arms. 

she glances back down, quickly realizing what she’s trying to do. “oh, thank you.” she says, letting jemma take the two bags by their straps.

“really, it’s no trouble. what’s your name? i’m jemma simmons.” she introduces herself as they walk further inside, [y/n] making sure to watch where she’s going this time.

“well, at least someone’s welcoming,” she mumbles, feeling a bit more hurt about ward’s harsh attitude towards her than she’d like. “uh, i’m [y/n], coulson — coulson's daughter. i’m supposed to have multiple different jobs here; i’ll either be in the field, helping you and leopold fitz, or helping guide anyone on missions through the comms.” [y/n] explains as jemma leads her to her assigned room.

after she puts her bags on her bed, she turns to her new friend, listening intently to what she’s saying. 

“so, coulson — your father — i guess, wants us all to meet in the lounge as soon as we’ve been inside.” she explains, leaning against the doorframe.

“oh, okay. let’s go now, then.” [y/n] nods, letting jemma lead her to where the lounge is. 

“oh, and jemma?” she asks, causing the young genius to turn to her in question. “yes?”

“i know i’m his daughter, and all. but, i don’t want anyone to treat me differently because of it, so you can just call him coulson around me — i really don’t want any special treatment.” she states just as they appear outside the lounge. 

jemma nods in agreement. “of course.”

as [y/n] looks around, jemma motions her boyfriend over to them. 

“fitz, this is [y/n], coulson's—” she starts, but quickly catches herself, “—this is [y/n]. coulson's newest additional agent to the team. and [y/n], this is fitz, my brilliant genius of a boyfriend.” she brags in a prideful tone, succeeding in changing the subject from the fact that she almost slipped-up.

ward’s attention becomes drawn to the three people, wondering what jemma was about to say about coulson.

he catches the nervous glance of [y/n] as she nervously shakes fitz’s out-stretched hand. 

“hi. it’s nice to meet you, [y/n]. welcome to the team!” fitz excitedly says, before coulson himself clears his throat, interrupting the little introduction. 

he motions for her to stand beside him in the middle of the room. 

“so, as some of you know, this is my daughter, [y/n].” he starts off as she moves to stand beside him.

she winces as a gasp is sounded nearby, which is obviously fitz. 

she sighs, accepting defeat and accepting the fact that she’ll now be treated different because of this fact being revealed as she dips her head down in embarrassment.

“she’s going to be joining us. she’s got the training, but she won’t always be out in the field — other times, she’ll be helping fitz and simmons out, or will be guiding any of you on missions through the comms.” coulson finishes saying, not noticing the change in his daughter.

daring to look up, she notices the reactions of her new teammates.

ward looks shocked, although he’s trying to seem uninterested.

may wears a — somewhat — surprised look with a raised brow, obviously not that interested in making a big deal out of it.

jemma is wearing a frown, knowing why [y/n] didn’t want to make a big deal out of her being the daughter of coulson.

skye looks surprised, but gives [y/n] a gentle smile, after noticing the anxious expression on her face.

and fitz is only excited at the news. 

“oh, bloody brilliant!” fitz excitedly exclaims, a huge grin placed on his face. 

deeply inhaling in a nervous manner, [y/n] nods. “uh, yes. i’m his daughter. b—but, i don’t want any special treatment, or to be treated differently because of that.” she nervously stutters. 

“yes, of course. leo, sweetheart? you can do that, right? let’s not look at her as just his daughter and only that, yeah?” jemma questions seriously, trying to get his attention. 

after finally noticing the nervous expression on [y/n]’s face, fitz instantly nods, clearing his throat.

“hi, [y/n]. it’s great to meet you. i’m skye.” skye says, stepping forward with a welcoming smile. 

“h—hi. it’s nice to meet you, too.” [y/n] agrees, moving closer to her to shake her hand, feeling a bit more at ease. 

as everyone else starts to lead her to the kitchen and ask her questions, ward, may, and coulson stay put, silently observing her.

ward watches her curiously, almost feeling guilty for being so rude to her.

may watches her with open curiosity.

and coulson watches his daughter with pride over how she handled the situation so greatly.

later that night, [y/n] leaves her door slightly ajar as she makes her bed and moves some of her bags to the floor, just beside her bed. 

an abrupt knock sounds on her doorway, causing her to jump in shock, not having expected the sound. 

she raises her hand over to her heart, which is now beating extremely fast, and sighs in relief when she realizes that it’s just ward at the door.

he watches her in amusement, arms crossed on his chest as he leans against her doorway.

“oh, hey. what’s up, agent ward? do need something?” she questions, quickly becoming a bit nervous because of their first meeting earlier.

he chuckles, shaking his head.

“[y/n], is it?” he asks, raising a brow as she nervously nods. 

“don’t be so formal. you can just call me ward.” he says as she nods, sitting down on her bed.

“so... was there something you needed?” she questions after a few seconds of them just staring at each other in silence. 

he shakes his head, as if he was shaken out of a daze. “right. uh, yeah. i wanted to apologize for my behavior earlier today.” he replies, staying in his spot against the doorway.

“o—oh.” she stutters, brows furrowing as a thought crosses her mind. 

“y—you’re not apologizing just because you found out that i’m coulson's daughter, right?” she questions, hoping he’ll give her the right answer. 

“no, no. of course not. i mean, i’m glad i know who you are. but, i just realized that the way i acted was a bit too harsh.” he explains himself. 

“oh. well, thank you. that means a lot, ward.” she says, no stutters evident in her voice, for the first time all day. 

he nods. 

“goodnight, [y/n].” he says, before turning to leave.

then, he pauses. “oh, and i hope to learn more about you.” he says, turning back to face her, a glimmer of something that she can’t quite understand flickering in his eyes. 

“y—you too.” she stutters out as he finally starts to walk down the hall, a red color filling up to her cheeks.

“[y/n]? are you okay?” skye’s distant voice calls out to her, quickly noticing the faraway look on her friend’s face.

still not getting any response from the lost-in-thought girl, skye shakes her shoulder abruptly.

“huh? what’d you say?” [y/n] mumbles, finally looking over at her, a nervous look in her eyes. 

“i was saying that you should just tell him the truth.” skye repeats her earlier-said statement from when [y/n] was stuck in her thoughts and thinking of the memory of her first day — that day was months and months ago and her and ward had indeed gotten to know each other.

“w—what? why would i do that? that’ll just destroy what we have.” [y/n] sputters, fear practically consuming her. 

“[y/n/n], you know that he’d never let anything mess things up between you and him. i know the story about how you two met — simmons told me. and from the way you’ve bonded? there’s no way he’d let a secret or feelings get in between that.” skye sternly says, trying to convince her friend that admitting the truth won’t be as bad as she thinks. 

“y—you don’t know that!” [y/n] — not being able to help it — incredulously exclaims, abruptly standing up.

“look, maybe i do, maybe i don’t. but, what i do know, is that he’d never hurt you on purpose. and i think that’s what this is really about — you’re scared of getting hurt again. and it’s understandable. but, that’s what falling for somebody requires. love needs sacrifice. and it’s only ever up to you, to give him your heart — to trust him with it. when you love, getting hurt is inevitable. and i can’t force you to tell him. all i’m saying is that you never know whether this opportunity to tell him will be the best choice of your life, or the worst. i just want you to be happy. so, do what your heart truly wants, and i’ll support you, no matter what, okay?” skye states slowly, willing for her statement to sink in.

and it does — it leaves [y/n] almost speechless, so speechless that she becomes completely lost in thought.

and taking her cue, skye decides to leave her friend alone to her thoughts and feelings.

—————

SKYE’S AND [Y/N]’S DEEP CONVERSATION happened three weeks ago.

and every moment in which she saw ward after, was complete torture.

not only was she overwhelmed with guilt and regret over hurting him, but she was also filled with fear of getting her heart broken.

it made her realize that perhaps, skye was right about one thing; [y/n] is scared of getting hurt.

although, she doesn’t talk much about any of her past experiences with relationships — whether that means simply carrying feelings for someone, or dating, or having only platonic relationships — there’s a reason [y/n] rarely talks about herself, or her past.

not even her father knows — she didn’t want to seem weak or vulnerable or not capable of taking care of herself and the team to coulson, or to her teammates.

besides, coulson already worries about her as it is. she didn’t want him to worry any more than he already does. 

but, to her — and skye and jemma — there’s a reason she stopped trusting people so easily.

in every single relationship she’s ever had — except for her father — everyone always hurts her or leaves her.

to understate it, she’s got trust issues and abandonment issues.

and you can’t get hurt if you don’t let anyone in, right?

but, with ward? she unintentionally let down her walls.

she hadn’t even realized that she’d opened up to him and became vulnerable with him, until it was too late.

and honestly? it scared her to no end.

because when all you know is pain, you don’t want to feel it ever again.

and ward is someone that [y/n] will always care about and can never truly have in the way that she wishes. at least, that’s how it is in her head.

after skye helped her realize that the real reason she’d been pushing ward away, was because she was scared to get hurt… well, avoiding him became instantly harder. 

and her becoming much more paranoid and nervous all the time, makes it much more easier for the rest of the team to make a plan that will end the ridiculousness of the situation.

and let me tell you, the conversation between coulson and skye is quite the talk, when he finds out that two of his agents, which consists of his best agent and his only daughter, are harboring intense feelings for each other.

but, nonetheless, after processing what he learns, he eventually agrees that trapping the two heartbroken agents in the same room to talk, is a good call.

after all, if agent ward is the one thing that will make his daughter happy, he can’t exactly object to it. 

after they all finally finish the planning, may — being the best liar of the team — knocks on [y/n]’s door and tells her that she’s needed in her father’s office. 

after hearing the statement, [y/n]’s brows furrow in confusion.

but, nevertheless, she doesn’t think much of it and makes her way towards coulson’s office. 

on the way down the hall, she notices an excited look shared between jemma, fitz, and skye.

she frowns, wondering what the three of them have planned for god knows who.

if only she knew that the excited looks were for her.

sighing, she walks inside her father’s open office, staring down at her feet anxiously.

nervous thoughts swirl around in her head, making her wonder if her father had finally noticed her behavior and was going to lecture her on it. 

but, the sound of the door clicking shut from behind her causes her to snap her head up in the direction of the door. 

“what the hell?” she mutters, racing over to the door, trying to open it, but it’s no use. it’s locked.

after coming to this realization, she groans in defeat, before turning around and leaning against the door.

and when she does, she catches the eyes of the one person she’s been trying to avoid. “w—ward? what—what’re you doing in my father’s office?” she asks in a trembling and wavering voice, swallowing thickly.

“that’s what you have to say? you’ve been ignoring me for weeks. and the first thing you say to me is, why i’m here?”

“wow.” he scoffs, his jaw clenching in frustration. 

“w—what do you want me to say?” she asks quietly, trying to keep herself calm and collected. 

“how about... why you needed to talk to me in coulson’s office? or, better yet, why have you been pushing me away for weeks?” he exclaims, throwing his arms up in the air for emphasis.

[y/n]’s brows furrow in confusion. “ward, what are you even talking about?” she questions, crossing her arms onto her chest. 

he scoffs once more. “are you that desperate to stay away from me that you need to act like you have no idea what i’m talking about?” he exclaims, jaw clenching harder, if that’s even possible. 

“wha—no! grant, i’m not talking about that. i was talking about the other thing; i never asked to speak with you in here. i’m only here because may said my dad had to talk to me in his office.” she states, raising her brows at him in question, trying her best to act like his words aren’t affecting her as much as they are. 

he turns to her, brows knitted together in confusion. “skye said you had to speak to me urgently.” he states, realization now hitting him.

[y/n] groans, tossing her head back in the air. “great. it can’t be a coincidence that two people on the team said to go in here, right after skye talked to me. they obviously tricked us.” she mumbles dejectedly, before she’s sliding down the door, lost in thought. 

for a moment, the two agents just stare at each other emotionally.

ward’s once angry eyes soften as he notices [y/n]’s teary eyes. 

he heaves in a deep breath, hoping he won’t become more frustrated as they talk. 

“why’d you do it?” he asks in a gruff voice. 

“b—because i had to.” she shrugs, not liking that she’s being forced to remember what she did. 

“that’s not good enough. tell me more.” he sternly says. 

she sputters, the annoyance and frustration deep inside her slowly seeping through her. “not good enough? are you fucking kidding me, ward? you have no idea how hard this has been!” she exclaims, having had enough as she stands up, eyes blazing with anger.

it’s rare that she ever let’s her anger control her, but she’s been bottling everything up for weeks. 

his jaw ticks as his mouth shapes into an ‘o’ shape. “oh? then, make me understand, princess.” he tensely states, using the nickname that he knows annoys her, as a dark look crosses his face. 

she groans at the nickname — that’s what he calls her when he’s upset with her.

he calls her it to remind her that she’s coulson's daughter, knowing that she doesn’t want special treatment.

“how could you possibly understand? besides, the second i tell you, you’re going to hate me!” she exclaims, ignoring the insulting nickname as she throws her hands up in the air frustratedly. 

“try me.” he insists, the dark look still placed on his face. 

slowly, the tension and anger and built-up emotions between them grows and grows by every passing second. 

and then, it’s like it all pops — exploding — and [y/n]’s control over her anger and hesitance to keep quiet is quickly forgotten. 

“alright, ward. you wanna know what’s going on?” she asks annoyedly, tone almost dangerously calm as he slowly nods, jaw still clenched as he takes notice of her anger.

“i've been, what you call, ‘pushing you away’, to protect you. you see, i haven’t opened up, or been vulnerable with anyone in a long time! you know why? because everyone either hurts or leaves me! i haven’t trusted anyone or opened myself up in a long fucking time. and then, you,” she angrily says, walking over to him and poking his chest to annunciate the word ‘you’, “you fucking walked into my fucking life. and for the first time in forever, i didn’t even question it as i just let you in — i let my walls down, i trusted you, and i let myself get attached!” she continues on, getting more angry and emotional by every second as he simply listens, trying to ignore his own anger that’s starting to build up deep inside him.

then, the tears start to cloud her vision, making everything blurry.

but, she doesn't let it stop her and she doesn’t let them escape. 

“and you know what i got? i got falling for you. i got the realization that these little secret feelings that i've been harboring for you for months could destroy us. i got my heart broken over the guilt and regret and fear of getting hurt. i got my best friend telling me that i’m scared of you hurting me, and telling me that you thought you did something wrong! i got her telling me that i’m hurting you. and i got her telling me that i need to tell you how i feel, or i’ll lose you forever!” she yells this time, almost completely falling apart as shock overtakes ward.

“don’t fucking tell me that after this, we’ll be fine. because we won’t! you don’t feel the same, and i have to live with it.” she continues, practically shaking at this point.

“so, ward. you wanna know what you did wrong? the truth is, you did nothing wrong. you’re fucking perfect. because it wasn’t you, who did something wrong. it was me. and you wanna know what i did wrong?” she questions, her voice breaking. 

he’s silent now, tears of his own surfacing.

“i let you in — i fell for you! and it’s my fault!” she exclaims, now hitting her fists onto his chest, tears and sobs leaving her. 

not being able to completely get a grasp onto what she’s confessed, he lets her use him as a punching bag. 

“so, ward. tell me, is everything going to be fine?” she spits out, continuing to smack his chest angrily. 

and then, it’s as if he snaps out of his shocked daze and the anger is tumbling out. 

“yes. it is.” he mutters.

he easily grabs onto her wrists, stopping the constant angry hits from her. 

she gasps. “ward, what—” she whispers, still emotional, as he drops her hands to fall to her sides and grips the back of her head.

then, he heatedly pulls her to him, instantly closing the distance between them as he smashes his lips to hers.

a strangled noise of shock leaves her, but she doesn’t hesitate to kiss him back.

the kiss is full of angst, anger, and love, all combined. 

his tongue enters her mouth and the kiss becomes much more heated as she moves her hands up to his hair.

she tugs on it, bringing a groan to leave ward’s lips.

and then, they’re pulling away for air. 

“w—wow.” [y/n] stutters, gasping for air. 

he nods, thinking the exact same thing as he gently caresses her cheek, most of his frustration gone. 

“i thought you didn’t feel the same. but, i guess that kiss is my answer then, huh?” she mumbles, blushing as he chuckles.

“i can give you that answer again, if you want?” he offers with a smirk.

“yeah. yeah, i’d like that very much.” she says, giggling as he closes the distance between them again, this time being a lot more gentler.

and… let’s just say things got a lot better for them after that.

[justauthoring]

Trapped In Sanatorium [M.M.]

Request: Can you do a mike x reader from until dawn where he finds the reader trapped in the sanatorium and she’s injured and he helps her

Please don’t plagiarize my work!

Word Count: 750

Blinking, you groan. My head... 

As your vision clears, you realize that you’re in some kind of room. It’s dark. but not too dark that you can’t see. You’re on concrete and the ceiling above you is also concrete, both equally dirty and covered in dust. Where are you?

Or more importantly, how had you ended up here?

Moving to set up, you ignore the pounding in your head, pressing your hand against your forehead. You try to think back to what you last remember. You’d made it to the cabin with the rest, Mike and Jessica had gone off on their own and then Matt and Emily had also left... Then you’d gone for a short walk, just a short walk.

It was blank after that. You faintly remembered running, something chasing you but you don’t remember what. It wasn’t human. You know that.

And now you were here, with a pounding headache, your shirt ripped and you’re pretty sure there was blood dripping from your forehead. God, how had things turned so fucked up?

Rubbing at your eyes, you move to stand up, placing hand on either side of you. But, as you do so, a sharp pain shoots through your leg and you fall back to the ground with a cry. “Jesus!” Slumping against the wall like before, you lower your gaze to your leg, pulling back the ripped flap of your legs to reveal a nasty scar across your calve and a swollen ankle. You must of sprained it.

Perfect.

Well, now what?

You don’t have much time to think of answer for your own question before you hear distant footsteps. You freeze, breath halting as you feel all your muscles tighten up. What if what that... that thing? Oh, God, please don’t be that thing.

For what feels like forever but can’t be more than a few minutes, you simply sit there, listening to the... whatever it is, footsteps echo around behind you. And then, you hear a voice, it’s faint. But it’s definitely human. You shift closer to the edge of the wall you’re both leaning against and hiding behind, trying to decipher the voice. If it’s one you know or someone you can trust.

“Jesus, what is this place?”

Wait. You know that voice.

“Mike?” Pulling your body around the wall, you finally lay eyes on the owner of the footsteps, sure enough finding Mike stood just a little bit ahead of you. “Is that you?” He turns sharply at your voice, obviously not having realized it was you at first given the fear in his gaze, before it settles on your own and is replaced with worry. 

“Y/N?” He calls, rushing towards you. He stops, crouching down to meet your gaze steadily before his eyes wander across the rest of your body. “Jesus fuck, what happened to you. How did you get here?”

“I... I don’t know...”

“You don’t remember?’

“I left the others just to go for a walk,” you begin, voice shaky. You reach forward without thinking, hands falling on Mike, desperate for some sort of comfort. “Just a walk and then there was something chasing me. I ran, but it was fast and I...I think it got me. It scratched me on my leg,” you pull back your leggings once more, showing Mike the nasty scar. “And then I think I got away, kept running without knowing where I was going... I must of ended up here.”

Mike nods, glancing at your scratch briefly before you pull his attention back on you. 

“Mike...”

‘Yeah?”

“The thing,” you begin, voice shaky. “The thing chasing me. It... It wasn’t human.”

Mike doesn’t seem as surprised as you expect him to be. He doesn’t even seem to doubt your words. For a fraction of a second his eyes widen and then he sighs, shoulders falling. “We’ve got to get you out of here. Get back to the others.”

“Wait, what aren’t you telling me?”

“I’ll explain on the way, okay?” Mike says, meeting your gaze, holding his hand out towards you. “But we have to go, now.”

You nod, placing your trust in Mike and letting him pull you up to his feet, wrapping an arm around your waist. And, somewhere in the back of your mind, you realize that Jessica is missing. One look at Mike and you see something in his eyes, something dark, sad, and something deep inside you tells you not to ask.

You’re just thankful he’s here.

-

Let me know what you thought?

[mysuperheroobsession]

Dear Lizzie Chapter 14

Elizabeth Olsen x reader

Thecoffeeshopgirl So apparently (since everyone is making a huge deal) I have to announce that yes I do know RyJames. He is my daughter's father and a great one at that. No, we are not together but we get along great cause what matters is our little girl. We were best friends before Dotty came into our lives and we are still best friends so please everyone stop hating on him.

Tagged: RyJames

Comments have been disabled.

A/n: I know it’s short.

[sea040561]

Agents of Shield Fan Fiction

Does anyone out there write AOS fan fiction with the real life actors? Specifically Brett Dalton? Or if you aren't comfortable writing real life actors, I'd even take Grant Ward (except he never turned bad lol) For some reason, I'm all of sudden dying for a fic with Brett/Grant x reader (me!). These are the key points for the fic that I'd prefer: -Must include smut -Reader is a virgin (doesn't matter her age) -Doesn't know who Brett or Grant are (actor or AOS) -Never been in a serious relationship -Relationship leads to marriage & pregnancy (can be implied)

[lefteagleblizzard]

𝔄 𝔱𝔬𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢

Mike munroe x male reader

Summary: Trapped in the freezing sanatorium, Mike notices your body trembling from the cold and takes matters into his own hands-literally. His touch starts out innocent, a way to warm you up, but soon it turns into something far more heated.

Tags: Male reader. He/him pronouns are used towards the reader. Wolfie being a good boy. Mike and Jess are not together in this. Friends to lovers. Smut. Gay smut. Top Mike munroe. Bottom male reader. Anal sex.

Note: I played the original game years ago, and now that I'm playing the remake, my crush on Mike has come back. He's such a good character with amazing development. I never expected to like him this much. I'm near chapter 7 of the remake, and I'm honestly loving it.

Can also be found on wattpad and ao3

ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

Words counts: 3000

The cold of the sanatorium was oppressive. It seemed to leech the warmth from the very walls, seeping into your skin and bones, making every breath feel like you were inhaling shards of ice. As you and Mike rummaged through the mess of papers and debris in the dim, decaying room, the chill became impossible to ignore.

You had been at this for what felt like hours. Searching for anything, any clue, any scrap of information that could help you make sense of the nightmare you and your friends had stumbled into.

You wanted to focus. You needed to. But the cold was starting to weaken you. Your muscles ached from the effort of trying to stay warm, and despite your best attempts to keep it together, your hands were trembling as you shuffled through the scattered papers. The torn, thin jacket you'd found earlier did little to protect you, barely covering your torso, let alone insulating you from the freezing air.

Snowflakes continued to drift in from the broken windows, scattering across the dusty floor.

The place felt like a tomb. The smell of decay hung in the air, making every breath feel heavy, cold, and full of death.

Mike tried to stay focused, but even as his eyes scanned the scattered papers on the floor, his attention was pulled to you. You were over by the corner of the room, crouched low beside an old table, sifting through stacks of yellowed documents, your movements deliberate but slow. The jacket clung to you awkwardly, barely covering your arms and torso.

Even from across the room, he could hear your teeth chattering slightly, despite how hard you were trying to suppress it.

You always did that, pushing yourself even when it was clear you were struggling. Mike admired that about you, but it was also something that worried him. He knew you were trying to stay strong for him and the rest of the group, but the last thing Mike wanted was for you to get hurt or worse.

His thoughts raced, that protective instinct flaring up again. You didn't deserve this. You deserved to be somewhere warm, safe... with him.

He had been feeling that way for months now, ever since that night after he broke up with Emily. That night had changed everything for him. You were the one who stayed with him, sitting by his side, listening to him vent as he struggled to process the end of his long-term relationship.

You didn't just offer hollow platitudes; you gave him the kind of comfort and understanding he never knew he needed. He realized then, somewhere between the midnight conversation and the quiet moments of silence, that you were different. You weren't just his friend; you were the one person who made him feel like himself again.

After that night, he found himself constantly thinking about you. How easy it was to talk to you, how you made him laugh even when he felt like shit.

He'd find excuses to see you, call you up for help with college work, or invite you out for something casual. He always assumed you'd catch on quickly to his flirting, but you never did. Either he was terrible at flirting with a guy like you, or you were just completely oblivious.

Without a word, he began to unbutton his own jacket, which was far thicker and more insulated than the pathetic excuse you were wearing.

He held it out toward you.

"Here," he said simply. "Take it"

You shook your head immediately. "No. I'll be fine. You need it more than I do."

Mike narrowed his eyes, clearly not buying it. "You're freezing, man. You look like you're about to turn into an ice cube."

You tried to laugh it off, though it came out weak and unconvincing. "It's really not that bad. I can handle the cold. And it'd be selfish of me to take your jacket. There’s no way you're any warmer than I am."

With the simple tank top he was wearing underneath, now all dirty with mud and snow, it became even harder for you to stop staring at him. His muscular and strong arms drew your attention.

Mike sighed, holding the jacket out stubbornly towards you. "You're not fine. You're shaking like a leaf." He reached out, gently brushing his fingers over your arm, feeling the coldness of your skin even through the thin fabric of your jacket. "Just take it."

But you shook your head again, more firmly this time. "It wouldn't be fair," you murmured, looking down at the papers you were holding. "You need it just as much as I do. I can handle the cold. We've been through worse than this, right?"

Why couldn't you just let him take care of you for once?

"Come on," he tried again, his voice soft but insistent. "After everything we've been through tonight, hypothermia is the least of my worries. I'm not letting you freeze out here, not when I can do something about it."

You glanced up at him, your eyes softening for a moment, and for a second, Mike thought you might actually take the jacket. But then you shook your head again.

"I'll be fine, Mike."

Mike sighed heavily, his breath visible in the cold air as he ran a hand through his hair. "Damn it, you're stubborn.”

You gave him a small smile, trying to divert the conversation as you continued sorting through the papers. "I've been called worse."

Finally, with a deep sigh, Mike relented, shoving his jacket back on with a grumble.

Minutes passed in silence, the only sounds being the creak of old floorboards beneath your feet and the occasional rustle of paper. Wolfie, the wolf Mike had somehow managed to befriend, lay beside you, his fur brushing against your leg as he occasionally shifted.

Every so often, you'd reach down to scratch behind Wolfie's ears. His fur was soft under your fingertips.

You gripped the edges of the papers in your hand, hoping that somehow, just focusing on the task in front of you would make it better.

It didn't.

It was then that you noticed Mike shifting beside you and before you could react, his body was pressing up against your back, his arms wrapping around your waist in a firm but gentle hold. His warmth hit you immediately, and you couldn't stop the small gasp that escaped your lips at the sudden contrast.

"Mike?" you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper as you stiffened in surprise at the closeness.

"Relax," he murmured, his breath warm against the side of your neck. "If you won't take my jacket, I'll just have to warm you up myself." he whispered, his voice rough and low.

Your heart started to race, not just from the unexpected contact, but from the undeniable heat that surged through your body as Mike's lips brushed against the side of your neck. The sensation was electrifying, sending a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold this time.

His lips moved slowly, deliberately, trailing soft kisses down the length of your neck, each one sending a wave of heat through your body. Your body was leaning into his touch, craving more of the warmth and comfort he was offering.

This wasn't the Mike you were used to. This was something far more intimate, more personal.

"Mike... I don't..." you began, but your words trailed off as his lips found a particularly sensitive spot just below your ear, making your breath hitch in your throat.

"You don't what?" he asked softly, his hand sliding up from your waist to rest on your chest, pulling you even closer against him. "You don't want this?"

Of course you wanted it. More than anything, really. You'd been harboring feelings for Mike for so long, feelings you'd kept hidden, thinking there was no way he'd ever see you as anything more than a friend, a study partner, a background presence in his life.

But now, with his body pressed against yours and his lips trailing fire down your neck, it was clear that Mike had been seeing you in a very different light for a while.

"I didn't think..." you started, your voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't think you felt like this about me."

He hadn't planned on this happening, not exactly. But as he held you in his arms, feeling the heat of your body against his, he couldn't deny how good it felt, how right it felt to be this close to you. For years, he had pushed his feelings for you to the back of his mind, thinking it wasn't something you'd ever want. You were smart, focused, always so kind.

He pressed closer, his lips trailing lower along your collarbone, his fingers gently digging into your waist. The torn jacket you were wearing slid down slightly, giving him better access to your skin, and he took full advantage of it, kissing his way down your neck with slow, deliberate movements.

Mike's lips paused against your skin, and he pulled back, his expression soft but intense. "You really didn't notice, did you?" He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I've been trying to get you to see it for months. I thought you'd pick up on it, but... guess I'm not as smooth as I thought."

You blinked at him, your mind reeling. "You've... been trying to tell me?"

"Yeah," he admitted, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. "I've been dropping hints since we stayed up all night after Emily and I broke up. You were there for me, man. And ever since then I just... I couldn't stop thinking about you."

"I didn't think you'd ever feel like that about me," you confessed, your voice shaky with disbelief.

Mike smiled softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he pulled you a little closer. "I noticed the way you looked at me," he said quietly, his breath warm against your skin. "All those times you'd stare at me, thinking I didn't see. You were so fucking adorable, but it drove me crazy."

You blinked up at him, clearly shocked by the confession. Mike chuckled softly, his lips brushing over your jawline, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your waist. "You're not that good at hiding it, you know."

Before you could respond, Mike kissed you. His lips hungry, filled with all the emotions he hadn't been able to express before. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer.

You responded almost immediately, your lips parting under his, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you pulled him closer.

Mike deepened the kiss, his hands slipping beneath your jacket, his fingers tracing the outline of your hips, your waist, your chest. His tongue dipped past your lips.

After a long moment, Mike pulled back just enough to whisper, his voice low and rough, "You're okay with this, right?"

You didn't even hesitate this time. You nodded, breathless.

Mike's grin widened, and without another word, he kissed you again, even more deeply this time. His hands moved up your sides, tugging at the edges of your jacket as he pressed you against the wall.

You pulled him closer, your hands tangling in his hair as the heat between you both grew.

Mike's lips left yours, trailing down your jaw and back to your neck, his hands roaming your body as if he couldn't get enough of you. Your breath coming in shallow gasps as he kissed his way down to your collarbone, his grip on your waist tightening.

You wanted more, needed more, and judging by the way Mike was holding you with his erection pressing insistently against you, he felt the same.

He pulled back slightly, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips as he glanced over at Wolfie, who had been lying quietly in the corner of the room.

He bent down, ruffling the fur of the wolf who had been sitting quietly in the corner of the room. "Go on, buddy," Mike whispered. "Follow me for a second."

The wolf trotted after Mike as he stepped out of the room, leaving you alone for a few moments, heart still racing. You could hear him talking softly to Wolfie just outside the door, something about how you were "the guy" he'd told the wolf about before.

When Mike came back into the room, locking the door behind him, the intensity in his eyes made your pulse quicken even more.

Without wasting another second, Mike crossed the room in a few quick strides and grabbed you by the waist, pulling you into a deep, hungry kiss. His lips were insistent, full of desire, and you couldn't help but melt into him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you kissed him back with just as much need.

Mike's hands roamed over your body, gripping your hips, pulling you closer. His tongue teased at your lips before slipping into your mouth, deepening the kiss.

He broke the kiss just long enough to mutter, "God, I've wanted you for so long."

Then, his lips were on yours again. His hands gripping you even tighter, pressing you against the nearest wall as his mouth trailed down your neck, nipping and biting at the sensitive skin there.

His hands were on you, pulling at your clothes, lowering them to expose just what was needed with an almost frantic urgency, before he gripped your ass, his fingers digging into the soft skin with a possessive intensity as he lifted you slightly, pressing his body against your.

"Relax," Mike whispered, his voice low and commanding as his fingers trailed down, teasingly brushing against your entrance. "Let me take care of you."

He teased you for a moment, his fingers gently exploring before he slowly pushed one inside, his eyes never leaving yours.

"You're so fucking tight," he groaned, his voice low and gravelly.

He moved his finger slowly at first, watching your face for every reaction, but as you relaxed into his touch, he added another finger, stretching you carefully.

Mike's other hand reached up to cup your face, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek as he leaned in to kiss you again, this time slower, more tender.

By the time Mike pulled his fingers out of you, you were trembling with anticipation, your body aching for him.

You heard the rustle of fabric as he undid his pants, and then you felt the tip of his hard cock rubbing against your thigh.

"Ready for me?" he asked, his voice low and rough.

You could barely nod, your entire body trembling with need. Mike lined himself up, his hands gripping your hips firmly, and then, with one slow, steady thrust, he pushed inside.

The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pain as he stretched you, filled you completely. He moved slowly at first, watching your face for any sign of discomfort, but all you could do was moan softly, your hands clutching at his shoulders.

"You're perfect," Mike groaned as he began to move, his hips moving with slow, deliberate motions. "You feel so fucking good."

Mike's hands were everywhere, gripping your hips, sliding up your chest, cupping your face as he kissed you hungrily. His cock filled you completely, each slow thrust sending waves of pleasure through your body.

His hands moved lower, his fingers finding their way between your legs as he stroked you in time with his thrusts.

The more his pace picked up, the more his movements became rougher, more desperate. He kissed you again, biting at your lips, your neck, his hands gripping your ass tightly as he pulled you closer with each thrust.

"Fuck," Mike groaned, his voice low and husky. His soft grunts filling the cold room as he moved inside you.

The pleasure built to an unbearable peak as his thrusts became faster, harder. You could feel the heat spreading through your body, your muscles tensing as you teetered on the edge.

And then, with one final, deep thrust, Mike groaned loudly, his hands gripping you tightly as he came, his cock pulsing inside you. The sensation sent you over the edge as well, and you cried out as your own orgasm ripped through you, your voice muffled against his neck.

After a few moments of catching your breath and letting the weight of everything settle in, Mike pressed another soft kiss to your forehead before pulling away slightly, his hands lingering on your hips. You could see the satisfied smile tugging at his lips, that playful, cocky expression you had grown so used to over the years. He gave you a wink before straightening up, pulling his pants back up and adjusting himself as if nothing had happened.

You followed suit, your body still buzzing with the aftermath. There was something so surreal about it all. Being here, with Mike Munroe, of all people. You had known him for years, but you had never imagined things would end up like this.

Once you were both dressed and more or less presentable, Mike walked over to the door, unlocking it with a soft click.

"Ready to face Wolfie again? He might be a little upset that we kicked him out." He glanced back at you, a mischievous smile playing on his lips, before swinging the door open.

Outside, Wolfie was sprawled out across the floor, his furry body taking up most of the tight hallway. The wolf's ears twitched at the sound of the door opening, and he turned his head to glance at the two of you. His golden eyes scanned you two and then, with what could only be described as a huff, he plopped his head back down onto the floor, letting out a long sigh as if he had been deeply offended by the delay.

"Is he pouting?" you asked, incredulous.

Mike smirked, clearly amused by the wolf's behavior. "What? You jealous, buddy?" he teased as he crouched down beside Wolfie. The wolf, still looking somewhat begrudging, turned his head away, as if refusing to acknowledge Mike.

Mike reached out, scratching Wolfie behind the ears, his voice dropping into a low, playful tone. "Come on, don't be mad. I was just doing my part to keep him warm. You know how cold it is here."

You watched as Wolfie's resolve began to crumble under Mike's touch, his tail thumping softly against the floor as Mike scratched behind his ears. Mike chuckled, his cocky grin growing wider. "See? I warmed him up real good. All thanks to me."

Wolfie responded with a soft growl. He finally turned his head back toward Mike and he ruffled his fur, looking pleased with himself.

"Yeah, yeah," you said, rolling your eyes but unable to stop the smile from spreading across your face.

Mike stood up, shooting you a wink as he slung his arm around your shoulder. "Damn right, I did." He leaned in to press a soft, quick kiss to your lips.

Together, you and Mike walked down the hallway, Wolfie trotting along beside you. And as Mike gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, you couldn't help but feel grateful that, through all the chaos and terror of the night, you had found someone worth fighting for.

If you liked this story please leave a comment, I love reading them <3.

[lefteagleblizzard]

𝔉𝔯𝔲𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔲𝔫𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔥𝔢𝔡

Mike Munroe x male reader

Summary: Mike had always liked a challenge, but you were downright impossible. Reckless, sharp-tongued and way too eager to throw yourself into danger. Half the time, he couldn’t decide if he wanted to strangle you or kiss you. But after one stunt too many, he decided he’d had enough. If you weren’t gonna listen to reason, maybe he’d just have to teach you some other way

Tags: Male reader. He/him pronouns are used towards the reader. No use of Y/N. Enemies/Friends to lovers. Love confession. Lots of remarks. Make out session. Lots of dirty talk. Brat tamer Mike Munroe. Gay smut. Top Mike munroe. Dom Mike Munroe. Bottom male reader. Hate sex. Anal sex.

ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

Words count: 5000 words

The sanatorium smelled of rot and blood, the air so thick with decay it felt like it could clog your throat. Every step echoed in the hollow corridors.

Mike Munroe had always thought he'd seen the worst of it with the mines and those wendigos clawing at the edges of his sanity but nothing compared to the sheer insanity of trying to keep you alive.

He knew you were reckless, borderline suicidal in your determination to protect him, and it pissed him off to no end, brown eyes fixed on you with a burning kind of anger that only came from sheer terror.

Mike stayed on your heels, his shotgun cradled in white-knuckled hands while you pushed forward even as caged wendigos rattled their bars and clawed at the air mere inches from your skin. That same reckless confidence Mike had come to admire and despise in equal measure.

"Jesus Christ, slow the fuck down," Mike hissed, his voice low but sharp. "You think those things can't get to you if you're strutting like that?"

"Relax," you shot back without turning to look at him, your voice dripping with that trademark sarcasm he'd grown to loathe in moments like this. "They're behind bars."

"Don't fucking tempt fate," he snapped, his teeth grinding. He hated how casually you brushed off danger. It was the kind of arrogance that made his blood boil and his stomach churn with worry all at once.

As if on cue, a skeletal arm shot through the bars to your right, claws slicing through the air with terrifying speed. You flinched, sidestepping the swipe with a quick motion.

Another wendigo near the end of the row lunged, its claws stretching impossibly far through the bars. Mike moved before you could react, slamming you against the opposite wall with one hand as the shotgun exploded in the other. The blast silenced the wendigo's screech, its emaciated body crumpling behind the cage.

"Stay the fuck behind me," he barked, his voice cutting through the ringing in your ears. His face was inches from yours, streaked with dirt and sweat, his eyes wild.

"Just once, could you do what I say without arguing?"

"You should try trusting me sometime and let me help you out." There was a sharp gleam in your eyes as you grinned despite the adrenaline tearing through your veins.

"Help?" He laughed bitterly, the sound hollow in the dark. "The only thing you've helped with is shaving years off my lifespan."

"Aw, you care." Your grin was maddening, a cocky tilt to your head that sent a jolt of something sharp and hot through his chest.

Mike let out a frustrated growl, his jaw clenched so tightly you could see the muscles working beneath his skin.

Another wendigo lunged, this one on his blind side. Time seemed to slow as its claws arced toward his neck, the jagged edges glinting in the dim light.

Without thinking, you moved.

Your body slammed into his, shoving him out of the way as you raised your arm to block the swipe. Pain exploded across your forearm as the claws raked deep, hot blood spilling down your sleeve. Mike spun around, his voice a roar of panic before the shotgun fired again, the recoil jolting his entire body as the wendigo flew back into the cage with a sickening crunch. He caught you before you could hit the floor, his hands gripping your shoulders as his eyes scanned the deep gashes marring your arm.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he yelled, his voice shaking with equal parts fury and fear.

You winced, blood seeping from the fresh gash in your side but the corner of your mouth quirked up in a half-smile. “Saving your life. It worked, didn't it?"

"Saved my—" His voice broke off as his fingers tightened on your arms, his knuckles white. "You're bleeding all over the goddamn place!”

The wendigos in the cages shrieked louder, their skeletal bodies throwing themselves against the bars, the metal groaning under the weight of their emancipated bodies. Mike hauled you to your feet, his grip firm as he dragged you toward the end of the hall.

The door loomed ahead, heavy and rusted, the handle worn smooth by time. You threw your weight against it, your injured arm screaming in protest as Mike fired another shot behind you.

The door groaned and gave away with a metallic screech and you stumbled inside, turning just in time to see Mike fire point-blank into a wendigo lunging at him. You grabbed a rusted metal barrel and hurled it into the hall, the clang echoing ominously as it rolled toward the wendigos.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" Mike yelled, his voice raw. He blasted the wendigo mid-lunge, the creature's body crumpling far away.

"Stop yelling at me and shoot it already!" you snapped back, your voice sharp and biting.

Mike's fury boiled over, his hands shaking as he leveled the shotgun at the barrel and fired. The explosion lit up the hallway, the shockwave knocking you both backward as flames roared through the air.

He grabbed you, pulling you against him as debris rained down, his body shielding yours from the worst of it. The door slammed shut behind you with a metallic clang.

Smoke was still thick in the air as you tore a piece of the blood-soaked fabric from your shirt, grimacing as you tied it around the gash on your arm. It wasn't clean, but it was tight, and that was good enough. You let out a hiss as you cinched the knot, the pain sharp but grounding.

Mike didn't wait, by the time you were done self-patching yourself, he was already halfway to the stairs, shoulders rigid as his boots pounded against the cracked stone.

He hadn't said a word or even looked at you yet.

And that bothered you.

Jogging after him, you couldn't help yourself, words tumbled out of your mouth before you could even think.

“You’ve got a weird way of showing gratitude. Most people would say, ‘Hey, thanks for saving me from getting my throat slit.’ But nah, you just throw me around like a ragdoll and storm off. Nice touch. Real alpha male energy.”

He didn't stop. He didn't even turn his head. But you caught the slight twitch of his jaw and the way his grip on the shotgun tightened. He exhaled sharply through his nose and started up the stairs without answering.

You fell into step behind him, your boots scuffing against the stone as you kept talking.

"I see," you said, following close behind. "The silent treatment. Classic. Very mature, Mike."

Still nothing. His boots struck the stone harder now, each step louder than the last. You weren't sure if he was trying to drown you out or if he just couldn't control his frustration anymore.

"I thought we were bonding," you added, your voice dripping with mock disappointment as you kept poking the bear. "You know, saving each other's asses, fighting off horrifying monsters, sharing life-and-death moments. I guess I misread the vibe."

His hand flexed on the shotgun, his knuckles pale, fingers twitching like he was imagining gripping something else entirely.

"You’re mad because I stole your big heroic moment? Is that it? Did I hurt your fragile ego, Munroe? Did I make you feel—"

"Shut the fuck up."

The words hit you like a freight train, his voice booming in the confined space of the stairwell and so heavy with barely-contained anger that it made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

The stairs creaked underfoot with each step. The weight of his silence grated against your nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

"Great," you muttered under your breath, stepping into a small, dimly lit room of the hall.

The room was as lifeless as the rest of the sanatorium, its walls cracked and stained with years of neglect. A battered table sat in the corner, its surface cloaked in a thick layer of dust. On top of it, a chessboard lay abandoned, its pieces scattered and forgotten.

Drawn by a flicker of curiosity, you approached the table, running a finger over the dusty edge. The chessboard was frozen mid-game, the moves etched into time like a fossilized memory. You reached for a lone figure, its surface cool and smooth beneath your fingertips. A simple figure of a man that had nothing to do with chess.

You turned it over in your hand, your mind wandering as you considered the lives that had once filled this place before the experiments and the monstrous transformations.

Deliberate and slow footsteps broke through your thoughts. You glanced toward the doorway, catching sight of Mike as he stepped into the room. He didn't speak, didn't meet your eyes. Instead, he leaned against the doorframe, shotgun dangling loosely in one hand.

You turned back to the figure, rolling it between your fingers. His childish suiking had stretched thin your patience. If he wanted to sulk, fine. You weren't about to beg for his attention. Two could play at the silent game.

You set the chess piece back down, brushing the dust from your fingers, and let out a quiet huff.

Hell of a place to get all broody.

The sudden, jarring clang of his shotgun landing on the corner of the table startled you, and you barely had time to turn before his hands were on you.

Strong, calloused fingers gripped your arms with bruising force and yanked you forward, forcing you against the edge of the table. Your palms slapped the surface, the chess piece clattering away as Mike's grip held you firmly in place. His chest pressed against your back and you could feel his hot, sharp, and furious breath tickling the shell of your ear.

"Mike, what the fuck?" you spat, twisting against his hold, but he didn't budge.

"What the fuck am I doing?" His voice was low, dangerous, trembling with barely contained fury. "No, the real question is what the fuck you think you're doing. Do you have any idea how done I am with your shit?"

You grit your teeth, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened at the sound of his voice. "Oh, I don't know," you shot back, your tone sharp despite the position you were in. "Maybe you could enlighten me, since you've been sulking like a toddler for the past ten minutes."

Mike chuckled darkly, the sound devoid of humor. "Still got that smart mouth, huh? Not surprising. You never know when to shut the fuck up."

You bristled at his tone, turning your head just enough to glare at him over your shoulder. "And you never know when to quit being an asshole. Guess we're even."

His grip tightened, fingers digging into your arms just enough to make you wince.

"No, we're not even," he growled, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. "Not by a long shot. You've been pushing me all night, running your mouth and throwing yourself into danger like you've got a death wish. I've had enough."

"Yeah?" you snapped, your voice rising in defiance. "Maybe if you stopped treating me like I'm some helpless fucking kid, I wouldn't have to keep proving I can handle myself."

His laugh was sharp and bitter, and you could feel the tension in his body as he pressed you harder against the table. "You call that handling yourself? That's being a reckless, selfish little shit."

"Selfish?" You twisted in his grip, ignoring the ache in your arms. "I was trying to save you, you ungrateful asshole! Or did you forget about the fucking wendigo that was about to rip your head off?"

"Yeah, and you nearly got yourself killed in the process!" he shot back, his voice cracking with the force of his anger. "Do you have any idea what that felt like? Watching you throw yourself in front of that thing, knowing I couldn't stop you? Knowing that if you got yourself killed, it'd be on me?"

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, you didn't know what to say.

You refused to let his words or presence get under your skin. He wasn’t going to win. Not like this.

"So that's what this is about?" you said, your voice laced with defiance. "You can't handle the fact that someone might actually give a shit about you?"

Mike's breath hitched and for a split second, you thought you'd gotten to him. But then he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

"No," he said, his lips brushed against your ear, breath hot and heavy. "This is about you learning your fucking place. Right here," he murmured, his voice dark and commanding. "Under me. Doing what I say. Got it?"

The weight of Mike's chest pressed down on your back, his breath hot against the nape of your neck.

And then you felt it.

Thick, hard, and unmistakable, his bulge strained against the denim of his jeans, pressing firmly against your ass as he leaned in further.

Heat rushed through you, blood pumping straight to your dick, shame and arousal twisting into one unbearable, molten thing in your gut, your traitorous body reacting before your brain could catch up.

Mike let out a low, guttural grunt, the sound vibrating through his chest and straight into your spine. "Where's all that attitude now? One little touch and you go quiet on me? Didn't think it'd take this little to shut you up." he muttered, his voice dropping to a rough, husky whisper.

You hissed through clenched teeth, trying to ignore the heat pooling low in your belly as the warmth of his words washed over you. "Fuck you," you spat, your voice cracking slightly as you twisted beneath him.

His laugh came again, rougher this time, edged with something darker. "Fuck me?" he repeated mockingly, pressing his hips forward to grind his bulge against you, the friction sending a jolt through your body. "That's not how this is gonna work, sweetheart. I'm the one calling the shots here."

He yanked you forward and slammed your face flush against the cold table, bending you down perfectly for him. One strong hand threading roughly through your hair, keeping your head pressed down while his other hand splayed firmly against the small of your back, holding you in place. Your legs were spread wide, his own body pressed hard against you, pinning you down with no room to squirm.

You bit your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction. But your silence only seemed to spur him on.

"Look at you,” he growled, voice dropping to a taunting whisper as he leaned down, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "All pinned down and squirming under me. Not so tough now, are you?"

"Fuck off," you managed, though the words came out weaker than you intended.

"You always have to fight, don't you? Ain't moving 'til I say so.”

Heat curled through you. Fucking traitorous heat, searing low in your gut, burning through your veins.

"You drive me insane, you know that?" His voice was slow, deliberate, like he was savoring every word. "Always have. Right from the start."

Your jaw clenched. "Too bad I can't say the same—"

"Oh, bullshit. You think I don't see the way you look at me?" His voice was taunting now, fingers curling tighter around your wrists, his hips grinding forward to make you fucking feel him. "Always running your mouth, always pushing me, but I see the way your eyes linger when you think I'm not looking. Fuck if it didn't make me want you even more."

You sucked in a sharp breath. Your heart was pounding now from excitement as he yanked your pants down, breath coming in short, uneven gasps as he exposed you completely to him and you gave no struggle or resistance.

"Don't lie to me," he growled, his tone dangerous as he leaned in even closer, the firm press of his cock unmistakable through the rough fabric of his jeans. "I can feel how you’re getting hard while I've got you pinned to a fucking table. You've been dying for this, haven't you? I bet you love seeing me all worked up, ready to lose my goddamn mind over you."

His body pressed closer, his lips brushed just against your skin. "You never fucking stop. Never back down. Always have to prove you're the toughest son of a bitch in the room and I fucking love that about you."

You shivered beneath him, your resolve wavering as his hand slid lower, squeezing your ass.

A sharp slap landed across your ass, the sting of it sending a bolt of heat straight through you. You jerked against the table, your breath coming out ragged, but Mike just chuckled, dragging his hand back up to squeeze the reddening skin.

You bit your lip hard, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

"Every time you talked back to me and got in my face like you had something to prove, I wanted to shove you down on your knees and see just how mouthy you'd be with my dick filling that bratty little mouth of yours."

Your breath caught, fingers tightening against the table. "You talk a big game," you ground out, jaw tight despite the heat pulsing through you, "but I don't see you doing shit."

Mike's grip on your hair tightened, yanking your head back just enough to force a gasp from your lips.

"You wanna test me, sweetheart?" His voice was low and dangerous, burning with something feral. "You really wanna see what happens when you push me too far?"

You bit back a gasp, biting your lower lip so hard it nearly split, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of your surrender.

"You can grit your teeth and keep that stubborn mouth shut, but your body's already telling me everything I need to know." His voice was a gravelly purr, rich with mockery as his lips skimmed the side of your neck, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

You shivered involuntarily as his teeth grazed the sensitive flesh of your throat, sharp enough to threaten but not to pierce.

Whatever snotty remark you have been about to spew vanished as he spits into his hand, the slick sound loud in the stillness of the room, followed by the warm, wet press of his fingers against your entrance. He didn't rush, didn't ease up; he worked his first finger in with a slow, steady pressure, curling it just enough to make you shudder.

"Shit," you hissed, your hands clawing at the edge of the table as he added a second finger, scissoring his fingers with a ruthless precision. Each twist and deliberate press of his fingers sent jolts of white-hot pleasure up your spine, your breath coming faster as you struggled to hold onto the last threads of your resistance.

"You feel that? That's what happens when you stop running your mouth and start letting me take care of things." Mike murmured, his voice a rough, husky growl as he watched you squirm.

"You're... such a cocky bastard," you bit out, though the breathlessness in your voice betrayed you.

"And you fucking love it," he shot back, his fingers curling and dragging a moan from your throat that you couldn't quite suppress. His smirk widened, his lips brushing against the back of your neck as he added a third finger, stretching you further. "There it is. Knew I'd get you to make those pretty sounds for me."

You gasped, your back arching involuntarily as he pressed deeper, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. "Fuck—Mike—"

"Say it," he growled, his hand sliding up to grip the back of your neck, holding you firmly in place as his fingers continued their relentless assault. "Say you need me. Say you want me to wreck you."

"Fuck you," you spat, though the tremor in your voice robbed the words of their intended bite.

He chuckled smugly, withdrawing his fingers abruptly, leaving you gasping at the sudden emptiness. Mike's breath was a ragged growl against your shoulder, his weight pinning you flush against the weathered table as his hands worked deftly to undo his belt.

The sound of his zipper being undone was the only warning you got before you felt the thick, blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance, circling it teasingly.

"Beg for it," he demanded, his voice low and commanding, sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through you. "Beg me to fuck you."

"Do it," you growled, the desperation in your voice making him chuckle as he kept l the head of his cock pressed against your entrance.

"Not until you say it," he murmured, his voice low and teasing as he leaned over you, his lips brushing against your neck. "Tell me what you want."

Your breath hitched, your fingers digging into the table as he pressed forward just enough to make you gasp. "Fuck, Mike—just fuck me already."

"That's more like it," he said, his voice a rough growl as he thrust into you in one smooth motion, the head of his cock breaching you until he buried himself to the hilt. The stretch was overwhelming, a sharp, burning heat that stole the breath from your lungs, but the groan that tore from his throat was pure satisfaction.

"Jesus," he muttered, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he held you there, unmoving, his cock pulsing deep inside you.

You couldn't muster a response. Not when he started to move, his hips snapping against you in a slow, punishing rhythm that left you gasping for air. His grip on your hips was bruising as he set the pace, each thrust sending a fresh wave of pleasure and pain crashing through you.

Mike wasn't one to let you off easy, his hand sliding around to grip your throat, pulling you upright as he drove into you harder, deeper.

"Admit you've been begging for this. Admit you fucking love it." He demanded, his voice a rough growl against your ear.

"Mike," you gasped, your head falling back against his shoulder as he tightened his grip, his cock hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur. "Fuck, I—“

He growled, his teeth sinking into the curve of your neck as his hand slid lower, wrapping around your cock and stroking you in time with his thrusts.

His rhythm growing erratic as he chased his release.

You were trembling, the peak of pleasure hanging just out of reach, so close it burned, and yet he had stopped abruptly.

The noise you made was involuntary, a ragged, guttural sound of frustration ripped from deep within you. It echoed off the room's peeling walls, cutting through the heavy air as Mike's hand stilled against your cock, robbing you of the release you were so desperately chasing. Your sweat-slicked body trembled with need as he brushed his fingers lazily over your cock, deliberately avoiding giving you anything substantial.

He fucking loved it.

He stood behind you, chest heaving, his cock still buried deep inside you as he tilted his head to watch you squirm. The smirk that spread across his face was infuriating, brimming with that maddening mix of smugness and satisfaction that only he could pull off. "Something wrong, sweetheart?" he drawled, his tone dripping with mock concern as he leaned over you, his breath brushing hot against your ear.

You didn't answer, didn't trust yourself to speak without giving him exactly what he wanted. Instead, you clenched your fists against the table, your teeth digging into your bottom lip as you fought to suppress the whimper building in your throat.

He pulled out slowly, the drag of his cock enough to make your breath hitch. And then, he flipped you over. His hands snaked down, strong fingers sliding beneath your legs as he hoisted you up with ease. You barely had time to brace yourself before he slammed you back down onto the table, the impact making your body jolt.

The move left your legs spread wide, his hips slotting perfectly between them as he leaned down, his body pressing against yours. The heat of his cock dragged against yours as he shifted closer until there was no space left between you.

His gaze raked over your face. Flushed cheeks, parted lips, those sharp, defiant eyes still burning with the need to fight him. Christ, you were fucking perfect like this, all wrecked and ruined because of him.

"You look good like this," he murmured, his voice thick with amusement as his lips hovered just over yours, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath. His fingers tightened their grip on your jaw, tilting your face up to his. "All this, just from me." His smirk widened. "And you still wanna act like you don't love it."

You opened your mouth to snap something back but before you could, Mike surged forward, his lips crashing against yours. The kiss was filthy, all tongue and teeth, his body pressing down against yours as he devoured you. His tongue pushed into your mouth, sweeping into your mouth with an eagerness that bordered on frantic while tilting our head to deepen the kiss even further.

He tasted like salt and sweat. Every time you tried to catch your breath, to regain some semblance of control, he pushed harder, pulling another whimper or gasp from your throat.

His cock pressed against yours, hot and slick with the mess of earlier, the friction sending sparks of pleasure racing through you. He moved his hips deliberately, grinding against you as his tongue slid against yours.

You couldn't stop the moan that slipped from your lips, muffled against his mouth and the sound made him groan, low and guttural, his fingers tightening against your skin.

His palms dragged over broad shoulders and down your torso, memorizing every inch of you as he kissed you, his touch firm and possessive.

The heat between you was unbearable now, a steady, relentless build that left you trembling against him. Mike pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and burning as they raked over your face. Your lips were swollen and shiny, your cheeks flushed, your chest rising and falling with every ragged breath.

His hips rolled forward, dragging his cock against yours, the friction making you gasp. He swallowed the sound with another kiss, his hands gripping your thighs, lifting them just enough to shift you higher on the table and wrap them around his waist. He lined himself up almost immediately and sank back inside in one smooth thrust.

You choked on a moan, your back arching off the table as he bottomed out.

"Fuck, that's good," Mike groaned, his forehead dropping against yours for a second, his breath hot and uneven. "Goddamn, you feel—" He cut himself off with a sharp thrust, making you cry out, your nails digging into his back. "Yeah, that's what I wanna hear.”

He started moving again, dragging out every inch before stamming back in, making sure you felt every bit of him. His hands gripped your hips, forcing you to take it, to feel just how deep he was inside you.

His pace was brutal, each thrust sending you sliding up the table, the wood groaning under the force of it. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you open as he fucked into you without mercy. The pleasure was overwhelming, hot and unbearable, coiling low in your stomach, threatening to snap at any second.

"You're mine," he growled, his teeth scraping against your jaw as he drove into you harder. "Say it."

You clenched your jaw, refusing.

Mike clicked his tongue, his hand sliding up to wrap around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch. His other hand wrapped around your cock, stroking you in time with his thrusts, dragging you closer, closer, until you were right there, teetering on the edge just like minutes ago.

"Say it," he ordered again, his grip tightening, his pace relentless. "Tell me you're mine, or I swear to God, I'll stop right fucking now."

The threat sent a fresh wave of desperation through you, and you hated him for how easily he could break you down, how much you needed him to just keep fucking moving.

"I'm yours," you finally rasped, the words torn from your throat, raw and wrecked. "You fucking own me! Just don't fucking stop."

The words shattered something inside him. He groaned, deep and guttural, his hips snapping against yours in an erratic, desperate rhythm as he buried himself deep.

With a strangled cry, you came undone, your body trembling as you spilled over his hand. Mike groaned, his pace faltering as he buried himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he came with a guttural moan, his lips crashing against yours in a messy, desperate kiss.

For a moment, the world seemed to still, the only sound in the room, the ragged panting of your breaths as Mike held you close, his forehead resting against yours. And then, with a soft, breathless laugh, he leaned back just enough to look at you, his smirk returning in full force as he brushed a thumb over your flushed cheek.

The scent of sweat and spent adrenaline thick between you. Mike was still inside you, pressed close with his breath ghosting over your lips in shallow, uneven pants. His hand lingered on your cheek, thumb tracing absent patterns over the flushed skin.

Your body ached, the kind of deep, satisfied soreness that came from being well and thoroughly wrecked. Your fingers twitched against his shoulder, nails grazing over the thin sheen of sweat on his skin.

You let out a shaky breath, your pulse pounding in your ears. "Jesus, Mike..." Your voice was hoarse, wrecked, and your lips throbbed from how hard he'd kissed you.

Mike huffed out a breathless laugh, his forehead dropping against your shoulder. "Yeah," he muttered. "Jesus."

The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy, filled only by the slowing rhythm of your breaths. Neither of you moved to untangle from the other, and you weren't sure if it was because of the exhaustion sinking into your bones or something else neither of you wanted to admit out loud.

Mike was the first to shift, his hands sliding down to your thighs before gripping the underside of your knees, pushing them wider as he slowly pulled out of you. A sharp gasp ripped from your throat at the overstimulation, your body protesting even as you shivered at the loss of him.

He stood there between your legs, his hands smoothing up your trembling thighs, fingers ghosting over bruises and marks he'd left.

A thick silence stretched between you before he finally lifted his gaze, his jaw tightening. "You good?"

You scoffed, though your voice was weak. "You asking 'cause you care, or 'cause you're wondering if I'm up for round two?"

Mike's smirk was slow, dangerous, his fingers flexed on your thighs, digging in just enough to make you squirm. "You're already that desperate for more?" His voice was husky, dripping with mockery, but the way his pupils dilated told you he wasn't opposed to the idea.

You grinned, reckless as ever, despite the exhaustion in your limbs. "Depends. You think you can keep up? I think I can still feel your pulse in my ass, Munroe."

Mike's smirk widened, but instead of answering, he surged forward, crashing his lips against yours with a force that nearly sent you sprawling back onto the table as he tilted your head back and took control, his tongue pushing past your lips with a filthy, hungry growl.

He licked deep, savoring the heat of you, the lingering taste of salt and adrenaline. The kiss was all messy and wet, his teeth scraping against your lower lip before sucking it into his mouth, nipping just hard enough to make you groan.

Your body was weak, barely able to keep up, and he knew it. He could feel the way your limbs trembled and fuck, he reveled in it.

His hand slid down to your ass, squeezing hard as he pulled you flush against him again, your spent body molding into his as he took everything he wanted.

His lips left yours only to trail down your throat again, his breath hot and heavy as he dragged his teeth along your skin, scraping over your pulse point before sucking a deep, bruising mark onto your skin.

Your head was spinning, your body burning, and all you could do was whimper as he pulled back just enough to let you breathe, his thumb swiping over your swollen bottom lip.

You exhaled heavily, trying to gather whatever strength you had left. But when you went to slide off the table, your legs nearly gave out beneath you, and Mike fucking laughed.

"Can't even stand up straight, huh?" He crossed his arms, watching you with pure, infuriating amusement as you clutched the table for support.

You shot him a glare, but your legs were shaking, your body still wrecked from earlier. "I can walk."

Mike cocked a brow, that shit-eating smirk still plastered on his face. "You sure? 'Cause it looks like I might have fucked you so good you forgot how."

"Shut the hell up.”

He chuckled, stepping forward to grab your arm.

As you limped beside him, Mike leaned in close, voice a low murmur against your ear. "Bet you'll be feelin' that for a while."

You clenched your jaw. "Don't flatter yourself."

Mike just laughed again, shaking his head. "Too late, sweetheart."

And as you made your way back into the darkened halls of the sanatorium, you knew one thing for sure.

You weren't getting rid of him anytime soon.

[lefteagleblizzard]

𝔅𝔢𝔱𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔴𝔬 𝔡𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩𝔰

Mike Munroe x male reader x Grant Ward

Summary: The lodge burned, sealing away the horrors inside until S.H.I.E.L.D. arrived, determined to uncover the truth. You swore your feelings for Mike Munroe would never be returned. But after a charged encounter with a certain agent, you find yourself caught between two men. One wants to tame you. The other wants to break you.

Tags: Male reader. He/him pronouns are used towards the reader. No use of Y/N. Friends to lovers. Strangers to ???. Angst. Lots of sensual tension. Jealousy. Love corner. Gay smut. Top Mike munroe. Top Grant Ward (Pre-Hydra). (No selfcest). Bottom male reader. Blowjob (reading giving). Anal sex. Double penetration.

ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝒾𝓈𝓉

Words count: 8000 words

You adjusted the weight of the gun in your belt, a gift from Mike that he stubbornly insisted you take. You still weren't sure why he'd been so adamant, but at this moment, you were almost grateful for it.

You jumped down from the rocky ledge, the freezing water swallowing your lower body again and forcing a sharp hiss of pain through your clenched teeth that clattered against each other. The water ripple beside you as Mike jumped in as well.

He cursed under his breath, a sharp ‘fuck’ cutting through the still air, but he adjusted quickly, stepping closer to rub your arm with his hand, the friction a weak attempt at warmth. You managed a small, tight smile, your lips trembling from the cold.

"I'm fine," you forced a smile, ignoring how your teeth clacked together. "You should worry more about Josh."

Mike's hand didn't leave your arm.

Even as you lied through your teeth about being fine, his fingers stayed curled around your sleeve, thumb tracing slow, absent-minded circles over the damp fabric. His brows were drawn tight, lips pressed into a thin line like he was searching for something in you.

But whatever he was looking for, he didn't seem to find it. He gave a single, stiff nod.

"Alright," he muttered, voice rough, like he didn't even believe himself.

Another splash echoed behind you. Josh had followed, his mumbling barely intelligible over the sloshing water, his head tilting this way and that, movements erratic. He wasn't here with you, not mentally.

Mike's grip on your arm lingered, just a second too long before he moved forward and you took the chance to move towards the rocks on the side, feeling the merciful relief of shallower water as you reached a cluster of jagged rocks.

It happened in an instant. A sudden splash and Mike disappeared beneath the dark water.

Panic surged in your chest as your eyes darted wildly across the water's surface, trying to catch a glimpse of him until something rose from the depths.

The thing that emerged was not human. It had once been, maybe, but what stood before you was something twisted beyond recognition, something starved, stretched, monstrous. Its skin clung too tightly over its skinny frame, stretched thin over bones that jutted at jagged, unnatural angles. And the eyes. Sunken pits of milky white, rolling wildly in their sockets as the head snapped towards Josh, neck cracking with the motion. The jaw hung open far wider than it should have, an unhinged, gaping maw lined with jagged teeth.

The sheer wrongness of it paralyzed you. Your body refused to move, breath lodged somewhere between your ribs, mind caught in the primal terror of staring into something that simply should not be.

An arm locked around your waist, yanking you backward with such force that your frozen muscles finally snapped into motion. You gasped, twisting in the grip and found Mike, soaked and terrified. His grip was iron, pulling you toward cover, away from that thing.

Its claws snapped around Josh and he screamed, dragging him from the water like he weighed nothing.

Mike hauled you behind a large rock, his body pressing into yours,pinning you between his heat and the cold, wet stone and holding you against him, arms tight and firm. His heartbeat pounded beneath your cheek, rapid, erratic, just as shaken as you.

He moved to reach for something at your waist.

The gun.

His fingers brushed your belt, pulling the cold weight of it free.

Your fingers twitched as if trying to recall a missed opportunity, the crushing realization slamming into you like a freight train. You had a way to fight back, and instead you stood there, useless, frozen in fear while Josh was taken

Mike cursed under his breath as he raised the gun with his injured hand and aimed where Josh was.

Nothing. Neither him or the wendigo were there.

He swore under his breath, dragging a rough hand down his face, frustration evident in the lines of his body. Then he turned, locking onto you again, softer this time.

"Are you hurt?" His voice was quiet, but insistent, hands gripping your shoulders. His thumbs rubbed slow, grounding circles into your soaked jacket.

You shook your head. Your throat was tight, something thick and painful building there. "It's my fault." The words barely came out. "I could've—should've—"

"Stop." His voice was firm, not allowing space for doubt. "I unloaded hundreds of rounds into those things at the sanatorium. They don't fucking die." His fingers tightened, forcing you to meet his gaze. "If you shot it, all it would've done is kill you next. There was no point in both of you dying."

Your chest was too tight, breathing uneven, and rapid. His arms locked around you with force, pressing you flush against him protectively, body radiating heat despite the cold seeping into your clothes. Your face met his chest, his soaked, dirt-covered shirt and his sturdy chest against your skin, he held you like he needed it just as much as you did

The hum of the aircraft was a dull, constant vibration beneath you. The lodge was gone, reduced to embers and the wendigos—what was left of Hannah and those poor miners experimented on at the sanatorium—were nothing but charred skeletons buried in the wreckage.

SHIELD had arrived before the police even had a chance.

You hadn't even processed how they got there so fast before you were ushered onto The Bus, this massive military transport plane. Instead of immediate safety, you were met with cold professionalism agents in black tactical gear, armed with sidearms that wanted to know everything.

One by one, you and the others were being interrogated. The idea of recounting the night in painful, graphic detail made your stomach twist, but exhaustion sat heavy on you, making it difficult to do much more than sit back and wait.

Mike was beside you and that was enough to keep you grounded. Your body ached, bruises forming where you'd been slammed against walls, dragged through frozen water, thrown to the ground.

You glanced across the cabin. Sam sat a few seats away, elbows on her knees, hands over her face. She was probably thinking about Josh, about Hannah, about everything. The truth had hit her harder than anyone else.

Ashley was already being interrogated, locked away in some windowless room on the aircraft, probably struggling to explain to an agent how cannibalism had turned people into monsters with supernatural strength and speed.

Emily sat across from you and Mike, staring down at the metal floor, her hands gripping the fabric of her torn pants. She muttered curses under her breath over and over, her rage and grief bubbling under the surface, directed at Matt. Whether for leaving her, abandoning her, or not making it out alive, you weren't sure.

You still didn't know if Jessica and Matt made it.

Beside you, Mike shifted. The seat creaked under his weight as his shoulder brushed yours.

It felt stupid how good it felt just the contact alone and you didn’t think twice before leaning into him, resting your head against his shoulder, instinct overriding hesitation.

For a moment, you thought he was going to pull away but then, hesitantly, his arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer.

Mike's jaw clenched. He hadn't thought past the constant static in his chest every time he looked at you.

There was a weight between you, something unspoken but heavy pressing at the edges of whatever this had always been. You swallowed hard, a quiet, bitter chuckle slipping past your lips in a desperate attempt to ease the tension. "At least we both made it out in one piece," you murmured, your voice hoarse.

Mike scoffed, shifting slightly to wave his injured left hand in front of you. The crude bandage was still wrapped tight around the stump where his fingers used to be, the fabric stained with dried blood.

"I wouldn't say one piece, exactly."

You rolled your eyes, nudging him lightly "You know what I mean, dumbass."

The teasing was easy. It almost felt normal, like the two of you were back at some party, throwing banter across the room. But Mike's fingers brushed over your wrist, his thumb tracing small, absentminded patterns against your skin.

His mind was racing.

If this night had taught him anything, it was that life was too fucking short. If he was willing to fight monsters for you, if he was willing to nearly die for you, what the hell was stopping him from saying what's been on his mind for months now?

His grip on you tightened slightly. His throat felt dry.

"I won't tell anyone about what happened in the mines."

The words weren't what he meant to say. Not even close.

He cursed at himself immediately when he felt you tense. There was a moment of silence that stretched painfully, then you whispered, "You shouldn't do that."

Mike turned to look at you fully. Your face was so close to his, barely millimeters apart. He took it all in at once, the dirt and dried blood on your skin, exhaustion clung to your expression and the sharp line of your jaw. It made his chest feel too full.

Your voice was strained. "You shouldn't possibly ruin your life for something I did."

Mike clenched his jaw. He hated the way you blame yourself. It wasn't your fault. If you had tried to save Josh, you'd be fucking dead. He was doing this because he wanted to, because the idea of you getting dragged into something worse than what you'd already suffered made him sick.

Mike swallowed hard. "It's not up for debate."

"It's not your responsibility."

Mike shook his head, jaw set. "I don't care."

Another stretch of silence that felt longer than it really was. Then, slowly, you turned your head to look at him. Your faces were too close and Mike's breath caught in his throat.

You were exhausted, bruised. Blood streaked across your temple, a smudge of dirt on your cheek. But you still looked perfect in his eyes.

You swallowed, breath shaky. "Why are you doing this?"

Mike clenched his jaw, trying to ignore the way his pulse spiked.

You could see the dirt and blood streaking his face, the cuts and bruises from his fights. His lips were split, his cheekbones shadowed with fatigue and grime, and his sharp but tired eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach twist.

Mike exhaled sharply, his breath unsteady, pulse hammering like a war drum in his chest. The words clawed at his throat, desperate to be freed, but his tongue felt heavy, his mind a battlefield of hesitation and raw emotion.

This was it. No more second-guessing. No more biting his tongue. He had to say it now before the moment slipped through his fingers.

He loved you. He fucking loved you.

If it meant keeping you safe, he would have faced a hundred more of those wendigos with nothing but his bare hands if that’s what it took.

His breath hitched as the weight of it settled between you both, hanging thick in the air, electric and undeniable.

He opened his mouth—

"Jesus," Chris groaned suddenly, dropping into the seat in front of you both. "That was terrifying. I think I aged ten years in the last ten minutes. That woman is scary."

Mike clenched his jaw so fucking hard it hurt.

You blinked, lifting your head from his shoulder and he immediately hated the loss of warmth. His arm was still around your waist and his grip twitched, fingers digging in slightly as if he could silently tell you to stay where you were.

But you were already looking at Chris, frowning. "Who?"

Chris rubbed his temple. "The one who interrogated me. Dark hair, totally deadpan face. I thought she was gonna flip the table over when I took too long to answer."

You recalled all the agents that swarmed you when they arrived and circled all of you, your mind settling on a stern-looking Asian woman with sharp, no-nonsense eyes, her posture rigid with the kind of discipline that made it clear she didn’t tolerate any bullshit. Beside her there was a man with neatly combed brown hair, a slight receding hairline that did nothing to diminish the quiet authority he carried. His composed expression barely shifted, save for the occasional flicker of dry amusement in his gaze, as if he was already ten steps ahead of everyone in the room.

You stifled a laugh. "What, you got interrogated by an adult Emily?"

Emily scoffed, shooting you a glare but didn't argue, too preoccupied muttering about Matt under her breath.

Then someone called your name.

Your stomach dropped as you realized that it was your turn.

You groaned, pushing yourself to your feet and squeezing Mike's shoulder in reassurance.

Mike looked up at you and it was easy to pick that your smile wasn't real. Your eyes were too tight, anxiety flickering behind them.

You turned and walked away and all Mike could do was watch until you stepped inside the room.

It was cold not just in temperature, but in presence as well.

A man was seated with calculated ease, fingers interlaced on the metal table between you. He was handsome in a way that was almost unfair, like someone had sculpted the sharp lines of his jaw with the intention of making people stare.

His suit was crisp, tailored to broad shoulders and a lean, solid frame, emphasizing the lean muscle beneath. The sleeves were rolled up enough to expose his forearms, the fabric pressed neatly against defined muscle that flexes subtly as he tapped a pen once against the metal table. The name ‘Grant Ward’ placed on the right side of his suit.

He didn't greet you. Didn't offer a single word of pretense.

Instead, he studied you. No unnecessary movement. Just an unwavering gaze as you took your seat.

Goddamn. Was it too late to request the terrifying woman Chris had mentioned?

Ward exhaled through his nose, gaze flickering over your face like he was assessing something. Then, finally, he spoke.

"Start from the beginning." His voice was sharp, commanding. "Tell me exactly what happened on this mountain."

The sheer weight of the question hit you like a sledgehammer.

Your body screamed with exhaustion, every muscle sore from the night's horrors with your mind in an even worse state.

And now, you have to relive it all again. But Ward's expression made it clear that there was no room for evasion.

So you started talking.

About a year ago Hannah ran into the woods, Beth chasing after her. About how neither of them came back. Then came the present. The stranger with a flamethrower that helped all of you. The sanatorium and the notes you and Mike found about the experiments. The Wendigos.

Every fucking detail, laid bare before him.

You could see Ward's hand moving occasionally, jotting things down, but his face barely moved. His expression remained unreadable, eyes locked onto yours like he was watching for the moment you slipped up.

But when you got to Josh you hesitated.

Just for a second. A single, sharp second.

And he noticed. His pen stilled.

You forced yourself to keep going, but you carefully didn't mention what had happened in the mines. You spoke about how Josh had planned revenge, the fake deaths and the psychological torture.

"You're leaving something out about your friend," he said smoothly.

Your jaw tightened, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. "It's a hard thing to talk about."

Ward leaned back slightly, tapping his pen against the table with a thoughtful rhythm. "That's understandable."

You exhaled slowly.

"But," he continued, "what I don't understand is why, out of all the things you just told me, this is the part you struggled with."

Your fingers curled into fists. "Because he was my friend.”

The words came out sharper than you intended, the exhaustion making your patience wear too thin, and that was when you realized that you just walked straight into his trap.

Ward didn't blink. "That didn't stop you from telling me about Hannah."

He tilted his head slightly, watching you like you were an interesting puzzle he was beginning to enjoy putting together. Ward knew he had you.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. "Josh wasn't the bad guy."

Ward made a soft, considering sound. "So you're saying he's innocent?" His tone was too neutral, too practiced. "Then why did you tie him up in the barn and left him for the Wendigo?"

You inhaled sharply through your nose, forcing control. "You're twisting my words," you shot back.

"Am I?" A flicker of something subtle, dark amusement.

"Yeah," you said, leaning forward now, refusing to back down. "You weren't there. You don't get to act like you know what we all went through."

Something about that seemed to interest him. "You seem defensive."

You scoffed, shaking your head. "You seem like a pain in the ass."

Ward's smirk fully formed, a slow, deliberate curve of his lips that sent something sharp through your chest.

Your body had already betrayed you, but your mind? Your mind was a fucking traitor.

Suddenly you ended up thinking about his hands. Big and strong fingers that could wrap around your throat with the same practiced ease he used to hold a gun.

Or pin you down, bent over this fucking table, pressing you down against the cold metal with his body flush against yours.

Your jaw clenched, nails dug into your thighs beneath the table.

If he really wanted answers, how far would he go?

Would he whisper in your ear, that same mocking lilt in his voice as he asked his questions while his fingers traced down your spine? Would he take his time, make you beg to speak, make you squirm under him until you gave him every secret, every confession, every fucking moan?

Or would he be impatient? Would he press you down harder, his breath hot against your neck, hips pinning you in place as he made it clear that this was about breaking you completely?

"Something on your mind?" He was watching you unravel and he liked it.

Your breath hitched, and of course he caught it. You saw the flicker of amusement in his expression, the way his gaze dropped so briefly to your throat, watching the way you swallowed, like he was considering something and your skin burned with the realization.

Your nails dug harder into your thighs. "Fuck you."

Ward chuckled, low and deep and you hated how fucking good it sounded

"Careful," he murmured, tilting his head, "I might think that's an offer."

He stood abruptly, the movement was fluid, precise, the scrape of the chair's legs against the floor sharp in the too-quiet room. He didn't hesitate, didn't break eye contact.

And in seconds, he was at your side.

A strong hand clamped down on your shoulder, the calloused pads of his fingers pressed against the fabric of your shirt, squeezing not in aggression, but in something worse.

"You're free to go," he said.

Except he didn't move. He stood directly in front of you, his frame blocking the path.

You could have stepped to the side and walked past him, left without a second glance.

So why the hell couldn't you move?

He leaned forward. Hands braced on either side of the cold, metal table behind you.

Caging you in.

Your back hit the table as you involuntarily backed away, but there was nowhere left to go.

Ward was too close now. The heat radiating from his body was at odds with the sterile chill of the interrogation room, his presence swallowing the space between you. The scent he had was something like faint gunpowder and expensive cologne that wrapped around you and fuck, your heart was pounding.

"It wouldn't take much for me to find out what you're hiding." A whisper that came low and rough as he spoke.

You swallowed hard, the knot in your throat tightening as his presence loomed closer.

His eyes, dark and piercing, never wavered from yours. They held a promise of retribution that made your skin prickle with unease. A slow, deliberate step brought him nearer, the barest smirk curling the corner of his mouth as he studied your reaction.

"And when I do," he continued, his voice dropping further, almost a growl now, "I'll give you exactly what you deserve."

A sharp wave of heat rolled through you, unwanted, undeniable.

Your breath hitched and you knew he fucking felt it.

His gaze flickered down to your lips.

Voluntary? Involuntary? You had no fucking clue.

Your pulse thundered in your ears as your body moved before your mind could catch up.

You tilted your head slightly. Let your gaze flicker to his lips just for a brief, fleeting second enough to let him notice.

You moved so goddamn slowly, closing the space between you inch by inch, breath by breath.

His was warm. It ghosted over your lips, mingling with your own and he didn't pull away.

Your chest was tight, skin burning, and just when you felt him shift slightly—

"Leave."

You flinched. The word hit like a slap, rough and sharp, dragging you out of the haze of whatever the fuck this was.

Ward was already pulling away, his face was yet again cold, controlled and detached.

He turned toward the files on the table, attention already elsewhere like you were nothing.

Your legs felt weak, heart hammering so hard you could barely breathe as you forced yourself to get the hell out of there before you lost all composure.

You didn't let yourself look back.

Mike was already waiting for you when you stepped out, leaning against the wall, arms loosely crossed over his chest, his head tilted downward in deep thought. His fingers tapped idly against his bicep, brows furrowed.

The second his gaze landed on your face, something in his expression shifted.

His brows pulled together, eyes narrowing and scanning your face in quick, sharp flicks like he was trying to read you. He pushed off the wall instantly, straightening up, body already moving toward you before he even realized it.

Your shoulders were too tight, body wound up like a coil ready to snap. You wouldn't meet his eyes, and made his stomach twist.

"You good?" His voice was lower than usual, careful.

You shrugged. "I'm fine."

He didn't believe you. Not for a fucking second.

His gaze flickered over your shoulder, toward the interrogation room door.

The agent was leaning against the doorframe, posture too relaxed, as if he had no real interest in you at all. But Mike wasn't an idiot. He saw the way Ward was watching you, gaze lingering for just a second too long before finally flicking toward Mike.

The ghost of a smirk was barely there, but it sent something sharp through Mike's chest.

His fingers curled into fists as he forced himself to tear his eyes away from Ward before he did something fucking stupid.

Instead, he turned his attention back to you.

"You don't look fine." His voice was firmer now, pressing.

You exhaled sharply "Mike, I said I'm fine."

He definitely didn't believe you now. His hands clenched inside his pockets, nails biting into his palms as something ugly curled in his chest.

"What the fuck happened in there?" His voice was low, sharp, his patience running thin.

You ran a hand down your face, frustration creeping into your tone. "Mike."

He stepped too close to you now and you stiffened, instinctively leaning back, as his broad frame looming.

"I'm serious," he said, voice quieter now, but somehow more intense. "What did he do?”

"I said nothing happened," you snapped, the exhaustion making your voice too sharp, the words coming out too fast. "Jesus Christ, what is this, round two? I've had enough of being interrogated, okay?”

The second the words left your mouth, regret hit you immediately.

You hadn't meant to say it like that, hadn't meant to make it sound like you were pushing him away.

Mike exhaled harshly through his nose, his fingers flexing like he was fighting the urge to lash out—not at you, never at you, but at something, someone, at the situation, at himself.

He had let his emotions get the better of him and he backed off immediately, the heat of his presence suddenly gone, the absence of it making your skin prickle. He scrubbed a hand down his face, forcing himself to breathe, to calm the fuck down.

"Shit." His voice was quieter now, rough. "That was—fuck, I didn't mean to—" He cut himself off, shaking his head like he was pissed at himself.

Mike swallowed hard, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he took a step back. He turned on his heel, rolling his shoulders back.

"I should go. Get this shit over with."

The words were calm, but the tension still hung thick in the air, something unfinished between you.

Leaving you alone with nothing but the sharp regret in his expression and the lingering heat of his body that still clung to your skin.

A whole night awake was definitely something that would make anyone fall asleep the second they would spot anything to lay on.

Your body was beyond exhausted, beaten, bruised, still aching from the hell you had barely survived, but your mind refused to let you rest. Every time you close your eyes, you see those wendigos ready to tear you apart. Their screech mingled with Josh’s scream of pure terror.

It was too much so you had given up. Restless, drained and unable to fight the battle in your own mind, you quietly slipped out of the makeshift 'room' SHIELD had provided you on The Bus, wandering into the dimly lit corridor.

The hallway was dimly lit, lined with reinforced steel doors and you weren't surprised when you spotted Mike already there.

He was standing just a few feet away, like he had been about to come find you. Arms that were crossed over his chest, head tilted downward, lost in thought.

Your chest tightened at the sight. Still, you mustered a small, careful smile as you stepped closer. "Can't sleep either?"

His lips quirked into a nervous, almost shy smile, something you rarely saw from him. "Not a chance," he murmured, shifting on his feet.

He had cleaned up since earlier, finally able to wash away the grime and blood that had clung to his skin since the sanatorium. His injuries had been properly patched up, bandages wrapped neatly around the places that had once been a mess of hastily-tied cloth and dried blood.

The slightly too tight black shirt SHIELD gave him hugs his torso in a way that's... distracting.

Mike has always been fit, but this is just unfair. His broad shoulders, the solid muscle beneath the fabric, the way his arms look even stronger now without the oversized jacket hiding them.

You slid down the wall, settling onto the cool metal floor. Mike followed suit, sinking down beside you, his body warm where it pressed just slightly against yours.

The silence that followed was comfortable, almost peaceful, a stark contrast to everything you had been through.

"I was scared," he admitted suddenly, voice quieter now. "Back at the lodge. When everything started going to shit. I was losing my mind, man. Thinking about where you were, if you were okay. Fuck, I could barely focus on anything else.”

You turned your head slightly, watching him. His fingers flexed against his knee, his good hand idly fidgeting with the hem of his too tight SHIELD issued shirt.

"Hell, I was this close to torturing Josh if he didn't tell me what the fuck he did to you." He clarified.

The warmth that sparked in your chest was almost overwhelming. You barely even noticed that you had leaned closer, your shoulder pressing against his, most likely driven by the fact that you had always felt something for him that never really went away.

He seemed to lean in too, his breath mixing with yours, gaze flickering downward for half a second before snapping back up.

All at once, the words tumbled out

"I fucking like you, okay?" Mike blurted, rubbing a hand down his face as if trying to physically wipe away his nerves. "Like, really like you. And I know this is probably— No. it’s definitely the worst time for this, but I've been sitting on this for so long and after almost dying I can't not say it anymore."

You kiss him.

It's instinct. A desperate reaction, wordless way of shutting him up before he drives himself insane.

Your lips press against his hesitation at first, but the second it happens, the second Mike registers what's happening, he melts into it.

His hand moves to your face, fingers threading through your hair as he kisses you back, harder, deeper.

It's hungry. Messy. Like he's been waiting forever for this and can't hold back anymore.

Your hands find his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his too-tight shirt, pulling him closer, feeling the solid muscle beneath your fingers.

The moment his tongue slips past your lips, you shudder, a low sound escaping the back of your throat. Mike groans at that, shifting, pressing even closer, his body half on top of yours now as he deepens the kiss.

His fingers tighten in your hair, his other hand gripping your waist, breath heavy as his tongue brushes against yours, slow, deliberate, teasing.

As you back away to recover your breath, the heat of Mike's mouth is still on yours. The warmth of his body still lingers where it had pressed against you.

You swallow, dragging in a breath that does nothing to calm your nerves, because the second you pull away, you realize you need to tell him.

"I'm sorry. For earlier."

Mike's brows furrow slightly. "What?"

You swallowed hard. "When I snapped at you. That was—"

"Don't," he interrupted, shaking his head. "You don't need to apologize, I—"

"No." Your voice was firm, and this time he shut up. "Something happened during my interrogation and it left me speechless."

The shift in Mike's demeanor was immediate. One second, he was soft, open, vulnerable. The next his entire body tensed like a coiled spring.

"What did he do?" His voice was sharp, low, ready to fight.

You quickly cut in before he actually tried to throw hands with a SHIELD agent. "Nothing," you reassured, a half-hearted chuckle escaping. "Come on, man. You really think you could take down a trained—"

"I don't fucking care who he is. What the fuck did he do?" His voice dropped into something low, dangerous, controlled but barely. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the muscles in his forearms tightening visibly beneath the too tight fabric of his SHIELD-issued shirt.

"Nothing like that," you said quickly, knowing exactly what he was thinking.

But that didn't calm him. If anything, it made him more on edge.

"Then what?"

You hesitated for a second too long before breaking it down to him, explaining everything that occurred in that cold room.

"Hey." His voice is quieter now, rougher. His fingers twitch before moving, hesitantly, to your face. His thumb brushes over your cheek, and the second he does, you lean into it.

Like it's the most natural thing in the world and fuck, that makes something warm ache in his chest.

"You know not to let that guy get into your head, right?" he murmurs, voice lower now, softer, but still edged with something firm. "Whatever mind games he was playing? That's all they were."

Mike's voice was rough, raw, pleading beneath the sharp edge of his frustration. His hand was still on your face, fingers warm against your skin, thumb barely brushing your jawline.

You knew what he was asking and you should have said yes. Should have reassured him and pushed every thought of Ward out of your mind.

But you hesitated and Mike saw it.

His entire body tensed, fingers twitching against your skin before he abruptly pulled away, ripping his hand back from.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he muttered under his breath, his good hand dragging through his already-messy hair, his movements sharp, frustrated. He let out a harsh exhale, shaking his head like he couldn't fucking believe this.

You swallowed hard. "Mike, I—"

"No." He cut you off fast, voice low, sharp. "Don't. Just—don't.”

He pushed himself up off the floor, standing so fast it made you flinch. His body radiated tension, shoulders tight and stance stiff. His fingers flexed at his sides like he was barely holding himself together.

"Mike," you said quickly, scrambling up after him. "Please, don't—don't be mad, I—"

He spun to face you and for a second you froze.

His expression is intense and menacing, brows slightly furrowed and eyes locked in a piercing, almost predatory stare. His lips are pressed together and the shadows on his face emphasize the sharpness of his features, making him look intimidating and unreadable. The dim, moody lighting of the hallway adds to the overall eerie and threatening atmosphere. But more than anything he looked hurt.

His voice was quiet when he spoke, but lethal in its intensity.

"I protected you. For hours. Through all that fucking shit. I never left you. Not once." His voice was shaking, just slightly, but his anger held steady.

“Tonight I finally got the balls to tell you about how i felt and you—" he let out a harsh exhale, shaking his head. "And you're sitting here, thinking about fucking some other man?"

His voice cracked slightly at the end and that broke something in you.

You didn't know what to say because he was right.

Your stomach sank. You had ruined this like everything else.

Your breath came in shallow, uneven pulls as you took a step forward, fully aware of how dangerous his expression had become. Something you never thought you'd see directed at you.

You wet your lips, forcing yourself to speak, to carefully form the words you needed.

"Mike." Your voice was softer now, controlled, but not fake. "Everything I feel for you is real." You stepped closer, slow, cautious, searching his face, watching every flicker of emotion behind his eyes. "Nothing has changed that. "

Mike inhaled through his nose, his jaw twitching, arms crossing tightly over his chest like he was physically holding himself back from reacting.

A long silence.

"It's hard to believe that," he murmured, "when you're fantasizing about getting fucked by another man while saying those things to me."

Your breath caught, his words sinking deep, hitting your chest, your stomach, making something coil inside you.

Softer, but somehow worse, his voice dripping with something bitter and almost mocking. "Even after all the things that I did for you."

Your fingers twitched at your sides, irritation flaring up like a spark against dry kindling.

The words slipped out before you could stop them, sharp, cutting, your emotions pushing too hard to keep your voice controlled.

"I never asked you to protect me from what happened to Josh!"

The second it left your mouth, you saw the way his entire body locked up. His face twisted, something raw and pained flickering across his features for just a second before it was buried beneath something darker.

His teeth clenched and for the first time in your life, Mike Munroe was looking at you like he didn't recognize you.

Silence.

Horrible silence.

A flicker of movement behind Mike.

Even before your eyes locked onto him, you felt him.

Grant Ward was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, exuding that same calculated stillness as before. Not surprised. Not irritated. Just watching.

"Trouble in paradise?" His voice was smooth. Controlled and mocking in that way that made your skin prickle, your breath hitch.

Fuck. He had heard everything.

Mike stilled in front of you. You barely had time to process it before your mouth moved on instinct, your voice sharper than intended. "What do you want?"

Ward's gaze never left you.

Mike stepped forward immediately, his entire body moving like instinct, slotting between you and Ward, his stance tight, protective, like he was physically blocking you.

"Fuck off."

Mike's voice was low, dangerous, practically dripping with barely-contained rage.

And Ward just chuckled. A slow, quiet thing, his lips twitching just slightly, his eyes flickering between you and Mike like he was enjoying the show.

"I didn't know you were so eager to sleep with a criminal."

The words landed like a fucking grenade.

Mike’s entire body tensed, his breath shuddering out uneven, his bandaged hand clenching into a fist too tightly.

The bandages around the healing wound where his pinky and ring finger used to be started to tear, the fabric pulling apart under the sheer pressure of how fucking hard he was gripping.

"Mike, what is he talking about?"

His shoulders tightened.

He turned, his eyes flickering to your face, mouth parting like he was going to say something but no words came out.

Silence that Ward filled eagerly.

"He told me," he said smoothly, gaze locked onto yours, "that it was his fault Josh was taken."

Your stomach dropped.

"He heard screaming," Ward continued, voice even, clinical, like he was repeating evidence, "and urged you to follow him. Since there was no point in both of you dying."

The words hit and your chest ached. Mike had twisted the truth to protect you and keep your name out of it.

"What the fuck do you want?" Mike’s voice was hostile as he barked back at Grant. "You already have everything you need."

Ward tilted his head slightly. Then, simply. "I want the truth."

You stepped forward before you could think, moving until you were right in front of Grant, your chest nearly brushing against his.

"You want the truth?"

Mike's voice called your name sharply behind you, irritation and something dangerously close to desperation in his tone.

But you ignored him.

Grant’s expression remained calm, still, unreadable, but his eyes were locked onto you like he was analyzing every shift, every breath, every flicker of emotion that passed through you.

"It wasn't Mike's fault." Your voice came out stronger than you expected, but your throat felt tight. "It was mine."

Grant raised an eyebrow.

"Josh—" You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to say it. "Josh is gone because of me. I could've saved him. I froze. I did nothing."

The words felt like broken glass on your tongue, sharp and bitter. He studied you for a long moment, the weight of his gaze was suffocating, inescapable, pressing down on you like a physical force.

And then he spoke. "We found your friend. Deep in the mines," Ward continued, voice perfectly level. "Alive. Fully intact."

Your breath hitched. Josh was alive. Even after you had left him to whatever nightmare awaited him in those tunnels.

Your body moved before your mind could catch up, your feet shifting, breath stumbling, turning sharply toward Mike.

His eyes were already on you, his shock mirroring your own.

The sound of a boot clicking softly against metal. A shift in the air, something subtle, something felt before it was heard.

A firm grip wrapping around your shoulder, pressing down enough to remind you who was in control.

"Told you I keep my promises."

Ward's voice was low, smooth, too close, edged with mockery as he leaned in just slightly. Close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting against your ear.

"You lied to me." His voice was sharper now.

Ward's gaze flicked up past you to Mike.

You felt the way Mike stiffened, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides, knuckles going white.

"It’s almost endearing how willing he was to throw himself under the bus for you." He mused to you. His fingers curled slightly, dragging along the fabric of your shirt before his grip tightened again.

"Despite everything he's done for you—" his voice was smooth, casual, but dripping with purpose as he angled his head toward Mike, twisting the knife deeper. "You still have room in that pretty little head of yours for me."

Heat flooded your body, something sharp, something foul, something filthy curling deep in your stomach.

Your entire body felt hot, your pulse pounding in your fucking dick, because fuck, fuck, you shouldn't—

"Maybe he needs to be taught a lesson."

The words slammed into you like a physical force, knocking the breath from your lungs, making your fingers tighten against your sides.

You knew exactly what he was implying.

Exactly where this was going.

And fuck—you wanted it.

Heat. Everywhere. It clung to your skin, thick and stifling, rolling off you in waves as strong hands kept you pressed between two bodies that left no room to breathe. Your head was spinning, vision hazy, barely able to register whose lips were on you at any given moment.

The air was filled with the sounds of ragged breathing and the low, guttural groans of satisfaction. Hands roamed greedily, possessively, sliding under your shirt and tugging at your waistband. Grant’s fingers dug into your hips, pinning you back against his sturdy chest while his free hand snaked down inside your underwear, squeezing your ass painfully.

Mike was in front of you, his grip firm as he tilted your chin up, forcing your half-lidded gaze to meet his. His lips crashed against yours and the kiss was anything but gentle. It was demanding, a collision of hunger and dominance as his mouth slanted over yours. His teeth caught your bottom lip between them, sharp but not enough to hurt, just enough to make you gasp and he used that moment to push his tongue past your lips, sweeping inside and dragging along the roof of your mouth, tangling with yours in a messy, desperate exchange.

He sucked at your tongue, drawing a groan from deep in your throat that only made him press closer, body flush against yours, chest heaving. One of his hands cupped your jaw roughly, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, while the other had already made its way between your legs, gripping your cock through your pants, fingers pressing just enough to make you squirm.

Grant's touch was almost cruel in contrast to Mike's reckless desperation. His mouth was on your neck, hot breath fanning over your skin before his teeth sank into the flesh of your shoulder and the jolt of pain only made the pleasure sharper. You moaned into Mike's mouth, the sound swallowed eagerly as he deepened the kiss.

"Look at you," Grant murmured against your skin, his voice smooth, low, full of dark amusement as he squeezed your ass hard enough to make you hiss. The heat in your stomach twisted tighter at the rough touch, at the way his fingers slid possessively over your flesh, teasing, testing, like he was savoring the way you twitched at every squeeze. "Didn't take much to get you pliant, did it?"

Mike broke away from your lips just long enough to glare over your shoulder, breath hot and heavy against your skin. "Shut the fuck up," he growled, his grip on your cock tightening, his strokes more deliberate now, fingers teasing the outline of your length through your pants.

Grant chuckled, dark and knowing, but the way his fingers dragged lower, circling where you needed them most, made your breath hitch. Your body betrayed you, arching instinctively into his touch, and the satisfaction that rumbled from his chest made it clear he'd noticed.

Mike let his lips trail teasingly downward, nipping at the sensitive skin there, his tongue darting out to soothe the bites he left behind while his hand gave your cock a slow, deliberate stroke that made your knees go weak, each stroke perfectly teasing, dragging his fingers just right over the sensitive tip, making you whimper into his mouth as he kissed you hungrily again.

One of Grant’ hands slid up your spine, pressing you further into his chest. The other was still firmly cupping your ass, fingers pressing into your flesh and when it dipped lower, his fingers pressing inside you, that the air left your lungs entirely.

The stretch was sudden, practiced, his fingers scissoring, curling with high experience, hitting exactly the right spot to send a wave of pleasure rolling through you. Your moan was swallowed by Mike's mouth again, his tongue eager as he licked inside, owning every sound you made.

"We'll see if you're this eager when it's my cock stretching you open." Grant murmured against your ear, voice dripping with approval and something dark.

Your body was on fire, stretched between them, caught in their hands as they kept pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Every inch of your skin was burning and the way their bodies were pressed against you only made it worse. You could feel both of them hard and thick, their cocks pressing into you from both sides, undeniable reminders of what was coming next.

They moved you through the room without a pause in their assault, hands stripping away every last piece of clothing until you were completely bare, caught between them, exposed and theirs. Grant's fingers never stopped working you open with ruthless precision, while Mike's hand kept you throbbing and aching, keeping you right on the precipice of release but never quite letting you tip over.

By the time Grant bent you over the bed, your body was trembling, your mind a haze of pleasure and desperation. His big hands kept you steady, one firm on your hip, the other still working inside you, dragging more obscene noises from your lips with every twist and curl of his fingers.

His breath was hot against your neck, lips brushing the fresh bruises he had left before his teeth sank in again, making you jerk and groan as he lapped at the red spot like a hungry animal savoring its claim as he ground his cock against your ass.

Behind you, the unmistakable sound of a zipper being undone cut through the haze of pleasure, sharp and clear despite the heavy drumming of your heartbeat in your ears.

Grant leaned in, his solid chest pressing against your back, heavy and unyielding. His body was heat and strength, trapping you beneath him, his breath fanning against your ear as he shifted just enough to settle into place. You felt him big and hot, pressing right against your entrance, the blunt head teasing you just enough to make you whimper. The pressure alone was a sharp reminder of just how thick he was, how much he was about to give you.

He didn't waste time. His hand came up, fingers gripping the back of your neck with firm possession as he spat into his other hand, stroking himself once, twice, enough to spread the slick heat along his length before lining himself up again and pushing in.

A guttural grunt ripped from Grant's throat as he sank into you, his cock stretching you wide, forcing your body to take every inch of him in one slow, unforgiving thrust. He bottomed out completely, his hips pressing flush against your ass, his chest rising and falling heavy against your back as he exhaled a rough, almost shaky breath. His fingers tightened against your neck, keeping you exactly where he wanted you as he pulled your head back, his lips dragging over your jaw before kissing you.

A bruising clash of lips and teeth that stole the breath from your lungs. His tongue pushed past your lips immediately, licking into your mouth with the same dominance he was using to claim your body. His teeth scraped over your bottom lip, biting down to sting painfully before swallowing your gasp, thrusting his tongue deep into your mouth to chase the sound.

His hips moved in tandem with his kiss, pulling back only to slam forward again, setting a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure rippling through you. His hands were everywhere, both of them gripping your ass now, spreading you wider, fingers digging into the flesh with bruising force as he fucked into you harder. Every drag of his cock inside you made your brain blank, moans spilling into his mouth only to be swallowed whole.

"Fuck," Grant growled against your lips, his thrusts turning rougher, faster, as he held you firm in his grasp. His fingers dug into your skin, marking and claiming you.

Then he moved you, shifting your body like you were nothing in his grasp and pulling you up so that you were no longer on your stomach but leaning against his chest, fully exposed, fully on display. Your back pressed against the solid heat of him, his arms wrapping around you to hold you in place as he thrust into you harder, making your cock bounce with every snap of his hips.

Mike was right in front of you now, kneeling on the bed, his eyes dark and heavy lidded as he watched.

Grant's lips ghosted over your ear, his breath hot, full of amusement as he spoke to Mike all while still fucking into you, his thrusts slow and deliberate, dragging every inch of his cock against your walls. "You see that?" he murmured, voice deep, controlled, laced with smug satisfaction. "How easy he falls apart for me?"

Mike's jaw clenched, his fingers twitching against the sheets, his own arousal painfully obvious, pressing against his pants as he took in the sight of you your body trembling, your cock leaking, your lips already swollen from Grant's bruising kisses.

Grant chuckled lowly, biting at your neck again, his tongue flicking over the bruises he was leaving behind as he picked up his pace, fucking into you harder and making sure Mike saw every single thrust.

Mike exhaled roughly, then made his move. He surged forward, one hand tangling into your hair as he crashed his lips against yours, stealing you from Grant's kiss with a hunger that bordered on feral. His mouth was hot, tongue forcing its way in to claim you, fighting for dominance, taking what he wanted as his free hand found your cock and wrapped around it without hesitation.

His strokes deliberate, teasing the sensitive tip before sliding down with an unrelenting pace that sent pleasure shooting through your core. His fingers were slick with the pre-cum already dripping from you, making every movement easier as he pumped you in time with Grant's cock driving into you hard, deep, the thick stretch rearranging your insides with every powerful roll of his hips, engulfing your entire being in this overwhelming sensation consuming you.

His thumb circled the head, pressing enough to make your whole body jolt, his grin widening as he felt the way you twitched in his grasp.

Behind you, Grant let out a low, approving hum, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulled you back hard against every thrust, making sure you felt every inch of him splitting you open.

Your nails scratched against the sheets, body trembling between them, the pleasure winding so tight inside you that you felt like you might break apart at any second. Mike pulled back slightly as you weakly reached for his waistband, your fingers fumbling to undo his zipper.

His breath hitched and his eyes flickered to your face, watching as you struggled to form words between the brutal rhythm of Grant fucking into you. The desperate pleading look in your eyes was enough.

Mike's smirk was instant, sharp with amusement and desire. "You want it that bad?" He teased, lifting his hips slightly, allowing you better access.

He made quick work of the rest himself, shoving down the last of his clothes, his cock springing free, thick and flushed with arousal. His hand wrapped around the base, stroking himself lazily as he watched you, his other hand reaching out to squeeze your cheek playfully, tilting your head up toward him.

"C'mon," he murmured, voice thick with anticipation. He guided his cock to your lips, tapping it against them, smearing pre-cum across the softness before pressing in, slow but insistent. "Show me how much you want me," he murmured.

You didn't hesitate. Your lips wrapped around the tip, tongue swirling over the head before sliding lower, taking as much of him as you could in one eager motion. The thick weight of him settled against your tongue, and you moaned around him, the vibration making him groan above you, his hand tightening in your hair as your mouth stretched around his length.

Behind you, Grant's thrusts didn't slow-not even for a second. If anything, he fucked you harder, clearly enjoying the way you struggled to keep up with both sensations at once. His fingers dug into your hips, each thrust sending another spark of pleasure tearing through you.

Mike let out a breathless hiss, his grip tightening as he started rolling his hips, fucking into your mouth with slow, shallow thrusts, his cock hitting the back of your throat with every movement.

Your whole body was trembling, caught in their grip, every nerve set on fire as you were being filled from both ends, ragged groans and curses spilling from both of them.

Mike’s free hand slid into your hair, guiding your pace, his hips starting to move faster, his cock pushing deeper.

Behind you, Grant grunted, his thrusts turning rougher, harder. He was close, you could feel it in the way his fingers gripped you tighter, his breathing turned ragged with thrusts that started to lose some of their precision.

"Gonna make sure you feel me for days,” Grant growled, his voice dark and wrecked as he slammed into you, the force making you choke slightly on Mike's cock.

The words sent a sharp pulse of heat through your gut and Mike groaned at the that feeling, his fingers tightening in your hair as his own rhythm stuttered. You hollowed your cheeks around him, sucking harder and that was all it took.

Mike panted, his head tilting back slightly as he let himself savor the wet heat of your mouth, his grip tightening as he groaned low and deep, cock twitching in your mouth before he came, thick and hot, spilling down your throat. His body trembled, a string of curses falling from his lips as he watched you swallow, his fingers brushing over your jaw as he panted, his pupils blown wide.

Grant’s pace turned brutal, his hips slamming forward as he bottomed out inside you one last time, his cock buried deep as he let out a rough, guttural groan as his cum flooded you, filling you up, making you feel impossibly full. You could feel it dripping from where he was still buried inside you. His grip on your hips was iron as he held you still, making sure you took every last drop.

The pleasure had built to a breaking point, your entire body trembling and right on the cusp of unraveling. Your cock throbbed, aching, so damn close until Grant's hand clamped around you, squeezing at the exact moment you were about to let go.

White-hot frustration shot through you like a bolt of lightning, your breath catching in your throat as your orgasm was ripped away with cruel precision. You whined, the sound breaking free before you could even think about suppressing it, hips twitching in a desperate attempt to seek friction, to chase the release he had just stolen from you.

But Grant laughed. Low, condescending, his breath fanning against your ear as he mocked you. "You really thought I'd let you come that easily?" he murmured, a patronizing sound that only made the humiliation sharper. He let go completely, leaving your cock aching, denied, your entire body shuddering from the ruined pleasure.

His hands gripped your shoulders, fingers digging in deep and he pulled, hauling you up in a seated position. You were too wrecked to fight him as he maneuvered you. His arms wrapped tight around your frame, one hand sliding lower to cup your ass possessively, fingers squeezing the abused flesh.

Then he kissed you. It was ravenous, all tongue and teeth. His lips were hot, rough from how hard he kissed, leaving no space for you to breathe. His tongue shoved past your lips, licking deep into your mouth, controlling the kiss just like he controlled everything else.

A sharp, brutal slap against your ass. The force of it making you jerk against him, a muffled, involuntary noise escaping against his lips. A brief and satisfied grin against your mouth, a silent acknowledgment of just how much he enjoyed making you react like this.

He bit your bottom lip, tugging roughly before diving back in, swallowing every sound you made. His hands held you in place, one still gripping your ass possessively while the other found your hip, fingers pressing deep enough to bruise.

Without breaking the kiss, he shifted you again, pulling you forward until his back met the mattress and you were sprawled on top of him, your own back resting against the solid, defined heat of his chest. The sensation of his abs beneath you, all tight muscle and strength, was dizzying, every movement making you feel the hard ridges of him against your skin.

Mike crawled on top of you, his hands finding your waist while his body pressed you down further against Grant's chest. His thick, leaking and already achingly hard cock dragged against your entrance, circling and sending sharp sparks of anticipation burning through you.

His breath came in short, ragged gasps, matching yours. His lips descended, claiming yours in a greedy and scorching kiss, tongue sweeping into your mouth just like how, with one slow, deliberate thrust, Mike pushed inside.

Your whole body shook, pleasure crashing over you in an overwhelming wave as he sank in fully, the stretch perfect, the mess Grant had left inside making it effortless. No resistance or pain, just the overwhelming heat of being completely filled again, your walls stretching yet again to accommodate his size.

Mike groaned against your lips, his forehead pressing against yours, his body shuddering as he bottomed out, hips flush against yours. "Fuck," he breathed, voice thick with pleasure, with awe.

He started moving in and out, dragging himself out almost completely before sinking back in. A slow pace at first like he wanted to savor every single second of being inside you. Firm hands held you in place, his breath coming in soft ragged gasps as he kissed you between every thrust, drowning in the feeling of you wrapped around him.

Soon enough the rhythm changed, he adjusted his hips, angled himself before slamming into you.

A guttural scream tore from your throat, only to be swallowed instantly by his lips, his tongue tangling with yours as he drowned in the sound. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, locking tight, holding him in place and keeping him against you.

His cock drove into you with relentless force, hitting deep with movements turning desperate, hungry. His hips snapped forward again and again, your whole body shaking, muscles burning, everything wound so tight you could barely breathe. Mike was pounding into you, his cock hitting deep, every thrust sending white-hot sparks of bliss ripping through your body.

You were right there, teetering on the brink, the pleasure building, rising, twisting into something uncontrollable-

Just as you felt yourself teetering on the edge, body tightening, breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps—Grant's hand clamped down, fingers digging into your hip, stopping Mike's relentless thrusts in an instant.

A strangled, frustrated groan ripped from your throat, echoed by Mike, who cursed under his breath, his grip tightening on you as if willing himself to move despite Grant's interference. "Not yet," his breath hot against your ear as he murmured, voice dripping with cruel satisfaction as he shifted beneath you, his hands locking tight around your hips, forcing you still.

The blunt, thick head of his cock pressed against your entrance again, your entire body going rigid as he started to push in.

Mike groaned, his forehead dropping against yours, hands gripping your waist so tightly to leave bruises when he felt Grant forcing his way in, stretching you even further, pushing in alongside him, splitting you apart in a way that should've been impossible.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck—" your and Mike’s voice broke into a snarl, his fingers digging into your skin as his cock twitched inside you, overwhelmed by the sensation of Grant joining him.

Grant bites into your shoulder, muffling his own deep, ragged groan as he buried himself inside you.

The stretch was blinding.

Your walls clamped down tight, forced to accommodate both of them, the impossibly full sensation setting every nerve ending on fire.

"You're taking us so fucking well," Grant murmured against your skin, though his voice was anything but gentle, more of an order than anything else.

Mike grunted, a wrecked sound that he barely managed to contain, his forehead still flush against your away, body shaking on top of yours. "Holy shit—He's so fucking tight like this—" His hands slid up your sides, palms skimming your overheated skin.

Grant growled low in agreement, his grip tightening. "He can take it. That’s all he’s good at."

Your whole body was trembling, overwhelmed, completely at their mercy. Every inch felt too stretched, too full. And the feeling didn’t went any better when they started to move.

A slow, teasing rock of Grant's hips, pushing even deeper, a grind from Mike, rubbing up against everything inside you and your vision went white.

A broken, wrecked moan tore from your throat, all muscles clamping down around them while they dragged against each other inside you, stretching you to your absolute limit. The way they alternated with one pushing in as the other pulled out, fucking you in tandem, making sure you never got a moment to breathe or a second of reprieve.

Mike was getting rougher, more desperate, his movements turning erratic, his forehead pressed against yours as he panted, his breath shaky, uneven, grip tightening more, his hips pounding against yours.

Grant’s fingers wrapped around your throat, tilting your head back just enough to claim your mouth in another devouring kiss. His thrusts turned brutal, matching Mike's, filling and owning you.

The pleasure twisted, sharpened, built, your entire body rocked between them, completely at their mercy until you finally came hard.

Your vision blacked out, pleasure so intense it was almost painful, your entire body convulsing between them as your release spilled, untouched, onto Mike's stomach.

He lets out a strangled, wrecked groan as he buried himself deep, his cock twitching deep inside you as he spilled, thick, hot cum flooding your insides as he pressed in deep as he filled you completely, painting your walls with everything he had left.

The moment Mike came undone, Grant followed, his grip crushing, his breath ragged as his hips snapped forward in a few final, deep, brutal thrusts. His cock throbbed, pulsed until he came as well.

The heat of it was scalding, overwhelming, pouring into you in thick, endless spurts, so much that it leaked out around their cocks, slick and messy, dripping down your thighs, making you feel just how full they had made you.

They didn't pull out. Their bodies pressed against you, cocks still buried deep and twitching, filling you with more and more, stretching you to your absolute limit.

Your whole body was shaking, overwhelmed, overstimulated, your breath coming in rapid, sharp gasps. You felt them inside you, the weight of their releases thick, dripping, claiming you completely.

The dim glow of the night watch flickered softly on the bedside table, time had become meaningless here with no windows, no frame of reference for morning or night, only the distant, ambient hum of The Bus and the steady rise and fall of Mike's breathing beside you.

His arm was wrapped securely around your waist, his other tucked beneath your head like a makeshift pillow. Warmth radiated off him in steady waves, seeping into your skin where it pressed against his bare chest. Every inhale and exhale brushed softly against your hair, each slow rise of his ribs against your back grounding you in the present, in him.

The soreness in your body was a dull and pulsing reminder of what had happened before you'd both collapsed into this tangled heap. The ache ran deep, bruises left from hands that had gripped too hard, mouths that had bitten too eagerly. The dull burn in your lower back sent a shiver through you as you shifted slightly, the movement dragging a quiet groan from your throat.

Mike stirred immediately, his grip tightened first, followed by a sleepy mumble against the back of your neck. Then his eyes cracked open, bleary but alert, scanning your face in the dim light. Naked just as you were, he murmured a sleepy, raspy, "Hey," his voice rough from disuse, cracking slightly at the end.

You swallowed down the warmth that curled in your chest at the sound. "Hey"

A deep chuckle rumbled through him as you groaned, twisting to ease the soreness in your muscles. Mike grinned at your wince, his amusement entirely too smug. "That bad, huh?"

You scoffed, rolling your eyes even as a small smirk played at your lips. "What do you think?"

His laughter was quiet but genuine, his arm beneath you shifting, curling further around you. "I think you sound like an old man," he teased.

You shot him a look. "Oh, fuck off."

You turned your head enough to catch the sleepy, half-lidded gaze of Mike Munroe. Messy haired, bare chested, eyes heavy with the remnants of exhaustion. He was unfairly handsome like this, stripped of his usual cocky bravado, blinking at you with something softer.

His fingers flexed lazily against your waist, tracing over where bruises had likely already begun to bloom.

You rolled your body so that you were on top of him now, hands playfully on both of his to keep them grounded with your weak and absent strength as he stared up at you with a grin. You shifted your head enough to scan the bed.

No Grant

The realization settled in quickly and you tried to keep it subtle, tried to avoid letting Mike notice, but you weren't fast enough. Your movements slow and clunky from tiredness.

His grin faltered barely, the cocky expression slipping into something tighter and slightly forced. You caught the tension in his jaw before he muttered, "He's gone. Got called for a mission or whatever. Some really important work shit." His voice dropped, dripping with sarcasm. "Hopefully won't make it back."

You snorted at that, his lips twitching into a grin despite himself. You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, and whatever sharp response he had died instantly in his throat.

Mike melted into it immediately, hand coming up to rest behind your neck, lips moving slowly and deliberately.

His hand drifted lower, fingers ghosting over your waist before gripping it fully. He got into a seated position, his upper body resting on his arms with you still on top of him and was about to kiss you again, lips just barely brushing yours when—

"You were really gonna let yourself get incriminated because of me?"

The words hit him like a bullet and he froze. "Jesus," he muttered, dragging a hand down his face, "you really had to kill the mood, huh?"

You gave him a look. "Mike."

He groaned, flopping down on the pillow dramatically, one arm still curled around your body. Mike inhaled sharply, his chest rising with the weight of his breath, then exhaled slowly.

“I’d do anything for you,” he confessed, a vow edged with devotion and an intensity that burned in his every syllable. His fingers trailed up, cradling your face like you were something precious and irreplaceable. The rough pad of his thumb traced slow, reverent circles over your cheek. “And I’d do it again,” he murmured, his tone unwavering, absolute. “A hundred times over.”

His nose brushed against yours, the space between you nonexistent. His lips hovered just a hair’s breadth away, teasing, tormenting. “Because I fucking love you.”

You swallowed thickly, staring down at him, your pulse roaring in your ears. His body pressed into yours, heat radiating off him and you felt the way he trembled slightly, how his breath hitched when your hands threaded into his hair.

“Now tell me,” he murmured, voice rough, a command, but you could hear the uncertainty beneath it.

Your breath stalled. “Tell you what?”

Mike’s jaw clenched, his fingers digging into your waist. “Tell me it didn’t mean anything. Tell me you’re mine.”

His voice cracked on the last word.

Your stomach twisted painfully. It would have been easy to lie, to tell him what he wanted to hear. But he deserved the truth.

You exhaled shakily, closing your eyes for the briefest second before forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “He got under my skin,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Mike inhaled sharply through his nose, but you pushed forward before he could react.

“And yeah, I let him.” you continued, your voice unsteady but firm.

Mike’s entire body went rigid against yours.

“I wanted him because he reminded me of you.” You admitted, your throat bobbing as you forced the words out.

Mike’s breath hitched. His grip on you was firm, like he was grounding himself, barely holding himself together.

You swallowed, pressing on. “I thought I’d never have this,” you whispered, voice raw, cracking slightly. “I thought we were never gonna be this. So when he got in my head and looked at me like that, I wanted to feel something back. Because it was familiar. It reminded me of you and it was the closest I thought I’d ever get.”

Grant didn’t just challenge you. He saw you, tested you and in some twisted way, made you feel wanted in a way you never thought Mike would.

Mike made a sound, something between a sharp breath and a curse, his hands sliding up, framing your face, tilting your head up to force you to look at him. His pupils were blown wide. “You’re a fucking idiot,” he rasped, voice thick. “If you think for a second that there was ever a chance I didn’t want you.”

Your breath hitched, and before you could process it, Mike dragged you closer, his lips hovering just over yours, heat rolling off him in waves.

“You want me?” His voice was low, rough, testing, searching.

You swallowed hard, your pulse hammering against your ribs. “Yes,” you breathed.

Then he flipped you. In an instant, you were on your back and Mike was above you, his body caging you in, knee pressing between your legs. His fingers curled tighter, voice taking a huskier tone. “Say it again.”

“I want you.”

His lips crashed into yours. Deep, slow, deliberate. Like a promise of something real that believed wholeheartedly.

[lefteagleblizzard]

𝔒𝔲𝔯 𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔩𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔠𝔯𝔢𝔱

Mike Munroe x male reader

Summary: Being in a secret relationship with Mike Munroe was equal parts intoxicating and excruciating. The stolen touches, the nights spent tangled together in secrecy was addictive. But the weight of hiding it all was suffocating, and one night, when the tension between you reached its breaking point, you finally confronted him.

Tags: Male reader. He/him pronouns are used towards the reader. No use of Y/N. Sensual tension. Jealousy. Friends to lovers. Cute interactions between Mike and the reader. Gay smut. Top Mike munroe. Bottom male reader. Blowjob (reading giving and receiving). Anal sex.

ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

Words count: 5500

You hadn't expected Mike Munroe to notice you. Why would he? You had spent most of your life mastering the art of blending in. If Mike shone like fireworks against the night sky, you were the quiet flicker of a candle in the corner, soft and unassuming.

And you were okay with that. At least, that's what you told yourself.

You'd met Mike through your shared group of friends—Chris, Ashley, Sam— and while he had always been polite, his attention had always seemed elsewhere.

You'd found comfort in your little corner with Chris and Ashley and their easy banter and grounded energy. Chris, especially, had become your closest confidant. He was the kind of friend who could pull you out of your head with a single sarcastic comment, who didn't mind when you sank into moments of silence. You'd never had to fight for Chris's attention; it was just there, freely given, and that simplicity made him feel safe.

But lately, you've noticed something strange.

Or rather, someone.

Mike's eyes lingered on you in ways that made your skin tingle, the hairs at the back of your neck standing on end. At first, you thought you were imagining it. But then there were the moments you couldn't explain away: the sharp way his gaze would cut across the room whenever Chris slung an arm around your shoulder, the tightness in his jaw when you and Sam leaned in close, lost in conversation.

Something in the way his eyes lingered on yours that made your stomach twist in knots.

It was moments like those that made your stomach twist, a confusing mix of excitement and fear. Because the truth was, you wanted Mike's attention. You wanted it in ways that scared you, in ways that left you aching in the middle of the night, your mind replaying every stolen glance, every accidental touch.

The night of senior prom was where everything changed.

The gym was a blur of colored lights and pounding bass, the air heavy with the mingling scents of cheap cologne, perfume, and sweat. You'd been nursing a cup of punch on the sidelines, watching everything unfold with a mix of amusement and detachment. Chris and Ashley were off somewhere being grossly adorable and Sam was deep in conversation with Hannah and Beth. No sight of the rest of the group.

When Mike approached you, it was impossible to ignore how good he looked. His styled hair was now tousled, as though he’d run his hand through it one too many times. Sharp jawline slightly shadowed with the hint of a five o’clock stubble and cheeks faintly flushed, whether from the alcohol or the warmth of the crowded room, you couldn't tell.

The first few buttons of his dress shirt undone to reveal the smooth line of his collarbone and just a hint of skin beneath. The crispness of his tux jacket was gone, replaced by a relaxed slouch that was somehow just as captivating.

The faint scent of his spicy and woodsy cologne mingled with the smell of booze on his breath as he leaned closer to you. His hand was already reaching out as though the decision had been made long before he got there.

“Hey,” he started, his voice lower than usual, carrying a huskiness to it. He licked his lips quickly, almost absentmindedly, before continuing, “You’re not really just gonna stand there all night, are you?” He tilted his head, his fingers flexing in the air between you as if urging you to take his hand.

There was a flicker of something in his gaze that felt equal parts curious and dangerous. His eyes were locked on you, and for a split second, they flicked downward long enough to make your lips tingle like he'd touched them instead of merely looked.

It hit you that this wasn't just some half-hearted attempt to mess around. Mike Munroe, who could have anyone in the room, was standing there, looking at you like there was no one else worth noticing.

You started to stammer a weak excuse but he cut you off with a breathless laugh, shaking his head like he couldn't believe you were trying to resist him.

"You're not gonna make me ask twice, are you?" he continued, "Dance with me."

Your heart skipped a beat, your mind scrambling to process his words. Was he serious? Or was this just another one of his jokes?

"C'mon, don’t make me beg. It's embarrassing." There was something in his eyes, a flicker of curiosity and eagerness that made it impossible to say no.

Not that you had much of a choice.

He grabbed your hand and tugged you onto the dance floor, his grin widening when you stumbled slightly.

The next thing you knew, his hands were on your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies were flush against each other.

The song was slow, unhurried, and so were his movements. His hips swayed lazily in time with the music, as if he wasn't in any rush to let the moment end. His hands stayed on your waist, thumbs brushing small, languid circles against the fabric of your suit. His head tilted slightly as he watched you, his lips curving into that lopsided smile of his, like he was soaking in every detail of your reaction.

His hands lingered on your waist, his grip firm but gentle. Every subtle move he made, from the shift of his hips to the way his thumbs pressed just a little harder into your sides, felt deliberate, like he was testing the limits of the space you shared.

When he leaned in slightly, his breath brushing against your jaw, it was almost instinct to pull away, but his hands held you in place. His lips brushed against your ear as he whispered, "Let's get out of here."

Next thing you knew, he was pulling you through the crowd without waiting for a response, his hand gripped yours firmly as he navigated through the throng of swaying bodies. He glanced back over his shoulder every few steps, his eyes locking with yours like he was silently checking to make sure you hadn't changed your mind.

The thrill of it all sent a heady rush through your veins.

You didn't know where he was taking you until you were outside, the cool night air biting at your skin as he led you to his car, parked in a darkened corner of the lot. The sounds of the party faded into the background, leaving only the echo of your own footsteps and the pounding of your heart.

The space between you was nonexistent, pinning you lightly against the side of the car. His gaze roamed your face, expression unreadable but intense. It was dizzying, the combination of him so close and the way his eyes kept flickering down to your lips, like he was fighting some internal battle he didn't entirely understand.

His lips parted slightly and you could see the faintest tremor in his breath as his gaze dipped to your mouth again, lingering there for just a moment too long.

And then he moved.

It was sudden, almost desperate, the way he closed the gap and kissed you. His lips crashed against yours with a force that made you gasp, his hands tightening on your hips as he pulled you flush against him. There was nothing soft about it, his mouth moving against yours like he'd been starving for this.

He trailed kisses along your jaw, down the side of your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

You could feel him, hard and insistent through the thin fabric of his dress pants. Your own hands found their way to his chest, clutching at the open collar of his shirt as he pressed closer.

He pulled back for just a moment, his breathing ragged as he rested his forehead against yours. "Get in," he murmured, his voice low and strained, pulling you toward the passenger side. You barely registered the cold as you clambered into the cramped interior, the car doors clicking shut behind you.

He was already on you the second you crawled inside the car, his body pressing you down against the leather seat. His weight pinned you there as his lips crashed against yours, hot and insistent, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip just hard enough to make you gasp.

And God, the low, guttural sound he made that rumbled deep in his chest, sending vibrations through your entire body.

The sharp nip of his teeth on your lower lip pulled a muffled gasp from you and he took the opportunity to press his tongue into your mouth, deep and insistent.

Your head tilted back as his mouth moved, trailing a messy line of kisses down your jaw and neck, biting down just hard enough to leave marks.

He broke away from your neck just long enough to yank your shirt over your head, tossing it carelessly aside before his mouth was on you again, tracing the line of your collarbone. His tongue flicked over sensitive skin, followed by the scrape of his teeth while his hands were unbuckling your belt. The metal clink echoed in the small room, followed by the hiss of fabric sliding down your hips.

Your knees buckled when he finally dipped his hand beneath the waistband, his fingers curling around you with a grip that was firm, stroking you slowly at first, his thumb sweeping over the tip.

His other hand found your thigh, hooking it around his waist as he pressed closer, grinding against you with ferocity. His hands stripped away the last barriers as you lifted your leg higher, opening up for him.

When he entered you, it was with a single, unrelenting motion that left you breathless, your head sinking into the soft material of the seats. The stretch was almost too much, a sharp, burning ache that quickly gave way to a fullness that left you trembling. He didn't stop, his hips driving forward, each thrust forcing a broken sound from your lips.

The tight space of the car was filled with the wet, obscene sounds of your bodies colliding. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he drove into you again and again, each motion more forceful than the last.

The car windows began to fog with the heat of your shared breaths, your nails dug into his shoulders, legs tightening around his waist as you clung to him.

His teeth grazed over your skin, leaving marks that would bloom into bruises by morning, his lips sucking hard enough to leave you dizzy.

When you came, it was sudden and overwhelming, your body convulsing around him as you cried out, the sound muffled against his shoulder. He followed moments later, his movements growing erratic as he buried himself deep, his whole body tensing as he came with a low, guttural groan.

Eventually, he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips curling into that familiar lopsided grin. But there was something softer there that made your chest tighten.

From there, things escalated quickly.

It was like once the dam had broken, neither of you could stop.

At first, it was stolen moments like a quick kiss outside the lodge when the others were distracted, his hand slipping under your shirt while you made out in the backseat of his car after a late-night drive. He'd corner you in quiet rooms at parties, lips crashing against yours before you could say a word.

He’d plop down beside you during group hangouts, his thigh pressing against yours under the table and a hand sneakily resting on your thing.

But as time went on, the moments became longer, more intimate.

You started spending more time alone together, under the guise of "studying" or "hanging out." He'd show up at your dorm unannounced, pinning you to the bed, body pressed against yours as he kissed you like he was trying to devour you.

It wasn't long before it started to feel like a relationship.

Like you were his and he was yours.

But neither of you ever said it out loud.

There was an unspoken understanding between you, a mutual agreement to keep things quiet. It was easier that way.

Safer.

After all, Mike had a reputation and you weren't exactly eager to put yourself under a microscope either.

Still, there were moments when the secrecy felt unbearable.

Like right now at the lodge during one of your usual hangouts for the weekend with everyone else. Mike was sprawled out on the couch with Jess perched dangerously close to his side, her manicured nails brushing against his arm as she laughed at something he'd said. Emily sat nearby, leaning forward with that sharp, appraising smile of hers.

You stood near the kitchen, nursing a drink you didn't really want, watching the scene unfold like some kind of slow torture. Mike's boyish grin was firmly in place, his posture loose and relaxed as he soaked up the attention.

Jess was in full matchmaker mode for her bestie, her intentions painfully obvious to anyone paying attention. She leaned closer to Mike, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that made him chuckle.

You had no reason to be jealous, not when you knew the truth. Not when you'd spent countless nights tangled up with him.

Watching him now, seeing him turn on that same charm for them to keep up the facade, still hurts in a way you couldn't quite describe.

You told yourself you understood why he acted this way, why he kept the two of you a secret. You'd seen the way people talked, how they whispered and stared whenever someone stepped outside the lines of what they considered normal.

You weren't ready for that, but that didn't make it any easier to sit here, watching him laugh and joke like nothing had ever happened between you.

Sometimes, in your weaker moments, you wished everyone else would know the way he looked at you when it was just the two of you. Maybe then you wouldn't have to sit here, watching him flirt with Jess and Emily like it was nothing.

A small, almost wicked smile curled on your lips as your thoughts betrayed you, pulling you into memories that no one else in the room could even begin to imagine. What would Jess and Emily say if they knew about the nights Mike would sneak into your room?

You could still feel his hands threading into your hair, tugging as his lips claimed yours in a kiss anything but polite.

His tongue would sweep against yours, hot and insistent, leaving you breathless and clinging to him.

And that low, desperate rasp of his voice as he pleaded with you to let him take you right there and then.

The room felt too warm now, the air too thick as you forced yourself to look away from the scene on the couch. You told yourself it was fine. This was the arrangement you'd agreed to. You told yourself that this was enough.

Even though it wasn't.

The kitchen was silent, save for the faint hum of the fridge. You leaned against the counter, nursing a beer that had long since lost its chill, swirling the amber liquid in lazy circles as you watched the bubbles rise, burst, and disappear.

You checked the clock again. 2:12 a.m. Mike had texted to meet him at 2. He wasn't here yet.

You hated how used to this you were. Loving Mike felt like holding onto smoke. You could feel it curling through your fingers, soft and warm, but it was always slipping away, impossible to grasp fully.

Still, you waited impatiently and finally, arms wrapped around your waist from behind, pulling you back against a familiar warmth. Lips, hot and wet, pressed rapid-fire kisses to your neck and jaw.

"Hey," he whispered, his voice rough and breathless, the word catching against your skin as he kissed you again.

The tension melted from your body in an instant, replaced by that overwhelming warmth only he could bring. A smile broke across your face, unbidden and unstoppable, as your chest filled with that dizzying, beautiful ache.

"You're late," you murmured, your tone half-scolding but soft, the words barely audible over the sound of his lips trailing lower before he bit down lightly and sucked like a wolf savoring its prey.

He hummed in response, the sound vibrating against your skin as he pressed his teeth lightly into the curve of your shoulder, biting down just enough to make you hiss.

"Sorry," he mumbled, his voice muffled by your flesh as his hand turned your face to meet his lips. "Had to make sure everyone was out cold. Can't have anyone interrupting us, can we?

His lips slammed against yours, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a bruising force. The sharp taste of whiskey mingling with the faint tang of beer still lingering on your tongue.

Hands hooked under your thighs, lifting you off the ground with a grunt and hauling you onto the counter, the cold surface shocking against your skin. His grip on your thighs tightened, rough and unyielding, as he spread your legs to step between them.

His mouth was on you again in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue, messy and relentless. His stubble scratched against your skin, leaving a pleasant burn and his hands gripping hard enough to leave bruises.

You moaned softly against his mouth, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer, to keep him where you needed him.

Mike's breath was warm and ragged against your neck as he pulled away, his lips brushing the shell of your ear with a husky whisper. "Path clear," he murmured, the words dipped in humor, a callback to the running joke the two of you shared during these secret, stolen moments.

Normally, it made you smile, but tonight, the reminder of your relationship's stealthy nature stung more than it amused.

You slid off the cold counter, his large hands steadying you by your hips. Without thinking, you reached for his hand and laced your fingers with his as you guided him toward your room.

Your thoughts swirled as you walked. The want you'd been carrying for months now sat heavy in your chest, threatening to spill over. You were tired of sneaking around, tired of pretending this was nothing more than casual fun. You wanted him, all of him in the open, without fear or pretense.

But with that hope came the sharp edge of fear that he wouldn't feel the same. The idea of losing him, of pushing him away by wanting too much, gnawed at you, silencing the words before they could even form.

Your thoughts were cut off when his hand slipped from yours to slide down to the curve of your ass, giving it a firm squeeze, a low chuckle coming from him as he pulled you closer, his arm snaking around your waist to pull you against him again and let his lips trail down to the side of your face.

You reached for the doorknob with trembling fingers, your breath hitching as his teeth scraped lightly against your pulse point.

By the time you pushed the door open and stepped inside, he kicked it shut behind him without missing a beat, his hands finding your waist again as he pressed you back against the wall. His lips were on yours instantly, his tongue slipping into your mouth.

You clutched at his shoulders, your fingers digging into the soft fabric of his shirt as he pressed closer, his body pinning you to the wall.

But then you pulled back enough to break the kiss, your chest heaving as you dropped your hands to his. His grip loosened, allowing you to sank to your knees in front of him.

The air shifted, thick with anticipation as you looked up at him, his dark eyes blown wide and locked on yours. His hands twitched at his sides, his jaw tightening as he watched you reach for his belt, undoing the buckle and sliding the leather free before moving to the button and zipper of his jeans and tugging his pants down his hips. His boxers followed and your breath hitched as he sprang free, hard and already dripping with arousal.

His hand came to rest on your head, fingers curling lightly into your hair.

"You're fucking perfect like this," he murmured, his voice rough and dripping with heat, his thumb brushing against your scalp as if in encouragement.

You didn't respond. You couldn't. Your throat was tight with need as you leaned in, your lips parting to take him into your mouth. The first touch of your tongue against him drew a low, guttural groan from his throat, the sound vibrating in the air between you like a spark.

He tasted like salt and heat. Your tongue swirled around the tip, slow and deliberate, savoring the weight of him on your tongue as your hand gripped his thigh for balance.

Mike hissed through his teeth, his fingers tightening in your hair as you took him deeper, your lips stretching around him as you worked him with slow, deliberate precision. The texture of him was smooth and hot, the hardness of him pressing against the back of your throat as you hollow your cheeks.

"Shit, that's good," he muttered, his voice rough and strained as his hips rocked forward slightly. His free hand braced against the wall behind him, fingers flexing as he struggled to keep himself in check.

It spurred you on, your tongue pressing against the sensitive underside of his cock as you moved, your lips slick and swollen as you worked him over with unrelenting focus.

His breaths came heavier, more ragged, each exhale punctuated by a low groan or curse as you pushed him closer to the edge. You took him deeper, swallowing around him until he hit the back of your throat, the motion drawing a sharp gasp from him as his hips jerked forward.

"Just like that," he groaned, his hand tightening in your hair as his head tipped back, exposing the strong line of his throat. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, his jaw clenching as he fought to keep from losing himself entirely.

Your mind spun, your thoughts a jumble of desperate emotions. You wanted him to see how devoted you were, how much you were willing to give him.

But more than that, you wanted him to let you in, to let the world see what you saw in these quiet, stolen moments. You wanted him to hold your hand in the daylight, to kiss you where anyone could see.

Mike leaned back against the wall, his head tipped back, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths as you worked him over.

He was lost in the heat of it, his world narrowing to the slick warmth of your mouth, every nerve alight with pleasure as you brought him closer and closer to the edge.

Something was bugging him.

He couldn't ignore the way your movements felt too precise and mechanical, like you were going through the motions rather than reveling in the moment.

His brow furrowed, hips faltering as he looked down at you. His body screamed for him to let it go, to keep chasing that high you were so good at giving him. But his brain had other plans.

Mike's fingers flexed in your hair, his jaw tightening as he tried to focus on anything but the gnawing unease creeping into his chest, biting his lip as another surge of pleasure rolled through him.

Your brows were slightly knit together like you were concentrating too hard, weren't looking up at him with that mixture of lust and devotion that always made his heart stutter.

Shit.

"Alright, hold up," he said suddenly, his voice rough as he tightened his grip on your hair and pulled you back.

Your lips left him with a wet, obscene sound, your eyes flicking up to meet his in confusion as you knelt there, your cheeks flushed and your lips swollen.

God, you looked so damn good like this. It took every ounce of composure not to just push you back down onto his aching dick.

"Yeah, sorry, I know," he said, letting out a strained, humorless laugh as he ran a hand through his hair. "Not that I don’t appreciate the A-plus performance down there, but seriously… the hell’s going on with you?"

You blinked at him, your brows furrowing slightly as you started to shake your head. "Nothing. I'm fine."

"Bullshit," he shot back, his lips quaking into a lopsided grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You're too quiet. Not in a sexy way, especially when you’re down there looking like you’re plotting an escape instead of sucking my dick."

"I'm not plotting anything," you said softly, avoiding his gaze as you moved to stand.

"Then what is it?" he pressed, his voice still light as he crouched slightly, his hands gripping your shoulders. "Talk to me, babe. Now it’s in my head and I can’t exactly enjoy myself. You're freaking me out a little here."

"I told you, I'm fine," you said again, more forcefully this time, though the crack in your voice betrayed you.

Mike's eyes narrowed, his smirk fading as he studied you. "No, you're not." His voice softened slightly, his hands moving to cup your face, tilting it upward until you had no choice but to look at him. "C'mon. Spill. What's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

You hesitated, your throat tightening as you tried to push the words back down, but his gaze was steady, warm and unrelenting, and before you knew it, the truth spilled out in a quiet, trembling voice.

"I'm tired of sneaking around."

His lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something, but no sound came out. He let his hands fall to his sides, his fingers twitching restlessly before he dragged them through his messy hair. His expression was a mixture of surprise and guilt, and he let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh but there was no humor in it.

"Okay. Wow. That's… yeah." he said finally, his voice low and uneven.

"That's all you have to say?" you asked, your voice was sharper than you intended, but the frustration that had been building inside you for months refused to stay bottled any longer.

Mike flinched at your tone, his usual cocky demeanor faltering for just a second before he plastered on a lopsided grin. "I get it. You're right. Totally. But, uh…" He trailed off, scratching the back of his neck as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "It's not like it's that simple, you know?"

"Isn't it?" you shot back, your voice tinged with anger and exhaustion. "You're either with me or you're not. You're either proud of us or you're not."

"Whoa, okay," Mike said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. His grin turned sheepish, but there was a flicker of guilt, maybe, or fear in his eyes.

"I didn't say I wasn't proud of us. Don't twist my words, alright?"

"Then what are you saying, Mike?" you asked, stepping closer, your voice dropping to a quieter, shakier tone. "Because I'm tired of feeling like I'm some dirty secret you're ashamed of."

"Ashamed of you?" he repeated, his eyes widening in genuine disbelief. "No. No way. That's not—Jesus, no." He let out a sharp, exasperated laugh.

"Then why, Mike?" you pressed, your voice breaking slightly. "Why do we have to sneak around like this? Why can't we just—"

"Because people talk," he interrupted, his tone sharper than he intended. He winced, rubbing a hand over his face before looking back at you. “Maybe they'll stop talking to me. Or you. Or both of us. Maybe it'll get weird with the group and we'll lose—"

"Them?" you interrupted, your voice rising. "You're more worried about losing them?"

"No! That's not what I'm saying," he snapped, his voice breaking slightly. "Stop twisting everything I'm trying to say."

"Then say it, Mike." You whispered through clenched teeth, your chest heaving as tears stung your eyes. "Say what you actually mean instead of hiding behind all this bullshit."

"I'm scared of what it'll mean if everyone knows. Of what we'll lose." He admitted, the words barely above a whisper. "But then I think about how you've put up with all my bullshit without ever asking for anything in return. And I hate that I've made you feel like you're not enough," he went on, his voice growing stronger, steadier.

His hands found your face, pulling you closer as his lips curved into a small, rueful smile. "You are fucking amazing. So, you know what?" He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours as his voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Fuck everyone else. Seriously. I don't care anymore. They're gonna know. All of them. Because you're mine and I'm not hiding it anymore."

Your chest tightened at his words, your breath hitching as tears slipped down your cheeks. Mike wiped them away with his thumbs, his touch gentle as he cupped your face.

"Soon," he said softly, his voice full of warmth and promise. "Soon, everyone's gonna know. I'll make sure of it."

The kiss that followed was as consuming as it was desperate, lips devouring yours. His hands were firm on your shoulders as he pulled you back on your feet and guided you onto the bed, his body following close behind. The weight of him was grounding, his solid chest and broad shoulders pinning you in place as his lips worked a path down your neck, each drag of his stubble leaving a pleasant burn in its wake.

His teeth scraped against the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder, making you gasp. The sound only seemed to spur him on, his lips and tongue leaving the spot until it throbbed with a dull ache.

Your chest tightens with an overwhelming mix of love, relief and desire that coils tight in your stomach, threatening to snap.

When he pulled back, his lips were slick and swollen, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his hand slipped lower, cupping the curve of your ass, the rough pads of his fingers squeezing hard.

"You're needy tonight," he teased, his grin sharp and wolfish. But the slight tremor in his voice betrayed just how much he was affected, too.

Your reply was cut off by the sound of your belt being unbuckled, the metal clanking loudly in the stillness of the room. Mike's movements were impatient as he yanked your pants down, leaving you exposed to the cool air. His hands were on you again in an instant, one gripping your thigh to spread you open while the other pressed firmly against your entrance.

His fingers pressed against you, teasing, before one finally slipped inside. The stretch was sudden, sharp, and you bit down on your lip to stifle a sound.

"Don't you dare hold back," Mike said, his free hand sliding up to grip your jaw. "Let me hear you, babe."

You couldn't help the soft whimper that escaped as he added a second finger, the stretch making your toes curl. He moved with purpose, his fingers scissoring and curling inside you, hitting that spot that made your vision blur.

"Fuck," Mike hissed, his breath hot against your neck. "Still so goddamn tight. How is that even possible with how often I've been inside you?"

You had no answer, your brain too scrambled to form coherent words. Your back arched off the bed as his fingers pressed deeper, his pace quickening until the sound of his movements was obscene.

Just when you thought it couldn't get more intense, he shifted, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down your chest and stomach until your length was engulfed in his hand with a firm grip. He stroked you in time with his fingers, his thumb swiping over the head to smear the precum leaking there.

His mouth replaced his hand soon, tongue swirling around the tip before he took you in, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked hard. The sensation made your whole body jerk, a shaky moan escaping your lips.

His mouth working you over with the same frantic energy as his fingers. Occasionally, he'd pull away to kiss the inside of your thighs or murmur something against your skin.

When he finally pulled his fingers free, you whimpered at the loss, but soon you felt the head of his cock pressing against your entrance.

His eyes met yours, searching for any sign of hesitation.

You nodded with zero hesitation and his lips twitched into a crooked grin.

He pushed in slowly, he was big and the feeling of him filling you completely burned in a way that made your breath hitch.

"Shit," Mike groaned, his voice strained as he bottomed out.

Mike didn't move at first, his hips flush against yours as you took the sheer, overwhelming weight of him inside you. His thick cock throbbed against your inner walls, stretching you wide.

"Fuck," Mike hissed, his voice low and broken, the curse dragged out like he could barely handle the way you gripped him.

The burn of the stretch began to fade, replaced by a maddening fullness that had your fingers digging into his shoulders.

He grunted, the sound deep and animalistic, his body trembling with restraint. "You feel that?" he growled, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as his hands gripped your thighs tighter. "Feel how hard you make me? How much I want you?"

You could only nod, your head falling back against the pillow hissing through clenched teeth.

Mike's restraint snapped. He pulled back fully this time, the drag of his cock against your walls slow and deliberate, making you feel every ridge, every pulse. Then, with a sharp thrust of his hips, he buried himself again, harder, deeper.

The movement ripped a sound from your throat that you couldn't suppress. Mike's hand clamped down on your thigh, spreading you wider as he found a punishing rhythm, each thrust hitting a spot so deep and devastating that it made stars burst behind your eyes.

"Goddamn," he groaned, his voice raw and wrecked, his head dipping to press his lips to your throat. He bit down, his teeth scraping against your skin, and you arched into him, your hands clawing at his back, anything to keep yourself grounded.

Your walls tightened around him with every thrust. "I can feel you, babe. You're close, aren't you?" Mike murmured, his lips curling into a wolfish grin. He looked at you like you were a prey pinned beneath him, helpless yet tantalizingly willing to be devoured.

You tried to deny it, tried to hold back, but the relentless pace of his hips made it impossible. He adjusted his angle, tilting your hips up slightly.

Mike's voice was a guttural growl in your ear, vibrating through your entire body as his teeth skimmed the sensitive skin of your neck. "Say you're mine," he demanded, his breath hot and ragged, his lips brushing the shell of your ear with each word. The deep timbre of his voice shot straight through you.

You couldn't respond. The words were trapped in your throat, strangled by the relentless rhythm of his hips as he drove into you again and again.

"Isn't that what you want?" Mike's voice dipped lower, rough and edged with frustration. He nipped at your neck, his teeth scraping over your pulse point before biting down hard enough to leave a mark.

Your nails dug into his shoulders, hands clutching at the muscles there as you struggled to ground yourself. His cock filled you completely, the long, thick length of him stretching you.

"I asked you a question," he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. His dark eyes were blown wide with lust, his jaw clenched tight as he watched your expression twist with pleasure all because of him.

"Stubborn," he said, almost to himself, his tone laced with dark amusement. "Guess I'll just have to fuck it out of you." He adjusted his angle slightly.

The next thrust hit so devastatingly deep, that your voice broke. His cock filled you completely with every thrust, the drag of him against your walls driving you closer and closer to the edge.

You tried to talk back but Mike thrust into you again before you could speak, rough and unrelenting. You bit down hard on his neck in retaliation.

Mike's reaction was immediate. A throaty grunt rumbled from his chest, the deep vibration rolling through your body as his thrusts became rougher, more erratic. "You wanna play like that?" he growled, his voice tinged with dark amusement. "Fine"

He grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head as he loomed over you.

He chased your lips, kissing you with a bruising strength as his thrusts grew erratic, his pace quickening as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. His cock dragged against your walls with every movement, the thick length of him filling you completely, relentlessly and forcing your body to adjust to the girth of him as he drove into you.

"You're so close," he muttered, his breath hot against your ear. "I can feel it. You gonna come for me, babe?"

You could only nod, your head falling back as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter until it finally broke. Your entire body tensing as you spilled over his hand and your stomach.

Mike wasn't far behind. The way you tightened around him as you came had his rhythm faltering, his movements becoming erratic. "Fuck," he groaned, his voice strained and guttural, his hips snapping against yours one final time as he buried himself deep.

You felt the heat of his release as he came, filling you completely, his body trembling against yours. His forehead pressed against your shoulder, his breath hot and ragged against your skin as he rode out the last waves of his orgasm.

The bed creaked loudly beneath Mike's weight as he flopped down next to you, sprawling out like a man utterly spent. He let out a low groan of satisfaction, running a hand through his damp hair as he caught his breath. "I think I might've broken something… and I don't just mean the bed." He muttered, his voice still rough from the intensity of what had just happened.

You snorted, turning on your side to rest your head on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. His skin was warm and slightly sticky, but you didn't care. The comfort of his solid presence was enough to lull you into a blissful haze.

"You okay down there?" Mike asked, his tone light and teasing as his hand came up to rub slow circles on your back. "Or did I ruin you for life?"

You smirked against his chest, rolling your eyes even though he couldn't see it. "Pretty sure you ruined me the first time we did this. This is just the aftermath."

His laugh was loud and genuine, his chest shaking beneath you. "You're welcome, by the way." He said, his hand slipping lower to give your ass a playful squeeze.

You hummed, too content to come up with a snarky reply and closed your eyes as his fingers trailed up and down your spine.

"So," Mike said suddenly, his voice breaking the comfortable silence. "When do you wanna tell everyone about us? You know, the big reveal. 'Hey, everyone! I've been banging the hottest guy in the group and now he's with me, so hands off!’ That kind of thing."

Your face heated, but you couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of you. "Wow. Real subtle there, Mike."

"We gotta make it dramatic. Catch them off guard. Keep it spicy." He replied, his grin turning mischievous.

You raised an eyebrow. "And what exactly did you have in mind?"

Mike's eyes lit up with a devilish glint as he shifted to rest his hands behind his head. "Breakfast. Tomorrow morning. We wait until everyone's settled in, you know? Then, right as they're mid-sip or mid-bite, we drop the bomb."

You couldn't help but laugh at the image he was painting. "So your plan is to potentially choke someone with the news?"

"Exactly, fewer people to deal with if they can't breathe for a minute. It's efficient."

Shaking your head, you pressed a hand to his chest, giving him a mock shove. "You're ridiculous."

"Yeah, but you love me," he shot back, his grin softening just enough to let a hint of sincerity slip through.

You smiled despite yourself, the warmth in your chest spreading. "Unfortunately for me, yeah. I do."

Mike chuckled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to pull you closer. "Good. Because I'm not letting you go. Now, get some rest, babe. You're gonna need your energy for round two later."

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest remained as you settled against him, your fingers idly tracing patterns on his skin.

[lefteagleblizzard]

ℑ𝔱 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔧𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔞 𝔭𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔨 Mike munroe x male reader

Summary: Emily and Jess sent Mike as a charm offensive to lure you in, a prank to laugh about later. It was supposed to be simple. But somewhere between his teasing words and the way your eyes lit up when you laughed, the lines blurred. Now, with guilt gnawing at his chest and feelings he didn’t anticipate clouding his judgment, Mike faces a choice he’s never had to make.

Tags: Male reader. He/him pronouns are used towards the reader. No use of Y/N. Friends to lovers. Love confession. Lots of angst. Gay smut. Top Mike munroe. Dom Mike Munroe. Bottom male reader. Hate sex. Anal sex.

ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

Words count: 6000

You adjusted the blanket you had draped over Chris, snickering as you admired the crude doodles scrawled across his face. Mustaches, poorly drawn glasses, a pair of devilish horns. With a quick swipe of the marker on the ground, you added your initials near his temple.

You stepped back, biting back a laugh at the masterpiece you contributed to create, before deciding to clean up the empty bottles littered around him and Josh.

Quietly gathering them, you carried the clinking glass to the counter, tossing them in the trash with a satisfying clatter. Just as you turned around, ready to grab the last few items, you bumped into a wall of muscles.

Startled, you took a step back as a hand grabbed your arm to steady you. "Easy there," Mike Munroe said, his voice dripping with amusement. His lips curved into that signature grin of his. "Falling for me already?"

Your initial shock faded, replaced by an eyeroll as you lightly swatted his chest. "In your dreams," you retorted, his hand lingered a moment longer on your arm than necessary.

You crossed your arms as you tilted your head. "What are you even doing down here? I thought you were upstairs with everyone else, not lurking around like a stalker."

Mike chuckled, leaning against the counter again, his arms crossing casually. "I got bored. Figured I'd find better company down here."

You raised an eyebrow, your lips twitching into a smirk. "Better company? You sure you didn't just get lost?"

He laughed, the sound low and warm. "Touché. Guess I deserved that one." His gaze swept over you, noting the way your eyes held a mix of amusement and curiosity. "But seriously, why are you always off by yourself? Not much of a party person?"

His words caught you off guard and for a moment, you didn't know how to respond. It felt like he was really trying to see you.

You tried to play it cool, shrugging lightly. "I'm fine keeping to myself. I just don't really do the whole 'center of attention' thing. Let everyone else have the spotlight."

Mike tilted his head, his smirk softening into something more contemplative. "Must be nice, not caring what people think."

"Who says I don't care?" you countered, raising an eyebrow at him. "I just don't think their approval is worth the effort. That's different."

His grin faltered for a moment, and he gave you a small nod. "Fair point. I guess I could learn a thing or two from you."

You narrowed your eyes at him, studying his expression. "You, learn something? From me? Now that's a first."

"You gotta admit, though, being around people's not all bad. You might even like it if you give it a shot." He laughed while taking a seat right next to you, his knee bumped yours lightly as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping just a notch. "Or maybe you just need the right kind of company."

His tone was teasing, but there was something in his gaze that made your breath catch.

You blinked, the faint blush creeping up your neck betraying the calm expression you tried to maintain.

"You really don't give up, do you?" you muttered, trying to keep your voice steady. The corner of your mouth twitched into a faint smile despite yourself.

"Not when it's worth it," he replied smoothly, his grin softening just slightly. "And I think you're worth it."

You weren't sure what to say, your mind racing as you tried to process the sudden shift in his demeanor.

Mike tilted his head, his grin softening as he studied you. "How has it been this far? Surprised yet?"

You shrugged, letting your eyes wander around the room before returning to him. "Some parts have been better than I expected."

He chuckled, but there was a curious edge to his expression, like he wasn't entirely sure what you meant. "Oh yeah? Like what?"

You hesitated, feeling the weight of his attention settle over you. Right now, he seemed… present, like he was actually listening, waiting for your answer.

"Like this," you said finally, gesturing between the two of you. "Just… talking. Hanging out. I didn't expect anyone to actually care enough to notice me sitting off on my own. Let alone come and bug me about it."

Mike laughed, a short, warm sound. "Hey, I don't bug. I charm. Big difference."

You rolled your eyes, but your smile lingered. "Sure. Whatever you say."

"I mean it, though," you added after a beat, your voice softer now. "I didn't think anyone would bother. Most people just don't pay attention like that."

Mike blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in your tone. He found himself watching you, really watching you, as though he was only now starting to see you clearly.

"They're just idiots." He said finally, his voice quieter than usual.

You laughed, shaking your head. "I don't think it's that. Most people don't really look past what's easy to see. The surface stuff. You're either loud enough or wild enough to keep their attention, or you're invisible."

Mike's chest tightened at that, though he wasn't sure why. He shifted uncomfortably, running a hand through his hair. "What, you think I'm loud and wild?"

You looked at him then, really looked, and something in your gaze made his breath catch. "I think that's what people expect from you," you said evenly. "And you're good at giving them what they want."

Mike froze, the playful smirk sliding off his face as your words hit him like a cold splash of water. He wasn't used to being seen like that, wasn't used to someone actually peeling back the layers instead of just enjoying the show.

"You make it sound like a bad thing," he said eventually, leaning closer to your seated position. His voice lacked its usual confidence and was mostly curious.

"It's not bad," you said, your tone careful, measured. "I just don't think it's all there is to you."

His stomach twisted and he didn't like how much it got to him. He wasn't supposed to care about this, wasn't supposed to let someone dig their way under his skin like this.

You definitely weren’t like the people who laughed at his jokes without really hearing them, or flirted back without getting to know him better.

Mike leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the counter as he searched your face. "You've got me all figured out, huh?" he asked, his voice low, teasing.

You smiled faintly, your gaze steady. "Not all of you. But I see enough."

“And what do you see?” His voice was rough, his throat dry as his heart pounded harder than it should. Tilting his head, he let his grin return—pearly white, handsome, and this time, unmistakably genuine.

You hesitated, as if weighing your words, and he hated how much he cared about what you were going to say next.

"I see someone who works too hard to make people like him," you said softly. "Someone who's always 'on,' like if you stop for a second, someone might see something you don't want them to."

Mike stared at you, his breath catching in his chest. He wanted to laugh it off, to crack a joke, to shift the focus back to you—but he couldn't.

"And I see someone who's better than they think they are," you continued, your voice steady despite the way your eyes softened. "Someone who doesn't have to try so hard to make people like him, because… he's already amazing on his own."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, he couldn't breathe.

He swallowed hard, trying to find anything to say, but all he could manage was a faint, breathless laugh. "You're full of shit, you know that?"

You Laughed, your eyes crinkling at the corners. "Maybe. But I mean it."

Mike's chest ached in a way that felt almost unbearable and he had to look away, had to glance down at his hands.

When he finally looked back at you, his grin was gone, replaced by a soft smile.

His hand reached out on instinct, brushing against yours where it rested on the counter. The touch was brief, barely there, but it sent a jolt through both of you. You froze, your eyes darting to his and he could see the way your breath caught, the way your lips parted just slightly in surprise.

And then he knew.

He'd been right. You liked him. The signs were all there, subtle but unmistakable. The slight flush creeping up your neck. The nervous energy radiating off you in waves.

He'd seen it a hundred times before.

Emily had pointed it out earlier, half-joking, half-jealous. She called you his little admirer, tone sharp and annoyed.

Mike hadn't responded at the time, brushing it off with a laugh and a shrug.

But now, the idea didn't bother him. If anything, it made him feel that warm, satisfying feeling creep into his veins.

Without thinking, Mike took a step closer, his body shifting into your space like it was the most natural thing in the world. His hand, warm and steady, came up to cradle your cheek, his fingers brushing against your skin with a gentleness that caught even him off guard. Your eyes widened slightly, your breath hitching.

His thumb moved against your cheek, slow and deliberate, as his gaze flickered down to your lips. They looked soft, inviting. All he could see, all he could think about, was you.

He hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest as the weight of what he was about to do hit him. This wasn't part of the plan. He wasn't supposed to feel this way. You weren't supposed to matter. He was just supposed to lure you into the room to let everything unfold.

But then you looked at him, your eyes wide and vulnerable, and all of that he was supposed to care about melted away.

When his lips met yours, it was softer than you expected, tentative in a way that belied the confidence he so often exuded. His lips moved against yours with a warmth that melted the space between you and when you didn't pull away, his hesitation crumbled.

You leaned into him, your hands brushing against his chest before gripping the fabric of his shirt. The quiet, almost nervous gesture sent a spark of heat through him and suddenly the kiss wasn't soft anymore. His other hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer with a sense of urgency.

Mike tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding against your bottom lip before you parted for him.

A low, guttural sound escaped his throat, a sound he didn't realize he could make but that only spurred him on. His grip on you tightened slightly, his fingers pressing into your waist as his lips moved with more fervor, more need. He kissed you like he was trying to consume you, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before soothing it with another deep, heated kiss. You gasped softly against him and he groaned at the sound, his chest tightening with something he couldn't name.

Mike's hand moved from your cheek, his fingers sliding down the side of your neck and across your jawline. He tilted your head slightly, giving himself better access to your mouth and kissed you with a hunger that bordered on desperation.

Your fingers slipped into his hair, tugging lightly, and he broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as his breaths came in heavy, uneven bursts.

He pulled away not because he wanted to. It was because he had to. His chest heaved with the effort of catching his breath, his lips red and swollen as he stared at you with wide, conflicted eyes. His hand lingered on your waist, his fingers twitching slightly as though reluctant to let go.

"Meet me later," he said, his voice low and husky, the words practically a purr. A sly grin tugging at his lips. "We can… pick up where we left off. All night long, if you're up for it."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the heat rising in your cheeks as you nodded, unable to form a coherent response.

Mike stood frozen in place, his lips twitching into a grin that felt more like a reflex than anything real. Your reaction to his words was almost too much for him to handle. He didn't know why he found it so captivating, but he couldn't deny the way his chest tightened at the sight.

He leaned back casually, trying to shake off the unfamiliar weight in his chest, convincing himself it was just the alcohol coursing through him, mixing with the buzz of the evening.

With a quick peck on his cheek, you turned and hurried toward the stairs, your pulse racing as you disappeared from sight.

Mike watched you go, his grin fading as soon as you were out of view, his grip on the counter tightening. Chest rising and falling as he struggled to process what had just happened. The kiss, the way your lips had felt against his was still imprinted in his mind, replaying in vivid, maddening detail.

The guilt clawed at the edges of his thoughts, pulling him back to the reality of the situation. The prank. The stupid, cruel plan he'd agreed to without a second thought.

What the hell was he doing? This wasn't part of the plan. You weren't supposed to be anything more than a target, a prank to laugh about later. But now… now he wasn't so sure. It wasn't just attraction. It was something purer, something he hadn't seen in a long time.

You trusted him.

And God, that made the guilt so much worse.

He sighed, leaning back against the counter as he tried to shake off the nagging guilt tugging at his chest. His cheek still tingled from where your lips had been, and he couldn't help but lift a hand to touch the spot, as if trying to confirm that it had actually happened.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, his fingers curling into a fist as he dropped his hand back to his side.

The chair he'd been sitting in creaked slightly as he shifted on it, his foot catching on the edge. He cursed under his breath, his nerves shot in a way that he didn't quite understand.

When the door creaked open and you stepped inside, Mike froze. The sight of you made his chest tighten unexpectedly. You looked nervous, hands fidgeting slightly at your sides as you closed the door behind you. You called his name softly, your voice hesitant but warm, and something in him twisted painfully.

"Hey," he said, stepping forward before he could stop himself. His hands reached out, wrapping around yours, and he held them gently, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles.

“I was hoping you'd come," he said, his voice low and sincere and for once, it wasn’t an act.

You smiled at him, that same shy, trusting smile that had been chipping away at his defermes since the moment you bumped into him downstairs.

His hand rested softly against your cheek, and you pressed into it, craving the connection. His thumb brushed lightly over your skin, and the way you closed your eyes for just a moment made his heart ache.

You hesitated, your lips parting as you tried to find the words.

Mike tilted his head slightly, his brows furrowing as his thumb brushed lightly over your skin. "Hey," he murmured softly, his voice low and coaxing. "What is it? You're nervous?"

The tenderness in his voice was enough to push you over the edge. You took a shaky breath, talking in a voice so soft it was almost a whisper.

"I don't know how to explain it, Mike, but I’m glad of being with you."

You glanced away, embarrassed by the weight of your own confession.

Mike's breath hitched and his grip on your cheek faltered. His heart pounded in his chest, guilt clawing at him.

Your gaze lifted to meet his again, your eyes wide and sincere, and it broke something inside him. "You make me feel like I can just… be myself," you said, barely above a whisper now. "Like I'm not invisible for once. And I just wanted you to know that."

You were laying yourself bare, offering him a piece of your heart without hesitation. And all he could think about was how undeserving he was of it.

A broken whisper left his lips that only you managed to catch.

"Get out."

The words were hurried, desperate, and the moment they left his lips, he saw the confusion flicker across your face. He couldn't let you stay, not after you just handed him your trust so freely, so openly. Because he knew what was about to happen, and it would ruin everything.

"Turn around and go," he whispered again too lowly, his voice trembling now.

You stepped back slightly, your brows furrowing as you tried to make sense of his sudden change in demeanor. But before you could say anything, the door swung open and Sam stepped in.

"It’s just a stupid prank," she said, her voice sharp and cutting through the tension as she flickers the lights on and suddenly, the room was filled with laughter and movement as Jess, Emily and the others stepped out from their hiding spots.

Mike watched as your face crumbled, the hurt and humiliation flooding your features. It hit him like a knife to the chest, the raw betrayal in your eyes cutting deeper than he thought possible.

You didn't say anything. You just turned and bolted from the room.

The storm howled outside, the windows rattling against the force of the wind. You blinked awake, your heart racing from the sound of a branch scraping against the glass. The room was dark save for the faint glow of the clock on the nightstand. It read 4:03 AM.

Your chest felt hollow, but your eyes still burned, raw and swollen from the tears that had refused to stop. All night, you'd replayed it in your mind. You'd never felt smaller, more humiliated, more betrayed in your life. You couldn't stay here. Not with them.

Not with him.

Dragging yourself out of bed, every movement felt like wading through quicksand. Your limbs were heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and the emotional toll of the night. Quietly, you packed your bag, stuffing your belongings inside and pulling on your jacket, fumbling with the zipper. Your breath came in shallow bursts as you stood in front of the door, willing yourself to move.

You padded down the stairs, the cabin eerily quiet in the early morning hours. Reaching the bottom step, you spotted the front door, your escape, and quickened your pace. But then, you froze.

There he was.

Mike was slumped over at the kitchen counter, his head resting on one hand, the other loosely holding an empty beer bottle. His clothes were the same ones he'd worn last night, wrinkled and disheveled, his shirt unbuttoned slightly at the collar. Even in sleep, his brow was furrowed, tension radiating from his hunched posture.

Had he stayed up all night? The thought flickered briefly, unbidden, but you shook it away. The floor creaked beneath your foot, and Mike's snores stopped abruptly. His head shot up, bleary eyes locking onto you.

For a moment, neither of you moved. His expression shifted almost immediately, body tensing as realization dawned. He straightened up, setting the bottle down on the counter with a soft clink. "Hey," he said, his voice rough and thick with exhaustion.

You ignored him, your face hard and emotionless as you walked to the door, hands trembling slightly as you pulled on your gloves. Mike shifted awkwardly, running a hand through his hair as his mind scrambled for something to say.

When he noticed you pulling on your gloves, realization hit him like a punch to the gut. "Wait—you're not seriously thinking about going out in this weather, are you?" His voice was sharper than he intended, laced with worry and frustration.

You stiffened, but you didn't stop, your back still turned to him. "I didn't know you cared that much," you said curtly, your tone cold and biting. The words were meant to hurt, and they did.

Mike winced, his jaw tightening as guilt twisted in his chest. He opened his mouth to argue, but the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he stepped closer, lowering his voice as he tried again. "Look, I get it, okay? I screwed up. I shouldn't have—" He stopped, running a hand down his face, visibly frustrated. "I shouldn't have done any of it. It was stupid."

Your breath hitched at his confession, and you squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to stay strong. Tears blurred your vision, and you gritted your teeth, hating how vulnerable you felt. Without a word, you grabbed the door handle and yanked it open, the icy wind cutting through the room like a blade.

The cold outside was brutal, an unrelenting force that immediately wrapped itself around you the second you stepped out of the cabin. The icy wind cut against your cheeks, stinging your skin and making your eyes water even more than they already were. Your jacket barely felt like a barrier against the blizzard's ferocity, but you didn't care. You just needed to get away from him, away from the cabin.

Your fists clenched at your sides as you pushed forward, the snow crunching beneath your boots in a steady, determined rhythm.

"Wait!" Mike shouted, panic lacing his voice as he jogged outside. "Holy frosty snowballs, this is an illegal level of cold!" Mike cursed under his breath.

You didn't stop. You didn't even turn around.

"Are you seriously doing this right now? Stop!" He shouted again, louder this time, his voice hoarse as he tried to compete with the howling wind.

His words fell on deaf ears as you marched forward and he groaned audibly, his frustration spilling out as he turned back to grab his jacket. Muttering curses under his breath, he shrugged it on quickly and bolted after you, the icy wind hitting him like a slap to the face.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, squinting against the blizzard as he spotted your figure. You were barely visible now, a dark silhouette against the endless swirl of white. His chest tightened, both from the cold and the fear that he wouldn't reach you in time.

"Hey!" he shouted, his voice cracking as he ran after you. His boots slipped slightly on the snow, but he caught himself. "Stop! Just stop for one damn second!"

You kept moving, your pace quickening as his voice grew closer. The sound of him calling after you only fueled your determination to get as far away as possible. Your breathing was ragged, each exhale visible in the frigid air, but you didn't slow down.

"You're seriously just gonna walk out into a goddamn blizzard because you're mad? You think this is smart? It’s not gonna fix anything!" Mike yelled, his tone rising with frustration.

Still, you didn't respond.

Mike let out a low, guttural groan, frustration and worry tangling together until they made his voice tremble. “For God’s sake, you’re so damn stubborn!” he snapped, his strides lengthening as he hurried to close the gap between you. “Don’t want to talk? Fine. Have it your way. But if you think I’m letting you freeze your ass off out here, think again. You’re not shaking me off that easily!”

You faltered slightly at his words, your steps slowing.

Mike seized on the brief hesitation, his frustration boiling over. "Why can't you just stop for two seconds and let me talk? You think this is easy for me? You think I don't hate myself for what happened?" He yelled again, and this time, his voice cracked as the wind carried his words toward you.

He let out a harsh breath, his boots crunching against the snow as he finally closed the distance between you. "You're not the only one hurting here, alright? But I can't fix it if you won't let me! I can't—" His voice broke completely, and he stopped in his tracks, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.

Finally, you stopped.

His breath got caught in your throat as you slowly turned around to face him. Your cheeks streaked with tears and your eyes burned with anger and pain.

"What do you want from me, Michael?" you demanded, your voice trembling with emotion. "Forgiveness? Do you have any idea how much you hurt me? You made me feel like I was just some joke to you!"

Mike's chest tightened painfully as your words washed over him. He opened his mouth to respond, but you didn't give him a chance.

"I thought you were different," you continued, your voice breaking as tears streamed down your face. "I was so stupid to think you actually cared."

Mike's heart shattered as he stepped closer, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "No," he said, his voice desperate. "No, that's not—that's not what it was. I didn't mean—fuck, I didn't mean for it to go that far. I was stupid, okay? I was a complete jerk. I care about you so much it scares the shit out of me."

Mike took another step closer, his voice breaking as he said, "I was too busy trying to be the guy everyone expects me to be. I hate myself for it. I hate that I hurt you."

Mike hesitated for a moment before stepping forward, his hands trembling as they cupped your face, his gaze searching yours with a mixture of desperation and guilt that only fueled your anger.

You hated him so much for what he'd done. For how he'd made you feel. But you hated yourself even more for how much you still wanted him, even after everything.

You pushed him hard against his chest, the impact barely moving him but satisfying some small part of your anger, your fists pounding weakly against his chest as fresh tears streamed down your face.

He didn't try to stop you as you hit him again, your blows growing weaker and more frantic. "I hate you," you choked out, your fists still pressed against his chest. "I hate you so much."

"I know," Mike whispered, his voice cracking. When your legs buckled slightly and you leaned into him, he made his choice. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close despite your protests and your body collapsed against him, fists weakly pounding against his chest.

You blinked up at him through a haze of tears, his face impossibly close, every raw emotion laid bare in his expression. It struck you like a blow to the chest. So open, so unguarded it made your heart clench. And then, without warning, he closed the remaining distance and captured your lips in a kiss.

The kiss was sudden, desperate, and completely overwhelming. His lips moved against yours with a fervor that took your breath away.

Instinctively, you pushed against his chest, trying to pull away, trying to cling to the anger and hurt that had protected you.

But he didn't let go.

His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing away the tears on your cheeks as he deepened the kiss.

And just like that, the walls you'd tried so hard to hold up crumbled. Your hands gripped the fabric of his jacket, pulling him closer as you kissed him back with equal intensity. Every ounce of anger, hurt, and longing you'd felt poured into the kiss, the emotions too strong to keep bottled up any longer.

Mike's arms wrapped around you tightly, his body pressing against yours as the kiss deepened even further.

The kiss deepened, his lips were demanding, bruising, yet reverent. Contradictions that mirrored the knot of fury and desire tangling in your chest. His tongue swept against your lower lip, a plea that demanded no permission but instead undid you entirely. You parted for him and the moment his tongue slipped inside, the fury within you exploded into something hotter, darker, and so much hungrier.

His mouth was intoxicating, his taste faintly smoky from whatever drink had numbed him earlier. You hated it, you hated him—but God, did your body crave him. He tilted your face up, angling himself deeper as his tongue curled against yours in a dance that was equal parts battle and surrender.

You gasped, finally breaking the kiss to pull in a ragged breath. His lips chased yours as he whispered brokenly, "Please. Let me. Let me make this right."

Your fingers curled into his hair, yanking sharply and he groaned into your mouth. The sound hit you low in your stomach, heat pooling where you'd sworn you'd never want him again. Your voice was hoarse, tinged with bitterness and something dangerously close to surrender. "You think a kiss fixes this? That I'll just—"

Mike growled low, cutting you off with another kiss that silenced your protests. His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, sharp enough to sting, before he pulled back just enough to rasp against your mouth, "No. But I'm not stopping until I make you see how sorry I am."

His words made you shudder, the ache of betrayal warring with the raw need coursing through you. You hated him. You loved him. And when his strong hands slid down your sides to grip your waist and pull you flush against him, your body gave up the fight even if your mind hadn't.

The storm raged around you as he dragged you back toward the cabin, each hurried step a clumsy clash of limbs and desperate kisses. Snow clung to your clothes, cold seeping through layers, but the furnace of Mike's body against yours burned away every icy sting. He muttered against your lips, his breath fogging between kisses, "Inside… I swear I'll… fuck, I’m gonna lose a limb out here."

Your lips twitched, an involuntary reaction to the pathetic little joke. He caught the flicker of amusement, his gaze softening and you hated how it warmed you despite everything.

As soon as the cabin door slammed shut behind you, you shoved him hard, slamming him against the door, your hands curling into his jacket as you kissed him with a fury that bordered on violence. He met you with equal intensity, his hands finding your hips and yanking you against him. The solid heat of him, his growing hardness pressing insistently against yours only fueled your anger and your desire.

A groan rumbled in his chest as your teeth scraped against the stubble on his jaw, marking him as he had marked you.

One of your hands tangled in his messy hair, tugging sharply, while the other slipped under his jacket, feeling the taut lines of his body. He was hot, impossibly warm and solid beneath your touch.

When his hands slid to your ass, kneading roughly before lifting you against the door, a sharp gasp escaped your lips. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, the hard press of his length against your clothed entrance making you shiver. His lips found your neck, sucking and biting down the column of your throat until you were arching into him despite yourself.

"You drive me fucking insane." He groaned again, pressing his hips forward as if to prove a point.

His hands were impatient as they worked to undo your belt, his breath ragged and hot against your ear. "Tell me to stop," he murmured, his voice barely audible but shaking with restrained need. "Tell me to stop and I swear I will."

You didn't. The words tangled on your tongue, caught somewhere between defiance and desire. Instead, you let out a choked moan as his hand slipped beneath your waistband.

His touch impatient and unrelenting as he found your entrance, his fingers pressing against you with a sense of urgency. You bit your lip hard, trying to keep quiet, but a small sound escaped as he pushed one finger inside, the stretch sharp and sudden.

"So tight," he muttered, his voice low and wrecked. He added another finger almost immediately, scissoring them quickly, his other hand wrapping around your length and stroking you in time with his movements.

Your head fell back against the wall, a shaky moan escaping before you could stop it, your neck in full display for him and he kissed and bit down every inch of skin he had access to.

You hated how easily he unraveled you, how your body betrayed you with every gasp and shiver.

You didn't respond, couldn't respond. Your hands found his shoulders, gripping tight as he prepped you with a frantic kind of precision, his fingers stretching you faster. He wasn't being gentle, and you didn't want him to be, not right now.

When he finally pulled his fingers away, you felt the loss acutely, but it didn't last long.

Mike cursed under his breath, his fingers moving with a precision that belied the trembling urgency in his touch. His other hand slipped between you, fumbling with his own belt before freeing himself.

He shifted, pressing his hips against yours and you felt the thick length of him brushing against your entrance.

"Say you're mine," he growled, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he began to press inside. The stretch was sharp, burning, and you couldn't stop the gasp that escaped you.

"I hate you," you gasped again, your nails digging into his shoulders.

His thrusts were shallow at first, teasing you open, but when you clenched around him, he lost all sense of control. His hips snapped forward, burying himself inside you with a rough, shuddering groan. The sensation was overwhelming, the thick heat of him dragging against your walls in a way that made your breath hitch and your toes curl.

"You hate me?" Mike rasped, his voice a mix of amusement and need as he began to move, each thrust deliberate and punishing. "Then why do you feel so good around me? Why are you squeezing me so tight?"

Your answer was a broken cry, his name fell from your lips, shaky and desperate and the sound drove him even wilder. His hand slid down to grip your thigh, pulling your leg higher around his waist to angle himself deeper, hitting a spot inside you that sent stars exploding behind your eyelids.

"Tell me," he demanded, his voice hoarse as his movements became frantic. "Tell me you're mine."

Your resolve crumbled, your body trembling as his words pushed you closer to the edge. "I'm yours," you gasped, your voice barely audible over the sound of your bodies colliding.

It was all he needed to hear.

Mike's forehead rested against yours as his hips rolled into you, each thrust deep and deliberate, leaving you gasping for air. The stretch of him was overwhelming, his cock filling you so completely it was almost too much to bear, yet not nearly enough.

"Fuck," he hissed, his voice low and guttural as his hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wider beneath him. "You're so goddamn tight. Every time I move, you just—" He groaned, his sentence trailing off into a growl as he thrust harder.

You couldn't speak. The words were trapped somewhere in your throat, tangled with the moans and gasps spilling from your lips.

Mike leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "I don't deserve you, but fuck if I'm ever letting you go." His voice was hoarse, tinged with awe

You captured his lips in a kiss that was more teeth and tongue than finesse. He groaned into your mouth, his pace faltering for just a moment before he picked it back up, his thrusts growing harder, faster.

"Mike," you gasped, your voice breaking as he hit that perfect spot inside you, the one that made your vision blur and your toes curl. "God, Mike—"

"Yeah?" he panted, his breath hot against your skin as he trailed kisses down your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh. "Tell me. Tell me what you need, babe."

His hand slid between your bodies, his fingers finding your cock and wrapping around it with a firm, practiced grip.

The sensation was almost too much. His hand moved in time with his thrusts. Every pump of his fist, every roll of his hips sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you, and you could feel yourself hurtling toward the edge.

"Look at me," Mike demanded, his voice rough but commanding. "I want to see you when you come. I want to see how good I make you feel." He murmured, his thumb swiping over the head of your cock and making you cry out.

You forced your eyes open, meeting his gaze, and the intensity there nearly undid you. His pupils were blown wide, his face flushed and his expression was a mix of concentration and raw, unfiltered desire. He looked wrecked, and the knowledge that you were the reason for it sent a thrill through you.

A strangled cry left your mouth as you came, your back arching as your release spilled over Mike's hand and your stomach. The world around you blurred, your vision going white as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, leaving you trembling and gasping for air.

Mike didn't stop. His movements grew erratic, his thrusts harder and deeper as he chased his own release. The feeling of you tightening around him, your walls fluttering and pulsing, seemed to drive him wild and he let out a low, guttural grunt as he buried himself inside you one last time.

His body tensing as he came, his cock throbbing as he spilled inside you. The heat of him filling you was overwhelming.

His face was buried in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin, and you could feel the rapid beat of his heart against your own.

"Holy shit," he finally muttered, his voice muffled but full of awe. He lifted his head just enough to look at you, a quick peck on your lips before he slowly lowered you down, his hands never leaving your waist.

Your fingers curled around the collar of his jacket, pulling him closer until you could feel the heat of his breath against your lips. The weight of his hand settled on your waist. His other hand cradled your neck, his thumb brushing lightly over the sensitive skin just below your jaw, where a deep, angry bruise bloomed from where his lips had claimed you earlier.

Mike's gaze flickered to the mark, his fingers tracing the edge of it with a tenderness that made your chest tighten. His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but the words didn't come. Instead, he frowned, his brows knitting together in confusion as you pulled him, guiding him forward in slow, deliberate steps.

"Where are we going?" He said, his voice low and rough, laced with a mix of curiosity and growing desire. His eyes darted between yours and your lips, dark with lust but softened by a flicker of uncertainty.

You smirked, your hand sliding up to cradle the back of his neck, your fingers threading through his hair as you tilted your head. "What, scared I'm leading you into a trap?" you teased, your tone light but edged with challenge.

His lips twitched into a grin, that signature cocky smirk creeping back onto his face.

You leaned in closer, until your noses nearly brushed, your voice dropping to a whisper. "If I wanted to humiliate you, I'd just tell everyone about how you practically begged me to forgive you."

His laugh was breathless, but the sound warmed something deep in your chest. "Yeah, yeah. You got me,” he muttered, stepping closer, his hand finding your waist again like it belonged there.

The tension between you easing just enough for the banter to feel natural again. But the fire in his eyes didn't dim; if anything, it burned hotter, especially as you reached up, your hands cradling his face.

The change in your touch caught him off guard, and his breath hitched slightly as you pulled him closer. He followed your lead without question, his head dipping down as his lips hovered just inches from yours. The warmth of his breath ghosted over your skin.

"I'm still up for what you proposed earlier," you murmured, your voice soft but steady.

Mike's eyes widened briefly, the weight of your words sinking in. His pupils dilated further, his grip on your waist tightening as though to ground himself. "Yeah?" he rasped, his voice husky barely more than a whisper. "You mean—"

"All night long," you interrupted, echoing his earlier words with a sly smile.

The reaction was immediate. A low groan escaped his throat, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was as desperate as it was passionate. He didn't hold back this time, his hands roaming your body with urgency.

As you pulled him toward your room, his lips never left yours, his kisses messy and insistent, a tangle of teeth and tongue that made your head spin. He broke the kiss just long enough to rasp, "Lead the way, babe, or I swear I'm just gonna take you right here again."

His hand was so warm as you gripped it, pulling him toward the stairs and he followed without hesitation, his eyes locked on you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

By the time you reached your room and shut the door behind you, he was on you, pressing you back against it as his lips found yours again, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue.

Your fingers tugging at his shirt to yank it over his head. "Don't make me wait any longer." You whispered against his mouth, your voice steady despite the rapid pounding of your heart.

He pushed you down on the bed as he positioned himself above you.

The smirk that tugged at his lips was pure Mike Munroe—cocky, confident, and utterly irresistible. "Wouldn't dream of it," he said, his voice low and rough.

There was something unspoken between you, a fragile truce that held for now. The anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but so was the love.

For now, it felt like maybe, you could find your way back to each other.

And maybe that was enough. For now.

Note: if you liked this, please leave a comment. I love reading them <3

[lefteagleblizzard]

𝔖𝔱𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔤𝔬𝔱 𝔞 𝔤𝔯𝔦𝔭

Mike Munroe x male reader

Summary: now that you’re finally reunited together at the lodge, you help Mike patching up his left hand after what he went through at the sanatorium. He shows his appreciation the only way he knows how: by wrecking you completely.

Tags: Male reader. He/him pronouns are used towards the reader. No use of Y/N. Established relationship. Taking care of Mike. Some gore details but nothing too explicit. Make out session. Dirty talk. Gay smut. Top Mike munroe. Dom Mike Munroe. Bottom male reader. Anal sex.

ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

Words count: 4000

You traced your fingers over the worn cover of the book the stranger had left behind along with many other things. It smelled of old paper and smoke, something that had been carried through decades of harsh winters and open flames.

Chris had gone with him.

Brave, loyal, stupid Chris.

You respected the hell out of him for it, but you doubted you could have done what he was currently doing. Not after what Josh had done to you. The sheer fucking terror of that night as you ran through the snow until your lungs burned, your hands raw from clawing through ice and tree bark, the weight of exhaustion dragging at your legs.

If Mike hadn't found you when he did, if he hadn't stripped off his own jacket, wrapped his arms around you and dragged you back to warmth, hypothermia would have turned you into just another body on this goddamn mountain.

You swallowed hard, running a hand through your hair, trying not to let the worry consume you, thumbing the book's edge.

"Hey," a familiar voice murmured, low and soft.

Strong arms wrapped around your waist, a solid and comforting weight pressing against your back. Warm lips brushed your cheek, the scrape of stubble a slow, pleasant scratch against your skin. He smelled like sweat and smoke, the faintest trace of cologne that had long since faded but still clung to him.

Mike’s head settled on your shoulder like it belonged there. "Whatcha lookin' at, babe?" he murmured, voice rough but quiet.

You felt yourself lean back against him instinctively, seeking out his warmth. His arms tightened around you, solid, protective, the heat of him seeping through your layers of clothing.

"That man’s book," you murmured. "Might be a diary or something. There's a lot of stuff about those wendigos."

Mike made a soft sound that was meant to allude acknowledgment, but he wasn’t really paying attention. You could feel how distracted he was, his hold on you heavier, his thumbs brushing absentminded circles over your hips.

"You're warm," you mumbled, letting your fingers slide over the book's worn edges.

"Mm." Mike nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his breath fanning over your skin. "You're still freezing."

You let yourself close your eyes for a second, feeling the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest against your back.

Then he hissed.

Your eyes snapped open.

"Mike?"

"S'nothin," he muttered.

You twisted in his hold, looking down. His left hand, wrapped haphazardly in cloth, speckled with new droplets of fresh blood, the skin around the edges darkening with a sickly yellow hue.

Your stomach lurched.

"Mike," you said again, this time sharper. You reached for his hand and he winced as your fingers curled around his left wrist.

"Babe, seriously, it's—"

"How long has it been hurting?"

He hesitated.

"... Dunno."

"Mike."

He exhaled through his nose, rubbing at the back of his neck with his good hand. His jaw worked, lips parting like he was about to brush it off again, but you weren't in the mood for his bullshit. He'd lost fingers, had barely any supplies to clean or dress the wound, and now he was just acting like it was nothing? No. Fuck no.

You grabbed his wrist, turned on your heel, and dragged him toward the stairs.

"You're getting this checked out."

"I am checked out."

"Not what I meant, and you know it."

Mike was taller and definitely stronger but didn't apply any resistance. He let you haul him up the stairs, grumbling the whole way even as you ignored every attempt at reassurance he threw your way.

When you reached the bathroom, you shoved open the door, flicked on the dim light, and pushed him inside.

"Sit," you ordered, gesturing to the edge of the tub.

Mike gave you a look, somewhere between amused and exasperated, but he sat. "So bossy," he muttered.

You crossed your arms, eyeing the way he was cradling it. "I don't get why you're acting like this is nothing."

Mike exhaled through his nose, glancing away briefly before looking back at you. "It's not nothing, it just hurts, yeah, but I'll live. You don't have to—"

"I do have to," you cut in sharply, dropping to your knees in front of the cabinet. "Because if I don't, you won't."

Mike let out a sigh of annoyance, legs spread lazily, one arm draped over his knee. "Are you always this rough with your patients, doc?"

You ignored him, kneeling to rummage through the cabinets, tossing aside spent candle stubs and old toiletries in search of medical supplies.

Behind you, there was a beat of silence. Then a low, appreciative hum.

Slowly, you turned your head just enough to catch the way he was leaning forward, elbows braced on his knees, eyes raking over you with a lazy and warm smirk.

He was checking you out. You put yourself literally on your knees in front of him, though. What was there to expect from him?

You pulled out all the supplies that you needed, taking a steadying breath before finally turning back to him. His eyes flickered down to your lips so fast you almost missed it, but you caught the way he licked his own right after.

Focus.

You huffed, shaking your head, but your pulse was already picking up, skin burning under his attention. He was hurt, but that didn't stop him from watching you like he wanted to drag you right into his lap.

The cloth Mike had wrapped around his hand at the sanatorium was stiff with dried blood, its edges dark and crusted where it had fused to his skin. As you carefully took his wrist in your hands, you could feel the faint tremor in his fingers, the way tension rolled through his muscles.

"Alright," you murmured, voice steady but quiet. "I'm gonna take this off, okay? Might sting a little."

Mike let out a huff, trying for nonchalance. " 'M not a baby, doc. Do your worst."

The moment you started peeling the fabric away, he sucked in a sharp breath, his jaw clenching so tight that the muscle twitches beneath his skin.

The cloth resisted at first, sticking where dried blood had hardened over raw tissue. You worked slowly, peeling inch by inch, watching as fresh beads of dark crimson welled up in places where the wound had begun to heal over.

Mike inhaled sharply through his nose. His free hand gripped the edge of the counter so hard his knuckles turned white.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath.

The cloth clung like a second skin.

Dried blood, thick and dark, had cemented it to the raw, exposed tissue beneath, and as you worked slow, methodical, careful not to rip too hard, Mike's body tensed, muscles coiling beneath your hands. His jaw was locked tight, breath a little too controlled, like he was forcing himself not to react.

The fabric resisted, the edges fused to the cuts where his fingers had been, and with every slow pull, fresh beads of crimson welled up, tracing thin, sluggish lines down his palm. His breath stuttered once when you reached the worst of it, the exposed ends of his two amputated fingers, swollen and dark, the skin around them an angry mix of purple bruises and sickly yellow where trauma had already started its slow decay.

Mike turned his head, like he didn't want to see. For a guy who'd hacked off his own fingers with a rusty machete, he looked pale.

"Not fully clotted," you muttered, more to yourself than to him. "Need to clean this before it gets infected. Still think this is nothing?"

Mike made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. "Looks badass, though, right?"

You didn't answer, just reached for the antiseptic.

The second the cool sting soaked into the torn flesh, Mike jerked.

"Motherfucker—!" His head knocked back against the bathroom wall, his whole body going rigid. His free hand, the one not currently being brutalized, gripped his thigh so hard you swore you heard the fabric strain.

"You could warn a guy before going in dry," he gritted out.

You smirked. "That sounded suggestive."

Mike cracked one eye open. "And you didn't deny it."

"Would it make you shut up if I did?"

His grin was wicked. "Absolutely not."

You sighed but didn't fight it. If he wanted to talk his way through the pain, you'd let him.

Still, when you pressed a little too hard near the exposed bone, his breath hitched sharply, his amusement faltering for half a second.

"If you wanted to hold my hand this bad, you coulda just said so" he rasped, cracking an eye open.

You scoffed, fingers tightening slightly around his wrist. "Yeah, real romantic. Holding the bloody stump where your fingers used to be."

Mike smirked. "Hey, don't kinkshame."

You groaned in annoyance and he grinned, even as another sharp inhale betrayed the pain lancing through his hand. "Seriously, though. You're really good with your hands, babe. Ever consider nursing?"

"I am considering strangling you," you muttered, reaching for fresh gauze.

Mike exhaled a laugh before leaning in up close to your face.

The movement was so casual and natural that it caught you off guard. One second he was watching you and the next his face was too close, his breath warm against your cheek as he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to your cheek. His light beard scratched and heat curled under your skin, a slow, involuntary reaction that made your fingers tighten against his forearm.

Your jaw clenched. "Mike—"

He hummed. "Mmh?"

"You're bleeding."

"Uh-huh." He grinned, smug and lazy and when you adjusted your grip on his wrist, he made a low, pleased noise in the back of his throat just to mess with you.

"Jesus Christ, Mike."

"What? I'm just appreciating my hot, talented and very caring boyfriend for patching me up."

You pulled the bandage too tight just to make him hiss in pain.

Mike grinned through clenched teeth. "Fuck—okay, point taken."

"Finally."

Mike chuckled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

His fingers twitched again. His hand curled slightly, as if testing, as if waiting for something that wasn't there anymore.

You hesitated for only a second before tightening the last wrap around his palm. "Gonna feel different for a while," you said, keeping your tone light, casual. "Your grip, I mean."

Mike snorted. "Shit, you think? I just lost two fingers, babe."

His usual sarcasm was there, but something about the way he said it felt different.

You taped the gauze in place, watching him out of the corner of your eye.

Mike had survived everything tonight. He had fought through it all with nothing but adrenaline, sheer luck, and that reckless defiance that had always defined him. But now that he was sitting still, now that the worst of the pain was fading into a dull, pulsing throb...

Now, he had time to think.

And it was hitting him.

His fingers were gone.

Forever.

He wasn't going to wake up tomorrow and have them back. This wasn't just some temporary wound that would heal with time.

It was permanent.

He flexed his remaining fingers absently, as if testing his grip, his jaw tight.

"Feels... weird," he muttered, almost absentmindedly. “Think I'll still be able to hold a beer?"

He was joking but there was something off in the way he said it.

You looked at him, really looked at him. The tension in his shoulders. The faint, forced edge to his grin.

He was thinking about more than beer.

His fingers. His hand. The permanence of it. How people might look at him and how much harder things were gonna be now.

You finished wrapping his hand, smoothing the last bit of gauze in place with a final, deliberate touch. It wasn't perfect, but it would hold.

Leaning back on your heels, you exhaled, shaking your head. "Guess I'm the one who has to handle all the hard stuff now."

Mike blinked.

For the first time all night, he was speechless.

"... You flirting with me, doc?"

You shrugged. "Just making an observation."

Mike let out another laugh, but this time it was real. His shoulders relaxed, the tension bleeding out of him just a little.

His grin was real this time.

“Don't even start, man. If anyone's gonna be handling shit, it's still gonna be me."

You lifted an eyebrow. "Yeah? Kinda hard to do that when you're down a couple fingers."

His smirk sharpened, eyes dark and dangerous, flicked up to yours and something in the air shifted as he leaned closer, his lips just a breath from yours.

"Also, real talk—what if I can't give proper back rubs anymore?" He leaned in even closer, voice dipping into a low murmur. "Or, y'know... other things?"

You shoved his shoulder, feeling your face heat up instantly. "Jesus, Mike."

"What?" He grinned, smug as ever. "This is serious. I had skills, babe. Top-tier skills."

You rolled your eyes. "You still have a perfectly functional hand."

Mike smirked. "Yeah, but both were better."

"Oh my God."

"You're picturing it now, aren't you?"

You let out a frustrated, flustered noise, turning away. "I'm leaving."

Mike laughed, low and rich and tugged you back toward him before you could escape. "No, no, no. C'mere."

You stumbled, landing right between his legs, hands instinctively pressing against his chest.

His teeth grazed your jaw, voice dipping into a low, teasing growl. "You worried I can't fuck you properly anymore? You really think losing a couple fingers is gonna stop me from wrecking you?"

A sharp, involuntary shudder ran through you. You gritted your teeth. "I was worried about your hand, you asshole."

Mike grinned, lazy and wolfish, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. His good hand slid along your thigh to make your muscles tighten beneath his touch.

Your throat went dry.

Mike leaned in, pressing close, his body heat sinking into yours. His lips ghosted over your jaw, his breath hot as he murmured, "Keep up that attitude, babe. We’ll see if you keep acting like this when I spread you open and make you beg.”

Fuck.

You barely had a second to process before his lips crashed into yours.

A mess of teeth and heat and sheer desperation. You gasped, barely able to keep up and Mike took the opportunity, tongue sweeping into your mouth like he owned it. His grip on you tightened, fingers digging in like he was staking a claim, like he needed to feel you against him.

Your hands shot up to his chest, gripping at his shirt, and fuck, he was solid, hot, broad, so damn strong even now. Then his hand dropped lower, sliding down your back, curving over your ass in a slow, possessive squeeze that made heat bolt straight to your core.

"Fuck—“

Mike hummed in approval, his teeth scraping against your bottom lip before he bit down. "That's it."

His arms tightened around you and you barely had time to register that he'd lifted you before his body slotted between your legs, pressing firmly against you.

A single, quiet grunt slipped through his teeth as he moved so quick despite the way his injured hand should've made it difficult.

"Mike—"

"You worried about my hand? Babe, I could still fuck you stupid with one hand tied behind my back," he muttered, his mouth already on your throat, his hands gripping you tight, controlling the pace.

Heat spiked through your veins.

Your fingers curled in his hair, tugging him closer and Mike groaned. A low, deep sound that sent a thrill straight down your spine. Your nails bit into his shoulders, head knocking back as his mouth moved, claiming every inch of exposed skin.

His grip on your jaw tightened, angling your face exactly how he wanted, his thumb swiping rough over your cheekbone before he was on you again. Kissing you deeper, hand sliding down your back, fingers curling at the base of your spine before dropping lower, gripping at your waist to pull you against him.

His head spun with the warmth of your mouth, how your body molded so easily to his and the quiet, breathy noise you made.

He groaned into your mouth, fingers flexing to get a better grip on you, to take more. Because right now, the only thing he wanted to think about was you.

His perfect, hot as fuck boyfriend.

The taste of dried blood clung to your tongue as Mike kissed you. His lips were chapped, rough from the cold and when you pressed harder against him, his teeth scraped yours, a sharp, desperate clash that sent fire straight to your gut. The scrape of his stubble against your skin was maddening, dragging a raw burn down your jaw as he moved from your lips to your neck, breathing you in like he couldn't get enough. His hands gripped your waist tight, fingers digging in with bruising force, like he was trying to brand himself into you.

Your legs tightened around his waist, holding him flush against you and he groaned into your throat, the sound low and rough as his teeth, sharp and claiming, bit down.

"Shit—Mike," you gasped.

He just chuckled against your pulse, hot breath sending a shiver racing down your spine. "Yeah, sweetheart?" His voice was thick with amusement, but when he pulled back to look at you, his eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, hunger etched into every line of his face.

He swallowed your next breath in another kiss, deeper this time, tongue pushing past your lips. His injured hand stayed at your waist, firm and grounding, while his good hand slid lower, rough fingers finding the buckle of your belt.

You barely had time to react before he flicked it open in one practiced motion, dragging your pants down enough to expose you to the cool air. A sharp shiver shot through you at the contrast, your skin burning hot from his touch and freezing from the exposure.

"Fuck, babe. You're already hard?" he murmured, voice drenched in heat.

You could barely bite back the whimper that threatened to escape when his fingers wrapped around you, his grip firm but teasing, dragging slow strokes up and down your length.

He sounded entirely too pleased with himself, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth, down to your jaw, then lower, nipping and sucking marks into your throat as he kept working you over with slow, torturous strokes.

Your breathing came ragged, uneven, and you barely registered when his fingers left you until they were lower, pressing against your entrance.

A sharp inhale shot through you as he teased the tip of one finger inside. It wasn't enough.

"Relax," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your collarbone, "Lemme take care of you."

The second finger pushed in, scissoring you open and you clenched around him, a choked sound escaping your throat. Mike groaned, his hips pressing forward, letting you feel just how hard he was through his jeans.

"Fuck," he muttered, voice wrecked. "So tight, even after all the times I've fucked you open like this." His lips dragged over your throat, biting down just enough to make you gasp.

You couldn't answer. Not when his fingers were fucking you open with precise, practiced motions. His pace quickened, pushing deeper, stretching you until it burned, but you wanted more, needed more.

"Please," you finally managed, your voice barely a whisper.

Mike chuckled, the sound low and dark. "Please what, sweetheart?"

You groaned, nails digging into his back. "Fuck me, Mike."

That was all it took.

He withdrew his fingers abruptly, making you whimper at the loss, but then he was undoing his jeans, shoving them down just enough to free himself. You barely got the chance to breathe before he was pressing against you, the thick heat of him nudging your entrance.

You tensed, fingers gripping his shoulders, breath catching in your throat.

Mike leaned in, brushing his lips against your ear. "Breathe," he murmured, "I got you."

Then he pushed in, stretching you wide around him even further than his fingers had already done. The burn was sharp, overwhelming, but fuck, the feeling of him filling you up, stretching you to your limit, was everything.

Your jaw clenched, a shuddering gasp escaping as he bottomed out, his hips pressing flush against yours.

Mike groaned, his head falling against your shoulder. "Jesus fuck," he gritted out, his fingers digging into your thighs. "Always so fuckin' tight for me."

He throbbed inside you, every inch of him stretched you open, forcing you to take every bit of him.

Then he moved.

The first thrust was slow, dragging every inch of him against you before slamming back in, stealing the air from your lungs.

Your head fell back against the mirror, teeth clenched to suppress a broken moan.

Mike grinned against your throat. "Let me hear you," he murmured,

He set a brutal pace. Each thrust knocked the breath from your lungs, slamming deep, hitting that spot inside you that made your whole body tighten.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he groaned, his teeth dragging over your jaw. "So good for me."

Your nails raked down his back, your body tightening around him with every deep, relentless stroke.

"Shit—" His breath hitched, his rhythm stuttering for a fraction of a second. "You're squeezing me so fuckin' tight, babe."

You barely registered your own voice, wrecked and desperate, babbling his name over and over as he fucked you open.

His good hand slid up your chest, fingers wrapping around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make your pulse jump.

"You love this, don't you?" he whispered, his breath hot against your lips.

You could only nod, your hands tightening around him as his pace grew frantic, reckless. His thrusts turned erratic, hips snapping against yours with desperate force.

"Close," you gasped, body tensing.

Mike groaned, his grip on your waist tightening. "Fuck yeah, come for me, sweetheart."

Then he angled his hips just right, hitting deep, and that was it.

Your orgasm hit hard, pleasure slamming through you, leaving you shaking as you clenched around him. Mike groaned at the feeling, his rhythm stuttering.

"Fuck, fuck—" His breath came in ragged gasps and then he was slamming into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt, a low, guttural sound escaping his throat. You felt the heat of his release as he came, filling you completely, his body trembling against yours.

You both stayed there, panting, trembling, bodies locked together in the aftermath.

After a moment, Mike let out a breathy chuckle, pressing a lazy kiss to your jaw.

The bathroom was a mess.

The counter was damp from where you'd been pressed against it, your clothes haphazardly tossed somewhere near the sink, and Mike, smug bastard that he was, looked deeply pleased with himself.

"You good, sweetheart?" His voice was hoarse, rough around the edges, but still dripping with that lazy, teasing confidence. He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it further, his grin downright sinful as he glanced at you, sprawled against the counter like you'd just had the life fucked out of you, which, to be fair, you had.

He hummed, reaching for his shirt-before pausing, wincing slightly as he flexed his injured hand. It wasn't as bad as before, but you still noticed the way his jaw tensed and how he carefully curled his fingers like he was testing them.

"... Does it hurt?" you asked softly, watching him.

Mike glanced at you, blinking, like he hadn't expected the question. Then he snorted, shaking his head. "Nah. Feels fine."

"Mike."

He sighed, rolling his eyes but smiling as he lifted his hand, wiggling his remaining fingers. "Look, I can still flip people off. That's what really matters, right?"

You gave him a flat look.

Mike chuckled, stepping closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. His voice was softer now, lower. "I'm good, babe, Promise."

You let out a slow breath, still unconvinced, but before you could argue, Mike smirked again, reaching down to tug his jeans back up. "Damn. Y'know, you really are somethin' else," he mused.

You eyed him warily. "Why do I feel like I'm about to regret asking why?"

Mike grinned. "Because. You're sittin' there, lookin' all blissed out after I rocked your world, and somehow, the first thing you're worried about is my fuckin' hand."

You huffed, rolling your eyes. "I take care of my dumbass boyfriend. Sue me."

Mike let out a low chuckle, leaning in to nip at your jaw. "Yeah, yeah. You love my dumb ass."

You scoffed, swatting at his shoulder, but he caught your wrist, pressing a kiss to your palm before releasing you.

"... Yeah," you admitted, voice quieter. "I do."

His smirk softened into something more genuine, his fingers curling under your chin to tilt your face up to his.

"Good," he murmured, lips brushing against yours. You smirked, brushing your thumb over his jaw.

For once, Mike didn't have a snarky reply. He just kissed you again, slow, deep and lingering before pulling back with a lazy grin.

"C'mon," he said, offering his good hand to help you up. "Let's get outta this bathroom. Chris should have come back already by now."

You laughed, taking his hand, letting him pull you to your feet.

Yeah. You were stuck with Mike Munroe.

And honestly, you wouldn't have it any other way.