#sam was insane for this in the best way possible

[sturnioloszn]

MARKED - C.S

summary; you get a new tattoo, and chris has to show you just how much he loves it...

warnings; smut, unprotected sex (don't be silly, wrap the willy), dirty talk, praise, cream pie, hair pulling.

a/n; sorry it took me literally foreverrrr to get a fic out, i did post one, but i actually hated it w every fibre in my being, so... it got cut. whoops. anywayyy, enjoy this one lmaooo.

★ ° . *　　°　.　°☆ 　. * ● ¸. 　　　★ 　° :. ★　 * •

I laid on my stomach, with my skin flush against the black leather of the tattoo table when the loud buzzing of the tattoo gun came to a sudden halt and broke me from my daydreams.

"Alright, you're done. I can't believe you did it with no breaks, you're insane," Sam, my tattooer spoke from behind me, gently cleaning and wiping the remaining ink off.

"It's wasn't too bad," I chuckled, peering over to Nick, who shoved his phone in his pocket and leaned over to get a clear look at the finished product.

After what felt like years, I finally sat up from the chair and kept my hands firmly on my shirt to make sure it wouldn't slip and I'd accidently flash a titty, since it was completely open in the back.

I stood up and walked over to the full sized mirror in the corner of the room and stared at my new decoration in awe. I loved it. It was perfect.

"Okay, so since this is a pretty big tattoo, I'll try wrap it as best as possible, but it'll probably start to peel in no time," Sam spoke, following me to the mirror with the wrapping.

Nick and I eventually pay and hop into an Uber to bring us back to his place. "Soo, do you like it?" Nick asks, turning to look at me.

"I don't like it, I LOVE it. He did an amazing job," I complimented, looking down at Nick's new addition to his tattoo collection too.

"I told you Sam is the best," He bragged.

The ride to the house wasn't long at all, but sure enough, the wrapping of my tattoo was already peeling and coming undone. I decided to peel it off completely and just try to deal with it, trying to not cause an infection.

I was so excited to show off my new tattoo that the second Nick unlocked the front door, I sprinted up the stairs into the living room where I found Matt sprawled comfortably on the couch, lazily scrolling on his phone.

"Hey kid, how was it?" He asks, momentarily looking up from his phone.

"It was amazing, wanna see?" I ask with a happy grin plastered on my face. Before even waiting for him to reply, I lifted the back of my shirt up and turned to show him my back.

"Holy shit, it's massive," he says. I crack an immature joke before gloating about the fact that I didn't take a break not once. At this point, Nick had joined Matt on the couch, and they began to discuss his new tattoo aswell but I'm overflowing with excitement to show Chris mine.

"Is Chris in his room?" I ask, receiving a small nod from Matt in reply. I skip my way downstairs to his bedroom and push the door open without even knocking.

I found Chris hunched in his gaming chair, eyes locked on the screen in front of him, with his headset over both ears. He must've not heard me and Nick come in. I sneakily crawled up behind him, placing my two hands on his shoulders.

He jumped out of his skin but instantly relaxed when he realised it was my touch. "Heyyy, you're back," He says, taking his headset off and standing up to place a delicate kiss on my lips and wrap his long arms around my torso.

"Wanna see it?" I ask, jumping out from his embrace. I can't help the smile from returning onto my face, feeling the dopamine course through my veins.

I once again turned to show him my tattoo before even earning his reply to my question. After a few moments of silence, I turn back around, worried about what expression I'd find on his face.

"Do you... like it?" I hesitatantly ask. However, his expression doesn't falter except that he's now looking into my eyes.

"Do I like it?" He repeats, taking slow but profound steps towards me, filling my surroundings entirely with his presence. "I fucking love it, it's so sexy," he whispers, now standing face to face with me.

He connects his palm to the side of my face and guides me closer to him, connecting our lips. Our kiss was passionate and meaningful until it wasn't. His lips roughly crashed into mine again, his tongue slipping in and out of my mouth with ease.

"Y'gonna let me fuck you and look at your new tattoo, hm?" He mutters, barely separating himself from me. I whine in return, letting him know that I need it more than he could imagine.

As he continues to bite and suck at my sore lips, his hands roam my body, slowly peeling off layers of my clothes. I'm eventually left in just my underwear, which he doesn't hesitate to discard, alongside the rest of my clothes.

"Ass up, face down, baby," he orders, quickly discarding his own clothes, littering them on the floor until we're equally as bare. I moved onto the centre on his bed, doing just what he asked; pressing my face into his mattress and arching my back so that my ass was in the air.

"You're so fucking hot," he groans, coming up behind me. I feel him grip my hips tightly before placing a few firm slaps on my ass, eleciting some yelps and moans from me.

Without warning, he slams his entire length into me, making me scream into the sheets. "Y'gotta be quiet baby, can't have Matt or Nick know how much you love my cock,"

My moans grow louder and louder as he ruthlessly rams me from behind, hitting that amazing spot that makes me feel like I'm in heaven.

"Sh-it, Chr-is, too mu-ch," I moan and whimper between his thrusts. His hands fall from my hips and move to my hair, gathering it together, forming a makeshift ponytail.

He yanks on my hair, pulling me up from the mattress, and sticks our two sweaty bodies together as he continues his solid pace.

"Fuck- you're so beautiful, love your new tattoo... looks so fuckin' good," he grunts. I feel my end drawing near, and with a few more harsh thrusts, I feel my orgasm crash over me. My eyes roll to the back of my head, and my pussy squeezes around his cock, begging for him to also finish. "..love how tight you are f'me, mh,"

He let's go of my hair, making me flop down back onto the mattress, and his hands find their way back to my hips, roughly grabbing them. He somehow snaps his hips even faster, making my second orgasm fast approaching. The headboard of the bed is banging against the wall, and there's no hiding what is happening anymore.

He snakes one of his hands around me, reaching over to my clit, rubbing it viciously. At this stage I've lost all self control and I release my fluids all over his cock for a second of time.

"Fuck! Just like that, come on my cock," He moans, filling me with his own release. His movements begin to slow, but he continues moving his hips, fucking his cum into me.

I feel him pull his limp cock out of me and stare at his work of art; our mixed fluids dripping out of my pussy and onto the sheets. The only sound heard now is our heavy breathing, which is desperately trying to return to normal.

-

After a few hours filled with cuddling and laughter, Chris and I decided to scavenge the kitchen for any food we could find, but as soon as we came up the stairs Matt and Nick stare at us from the couch.

"You could've just said you liked her new tattoo,we didn't all have to hear it," Matt grimaces, standing up and leaving, with Nick trailing his footsteps shortly after.

"Well... at least you know?" Chris jokes, turning to me. We break into laughter, and the rest of the night is filled with the same laughter and love.

★ ° . *　　°　.　°☆ 　. * ● ¸. 　　　★ 　° :. ★　 * •

a/n; this is definitely better than the last fic i posted lmaoo, also my requests r open so feel free to leave some ideas! hope u enjoyed this, love you all <33

Taglist; @idrk2292 @clairesrose @045696 @forgottxen @mattsturniolover @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut

[raibebe]

did u have fun at the concert??? i want to go to their concert so bad 😓😓😓😓

Sam and I had the time of our lives, screaming, crying, throwing up (figuratively), rolling on the floor (also figuratively), creaming ourselves, cumming (possibly?), laughing, jumping, singing along and meeting fun people in the queue that we shared this experience with 🩵

If you have the opportunity, the money and the time: Go and see them live. For me it was worth every cent.

[fatecantstopme]

Hello! How are you today? I hope you are doing well today! I have read your stories well mostly of Dean and I fall in love with them! Your stories are just French kisses!! I was wondering if you are okay the the idea or available in Season 10 ep 1-3 Dean is the knight of hell but instead of Sam who found him, it has his wife or fiance reader? He doesn't harm her at all but all he wants to do is trap her and rail her all long day and night he willingly goes with her to the bunker. Something like that, I'm very sorry if it's accurate could it but smut and fluff if it's okay with you? If not that okie! Don't worry! I love your stories and Keep up on doing what you do best! Thank you and have a wonderful day!!

OMG STAHHHP. You're so sweet. I'm glad you like my writing--I love doing it! AND I LOVE THIS ASK SO FREAKING MUCH. I love you for giving me the opportunity to write Dean in the most dominating, degrading, aggressive way possible without feeling bad for making him like that. I love my soft!dom Dean...but I am so freaking into this...HOPE YOU LOVE IT!

Fiend

Pairing: Demon!Dean Winchester x wife!reader

Summary: I mean...just read the lovely anon's request. So gooooood.

Warnings: An unnecessary amount of SMUT, unprotected sex (P in V), choking, slight degradation, rough sex, oral (M & F receiving), face sitting, orgasm denial, Dean is very dominant. Cursing, canon violence, Mark of Cain bloodlust, use of pet names, slight domestic violence.

A/N: I 100% went overboard on this one and I have no regrets. Fair warning, it's insanely long. It doesn't follow the season 10 storyline perfectly, but we've got the core elements.

"Are you sure about this?" you asked softly.

Sam stared at you, a familiar dark expression on his face. "Do you want to find him or not?"

You closed your eyes and sighed quietly. Of course you did, but you didn't want to lose who you were along the way. "You know I do, but torture's not exactly my thing."

"It's a demon."

"Wearing an innocent woman."

"Fine. You stay out here, then."

You watched Sam enter the dungeon, clearly prepared to do whatever it took to find his brother. The first scream echoed through the hallway and straight into your chest like a knife. You couldn't stay there--didn't wanna hear what happened next.

You went as far away as you could, walking past the bedroom you hadn't entered since the night he'd died. Sam had been the one to discover he was gone--Sam had been the one who found his note. You'd cried yourself to sleep on the couch in the library, heart too broken to even move.

The next morning, you woke to Sam's shouts of your name, but nothing would prepare you for what happened next. Sam's frightened eyes met yours and all he said was "He's gone," before handing you a note.

It was Dean's handwriting. You were sure of it. All it said was "(Y/N), Sammy, let me go."

That was six weeks ago.

Simple as the request was, it wasn't something either you or Sam could do, nor could Castiel. The three of you loved that man too much to just let him go.

At this point, all you knew was Dean was gone and Crowley was with him. Dean's handwriting on the note was the only indicator he wasn't dead...but you'd watched him die. You'd held him in your arms. The only possible answer was that Crowley had gotten a demon to possess Dean's body and rode off into the sunset with him. What you didn't know was why.

**********

Torturing the demon hadn't exactly proven fruitful, but Sam did manage to find a case he thought was connected to Dean. He was convinced the death of a man named Drew Neely was related to demons--and possibly to the missing Winchester.

While it seemed like quite a stretch to you, you were willing to go with him to Wisconsin and find out what happened.

As per usual, you and Sam pretended to be FBI to get inside information on the investigation. Much to your surprise, when the local PD showed you and Sam security footage from the gas station where Drew Neely was murdered, you saw a very familiar face.

You'd know him anywhere--Dean Winchester, seemingly alive and well, being attacked by Drew Neely. You watched as Dean pulled the First Blade from inside his jacket and stabbed Neely repeatedly. As the other man died violently, you watched in horror as Dean's normally beautiful green eyes turned black as night.

You looked up at Sam, whose expression matched your own. It looked like Sam's suspicions were correct--Dean was in fact possessed by a demon. Your only thought was saving him, even though you knew you'd really only be saving his body. You'd be damned if you let some demon scum ride around in Dean's body forever.

When you left the station, Sam turned to you, eyes full of a mixture of sorrow and anger. "Wanna go to the gas station? See if there's anything there?"

You nodded, still a little too upset to do much talking. Sam placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. He knew full-well how difficult this whole thing was for you. This wasn't Sam's first experience with his brother's death, but it was a first for you. He could tell the loss was killing you slowly, especially with Dean's body being defiled by some demon asshole.

When you arrived at the gas station, you were both surprised when the clerk handed you Neely's phone. You wondered why he hadn't given it over to the police, but at the moment, you couldn't be bothered to care. You wanted answers and this phone might be the key.

"There's a text from a number not saved in the contacts," Sam said as he scrolled through the phone's contents.

You leaned forward to look at the screen. "An Abbadon loyalist," you mumbled. "Lovely. But who the hell told Neely Dean was even here?"

Sam shrugged as he pressed the call button, dialing the number on the screen. "Only one way to find out."

When the voice on the other end of the phone answered, the rage that had been simmering inside of you for 6 weeks finally overflowed. "Crowley, you son of a bitch!" you yelled.

The chuckle on the other end did nothing to ease your anger. "Well hello (Y/N). I was wondering when I'd hear from you. Can I assume your avenging Moose is there too?"

You were about to tear into Crowley, but Sam placed a firm hand on your shoulder and shook his head. You clamped your mouth shut so tightly your jaw began to ache.

"Where the hell is my brother, you son of a bitch?"

"Maybe if you were nicer to me, I'd help you."

"Why don't you just start by telling us why you sent an Abbadon loyalist after Dean in the first place?" you growled.

"How else was I supposed to keep the bloodlust at bay? The Mark wants what the Mark wants."

You inhaled sharply, the ache in your chest intensifying at his words. Even in death, the damn Mark of Cain was still torturing Dean.

"Where are you?" Sam tried again.

"Oh please, Samuel, as if I'm going to tell you. Your brother and I are having a grand ol' time together. I quite like this version of him. I'm sure you and (Y/N) are jealous over our new relationship, but I simply can't be bothered to care."

"If Dean wasn't possessed, there's no way he'd be with you," you seethed.

Crowley's laughter echoed through the phone, sending cold shivers down your back. "You think he's possessed? That's not how the Mark works, sweetheart."

The condescension in his tone made you want to crawl through the phone and rip his throat out, but you managed to bite your tongue.

"The Mark twists the soul--darkening it with each kill--until all that remains is darkness," Crowley gloated. "So you see, Dean isn't possessed by a demon, he is one. Not just any demon either—a knight of hell."

You took a step back, suddenly feeling incredibly nauseous. Out of all the scenarios that had run through your mind when Dean went missing, this wasn't one of them. There was no worse way to dishonor his memory--his legacy--than this.

You vaguely heard Sam yelling into the phone, but your mind was spinning too quickly for you to comprehend a single word. Your entire world had just been tipped on its head and you weren't sure how to find solid ground again.

You doubled over, breath coming out in painful heaves. Bile rose in the back of your throat and you found yourself hurling the limited amount of food you'd eaten all over the sidewalk.

You felt Sam's strong, comforting hand on your back as he tried to calm you. After several more dry heaves, you managed to stand back up, eyes bloodshot from the exertion.

Sam's gaze was gentle, but you could see the pain in his eyes. As much as you loved Dean, you knew Sam loved him just as much. You couldn't afford to break down now--not when the two people you loved most in this world needed you.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

"No need to apologize, (Y/N/N). This is a lot to take in."

You simply nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

"I think I know how to find them."

Your head snapped up, meeting Sam's gaze with hope for the first time in weeks. "How?"

"I think I can track Crowley's phone."

You shot Sam a weak grin. "Thank god you're a genius. Let's go."

Before heading to Crowley's last known location, you and Sam discussed your findings thus far. You now knew Dean wasn't technically dead--which meant there was a slight chance you could use the ritual you'd tried on Crowley over a year ago.

There was a chance you could make Dean human again--and it was a risk you were more than willing to make. Knowing Dean was still in there--still alive--made you more reckless than you'd ever been. You were determined to bring him home, no matter the cost.

**********

You and Sam decided to split up, determining you had more of a shot at bringing Dean home that way. Sam went one route and you went the other, stealing a car to make your journey.

You didn’t realize it, but this decision would result in a cascade of events that would put you right in the crosshairs of the demon your husband had become—alone.

As you sped along the dark highway towards the Black Spur, you were left with nothing to do but listen to the thoughts swirling around your mind. Without Sam there to keep you occupied, your inner turmoil had begun to rear its ugly head.

Out of all the things you’d expected to happen when Dean died, becoming a demon had not been among them. Being possessed was one thing—being a demon was another thing entirely.

You knew exactly how Dean would feel about it, if he’d actually had the ability to feel, and it broke your heart. He was the strongest man you’d ever known, but this would break him. Even worse, you couldn’t even begin to imagine what you would feel when you found him.

You loved Dean Winchester with every part of your soul. He was your best friend, your lover, your partner, your husband. He was the man who never failed to make you laugh or bring a smile to your face. He held you when you cried, took care of you when you were hurt, and made love to you like you were the only thing tethering him to earth. But you knew that man was gone—all that remained was the beautiful body that once held the most incredible soul you’d ever known.

You felt the tears well up in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Crying wouldn’t fix things and you’d done more than enough of that in the last month. Instead, you focused on what you were going to do when you found Dean.

You had no idea how you were going to convince him to come back to the bunker with you. You weren’t even sure he wouldn’t kill you if you tried to force him. You’d come prepared, but you would die before killing him. End of the day, he was Dean—somewhere inside him was the man you loved.

Part of you hoped Sammy would get there first—that he’d be the one to find Dean. Then he’d be faced with the decision of what to do next, sparing you the pain. You knew that wasn’t fair, but if you were being honest, you didn’t trust yourself to do this alone. One single look at his face could very well be your undoing.

You sighed quietly and glanced at your GPS. Only a couple hours to go before you would find out for yourself.

Unbeknownst to you, Sam had managed to get himself kidnapped when his car broke down on the way to the Black Spur, which meant he most definitely would not be beating you there. Unfortunately for you, that meant confronting Dean would be entirely on your shoulders--a weight you certainly didn't wish to carry.

**********

A few hours later, you arrived at the Black Spur, unsurprised and maybe a bit relieved to see that Dean was no longer there. You talked to the bouncer Dean had beat the shit out of the night before, so you knew you weren't very far behind him.

What you didn't know was Crowley and Dean had a rather intense falling out due to Dean's ever-growing aggressive behavior and complete and utter lack of respect for Crowley.

After leaving the Black Spur, you decided to stop at a motel, get some sleep, and wait for Sam. You'd tried calling him to no avail and you were starting to worry, but you knew Sam could take care of himself.

You'd just managed to fall asleep when your phone rang. It was Sam.

"Everything alright?" you asked.

"Got kidnapped by some guy named Cole."

"Sorry, what?"

"Apparently Dean killed his dad when he was a teenager and now he wants revenge. He kidnapped me hoping I would tell him where Dean was. He admitted he was trying to get us both, but he hadn't expected us to split up."

"Great. Just what we need. Some random human hunting the best hunter-turned-demon in history."

Sam sighed his agreement. "Cole called Dean...and he actually answered."

"What?!"

"Told him he'd kill me if Dean didn't give himself up."

You paused for a moment, breath caught in your chest. "And?"

"He refused. Told Cole he'd given me explicit instructions to let him go--and it was my fault for not listening to him," Sam said with a huff. "Then he told Cole if he killed me, he'd hunt him down and kill him."

You chuckled dryly. "That actually sounds like Dean."

Sam chuckled softly with you. "Yeah...it does."

You could hear the sorrow in his voice and you knew it matched your own. Seeing even the slightest sliver of your Dean in this demon version was beyond painful.

"I managed to get away while he was distracted. I'm on my way to the Black Spur now," Sam said after a few moments.

"He's not here. I've looked."

You could almost hear Sam's chest deflate as the hope left him. "Any sign of where they might've gone next?"

"No," you answered softly. "And Crowley turned his damn phone off."

Sam sighed heavily. "We'll find him, (Y/N)."

You wanted to believe him--wanted to have that kind of faith, but you'd lost steam. There wasn't a trail to follow, and even if there was, you weren't sure you should follow it. Dean had left Sam to die all because he'd ignored Dean's instructions. What would he do to you if you found him?

You ignored the tightening in your chest, pushing down your emotions as deeply as you could before wrapping up your call. You told Sam what motel you were in and that you'd see him in a couple hours.

You'd just laid back down when there was a knock at your door. You grabbed your gun and slipped an angel blade into the waistband of your pants before moving towards the door. When you looked through the peephole, your eyes nearly popped out of your skull.

You ripped open the door with surprising force, angel blade pointing at the visitor's throat.

"Watch where you're pointing that thing," Crowley grumbled.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right now."

"Because I know where your husband is."

Your expression softened slightly, but the blade remained pressed to his neck. "Are you going to tell me or do I need to beat it out of you."

Crowley laughed mirthlessly. "Oh please, (Y/N). We all know you aren't capable of torture."

He was right, of course, but you would never admit it. Instead, you narrowed your eyes and pressed the blade a little more firmly into his skin.

The demon winced and threw up his hands in surrender. "Fine! I'll tell you. Just put that thing down."

You remained still for a moment before stepping back and allowing him entry into your room. You closed the door behind him, keeping the blade securely in your hand. "Talk."

"It's more that I know how to find him and less that I know where he is."

You clenched your jaw, feeling the simmering rage begin to boil. "This entire thing is your fault, Crowley, so if you want to stay alive, I suggest you speak plainly."

"We're not exactly on good terms at the moment."

Your eyes scanned his face and a small smirk appeared on yours. "He get tired of you?"

Crowley's eyes narrowed. "We had a disagreement over how to handle his bloodlust. Plus, he's even more arrogant than he was as a human."

Your heart clenched at the word 'bloodlust'. You'd hoped it had subsided in his death, but that damn Mark wouldn't quit until it took every last vestige of humanity left in Dean.

"Fine, so he left your ass in the dust. How do you plan to find him?"

"I have several demons watching his every move. I can't have him making too much of a mess. His type of chaos is bad for business."

"Then make a call and tell me where he is."

"Happily," Crowley paused. "On one condition."

"There it is," you grumbled.

"It's a simple request, really. All I want in return is the First Blade."

"Why?"

"I have my reasons, and I'm quite certain you don't want it in Dean's hands."

You thought about it for a few moments. "If you screw me over, I will burn your sordid kingdom to the ground around you before killing you in the most painful way possible."

Crowley almost seemed impressed. "I think you've spent a little too much time with Dean."

"Not nearly enough," you mumbled under your breath. "Do we have an understanding?"

"I tell you where to find Dean, you give me the Blade."

"You take me to Dean, I give you the Blade," you countered.

A look of fear flashed across his face. "I'd really rather not."

"I don't give a damn. You made this mess, so you're gonna help us out of it."

Crowley sighed. "Fine."

You grabbed your phone off the nightstand, but Crowley interrupted you before you could dial.

"What are you doing?"

"Calling Sam."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why the hell not?"

"You will have better luck persuading Dean than Sam will. You've never once betrayed Dean--never let him down. Sam cannot say the same. As such, it's likely Dean will be more likely to have a soft spot for you, even now."

You contemplated his words for several moments, before shaking your head. "Sam's his brother. He needs to know."

Crowley snapped his fingers, sending your phone flying across the room and into the wall with shocking speed, shattering it instantly.

"You son of a bitch!"

"You want my help? We go alone. Sam can catch up."

You glared at him in annoyance, before sighing quietly. "Fine. But I'm driving."

**********

"A piano bar?" you asked in surprise as you parked across the street.

"That's what they said."

Your eyes scanned the street before landing on a familiar black Chevy Impala. Your heart skipped a beat, knowing you were about to come face to face with your worst nightmare.

Crowley's gaze followed yours and he hummed quietly. "As I said, he's here."

"Get out," you hissed. "You're coming in too."

"Pardon?"

"Do you want the Blade, Crowley? Then get out of the damn car."

He huffed, but did as you said. You gestured for him to walk ahead of you, effectively blocking you from sight from the inside of the bar.

The moment Crowley entered, Dean felt his presence. "Didn't expect you to come back," he stated as he sipped some whiskey.

Hearing his voice sent a wave of emotion through your body, having not heard it in weeks.

Dean seemed to realize Crowley wasn't alone and you heard him inhale deeply. "I'd know that scent anywhere." He finally turned around to face the two of you. "(Y/N)."

"Hello Dean," you said softly, a slight blush dusting your cheeks. The idea he could smell you from several feet away was both a reminder of who he'd become, and an uncomfortable turn-on.

Dean glared at Crowley, realizing he had given his location up. Before he could say anything to him, you stepped forward, causing Dean's gaze to snap back to you.

"I suggest you run before I rip your heart out and feed it to you," you growled under your breath, not sparing another look in Crowley’s direction.

Crowley immediately stepped back, exiting the bar as quickly as possible.

"I didn't think you'd be foolish enough to work with Crowley," Dean said lowly.

"Means to an end."

"Hmm." He took a long drink of his whiskey before placing the empty glass on the counter. "I'm surprised you're here alone."

"Glad you asked--Sam's fine. No thanks to you."

Dean's eyes narrowed and he stood up, taking a step towards you. "I gave both of you very explicit instructions to let me go. What happens to you when you disobey is not my fault."

You inhaled sharply, body reacting to his words without approval from your brain. You clenched your jaw, trying to appear calmer than you felt.

Dean had always been extremely perceptive, and his demon abilities only heightened it. He took another predatory step towards you. "I can see your turmoil, sweetheart--you want me and you hate yourself for it."

You scoffed. "Don't flatter yourself--you're not Dean."

He laughed and the sound sent chills down your spine. "That's where you're wrong--I'm 100% Dean, just the new and improved version."

You felt a pang in your chest. "I'll have to disagree on the 'improved' part."

Dean started to slowly circle you, like a predator hunting his prey. "Aren't you the least bit curious, (Y/N)?" Each ring brought him closer and closer to you, until you could feel his body heat enveloping you. "Don't you want to know about all the things I can do now? All the ways I can wreck that pretty little body of yours?"

You felt his breath on the back of your neck--and you were embarrassed when your lips parted and your own breathing sped up.

"I can hear your heart racing, sweetheart." The pet name dripped with condescension--his voice low and gruff, barely above a growl. You felt a wave of arousal rush to your core, thighs rubbing together on instinct.

The movement didn't go unnoticed by Dean, who let out a dark chuckle. His lips brushed against your ear as he inhaled deeply. "I can smell how badly you want me, (Y/N)."

His hand gripped your hip tightly, pulling you back so you were flush against his front. You felt his hard length pressing into you through his jeans, a soft needy sound escaping your lips.

Suddenly he pulled away, leaving you feeling vulnerable and embarrassed. He might be wearing your husband's face, but he was a demon for christ's sake! You should be as far from turned on as humanly possible.

He came to a stop in front of you, close enough to touch you, but far enough to allow you some clarity. "I imagine you came here to talk me into coming home?"

You didn't bother to reply, it was obvious he could read you as well as he did as a human.

"If I'd wanted to be human again, I wouldn't have left. I'm as familiar with the cure as you are, sweetheart--and it's not worth it to me. I like who I am--I like being a demon. All that baggage I carried as a human? It's gone--I've never felt more free, (Y/N), and I'm not giving that up."

Much to Dean's surprise, your expression morphed into quiet understanding, eyes softening as you watched him closely. He felt uncomfortable under your gaze, so he flashed his eyes black in an attempt to regain control of the situation.

You winced slightly, hating seeing those demon eyes obscuring the brilliant green you loved so much. Your expression, however, remained soft. "Your life wasn't easy," you murmured gently. "There was a lot of heartbreak, pain, and loss...not to mention the weight of the entire world on your shoulders for most of your adult life. I can understand why you'd prefer this...you no longer have to give a damn."

Dean wanted to be annoyed--he wanted to be angry, his need for control surging inside him. Instead, he found himself stepping closer to you again--drawn to your soft eyes and sweet expression. Somewhere deep inside, emotions began to stir.

What had once been a deep, unending love for you, had turned to a lust so powerful, it threatened to devour you both. His eyes turned back to green, but the irises were barely visible around his widened pupils. His gaze was hungry, the predatory look having returned with a vengeance.

"How 'bout we go back to my room?" he purred lowly.

You knew you should say no--you shouldn't go anywhere alone with him, but you couldn't bring yourself to deny him.

"Are you afraid of me, (Y/N)?"

"You're a knight of hell," you whispered. "I'd have to be a fool not to be."

He smirked coldly. "Do you think I'm going to hurt you, sweetheart?"

Despite the darkness within him--despite what he had become--you believed in your heart he would never hurt you.

"No," you murmured honestly.

His smirk widened, rough fingers reaching out to grip your jaw tightly. "Oh I will hurt you, baby--but only in the ways you like."

You inhaled sharply, a wave of arousal dampening your panties even further. Your lips parted slightly, eyes never leaving his.

"You're coming with me," he growled possessively, hand gripping your wrist tightly as he dragged you to the door.

He pulled you roughly out onto the sidewalk and practically dragged you to the Impala, pulling the door open and shoving you into the passenger seat.

His aggression was a turn-on, none of his actions thus far having hurt you. You were certain you'd have bruising on your wrist from where he grabbed you, but you were completely fine with it.

He drove in silence at a speed that sent little waves of terror through you. The hotel he was staying at wasn't far, but he still made it there in record time. It was a much nicer place than the ones you usually stayed in, but you weren't surprised that Dean's tastes had become a little more bougie.

He dragged you into the elevator, pulling your back flush against his chest, hands gripping your upper arms like iron vices. You squirmed slightly and he let out a low growl, grip tightening.

"You move like that again and I'm gonna fuck you in this damn elevator," he hissed.

Part of you was into it, but you also didn't want to get caught fucking your demon husband in a public elevator. So you remained as still as possible until the doors opened on his floor and he pulled you down the hall to his room.

Once inside, Dean slammed the door with force, pinning you up against it so your cheek was pressed into it. His body was molded up against yours and his hot breath fanned across your neck. You felt his teeth scrape your pulse point, earning a low moan from you.

"You have one chance to get out of this," he growled. "One chance to say no and walk away before I fucking devour you."

If you'd had any sense, you would have ran away and never looked back, but you were already too far gone. He might not be the Dean you married, but he was still Dean--just the much darker, much wilder version.

"Fuck me, Dean," you begged softly.

He groaned lowly. "Oh I'm gonna do so much more than that sweetheart."

He ground his bulge into your back and bit into the soft flesh in the crook of your neck, causing you to whimper slightly.

"Wanna know the best part about being a demon?" he purred in your ear as he tugged your head back by your hair so he could see your eyes.

You nodded your head as best you could and waited for him to continue.

"I can have multiple orgasms and I've got the stamina of a god," he murmured. "I can fuck you all night long if I want to--and damnit I want to."

He spun you around quickly, slamming you against the wall beside the door. His lips were on yours immediately, tongue invading your mouth before you could even process what was happening.

You whimpered softly as his lips left yours and he began to kiss and nip his way across your jaw, down your throat, and to your collarbone. He wasn't being gentle, but you still found yourself wanting more--needing more.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, unused to the longer locks. It gave you more to grab, giving you a firmer grip on his head--and you loved it. If the groan that left Dean's mouth was any indication, he loved it too.

You felt his hands grasping at the front of your shirt before ripping it right in half. You yelped in surprise, but he ignored you, instead grabbing the edges of your bra and tugging them down to reveal your breasts.

"Oh, I missed these," Dean murmured before leaning back down to pull your nipple into his mouth. He used both hands to massage your breasts harshly, fingertips pinching at your exposed nipple while he nipped and sucked on the other.

You were panting heavily--almost to an embarrassing degree given how little this man had actually done to you. You found yourself falling into a familiar role with him, though he was much rougher than you were accustomed to.

When he switched to suck on your other breast, he slipped one hand down your stomach to the top of your jeans. He unfastened them easily before sliding his hand into them to cup your very wet pussy.

You felt Dean's smirk against your breast a moment before he lifted his head to look at your face. "Your panties are soaked," he groaned. "How long have you been thinking about me fucking you senseless?"

Your eyes weren't entirely focused on him and you didn't respond right away, so he grabbed your chin tightly, forcing you to meet his gaze. "You respond when I ask you a question."

You gasped softly before whimpering out an answer, "Since I saw you in the bar."

He gave you a look clearly indicating his disbelief. "Really?" His fingers pressed more firmly against your pussy, brushing against your clit purposefully. He ignored your soft moan, but you saw the smirk in his eyes. "You didn't imagine me fucking you while you played with your pretty pussy? Don't lie to me, sweetheart, I know you can't go almost 2 months without an orgasm."

You shook your head, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of your honest response.

His eyes flashed black and your heart leapt into your throat, a surge of fear sweeping through you. "Don't be a brat, (Y/N)," he growled. "You know what will happen."

Under normal circumstances, you'd play into the bratty role--it always got Dean riled up. But this wasn't a normal situation and he wasn't the normal Dean. Dean had always been a very loving and affectionate dom, but you knew demon Dean was about as far from loving and affectionate as one could be. You didn't want to see exactly how far he'd go if you pushed his buttons.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

"Answer my question."

"I did imagine you," you said so softly he almost didn't hear you.

He pretended to have missed your words and he leaned in closer. "What was that? I couldn't quite hear you."

"I imagined you," you said again, slightly louder.

"I know." He simultaneously bit into your neck and rubbed his fingers against your clothed clit, eliciting a wanton moan from your lips.

"There are lots of women in this world that'll fall right into my bed with a single look from me, but not a single one has a pussy like yours. Been dreamin' of it for weeks."

His words hurt you, but you pushed those feelings aside and tried to focus on the positive of the backhanded compliment he'd just given you.

He suddenly stepped back, leaving you completely untethered and weaker than you'd expected. Had the wall not been right behind you, you'd be on the floor right now.

His eyes roamed your disheveled body hungrily, possessively. He backed up towards the bed, taking off his shirt as he went. He sat down on the edge, eyes still glued to your body. "Come here."

You did as he asked, too afraid to disobey him.

"Strip."

You started to remove your clothes quickly, but his gravelly voice stopped you. "Slower."

You very slowly removed each article of clothing until you were completely bare. While you'd been naked hundreds of times in front of Dean, this time was different. You felt self-conscious under his hard gaze, afraid he wouldn't like what he saw.

He seemed to sense your discomfort, and to your surprise he assuaged it instantly. "Becoming a demon didn't make me stop loving that body of yours, sweetheart. It's still my favorite thing in the world."

You relaxed instantly, feeling pleased that he liked your body so much. A soft voice in the back of your mind pointed out he'd said your body was his favorite, not you--but you pushed that thought aside for the sake of your heart.

He spread his legs wide and leaned back on his hands, appreciative gaze roaming your exposed flesh. "Now, show me how you like your pretty pussy to be touched."

You bit your lip, keeping your eyes locked on his face as you slid one hand to your breasts and the other to your aching pussy. Dean's eyes watched as you slipped your fingers between your folds, a soft gasp escaping your lips.

You toyed with your clit gently, little moans and whimpers filling the room. You watched as Dean removed his belt and stood up to take off his jeans and underwear. When you finally got a good view of his cock you moaned a little louder, and his eyes flicked up to your face. He smirked when he realized what had caused that noise to come out of your mouth.

He stepped towards you, gripping his large cock firmly in his dominant hand, stroking it slowly. Your own hand had slowed nearly to a stop, but Dean wouldn't have any of that. "Did I say you could stop?"

You quickly sped back up, wanting to please him with an unhealthy level of desperation.

"You're such a good girl for me. My little slut," he said lowly. "Saw the way you looked at my cock, baby--bet you want it in your mouth."

You nodded rapidly.

He leaned forward and brushed his lips against yours. "On your knees."

You dropped to your knees instantly, ready and willing to give him want he asked for.

"Open your mouth. Now."

Your mouth opened obediently, waiting for his next move.

"You gonna let me fuck that pretty mouth of yours?"

You nodded eagerly.

"So fucking sexy like this," he murmured. "Gonna make you choke on my cock."

He gave no further warning before grabbing the back of your head and tugging you down onto his cock. You gagged as his large member slammed into the back of your throat, a burning sensation accompanying it.

His hips moved rapidly as he fucked your face harshly--it was as if you were an inanimate object, only there to give him pleasure.

This level of roughness was new for you, and you were surprised to find how much you were enjoying it. Your eyes watered, spit dribbled down your jaw, and your pussy dripped.

The ache was almost unbearable, so you slipped a hand between your legs to provide yourself some relief.

Dean's observant gaze saw the action and he grinned. "Such a dirty little slut aren't you? Getting off on sucking my cock."

You moaned around him, pulling a surprised groan from deep in his throat. He gripped your head tighter, thrusts speeding up. "Fuck--love this mouth," he ground out.

The force of his thrusts made you pause your own ministrations, attention focused solely on the intensity of his motions. You gripped his strong thighs tightly, nails digging into the soft flesh.

"Oh fuck yes--gonna cum in this sweet little mouth, baby."

You moaned in response.

"Yeah? You want that? Want me to cum down your throat?"

You moaned again and tried to nod.

"How could I deny my little slut?" His grip tightened even further on your head, pulling your hair painfully. With one final thrust, he spilled his load into your mouth, hot ropes of cum filling your throat.

You swallowed every drop he gave you, knowing he'd certainly punish you if even a single drop left your mouth.

Even Dean had to admit, he hadn't had an orgasm that good since he'd become a demon--and watching you swallow all of his cum like that had him wanting more. "Greedy, are we?"

You licked your lips as you looked up at him. "I can't help it. You just taste so good."

He was taken aback by your statement, cock twitching in response. Perks of being a demon, he thought to himself. Already ready for round two. "On the bed, feet off the end."

You got up and laid down on the bed, face up. You weren't moving quickly enough for Dean, so he grabbed your ankles and roughly pulled you towards him. Your ass was now hanging off the bed slightly and your pussy was at the perfect height for him to enjoy from his knees.

There was something incredibly thrilling about seeing Dean on his knees for you. While it wasn't the first time, you doubted demon Dean was the kind of man who'd get on his knees for anyone.

"Now I'm gonna eat this pretty pussy of yours until I get my fill, understand? If you try to stop me, you will be punished."

"Yes, Dean."

"Good girl," he mumbled. He spread your legs as wide as they would go and breathed deeply. He licked his lips subconsciously before diving into you.

As always, Dean knew exactly what to do to drive you wild--he'd learned how to read your body years ago. His tongue felt incredible, large and flat, licking from the bottom of your pussy to the top, giving your clit a gentle flick, then repeating.

You shifted your hips, trying to get him to speed up, which he ignored. Instead, he laid his arm across your lower belly, holding you in place so he could continue his work.

After several more moments of this agonizing pace, he finally relented, lips wrapping around your clit to suck it into his mouth. You cried out in pleasure, legs already beginning to shake.

His motions were rhythmic, sucking your clit and licking it intermittently, as if he couldn't decide which one he preferred. As your moans grew in intensity, he knew you were getting closer. He had plans for you this evening--and your first orgasm of the night was going to be from his mouth and nothing else.

Your fingers had tangled in his hair and you were desperately trying to grind yourself against his face, but his arm prevented you from moving. He switched to focus all of his attention on your clit, sucking it into his mouth and flicking it with his tongue at an insane rate of speed.

You cried out as you came, the orgasm breathtaking in its intensity and pleasure. Dean worked you through the high, but didn't make any signs of stopping.

You remembered his words from earlier, so you kept your mouth shut even though the sensitivity was overwhelming.

When he felt your body begin to relax and the soft moans began to leave your lips again, he slowed his pace way down. He wanted to take his time now, enjoying your taste and the sweet sounds you made for him.

He slid two of his fingers into you, pressing gently against your g-spot before sliding them back out. His tongue laved at your clit, moans of his own giving it the slightest vibrations.

When your pussy started clenching tightly around his fingers and your breathing had become more labored, he sped up. He sucked and licked at your clit, nipping ever so gently at the hood, causing you to yelp softly.

Your fingers had once again found their way to his hair and you were holding on for dear life. You felt your orgasm building--it was so close. You voiced as much to Dean, even though he was already very aware.

You were just about to reach your peak when Dean suddenly slowed down--to an agonizingly slow pace.

"No, no, no--please!" you begged.

Dean ignored your pleas, opting to focus on his activities instead. He sped up just a tiny bit, building your orgasm back up.

The louder your moans became, the faster Dean went. Your orgasm was approaching once again and you begged Dean not to stop.

You were a second away from your orgasm when Dean once again slowed his motions. You cried out in anguish as the blissful feeling faded away.

"Please, Dean," you whimpered.

He lifted his head slightly, fingers still moving very slowly against your g-spot. "I'm not done with this pussy yet. Tastes too good for me to stop."

"But I need to cum," you cried.

"You'll cum when I let you cum," he said harshly.

His mouth dropped back to your pussy, focus once again on enjoying his feast.

Dean did this two more times--denying you an orgasm mere seconds before one was to occur. By this point, you were crying and begging him to just let you cum--you couldn't stand the ache any longer.

Dean decided he had listened to your babbling pleas for long enough. He pulled away from you, leaving you whimpering shamefully.

Dean laid down on the bed beside you. "Get up here. I'm not finished yet."

You were confused, so you didn't move fast enough for him. He smacked your breast harshly and you yelped in pain.

"I said, get up here. Now."

"I don't understand," you whimpered.

Dean sighed in exasperation. "Sit on my face so I can eat you properly."

It's not like you hadn't done this with him before. It was something you'd always known Dean enjoyed, but your brain was so fuzzy with need, it hadn't even crossed your mind.

You pulled yourself up and straddled his head. He didn't wait for you to sit down, he simply grabbed your hips and tugged you down to his waiting mouth.

You moaned in pleasure instantly, the sound spurring him on. He knew you were in for an incredibly intense orgasm and he was dying to taste it--to feel you coat his mouth and face with your sweet juices.

He had you on the brink in an embarrassingly short amount of time, but you couldn't be bothered to feel any shame. You were grinding down on his face, using him for your own pleasure.

You prayed he wouldn't stop this time--the need to cum so overwhelming it was painful. You were gripping onto the headboard for support as you rode his face, moans slowly rising in pitch as you neared climax.

Dean's fingers dug into your upper thighs and hips so tightly there were sure to be bruises. He could tell you were close, so he sped up his motions, desperate for you to cum.

"Dean--I-I'm gonna--"

You finally came with a scream of his name--the sound so loud it likely woke the entire hotel. Your legs shook violently, the pleasure so blinding you nearly blacked out.

It wasn't until you felt someone lifting you and laying you on your back that you started to become aware of your surroundings again.

Dean watched you, a satisfied smirk on his handsome face. He reached out and brushed your hair from your face where it had stuck to your sweaty skin. It was an oddly affectionate gesture for a demon.

He waited patiently for you to re-acclimate to your surroundings--come back down to earth, as it were. When your pretty (y/e/c) eyes met his, you smiled, forgetting for a moment that he was anything but the man you loved.

"That was...in-incredible," you mumbled breathlessly.

He grinned. "Happy to be of service."

You smiled in return, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm your racing heart.

Dean crawled on top of you, arms on either side of your body, ensuring you couldn't get away. "I'm no where near done with you yet."

"You give me another orgasm like that and you just might kill me."

He grinned wolfishly, eyes darkening with lust. "Oh sweetheart...you have no idea what I could do to you."

You weren't sure if it was a threat or a promise, but you were incredibly turned-on by it. Dean could see the rapid rise and fall of your chest beneath him...and he knew his words had the desired effect.

He grabbed his cock and rubbed it very gently between your folds. You inhaled sharply at the sensation.

"Do you want my cock?"

You nodded rapidly.

"Come on baby, I wanna hear you say it."

"I want your cock."

"Good girl," he murmured, repeating his earlier motion. "Now beg for it."

Your eyes widened and he gave you a warning look. You knew you had to beg or else. "I want your cock so badly."

"Mhmm."

"I need it."

"Keep going."

"I...I wanna feel you inside me."

"Come on, sweetheart," he chided. "I know you can do better than that."

"I want you to fuck me, Dean. Please--I need you."

He slipped the tip of his cock into you and you whimpered softly. "Give me a little more, baby."

"I want you to fuck me so hard I forget my own name," you begged. "I'll be so good for you--I promise."

He plunged into you without warning, sheathing himself deep in your warm, wet heat. "That's my good girl," he moaned.

He started to move slowly, in and out, each direction painfully slow. "My god have I missed this pussy," he said as if to himself.

You whined beneath him, hoping he'd get the hint and pick up the pace.

He looked down at your needy expression and smirked. "Patience, baby. I'll make those knees weak--don't you worry."

He leaned down to kiss you roughly, one hand tangling in your hair, pulling your head back slightly as he deepened the kiss. His thrusts started to speed up, matching the pace he'd set with his tongue in your mouth.

After several moments, he pulled himself up, grabbing your legs and putting one on each side of his head. The new position allowed him to hit that spot so deep inside you, you'd thought it was a myth until you met him.

He began to piston in and out of you, each thrust hard and fast. Each time he'd pull almost all the way out slowly before slamming back into you with force--cock brushing up against your cervix with each thrust.

It didn't take long before you were a whimpering, moaning mess beneath him. He loved seeing how fucked out you were--knowing that it was all because of him.

"Whose pussy is this?"

Your eyes shot open. "Yours!" you gasped.

"That's right, baby. Mine," he growled. "No one gets to touch you like this but me."

"No one," you confirmed breathlessly.

His eyes flashed black. "I'll kill anyone who even looks at you like he wants to fuck you."

You inhaled sharply. Dean had always been a very protective man--possessive even--but this was a whole new level. You had no doubt in your mind that he was completely serious. He would most certainly murder a man for daring to have so much as an unclean thought about you.

It probably shouldn't have turned you on, but it did--his possessive nature infinitely more intense now that he was a demon. Your pussy clenched down tightly around him, signaling how much you liked his words.

"That turns you on, huh? You like the thought of me owning you? Owning this pussy?"

"Yes!" you cried out as he continued to pound into you.

"Lucky for you, I'm never letting you go again," he growled. His thrusts were fast and hard, his focus on feeling you cum around his cock.

His words had an immediate effect on you, his possessiveness almost affectionate in that moment. It was exactly what you needed to fall over the edge with a low moan of his name.

"Fuck!" he groaned as he tried to maintain his speed. Your pussy was squeezing him so tightly he could barely move. "Jesus, baby--gotta stop squeezing me like that."

"Sorry," you whimpered, trying to relax your body.

Dean's hips began to move again and he leaned forward to kiss your jawline. "Don't apologize--not your fault this pussy feels so fuckin' good--made for me."

You gasped softly, skin flushing at his praise.

He pulled out of you without warning and roughly flipped you onto your stomach. His palm landed on your ass with a firm smack, causing you to jump slightly.

"Lift your hips," he ordered.

You did as he asked and he slid into you, immediately setting a brutal pace. He alternated between smacking your ass, pulling your hair, and gripping your hips so you couldn't move.

Your pussy pulsed and fluttered around his cock, the pleasure becoming unbearable. "Dean--s-so close," you moaned.

"I know--you're squeezing me so tight," he replied through gritted teeth. "But don't you dare cum until I give you permission."

"But, I--"

He grabbed you by the hair, tugging you up so your back was pressed against his chest. He nipped at your ear and pressed his hand firmly against your neck--not enough to hurt you, but enough for you to know he could.

His voice was low and demanding when he spoke again, "Be a good girl for me, (Y/N), and I won't have to hurt you. But if you disobey me, I will take everything I want and give you nothing, do you understand?"

"Yes," you whispered breathily.

"Good." He released you suddenly, letting your body fall back onto the bed as he renewed his painful thrusts.

You used all of your concentration to focus on not cumming until he allowed you to, but the more time passed, the more painful it was not to orgasm.

"Dean, please--I-I can't t-take it," you cried.

"Yes you can, baby. You're already taking my cock so well."

"Ne-need to cum," you begged.

Dean thought about it for a moment and made a decision. His hips slowed and he leaned forward to speak close to your ear. "You can cum after I do."

You whimpered, head nodding your agreement.

Dean's hands gripped onto your hips, holding them in place as he pistoned in and out of you, chasing his own high. He heard your desperate whimpers and felt your pussy spasming around him, but all he cared about was his release.

His hips began to falter as pleasure licked up his spine moments before he came with a guttural groan, spilling his seed deep inside you.

The moment you felt his cum begin to fill you up, your own orgasm crashed into you, making you cry out in pleasure.

Dean worked you through your high before pulling out of you and letting you collapse on the bed. His large body hovered over yours as he pressed kisses into your heated skin.

His cock was still throbbing with need, despite having just had an incredible orgasm. He knew you were exhausted, but he hadn't had his fill of you yet.

He rolled you back over and slid inside of you, slowly bottoming out with a breathless moan. You whimpered at the sensation, pussy too sensitive and overstimulated for another round.

"No--no more, Dean, please."

"I warned you, sweetheart...told you I wanted to fuck you all night."

"It--it's too much."

He slowly slid out of you and slowly slid back in. "I know you can take it."

You shook your head. "I can't--"

Dean grabbed your wrists and pulled them over your head, holding them tightly in place with one hand. The motion forced him lower, making his body weight press firmly against you.

His lips brushed against yours and his voice was almost pained when he whispered, "I'll be gentle."

You saw the need in his mossy green eyes and your resolve crumbled. You supposed you could allow him at least one more orgasm. "Alright," you murmured.

He smiled at you before kissing you deeply, thoroughly enjoying the taste and feel of you. His thrusts were slow and measured, much more gentle than they'd been before.

To your surprise, the friction wasn't as painful as you'd expected. In fact, you found yourself enjoying the slow feeling of his cock dragging against your walls, the thick vein on the underside throbbing inside you.

He let go of your wrists to hold himself up a little, allowing him more room to move. His eyes traced your face as he fucked you, the action incredibly intimate despite the situation.

After several minutes of gentle thrusts, Dean pulled himself up into a sitting position and pulled you along with him. You weren't strong enough to hold yourself up properly, but he was more than capable of keeping your body where he wanted it.

He leaned back, lying flat against the bed, with you now straddling him. You put your hands on his chest for leverage as you began to ride him.

Dean let out a soft moan, which you echoed when he pulled your hips down flush against his so you couldn't move. He pressed his hand firmly against your lower belly and you gasped in pleasure.

"You feel that, baby? Feel my cock so deep inside you? Feels so fuckin' good."

You nodded rapidly, not trusting your voice to actually speak.

Dean released your hips so you could move again, but his eyes didn't leave your body. "You look so fuckin' sexy riding me. Could stare at ya all night."

You blushed deeply, gaze pulling away from his bashfully.

He reached up and touched your cheek, pulling your face back towards him. "I like looking at you."

You bit your lip, but didn't turn away. Having demon Dean compliment you felt so incredibly different than what you were used to. It almost felt wrong to appreciate his words and his gaze--as if you were cheating on your husband. You knew you weren't really, but it still felt wrong.

After several more moments, Dean tired of the slowness of the pace. He grabbed you and pulled you down to him, wrapping his arms around you to hold you tightly. He planted his feet and began to piston up into you, sending shock waves of pain and pleasure through your body.

He loved the wrecked sounds coming from your mouth as he fucked up into you. He knew his current angle would hit your sweet spot with each thrust--and he knew you wouldn't be able to avoid another orgasm.

He'd be lying to himself if he said he didn't want to feel you cum all over his cock again--the sensation was almost as incredible as his own orgasm. He found himself craving it with a desperation he didn't want to dive too deeply into.

"I know you're close, sweetheart," he murmured. "I can feel it--know you wanna cum around my cock."

Your moans and whimpers were all the confirmation he needed.

"You gonna cum for me, baby?"

"Please," was all you could manage to say.

"Cum for me."

His command sent you over the edge with shocking ease. You weren't certain you even had it in you to cum again, and the intensity of the orgasm surprised you.

Dean held on tightly as your body shook, your pussy clenching and unclenching around him as you squirted all over his lower body.

"Holy fuck, you're sexy," he groaned, an intense feeling of pride surging through his veins. He'd made you squirt before, but every single time felt like a gold fucking medal to him.

His thrusts became more sloppy as his own orgasm neared. He was so close he could practically taste it, but it was your aftershocks that finally had him exploding inside of you. He stopped moving, holding you tight to him as he emptied deep in your pussy.

He carefully rolled you over onto your back before sliding out of you. You whimpered at the feeling of emptiness, which made his chest swell with pride.

"Spread those pretty legs for me, baby--spread 'em nice and wide," he murmured, large hand gently rubbing your thighs. "Spread yourself open--wanna watch my cum leaking out of you."

You did as he asked, surprised to find yourself so turned-on by his request. You watched him stare at the apex of your thighs, your mixed spends dripping from your abused hole.

He licked his lips, gaze flickering back up to yours. "You're the sexiest fucking thing I've ever seen."

You inhaled sharply, pleased by his praise. "Come here," you whispered, reaching for him.

You were surprised when he actually complied, crawling up your body and placing a soft kiss on to your lips, allowing you to run your hands through his hair affectionately.

After a few moments, Dean pulled away. "Why don't you get a little rest? You'll need your strength."

You looked at him in shock. "Strength for what?"

"You didn't think we were done, did you?"

"Dean, you can't possibly be serious!"

His eyes flashed black, reminding you exactly who and what you were dealing with. "I'm deadly serious."

You exhaled shakily as it finally dawned on you that you had no control over your current situation. Dean could do anything he wanted to you and there wouldn't be a damn thing you could do about it.

But that wasn't the concerning part. The concerning part was how little fear you felt. The idea of him being completely in control felt like a good thing...and that was what really scared you.

**********

You awoke several hours later to the feeling of Dean's rough hands on your soft skin. You were lying on your side, with him directly behind you. It had been a comfortable position to fall asleep in, but it seemed Dean now had a different idea.

You felt his cock tease your pussy and you whimpered softly.

"Need you just one more time," Dean murmured in your ear as he slid into you. He held you tightly against him, still spooning you as he began his gentle thrusts.

"Focus on how my cock feels in that tight little pussy of yours," he instructed. "I know you're sore, baby, but I'm gonna make you feel so good."

You'd lost count of the number of orgasms you'd had somewhere after the 7th one. You hadn't even known it was possible for the human body to have that many. Dean was right--you were sore, too sore to move, in fact.

"I've got you," he murmured, pressing his lips into your shoulder.

The intimacy of the moment surprised you and you weren't sure why Dean was being so soft. You leaned back into him, feeling the taunt muscles of his abdomen flex against you.

He took the movement as permission to continue what he was doing. He slid his hand farther down your body, slipping it between your legs to rub light circles on your swollen clit.

You gasped softly, nails digging into the flesh of his arm.

Dean shushed you gently. "Let me make you feel good--just relax."

You tried to do as he said, willing your overstimulated body to stop tensing.

As Dean continued his gentle thrusts and soft touches, you began to feel the familiar tightening deep in your abdomen. You focused on the feeling, on the need for a release as it rose within you.

"You're doing so good for me," Dean praised. "So sexy--with this fucking perfect pussy. Could stay here forever."

His murmured words of praise went straight to your core, causing it to tighten around him. He moaned softly, continuing his movements.

"Dean," you whispered. "I'm close."

He pressed his lips into your shoulder. "Let go for me, baby. I've got you."

For a moment--just a moment--you felt like you were making love to your Dean. The feeling was fleeting, but it gave you hope, even as it ripped your heart to pieces.

He knew exactly what to do to send your body into overdrive--he'd always known. He had you falling apart in minutes, soft cries of pleasure slipping past your tired lips.

"That's it, baby," Dean groaned. "Gonna fill you up."

Dean came for a final time, deep inside you. You'd lost track of his orgasms long before you'd lost track of your own.

He whispered your name softly, lips brushing against your skin sweetly.

He didn't pull out, but his cock finally began to soften--having reached the limit even for a demon.

After several minutes, he allowed you to pull away from him. You rolled over and quickly fell asleep, too exhausted to even exist for a moment longer.

**********

When you finally woke up, you weren't sure how much time had passed. Your entire body was sore, a dull ache from your head to your toes.

You pulled yourself up into a sitting position, glancing beside you to the empty bed. Your eyes flitted around the room, seeking any sign of Dean. His clothes were still strewn all over the floor, along with yours, but he could very well have put on fresh clothes.

You weakly pulled yourself out of the bed and slowly made your way to the bathroom, bladder pulsating painfully. After using the bathroom, you splashed cold water on your face, trying to revive yourself even a little.

You gazed at yourself in the mirror, taking in the various marks and bruises littering your skin. You would typically wear such marks like a badge of honor, but in this moment, you only felt shame.

You'd had explosive sex with a demon--not just any demon, a demon that used to be your husband. Your heart clenched as images flashing through your mind. You'd loved it in the moment, but now you felt incredibly guilty.

You couldn't help but wonder what Dean would think of you if you were able to make him human again. You were scared he'd be upset with you--ashamed even.

The sound of the hotel room door opening shook you from your thoughts. You grabbed the robe hanging on a hook in the bathroom and threw it on quickly, barely covering yourself before Dean came into view.

"Hey sweetheart," he said with a smile. "I brought food."

Surprise lit up your face as you stared at him. You hadn't been certain he'd come back, let alone bring you food. "Oh, umm...thank you."

He nodded and placed the bags on the small table. "You wanna take a shower first or eat first?"

You were still in shock from his behavior, but you managed to mumble, "Shower." You closed the door slowly and started the shower, but you didn't get in.

You took a moment to try and collect yourself, but you found it nearly impossible to relax. You sighed and dropped the robe from your body before stepping under the hot spray.

The calming feeling of the water washing over you brought you some relief--as if it was washing away your sins. It also gave you some clarity.

At the end of the day, he was still Dean--and you desperately wanted him back. If this was the only way to do it, then you just had to suck it up and do what needed to be done. If necessary, you'd beg for forgiveness later.

When you got out of the shower Dean was waiting for you at the table. You'd thrown the robe back on, having no other clothes with you.

You offered him a smile before going towards where your undergarments lay near the bed. You also picked up your jeans, but your shirt was completely ruined.

Dean's keen eyes followed you around the room, watching in silence. When you made it to the door where the remnants of your shirt lay, Dean chuckled lightly. "Why don't you wear one of mine, sweetheart?"

You held up the ripped fabric. "I don't think I have much of a choice."

He smiled and stood up, grabbing a clean flannel out of the duffle on the floor. He handed it to you and waited--as if he expected you to say something.

You looked down at the flannel in your hand and inhaled sharply. It was your favorite flannel of his--green and black in color, and incredibly soft from all the washes it had endured.

He saw the moment you recognized the shirt and he suddenly felt oddly nervous--he wanted you to be happy, as silly as that might be for a demon.

"I'll just go throw these on," you whispered.

Dean just nodded as you walked past him to the bathroom. You came out a few minutes later, fully clothed.

He let out a soft sound you could only describe as a low growl. "I love it when you wear my clothes."

You blushed. "You always did find it sexy."

He grinned darkly and took a step towards you, but you shook your head gently.

"My entire body is sore, Dean."

He pouted. "A kiss at least?"

You sighed. "Fine."

He leaned down to kiss you with shocking gentleness. It warmed you from the inside out.

"See? I can be gentle," Dean said with a smirk.

"Interesting for a demon," you mumbled, sitting down at the table.

You missed the look of hurt that crossed Dean's face at your words. He sat at the table across from you, expression impassive.

You started to eat, quickly discovering how hungry you really were. Dean watched you quietly, not particularly hungry himself. He noticed some marks on your exposed collarbone and throat and he felt an odd feeling in his chest. It made him extremely uncomfortable, but he couldn't quite place the feeling.

"Dean?" you asked softly.

His eyes refocused on your face. "Hmm?"

"I know what you're going to say, but will you please come back with me? Just--Just come home, Dean--please." You were more than ready to beg, but you found you didn't need to.

"Alright."

You'd opened your mouth for a rebuttal, but his voice stopped you--"What?"

"I'll come back with you."

Your face was a mixture of surprise and confusion. "I, uhh--I was expecting to have to beg you."

"No need," he commented. "After last night, I have no desire to be anywhere else."

"Anywhere else?"

"Perhaps I should have said with anyone else."

"Ahh. I see." Your heart fluttered slightly, even though the words came from a demon.

"So yes, I'll go back home with you...on one condition."

Your heart began to beat faster as you waited for him to continue.

"Under no circumstances will you ever force me to become human."

Your chest ached at his words, your eyes fluttered closed, and your breath exhaled slowly. Dean knew what he was asking of you--knew it was a lot deeper than a simple promise. "Don't make me promise that," you whispered.

Dean's eyes flicked to black and his expression hardened. "Promise me or leave. The choice is yours."

It felt as though time slowed around you. You had never once broken a promise to Dean--never. He knew you prided yourself on that--he knew you would never break one. You couldn't find it in yourself to betray him, even now.

"I have one condition of my own."

Dean raised a single eyebrow.

"I will make you that promise, if you give me the First Blade."

It was Dean's turn to be surprised. "Why?"

"You know why."

His eyes flicked back to green, but he looked annoyed. "And if I don't give it up?"

"Then I leave."

Dean weighed his options in silence. After a few moments, he got up and crossed the room towards the door where his jacket hung. He reached into the inside pocket and pulled out the First Blade.

You inhaled sharply, a ripple of fear surging through you.

He crossed the short distance back to you, placing the Blade on the table in front of you. You reached out for it, but his hand snapped forward and grabbed your arm.

"Do we have a deal?"

You exhaled heavily. "We have a deal."

"Say it."

"I promise I will never force you to become human again," you whispered.

He released your arm and smirked. He was obviously pleased with himself, even as you quite clearly ached from making such a promise.

You pulled the Blade towards you, keeping it as close to you as you could. You needed to call Crowley to come get the damn thing as soon as possible--you wanted it as far away from Dean as possible.

“Maybe we can leave when I’m done eating?”

Dean just nodded. “Better not tell Sam until we get there.”

You couldn't have told him even if you'd wanted to, given that Crowley had broken your phone, so you simply nodded your agreement.

Dean watched you in silence while you finished eating, his face completely unreadable. You were worried about what Dean was planning, but you were more worried about Sam's reaction to all of this.

**********

The drive back to the bunker was uneventful. Dean drove straight through the night, no need for sleep. You were still tired from your antics the day before, so you slept for a large portion of the drive.

Dean woke you 10 minutes before arrival. "How pissed you think Sammy's gonna be?" he asked.

"You left him to die, Dean--he's probably not gonna be excited to see you."

Dean shrugged. "I mean, he didn't die though."

You shot him a glare and he laughed. "It's not funny, Winchester."

"It's not, not funny."

You sighed. "Just let me do the talking, okay? He's not pissed at me."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "He's gonna be."

"Either way," you mumbled. "Just let me handle it."

"Fine."

Dean pulled in to the underground garage and you both got out of the car. You weren't sure if Sam would even be there--you hadn't spoken to him in a couple days. For all you knew, he could have been kidnapped a second time--or maybe he thought you were the one missing.

As you entered into the bunker properly, you found it very quiet and very empty.

"Looks like nobody's home," Dean commented.

"Sam's probably worried about me--god only knows where he is," you muttered. You turned to Dean. "Let me borrow your phone."

He eyed you warily. "What happened to yours?"

"Crowley broke it."

Dean's eyes narrowed, flashing black aggressively. "He what?"

"Easy there killer--he broke my phone, not me."

"I'll kill him."

"Get in line," you mumbled as you stuck out your hand. "Phone, please."

He handed you his phone and you immediately dialed the familiar number. Sam answered on the second ring, hope and surprise in his voice, "Dean?"

"No, it's me."

You heard relief in his voice when he spoke again. "Where the hell are you? Are you okay? I was seriously worried--" he paused, seemingly remembering whose phone you were using. "Are you with Dean?"

Dean leaned in over your shoulder to speak into the phone. "Hiya, Sammy."

You elbowed Dean lightly. "I'm fine, Sam, and yes, I'm with Dean."

"How--?"

"Crowley."

"Why the hell didn't you call me?"

"Also, Crowley. He busted my phone--hence why I'm using Dean's."

"Are you--are you safe?"

You looked over at Dean and sighed. "Yeah, I'm safe."

Sam sighed in relief. "Where are you--I'll come get you."

"We're, uhh--we're actually back home."

"What?"

"We're at the bunker."

"How the hell did you convince him to come back with you?"

"We can talk about that when you get here. Just come home."

"I'm on my way."

You hung up the phone and handed it back to Dean, who gave you a hungry look.

"So...what should we do while we're waiting?"

"I know you're a demon, but I'm not," you said lightly. "I'm still sore."

"Aww c'mon, sweetheart," Dean pouted slightly. "I'll be gentle."

You shook your head with a small smile. "I'm not so sure about that."

"I was gentle yesterday morning, wasn't I?"

"After several orgasms and some very rough sex."

"I thought you enjoyed that," he said lowly, stepping closer to you.

You blushed, taking a step back. "I--I did."

He grinned predatorily. "I can make it very good for you, baby."

You felt a rush of arousal flood your body as he took another step towards you, backing you up against the large table behind you.

He breathed deeply and his eyes flashed black. "I can smell your desire."

You exhaled shakily.

Dean leaned forward, pinning you against the table. He placed one arm on the table and the other very lightly against your throat. "How 'bout I take you right here?"

You weren't opposed to the idea, but you weren't sure exactly how far away Sam was. "What if Sam comes back?"

Dean shrugged. "Then we'll give him a show."

You smacked his chest affectionately. "We will not."

"Then I guess you better hope he doesn't come back while I'm fucking you senseless."

You gasped and Dean leaned down, pressing his lips hungrily against yours. You kissed him back with the same amount of passion, fingers digging into his back to pull him closer to you.

You felt Dean's fingers brush against your chest and you pulled back immediately. "Wait!"

Surprise lit up his face and he released you instantly. "What's wrong?"

"This is my favorite flannel--you are not going to rip it."

Dean laughed heartily. "My apologies, sweetheart. You can take it off yourself then."

You quickly unbuttoned it and slid it off your shoulders, tossing it to the floor nearby. You looked back up at him, a sultry smile on your face. "You may continue."

"Oh, I will." Dean gripped the front of your bra and tore it directly down the center, revealing your heaving breasts to him.

You gasped at the action, but it quickly turned to a moan as his hands began to massage your breasts and pinch your nipples harshly.

Your hips instinctively jutted forward, seeking his body for some relief. Dean immediately noticed, pressing his body firmly against yours, knee sliding between your legs to apply pressure against your core.

You ground yourself down on his knee and groaned softly. You repeated the action, the friction giving you pleasure.

"That's it, pretty girl," Dean growled lowly. "Get yourself off my thigh."

You continued your motions, but it just wasn't enough to get you to your peak. You whimpered softly and Dean chuckled darkly.

"Not enough for you, baby? Need me to help you?"

"Please," you begged.

He made quick work of removing your jeans, but instead of removing your underwear, he simply ripped them right off, practically shredding the lace.

Dean slipped two of his fingers between your legs and plunged them into your core. You gasped and clenched tightly around him.

"Fuck, sweetheart--you're fuckin' soaked," Dean groaned into your neck, fingers thrusting in and out of you hastily. "So damn tight too."

You whined softly as he pulled his fingers out and slipped them into his mouth, sucking them clean. He gripped your hips tightly and lifted you to place you on the table properly.

You wrapped your legs tightly around him and pulled him in closely, desperately wanting to feel him against your skin. You tugged at his shirt, which he quickly removed.

Your fingers grasped at his belt, but he smacked your hand away. He said nothing as he dropped to his knees and tugged your hips forward.

"Spread those legs for me."

You did as he asked, spreading your legs as wide as you could. You waited for him to touch you, but he made no moves to do so. "Dean?" you asked softly, slight desperation in your voice.

His eyes raised up to meet yours, a dark expression on his face. "Touch yourself."

"What?" you asked in quiet confusion.

"You want some relief? Touch yourself."

You supported yourself on one arm while you moved the other between your legs. You were mortified by the wetness dripping down your folds, but you collected some before sliding your fingers between your labia.

Dean watched with dark, hungry eyes as you played with your clit, soft whimpers of enjoyment slipping from your lips.

"Spread yourself open so I can see," he demanded.

You did as he asked, using your other hand to spread yourself, giving him a proper view of your aching pussy.

"Fuck," he muttered beneath his breath. "Keep going."

Your fingers immediately went back to rubbing your clit, desperate to feel that tightening in your core--knowing the pleasure it would bring.

Dean's large hands splayed on your thighs, massaging them gently as he watched, eyes glued to your movements.

Finally, after what felt like hours, he leaned forward and licked into your pussy, making you shiver with anticipation. You moved your hand away and he slapped your pussy harshly, causing you to yelp.

"Did I fucking say you could stop?" he growled, eyes flashing black.

You inhaled sharply and shook your head, fingers immediately returning to your core. You wouldn't admit it to him, but you liked this dark side of him--he would never have let it come out like this if he were human. He was too afraid to hurt you--too protective to even consider it. You hadn't known how much you'd enjoy it until now...and you just had to hope Dean wouldn't notice.

Dean's tongue lapped lazily between your folds as you continued to massage your clit. Every time you felt the pressure begin to build in your gut, your fingers would instinctively speed up. Each time they sped up, Dean would pull your hand away, keeping your orgasm just out of reach.

After several minutes of this, Dean's control had begun to wane. When your fingers sped up, he once again removed your hand, only this time he replaced it with his mouth. You felt his tongue dance across your clit in the most pleasurable way, fingers entwining themselves in his hair.

Your hips bucked up towards his mouth, but he didn't relent. Even as you screamed his name and your juices began to gush, he kept his mouth on you, drinking up everything you gave him. It wasn't until you'd collapsed back onto the table that he finally pulled away and stood back up, licking his lips in satisfaction.

Your breathing was ragged and your vision was slightly blurred as you looked at him, waiting for him to make his next move. He quickly shed his jeans and boxers, tossing them out of the way before taking his cock into his hand.

He watched your chest rise and fall rapidly as he stroked himself, appreciating how fucked out you already looked. "I need you to sit up, sweetheart." His words sounded soft, but his voice was demanding.

You managed to slowly pull yourself into a sitting position, grabbing onto his muscular arms for support. He teased your entrance with his cock and you whimpered softly.

"Lean back on your hands," he murmured lowly.

You did as he asked, the angle allowing him better access to your pussy. He slipped the head of his cock between your folds and slowly began to push forward until he was completely sheathed inside you.

The feeling of fullness had you gasping softly, head tilted back as you tried to catch your breath.

Dean tugged you even closer by your hips so he could get even deeper. You cried out in pain as his first thrust hit your cervix, but Dean didn't seem to notice. His hips snapped forward repeatedly, each thrust threatening to send you flying across the table if not for his death grip on your hips.

The pain soon gave way to pleasure, the room filling with the sounds of your mixed moans, the slapping of skin, and the sounds of your slickness as he fucked you.

He snaked one hand around your back to pull you even closer to him, practically holding you as he kept his pace. Your legs had begun to shake and your arms were weakening--but you knew your orgasm was near.

"Harder," you whimpered, surprising him.

He growled. "You like it when I fuck you like a little slut, don't you?"

"Yes!" you cried out.

His hips moved impossibly faster, the thrusts harder than before.

"Don't stop!" you pleaded.

"I wouldn't dare." He kept the pace as steady as he could, even as he felt his own orgasm rising.

"Please, please, please," you rambled. "S-so close!"

Dean's hand wrapped around your throat, pressing lightly against it. "Cum for me, pretty girl," he growled.

"More!"

He tightened his grip on your throat, but not enough to hurt you. It was all you needed to push you over the edge and into bliss. You cried out as you came, the intensity of your orgasm sparking his own.

He shouted your name in surprise as hot spurts of cum filled you. His thrusts began to slow, but his grip on your body didn't lessen. He held on tightly as you both came down from your highs.

He roughly tugged you forward and off the table. You weren't stable enough to stand, but that didn't matter to him. He spun you around and forced your upper body down onto the table, spreading your legs with one of his.

His cock was already hard again and he plunged into you without warning, earning a cry from your lips.

"Fuck, this pussy is so good for me," he groaned. "I just wanna fuck you until you can't move."

"Dean!" you whimpered, body overly sensitive already.

Once again, his grip on your hips was bruising and his thrusts were almost painful in their depth and intensity. The only thing keeping you upright was the table beneath you, your legs no better than wet noodles.

"You look so fuckin' sexy like this--spread for me, pussy leaking my cum, fuckin' moaning so pretty...fuck." His thrusts sped up, making you cry out.

"Need--shit--need you to cum again, baby."

"I-I c-can't!"

"Yes you can--you've been so good for me. Just give me one more."

Tears welled in your eyes--your body ached horribly, but you wanted to please him so badly. Your hips and thighs hurt from his grip and the force of his thrusts pressing you into the table, but you tried to block all of that from your mind. You focused on the pleasurable feeling of his cock, desperate to give him what he wanted.

"I-I need more," you whimpered.

His hand immediately slipped around to your front and began to rub tight circles to your clit. The sensation nearly pushed you over the edge with how sensitive you were.

"Come on, sweetheart, I can tell you're close."

You moaned in response, focus entirely on reaching your high.

His finger moved faster, the friction sending you into overdrive. You screamed and your nails scratched against the wood as you desperately searched for something to cling to--something to ground you.

"Fuck, yes--that's it. Cum for me, baby."

You screamed again as you came--the pleasure so blinding you passed out for a few moments. When you came to, he was chasing his own high--thrusts becoming more sloppy by the second.

"G-gonna fill you u-up," he ground out, hands tightening on your hips painfully.

Two more thrusts and he was spilling inside of you, hips stuttering as he emptied his seed deep within you. He leaned forward, pressing you even farther into the table, his lips gently caressing your back.

Once he'd regained his breath--and his strength--he pulled out of you and stood up. You nearly slid off the table and onto the floor, but he caught you.

"Woah there--I've got you."

He scooped you up and carried you to the bedroom the two of you shared. He laid you down on the bed with surprising gentleness before climbing onto the bed with you.

"No--no more--please," you begged.

"Easy, sweetheart," he purred softly. "I know you're tired--I just wanna be inside of you."

He laid you on your side and he slid up into you, forcing some of his cum back into your pussy. You whimpered at the feeling of fullness, but even you had to admit you enjoyed the feeling.

He wrapped his arms tightly around you and pulled you close. "Go to sleep, baby. I've got you."

His tone was almost loving--if you didn't know better, you would have thought it was. You were too weak and tired to dwell on it, instead drifting off to sleep with unsurprising ease.

**********

Sam rushed into the bunker like a bat outta hell. He wanted to trust that his brother would never hurt you, but he worried for your safety. Dean was a knight of hell after all.

When he properly entered the war room, he froze. His eyes went to the clothing strewn about the space--a mixture of your's and Dean's. Out of all the things he'd expected, this had not been on the list. He couldn't believe you would be that foolish.

"(Y/N)? Dean?" he called as he walked farther into the bunker.

There was no response, so he made his way to where your bedroom was. The door was shut, so he knocked loudly.

You jolted awake at the loud banging, the movement making Dean moan softly. Somehow he was still hard and buried inside of you--where he'd been for however long you'd been asleep.

"(Y/N)? You in there?" Sam's voice called from the other side of the door.

Dean groaned in annoyance, but you answered anyway. "Yeah--just, uh...give us a minute."

"You coulda told him to go away," Dean mumbled into your shoulder.

"We'd just be delaying the inevitable."

He sighed and slowly removed himself from you, causing a soft whimper to escape your lips. He grinned and leaned down over you, kissing you softly. "Don't worry, we can do it again later."

You kissed him back, before giving him a light push against his chest. "I need clothes."

You dragged yourself out of bed and moved around the room, throwing various items of clothing on to make yourself decent. You wanted a shower, but that would have to wait until after you'd talked to Sam.

Dean watched you from his place in the bed, not making a move to get dressed himself.

"You coming?" you asked.

"I'll give you a head start," he answered. "You can talk to Sam alone."

You nodded. "Alright."

You exited the bedroom, closing the door behind you. Sam was standing at the end of the hall near the entrance to the library. The look he gave you told you exactly what kind of mood he was in. He disappeared into the library and you followed shortly after.

"Sam, I can explain--"

"Explain? Really? You wanna explain why you're sleeping with demon Dean?"

"Oh like you can talk," you shot back. "You slept with a demon several times--and she tried to destroy the world."

Sam's eyes narrowed, but he knew you were right.

"Besides, he's still Dean...just a demon," you mumbled.

"Fine," Sam said with a sigh. "Is that how you convinced him to come back with you?"

You averted your gaze and bit your lip lightly. "Not exactly."

"(Y/N)...what did you do?"

"What I had to do."

"(Y/N)."

"I, uh--I made him a promise."

Sam's face paled slightly. "What did you promise him?"

You closed your eyes and exhaled slowly. "I told him I wouldn't force him to become human again."

"You what?" Sam yelled. "You can't possibly keep that promise."

"I have to, Sam. I've never betrayed Dean before and I sure as hell won't start now."

"Are you kidding me? He's a demon, (Y/N)! A monster! The kind of thing he's loathed for his entire life--you really think he wants this?"

"Of course I don't!" you yelled back. "Do you really think I want my husband to be a demon forever? This was the only way to get him to agree to come back here with me. I don't regret making this promise and I would do it again if I had to!"

"So you'll break it?" Sam asked again, voice still raised.

"No," you answered firmly. "I can't."

"How could you be so stupid, (Y/N)?" Sam yelled harshly. "This is the dumbest goddamn thing you've ever done!"

Dean appeared seemingly out of nowhere, wedging himself between you and Sam. He pushed Sam back aggressively, eyes flashing to black. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a growl. "Don't you ever speak to her like that again, or you won't make it to see another sunrise."

"Dean!" you cried, stepping forward to place a calming hand on his arm. "It's alright--I'm fine."

Dean ignored you, black eyes still trained on his brother's face. "Do you understand me?"

Sam nodded slowly.

"Apologize."

"Dean, that's not necessary," you tried.

He held up his hand to silence you. "Apologize."

Sam swallowed thickly. "I'm sorry, (Y/N). I shouldn't have said that."

"It's alright, Sam."

"Don't do it again," Dean seethed.

"Dean," you murmured softly. "We're good--I'm good."

He finally relaxed his shoulders and took a step back. His eyes flicked back to green and he turned to look at you. He seemed to scan you, checking to make sure you really were okay.

"I'm fine," you mouthed.

He nodded, finally believing you. He turned back to his brother. "Now you gonna play nice and adhere to (Y/N/N)'s promise?"

"I don't like it," Sam responded. "But fine."

Dean grinned. "Excellent. Otherwise we'd have quite a problem on our hands."

You exchanged glances between the two men and worried they would have some sort of fight sooner than later. You knew you needed to get the First Blade to Crowley before something terrible happened.

"Sam, can I borrow your phone for a moment?" you asked suddenly.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it to you. Dean eyed you warily, wondering what you were up to.

"Just gonna make a quick call...outside," you mumbled.

You practically ran towards the steps, taking two at a time to get out of there before someone asked too many questions. You called Crowley as soon as the bunker door closed behind you.

"Mrs. Squirrel," Crowley answered by way of greeting.

You rolled your eyes, opting not to comment on the annoying nickname. "I have the Blade."

"Where?"

"The Bunker."

He appeared a few feet away from you and you hung up your phone. You gestured for him to follow you down towards the garage.

"Stay here," you insisted, before entering the garage as quietly as possible.

You went straight for Baby, popping the trunk to retrieve the First Blade from the demon-proof box you'd placed it in. You made your way back outside quickly, not wanting to alert Dean to your movements.

"Take it," you demanded, holding it out to Crowley. "And for the love of god, hide it--put it somewhere Dean will never find it."

"I can assure you, it will be hidden well."

"Good. Now get the hell outta here before I change my mind about killing you."

Crowley smirked mirthlessly. "With pleasure."

He disappeared, taking the First Blade with him. Relief flooded your body and you turned to make your way back into the bunker, hoping to find both men in one piece.

**********

It had been a week since you and Dean had returned to the bunker. As the week went on, Dean's anger and aggression became more and more noticeable.

He hadn't said anything to you, but you knew Dean was jonesing for a kill. You could tell by the way he'd react to things--even the slightest of annoyances would have him reacting violently.

The other indicator came out in Dean's sexual desires. He wanted you almost constantly, regardless of where you were, who else was around, or what was going on. While that alone wasn't problematic, what was concerning was his increasing aggression during sex--and if he didn't get what he wanted immediately.

There wasn't a single inch of your skin he hadn't marked in some way, and you were beyond exhausted. The one time you'd dared to say no to him, resulted in him punching a dent into a metal wall--an action that frightened you. You still didn't think he would hurt you, but you weren't willing to risk it.

Sam had begun to notice as well, especially as it pertained to the marks on your skin. Dean no longer cared about hiding them and makeup wasn't cutting it anymore.

Sam's gaze was on you as you entered the library one morning, limping slightly.

"You know, I'm really starting to worry about you," Sam said quietly.

"I'm alright," you lied as you lowered yourself into a chair, wincing in discomfort.

"Right," Sam muttered sarcastically. "You can't even sit without being in pain."

"If it keeps him from killing someone, then it's worth it," you snapped back.

Sam fell silent, knowing you were right. He wanted to bring up breaking your promise again, but he knew you wouldn't budge. He worried about how Dean would feel about all of this if he became human again...he knew his brother well enough to know it would kill him to know he'd hurt you like this.

Another week went by in much the same manner, but Dean's urge to kill had only worsened. He still hadn't hurt you outside of sex, but you'd begun to fear him--really fear him.

You'd decided to address the issue with him while Sam was out on a store run. You thought he might take it better if Sam wasn't hovering around.

Dean was sitting in the kitchen, drinking his coffee, when you walked in.

"Hey, D," you said softly. "Can we talk?"

He grunted and gestured for you to continue.

"It's about your behavior the last couple weeks. I-I know the bloodlust is getting bad and to be honest, your temper is starting to really scare me."

He looked up at you with black eyes. "Maybe if you'd let me go out and do some hunting I wouldn't be so volatile."

"You know we can't do that, Dean."

"We," he scoffed. "Since when did you and Sam become 'we'?"

You closed your eyes and sighed, ignoring his question. "You're too unpredictable. You know that better than anyone."

He stood up and took a menacing step towards you. "Give me the Blade and let me go out for a while...one or two kills and I'll be right as rain."

"I can't do that."

"I think you mean won't."

You shook your head. "I can't. I don't have the Blade."

He froze. "What the hell do you mean you don't have it?"

"I-I couldn't risk you getting ahold of it...so I made sure it was safe."

His gaze narrowed, eyes still black as ink. He took several steps towards you, but you backed away until you hit the wall behind you.

He was inches from your face when he growled lowly, "Where is it?"

"I don't know," you whispered.

"What?"

"I don't know," you repeated.

"Where did you put it?"

You were deeply regretting telling him anything at all, but you still blurted out, "I gave it to someone!"

"Who?!"

"I needed to make sure it was hidden where you would never be able to find it," you said desperately.

"Who did you give it to?" he roared.

"Crowley," you whimpered in fear.

Dean punched the wall directly beside your head and you yelped in surprise and fear.

"What the fuck were you thinking?"

You didn't answer--too afraid to push his buttons further. You could feel the rage rolling off him in waves and you felt the cold terror seize your heart.

"Call him and get it back," he ordered.

"No," you whispered. You wouldn't risk Dean getting ahold of the Blade...not for anything.

He pinned you against the wall by your throat, slamming your head back against the wall with enough force to break the skin.

His grip on your throat was painfully tight and you tried desperately to get away. "Dean--" you gasped.

For a moment, you were certain he was going to kill you--you would be the next victim of the Mark's bloodlust and there was nothing you could do about it. Even with his eyes filled with darkness, you could see the boiling rage in them. He wasn't seeing you, he was seeing his next victim.

You struggled against his hold on your throat, trying to loosen his grip enough for you to speak. You smacked your hands against his chest, trying anything to get him to release you.

You suddenly remembered your failsafe--you'd starting carrying it everywhere when Dean became more volatile. You managed to pull the item from your pocket, breaking the lid off as you brought it up and splashed the liquid into Dean's face.

He screamed and released you as the holy water burned his skin. You dropped to the ground, gasping for breath, head throbbing painfully. As you coughed and sputtered, you reached a hand to the back of your head, touching the wound softly. When you brought your hand back down, you saw blood staining your fingers.

At first, all Dean could feel was rage--you'd dared to splash holy water in his face? He'd kill you for it. But then his gaze landed on you as you crouched on the floor, blood soaking your fingers, trying to catch your breath. He looked up and saw the blood on the wall where he'd slammed your head against it and he immediately felt sick.

He stepped away from you, eyes flicking back to green as tears filled them. He hadn't meant to hurt you--even as a demon, he'd never wanted to hurt you. He'd let the Mark's rage get the best of him and he'd nearly killed you.

He backed away to the other side of the room and sank to the floor, dropping his head into his hands. He was ashamed of what he had done and for the first time since he'd become a demon, he felt like a monster.

A few minutes later, Sam came into the kitchen, arms laden with bags. His eyes landed on you first and he dropped the bags as he rushed to your side.

"(Y/N)! What happened? Are you okay?"

Without waiting for your response, Dean spoke up. "I happened."

Sam turned to look at Dean on the other side of the room. He felt angry when he heard Dean's words, but the anger dissipated when he saw the agony etched into his brother's face.

"I-I was so angry..." Dean whispered. "I didn't mean to."

"I'm okay," you rasped, voice hoarse from the trauma to your throat.

The sound of your voice nearly broke Dean's heart in half. "Give me the cure," he said to Sam.

"What?" Sam gasped in surprised.

"Make me human again. Please." The desperation in Dean's voice shocked both of you, as did his request.

"Are-are you sure?" you asked.

Dean looked at you in a mixture of sadness and pain. "I would rather risk death than ever hurt you again."

His words washed over you, warming the ache in your chest. You didn't say anything further--you couldn't find the words.

"Let's go then," Sam said firmly.

Dean stood up and followed Sam down to the dungeon. Sam came back a few minutes later to help clean your wounds. As he cleaned your head wound, he told you he'd secured Dean in the dungeon and he'd called for Castiel.

"We might need some backup for this," he muttered.

You nodded, the simple action making your head throb painfully.

"Try not to move too much," Sam said gently.

"I'm alright."

"What happened?" Castiel spoke from the doorway.

"Dean did," Sam said with a sigh.

"You need to be healed."

"No," you insisted as you held up your hand. "Don't waste what little grace you have left on me."

Cas looked down sadly, but he didn't come towards you. "Where is Dean?"

"Dungeon," you mumbled.

Cas walked away, apparently on his way to see Dean.

Sam finished cleaning your head wound and stood up. "I don't think you need stitches."

"Great," you groaned, standing up slowly.

"Woah--take it easy."

"I'm fine, Sam. We need to do this before he changes his mind."

"Cas and I can handle it."

You shook your head. "I'm not leaving him."

Sam sighed and gave you his arm to hold onto while walking down to the dungeon. When you opened the door, you saw Dean strapped to a chair in the center of the room. Cas stood off to the side, waiting.

"Let's get started," you said softly.

You left the dirty work to Sam--you couldn't bring yourself to hurt Dean, even after everything that had happened.

Listening to Dean's screams and pleas was almost too much for you to bear, but you knew it had to be done. Dean had asked to become human again...and there was nothing you wanted more.

Despite the agony he was experiencing, Dean insisted Sam continue the injections. As much as he would have rather stayed a demon, he was too afraid of what he would do to you if left unchecked.

You closed your eyes as Dean once again screamed in pain. You weren't sure how much more of this you could take, let alone Dean.

Dean noticed your demeanor--could tell your resolve was weakening. "It's okay, baby," he told you breathlessly. "I'm okay."

You opened your eyes and looked at him, unshed tears blurring your vision. He gave you a small, weak smile, which you tried to return. It ended up looking more like a wince than anything else.

"I wanted this, remember? I want this," he insisted.

You nodded tearfully. "I know. I just don't like seeing you in pain."

"We've only got one injection left," Sam cut in gently.

You watched in silence as Sam injected him with the final dose. Dean once again cried out, before falling completely silent, head drooping forward.

"Dean?" you whispered in fear.

When he didn't respond, you worried you had all gone too far...that Dean was dead.

As the three of you stared at the man in the chair, you heard a soft groan escape his lips and he slowly lifted his head. His eyes fluttered open, revealing the beautiful green orbs you loved so much.

"You guys look worried," Dean said softly.

Sam splashed some holy water on his brother, but the liquid had no effect.

You let out a choked sob, beyond relieved to have your husband back.

You thought you heard Sam say, "welcome back Dean," but you were too focused on Dean's face to be sure. His own gaze was locked on yours, tears filing his eyes as he slowly took in the marks littering your skin--especially the bruising around your throat in the shape of his hand.

"(Y/N/N)," he whispered, his voice more broken than you'd ever heard it.

"Uncuff him," you said to Sam, who immediately did as you asked.

Dean stood up, clearly weak from the ordeal he'd just gone through, but nothing would have stopped him from getting to you.

He was a foot or two away from you when you gave in to your own desires, closing the gap between you. You wrapped your arms around him tightly and sobbed into his chest--letting out all the pain you'd kept inside for the last couple months.

Dean's arms held you close, lips pressed firmly into your hair, his own tears streaming down his face. Neither of you spoke--there was no need, not yet anyway.

After several minutes, you finally stepped back, wiping the tears from your face. You smiled up at him and whispered, "I love you."

You saw something flash across his face, but it was gone before you could place it. "I love you too," he murmured.

You stood to the side as Sam hugged Dean, followed by Cas. Everyone was glad to have him back, but you could see Dean was struggling--he clearly remembered every moment of being a demon...and you had no idea what kind of impact that would have on him.

"Alright guys, I think he needs some rest. He's been through a lot today," you interrupted softly.

Dean looked at you gratefully and both Sam and Cas nodded their agreement.

"Come on," you murmured, reaching out for Dean's hand.

He grabbed it and followed you to your shared bedroom. To your surprise, he stopped just outside the door. "I think I'd rather sleep in one of the other rooms."

You looked at him in confusion, but he wouldn't quite meet your gaze. "Okay," you whispered. "Whatever you'd prefer."

You followed him to a room down the hall, waiting quietly as he took off his boots before climbing into the bed.

"Do you need anything?"

"No, I'm alright."

You knew he was most definitely not alright, but now wasn't the time to address it.

"Okay. I'll be down the hall if you need me."

He nodded, but said nothing further. He once again couldn't look at you as you left the room. Sadness laced its icy tendrils around your heart, despite the joy you felt at Dean's return to humanity.

You went to join Sam and Cas in the library, not quite wanting to be alone. You didn't want to talk either, but just being around people you loved made you feel a little bit better.

You knew Dean's road to recovery would be long, as would your own. You weren't sure what trials lay ahead of you, but you knew the two of you would make it through--you always did.

If there was one thing you knew for sure, it was how much Dean loved you--if the last few weeks taught you anything, it was that. Your own love for Dean was equally endless--there was nothing you wouldn't do for him. As cliche as it was, love really could conquer all.

[starry-bi-sky]

i have been unmedicated for the entirety of spring break and thus have had little interest in writing this down, but i have been thinking about this for the entire week (as well as a dpdc clone danny au that resulted in it becoming its entirely separate batman au that includes a teenage vigilante bruce wayne, an ocarina, and me entirely incapable of making a batman au without making bruce dirt poor but we're not talking about that) and so i've finally went 'fuck it' and forcibly grabbed my laptop. I will get this done in one sitting even if it kills me.

BUT. This is about neither clone^2 danny nor about who i am calling Ocarina Batman. This is about my Danyal Al Ghul Au and more SPECIFICALLY it's me thinking about his relationship with Sam and Tucker specifically.

Tucker and Sam? Adore this asshole (affectionate) with every fiber of their being. And it is very much a reciprocated feeling, but Danny's thoughts will not be delved into much other than he would kill for them.

Tucker? The only person currently capable of getting a deep, loud, belly laugh out of Danny. Sam can get him to smile and to laugh, but it's the kind that's a chuckle-under-the-breath. The quiet, looks-down-while-huffing laughter. Snorts once with laughter and then grins stupidly.

But Tucker? Tucker can crack a slew of stupid jokes and Danny will be incapacitated for the next five minutes because he's laughing so hard that he can't breath. He lands one well-timed pun or quip and Danny will be close to tears. His laughter is their favorite sound in the whole world.

Sam is lowkey jealous of this ability, and she's gotten a belly laugh out of Danny a few times. But alas, it is Tucker who wields this power and has gotten it the most times out of the two of them.

-

They're also both physically affectionate with Danny as much as possible. It started roughly around when they were 12-ish, a year since they befriended Danny, and they noticed that he sought after touch but never seemed to initiate (and was in some ways repulsed by it). They started slowly being more touchy with him. Hooking a finger around his to lead him somewhere, tapping his wrist, looping arms. Little touches, grabs, etc, to get him used to it, and once he started doing it back they started increasing it.

It's gotten to a point where he will now just. Lay on them. Like a lizard sunbathing on a rock. Leaning on their backs when they're sitting in class before the bell rings, his chin on their heads. He'll talk about anything with his arms looped around their shoulders.

If they're sitting on a couch at either of their houses, he'll lay his legs on theirs. Him and Tucker will press their feet against the other's and try and push against them (newsflash: Danny always wins, Tucker claims its the ghost strength but Danny's been winning since before his accident)

-

Naturally, both Sam and Tucker know where Danny keeps his weapons on his person, and are allowed to grab them off of him if they need it. His only requirement is that they don't lose his weapons if they take it and forget to return it immediately.

They both understand how big of a thing this is from Danny, and so they do their best to treat his weapons with a lot of respect and care because they know its his way of saying he trusts them.

-

Sam and Tucker are so fond of Danny it's insane. Like fr. That's their goddamn best friend, and they are so protective of him. Emotionally, physically, you name it. They will tear the head off a grown man if they need to, Danny's had scars since he arrived in Amity Park and Sam and Tucker both are going to find the person who put them there and make them pay for it.

One time, Tucker overheard a bunch of upperclass girls speaking nastily about Danny and about the rumors surrounding him, calling him names like 'freak', 'monster', etc. Danny was with him and heard it, and seemingly appeared unbothered by it, even telling Tucker that he was used to such rumors.

Tucker was so furious that hacked into the school system later that night and tanked those girls grades. They were kicked out of their clubs and had to go to mandatory tutoring for the rest of the year. He made sure to leave some way of letting them know it was him who did it.

And Sam doesn't like using her money for things, doesn't like abusing that wealth. So instead, whenever her parents talk bad about Danny, she causes a media incident that has her parents scrambling to deal with. She does something wild, outrageous by her parents' standards.

She heard some boys on the basketball team making fun of Danny once, similar to those girls had. She kicks up a fuss about something eco-unfriendly at school and forcibly holds a protest on the same day of the big home basketball game, forcing them to cancel the event and reschedule to a visiting school.

She anonymously donates money so that there's new uniforms for the team but oops! Looks like she "forgot" to donate enough money for them to get uniforms for all the team members, and strangely enough those boys in particular didn't get them! Looks like they'll have to wait until more money gets donated for the basketball team to get their new, nice uniforms. The old ones look so ratty in comparison, right?

And since the football team gets most of the sport money, that might just take awhile. And if (and when) they kick up a fuss? oops! Off the basketball team you go, :) such unsportsman-like behavior is unfit for the team.

(The only good thing about how corrupt the school system is is that she can use it to her advantage too.)

The both of them know that Danny suspects them for the sudden misfortune falling on these people, but he doesn't call them out on it. He's kinder than he used to be, but not kind enough to vouch for people who speak badly of him. Sometimes, he might just congratulate them on not getting caught.

Because Danny is their wonderful, hurt friend with a "slightly" Blue and Orange Moral code, and enough scars that people have been calling him a criminal (and worse) since he arrived in Amity Park when he was ten. And they'll be damned if he gets hurt anymore.

[durrtydawg]

Look, Don't Touch.

(Sam Drake x F!Reader smut) 3rd person

CW: It's smut, it's sex polleny, and it's got a big, fat, dubcon warning. Also a bit of angst, hurt/comfort, internal conflict, etc etc. For detailed tags, please check out ao3, as funnily enough, I literally cannot add any more text into this post 😛

Masterlist

This is long. Horrendously long. Like... *18,000 words* or so, so I don't want to hear any yapping if you click 'read more' and don't actually want to read. Dare I say, quantity over quality? Sorry to those that wanted this split into parts, but honestly... I couldn't make it work, so here we are. Regardless, I hope someone out there enjoys this!! It's been my baby for a while, and whilst not the best thing I've written, I need to let it go before I, too, become a reprobate by force x

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭

“In the wake of the Second World War, the elusive Polish alchemist Dariusz Cassimir left behind a legacy shrouded… ooo… in mystery. Hmm. Shrouded is a fun word.”

“Big door. Ominous etchings. Doesn’t get more ‘shrouded in mystery’ than that. This has gotta be it.”

“O-kay… But how do we get in?”

She shrugs, turning back to him with a raised brow. “Oh, I don’t know, Sam, maybe the huge lever right next to said mysterious door?” She purposely targets her flashlight at his face, making her way over to the lever. He swats her with the notes in his hand.

“Okay,” Sam sniffs, striding ahead with a crack of the knuckles after he fixes his own torch to his belt, “‘Cause of the attitude, I get to open it.” He grins sarcastically, making sure to gently nudge her shoulder as he passes, thrusting the papers he was reading from into her hands.

Her eyes roll, but she finds the cockiness endearing- and he knows it.

“Known for his work in chemical weapon and explosives development throughout the Great War, and the start of the Second, Cassimir's true genius lay in the shadows, where he conducted secretive experiments with potions, remedies, and poisons, yada yada… yeah, right.”

She continues reading out from where he left off as Sam checks around the lever for any dodgy set-ups that might send the two of them plummeting into an inescapable pit, falling victim to some sort of horrific creature ready to maul the two of them to death, or perhaps crushed by a flurry of falling boulders, etcetera, etcetera. No death trap is too garish in this line of work.

“Oh. Listen to this. Ahem. Despising intrusion into his work, Cassimir was rumoured to eliminate those who stumbled upon these experiments without permission.” She hums. “So, not only was this guy insane, but he was a murderer too- hey, be careful with that lever, please... I don’t want a repeat of the Tuscan trap door incident.” She sighs, fingernails trepidatiously digging into the straps on her backpack as he braces his hands against the lever.

“Still not over that, huh?” Sam snorts, turning back to her with an arrogance-tinged smirk as she grimaces, folding the paper and stuffing it into her jacket pocket.

“My ankle isn't.”

He scoffs. “Every possible trap we’ve come across today has either rotted itself out of action or has been destroyed by some other poor bastard that got here before us. Besides,” He stamps a boot against the ground to prove his point, “It’s a dense stone floor. I don’t think trap doors are a cause for concern here.”

“Famous last words.” She murmurs as he pulls on the lever, a soft grunt signalling that it takes more effort than initially predicted. “You sure you don't want to find another way in before you start fiddling with- nope? Okay.”

“What’s…the worst��” he pauses, re-positioning himself to give a little more force to the lever, “that could- Ow, Jesus!” He cuts himself off with a hiss of pain as the lever finally gives and he stumbles upright, wincing.

“Aw. Too much strain on your big, strong, man muscles?” She questions teasingly as Sam glares at his hand, flexing his fingers with a frown.

“The damn thing pricked me.”

A sudden deep rumble through the ground prevents her from quipping back as both of their attention is now taken by the stone wall in front of them slowly sliding to the side with a wince-worthy scrape.

“It’s always fascinating how something so archaic can still be so…mobile.” Sam says inquisitively, causing her to snort.

“Talking about you, or the door?”

He offers her no more than an unimpressed glare, lips pursed and eyes heavy-lidded, still scrunching and un-scrunching his hand.

“You’re lucky you’re cute, ya know.” He grumbles, watching a cheeky pout form on her lips.

“Thank you. Anyway, it's probably not that old. Cassimir used this place as his base between the first and second world wars, which, in the grand scheme of things, isn't that long ago. I’m guessing, with all the influence he had-”

“-He spruced up the place. New doors. Lick of paint. Few booby traps for good measure. The usual stuff.” He concludes for her with a slow nod, eyes narrowed at the lever, attention diverting back from the door to his palm.

She snickers.

Her smile deepens into a grin as he bares his teeth in irritation at his tiny little injury.

He grumbles, thumb rubbing small circles on his palm.

She steps forwards, “C’mon, grump. Serves you right for touching things you shouldn't.”

“Well, thank you for exhibiting the utmost care and patience.” He responds, brows knitted together as he continues to scrutinise his hand.

“Don't guilt-trip me.” She turns back and holds onto his wrist gently to inspect the palm of his hand. A little more than a pin-prick sits in the centre; a fresh bead of blood oozing to the surface each time he wipes one away. 

She pouts as she examines it, then offers a quick glance to the lever to see…nothing interesting at surface level. She turned to him with a moue. “What is it? A splinter?”

“Don’t think so.” He mutters, wiping the speckles of blood onto his jeans, nose scrunched into an expression of disapproval.

“Well…You’ve gone through far worse. C’mon.”

He hums in amusement at her dismissal of interest before the two of them begin to walk down the newly revealed corridor.

As she disappears off into the distance, Sam takes a glance at his assailant, cringing as he notes a tiny divot in the centre of the smooth, varnished wood of the lever- furthermore, two engraved letters beneath it. ‘I D’.

“The hell does i-d mean?” He mutters, glancing at his hand again and wiping it on his jeans for the second time with an irked grunt. Strange.

“Noooo!” Her voice echoes from around the corner, attracting his attention back to the task at hand. Or… away from hand, rather.

He turns in her direction, approaching from behind as she grumbles at yet another obstacle. She frowns down at a dormant stone pressure plate on the floor.

“Guess old Cassimir really doesn’t want us getting in there, huh?” Sam mutters, making his way beside her as they both look at yet another enormous door blocking them from proceeding any further.

“Yeah. What an asshole.” She turns to Sam, tongue swirling contemplatively around a molar as he looks down at her with narrowed eyes. “Any lever this time? Stupid thing won’t do anything.” A tut from her makes him chuckle, watching her impatiently scuff the toe of her boot against the plate as if it’ll make it do something other than sink into the ground a little.

He shakes his head, hands on his hips as he ponders their next move. After a moment, he pouts.

“You… think you can squeeze through there?” Sam questions, eye-line fixing onto the discoloured stained glass of a small window framed by stone above the door.

Her cheeks puff up as she assesses the window held ajar by some sort of rusted hinge. A slow exhale deflates said cheeks before she shrugs.

“You severely underestimate the size of my ass, but yes. If you can get me up there, I can certainly try to ‘squeeze through’.”

“Hmm.”

He leans back, making a show of inspecting her rear with exaggerated intrigue.

“Oh, y- yeah, you might be right.”

She flashes a middle finger. “He's here all week!”

“You'd love that, huh.”

“Stop flirting for a sec and help me up.” She teases, feeding his ego slightly.

Ready to crack on, Sam crouches a little, a small grin pinned to his face at her quip. He puts his arms out as she takes a few steps back.

"M'lady."

"Alright, Patrick Swayze." She chuckles, diluted sarcasm in her tone. “Watch those hands.”

He scoffs in response, patting his thigh as if to non-verbally tell her to shut up and get on with it.

After a little run up, the pair manage to execute a relatively successful boost manoeuvre, resulting in boots scuffing against the stone wall as she scrambles the remainder of the way up to the window.

“Nobody puts Baby in a fuckin’ corner.” he commends her dexterity from the ground, his continuation of her reference sending a grin creeping onto her face as she pushes the window further open, wriggling her way through the gap.

“Damn right.” She replies, eventually disappearing out of his sight. She slides down the wall, dust and flecks of rubble curling off of the surface as she approaches the ground.

Dusting her gravelly hands off on her leggings and adjusting the torch clipped to her backpack strap, she begins to look around.

“Shit.” is all she can muster.

Sam glances up at the stained glass, thumb rubbing at the sting in his palm, eyes focusing on coloured Latin lettering separated by intricately crafted lead framing.

Firmitudo Intus Aequilibrio

“You okay?” He pushes, his voice muffled from behind the wall, head tilted to the side in thought as he reads the stained glass. The cogs turn, congruous smirk etching its way onto his lips- his knowledge of Latin permits a little smugness, or so he tells himself.

She nods slowly, before realising that Sam can’t actually see her, almost too distracted by her new surroundings to offer a verbal response.

“Y-yeah, I’m all good.” She clears her throat, turning off her torch. “This place just… you ever seen Shrek 2?”

The stone walls, worn and weathered, stand sentinel, bearing witness to the passage of time. They’re tall. Imposing. But there’s a beauty to their eeriness, aided by the soft, colourful glow from the bottles that haven't succumbed to time.

"Sure. Great hangover movie."

Dust particles dance in the air, caught in the soft rays of crisp winter moonlight filtering through thick tree roots that make up the ceiling, casting ethereal streaks around the room.

"Well, picture the shelves in the dinky potion room."

The shelves, carved untidily into the walls, cradle a trove of relics from bygone eras. Flasks, vials, and jars, now cloaked in the patina of age, their contents long untouched- some clearly from medieval times; when the crypt was first used as an underground apothecary, to more contemporary receptacles used by Casimir himself to store whatever insane concoctions he experimented with; early 20th century brand logos indented into glass, less worn and more transparent than others.

"The one that cat gets the potion stuck in?"

"That's the one." She titters. Sam hums in understanding. "Ha. 'That cat'."

The lair’s height is imposing, a testament to the grandeur of Casimir’s forgotten pursuits. Yet, amidst the stone walls, pockets of soft, colourful radiance emanate from a select few frosty flasks perched high on the shelves. These remaining potions, survivors of the relentless march of time, cast speckled, saturated glows of purples, pinks, and blues around the plethora of other vials and tubes that have greyed and muddied over the years.

It’s all quite something.

She steps back, lips parted as she takes in her surroundings, fingers wrapped around the straps of her backpack. Her breath catches as she feels sudden give in the ground beneath her, calming when she realises she’s trodden on another pressure plate, though this time it doesn’t remain unresponsive.

As the door behind her rumbles and begins to grate upwards, she turns as her heart rate spikes in shock. Sam, still standing on the corresponding slab, watches in intrigue as the room she’s in reveals itself to him. He smiles when he sees her, the mechanism suddenly making sense.

Wagging a finger up to the latin-scribed stained glass window, he chuckles knowingly.

“Balance.” He says, winking at her as she tilts her head cluelessly.

“What?” She asks as he saunters into the room, shining his torch around.

“Latin. See, I’m the brains of this whole operation.”

“Hm.” She huffs. “Thought you were the beauty.”

He scoffs in response to her attempt at sarcasm, walking past her to the heart of the room as the door scrapes shut again. “Hey, you said it.” He smirks over his shoulder at her as she shakes her head.

A stone slab serves as what Sam presumes was once Casimir's makeshift desk, worn and weathered and mossy like the walls that surround it. On its surface, an array of flasks and mixing bowls, each bearing the damage of countless failed experiments, sitting in a dusty mosaic of scientific chaos.

“Spooky.” She mutters, crouching to inspect some brittle bird bones sprawled out on the stone surface. Aged twigs and fibres, remnants of ingredients that probably pulsed with life once upon a time, now lie in withered repose, their potency surrendered to decay. Sam huffs.

“Oof. It is stuffy as balls in here.” He mumbles, hands skimming through parchment laid on the surface.

The room's cold dampness has left its mark on scrawled notes and papers, ink faded, edges curled, bearing witness to the crypt’s neglect.

“Cold as balls.” she contradicts with a punctuating shiver.

Sam gawks at her as if she’s just said something completely insane, but she’s too busy plinking flasks around to notice. It's goddamn roasting.

That, and her idiom makes no sense whatsoever. He’d laugh if he wasn’t so preoccupied with how antsy he feels.

He rolls his neck, an uncomfortable crack making him huff again, yet as his head hangs sideways, he catches a glimpse of something a little more substantial than a few sheets of faded parchment.

Nestled within the clutter, a chunky, leather-bound notebook sits, worn from use, but still relatively intact. “Hell-o.” He purrs, pushing aside some of the papers to grab it.

“What’cha got?” she chirps, still facing one of the many shelves, crystalline clinks reverbing off of the walls as she continues imbibing in her own curiosity.

“I think,” Sam's fingers delicately trace the timeworn pages of the notebook, each page imbued with the secrets of Casimir’s elixir recipes and incantations, “we have got our hands on Mr. Magic Man’s recipe book.”

“Ooo. Anything juicy?”

He leans a hip against the stone, cupping the book in one hand whilst the other tugs at the sherpa collar rubbing against the back of his neck. It is stuffy.

"Uh, yeah, there's... there's definitely some interesting stuff in here," He replies vaguely, his mind preoccupied with the subtle shifts in his body's temperature.

“Spill.” She says, finally diverting her attention from the shelves, a frosty puff of air billowing from her lips as she speaks.

As his eyes scan the complex instructions and cryptic symbols, a particular recipe catches his attention, intrigue somewhat subding his discomfort. "Here's somethin’," he murmurs, his voice just managing to keep his uncertainty under wraps. “'Whisperwind Tonic,’” Sam scrunches his face up, his brow furrowing in concentration as he reads the intricate script.

“Grants the drinker the ability to move unseen and unheard for a short period of time.” He scoffs at the page, subconsciously rubbing his injured hand against the corner of the notebook in an attempt to relieve the subtle ache that’s beginning to radiate from the centre of his palm. 

“Bullshit.” She snorts, putting a bottle back to its rightful place on the shelf in front of her.

“Right.” He clears his throat as he continues to peruse the notebook's contents. Did he eat something funny?

“Keep going. I’m intrigued.” She turns around, making her way towards him to take a peek at the book herself.

His eyes narrow as he faces her, her proximity suddenly more pronounced, the surrounding heat sending him into a slightly dizzying haze. He shakes off the feeling, rolling his shoulders before reading again.

"There’s... potions to manipulate memories... truth elixirs. Nonsense. All this stuff for people who can’t get laid. Probably just a bottle of rohypnol, right? I mean, how else can someone make a ‘passion elix--”

He coughs suddenly, choking on his words before looking at her with some sort of incredulous bewilderment that makes her stop in her tracks.

“What?”

“Jesus, girl. You got enough perfume on?”

“I don’t- what do you mean?”

He scoffs, grimacing. “Whatever you’ve got on? Ease up on it, next time, huh?”

She grumbles, hopping up onto the table beside him, pulling the collar of her jacket up to her nose. She sniffs. It smells like nothing. Just… her. Not good, not bad. She kicks his shin playfully.

“If you think I smell like shit, just say. It’s been a long day.”

“Nah, you don't…” He scratches his palm again, a faint frown creasing his brow as he notices a faint discolouration at the centre. He rolls his wrist to determine whether or not it was just a trick of the light. “You smell really good, actually.” He speaks, though it’s like he’s unaware he’s said anything.

She does. Good enough to eat, in fact, and as she leans in, resting her chin on his shoulder with an amused smirk on her face, Sam's line of sight is dragged from his hand to her eyes, narrowed slightly by her bemused smile. His vision blurs slightly and his brows furrow as he struggles to refocus.

She inquisitively tilts her head, and slowly, he finds his eyesight refocusing on the part of her neck left exposed between her hair and the collar of her jacket. It looks soft. Smooth.

Inviting.

The gentle glow of colour coming from the shelves behind them, reflecting off of her skin mesmerises him, and he finds himself wondering what it would be like to bury his face in the curve of her neck, to dig his fingers into its nape, and let his teeth leave small, speckled bruises behind, to hold her in place and breathe the sweetness in as her breath cools his skin. It's an urge, almost. Raw and overwhelming.

One that he quickly snaps out of.

His cheeks flush as he realises the deviance of his own thoughts, the suddenness of it all leaving him... reeling, to say the least.

“Okay, Romeo.” She teases. “Sometimes I think we’re lucky that this line of work doesn’t have an HR department.” Her voice feels like a hug and a punch to the jaw at the same time, nonetheless, her giggle pulls him back to reality, his attention snapped back to his aching palm.

He frowns deeper, a faint purplish hue beginning to emerge at its centre, subtle discolouration spreading slowly like tendrils of ink on cotton, becoming more pronounced by the second.

He swallows hard, the thickness of the scent oozing down his throat still, leaving him momentarily breathless.

"I, uh..." he stammers, his mind racing to find an explanation for the sudden onslaught of whatever-the-fuck-just-happened, whilst all the layers on him begin to feel like cling film. It’s irritating. It hurts, even.

Her smile falters a little. “I’m… just kidding- hey, you good?” She reaches for his wrist to see what keeps grabbing his attention.

“It’s nothin’, forget it," he stammers, voice a little strained as he closes his sore hand into a fist. He shakes her off of him with an unconvincing snort in a poor attempt to save face.

His attempt at self-preservation only causes her to mirror his embarrassment, and as Sam feels the scent dissipate slightly, an uncomfortable tension takes its place.

He watches her eyes narrow in the corner of his vision, suspicion flickering in their depths as she studies her companion's sudden unsettled demeanour. 

“Right.” she mumbles, slapping her thighs awkwardly. “Well… I’m not one to waste perfume on a job. Especially with you for company, so…” her voice trails off, waiting for what she thinks is an inevitable clapback. It doesn’t come. Her face reddens as her eyes move around awkwardly, though fortunately, he’s too focused on turning the pages of the book to notice.

”Hey.” She says, prodding his temple with her forefinger. “You… sure you’re okay?”

Sam flinches at her touch, a jolt shooting through him as he sniffs to maintain his composure, standing up to distance himself.

“Mhm,” he replies hastily, his gaze darting away from hers as his mind races to find a plausible reason behind the overwhelming sensation. “Yeah, yeah, fine…just- think I ate…” God it’s hot. “-Damn jacket.” He grunts, putting the book down to tug the denim off of an arm, shaking it off of the rest of him impatiently.

She hops off of the stone and backs away, a perplexed laugh escaping her.

“Don’t be evasive!”

“What? It’s…I’m hot. Shit.” Sam mutters, his irritation mounting as he tries to regain control of the situation. He scratches the palm of his hand, and, with a sigh, moves further away from the stone counter, throwing off another layer.

Left in his t-shirt, she gawks at him as he preoccupies himself by looking at his hand once more.

“Samuel, It’s like… sub-zero in-”

“Look. It is warm. I am warm.” He scrunches up his hand with a sigh, frustration progressing strangely fast as he cuts her off. “So, I’ve taken my jacket off. That a problem?”

Her grin falters. She awkwardly teeters from side to side as she decides to keep quiet.

“I could smell… somethin’, thought it might’ve been you, now it’s gone. Just…” He trails off, taking a deep breath as he tries to steady himself. Tilting his head up to the ceiling, he basks in the brief recess from the sweltering heat clinging onto his body, “Just…park it. Please.”

She frowns, her gaze lingering on Sam for a moment longer before she holds her hands up defensively, dismissing the strange encounter with a slow nod as she turns her head back to the shelves.

“Parked. Dick.” she retorts, a façade of amusement decorating her tone in an attempt to lighten the mood, covering the awkward swallow and slight flush in her cheeks one might get after being scolded by a teacher in front of their class. Meanwhile, Sam fixates his attention back onto the notebook in his hands.

As he continues to flip through the brittle parchment, a developing sense of unease begins to tighten his chest. From the corner of his eye, he watches her hop off of the table, tightening her ponytail as she ambles awkwardly back over to the shelves. He parts his lips to apologise, but a painful pulse coming from his hand re-diverts his attention.

He squints between his hand and the intricate symbols and arcane diagrams, words written in faded text, but just as he begins to take it in, he feels himself struggling to focus.

That same sickening sweetness from moments ago slowly assaults his senses again; it’s like a thick, unshakable mist, seeping into his nose, clinging to his throat and settling heavily in his lungs.

Attempting to clear his throat without drawing her attention, Sam shakes his head, a slight furrow forming between his brows as he does so. The back of his hand instinctively rests against his nose, as if warding off the unexplained, worsening discomfort. 

"You…” he swallows, the room seemingly closing in on the tension his outburst had created, “Y’sure you're not wearing perfume or something? Jeez, it’s givin’ me a headache," he mutters with a meekness that she finds irksome.

She scoffs in irritation. "Oh my God, no! What are you talking about?" she retorts, pointing emphatically toward the shelf of vials, her impatience palpable as his attention remains surgically attached to the notebook. “Will you focus?” She looks back at the shelf.

Five of the vials remain untouched, surrounded by that same soft glow he was fixated on moments ago. 

“We need those ones, right?”

Sam, however, remains frozen, his eyes now locked onto a specific page.

“Id. The word- it wasn’t a… damn abbreviation.” Freud's structural model of the goddamn psyche.

“Huh?” She prods, arms folded, brows arched.

“Freud…Id and ego.” Unable to detach his attention from the inked pages, he ignores her as his lips move silently, mimicking the phonetics of the symptoms written on the frail parchment.

The pinprick- sore, burning now, in fact- has become the centre point of a spider's web of dark hairline veins, matching the worrying description in front of him. His gaze shifts between the book and his own hand, a growing realisation drilling into his brain as he watches the deep colour reach his wrist. This is when he remembers the engraving on the lever. Id. the insatiable id, the book says. He scoffs at the audacity of it all. Wonderful!

His own blood flow pulses through his ears, clouding him with more anxiety and indignation, and dread pitches in his gut-

"Sam!"

"What?" He snaps, abruptly smacked back to reality as her irked voice pierces through his fearful focus.

As her gaze settles on him, flustered, brows knitted together in vexed concern, she momentarily holds back her annoyance, her brows furrowing as he blinks, attempting not to entertain the gravity of the situation unfurling in front of him.

 “Jesus, are you PMSing or something?” Her sarcasm goes hand in hand with her raised brow, smirk combo, amused disbelief taking her over. Yet, her own annoyance gives way slightly to genuine worry as she observes the uncharacteristic vulnerability in his expression. "What’s in that stupid book that’s got you so worked up?"

She looks… good. When she's flustered. Annoyed. The flyaway hairs and the frown. He supposes she thinks she looks intimidating. It's having the opposite effect- nope. No. That's enough. 

"I’m not-'' he fumbles an attempt at trying to reassure both himself and her. "Just…” he clears his throat again, the musky sweetness still violating his respiratory system as his eyes twinge with guilt at his sudden attitude change. “Nope. Doesn’t matter." Quickly closing the notebook, Sam clutches it under his arm, straightening his posture, and offering a nod and an awkward smile. “I, uh, didn’t mean’ta…” He trails off, a soft haze forming over his vision. 

She's not stupid. She sees the growing urgency in his eyes that hints at a deeper worry, and it makes her huff. Why can’t he ever just say what he’s thinking? Or, perhaps better, apologise properly?

She sighs and shakes her head. She spends far too much of her energy stressing about him and his wellbeing, when he probably couldn't give a shit about her outside of a job. Enough self sabotage.

“Whatever…can you… get me up to those shelves? Place is starting to give me the creeps.”

Should he show her the book? He looks back to the dark colour continuing to weave through the veins in his palm.

He considers the danger he’s in- that she’s in, if this isn’t, in fact, total bullshit. His blood flow picks up the pace, and he gets hotter. His mouth feels tight. Wet and dry at the same time. God, he feels sick-

“Oh my God, Sam, snap out of it!” She steps closer to him, making him stiffen in apprehension. “I need to get on your shoulders. Focus, please.”

Please. Please please please- the rasped desperation lodged at the back of her throat makes him shudder. He wants to hear her say it again and again and again-

“Do I need to smack you?” The thought of her palm thwacking against his cheek slices through his thoughts, her voice low, bordering irate. He swallows again.

A strained shake of the head is all he can manage in response, and the urgency of their situation propels him into action- if they could just get out of here, he can distance himself. Fresh air cures all ailments, no?

"Alright, just-" he mutters, voice tight as he takes a hesitant step closer, throwing the book to the ground and kicking it aside. His stare flickers briefly to the discoloured veins now reaching his fingertips, and he swallows in silent acknowledgment of the dangerous path he seems to be treading. Still, with a deep breath, Sam carefully lowers himself to a knee, jaw clenched, skin clammy as he beckons her over.

Oblivious to the tumult going on inside him, she moves, adjusting her stance over him. His hands find support on her hips as she sits on his shoulders, but as their skin brushes directly for no more than half a second, his breath catches and he almost chokes.

“You okay?” She asks out of obligation, looking down at him warily.

Sam inhales deeply, nodding in response, jaw clenched, desperately trying to ease up his heart rate as he pushes himself up, raising her to the height she needs.

He tries to steady himself, but as every sense intensifies to an unfathomable degree, he has no choice but to close his eyes to try shutting them out.

Sam can feel the rhythmic rush of her pulse resonating through him, every beat amplifying that strange suffocating sweetness that continues to overwhelm his senses whenever he’s close to her.

“Hurry it up.” He winces.

“Pot, kettle, black.” She retorts, leaning forwards, backpack unzipped as she reaches for the first vial, and as the softness of her voice reverberates through him, his spine is graced with a shiver.

As she reaches up, her body shifts slightly, and he tightens his grip to keep her steady. He can’t help but notice the way her breath hitches, just for a second. It’s a small sound, almost imperceptible, but it makes his chest tighten with a fierce, protective… is it desire?

"Almost there," she says, her voice a little breathless from the fear of falling off of him. "Just...keep still."

"Doin’ my best," he murmurs, his voice rough with suppressed emotion. He wonders if she can feel it too—the electric current. A persistent, dull thrum tugging and squeezing and pulling at every cell and synapse in his body.

Her thighs tighten around him ever so slightly as she reaches for a further vial; the fabric covering them brushes against his ears, the sensation overwhelming enough to make him grunt and dig his fingers even deeper into the flesh of her hips.

As he does so, the details of her body become vividly apparent beneath his fingertips– every fibrous contour of muscle, the softness of fat, the rush of blood beneath her lycra-clad skin– his senses are heightened to an almost unbearable degree, and his head turns sideways as he tries to steady his shaky breathing- the dichotomy of duty and… maybe temptation… playing out in a near-excruciating loop in his mind.

He feels a pull. His nose- his mouth, are lured towards her inner thigh. He swears his stomach growls at the scent of her. If only he could taste her. Drink her down- devour her until he drowns- Shit. No. No-- they need to wrap this the fuck up. Get the hell out of here.

“C’mon.” he grits- whether it was more to her, or his way of trying to pull himself together, he doesn’t know. He lays his head against her thigh, willing for it all to be over.

He wants to yell at her- tell her to stop being so inquisitive-- to stop finding the need to read the labels on the fucking vials she’s still gathering, but if she speaks back to him again his knees might just give.

You're going to be fine, he unconvincingly tells himself. That's what you do. Deal with things. More importantly, she’s going to be fine. Fresh air, he thinks again, they’ll be out of here soon.

Sam’s eyes begin to glaze over again, fingers pressing ever-so-slightly deeper into her as he tries to keep his vision focused.

He’d be able to control himself, he’s sure of it. He’d stare down at the floor as they both retrace their steps out of the crypt, in his head repeating the notion that whatever’s affecting him will just… go away- it’ll be fine if he just pushes through it, it’ll be fine if he just pushes through it-- diminishing any thoughts of how easy it would be to grab her whilst she walks just ahead of him, blissfully unaware of what he wants to do to her.

Oh. What he wants… to do to her.

Pinning her against the wall. Tearing through that perfectly stitched seam on her leggings right between her thighs before even giving her a chance to react, or, God forbid, to protest before he breaks her in.

He absentmindedly licks his lips.

Thoughts of the financial reward, the glory of finding this place- fulfilling their client’s desires, blah, blah, fucking blah, fade into the background as a primal spark flickers deep. The awareness of the perilous temptation turns into some sort of hypnotic drumbeat in his head, rational thoughts singed at the edges, slowly burning into ash and flaking away into thin air.

As his nose and mouth press against her inner thigh, the tension peaks and he becomes overwhelmed by her; Sam's breath quickens, and a possessive hunger simmers behind his eyelids.

His lips part, brushing against her, teeth grazing against fabric- an exploration that hovers on the edge of giving in to something far removed from sanity.

Feeling a warm tickle, she diverts her attention from the shelves in front of her to Sam’s head between her legs.

She swallows, a fleeting pull in her core as she takes in the sight of his fingers dug deep into her hips, but quickly shrugs it off in favour of understanding why the hell he’s breathing so heavily against her, and why on earth his mouth is pressed against her leg.

Sam inhales, opening his mouth wider, taking shallow breaths.

Then, he bites. 

It’s a feral snap into temptation he was trying so hard to fight against.

As his teeth clamp down into the meat of her thigh, she squeals, wobbling, then falling back and off of his shoulders, her skin grazing harshly, simultaneously snapping him out of whatever sick trance he'd fallen into.

“Fuck!” She shouts as her body thuds against the ground. She painfully drags herself into a sitting position, face contorted into an expression of complete disarray as he gawks at her, horrified.

“Shit- are you-” Sam rushes over to see if she’s hurt, but as his hand brushes against her shoulder, he has to fight against himself in order to suppress a groan. It’s too much. He painfully wrenches his hand away, subduing his own body's desire to keep it there. He cowers back. “Oh, God.”

One hand cradling the back of her head whilst the other pulls at the fabric of her leggings, she frowns, cracking her neck and rolling her shoulders uncomfortably as she leans herself away from him.

Wide-eyed frown fixed to her face, she checks her hands for blood. Nothing, thank God, other than a dull ache that sears through her upper thigh.

“Did… did you just fucking bite me?!” She asks, voice quiet, dipped in anger.

Sam doesn’t reply. He’s shaking, hand clasped to his forehead as he glares at the floor, unable to bring himself to look at her. His hand obscures his vision and he breathes heavily at the sight; the purple steadily darkening into the veins in his wrist, fading into his forearm. The book is right. And he’s absolutely fucked.

Meanwhile, she double takes. Sam, leggings, Sam, leggings. There’s a slight fray in the fabric.

She pulls herself to her feet, wincing at the all-round ache in her body, astounded.

“What the hell is up with you?!” She hisses at him, taking a step closer before he holds a hand out defensively.

“I- I’m- no, stay over there, I… I don’t know. I don’t-” He splutters, doubling over as if he’s been punched in the gut as she gets closer. He stumbles backwards, back smacking against the stone table with a force that makes him grunt. “Somethin’- something’s happening t’me.” He rasps, wide eyes glued to the palm of his hand.

“Yeah, no shit.” She spits, looking at her leg again. “You broke the fucking skin- how-” Her voice is tinged with exasperated irritation… that quickly morphs into extreme concern when she finally takes in his appearance. “Jesus. W-what is going on with you?”

Sam’s sweating, despite it being cold enough to see their own breath, his sleeves clinging to his arms, fabric glued to his torso as his chest heaves unsteadily. His eyes are wide, and as they traverse away from his palm, down his body, it’s clear that they’re wide in realisation. 

“You-” He’s fucked. Which means she’s fucked. How on earth is he supposed to explain what’s going on here? “You’ve gotta go.”

She huffs, ignoring his plea. “Do you need… water, or something? Painkillers?” She asks, panic creeping into her voice, dropping to her knees as she throws her backpack to the ground. She holds it open, hands ferreting around for her water bottle, clattering around the vials that miraculously remain intact, whilst Sam’s eyelids grow heavy.

“N-no.” He shakes his head, turning back to her to make sure she’s unharmed, but as soon as he looks at her, he’s unable to avert his gaze from the fullness of her thighs as she kneels. “God.” He mumbles, salivating.

Jesus fucking Christ, he’s losing himself.

He musters the strength to force his eyes shut, and it hurts. Every part of his body wants her. To look at her, to touch her, to… taste her, even- but the slither that remains of his weakened mind can't allow it.

Shaking her head, she retrieves her flask. “Here. You’re sweating.” She says, walking over to him. “It’ll cool you down.”

Sam swallows a whine, and lowers himself fully down to the ground with a self-loathing groan, hunched over, eyes squeezed shut as he attempts to drive out all sorts of depraved, wanton thoughts that keep flitting in and out of his head unprompted.

“N-no. Don’t come near me.” his hushed murmur comes out gravelly as she wearily dips her head down to meet his eye line, concerned at how he’s lowered himself to the ground. She takes a nervous breath, kneeling to his level as he lets out a defeated sigh.

He keeps his view of her hidden by his arm as she extends her own, ignoring his plea to instead tilt his chin up and hold the flask up to his lips. He shudders, his whole body trembling as his eyes unwillingly fix on hers, cursing under his breath at the touch of her cool hand on his skin. His gaze draws lower to her waist, her hips, her soft stomach- his hands clenched tight into his jeans as he fights against the impulse to lunge at her.

She tilts the flask and upwards and watches his throat bob as he swallows. She swallows too, almost choking on her dry throat. The longer she looks at him, the more the chill in her bones dissipates- the more she feels warmth seep into her bloodstream.

Her skin against his feels like molten metal, and he shakes with the ever-growing impulse to grab hold of her. To touch, and to be touched. He pushes the flask away in a brash attempt to get her away from him, then holds his breath as he tries to focus on the small bit of reprieve the cool water has granted him, even if it is no better than a bucket thrown over a forest fire.

“Any better?” No answer. She huffs, screwing the lid back on before backing up a little. “Can I trust you to get me back to the window so we can get out of here, or are you gonna bite my other leg, too?”

“Can’t-” Sam blurts panicked, eyes wide as his head darts in her direction.

“Oh my-” She laughs mirthlessly, strenuously rubbing her face before eyeing the room to see what else she can come up with. “Where’s that book?”

No. He’s going to throw up. He can’t let her find out. If he just waits it out, everything will be fine. His gaze moves to where he’d kicked the notebook- just under a shelf. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

“Jesus chr- where’s the notebook, Sam! The one you were reading!”

Unfortunately, her eyes follow suit, and as she catches a glimpse of the frayed leather binding, she crawls towards it.

He watches in a sort of trance-like state as she flattens herself against the ground, moving her torch around underneath the dusty shelves in search of the book he’d kicked under them minutes ago. “If you’re not going to tell me, I’ll look for answers myself.”

This is perfect. He could go for her right this second. Pinning her down would be easy- she's so small compared to him. So weak. A pretty little lamb, all ready for him to slaughter. He suppresses a moan at the thought.

“Got it.” She jumps up, fragile book in hand, and he smacks himself in the face with a grunt.

Revolting. Selfish.

She starts flicking through the pages, face riddled with ire as Sam's breath hitches. “No. Don’t- don’t look in th-” He lets out a panicked whimper as his body reacts to the feeling of his shirt peeling on and off his skin; he starts to hyperventilate. Clasping his hand over his mouth as he strains painfully against his jeans, he winces. “Shit.” He swallows, covering his face with his hands as he leans back against the stone. 

She watches his Adam's apple bob as he quietly gulps down air in an attempt to calm himself down.

“You’re hardly in any position to tell me what to do.” She reads; pages upon pages of notes and diagrams elude her as she takes cautious steps towards him, but as his hands shoot out to stop her coming closer, she stills, and takes him in.

She notes the uneasy tremble, the sheen of sweat, flushed cheeks, and the uncharacteristic panic. Perhaps even more alarming than the complete absence of his calm and collected nature is the wispy nebula of blackcurrant-purple bleeding outwards from the more concentrated black in the centre of his palm, up into the veins leading towards his elbow.

She steps closer.

"Don't." He snarls, flecks of frightened spittle coming through his teeth. And this time, she does as she’s told.

She exhales shakily, eyes fixed on the sight of his hand- she swears she sees the dark wisps expanding.

"I- I need to find out what that… purple shit is."

She keeps flicking through, rubbing at her thigh as it twinges with discomfort.

"Yeah, well," He mumbles through gritted teeth, shoulders heaving as if he's fighting the most ferocious of fevers. “Sometimes ignorance is bliss.”

"Ignorance is only making things worse." She snaps, fingers desperately frittering between pages of Casimir's stupid fucking disintegrating notebook. "Why don’t you just tell me what’s happening?" She laughs- no mirth in sight, eyes watering as her head throbs and her insides churn with dread. “Tell me what’s going on. I bet I can fix it.”

“You can’t fix- Shit, there’s that goddamn smell again.” He laughs ironically, before hissing in discomfort and writhing slightly.

She rests the book on the stone desk with a frustrated grunt, holding it open with one hand whilst the other arm wrestles off her jacket absentmindedly, sighing in relief as the cool air ventilates under her t-shirt. She shakes her head in disbelief before flicking to the next page.

She looks at Sam dead in the eyes, trying to steady her own heart rate as she does so in hopes he’ll pass her red cheeks off as some sort of side effect of the cold. Cold. It was cold a second ago, wasn’t it? 

As soon as she looks back at him, a stifling humidity continues to build. It must be the intensity and the… abruptness of the situation. She goes to remove her jacket, until she realises it’s already off. She feels like she’s wrapped in a layer of plastic- hot, flustered, and her leg fucking kills- This is the last time she lets herself get so… pent up over him.

“You’ve- gotta go.”

“Go?” She huffs, annoyance permeating her tone. She shudders, her face running even hotter, his voice alone enough to render her knees weak, and her throat tight. “You'd love that, wouldn't you? Ever the hero. Asshole.”

“No, I- Fuuuck!” He groans loudly into his fist, trembling. Admittedly, it unnerves her, so she turns her attention back to the book, fingers scrambling from dog-eared page to dog-eared page.

“So, you’d rather I let your stubborn ass stay here, suffering from- who knows what- ow, my God.” She hisses, the urgency and irritation in her voice making a return as a dull ache throbs through her thigh. 

“You can’t be near me.” He mutters into his hands as he doubles over, just loud enough for her to hear.

Inhaling sharply, a brief but intense pang of emotion stirs within her, an ache born not only from the profound lack of understanding of what’s transpiring, but also, admittedly, the slight sting of… is it some sort of infantilization? She thought they were over that! They’ve been partners for months now, and he still doesn’t trust her? Why is he trying so hard not to let her know what the problem is?

And then there's the rejection, of course. That hurts almost as much as her developing headache.

“Well, unfortunately, I have to be near you. I can’t get out.” She points to the stained glass window. “I need you to get me up there-” He cuts her off abruptly with an irritated grunt, jaw clenched in warning.

“I can’t!” He shouts.

“Why?” She shouts louder, stepping closer again.

“Stop-”

“Don’t tell me to stop-'' She follows his eyeline, landing on the writing on the window that he’s transfixed on again. “Firmitudo Intus- what?” The script grates clumsily out of her throat as she rubs feverishly at her sore leg. “Tell me what it means! What’s wrong with you?!”

“S-stability in- in balance. How- ughh, shit- how the pressure plates worked.” Sam huffs, words punctuated with a flurry of uncomfortable grunts. “Why can’t you-- ah, God dammit- just take a hint!” He groans loudly into his fist, trembling.

“Take a hint?!” She spits, voice wavering. “Screw you! Just tell me what's going on- or, or better off- tell me the fact that you can't stand the sight of me."

“No, no, no- stay there— It's not like that, I- you don't get it, it's —”

“Spell it out for me then! Stop being so fucking secreti-”

“I’m going to fucking jump you.” He bellows, his face twitching as a wave of blistering, blistering heat courses through him. His fingertips dig painfully into the stone behind him, finding leverage.

She ogles him, bewildered.

Then, after a moment, she guffaws, her fear momentarily usurped by such a ridiculous statement.

In that moment, as she mocks him, Sam feels a surge of strength shoot through him, perhaps a side effect of his desperation not to face further humiliation. It's as if some dormant force within him has been nudged awake, overpowering his rational mind, and with a grunt, he drags himself upright against the table; movements fluid. Predatory.

“You’re going… to jump me?” She sneers, her voice low, teeth bared in a sour smile as she turns to the window, momentarily considering how to get up there herself. “Hah! Of course you are. Any threat to avoid telling me what’s happening, huh? You're such a-”

Her insults die in her throat as she’s shoved harshly into the wall. The fragile book slips from her fingers, thudding onto the floor.

She stares up at Sam, wide-eyed and startled. His painful grip on her wrist, the back of her head pulsating after colliding with so many hard surfaces- it’s all making her ears ring. His grip is firm and bruising as he pushes himself onto her, his stare intense. Unrelenting.

“What are you doing?" she stammers, her voice trembling, brows furrowed in frightened confusion.

But Sam doesn't answer. Instead, he leans in closer, his breath hot against her skin, eyes locked onto hers with an unsettling intensity that makes her stomach flutter. She can feel his heart pounding against her chest as he presses into her, matching the now frantic rhythm of her own as heat radiates off of him.

Sam's certain he can hear her blood flow as he holds her gaze, his senses heightened to the point of overload. The warmth emanating from her skin, the rapid rhythm of her pulse beneath his fingertips, and the heady, sickly sweet scent of her- it’s all driving him to the brink of madness.

“What… the hell are you doing, Sam? Let go.” she whispers, her other hand tentatively going for him in an attempt to wrench herself free, though, with an instinctive speed, he captures her other wrist, pinning it on the other side of her head as a startled gasp leaves her lips. She struggles against his grasp with an anxious whimper, but he only tightens his hold, his wild expression a frightening mix of confusion and horror. Yet his grip on her remains tight. 

"Make it stop-," he stammers through his tightened jaw, his voice trembling with remorse. "I don't know what… I didn't mean to- I need-” A wave of dizziness washes over him as he speaks, a growing tightness in his chest, threatening to send him spiralling into oblivion- he feels like he’s going into cardiac arrest.

Her eyes are wet with anxiety as he cages her in, brows wavering as if she’s attempting to prevent herself from tearing up.

But he’s frozen. Mind rapidly toing and froing between wanting to let her go, and wanting to see her cry. What he’d give to see her eyes brimming with tears, his fingers tight against her scalp while her lips grow swollen, drenched by her own drool as he rams himself down her throat. “I can’t- I can’t stop thinkin’ about… Jesus, the things I wanna do to you.”

His fingers tighten their grip further, pushing himself harder against her, keeping her painfully upright against the stone. Their eyes meet once more as her own chest starts to heave. God. The way he’s looking at her. It’s… carnal.

Amongst this sudden yo-yoing of fear and confusion, she feels herself heat up more, a cramping feeling tugging at her abdomen as he stares at her, breathing deeply- slowly.

“What?” She just about manages to rasp, lips parted, wrists aching, head pounding. “What are you talking about?”

She knows exactly what he's talking about. She can feel him pressing against her.

“You s- sound like a mouse.” He mumbles as if inebriated, one side of his mouth twisted into an almost malevolent grin that makes her stomach drop as he presses his forehead against hers, rendering her virtually immobile. “So small. So scared.” He mocks with a pout as she shudders. “But you’re not just scared, are you?” He speaks through his teeth, eyes trailing down to watch himself push his hips against her with a deep groan.

The sudden friction sends an embarrassingly high-pitched gasp spilling out from her mouth before her teeth have a chance to trap it. Fuck.

His eyes go back to hers, darkened, pupils blown. “Thought so.” He smirks. “I can pretty much taste you from-” a grunt permeates the end of his sentence as his darkened resolve wavers.

He shakes his head, a sudden maelstrom of panic and culpability in his chest making his eyes water. 

“Not- me. I didn’t mean-” She remains glued to the wall, wide-eyed and disoriented, as he stumbles over his words, her heart racing as she watches him lose balance and fall into her, palms braced at either side of her waist as the vice-like grip on her wrists finally relents. “I’m s-” he hisses, his body burning as if demanding him to succumb to what it wants.

Much to her own dismay, she doesn’t move her freed hands- there’s no attempt to push him away again. She’s so caught up in the shock of how good that felt and all of the confusion and guilt that are beginning to plague her head. She must've hit it hard.

Sam’s hand digs into the small of her back, his shoulders slumping as his fingers slip just beneath the hem of her shirt. His grip is tight and desperate as he drops his head against her chest, leaning into her for support as he whimpers, gasping for air. “I can't help it- I want- to stop, but-” 

She takes in a shaky breath, momentarily paralysed, as if her body and vocal chords are in combat against her brain. There's something hypnotic about the way he's looking at her, something frightening about the desperation and the spontaneous Jekyll-and-Hyde-ness of it all, yes, but equally… satiating… as if this is something her body's been vying for for ages.

She swallows hard at the feeling of his skin on hers, and the soft, needy sounds coming out of him- at his weight keeping her firmly pressed against the wall, and the smell of his sweat, cheap detergent, the gift set aftershave he feels obligated to use that’s making her heart thump even harder.

All such normal things- usually so unnoticeable. But it’s a sudden assault on her senses that she can’t shake off- it clings to her, burning her eyes, creeping up her nose, down her throat, settling in her stomach. It’s grounding. Exhilarating, to the point where she wants to tug him closer and inhale him to the point of suffocation.

And she’s baffled by this revelation. Nauseated, almost. She should be angry with him. Furious. How dare he manhandle, bite, bruise and then withhold an explanation from her. Instead, she can’t help but feel an intrinsic need to keep him as close to her as possible. To see, smell, hear, taste him.

Why is her body reacting in such a way? Why is she soaking wet? 

Sam’s terrified. The thoughts he’s had in the past few minutes have been depraved. Actions violent, and he would rather die than cause her harm, so he’s trying with all his might not to let himself give in. Even if he wants nothing more.

From day dot, she’s been off limits. And he's always stuck to that.

He's aware of how she reacts every time he's pushed their banter a bit too far, leaving her flustered. Every hint of jealousy she's let slip when he's talked about his ‘dating’ life. He knows about her ‘crush’– cute, he thought, but inevitably fleeting, surely. Unlike his own feelings- oh no! They’ve fused to every fibre of his being like hot glue.

This whole situation is nothing but a cruel joke. Like fate has conspired to mock him- to force him into getting his way via a horrible, depraved, manipulative circumstance since he's been too much of a pussy to act upon it otherwise. She’s right. He is stubborn. He should’ve let her pull the damn lever. At least that way, she wouldn't be a victim. Or... perhaps less of one.

His stomach lurches and he slumps to his knees, hands maintaining an unstable hold on her hips. He feels pathetic. “Makeitstop.” He heaves again.

He tries to speak again, but as he bucks his hips again, completely against his own will, the blazing friction against his own jeans causes him to hiss, his forehead collapsing against her thigh, eyes wide as he pants for air. “Holy shit.”

She looks down helplessly, shaken and clueless. She watches his hand dig into her thigh, holding it in place as he burrows his face into it.

“You smell so fucking good, I-” He cuts himself off with a groan, shaking his head and pursing his lips. His voice comes out rough again. Dark. Crumbled asphalt, absinthe poured straight down her throat, settling into her bloodstream. “No, no, no…” He just about pulls away to give himself air, eyes flitting up to her, warring between despair and yearning.

The sight of it makes her… warmer still. Hot, even. The bite on her thigh burns as his proximity agitates it. “What should I do?” She rasps, fingers anxiously pulling at the curls by the nape of her neck as if she’s trying to withhold from touching him. “I don’t know what’s… happening.” She whispers, vision losing focus for just a moment.

"I need..." he grunts, struggling to find the words. He weakly tugs at the collar of his t-shirt, but his strength is failing him. "I need you to... take it off... please," he begs, his voice barely more than a desperate whisper.

He looks so pretty like this. On his knees… whining softly, cheeks flushed, his hands grasping at her. It’s so unlike him. Samuel Casanova Drake- reduced to this. The flirtation. The teasing. Getting her all worked up on purpose, only to be reminded that she’s nothing special- that that’s just the way he is. All bark, no bite. Is he being taught a lesson?

She swallows thickly.

She thinks about how it felt when he grinded himself onto her and forcibly suppresses a moan as a pleasurable jolt shoots up her spine, setting her hairs on end. Her head is swimming. This is all so… artificial. So odd. She’s always been attracted to him, but fuck, this is wrong.

She hesitates, her heart pounding in her chest as a wave of guilt-ridden nausea rushes through her. Is- is she taking advantage of him?

“Please.” He repeats, his plea punctuated with a desperate whimper. She blinks, nodding, and with trembling hands, she crouches and reaches for the hem of his shirt, her fingers brushing against his heated skin. Gently, she lifts the shirt over his head, her touch lingering on his arms as she pulls it free.

Sam gasps as the cool air hits his bare skin, a momentary relief from the feverish heat consuming him. He leans heavily against her, his breathing ragged, his body trembling. "Thanks," he murmurs, his eyes closing briefly as he savours the sensation.

She swallows hard, feeling a strange mix of fear and sickening lust fester in her bloodstream. Her hands remain on his arms, steadying the both of them.

"What now?" she asks, her voice barely audible.

Her eyes are drawn to the sheen of sweat covering his body; the way dark hairs lay matted on his chest, softly trailing down his stomach, past fading ink and mottled scars, beyond where his belt keeps his jeans smouldering against his skin.

She watches her own hand rest under his chin, tilting him up to her. It’s like she’s watching it unfold through a TV screen.

Delicate wisps of condensation coming from his parted lips makes her mind wander; What would they taste like? How would the roughness of his stubble feel against her? Her mouth, her neck, her bare stomach, down down down- she's had these thoughts before; fingers delved between her thighs as she stares breathlessly up at the ceiling.

Saliva pools under her tongue as she imagines rutting against his pretty nose and open mouth like a bitch in fucking heat- oh god- her teeth graze her lower lip as her thoughts begin to spiral further than usual- why are they spiralling like this?

She’s sweating.

There’s so much desire- so much insatiable hunger in his eyes alone as he looks at her that it makes her thighs tense together. As she does so, she’s reminded of the bite again. It fucking hurts, snapping her out of her depraved trance; her eyelids flutter unsteadily as she regains focus, her cheeks burning.

His pulse thuds frantically against her thumb, and her nails stroke gently at his skin as his shoulders rise and fall harder, amplifying his restraint which is growing more and more painful by the second. 

“You…” he pauses and grunts, fighting himself as his eyes remain shut. “Don’t… know what to... ugh- hurts. It’s too- too much." Every tiny little touch feels like he’s being swallowed whole. It’s like a cold spring and a flow of lava all at once, and he wants to scream. 

She pulls her hands away, looking at them as though she’s the cause of the problem. Hoping to herself that her sick mind will sort itself out if she distances herself from him.

He shakes, sweat beading off of his chest, blood pumping through him at a dizzying pace as his eyes pine for her.

“N-no.” He’s craving- starving. A trembling hand raises to her wrist, and he winces as his fingers wrap around her. As his fingertips dig into her forearm, the thought of sudden absence of her touch feels like a death sentence. “Don’t.”

He swallows audibly as his body jolts again at the touch. The contact hurts him. Arouses him to such a painful degree, but he’s not letting her get away. He can’t- he doesn’t want to. He’s too far gone.

Sam’s eyes squeeze shut and he screws up his face in some sort of pained internal conflict. He grabs her wrist tighter and she winces, but as he drags her hand back to his face, her eyes follow.

“Help.” he blurts, finally deciding it’s time to bite the proverbial bullet as he sits fully and leans back against the stone table, accidentally pulling her with him. “I need- need you- your help. The last pages- another way to-” He eyeballs the notebook. “Make it stop. Before I hurt you again.”

She picks up the book and kneels. Her thumb swipes across his cheekbone as his hand rests over hers. Her hands on his bare skin are fucking excruciating; he can feel every single ridge of her fingerprints despite her stillness, like thousands of knife edges grazing his skin all at once.

“Okay- I- I’m looking.” She says, and oh, she sounds like velvet. Liquid gold that he just wants to swallow forever and ever and ever. He’s transfixed by her lips as she speaks, absentmindedly snaking his other hand up the nape of her neck and into her hair.

His fingers tighten their grip, gently pulling her head backwards, and with watery eyes he nuzzles into her neck, breathing deeply- slowly. “Hmmm, God.”

His hips buck towards her, and the feeling of his lips grazing over her neck make her swallow hard. She doesn’t need to read the book to know what’s going on. He whispers breathless apologies, guilt making his heart ache whilst he loses control of the rest of his body.

Her eyes continue to flit around the pages nervously, no longer to read, but to hide. This is ridiculous. Her skin hasn’t felt this sensitive before.

Her eyes fall over a likely explanation; a sketch of a lever mechanism, an embedded sharp needle, designed to assault the user of the lever- the intruder, all annotated in scrawled purple ink.

This artifice serves twofold: first, as a deterrent to the audacious; and second, as a penance, a punishment to those who dare disrupt the harmony of my sacred space. May they find the scales tipped; themselves lost within the labyrinth of their own psyche, ensnared by the very primal urges that govern the basest instincts.

She looks at his hand again, and takes in the details written on the page. Primal urge. Base instinct. Her cheeks flush as she converts the words into layman's terms, confirming her theory.

“It’s an… aphrodisiac.” She affirms.

As the wayward thief succumbs, such symptoms shall manifest: The skin shall burn, the point of breach becoming the source of a webbed discolouration as dark as ones fevered desire, and the pulse shall quicken with an infernal craving, subjugating the relentless pursuit of knowledge with the all-consuming tug of the insatiable id. The mind, entangled in the labyrinth of unbridled lust, shall forsake rationality. The thief shall be led astray from their pursuits, ensnared by their own voracious yearnings, knowledge plundered.

Sam hears the uncertainty in her voice as she grapples with the implications of the infection. Their eyes meet for a split second, and he feels a surge of humiliation that’s so unfamiliar to him he’d probably wretch if his mouth wasn’t preoccupied.

She takes in a shaky breath returning to the page again as the pieces begin to fit together.

“S’there another way?” he murmurs into her, the low vibrations of his voice making her close her eyes for a moment. She grunts to herself, forcing her eyes back to the page.

In the safety of companionship, the afflicted may find respite. Should the infection remain unchecked, the heart will strain beyond its limits, ultimately succumbing to the weight of its own longing.

The ‘cure’  is plain and simple. Two people. Balance. Or, by the sound of it, death.

She shakes her head.

The thought of said cure makes her shiver, tongue rolling over her bottom lip.

A coil begins to tighten in her abdomen as he groans into her skin. His hips buck towards her, and the feeling of his lips on her neck make her exhale harshly.

She looks at her leggings as another sore, shooting pain emanates from the bite mark, Sam’s wandering hands peeling apart the small tear in the fabric as his teeth graze against her throat.

Realisation fills her lungs, a bubble forming by her tonsils; the disorienting mix of undeniable, rising pleasure and panic creeping into the forefront of her mind.

Her skin looks mottled, veins deep purple.

Just like his.

The telltale discolouration, mirroring the ominous staining making its way up Sam's arm sends a shiver through her as she comprehends it all. As she watches his brows waver in internal dispute, her own contort in… concern, yes. But also a sense of desperation, wanting to feel more as Sam drags himself more upright with a cracked groan that makes her lips part and her throat seize when she’s pushed harder against him. More importantly, perhaps, the relief from knowing that neither of them can help it. That, for what it’s worth, is a mutual need.

She takes a gamble, grappling with the part-insidious, part-alleviating truth as she looks back to him, legs parting to straddle him properly.

Her chest heaves; the air feels thick, and there’s a strong pulsing ache between her thighs every time her nipples rise and fall, sore and tender underneath her tight sports bra. All of her clothes feel tight, creating tangible friction all over; her whole body, her face, her skin- is clammy and sticky and so fucking overwhelmingly hot.

A small part of Sam is still trying to stop, to control himself, but as he drags himself away from her neck to look at her, it’s clear that this prolonged contact has its consequences; his psyche swells with a sudden growth in appetite as she settles over him, and suddenly, he barely registers that he’s doing anything at all.

Moving his hand to the back of her head, he pulls her closer in a sudden move that draws a gasp from her as her hands brace themselves on his chest- the sudden harshness of his desperate fingers tugging at the roots of her hair is unexpected. The strength coming from this movement alone renders her unable to pull away- even if she wanted to.

He pants harder, unable to let her go, but so afraid of causing her harm all the same. His fingers impulsively flex at her scalp, and she gulps down a whine at the sensation as her eyes squeeze shut.

“I’m- I’m s- I can’t stop. I’m sorry-”

A hand moves from his chest to the back of his neck. With a gentle pull, she guides his gaze downward, her fingers pulling apart the material to trace the mottled purple that’s started snaking across her skin.

Sam's heart lurches in his chest, an undercurrent of panic rising up his throat like bile.

"No, no- what did i do? I-“

“Sam.” She hushes, pressing her forehead onto his, forcing him to stay still- to focus. She silently implores him to find solace in her. “It’s... we’ve just gotta...” Her eyes non-verbally tell whatever flecks of her Sam that’s still in there that she’s here for as long as he needs her to be. That she wants this. She's wanted this. That she’s willing- God, she’s willing.

This is where he feels himself begin to dissolve away completely. Prolonged closeness. Her voice. The heat rising throughout her pretty little face, the growing heaviness of her eyelids, her freckles subdued by an involuntary heat spreading through her cheeks.

And, he can feel the warmth pooling between her legs.

It doesn’t take a genius to realise that this kind of reaction from her is fuelling him. He needs more of it. Craves more of it.

He’s slipping just beneath the surface, but he’s too tired to drag himself up for air. He supposes he doesn’t really need to, now. He could drown in her and die happy.

She’s starting to feel it worsen, too. The ache. The coercion of mind from body.

Her lips brushing against his feels like molten sugar; a searing heat that’s so sickly sweet he can’t pull away despite the blistering heat that’s destined to leave a nasty burn.

“We’ve just… gotta…” she repeats slowly, voice low and speech slurred. She can’t finish her sentence- every part of her is swarmed by the need to close the gap. She has no idea how he’s managed to hold out for so long.

With a shaky exhale, he nods, releasing the tension he's been painfully holding onto, allowing himself to surrender to the overwhelming heat pulsing through him. He finally allows himself to sink under as she plants a tentative kiss on his lips. A kiss which he only returns, though much more urgent- more voracious; it’s like stumbling across an oasis in the middle of the desert- it’s his first sip of fresh water in days, and it makes her eyes widen.

She brings a hand round to the back of his neck, clinging to him eagerly, her thighs spreading further- non-verbal consent, a silent plea for more as she begins to feel the simmering deep in her belly hurriedly rise to a boil.

He grinds himself upwards without a thought, and she whimpers into his mouth. The friction, the sweet, fucking friction has him press back into her desperately, wanting more, sending a groan up from deep in his chest.

He’s gone. Rationality dwindled entirely as the slightest bit of pressure is applied, steadily being replaced with a frightening strength and burning need to have his way no matter the consequences.

She feels her heart rate quicken as she takes in the sight of his pupils. They’re fucking blown out. The pretty specks of amber that normally contrast the darker brown in his irises have been eclipsed by a deep amethyst.

“… want...fu-” Sam’s voice becomes lower still, grating through gnarled teeth, and as his fingertips dig into her back, keeping her in place, he shifts again- he’s so hard, so perfectly angled underneath her- she salivates as she chokes out. “Want to f- fill you up.”

Hey eyes gloss over and her brain numbs. She nods frantically. Heat floods between her thighs with a vengeance, rationality waning as a shockwave shoots through her arched spine. She wants everything to be touched by him.

The third time comes quicker; more brutal, more needy, taking advantage of her lack of composure as she succumbs to his grip, his mouth hungrily taking a dive for her neck again, except this time there’s less restraint. None, even.

“Oh-- sh-mmf-” Her body shudders as she slurs her words, and as his teeth pull harshly at her skin, she cries out into her hand.

Her legs tremble, knees aching as the stone beneath them digs in, breath pitching in her throat as she’s hit with a shamefully sudden climax.

Her wide eyes water as her hand remains clasped around her mouth, chest heaving as she struggles to register how little action it took for her to come, waiting for the pressure to abate and the fog to clear.

Instead, as she feels his hands roam, and watches his frantic eyes fail to decide what to settle on, the fog only thickens, overruling any semblance of critical thinking.

It hits her like a fucking tidal wave, in fact; she can’t fathom anything other than the fact that she needs more.

And in that split second, she surrenders to the pull, inhibitions fizzling away as she leans in, closing the distance between them again with a fierce determination. A surge of adrenaline tips her over the edge and she takes control, seizing him hungrily, fingertips digging harshly into his scalp to bring him back up to her. He protests, growling, biting harder until he feels himself pried away by force, her nails pressing into his jaw, leaving crescents as she gets him where she wants him, lips crashing together again in a tumultuous collision of lust and fervour.

She doesn’t know what to do with herself. She wants everything off- to feel her skin pressed up against his, but the time it would take to unbutton and unzip is a repulsive notion that ignites an almost animalistic frustration within her. The thought of it drives her insane- feverish fingers move from his hair and chin, and instead scramble for his belt buckle, clumsily tugging it apart as his teeth mirror the action at her bottom lip.

The messy exchange of teeth, tongue, and spit takes precedence over Sam’s brain, and he feels himself fall into her, torsos glued desperately together as the heat in his belly burns stronger. Hot blood pumps rapidly to his cock as her choked mewls drag him perilously close to the edge after no more than some mere friction.

His mouth traverses down her chin to her throat, ravenous groans muffled against her skin as he grips onto her for dear life, beginning to feel some give in the confinement of his jeans as she unzips them. She doesn’t even try to pull him away this time- her objective has changed.

He’d swear if he could, but his brain can’t even conjure up letters any more.

His teeth pierce the delicate skin of her neck, and a startled cry escapes her lips as she loses balance and tumbles backwards onto the unforgiving stone beneath them.

Sam looms over her, his weight pressing down until she feels almost crushed beneath him. Only his hand, gripping the back of her head with a fierce intensity that verges on violence, prevents her skull from meeting the ground with bone-shattering force.

His weight bears down on her, the back of one hand planted firmly against the ground underneath her head, while the other moves to maintain its bruising hold on her jaw, thumb hooking around her bottom teeth.

Every nerve in her body seems to betray any remnant of morality as she keens, her thighs tightening around him, trapping him in place as grinds himself against her. He selfishly draws tiny pinpricks of blood from her neck, and she claws at his arm, holding it against him as she bites and sucks what he gives her- almost every inch of her has become an unforgiving erogenous zone; it's all too much but not enough. It’s not enough. Teeth piercing her skin, tongue lapping up the mess- It’s an exquisite sort of agony, and she wants- needs- 

“More.” She murmurs around his thumb- or is it his finger now?

His teeth leave a trail of fire along her collarbone, her jawline, finally settling on her pulse point as it throbs beneath his lips. He grunts in response. There, he bites down harder, eliciting a guttural sound from deep within her throat as she struggles to catch her breath beneath him. Every break of the skin permits small bleeds of that relentless purple colour, rendering her virtually feral as she grows increasingly more overruled by the substance.

Rough hands roam beneath her t-shirt, sending goosebumps rising over heated skin as speckled blood bruises settle around her neck wherever his teeth have failed to puncture. To find some semblance of control amongst the chaotic frenzy, her trembling fingers pull at the waistband of her leggings, her urgency matching his own.

Fumbling clumsily, he joins her, his fingers tugging at the fabric with an urgency nigh on feral as his other hand harshly kneads at her waist. God, he wants to dig his fingers into her flesh, to break the skin, tear her apart, and fucking consume her from the inside out.

Before the waistband can even reach her thighs, she’s reaching down, pulling him out, drawing him towards her as a dribble of precum trickles over her fingertips, and he pushes up his torso to watch.

He’s sensitive. So, so, sensitive. In her desperation to pull him closer, she squeezes her palm around his shaft, and he chokes on his sudden gasp, hands smacking hard against the floor to hold himself up. 

Fuck. She wants to hear him do that again.

She grips him harder, stroking up and down with a cruelly tight fist. He’s all breathless whimpers and fluttering eyelids, allowing her to revel in the sounds as he drinks in the sight of her hand wrapped around him.

He shudders, undone, from virtually nothing, shaking violently and audibly moaning behind pursed lips. He can’t even think to muster up a verbal warning before he comes, pearly hot liquid spurting over her hand, dripping down onto her stomach. Yet, similarly to her, there’s no comedown. No time for shame about such a short build up. He’s still hard, red hot and weeping, body vying for more as his eyes glue themselves to the mess he’s made on her t-shirt, seeping through to her skin- Christ, her skin-

He’s hooked; her plushness, every recess and every convex curve, how her t-shirt clings to her stomach, made tacky by him. If it were possible, he’d cover her in him just so he could spend minutes watching it drip and bead and roll across and in-between her soft, smooth, warm skin. Sam’s so mesmerised that he barely even takes in the fact that he’s pushed her t-shirt up, his tongue and teeth licking and pulling at her stomach until his hips buck harshly at the saltiness of her sweat mixing with the flavour of his own stickiness. He shudders.

Her hands slide and scramble, clumsily unhooking her bra, scraping her knuckles on the floor beneath her before pulling it all off, over her head; all just in time for his mouth to open and cram as much of her left tit inside as he can. Sam sucks with a ferocity that’d be frightening if this wasn’t a shared affliction, rutting his hips sporadically against the bunched up fabric of her leggings rolled down to her thigh.

Her nipples are hard, sore, aching, and the pressure of his teeth rabidly biting and pulling, contradicting the soothing warmth of his tongue rolling in tandem, make her jaw go slack and her brows knit tightly together as she tries to navigate the fluctuating sensations.

Her hands slide over the back of Sam’s neck and down his shoulder blades, to his waist, his hips, sticky fingers stretching, running over hairs and scars and flexing abdominal muscle as they reach for his cock, slick, swollen, and heated as it meets her palm. Squeezing him closer to her, Sam groans, mouth pausing its assault on her chest, face falling flat into it, bucking harshly as she impatiently pulls him close, close, closer, writhing restlessly ’til her leggings are low enough for her thighs to part enough to let him in.

Incoherent, mumbled moans are hummed and panted into her tender chest, hands digging into the flesh of her waist as his shaft is squeezed and dragged against her sopping cunt. She moans, a languid, filthy thing as he meets her swollen, sensitive clit, the sodden cotton of her underwear brushing tortuously against it as she brashly pulls them aside.

His impatience builds, fingers digging into her deeper and deeper until they become restless and tug fiercely at her leggings. She hisses sharply as her naked back scrapes suddenly against the floor, her body shunted downwards til one of her legs are fully exposed to air, allowing Sam to hook his knee under hers, pushing up harshly and pinning her thighs apart- access that they’re both burning for. She urges him on with a whine as he pushes down on top of her, words lost to the both of them, communication reduced to vying grunts and desperate writhing.

His pupils dilate enough to make him look feral, purple-flecked irises madly dancing left, right, up, down, as if committing the sight of her, greedy and parched, to memory, before he finally complies, long groan grating out of him as his tip breaches her slightly. He can’t hesitate any longer. His lips part as his thick cock sinks into her inexorably, leaving her completely pliant beneath him. Despite how impossibly wet she is, the stretch is still so intense- she feels like she’s being split in two; it’s both the best and worst thing she’s ever felt, but something she never wants to end.

“S-ss…” She hisses, screwing her face up in frustration as she tries and fails to say his name, nails digging into him more. “Pl-P…” She grunts again, frustrated with her inability to conjure words. Her thighs tremble, the sharp, tight warmth in her stomach tugging and pulling and obliterating every sense as she tightens around him, eyes flickering, rolling back almost painfully as he fills her deep, retracts, and fills again, each time not stopping until he’s buried to the hilt.

For a moment, head spinning, he stares down at the way her head falls back, eyes squeezing shut, arms flopping, knuckles smacking against the ground as she traps a warbled cry behind her teeth, greedily sucking him into her. He grunts, brows drawn together, and thinks he’ll never be sated again like this. It's perfect. If only it weren't manufactured.

Heat sears him apart from the inside out, savage gluttony evident in the way he gasps and he groans when his hips slam forward, over and over, pressed so tightly against her that each movement reverberates astoundingly against her clit. She’s so tight, so perfect, so wet, around him as she whines and bucks up into him.

Sam holds her down; hand pinning forearm, fingers digging deeply into stomach and waist, knee prying thigh from purple-stained thigh, pumping into her at a relentless pace; She groans as he harshly works her open, arching into him as her stomach tightens— tighter, tighter, tighter, until she’s screaming, unpinned arm smacking into his back, nails clawing crescents into his sweat-slicked skin as another wave of arousal floods every sense of her being.

She can’t breathe- she doesn’t want to- the energy needed to do so would take away from the white hot pleasure coursing through every inch of her. Liquid gushes, her cunt clamping down hot around him and squeezing, milking him so tight it makes him choke on his own sharp inhale, so good it burns- it’s almost excruciating. He shudders as he breaks, palm slamming against the floor to hold himself up when he comes, too.

She groans at the fullness and the warmth of him spilling inside her, breath coming out in messy, uneven bursts as she feels herself suck in every drop.

For a moment, she watches him come down from his peak, heavy-lidded eyes grazing over the vulnerable crease in his brow, the way his cheeks flush as he catches his breath above her, and his parted lips- she wants to kiss him. Sweetly. She wants him to let her show him she's not a ‘kid’. She wants to feel what it's like to be wanted by him. She's strong, capable, undeniably and irrevocably attracted to him, and… God… She still feels hot. Despite coming twice- or is it three times, now- the need for more is already becoming unbearable, and she fails to decipher if these thoughts are coming from the chemical festering in her veins, or if they're being made apparent due to its diminishing strength. She stings. Oh, she's a mess.

He’s still hard inside her, twitching, demanding still. The question gnaws at her, but her body burns for more, more, more. He slows above her, the lack of physical stimulation, and the completely deriding overstimulation of her mental state making her eyes water. She wriggles slightly, an impatient grunt echoing around the small room as she tries to roll her hips under him. The stillness of his cock inside her has her mewling, still spasming softly around him.

“S- Sam-” She sputters, eyes widening in realisation of her somewhat rehabilitated ability to speak.

For just a few seconds his mind’s feverish occupation dilutes, replaced with a glimpse of a soft, sated afterglow… he falters, his mouth hanging open like there’s something he wants to say. 

“Mm…more. Need more.” She beats him to it, murmuring between shallow breaths, feeling the rising ache cloud her mind already.

His heart thuds so fast it’s a surprise it’s not sat in his throat- is it gratitude he’s trying to muster? Or, an admission perhaps? “I-” Just like her, the words are fighting to get out of him, but just as he strings a sentence together in his head, he starts to tense again. “Gotta… I- I’m-”

For a second, she feels sympathetic as she watches him war with himself. But her body doesn’t let the sympathy hang about for long, and she finds herself making his mind up for him, tugging him down by the back of the neck, tongue meeting tongue as she ferociously bucks up, calf hooking around thigh to pull him tight against her, giving her leverage to twist her hips and roll them both around.

It burns, the white hot anticipation, and he can barely move. His brain has been dumbed down; near-irrevocably stuck between wanting to split her open again, to keep biting and bruising and claiming, or to actually feel- to savour her in her entirety. His indecisive stupor makes him ache even more, brows knitting together tightly as his mind tries and fails to establish where to go next.

Sam can barely process anything outside of the softness of her sticky palm on his chest, the ridges of her fingerprints and the gentle sharpness each time her nails brush against his skin as she pushes him against the ground. She rolls her hips, soft curses spilling out of her lips as she feels his hands clumsily dig into her ass. He shuts his eyes, head lulling sideways as he swallows hard, choosing to feel.

Grip loosening momentarily, his eyes open at the feeling of her fingers branching up, wrapping themselves around his throat; loose, but just enough pressure that he can feel his own pulse reverberate against her thumb. She squeezes harder, turning him to face her, his head numbing with a pleasurable fizz as his vision transfixes on her.

He's too tired to fight against her- truth be told, he probably wouldn't try if he did have the strength. Jesus, she's so pretty, he thinks. Well that makes a change. Significantly less violent than the thoughts circulating his head earlier. She could squeeze tighter and tighter if she wanted, and he still wouldn't protest if it meant he could watch her, like this, from underneath her. Especially when she comes again, back arching as she moans like a fucking animal- and still she doesn't stop.

“So- you’re-” Between the pressure on his throat, her relentless pace, and his own spasmodic panting, he can barely string a sentence together, “s-damn tight- so good- fuck.”

He finds himself completely and utterly caught up in how tight she still feels around him- how fucking gorgeous she looks with her eyebrows drawn tightly together, eyelids heavy as she ferociously rocks her hips, stomach flexing, tits bouncing- the speckled bruises and drying blood stippled across her neck and collarbones- and then there's a hard pang of guilt; he did that to her- made her bleed- infected her- it's his fault that she's being made to give him this-- exactly… what he's wanted…for months.

He expects the thrumming ache to cloud him over again, but it never comes. Instead, a strange clarity claws its way through the haze of his mind. This is what he has longed for for months, but now that it's here, the moment is tainted by anguish. It took this entire horrible ordeal to force him to act upon his feelings, and he mourns the likelihood that this will be the one and only time he gets to be this close to her.

And then, beneath the sorrow and the dread, there lies a deeper, more corrosive guilt. It gnaws at him, a conscience-grating burden that leaves him nauseous. Despite the mental torment, despite everything, his body betrays him, running rife with boiling hot pleasure. The contradiction tears at him, a cruel reminder of his own skewed morality and the complex, painful nature of his...is it his love for her?

The obscene squelching sounds and the wetness leaking out of her and down her inner thighs, forming small puddles on his skin, and the floor, and, fuck, as she murmurs an exhausted plea, the taste he's getting of being wanted- needed- used by her- it all sends him over the edge.

She whimpers and falls into him, moaning incoherently into the crook of his neck as her fingers tighten, nails scraping against stubble, and-- jesus, he's coming again.

His hands meet her upper back, holding her down as he fills her once more, rasped groans and a string of murmured curses vibrate against her skin as he swallows against her hand. He holds onto her selfishly, savouring the feeling of her weight on top of his- bare skin on bare skin, the way she seeks comfort in him- he's thought about this countless times… and he hates how much he's enjoying the consent-less reality of it.

Her movements slow, becoming sloppier, lazier, her energy dwindling as she tries to chase the release she desperately needs. She whimpers, tears squeezing out of the corners of her eyes, dampening Sam's shoulder as they fall, and she finds her swollen, sensitive clit with one hand while the other moves from his throat to his hair.

He continues to hold her as his sensitive cock twitches inside her, nose nuzzling into her hair as he whispers; "Did you...?"

She shakes her head, a soft whimper coming out of her as she tries to push herself into another orgasm. The sound of his voice. Raw, raspy, quiet in her ears makes her tear up even more, and all of a sudden, her body's pursuit of pleasure has become torturous. She looks at Sam, his eyes clearer, amber flecks of colour visible again, his expression one of concern and exhaustion. Guilt churns in her stomach, sharp and nauseating, as the fog in her mind grows lighter by the second- the physical pain persists.

Her body, still wracked by the effects of the drug, betrays her with every shiver, flush of heat, and every desperate circle of her fingertips. She feels humiliated, the intense need now a source of shame, tucking her head back into his shoulder as she arches her back despite herself. Tears well up in her eyes, and she can’t meet Sam's eyes. "I... I'm so sorry," she whispers, her voice breaking. "I still need to-" she sniffs, "I can't- hurts."

Sam’s heart aches at the sight of her distress, and he nods, one hand smoothing down to her soft hip as the other stays on her back. He breathes in the scent of her hair, wanting to savour the moment- hell, he probably won't see her again if this is how she's reacting before she's fully recovered.

He wants more of her, he knows he does. But he's sensitive… and the clarity is still there. The clarity. The stabbing, blunt, serrated knife sawing in and out of his gut that makes him realise that he's never going to have this again. And that none of it was real anyway. But she sobs, and the sting in his chest wanes from his pain to hers. For now, curing hers takes precedence. 

Gently, he pushes against her, and exhausted, she complies, rolling back round to her back, eyes closed, borderline hyperventilating. He pulls her hand from between her legs and she huffs out a shaky breath.

“Sorry…hgnn- I'm sorry.” She whispers, her chest tightening.

He watches her try to cover her face with her forearm, and as he slides out of her, she sobs quietly, tensing her thighs together and rocking her hips softly to try and give her clit the friction it needs as she's left empty.

He rubs the palm of her hand with his thumb, gently lacing his fingers between hers, eyes glued to the way their skin glistens with their mixed arousal. “None’a that.” He says, squeezing her hand as he gently pries her thighs apart. “Not your fault.”

She whimpers up to the ceiling.

“God, it really hurts, Sam.”

“I know, sweetheart.” He holds himself up on an elbow and exhales. His free hand traverses down her torso, giving her waist a reassuring squeeze before reaching between her thighs.

She keens at the nickname, making a shuddered whimper as his fore and middle fingers gather some of the copious amount of shared arousal, rubbing against her carefully.

“This okay?”

Her chin trembles as she nods. “I need more.” She whispers, and almost immediately he pushes two fingers knuckle-deep into her aching cunt, pearlescent slick oozing out onto the palm of his hand down to his wrist. She squeezes his hand instinctively, a groan bubbling out of her throat.

His eyes follow the trail as his fingers stroke her from the inside and his thumb flicks softly at her clit, her soft moans permeating his mind. He's hard again; the thick liquid warms his wrist as it trickles down further, up to where the veins in his forearm meet the inside of his elbow- the veins that were deep purple not too long ago. He looks at his hand, then her thigh; still a small webbing of colour coming from the bite mark, whilst nowhere to be seen on him.

He swallows. There's a soft haze over his brain again, but it's gentle this time. Normal, even, bar the bittersweetness of it all. There's no burn. No malicious desire eating away at him… He just wants to savour her; to soothe, to make her feel better. She looks so ashamed. He wants to take that away from her.

Sam glances back up at her, eyes shut and arm crossed to cover her chest and it feels like a kick in the stomach. He purposely slows his hand, and her eyes open.

Before she can choke out another plea, he leans over her again, pressing his lips to hers gently, slowly building up his hand’s pace as he feels her sigh heavily. His chest thuds as he takes the time to memorise the softness of her lips, acknowledging that this might be the only time he gets to be so soft with her. It breaks his heart- another unforseen circumstance.

Her stomach flutters as he kisses her, the unexpected softness of it making more tears prick at her eyes as he works her closer to her peak. She moves her arm from her chest back to his hair, gently massaging his scalp.

After a moment, he moves from her lips, gently licking and pecking at each bruise and break in her delicate skin, relieved that there's no more purple, but unable to shake the guilt as he mutters apologies interspersed with each break for breath.

She squeezes his hand back, her whole body tensing.

His mouth traverses lower; down her sternum, all the way to her lower abdomen, until he reaches the tops of her thighs, where tacky quickly turns to wet as he moves lower still. Her breath catches as his eyes lock onto hers, and her lips part slightly, a subtle invitation, or perhaps merely surprise, but it's enough to keep him rooted, suspended between action and restraint as he feels himself salivate. In that silence, he waits, desperately vying for the smallest sign of consent.

She winces, her body aching as it waits for release, but she doesn't break eye contact. Instead, she takes a deep breath, and her fingers, trembling, unhook from his and reach out to rest on his jaw, her thumb brushing lightly against his lower lip. It's so brief and gentle it almost feels imagined. Yet, it's there— an undeniable gesture that heats his blood- organically, this time; He tastes them both on her skin and fuck, it's nothing short of heavenly. 

He swallows, eyes flitting around, learning the sight of her by heart before looking back up at her. He licks again and his cock twitches.

With a mixture of reverence and hunger, he closes the distance between them, movements measured and purposeful, each stroke of his tongue filled with a tenderness that belies all of the turmoil eating away inside him.

Her grip on his hair tightens as she sighs up to the ceiling. He loses a little restraint as she breathes out his name, begging him for more, and small, neat licks turn more rabid when his hand wraps around his shaft. He pumps himself with the same intensity as his tongue as it works in and out of her, his soft groans making her hips buck into his mouth as her breaths become more shallow.

She moans- cracked and raspy with exhaustion- at the feel of his lips, his nose, his tongue licking and sucking and savouring the satiating nectar dripping from between her trembling legs. His tongue broadens to gather and swallow before alternating to target her clit with the tip, wet and hot as he laps and swirls and buries in and around her. He tightens his fist around his cock, causing her stomach to roll as he moans into her- it's sloppy and messy and downright vulgar, but there's something so enamouring about his enthusiasm. His forearm wraps under her thigh, pulling her tight against his mouth as he grows closer to another climax of his own, and she gasps and arches even closer.

"Fuck, Sam-I, I'm-" she can feel him looking up at her as she struggles to string a sentence together, using the sight of her to coax his own pain-numbing, breathtaking orgasm. He moans, stimulating her tenfold as he releases warm ropes onto himself, his eyes rolling back as he near-suffocates against her.

He keeps going, and going, even when he lets go of himself to grip her stomach and pin her down- and she almost chokes, unable to breathe as she's utterly overwhelmed by the pleasure and the raw, visceral feelings for him that stabs relentlessly into her heart. She feels the pain raking its way through her body dissipate with each second that goes by.

He's so good. So fucking handsome.

She finally comes, a warbled cry trapped behind her teeth as her eyes squeeze shut and a rapturous wave of coolness floods her body. It's overwhelming- asphyxiating, even; tears streaming, fingers knotting rougher into his curls as he holds her tightly in place, devouring her through and past her climax. He takes and takes and takes-- shit, he loves this.

"S-sam,"

He loves this.

"Agh- Sam, pl- stop-"

He loves this. He fucking loves this- her. He- he loves-

She yanks hard enough on his hair that he's forced away from her with a pained hiss, gasping heavily like he hasn't taken a proper breath in minutes, his entire face from the bridge of his nose down glazed and glistening. He looks so pretty. She aches.

His eyes traverse, conflicted and somewhat melancholic from her thighs, up to her face, and she sees that he's... crying too. It's alien to her. What has she done to him?

She holds his gaze, her own eyes red-rimmed and tear-filled. The regret feels like a physical ache in her chest, mingling with the remnants of aftershock and the soreness between her legs and all over her broken skin across her thigh and décolletage. Despite the excruciating shame, she wants to reach out, to tell him that it's okay, that they had both been caught in the same storm. But the words don't come.

Instead, she sits up ever so slightly, wincing as she scoots closer, their bodies brushing as she nervously pulls his head to her shoulder; a tentative, fragile gesture, but she hopes it speaks volumes nonetheless. He stiffens at first, but eventually relaxes, his arm scooping beneath her to hold onto her gently.

She cradles his head against her, staring at the ceiling with tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. The physical pain was dulled now, but the emotional ache was fierce. She had never fantasised it being like this, tainted by necessity and confusion, and she doesn't know what to do. It's suffocating.

For a moment, they both just breathe, soaking in the sickly, unfiltered aftermath of the whole ordeal.

Minutes pass, or maybe hours—they've lost all sense of time in this weird fucking space where the boundaries have been irreparably corroded. They're cold. Exhausted. Emotionally bare. And now he feels like a damn coward, letting her stroke his hair and cradle him against her chest, after all he's put her through. He grits his teeth in an attempt to keep his watery eyes from spilling over.

But the attempt fails, and he hates how uncharacteristic this is. Screw this place. Screw Cassimir. Screw their client, screw his own greed that brought them here in the first place, and screw- fucking screw her for taking away his ability to remain a husk- and for letting him hurt her.

Finally, she pulls back as she feels her skin dampen and his shoulders jolt ever so slightly, her hand forcing his chin up. Her eyes search for him, and in that moment, she fully takes it in, and sees what she hopes to be the same fear, the same shame, and yet, the same insane level of care that has gnawed at her heart for so long.

Sam opens his mouth to speak as her brows furrow, but no words form, let alone come out, aside from a pathetic, choked sigh that hints at the tumult of emotions stirring inside him. His tongue rolls over his lip, and the lingering taste of them has him shudder and shut his eyes.

He can’t bring himself to look at her, the shame too sickening, too palpable. But then, as he pulls away, getting up to his knees as he fumbles with his jeans, he feels her hand on his arm, steadying him. He looks down, and in her eyes, he doesn't see pity, or accusation, but- and for a second he considers pinching himself- understanding, a non-verbal acknowledgment of his vulnerability.

Delicate and trembling, her fingers reach up to touch his face, tracing the line of his jaw as if to reassure herself that he is real, that this moment, however fleeting and fraught with confusion, was real. At least she'd have it stapled to her memory. Sam closes his eyes at her touch, a self deprecating huff leaving his lips. He turns his head slightly, pressing a kiss to her palm; a silent apology and a desperate plea for reassurance that she's actually thinking what he hopes she is. He even hazards a look to her thigh for any sign of coercion from the drug still coursing through her, but there's no purple in sight.

She reaches one of her arms above her head, just about reaching her shirt. She grunts in disgust, the material sodden, and she drops it back down with a shaky huff, the room's frigid temperature finally having an effect once more.

Sam pushes himself up again, rubbing his damp cheeks with the back of his hand as a sense of normalcy seeps back into his senses. And with that normalcy, grief.

He finds his t-shirt, quickly sliding it over his head despite the excess of sweat and bodily fluid covering both his skin and the material. He grimaces as it clings to him, and she watches on with a poignant shiver, pulling her knees to her chest after adjusting her soaked-through underwear, her boots scraping against the ground as she does so.

He clears his throat, picking up his plaid overshirt from where he'd discarded it earlier before looking over his shoulder at her as he pulls the sleeves through the right way. 

Someone has to speak sooner or later, she thinks, but can't bring herself to. Her nails scratch nervously at her skin as she weighs up what to do, trying not to cry at the prospect of Sam's walls being rebuilt so fast after pouring everything- mind, body, soul- into her moments ago. She feels so naive- so fucking silly-

“What was it you said earlier?”

Her head shoots up as he speaks, caught off guard by how much he sounds like his usual self. Charming, cocky, collected.

She tilts her head slightly, her eyebrows drawing together and her eyes narrowing in a mix of confusion and curiosity. Her lips part just enough to show she's on the verge of speaking, but she holds back, waiting for his next words to clarify the moment.

He extends his shirt out to her, lips quirking into a soft, somewhat reassuring smile. She looks at him for a moment, taking the shirt and putting it on.

“Somethin’ about an HR department?”

She looks at him, a soft laugh fluttering to the surface. It's a quiet sound, tinged with shyness and still wrapped in the lingering sadness of their shared ordeal. Her eyes lower for a moment, the weight of everything that happened settling in.

Seeing her reaction, Sam gets up and moves to where her water flask lies discarded. He unscrews the cap and pours some onto a clean part of his t-shirt. She begins to button her shirt, but he stops her, silently asking for a moment longer.

“Can I?”

She lets go of the shirt, and with gentle, still slightly shaky hands, he dabs the wet cotton softly over her wound-ridden skin.

She watches him, the sadness in her eyes gradually giving way to something softer, his tenderness speaking volumes. As he continues to tend to her wounds, his mouth twists in thought, like there's something he wants to say. So he does.

“I'm sorry.”

He's not the type to apologise, so eye contact is impossible.

“What?”

He continues dabbing at her skin in silence.

“Sam.”

She covers his hand, stopping him from finding any other distraction.

“You didn't ask for this."

He frowns. “I- I just put you through… somethin’ not far off of assault, and your response is-”

“No. Not one part of that was assault-”

“She says, as I wipe up blood from bites I gave her.”

“Yeah, with the mouth that's covered in my cum.”

He opens his mouth to retort, but he can't find anything to say. His cheeks redden.

She sighs again. They're going in circles and she wants to put an end to it all- she's tired. Filthy. Possibly concussed. Which she uses to excuse what she does next.

“Can I try something?” she asks. Fuck it.

“Try what?"

Without another word, she steps closer, her eyes searching for any sign of protest. When she finds none, she leans in and kisses him, her lips soft and warm against his, holding none of the desperation or haze of their previous encounter, completely free from the influence of any perverted pill or potion.

What's she got to lose?

Sam is shocked at first, his body tensing. He instinctively pulls her off, his eyes flitting around her face as his jaw loosens and tightens in search of something to say.

Her heart sinks and she steps back, “Thought so,” she smiles sadly, backing away, knowing it was a mistake to try. "Can we... can we get out of here?"

He should hate himself, right? He's gone against everything he's ever stood for- let every non-committal brick he's built since teenagehood crumble to dust. He's gone soft. Sentimental. By force, to begin with, yet he still hasn't stopped himself. It's… Pleasant. Is this the balance Cassimir fetishised over?

Screw it, he decides, Because if he has to stand by and watch her grow apart from him when she's just shown the same as- if not more vulnerability than him, what use are a few walls?

He pulls her back, his lips finding hers again. This time, it's different- there’s no urgency, no magical compulsion, but rather something deep- genuine. The kiss is tender, filled with all the emotions they’ve been too afraid to voice, and he feels years worth of tension escape him. His sore muscles loosen, hands cupping her face softly, and she melts into him.

When they finally pull apart, their foreheads rest together, and this alone feels infinitely more intimate than anything that had transpired beforehand.

"So... is it safe to assume that we're both on the same page, or...?" She swallows hard, her voice barely above a whisper, but her usual playfulness breaks through, and it makes him smile.

"What, that we're both in dire need of some good laundry detergent and a shower? Or was there somethin' else on your mind?"

She snorts, gently kicking his shin, the enormity of months worth of repressed feelings finally worn on the proverbial sleeve. She takes a deep breath, the worry in her eyes softening as she looks at him.

"We have a lot to figure out."

He chews the inside of his lip contemplatively, still not entirely sure there’s any reason why she’s being so gracious. So calm, despite it all, like he deserves any of it.

There’s a beat.

And then he nods. Because that’s why she makes his entire psyche shift off-kilter- makes him notice his bad habits.

"We'd… uh, better cash those vials in."

She sees a million-and-one thoughts behind his eyes, but he needs to rest. So she waits, head tilted, suspecting he's got something else to add. 

"How else am I supposed to afford a five-star first date?"

The other million thoughts can wait.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭

I promise to write something short and funny next time x

[neetily]

Without Shame — (SDV) Sebastian

— ✧ warnings: Stepbro!Sebastian, pseudoincest, stepcest, Cheating, dubcon, Magic pocket pussy, mean sebastian, Name Calling, Cunnilingus, accidental creampie, Objectification, ruined orgasm, Fingering — ✧ word count: 7,617 — ✧ genre: smut (18+)

— ✧ A/N: reposting from my old account since i was asked to! formatting might be off, but it's still readable.

Ever since he can recall, you’ve been a fucking brat. There’s no other way to put it quite so eloquently, he thinks. At least when it comes to interacting with him, which makes it all the more frustrating when you play innocent with others. Has him feeling  insane  when no one believes his claims that you’re evil, that he’d really rather be alone than stuck with you as a sibling, that everyone else is wrong when they call  him  the mean one. You play the role of innocent little sister well in public, and though part of him is genuinely impressed at your acting skills, he unfortunately knows the real you; and you’re so fucking annoying. Especially the way that you know exactly how to get away with your mistreatment of him, remaining undetected the moment a third party shows up so that he has to take the blame. Every. Single. Time.

Which is unfair, right? Unlike his usual sedentary lifestyle, the one constant that he can always count on in life is that you’ll surely be there to cause chaos for him. Whether that be from your  ‘playful’  comments about his appearance, making fun of his lifestyle choices and hobbies, or the fact that you’re quite literally  dating his best friend ; it’s fair to say that you’ve always annoyed him. Siblings fight, sure, but he’s never called you anything close to  sister  in his life, and he doesn’t plan on it. He didn’t grow up with you so much as you just showed up one day to ruin his life, strutting around like you already owned the place with that dumb smirk he so often sees you wear, in spite of the fact that  you  moved into  his  home. More than anything he refers to you only as  brat , because that’s what you are. An annoying, good for nothing, stupid little  brat  who needs to be put in her place. Particularly considering that you’ve never been told no before; maybe that’s why you bug him so often, because he’s not afraid to say what you hate most.

No, you can’t have that. No, that’s mine. No, I’m not staring at your ass.

What’s worse is that he can’t even hide how much you get to him, retaliating to your attacks with barks of his own every time, too afraid that if he doesn’t keep if with you that you’ll only bully him more. And it’s  exhausting  watching you prance around the house, usually in next to no clothing, teasing him at the dinner table with your nipples poking through your shirt—no bra again, despite his begs for you to wear one—until he eventually snaps at you to  shut up ; and then it’s him that gets punished for it!

Unfair is to word that suits you best. How you treat him, and how he feels about you. Because at the end of the day, he’s just a man. A man with a stupidly annoying hot step sister who provokes him day in and day out, teasing his perverted mind with just barely not enough; because you’re  mean  and  you fucking know it .

Tonight, he decides to change that.

For all the pranks you’ve had him endure, he’s got his own devious plan up his sleeve. Been sitting on it for a few nights, a pure fantasy that even now he barely thinks is even possible, prepared for it to all be a scam, but fuck it. He has to try. Anything to wipe that stupid smile off your cute face, regardless of morals. And you only have yourself to blame, your dumb… Hot self.  Fuck  he hates you. Hates the way his cock twitches every time you enter his room, even if he knows you’re only there to upset him. Hates the way his heart hurts when you show him your recent selfies with Sam, how his tummy turns when you only give up on teasing him because Sam is calling you, a thick layer of bile always on the tip of his tongue waiting to put you down.  It’s disgusting , the way he actually loves it.

He especially hates the cute little pout you wear when he does bites back, mimicking your words in a high pitched mocking tone just to hear you whine some more, standing tall above you only to talk down at you.  God , it makes him so hard just thinking about your teary eyes when he takes it a step too far, commenting on that one thing he knows you’re actually   insecure about and big fat tears travel down your chubby cheeks. So fucking hot making you sob for him, turning your otherwise pretty smile into an earnest scowl, like you  hate him . It’s what you deserve for being such an annoying fucking brat. If he can’t have you be nice for him, he’ll take punishing you into tears happily. He doesn’t care too much either way, because you’re pretty when you cry too.

And it’s not that he doesn’t feel guilt for looking at you with a lecherous gaze, but rather that he simply doesn’t care. Knowing that it’s wrong and yet still he gives in to his perverted nature by stroking his cock to thoughts of you, of shutting you up by filling your throat, driven by the seed of shame taking root in his tummy to pet his erection under his desk every time you moan for him to stop teasing. It’s the only thing that helps, to balm the pangs of remorse when a smirk tugs at his lips every time you cry wolf.

Which brings him to the item in his hands, spurred on to get back at you after you recently attempted to go into deep detail about your oh so fun little date with Sam the other day. It’s bad enough that you went against his wishes and started dating Sam in the first place—he has some choice words for his best friend too—but you make things worse by  indulging . Elaborating on what you love most about Sam, teasing intimate details that he’d rather not hear about; and acting oblivious to his glares. You know damn well how to rile him up just right, to get him on the edge of fighting back before retreating to the safety of your room, or worse, your father. No, he doesn't want to hear about how Sam took you home after your date last night, or about how rough his hands are on your plush thighs. It’s  gross , because deep down he wishes it was  him .

You should be thankful, really, that he’s going to such lengths to prank you. Only you would have him acting this desperate, squeezing the soft silicone toy in his shaking fists like a stress toy, his ass perched right on the edge of his computer chair as if it were the only barrier left before the point of no return. It was through the old man camping near his house that clued him in to the supposed wizard occupying the tower in Cindersap Forest, a claim that he initially passed off as a farce, but after your latest stunt of divulging disgusting details he decided it couldn’t hurt to ask for more information, just to amuse himself. A little fantasy of getting back at you, nothing more. Though, now that he’s got the supposed magical object in hand, he can’t help but bounce his leg off his old squeaky floor, giddy excitement resting heavy in his chest as he gives the rubber toy another squeeze, already panting at the thought of executing his plan.  Fuckin’ brat,  he smiles to himself.  Only gettin’ what’s comin’ t’ya .

It’s the first time he’s getting a proper look at the toy too, unable to give it a second thought until right now thanks to you. Your petulant attitude when he arrived home only irked him, solidified his decision to defile you tonight even more so when you taunted him about leaving the house and how  he never usually does and was he seeing a girl? A friend? Must have been really important if he left his room, right?  God, even just thinking about your teasing voice causes his brows to furrow in frustration, tongue clicking at the mere memory of your pestering, gripping the girth of the toy in his hands as if it were your throat.

Selfish desire gets the better of him though, and for as much fun as it is pretending to choke you out, it’s getting late and his mom will be back with your dad soon. Which means he hasn’t got much time left to ruin you, so, he carefully holds the toy up to his face for inspection. What greets him is all pink and  pretty , his throat immediately drying when he realises just how  attractive  it is. Then, quickly, upset crawls up to his tongue and hides behind his teeth when recalling how the wizard called it a  replica , and knowing that your cunt is apparently this pretty for real angers him. Like,  how dare you  be withholding such a pretty pussy from your big brother, right? Shouldn’t he get first dibs on it, and not  Sam . Suddenly, calling you sister sounds appealing to him, and he’s almost tempted to pull his pants down and shove his already throbbing erection into your little unprepared pretty pussy just to punish you for keeping this cunt out his reach. But he’s too busy instinctively pressing the pocket pussy against his face as close as he can get without actually touching it and huffing. Sniffing along your faux slit and immediately leaning back into his chair as your scent washes over him, overwhelming and clouding his judgement.  Fuck,  okay, maybe it really  is  linked to your cunt. And because he's not as mean as you like to portray him, he decides to indulge himself a little. Or, he's simply too selfish  not  to eat you out, eager to get a first taste of his little sister, to see if she's really worth all the hassle.

And he’s so close too,  God ; about as close to actually fucking you as he can get right now that he’s honestly a bit dizzy, jutting his hips forward so his bulge can roll against the air in a mimicked action of sex. It’s instinctual, convincing his quickly emptying mind that this must mean that it’s  right , that your cunt belongs to your mean big brother, his breath fanning across the faux lips in rushed bursts of barely there restraint. He wonders if you can feel him already, wearing a cute confused pout at the cooling feeling between your legs;  fuck , he can unfortunately imagine it perfectly, his free hand coming down to pet at his pulsing cock with light touch, just barely there to tease him like he’s teasing you. Because this is better than he ever thought it’d be, having all the benefit of your hole right in front of him without needing to put up with... Well, you, and he’s afraid that if he gives in to his more baser instincts too soon; he’ll cum before he gets to have his fun.

Inhaling your scent some more causes his eyes to roll to the back of his skull, imagining how  quiet  you must be in your room all alone; even there you usually talk too much, way too fucking loud and annoying. Is his sniffing shutting you up? Cock dripping precum already at the image of you shooting upright in bed, forgetting all about what you were previously doing because  something  is happening to your body, left completely unaware that your mean older brother has his face practically buried between your legs right now. That’d for sure leave you gasping, right? Make you all squirmy and cute, soft and pliable for once in your fucking life.

And thanks to his depraved mind, his tongue automatically pokes out at the thought of you  listening  to him for once, kitten licking at the fake slit while he holds his breath. A natural action, one that he isn’t immediately aware he’s doing before he can feel soft skin against his teeth. His mind is slow to catch up to whats happening, too distracted by the palm circling his perverted bulge into submission, but when he realises that his lips are in contact with the pocket pussy, he rolls his tongue up to the swell of it, sighing against the slit in satisfaction over how you taste so  perfect . The more he teases his tongue between your folds the wetter he finds the fake cunt getting, and noticing that the magic imbued in the object is  real  causes his hips to jerk up into his open palm, rolling together in tandem with how he licks your cunt.

A soft curse escapes him when a gush of slick reaches his taste buds, immediately swallowing your liquid down like a dog. One hand holding the pocket pussy to his lips, the other tugging at his leaking cock. “Big brother making you feel good?” He whispers against it, only proving to rile himself up further at the verbal admission of touching his little sister so inappropriately. And he's so soft and tender with his tongue too, a momentary lapse in judgement, forgetting all about your brattiness the moment his lips grazed your puffy cunt, hypnotised by the taste and smell of your tiny hole into providing kindness to you.  Pussydrunk . It causes his cock to flex under his touch, dribbling saliva onto the toy to make his tongue glide easier between your lips. “ Dummy …” He sighs into you, giving your cunt a trail of kisses from top to bottom, and then back up again, letting his tongue poke out between kisses as if he were making out with your cunt more than anything.  Really  making out with it, sloppy sounds included with how eagerly he smacks his lips against you, the accumulation of saliva sticking to his chin as he presses kiss after lick at your hole. He shifts around on his chair, sliding down it just a little more to get comfortable and pushing it out away from his desk, his legs automatically opening while he slobbers all over the faux cunt, pretending that you’re riding his face right now because  fuck that’s so fucking hot, yeah?  Need big brother to eat you out and make your cunt feel all better? “Gettin’ all wet an’ slick for big brother? Preparin’ for his cock?” he continues talking to himself, voice hushed and mocking before diving back in to kiss the toy, easily believing that you’re in the room with him from the way your slick dribbles down his throat.  Linked  to you in your room,  fuuuck  he wants to see your face  so bad . Wants to hear your little hushed gasps and moans, clinging on to him for assistance without realising that it’s  him  that’s making you feel all funny. You just need big bro to take care of you, right? Need big bro to help make you feel all better, to work out why you feel all funny down there, yeah? There’s no need to be with Sam baby, big brother is just downstairs and more than willing to help your wet little cunt out.

A rough cough crawls up his throat as he pulls away for some air, a string of saliva keeping his tongue connected to your hole. It doesn’t last very long though because he’s diving right back in before he even fills his lungs, gripping at his cock and shaking it a few times before  attempting  to jerk himself off, but his jeans are too tight and he’s too drunk on your cunt to pull his pants down. Too busy with flattening his tongue against your wet little slit, slurping and groaning against your cunt while he gets off to just your  taste ,  fuck , can practically  smell  how much you need him by now, pressing sloppy kisses against your puffy little clit and tonguing at it desperately, humming with his kisses so that you can feel how much he appreciates your compliance: even if it’s robbed. “Pretty princess cunt,” He rasps to himself, dipping his tongue all the way down to your hole so that he can absentmindedly mouth at it, slipping inside with such ease as more slick gushes on his lips, making his fist tighten unfairly on his erection. He’s downright desperate. “Baby sister  cunt—”  He huffs roughly, tugging his cock only twice more before frustration overwhelms him and he’s reminded of your bratty attitude, placing the pocket pussy on the edge of his desk for you to drip slick onto his floor while his hands busy themselves with removing his pants and underwear as quickly as possible, only managing to get them over his knees before he settles back into his chair again, pocket pussy carelessly gripped and hovering dangerously close over his now exposed pulsing cock. He’s absolutely  trembling,  shaking with excitement while the faux cunt dribbles slick onto his already wet with precum cock, coating it in all your baby sister cream like a  good girl  for once. While he could eat you out  literally   all day  if he wanted to, face stuffed between your thighs for him to huff and kiss at mindlessly, insisting on continuing when you inevitably dig your nails into his hair and try to  yank  him off; his cock cries for attention. Twitches as fat globs of precum roll down to his balls, veins popping with impulsive need. He briefly wonders if Sam has ever gotten you this wet before, to the point of gushing over his cock before even entering.  Does big brothers tongue feel that good, baby?

Small  haah’s  are all he can let out as he squeezes the rubber toy in his fist, his other hand clenching tightly around the base of his perverted cock to angle it towards your sopping hole, staring at how your slick that leaks down to his tip shimmers in the seedy lighting of his room, where it connects to his own fat beads of precum that spill for you.  So close , he pants to himself.  Wanna fuck you so bad , he almost whines,  for so long . Stuck between ramming big brothers cock into your tiny little hole already, or to savour the moment for how monumental it feels. Sure, it’s not the real deal, but it’s  close enough ; even more depraved if he really thinks about it. Fucking you in secret, leaving you a mess all alone in your room; able to feel his girth but left unknowing as to why: he can’t fucking wait to bully you back some, make you feel how fat his cock is as punishment for tormenting him all this time.

And that’s all it takes, the promise of revenge. The torturous drip of your cunt onto his cock convincing him to enter,  inviting him , even, his fist lifting only to smear the combination of his pre and your slick over his hot and heavy length (as if it needed extra coating). He wets his lips in focus, lowering the pocket pussy closer to his red hot tip before some more pre spills for you, and as if that wasn't enough, he leans over himself to spit on his cock for extra lubrication. Don’t say he’s never kind to you, all right? “S’all your fault.” He chokes out, lowering the toy until the faux lips come into contact with his tip, automatically causing his hips to buck up into the soft feeling in search of  more ; but he forces himself to resist.  Wait , he tells himself, nonchalantly stroking the pocket pussy lips up and down his cock instead of entering, staining himself completely with your slick. Feels  so good, fuck , even just rubbing one out on you like this, pushing the fat of his cock between the fake lips to  really  hump at, y’know? Even lets his hip thrust upwards, causing him to fuck himself off his chair a little with how eager he’s pretending to hump his little sister, to properly punish you—or so he tells himself, but deep down he understands it’s more like he just wants to wet his cock, remind you of who you really belong to—because it’s what you fucking  deserve .

You deserve to feel the entirety of his greedy cock slipping and sliding between your folds, you deserve to feel the guilt and shame he’s desperately humping upon you for getting so  wet  due to big brothers cock. He’s entitled to this, he thinks. Putting up with you all these years, he takes his frustrations out by repeatedly knocking the tip of his cock against the faux clit of the pocket pussy to hopefully have you sobbing in your sheets, squirming under the phantom feeling of his cock bullying your upsettingly perfect little cunt. By the thick squelch that soon fills his room with every pass of his girth up and down the toy, he knows you must be enjoying his disgusting treatment.  Gross , he smiles to himself.

Busy humping himself silly against your fake cunt, he doesn’t fully register how close he is to slipping inside until it eventually happens. One minute he’s blissfully content rubbing one out against your slit, and the next he’s folding in on himself in a full body silent gasp, cock head fully engulfed in your tight little hole and knocking the wind out of him. Karma, he supposes, and then immediately forgets about as he feels your cunt squeeze around his intrusion for the first time ever; and you manage to effectively shut him up, no talking back or standing up to your teasing for once. Until you do it again, even if involuntary. “ Shit— fuck .” He groans, a rough sound crawled up from the pit of his tummy, drawn out from how nice and wet the toy in his hands is, thanks to  you . His weight shifts in his old computer chair, squeaking like it always does when he jerks off to the screen, only now it’s due to the immense strain he has to endure  not  to immediately bury himself balls deep in your cunt. You squeeze around him again as if asking for it and it hits him all at once, forced to realise with such sudden and alarming clarity that he was very much fucked.  Ruined , truthfully. The sinful suck of your linked cunt promising to spoil every other hole he potentially fucks in future, leaking little sister cream all over his twitching cock to entice him deeper, to fall further into your messy cunt depravity.

And really, it’s not bullying if you like it. He’s not being mean by rolling his hips into you  slowly , forcing you to savour every thick inch he’s got to offer as he enters you, tiny little humps upwards rather than forcing the toy down his cock to simulate sex better. You like it, don’t you? Dribbling all over his cock, bet you’re writhing in your sheets right now for him; because you must be just as slutty as him to be  enjoying  this. And it’s embarrassing just how much he likes it, how he already knows he’ll never be able to leave the pocket pussy alone, biting his lip raw to try and stifle his moans, squeezing one eye shut as if he was pained to be feeling so good, and he feels forced to swallow a bark creeping to his tongue at how  annoyed  he is. It’s  unfair  that you feel so good wrapped around him like this, half his cock buried in the toy, coating his length in even more slick to make the glide inside easier. And he thinks to himself that if you didn’t want it, you wouldn’t be this fucking slippery, his head thrown back at the soft squelch his cock fucks out of you. “ That’s it , fuck— what a good sister…” He ends up praising you despite his frustrations, unable to hide his genuine feelings for you in the secrecy of his own room, squeezing the pocket pussy even tighter around his greedy cock as he pushes up, up, and up until finally the faux lips rest against his pelvis and he can finally breathe again.

More than anything he wants to fist your hair and mess up your pretty styling, force his lips onto your own so that you can  taste  just how much he wants you; how downright desperate he is to claim you as his own. You’re his little sister, so you belong to him, right? Should be creaming on  his  cock and not anyone elses, cunt twitching around his fat girth as he grinds his hips into the toy, little circles to tease and taunt, bully you back into place for your petulant attitude he’s had to deal with his whole life.  Payback,  he muses, panting at the way your fake cunt accepts him so  easily , willingly wrapping around him so snugly; like you were made to take his cock. Just barely inside and you’ve already got him pulsing, balls taut at the way he so easily falls into you, how he’s sure he could cum right now just by circling his cock inside of you, stirring your insides up to prepare you for what inevitably comes next. Annoying, because he went into this perverted prank hoping to just upset you, to make you sob and whine on his cock like a  good girl  for once, and yet here he is struggling to regulate his breathing, fighting with himself to keep his hips from humping.

But  fuuuuck  you feel so good, nice and tight and  eager , constantly twitching and squirming on his cock to coax more precum out to stain your insides with, sucking his tip in so well as if asking for more, begging big brother to fuck you. And he’s watched enough hentai to know that he’s not immune to the little sister allure, despite his intentions to simply fuck with you; he has to show you that he’s the one in charge here, right? Regardless of his flimsy excuse, he does so instinctively, a flash of regret buried deep in his mind that’s easily clouded over by the sudden swallow of your cunt as he withdraw his hips, leaving only his tip inside to tease you with. More slick gushes out of the toy, trickling down to his balls and onto his chair, a tut escaping him despite being alone. “You’re such a fucking tease, y’know that?” He slurs, words caught in his throat and forced out of him as he drops the toy on his cock, shivering into the dirty action before repeating it again. And again. And again, until his fist wraps neatly around the toy enough to control the speed and he starts jerking off with your cunt.

Greedy gulps of air is all that’s heard in his room, besides the odd squeak and dribble of saliva, a few drops pooling on his tummy as he revels in the act of taking his perfect princess little sister in private. At least he tries to keep quiet, but it’s hard to keep his voice down when your walls squeeze him tighter, prompting him to suckle on his hoodie sleeve and pretend it was your nipple instead, lacing his tongue over the rough fabric as a means to distract himself from falling in love with your cunt. Is this how Sam feels when inside of you? Do you get this slippery for your boyfriend too, or is it because deep down you know  big brother  is fucking you properly.

God  he feels dizzy, so turned on at the thought of not only defiling you, but of doing it in a way where you’re left  uninformed . He wishes he could see your confused tear stained face, wants to watch you shake and cry for help while he bullies his cock into you, leaking all over the toy with every fuck of his hips upwards, matching the downward tug of his hands. And it’s even more fucked up that he’s treating you like the toy you are right now, literally jerking himself off as his tongue pokes against the inside of his cheek, furrowing his brows to gain greater focus, leaning back against his chair so that he can hump into the faux hole at abetter angle. “So good—” He babbles to himself, fluttering his lashes at the way the toy slams back down on his balls, the corners of his mouth wet with drool from the sound of your cunt making room for his corrupt cock. “Knew you’d feel s—so good—” The immorality of his actions only turns him on more, his legs coming out to straighten while his back arches against his chair, fucking into the toy with needy desperation, a tut on his tongue at how perfect you are for him. He hates how good it feels, wants to fuck his frustrations out on you, slamming the toy down as much as he fucks into it so you can really feel just how much you truly upset him. If it feels this good with a toy, he can’t imagine how ruined he’s gonna be when it comes to the real thing—because of course he’s gonna fuck you for real, are you kidding?  God , you feel too fucking good it’s  unfair , should be illegal—letting him masturbate inside of you like this; his infatuation for you deepens, and the closer he gets the less liable he is to hold on to his grievances.

“Stupid girl —” He mumbles, a line of drool spilling from his lips too. In the privacy of his basement room, he allows himself a moment to indulge. “If—  fuck, oh my God — if only you— If—” He tries. God, he tries to get his words out, clamping both hands around the slippery wet toy and leaning forward to rest his head on his desk, standing up off his chair—too hopeless to remain seated—so that he can drag the toy on and off his cock with more ease.  Faster , too, his hips try to keep up with his quick fists but they’re no match, he’s spent way too many lonely night pumping his cock raw to give his hips a chance. Slick drips from the pocket pussy, his feet planted firmly on the ground to give him better grip to fuck you with, and the floorboards squeak with the weight of his thrusts. But he doesn’t slow down,  can’t , really. Unable to give even himself a breather from the disgusting situation, frantically fucking the toy in his fists like his life depended on it, his previous plans of getting back at you forgotten about in favour of simply  getting off , uncaring for how you must be so scared right now because you’re making him feel  so good : and that’s all that matters. He's so selfish, focusing only on his own pleasure as he splits you in two in the palm of his hands, baby must be stretching so well to fit him all in.

“If only you were— were this good all the time.” He finishes his thought and half laughs, but it soon turns into a low moan when the toy clenches around him, shaking and shivering down his mean big brother cock for him to enjoy. “It’s like y’were made for this—” He continues to babble, huffing against his desk while his thighs shake with you, his tummy tight with lust when he imagines that you might already be close from his harassment, like you were in the room with him. And he  almost  wants to let you cum, only because he’s too selfish to pass up the opportunity of feeling you convulse on his cock. But he’s so close too, and he smiles with an offer you’ve got no way of reciprocating. “Wanna see who cums first?”

You have   been  such a good girl  for him tonight, haven’t you? Allowed him to inflict such lewd acts on you, and not only that, but you’ve  accepted  his brutish abuse so nicely. Never mind the fact that you quite literally couldn’t fight back, he’s far too pussy drunk and buried too deep in the faux cunt to rationalise with himself, mind empty beyond the need to breed his favourite new toy the way she deserves, snapping his hips into your hole with sloppy precision; he can’t seem to get the right angle, nor can he keep a consistent speed, rendered dumb thanks to the tight squeeze your cunt offers him. “Does it feel good?” He sighs, riling himself up as an orgasm creeps up on him, humouring his fantasies while he’s ball deep inside of you because: why not at this point? “Does big brothers cock feel  sooo good ?” He continues, adopting a babying tone as if you were actually under him right now, nails digging into the split wood of his desk as if it were your hair, or your shoulder, doesn’t matter; he just wants to keep you in place. “Gonna cum for big brother? Make him feel so good too?” He pants, an unavoidable coil tightening in his core as heat flushes to his cheeks, voice barely above a whisper while he fucks himself off. He can only imagine what he must look like right now, bent over his desk and huffing, head pressed against his forearm to hide his face into his desk, pants barely half on or half off, dangling by his knees while his hips swing in the air. And then, he tries to imagine you. How  cute  you’d look right now as he fucks into you with such speed he has to step back a few times to re-position, balls slapping against the magic toy with a resounding  plap!,  sticky sweet slick keeping him connected to you with a soft squish. He only stands up more so that he can continue his delusions, looking down to where his cock meets you cunt and how a ring of cream rests at the base, a sheen coating the rest of his length for him to gawk at.

A mistake, truthfully, but he isn’t complaining too much when he instantly shoots a load inside of the toy, shoving his cock as deep as possible into the tiny hole stretched to fit him so he can properly sow his seed, stake his claim all over your insides with thick white ropes. Mark you as:  Big Brother’s . It doesn’t so much as catch him by surprise as it becomes immediately expected, face all scrunched up in rotten pleasure for the accidental creampie, a strangled  sis  caught in his throat before moans tumble, followed by breathy laughter and sighs. He doesn’t stop thrusting his hips forward, riding his orgasm out by riding you, inadvertently fucking his cum deeper into the toy and  keeping it there , lazily tugging the toy up and down his still hard cock until he’s sure he’s made you’ve milked every last drop he has for you.

He only realises that he’s neglected to let you cum as he’s pulling out,  slowly  removing his cock from the toy with a wince, watching with genuine interest as drops of seed dribble out and over his spent cock. Serves you right for dating Sam when big brother has been right here this whole time, waiting to have you submit to his cock. He laughs, a sinister smirk with knowing that you must be  so frustrated  to be left high and dry like that, to no longer even appreciate the feeling of fullness as he twists the toy in his hand so that he can assess the damage, gently pulling the folds apart so he can watch more of his cum seep out. A deep urge to eat you clean rises to his tongue when he inspects your hole, but he bites it back, tells himself that there’s more satisfaction in leaving you to deal with the consequences of your actions than to reinforce your bad behaviour behind a tongue flat against your slit. That, and he’d hate to reward you and have you know that you’ve given him the best orgasm of his life; and you didn’t even have to do anything but lay there! He’s treated you well enough, he decides, dropping the toy on his desk for him to gape at lovingly.

He sits there for a few seconds, awaiting the wash of clarity over his system to come, but when it doesn’t he simply smiles. “Fuck.” He finally sighs, and it’s a confession of sorts. Of what he doesn’t have much time to figure out, seeing as his phone soon vibrates next to him, a flash of a notification on the screen. It takes him a moment to get to it, because he’s too busy admiring how messy he’s made your pretty princess parts, smearing big brothers cum all over the slit with his thumb just because he can. But he gives in to curiosity once he’s satisfied with painting, unlocking his phone only to be greeted by your name, or the one he’s so fondly given you.

Brat: Can you come help me sebby?

A loud bark of laughter rises in his chest, throwing his head back in the gratification you’ve so kindly offered him. You can handle a little more teasing, right? It’s only fair, seeing as this is the first time he’s fully bitten back at you.

Sebastian: No, I’m busy.

And it’s not even a lie, his thumb gliding easily over the faux clit to ruin you some more, a punishment for distracting him from his afterglow. He almost gets to forget about you before you draw his attention again, another vibration from his phone that reads:

Brat: It’s serious, please!

Sebastian: … Where are you?

It’s a stupid question, he knows, but he wants to make you  really  suffer. It’s not often you need his help, and he’d be a liar if he said it doesn’t feel nice to be relied on by you like this. All you need is him, right? Need big brother to come make you feel all better, yeah? Or maybe that’s just his cock talking, jerking at the thought of you relying on him for  more , needing him to help finish you off because you’re too fucked dumb on big brothers cock to function. He’s got half a mind to walk up to your room and fuck you for real, help you finish that way. Would you try to kick him off with his cock womb deep, tears streaming down your pretty face, or would you sob from pleasure, begging big brother for more, because you’re  so close  and you’d take  anything  at this point?

Brat: My room, please hurry.!

Definitely more his cock, twitching back to life with the promise of being allowed entry into your sacred room,  your hiding place . He locks his phone and throws it to his bed, tucking his stained cock back into his pants and pulling his skinny jeans back up, neglecting to zip in his rush to be at your side;  thankful . You should be thankful he’s even giving you the time of day, seeing as you’ve already exhausted your usefulness to him for tonight. Cock spent and hole used, what more could you give him? Regardless, he’s more curious than he is spiteful right now. Wants to see what you look like after taking his cock, and if it matches his thoughts. Without much more  convincing, he tucks the toy into his hoodie pocket, confident that you’ll somehow find the evidence of his crime if he doesn’t stash it close to him at all times. He can easily clean his hoodie of cum later, but he can’t face the ramifications of mistreating you in such a deplorable fashion; not now, not ever. His little secret, yeah?

But his chest tightens as he runs up the stairs, breath caught in his throat as he stands outside your room and knocks. Anxious? He can’t figure out what for. This is everything he’s been wanting and more, and when you usher him inside with a panicked voice, he thinks he might have taken things a bit too far; protectiveness surging past his lungs and heart, rising up in a breathy “What’s wrong?” as if he doesn’t know damn well why you sound so confused right now. But that big brother attitude doesn’t last for long, ignored the minute his eyes find yours, taking in the sight of you clutching at your sheets as if you were in pain, legs crossed and covered, like you’re  hiding  from him. And  oh  it feels good to be preying on you like this, he has to fight the urge to smile at the pathetic pose you take for him, all pliant and submissive and seeking  his  help. He doesn't miss the way your nipples poke through your little shirt, or how you sweat from head to toe; working out? And his imagination didn’t do you any justice, seeing you cower in front of him like this as your legs rub together is a wet dream come true. He’s definitely hard again, keeping both hands in his pocket and pushing it down to hopefully hide his embarrassment from your eyes as you shiver before him. He watches as you automatically reach out for him, your mouth opening as if you were going to say something and—

“I—  Ah! ”

Instinctively, his fingers dip into the toy the moment you try to communicate with him, surprising even him when you gasp at the slender prodding against your insides. If you say anything resembling coherent he doesn't hear it, zoning out as he zeros in on your tits, mouth watering at the sight alone. He wants to suck on them, curling his finger inside of you in response to your unknown teasing, a declaration of want to own every part of you. At least now he knows that the toy is  actually magic , unquestionably linked to your sopping wet cunt with how you’re currently reacting to his touch. The way you shake as his finger pad circles your entrance, gliding with the amount of cum leaking from it—and by extension  dirtying your bed sheets at this very moment —and how you bite your lip so cutely when he lets its dip further into the hole again, staring directly at you with concentration to commit every detail of you to memory for tonight,  almost  moaning at the sight of you squeezing your eyes shut to avoid his dumb gaze, how pretty you look with your brows all furrowed and hand hiding your cute little sounds.

All you’ve done is convinced him that he needs to fuck you for real, and  soon . Twisting the single finger buried knuckle deep in the toy around, exploring your pretty little cunt with precision. Like he already knows all your sweet spots given the reactions you’re offering him; or maybe that’s because he’s already fucked you close to completion already, fingering you to the cusp again as he stands awkwardly hiding his hard on in your room.

“What— Uh, what’s wrong?” He clears his throat, but still his voice is dry and  needy , a hidden deep want for you lacing the words as you squirm and sob on your sheets. For  him . It’s a bit weird that he’s waited so long to ask you, he thinks, but you also seem to be a bit too distracted to notice as he introduces a second finger to the puffy toy in his pocket, pushing in instantly and easily from the fluids leaking from your hole, leaving you unable to talk once more. “Are you okay?” He gasps,  knows  that you aren’t, fuck,  look at you ; but he has to ask to keep up his facade. Wants to pretend he doesn’t know why you’re struggle to do anything other than babble before him as a means to bully you some more.  It’s your fault , maybe if you weren’t so fucking  cute  when crying then he’d move on, but your tear stained cheeks coax him to continue, scissoring his long fingers inside your hole with eagerness, like doing so would make you feel better.

And it would, and he  wants to see it , but the second he begins to slowly pump his scissoring in and out of your greedy cunt you urge him to leave. A high pitched whine of  go away!  While you bury your face in the sheets, folding in on yourself—fucking  pretty , by the way—as he assumes you’re right on the edge is enough for him. Your hidden face providing him the space to smile down at you, but it’s loving. Adoration, even. Can’t quite believe just how pretty you are when you’re rendered useless on his hand like this, and he promises himself as he turns to leave to have you act so sweetly with him the next time you try to annoy him. This is the little sister he’s always wanted, and if you play nice for him, he’ll even call you as such to your face.

“Okay.” He simply leaves you with, all breathy and empty as he exits your room, slamming the door shut only because he’s in a rush to rest his back against the same door to pull his cock out, still fingering your pretty pussy in his pocket and listening out for your cute moans to soon fill your room. Another round wouldn’t hurt, especially when you start to whimper his name so  prettily  like that, right?

[joeys-babe]

Joey B Blurbs: Smile

————————————————————————-

Summary: Joe’s learning his new girlfriend's ways, along with attempting to get bonus points with her dad.

Warnings: Pure fluff, illusions to smut at the end

Pairing: Joe Burrow x reader

Imagine Universe: Misc.

————————————————————————-

April 9, 2024

Y/n and I have been together for a month.

We met at a party Sam had at his house a few months back, she was his girlfriend’s college roommate and they were best friends still today.

The second I’d laid eyes on y/n, I was taken aback by her beauty.

Sam had noticed, and a sly smile was on his lips when he spoke the words I’d forever be thankful for.

“Go talk to her. She’s single.” - Sam

I had done as Sam said, and we hit it off immediately. By the end of the night, I worked up the courage to ask for her number.

Eventually, I asked her out on a date, and we ended up having the best time.

The rest is history and now we've been dating for a month.

We have a lot in common, but I realized the other day that we don't have the same taste in music.

I liked rap, pop, indie.

On the other hand, y/n loved oldies. Old rock, old soul, and anything 60’s, 70’s, 80’s.

I learned that the other day when I picked her up from her apartment to hang out at my place.

When she was in my passenger seat, y/n controlled the music, and when she shuffled her playlist, I realized I knew nothing.

“Do you know this?” - you

“Uh… no.” - Joe

“You’ve never heard My Girl by The Temptations?!” - you

After she left that night, I found the exact song that she played earlier. Y/n told me it was one of her favorite songs, and I knew I had to learn it.

1965?! Jesus…

I played it over and over. Over and over.

At the gym, in the shower, in my car, over a speaker at the house, in my headphones while playing video games. I was listening to this song as much as possible.

At times, I wondered why I was going through all of this trouble, but the song answered it for me.

My girl, my girl, my girl.

——

“Joey!!” - you

“Hey, baby.” - Joe

Y/n just arrived at my place for the evening and our sleepover. I was in the kitchen preparing dinner and for the rest of the day. We’d eat dinner together and probably cuddle for a bit before going to sleep.

If only she knew the surprise I had in store for her.

“I missed you.” - you

“Missed you too.” - Joe

She wrapped her arms around my middle as mine went to her waist. When y/n pulled away, I leaned down and kissed her soft lips. The chokehold this woman has on me is insane.

“C’mere, I wanna show you something.” - Joe

“What is it?” - you grin

I took her hand and led her to the middle of the kitchen, waking away for a second to click play on my phone that was connected to my speaker.

Her face lit up immediately when she heard the beginning of one of her favorite songs.

“What are you doing?” - you giggled

“C’mere. Dance with me.” - Joe

“You don't know this song!” - you

She said that just as the lyrics started, and y/n was surprised to see me sing along with it.

“What are you doing?” - you

“Dance with me!” - Joe

The look of surprise never left y/n’s face as she joined me in dancing around the kitchen.

I spun her around and pulled her close, dipping her shortly after.

“This is so fun.” - you grinned

“I’m surprised you're able to dance with me, I have two left feet.” - Joe

“You’re perfect, I promise.” - you

We grinned as we sang the chorus to each other, I could tell that y/n was loving every second of this.

Talkin’ ‘bout my girl, my girl

Y/n stepped back and spun around before running back into my arms, a slight pain in my cheeks from how much I was smiling.

In the last fifteen seconds of the song, we stood still, y/n’s arms around my neck and her hands connected at my nape while my arms were around her waist. Our foreheads rested against each other as we stared into each other’s eyes.

As the song faded out, we leaned in, and our lips softly met together. The beginning of a kiss and the ending of the song.

Y/n’s voice was quiet as she spoke, her voice muffled since her face was now pressed to my chest.

“That was the sweetest thing a guy’s ever done for me.” - you

“Yeah?” - Joe smiled

“I can’t believe you learned that whole song for me.” - you

“Well, after a conversation with your dad, he told me that you wanted that song at your wedding, so that means I kinda have to learn it.” - Joe

I regretted saying it as soon as it left my lips; we'd only been together for a month and never once talked about a future. Fuck I've messed up.

Y/n pulled away from my chest and looked up at me, the look in her eyes made my heart stop.

“Wait- forget I said that, I'm sorry.” - Joe

“No. No, it's okay.” - you smiled

I nervously laughed, the super breathy kind that tells on your emotions.

“Yeah?” - Joe

“Yeah. You're right, better to learn it sooner than later.” - you grinned

“You wanna marry me someday?” - Joe

“When the time comes, yes. There's a lot I want to do before that day rolls around, but I can’t picture walking down the aisle to anyone else.” - you

“Good. You don't think we're rushing things by having this conversation after only being together for a month?” - Joe

“You can't rush the inevitable, baby.” - you

I thought for a few seconds before blurting out something I'd been thinking since the moment I laid eyes on this woman.

“I love you.” - Joe

My heart was beating out of my chest when her eyes went wide, and her jaw dropped.

“Y-you do?” - you

“Yes, we just talked about marrying each other didn't we?” - Joe chuckled

I laughed to cover up my nervousness, but I don't think it worked. She hasn't said it back yet. If she was going to wouldn't she have said it back by now?

“Do you… do you love me?” - Joe

Y/n’s face fell from shock to amused, a laugh escaping her lips in the process.

“Wait- shit. Did I not say it back yet?” - you

“No.” - Joe states, face not changing

“Oh! I must've just said it in my head then, I was a little in shock.” - you giggled

Laughing together, when we settled down, I stared at her and waited for her to say it back.

“I love you too, Joe.” - you smiled

——

Later that night, y/n was in the shower, and I was already in bed.

I grinned to myself as I clipped the video I secretly took earlier when we were dancing in the kitchen.

Better cut it off before we kiss, I thought to myself.

Pulling up her dad’s contact in my phone, I sent him the video and a small text with it.

I'm learning! :)

I waited for his reply, a little nervous to see what he'd say back. I knew he liked me, but this was still his daughter we were dealing with.

When my phone vibrated, I immediately picked it up and clicked on his message.

Atta boy! I haven’t seen her smile like that in a long time, and I know it's because of you that she lights up like that again. Thank you for giving my daughter the treatment she deserves.

There’s nothing I love more than making her smile, she's already such a big part of my life. You're welcome, by the way, she deserves nothing but the best.

She feels the same way about you, son. I know she's spending the night at your house tonight, by the way, and I wasn't born yesterday, so stay safe. 👍

Will do. 😂

Just as I hit send, the door of the bathroom opened, but the shower was still on.

Y/n poked her head out of the door with a playful grin on her face.

“I know I'm supposed to be showering, but I can’t stop thinking about you. Wanna hop in with me?” - you winked

“Oh, hell yeah!” - Joe

I jumped off of the bed and ran towards the bathroom, simultaneously shoving my boxers down my legs. Y/n giggled as I chased after her and jumped into the shower.

She wrapped her arms around my neck as was started making out, the water flowing over our bodies.

“I was just talking to your dad.” - Joe

“Joe, why would you talk about my dad right before we're probably about to have sex?!” - you

————————————————————————-

Authors note: I wrote down one of my maladaptive daydreams… 💀

This came from my own head! 💞

[cosmosrebellion]

Me: Jokes about how excited I was to see Clark be exposed to kryptonite because of how people here would react.

MAWS creators: What if we made kryptonite body horror?

Me: YEEEEEEEEEESS BAAABYYY!!

But for real though, this is one of the best takes I've seen on kryptonite since Gene Luen Yang and Gurihiru had it give Clark hallucinations for character work in Superman Smashes The Klan.

Having kryptonite not just poison Clark, but also infect and grow through his body as he is exposed to it is such a creative way to explore something that's often used very lazily. Another Common My Adventures With Superman W.

Also, how many of you are going insane over seeing Clark go through possibly the worst physical pain of his life? Raise hands.

Also, don't think about how this will be explored later when Sam Lane and Waller get access to kryptonite. Totally don't be worried for Clark over that though.

[sethsclearwater]

synopsis: based on this request from 🧼 anon where reader and paul are spending the day together after bdp2 and things get spicy when reader realizes just how long its been since they’ve been together

warnings: smut, dom!paul, sub!reader

word count: 2.33k

…

after nearly a year of pure insanity, from victoria’s newborn army she was creating, to bella getting pregnant, to the volturi showdown, it was madness and yours and paul’s relationship seemed to get put on the backburner while all this was going down.

so after everything started to settle down, you and paul finally got a day to relax with each other and just enjoy each other’s presence. so here you found yourself, laid down in bed while paul got up to go grab some snacks for the two of you.

as you laid there with your favorite tv show playing in the background, you grabbed you phone and began scrolling through social media while you waited for paul to come back from the kitchen. when he did, you smiled as you looked up, not able to help yourself as you took in his figure, absolutely loving how ridiculously good he looked in his low-hanging sweatpants. he didn’t seem to pick up on your staring though, just silently handing you a water bottle. you murmured a quiet ‘thank you’ as he sat down on the edge of the bed and grabbed his own phone from its place charging on the nightstand.

you mentally cursed yourself for staring at him, suddenly realizing just how long it had been since the two of you had done anything intimate. from the best you could remember, the last time the two of you had sex was the night before the volturi battle and it was a rather quick session in emily’s bathroom before he had to head out for training with the pack.

with your newfound realization, you sat up, tossing your phone and the water bottle to the side, quickly peeling your shirt and shorts off as quietly as possible while paul remained absolutely clueless as he responded to some random text message that you guessed was from sam.

once you got your panties and bra kicked off as well, you crawled over so you were behind him, running your hands up his back to rest on his shoulders and gently tug him back. paul didn’t seem to mind, allowing you to pull him down so he was laying down. you lifted your hips just as paul started to realize that you had absolutely no clothes on and your pussy was quite literally aching just a few inches away from his mouth.

he didn’t waste any time, quickly hooking his hands around your thighs to tug you back down so you were seated on his face and dove in like he was starved. as soon as his tongue swiped over your puffy folds, you couldn’t help the loud moan that escaped your lips as you slid your hands down his bare chest, frantically dipping your hands under his sweatpants until you found his hardening length.

paul latched onto your clit, sucking as he dipped a finger inside your tight walls, curling and uncurling his finger in an attempt to stretch out your aching canal. once you finally freed his cock from its constraints, you wrapped your lips around the tip, swirling your tongue around the bulbous tip that was already beginning to weep precum. the salty and sweet taste had you whining around him, your brain flooded with a sudden frustration as you realized just how sexually frustrated you had been for so long.

paul seemed to notice it too, also letting out an usually loud groan when your tongue swirled over the tip of his cock, “fuck princess,” he mumbled against your clit, the vibrations from his voice sending your brain into a tizzy from all the pleasure. 

despite the fact that he had barely touched you yet, you quickly felt the coil in your belly tightening as your release neared. paul picked up on it before you did, already feeling the way your walls were desperately clinging around him, “such a good girl,” paul murmured against your pussy, both of you letting out soft moans as you relaxed your jaw so you could take his length down your throat, mentally reminding yourself to breathe through your nose as you felt the tip of his cock bump against the back of your throat. 

paul added a second finger to your heat, groaning when you let out a muffled moan around his cock at the stretching sensation, immediately reaching your hand down to cup his balls in your hand and rolls them between your fingers, “fuck princess,” paul groaned as he curled his fingers inside your walls, “just like that,” he sighed before he was latching back onto your clit, suckling the sensitive little bud until he was hardly able to move his fingers with how tightly your walls were clamping down on him.

“cum on me kitten,” paul encouraged, tightening his grip on you so you couldn’t pull away from him as you bobbed your head up and down his length, absolutely desperate to cum on him after so long, “promise ‘m right behind you,” he added when he sensed you holding back, immediately letting out a loud groan against your clit when you rolled his balls between your fingers, the sensation leading both of you to meet your orgasms together.

your pussy throbbed around paul’s fingers as he shot his release down your throat, continuing to suckle your clit and pump his fingers in and out of your heat as you swallowed his seed, both of you riding out your highs while working to make sure the other one was feeling just as good.

“fuck princess,” paul murmured as he unhooked his hands from your thighs and pulled his lips from your clit, sucking in a few deep breaths as you sat up, swallowing the rest of his release before you spun around so you could straddle his waist and face him, “c’mere,” paul cooed, sliding his hands up your side to gently tug you down onto his chest, “i missed you,” he added softly, running his hands up and down your back soothingly as you took deep breaths, still struggling to come down from your first orgasm in what felt like forever.

“i missed you too,” you whispered after a few minutes, the words heavy on your tongue as both of you realized just how much you had put your relationship on hold while all the supernatural insanity continued around you.

the two of you remained quiet for a few more minutes while you caught your breath, the soft sounds of your tv show playing in the background as you relished in each other’s presence for the first time in a long time.

within a few minutes, you felt paul’s cock hardening between your thighs, pressing in between your soaked folds as it pressed up in an attempt to find your entrance. paul seemed content with just laying with you but you knew he wanted more and so did you so you slid your hands down his chest to press yourself up, lifting your hips so you could gently grab his length and line it up with your aching entrance.

“go slow,” were paul’s only words before he slid his hands down to your hips, gently guiding you as you slowly sank down his length, both of you letting out soft moans as you connected, “fuck you feel so good kitten,” paul sighed, gently squeezing your hips as he allowed you some time to stretch around his length.

you let out a soft whimper at the stretch, slowly rolling your hips against his as your pussy desperately worked at accommodating the intrusion, “take your time,” paul cooed, already knowing you’d need more time than normal to adjust to his impressive length considering how long it had been since the last time he was buried in you.

you let out a huff, eliciting a soft laugh from paul who was absolutely loving watching how hard you were working to stretch around him, “you’ve got it,” he added, chuckling when you laid back down on his chest with another huff, resting your hands on his shoulder and your cheek against his collarbone.

he slid his hands down to gently knead at the fatty flesh of your ass, “let me take care of you, yea?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper as his lips grazed over your ear, sending a wave of pleasure up your spine.

you hummed softly in approval, squeezing his shoulders as you felt his grip on your ass tighten while he planted his feet down so he could fuck you. he drew his hips back slowly before thrusting back into your cunt, making sure to take his time relishing in the feeling of your walls clinging so tightly to his cock.

“taking my cock like such a good girl,” paul murmured, setting a slow pace as he dragged his cock in and out of your pussy, ensuring that the tip of his cock kissed your sensitive cervix with each thrust, going absolutely feral for the way you were letting out soft whimpers and whines at the feeling.

“you missed my cock, yea? missed having my cock in your pussy all the time?” he asked, the tiniest hint of teasing in his voice that had your walls fluttering around him and a pink blush coating your cheeks as you realized just how right he was.

“missed you,” you whispered, voice soft and quiet from a combination of your shyness and also the pleasure coursing through you that had that familiar coil in your belly beginning to tighten again.

you didn’t see it because your face was buried in the crook of his neck but paul smiled to himself at your response, loving how sweet you were with him even in such an intimate moment like this. “gonna make your pussy feel so nice and full, yea? you gonna let me cum in your pussy, kitten? let me fill you up so you’re nice and warm all night?” he asked, the slew of dirty talk having your grip on his shoulders tightening as you squeezed your eyes shut, nodding as you suddenly realized you were much closer to cumming than you originally thought. 

“that’s my girl,” paul said breathlessly, beginning to pick up the pace a bit and snap his hips against yours as he felt his own orgasm nearing, “cum on my cock, show me how good my cock feels in your pussy,” paul ordered, his grip on your ass tightening to the point where you knew there’d be finger prints there the next morning.

you let out a loud whimper as he began peppering your hairline with kisses, the softness being so unlike him that it had you cumming on him without much effort, easily falling over the edge to your blissful second orgasm of the night.

you were so used to him being so rough with you that your orgasms always seemed to match that force but this one was so much gentler, still carrying the same intensity you always craved. 

as your walls throbbed around him, paul picked up the pace, snapping his hips against yours as you rode out your orgasm, meeting his second release of the night moments after you, his thrusts losing tempo as he shot his release into you. he pressed his hips against yours as hard as he could, his grip on your ass tightening to a near-unbearable level as he pulled you down onto his cock, making sure he was coating your walls with as much of his sticky seed as he possibly could.

you both were desperately working to catch your breath as you rode out your orgasms, your orgasm managing to last longer than his despite the fact that he came after you. paul slowly softened his grip on you, gently running his hands up and down your back as you struggled to catch your breath, “such a good girl,” paul praised, voice hushed as he pressed a soft kiss to your hair, “my good girl,” he added, wrapping his arms around you to hug you close to his chest.

once you finally caught your breath, you nuzzled your nose against his collarbone, sucking in his scent as you continued to process just how much you had missed him over these past few months, “i love you,” you whispered, voice so hushed you weren’t entirely sure he’d hear it.

“i love you too princess,” he murmured back, pressing another gentle kiss to your forehead as he continued to hold you close to him, relishing in the feeling of having you so close to him.

“can we stay like this tonight?” you asked, peeking up at shyly him after a few moments to see him smiling softly down at you. 

paul nodded, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, “wasn’t planning on moving anytime soon,” he responded teasingly, eliciting a soft giggle from you as he loosened his grip on you so he could grab the comforter on your bed and cover the two of you with it, already knowing you wouldn’t be able to fall asleep without it.

“you’re not going anywhere tomorrow, right? need you here,” you whispered, gently kneading at the muscles in his shoulders as you waited for his response.

paul shook his head, “i’ll be here until you kick me out,” he teased and you giggled again, rolling your eyes as you rested your head back down against his chest, letting out a sigh of content as he slid one hand up to thread his fingers through your hair and gently scratch at your scalp, “get some sleep, i’ll be here,” he reassured, pressing one more kiss to the crown of your head before allowing you to drift off, finally feeling content with him so close.

[cybertroniannugget]

What if… Sam had a sibling who is very chaotic!!!! And they survive through out the Bayverse movies and when they meet Hound, Crosshairs and Drift, how would those 3 react to the crazy lil human?!? ;-;

(Could you possibly add Optimus Prime and Bumblebee!?)

Okay this is the first ever request I answer, kinda nervous tbh.

Hope you like it, and thanks for requesting^^

It's called Haiku...

Also, I don't know what pictures to add lmao

About this fic: sfw, gn reader, takes place in aoe

901 words

Sitting in the passenger's seat, squished next to Shane, you look out the window.

Sure, it was uncomfortable, but there were only 3 seats for the 4 of you.

You didn't say anything though, after they had just lost their friend, complaining would be of no use.

So you watch the wide desert landscape going by.

A white truck drove by on the other side of the road, but you didn't pay that much attention to it.

That's when the truck you four were in started rumbling. At first you didn't know what was going on, but when the seats shifted back roughly, the worn down leather replaced by more comfortable fabric seats you kind of got an idea.

"A man of taste I see. Western Stars are pretty nice.", you complimented, after seeing the symbol on the steering wheel, before the autobot logo took its place.

You opened the window to take a look at the Prime's new altmode.

Red flames across the blue paintjob, and everything was just so shiny.

"I must say, you looking good Prime!", you laugh, sticking your head back in.

"It was awesome but it was insane!", you heard Shane yell out excitedly.

The Prime's deep voice echoed over the radio, calling for his Autobots.

"I wonder If I'll see Bumblebee again. I missed that guy."

"Bumblebee?", Cade asked.

"Yeah, he's an Autobot don't worry. He's no giant insect, if that's what you thought about."

The man just raised an eyebrow at you, making Tessa chuckle in amusement.

After a few more minutes of driving you all got out of the truck, after Optimus opened the doors for you.

"Your dad is nice, but he needs to relax a lil...", you whisper to Tessa.

"He sure does, but he's trying his best."

"Never doubted that, don't worry.", you add, nudging her arm gently.

Optimus transformed, being greeted by his bots.

"Mr. free leader of the galaxy. I knew you'd make it. I never doubted it."

"Just who are these guys...", you mumble, looking around.

The green one with what looks like a cape suddenly turned to point his guns at you.

"Oh okay, that one feels like killin today...", you say, raising you arms sarcastically.

When the biggest one started lifting his guns was when you started sweating though.

But having fate on your side, like always, Optimus stopped them.

"Thanks Prime, I thought I was done for this time."

"🎶...Survivor! 🎶", Bee's Radio echoed.

"What's he mean by that now?", Hound asked, adjusting his cigar.

"We go way back. I saw Megatron so many times already. He nearly killed me twice but meh, still alive and kicking"

"Wait, aren't you that human from the fight in-?", Drift turned to ask.

"Chicago? Yeah, I've been there. Threw a brick at Megs myself.", you interrupted, proud of your past actions, arms crossed before your chest. "I've been there since the beginning. When it was just about a pair of glasses from my crazy great grandfather."

"They have fought with us. They're the only human I know I can trust."

"Rude...", Shane mumbled under his breath.

"I mean, how'd a squishy survive all that?!", Hound asked into the round of Cybertronians and humans

"Who you callin squishy?! I'm not the big one here."

"Pff, that's just armor. I'm as fast as a horse!"

"Well first of, it's as healthy as a horse. And also, it's none of your damn business how I survived all the shit I've been through. Because honestly, I don't even know myself. Maybe I'm just lucky"

You shrug, looking up at Optimus, who's serious demeanor made your heart sink.

He's always been serious yes, but a kind soul. Always open for questions.

Now he's just, well... dark.

"Well, but I'm sure as hell gonna survive this, so when we startin?!"

"Enthusiasm, I like it.", Crosshairs mentioned, spinning a gun in his servo, before tucking in back into his belt.

"🎶Where have youuuu been?!🎶", Bumblebee sang over the radio.

"Oooh, Rihanna, you got some mad taste Bee!"

Sticking your hands into the pockets of your worn down jeans, you look up at the yellow and black bot, who's optics were fixed on you.

"Well, after Chicago I needed a new place to stay. So I applied to work in a different hospital. And it led me to Austin, Texas."

You laugh

"In the good ol' south", you say, mocking the southern accent.

"I think I like that one", Hound says, leaning back against a rock wall.

"They have what it takes, like sunset colors on blue,

strength guts and virtue.", Drift added.

"If this is another hiku I swear Imma blow you to shreds...", Crosshairs murmured, turning to walk away.

"It's called Haiku!", you correct him.

"What?", he mumbled annoyed.

"I don't care what it's called. I just want to leave this place."

"Well, I like it, thank you.", you say to Drift, smiling at the bot.

In this moment of peace, it was of course Crosshairs who needed to add something unnecessary.

"Nah, it's lame"

Without warning, Drift jumped at him, swords drawn, ready to attack.

"And I thought I was crazy...", you whisper to Bee, rolling your eyes.

The bot snickered.

"Lord may you give me strength to not make anyone here short circuit on purpose..."

You squint your eyes, thinking.

"I don't even know their names yet... Wow"

"🎶Still don't know your name🎶"

"Oh you're right tho Bee.", you laugh

[wildgirllz]

this is super random thought that i had about Bucky, i shared it to people before but never put on asks/requests... so could you write something like this?

Imagine you getting a new roommate. Or should I say roommates because you did not expect Bucky would move in with certain adorable fluffball named Alpine. You don't mind though, you always wanted a pet but never had the chance to adopt any. And having Alpine around feels like she's your pet as well.

Your relationship with Bucky wasn't the best or the worst. It was neutral. Mostly because Bucky himself was quite reserved. He is either not at home (possibly in some sort of mission with Sam) or he's curling up with Alpine somewhere within the shared apartment. But that don't mean that y'all are not secretly pining for each other ;)

One day, you came back home from work to see Bucky pacing around anxiously. Turns out Alpine was missing, he can't find her anywhere. So they decided to went out to search for her.

You found Alpine first, she was being chased by an unleashed dog. Your poor baby was running for her life. Not thinking twice, you try to catch up with her and scoop her up to your chest before stumbling on the ground. You ended up hovering over the cat, protecting her from the feral dog. Indirectly getting yourself bitten/scratched on your shoulders, your back, any spot that was exposed to the dog. You were bleeding due to the unrestrained strength from the dog's attacks, but you mind was more concern of the cat in your arms.

When Bucky saw this. How you were literally sacrificing your body for Alpine; well he almost went full winter soldier mode. Like... no one touches "his girls". No one. But he managed to hold it back (cause we don't want to hurt the doggo) and of course, saves the day.

And the next following days were just how Bucky clings to you and do every little thing for you so you don't have to lift a finger when he's around.

You pull out your mug, he would take it from you and get your coffee done before you could stop him. You open the cabinet door in the storage room, he'd take the vaccum out before you could reach out to it. He made sure that your breakfast, lunch and dinner was on the dot; of course he was the chef of all the amazing dishes served to you.

It was nice and all at first but its not like you were paralyzed or something. And its been nearly 2 weeks. Your wounds were almost healed. You wanted to do something at least but apparently Bucky thinks that you needed rest.

So you kinda raised your tone, "i can't even make grab myself snack from the kitchen now? Whats next, Bucky? You'll bathe me? Or better yet you'll help me to get off? Cause god forbid I can't even turn on a fucking vibrator because I'm 'severely injured ' "

You were spouting all the things that you thought he wouldn't have the guts to do, just to make him stop doing literally everything for you. But turns out he was more than willing to do exactly what you just proposed.

Maybe he don't even need to use the vibrator. Maybe his fingers were enough, or his mouth, or his cock.

This is how I imagined it in my head, but feel free to write in your own way though! Have a nice day, love ♡

Girl look at that request 💀 you’re insane

Here you go!! <3

(I most definitely did not do your request justice im so sorry)

Let Me Do It Myself

It had been nearly two weeks since you saved Alpine from the unleashed dog, and Bucky had been hovering over you ever since. At first, it was nice to have someone taking care of you, but now it was starting to feel suffocating.

You were sitting on the couch, trying to work on your laptop, but Bucky kept interrupting you. Every time you tried to do something, he would jump up and do it for you. It was driving you crazy.

"Bucky, please," you said, exasperated. "I can get my own glass of water."

"I just want to help," he replied, looking at you with concern.

"I know, and I appreciate it, but I need to do things for myself. I'm not helpless."

Bucky looked at you for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Okay, I understand. But if you need anything, just ask."

You nodded, relieved that he seemed to be getting the message. But over the next few days, he continued to hover, always ready to jump up and do things for you. You were starting to feel like a burden.

One evening, you were making yourself a sandwich when Bucky walked into the kitchen.

"Let me do that," he said, reaching for the knife.

"No, Bucky," you said firmly. "I can make my own sandwich."

"I just want to help," he repeated.

"I know, but I need to do things for myself. I need to feel like I'm not completely helpless."

Bucky looked at you for a moment, then sighed. "Okay, I understand. But please be careful."

You rolled your eyes. "I will."

As the days passed, you tried to assert your independence, but it seemed like every time you did, Bucky was there to pick up the slack. You were starting to get frustrated.

Then, one day, you snapped.

"I can't even make grab myself snack from the kitchen now?" you said, your voice rising. "What's next, Bucky? You'll bathe me? Or better yet, you'll help me to get off? Because God forbid I can't even turn on a fucking stove because I'm 'severely injured.'"

Bucky looked at you, his expression unreadable. "Is that what you really think of me?"

The passion between them was palpable, the tension wrapping around them tight like a cord in the small bedroom. The thundering rain outside its windows provided the perfect background music for their highly charged moment.

Bucky Barnes had just crossed a line, pushing his luck with pushing the boundaries of her patience, and now he was paying the price. She was angry and she had every right to be. 

'You always do this,' she said, her voice tight with frustration. 'You always think that you know what's better for me than I know for myself.'

'No, I just,' he stumbled over his words, her anger turning him on. 'I don't want you to get hurt.'

She huffed in response, pushing his chest away from her and not even trying to hide her scowl. He stepped back and let his hands slide off of her body, feeling the loss of her warmth instantly.

She knew that her frustration was only turning him on more, which only made her angrier. She wanted to take control of the situation.

' You don't get to make decisions for me, Bucky,' she said, her voice softer this time around, though still firm with her assertion.

He swallowed, his throat actually running dry, his body responding in a way that only she could make it. He stepped closer to her, his hands sliding around her waist before he pulled her into him. 

She expected him to say something in response, not to take her in his arms and bring his lips down upon hers.

Their mouths moved together as if they had done this a million times, each stroke and caress of their lips only making them hungrier for more. His fingers ran up her back, squeezing her closer and further teasing her already sensitised skin.

The taste of him consumed her, making her forget why she was even angry with him in the first place. He let out a groan of satisfaction as her hands ran through his hair, both trying to deepen the kiss.

Finally when they did pull apart, both of them breathing heavily, their eyes connected, neither wanting to break the contact.

He leaned down again, his lips running down her neck, her moan vibrating through his body as he left a trail of gentle kisses. She arched into him as his tongue ran over her collarbone, his hands exploring her body as he moved lower. 

He groaned when his fingers touched her between her thighs and her body instantly reacted, pressing against him, desperate to feel the pleasure his hands were giving her.

He pulled back and looked at her, their eyes still connected as each of them tried to take the other in. His face was filled with admiration and appreciation as he said, 'You're so beautiful.'

He cupped her chin in his hand and kissed her again as he lowered her onto the bed, his body following hers as her hips moved against his. For a moment, he paused, his lips still connected to hers, a question in his eyes, asking for her permission. 

Her eyes answered for her when she let out a soft moan, pushing herself against him even more, pressing his body into hers. 

He responded by pushing himself in, their bodies melting together as he started to move, his hips moments surging upward with each thrust. His hands still moved around her body, both bracing for the intensity of the pleasure, and caressing her soft curves, taking in the sensation of her body against his.

'God, you feel so good,' he said, his words barely audible over her moans of pleasure.

The intensity built as they moved together, each of them finding their release moments later, Bucky burying his face into her neck and calling out her name as his orgasm swept over them.

They laid there, their bodies still connected, until finally Bucky rolled off of her and laid on his back next to her. 

He reached over and gently brushed her hair away from her face, a satisfied smile gracing his face. He paused for a moment, just taking her in, before finally speaking.

'I'm sorry for trying to make decisions for you,' he said softly, regret laced into his voice. 'I just want to take care of you and make sure that nothing ever hurts you. I love you.'

“I love you so much, Bucky.”

[vanfleeter]

Matched: Chapter 1 - The Reunion

Characters: Jake Kiszka x Thea Warnings: 18+. Drinking. Angst. Smut. Lust. Protected sex (p in v). Oral sex (m & f receiving). Fluff. (please let me know if I missed anything) Author's Note: Beginning of an adventure told through the eyes of Jacob.

When I met her, I found myself immediately attracted to her. Pathetic, I know. There was just something about her that drew me to her. Her eyes sparkle when she’s happy but show utter despair when she’s not. I fear if a flower were to look upon her sadness, it would wilt. But the life that shines through when she’s happy is like bathing in the sunlight, warm and comfortable. Her smile is contagious, you can’t help but smile when she does. Her laugh is melodious, like a song you want to listen to over and over again and never tire of hearing it. Her hair, long and dark as it flows over her shoulders and halfway down the spine of her back. Her skin lights me on fire in the best possible way. I crave to feel her skin against mine, tracing my fingers along her skin, tracing every curve and goosebump that raises as I make my mark on her.

I thought I was shit out of luck when I found out that Sam liked her too. Pursued her in every possible way until he finally got her to agree to go out on a date with him. I kept my distance whenever she came around, looked away when he’d kiss her. I tried to keep myself distracted from her, dated around–but no one compared to her. No was like her. I thought of her whenever I had myself buried inside of another woman. She consumed my thoughts at every waking hour, she even infiltrated my dreams.

Seeing her with Sam physically pained me. Did she make him feel the same way she makes me feel? Did he get butterflies whenever he saw her? Did his heart pound in his chest when she was near? Would his palms get sweaty? Did he ever stutter over his words when he spoke with her because of how nervous she makes him?

I would do anything to have her–but she’s with my brother. I can’t do that to him. I can’t be selfish, wanting her all to myself. He seems to genuinely like her, her him. He’s happy, and I don’t want to be the one to ruin that.

Fate, though, seemed to have different plans.

After being away for nearly a year, traveling around the boat, like I’ve always wanted to do–something my twin brother thought was insane, I had come back home to be told of the news that I used to be so desperate to hear.

“We broke up..” Sam says as he pops the top off of a beer bottle and hands it over to me. I gladly take it and drink some of it.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say as I set the bottle down on the table. “When did it happen?”

“A few weeks after you left on your boat trip,” He sits down across the table from me and takes a drink of his own beer. “But it ended on good terms.. We mutually decided to split. We fit better as friends.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

Sam nods his head, takes another drink of his beer. The bustle of the people in the bar toned down a little, finally. Between the loud music and the people raising their voices over it to be heard made my head want to explode.

I see his face light up and he waves someone over. “I didn’t think you were going to make it!” He says as he slides out of the booth to hug the incoming guest. I nearly choke on my beer when I see her walking over.

It’s only been a year but somehow she looks different. Her long hair was now shorter, stopping just above her breasts. Those seemed to have gotten bigger too.

Knock it off, Jake. Be respectful.

She stands there, dressed in a black leggings that accentuate her curves and she’s wearing a dark red sweater, a little low cut revealing the top half of her cleavage.

After their hug ends, Sam invites her to join us in the booth. She happily agrees and slides in beside him. My heart hammers in my chest, the same way it always has. I hadn’t thought of her the whole time I was away–or at least the last six months of my trip, I wasn’t. It only took me half the trip to finally decide to get over her. Now here she is, seated across from me, looking more beautiful than she did when I had last seen her.

“So, Jake..” I lift my eyes to look at her. The way she says my name, innocently enough, but still does something to me. “How was your boating trip? I saw a few things you’ve posted, looked like fun.”

“It was good,” I say as I take another drink. “Relaxing, it felt nice to get away from everything for a little while.”

She smiles and it just about kills me and I can’t fight the urge to smile back. “I’m glad you had a good time. Missed you though..”

She missed me?

“Feels good being back?”

“Yeah, it does.” I say.

Sam then excuses himself to the bathroom. He’s leaving us alone. Now the sweaty palms set in. I run them against the fabric of my jeans, willing the nerves to go away. It’s been over a year, almost two, since we were ever alone together. It was quiet between us. Neither one of us is speaking. I had no words, unsure of what to say exactly as the woman I once loved sits in the booth across from me.

Could this really be happening? Is fate trying its damndest to push us back together, though we have never been together? Or is this some cruel joke from the universe, bringing us together like this, only then to rip us apart and force me through the tragic heartbreak of seeing her loving on someone else?

“I saw that you made a stop along the coast of Florida back in June.” She finally says. “Not to sound stalkerish, but I saw you there.”

I looked up again, meeting her eyes. “You were there? You saw me?”

She nods her head. “I wanted to talk to you but uh, you seemed a bit preoccupied with a blonde–practically swallowing her tongue.” My cheeks burned in a flush and I ran a hand through my hair. She giggles and leans back in the booth. “I would’ve gone to see you the next day, but your boat was already gone.”

“You would have come to me?” I ask, not believing a word she was saying. She would have come to me. I barely remember being there. I don’t think I would have remembered her if she did come to me. I barely remember the blonde. I wouldn’t deny that if I woke up with her wrapped up around me, I wouldn’t have been upset. It’s everything I had longed for, to have her wrapped around my body, whimpering my name as I made her come apart at the mercy of my own hands.

“I should’ve gone sooner, maybe I would’ve caught you before you left.” She says, leaning forward on the table.. “After that, you were never seen or heard from. Next thing I know, today comes and Sam is calling me, inviting me out because you finally came back home.”

“And you still came?”

I can see the light blush in her cheeks. She nods her head and smiles. “After seeing you in Florida, you were all I could think about. Hoping you were safe but also hoping you would come back home.”

“I would have, eventually..”

“I see that now.”

My mouth presses into a tight lipped smile. Glancing around the bar, I notice that Sam hasn’t emerged from the bathroom. Pulling out my phone, I shot him a quick text.

‘Where are you?’

Just as quick, he response comes back. ‘Went home. Have some fun! ;)’

“Um well,” I cleared my throat. “Seems like Sam has ditched us.”

“You’re kidding..”

I shake my head and stuff my phone back into my pocket.

Come on, Jake.. Take your chance. She’s here. Don’t let her get away again.

“I’m going to go pay the tab, and then maybe we can get out of here?” I say, in hopes that she’ll say yes. When she nods her head, I begin to slide out of the booth and make my way up to the bar to close the tab. I’ll request the money later from Sam as payment for ditching us. Though I’m secretly hoping tonight won’t be all bad.

If she had shown up on my boat, I would have taken her with me. I would have taken her everywhere with me. So long as I had her and knew she was mine, I would have done it. 

“I still have it,” I say. “The boat.”

Having not driven to the bar this evening, I had no other way home. So a walk is what we took back to my place. A place she’s never been. A place that has never been graced with her presence, everything inside untouched. Now she’s here, standing in my living room and holding a glass of wine.

“You brought it all the way here?”

I nod my head. Taking her hand, I pull her out of the living room and out the back door towards the pole barn. Her eyes grew twice their size when I pulled her through the door and flipped on the lights.

“This is so much bigger than I thought it was.” She says as she approaches the boat. She runs her fingers along the still glistening paint. “Don’t tell me you brought women on to this..”

I chuckle but shake my head. “No.. I didn’t think anyone was worth bringing onto this.” I find myself stepping behind her, placing my hands on her hips and drawing her close to me. “Except you..”

She turns her head to the side and lifts her eyes up to look at him. “Only me?”

I nod my head and pull away to lead her around to the back where the ladder is. I drag it down and help her climb up. “I was selfish.. Hoping that I’d find you out there somewhere and that I’d take you back here and make love to you like I’ve always wanted to.”

I caught her biting her bottom lip. She steps up to me and slowly wraps her arms around my neck. “What if we did that now?” She asks.

She.. I stood there, not believing the words that she had spoken. After everything that transpired; our meeting, her falling in love with Sam and then them dating, my heart longing to be hers and she to be mine, and then my leaving. Now she stands before me, suggesting the act of making love to be committed at this moment.

“It’s not the same without being on the waves…” I say with a sly smile.

She shrugs her shoulders and pulls away before walking around me. She ducks inside but peers back out. “We can make our own waves.”

Oh fuck.

I didn’t want to seem desperate and run right after her but at the same time I wanted to run after her. So I met in the middle and hastily went after her. I brought her to the bedroom and gently laid her out on the bed.

Is this really happening?

Her legs wrap around my waist and she pulls me down on top of her. Her breasts are fully pressed up against my chest. Leaning down, I press my lips to hers. My god, they feel so good. They were everything I imagined they would be. Soft and nearly smooth, save for a few breaks in the sensitive skin.

On instinct, my hips grind against her core and she moans into my mouth. I know I’m growing hard and I know she knows because I feel her hand snake its way between our bodies. She cups her hand around my clothed length and slowly starts to move her hand in circles. I groan and bury my face in her neck where I lick and I suck on her skin, leaving a noticeable mark.

I will always mark her so everyone knows that she belongs to me now.

Not being able to contain myself, I pull away and unbutton the rest of my shirt before sliding it off and tossing it somewhere in the room. She sits up as well and removes her top, revealing her braless chest to me. Immediately, I latch onto her left breast as I begin to massage her right one. I circle her nipple with my tongue before lightly nipping at it, which elicits a deep moan from within her.

Licking her nipples once more, I pull away again only to hook my fingers beneath the waistband of her leggings and drag them down her legs along with her panties. I find them to be black and all lace. I wonder if her bra matches, if she ever chose to wear it. Once I have her pants off, I move downwards, hooking her legs over my shoulders.

Her cunt is right there in front me and I couldn’t feel any luckier than I do at this moment. I bet I’m better than any lover she’s ever had.

“Jake…” I hear her whine. It makes my cock twitch inside my pants. Guess I know now that I like to hear her whine like that.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” I tease as I bring my hand to her center and slowly rub my thumb in circles over her clit.

She moans and reaches down with her hands to tug at my hair. “You know what..”

I smirk and move my face closer, removing my thumb and rubbing my nose against her clit instead. I flick out my tongue and lick upwards through her folds, as slowly as possible, just to drive her crazy.

I lick and I suck and I thrust my fingers inside of her until I have her legs clutching my head tightly between them. She comes undone at my mercy and I drink up every drop she has to offer.

Pulling away, I gently drop her legs to the bed and undo my belt before unbuttoning and shoving them down my legs. Digging into my wallet, I pull out a condom and slide it on my length. She moves up the bed to make herself more comfortable and I crawl after her, resting once again in between her legs.

In one swell thrust, I’m plunging deep inside of her, stretching her out. We both moan in pleasure as I bottom out. I’ve always dreamt of this, having my cock buried so far inside of her and making the most beautiful love to her. And now it’s becoming real. I start to move, thrusting in and out at a delicious pace. I come to rest my arms on either side of her head, tangling my fingers inside of her hair.

Her naked breasts bounce with each of my thrusts, they brush against my chest, which turns me on even more. I feel her hook her leg against my waist before I’m suddenly flipped onto my back and she’s on top of me, straddling me. She laughs at the surprised look on my face.

Fuck yeah I’m surprised. No woman has ever done that before.

She keeps the pace I had going, lifting herself up on her knees before letting herself drop back right back down. I can tell she’s close as her walls clench around me.

“Soak me, Thea..” I bring my hand between us and rub her throbbing clit. Her fingers dig into my chest and thrust my hips upwards, pushing myself deeper. My name falls from her mouth as her release coats every inch of me and continues to ride me until her orgasm is through.

Before I even had a chance to register how beautiful she looked, she was off of me in a second and rolling off the condom. Her mouth swallows me and she begins working me to my own release.

“Fuck..” I clutch the sheets in my hands as my legs shake. I didn’t even know I could do that.

Soon she has me coming to my release, the orgasm washing cleanly over me. Her tongue. Goddamn. She licks me from shaft to tip, not missing a single drop of my own release.

Once she is finished and my orgasm subsides into nothing, she crawls back up to me and curls into my side, draping her leg across my waist.

“That was… Wow..” I breathed, my chest rising and falling at a rapid pace as I worked to relax my body. She giggles against my chest and begins to draw little circles on my skin.

“Jake?” I hum in acknowledgment, waiting for her to continue. “Had we seen each other again in Florida, would you have taken me with you?”

I nod my head and look down at her. “In a heartbeat.”

There was a part of me that couldn’t believe that this is all real, that if I were to wake up tomorrow morning, she would be gone and I would have dreamed all of this. A dream that I never would want to wake from, because she’s here and she’s in my arms.

____________________________________________________

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If you are missing from the list, I do apologize--I may have missed you or tumblr won't let me tag you! But please reach out and let me know if you do not see yourself and I will work on getting that fixed!

[kitheking]

toxic traits i think redacted characters have/used to have

david - gaslighting. he’s better now, but he was a professional. he would pull every trick in the book to make somebody feel like they were at fault for everything. the type of person to upset you, say “you’re overreacting” then deny the whole thing happened. angel fixed him.

asher - conflict avoidance. he hates fighting (especially in a relationship) so when things upset him, he addresses them in the most indirect way possible and ends up being passive aggressive. he usually apologizes tho.

milo - his toxic trait is that he doesn’t have any. (i actually couldn’t think of one for milo lmk if you have one) UPDATE: the only negative trait i can think of him having is that he can hold a grudge for the rest of his life if you let him (ty @frenchiefitzhere for this one) other than that he’s weirdly perfect?

lasko - dishonesty + conflict avoidance. like asher, he’s not big on conflict, but he often lies so people won’t get upset with him. ends up biting him in the ass tho.

damien - PETTY. omfg he can be the most childish person on earth. if you piss him off he’ll act out all of your pet peeves in the span of 3 minutes, disorganize things in your home, point out your insecurities, and he can and will go weeks without speaking to you.

huxley - toxic positivity. he isn’t always like this, but occasionally he’s the type of person to say “well, look on the bright side!” when you go to him to vent. sometimes he just makes people feel like their feelings aren’t valid.

gavin - we all know he’s arrogant. sometimes it’s just too much.

vincent - he’s overly competitive. he likes to be “the best” at everything and he’s a sore loser

aaron - he used to be judgmental and insanely critical. if he lets somebody do something for him, it’s never good enough. also the type of person to be like “um actually🤓” when you say literally anything.

sam - used to be super close minded and blames all the wrong people for things out of their control. if you saw fred and brights storyline you’d know

don’t even get me started on the listeners holy shit

[isthatafuckinggayangel]

So I had to draw Gale and Sam after this post, the temptation was too strong. So here LMAO

My boys fr

(closeups, descriptions, and reasons for certain decisions under the cut lmao)

Gale <3

[The text on the left says "Professional Yapper (affectionate)", and the text on the right says "Talking about magic in Faerûn". The spell icons shown are for Fireball, Thunderwave, and Eldritch Blast, all evocation spells (I made him an evocation wizard in my play through). While normally, by the book at least, Eldritch Blast isn't a wizard spell, Gale got in in my play through At Some Point (it's been a while LMAO), and he uses it A LOT.]

Sam <3

[The text on his right says "SO Quiet (affectionate)", and the text on his left says "Entirely lost but doing his best" (in reference to Gale's talking about magic).]

[The text in the middle of the full image says "Only here cause Auva and Darlin' got in a bar fight together".]

So for some context, I had brainworms from realizing that my take on Sam was insanely similar to Gale and I had to shove them in a room together. They're my favorites ever, and I think Gale would talk Sam's ear off for literal ages. He'd as SO many questions about how magic works in Dahlia and ramble about the differences between the two places for ages. He's only quiet long enough to listen to Sam's answers, I swear to god. And because he's an expert in magic in Faerûn, he's ABSOLUTELY talking about it at a WAY higher level than can be expected of Sam to understand. It would be hilarious.

Gale's Tav is a Seldarine Drow, battlemaster fighter, with a folk hero background, named Auva Alaraph Porrima (or just Auva). Very much a chaotic good, and determined to get all his party members a good ending (except Minthara, who got nuked on sight LMAO).

I think if for whatever reason the BG3 cast were in Dahlia, and Auva and Darlin' were in the same bar at the same time, they'd see someone being a dick and both go charging. Insanely protective people with a refusal to allow injustice, and all. They'd stay in contact and. Ya know. Gale and Sam would eventually meet through them and their shenanigans (Auva is a TERRIBLE influence on Darlin' solely for the fact that he Will Not Stop Fighting and you could not possibly convince him to calm down. Do something stupid and if he can't talk you into not doing it he Will Kick Your Ass.)

Anyway I'm gonna shut up now, ask me questions about them (and my tav, oh my god I love him) <3

[robin33r]

Uhh warning this gets p detail-e

Warning for just mainly getting in detail w abusive relationships

Tired of pretending saurtis / tauram would've been healthy ngl. They are fr eachothers nightmares in the best way possible "Sam's insane and looney" okay but idk if you realized it was TAURTIS who was unhinged first. HE encourages Sam's shenanigans too. He influences it so so much.

I've seen people say Sam took after Yuki by resorting his problems using violence however.. Taurtis even at the start of the series suggested violence even for sam to use violence to get love. He tells Sam that he should be doing "chop chop" to make Sookie love him and he even thought it was too far at the time. I feel like now that's partially influencing his behavior in the reboot and how he's spreading the ideals onto his friends just like how taurtis influenced him subtly.

Now this isn't saying taurtis doesn't care and is only tryna negatively influence Sam. Taurtis cares about Sam but they're both codependent and they both reflect off of eachother, however Sam's a LOT more dependent and reflects off of taurtis much more than he does to Sam. Sam physically needs taurtis, almost like a dog and it's owner.

Sam and taurtis both have normalized unhinged thoughts that for ANY normal person would find it intrusive. They've straight up bathed in eachothers blood fir fun and normalized it. To anyone who thinks their love would be gentle and romantic I HEAVILY doubt that realistically it'd be that. They'd be the triple C's, cannibalism, confinement, and codepdency. They'd hurt eachother for the ballistic fun of it and ngl I even forget how often those two fight or hit eachother. They'd probably even carve out little shapes off if eachother even if it's immature, why? Because they can! There's no "gentle talking" with them, it's straight to the point and sometimes even mockery, if it isn't it's stern. They both love so roughly they almost *cant* be gentle, neither of them wanted to be either, they're just there for the fun and sake of it. Taurtis can be just as sadistic if not MORE sadistic than Sam sometimes even and ngl it's such an underrated thought of how much of a little shit he is.

Sam copied so much of previous behaviors from Yuki and Taurtis and it's so funny to me how the impact is so obviously hard. Sam would give taurtis EVERYTHING if jt meant to be with him, dead or alive. That desire could even probably lead Sam into grabbing his dead body and finding ways to bring it back alive/delude himself into believing the body. Most of the time he was unstable it was because of taurtis not being there and he's canonly always uneasy without taurtis, in which this could DEFINITELY Influence his behavior in the reboot.

The way he acts in the reboot is definitely twisted as ro how he normally acts without taurtis or when he's seemingly unstable and he pushes those ideals onto coolment and sometimes even owl. He's physically unable to handle himself holding the memories of what he had with taurtis yet not having him around. The absolute pain kf losing your favorite person and then having tk restart at the same place where hell went down and when things went down. Good lord only knows he probably hallucinates taurtis ' voice

This is a bit of a stretch but because of how little those two take eachothers mental health, injuries and pain seriously I'd even argue that hell maybe they'd even encourage ut and/or do it together or just laugh awkwardly st it. At MOST is the fact that taurtis did seem genuinely concerned at Sam's alcoholism but I don't know. This is just a huge stretch but god I love saurtis/tauram I sure wish toxic and doomed yaoi was real.

[highfunctioningflailgirl]

Damage Control - 3x14 Long Distance Call

“I’m scared, Sam. I’m really scared.”

Dean’s admission echoes in Sam’s aching head as they sit beside each other, on their respective motel beds, drinking beer and nursing their bruises, while the TV flickers ominously in the darkening room. Dean’s found an old horror movie that he must’ve watched so often he knows it by heart, mouthing some of the lines in sync with the characters, his swollen face lighting up in childlike joy at the outdated, involuntarily comical jump scares.

Sam could never get behind his brother’s enthusiasm for horror flicks. In his opinion, they’re dealing with enough horror in real life as it is. Why Dean would find relaxation - even joy - in watching people getting terrorized and torn apart by monsters, aliens or (worst of all) other humans is beyond him. Why he would fill what little downtime they have with even more fear and blood and pain is something Sam will never understand.

He also can’t get behind the sudden insouciance that Dean is showing, sitting rapt in front of the TV, their earlier conversation about Dean dying in three weeks seemingly forgotten. Very possibly, it’s just a front - a mask he’s put on to disguise the very emotions he admitted to only twenty minutes ago. Up to anyone’s guess whether he’s protecting himself or Sam by sliding back into the brave act he’s put on for months now. Pressed, Sam would guess the latter. In the end, it’s his modus operandi, and as much as Sam rebels against needing protection - he’s twenty-five now, for god’s sake - he believes that, by correlation, it’s what keeps Dean together. Taking care of Sam means he can’t fall apart. Not even three weeks from going to Hell.

Sam shudders.

“Ohhhh– that was nasty, wa’n’t it?” Dean grins at him, pointing at a slashed-up body on the TV screen, the insane killer silently walking out of the frame, machete dripping blood.

Sam shakes his head, albeit carefully, his brain still sloshy from getting knocked out earlier. How can Dean find gory murder amusing when he’s about to get ripped apart himself? He suppresses the ‘A little too close to home, don’t you think’ he’s got on the tip of his tongue.

Dean slaps Sam’s leg. “Oh come on, Sammy! Admit it - it’s funny!”

Sam doesn’t laugh. “Haha.”

“Wuss.” 

A knock on their door pulls Sam out of his thoughts and Dean away from the screen. 

“Papa John’s Pizza!” someone announces cheerlessly outside and knocks again, impatient. “Your order’s here!”

Rubbing his hands in anticipation, Dean gets up and, after checking through the window, he opens the door to a weary-looking twenty-something in a red-and-white uniform holding a family-sized pizza box out to him. Dean pays and tips him generously. That, too, is his modus operandi: they may be near-broke most of the time, but Dean never lets a person with a shit, low-paying job go without a tip. He’d rather not order at all. Sam can’t remember if that’s something Dad taught him, but he doesn’t think so. 

Door shut and locked, Dean returns to his bed with the steaming box and opens it, his eyes already swinging back to the TV where the crazed machete murderer is stalking his next victim.

“He’s in for a surprise with that one,” he comments cheerfully before he maneuvers a slice of pizza out of the box and bites off, sauce dripping down his chin and onto the bed. Sam wants to say something about the sheets and using napkins, but he doesn’t have it in him. As much as he complains all the time about Dean’s messy eating, he knows he’s going to miss it when–

No. He’s not gonna go there.. They’ll find a way to save Dean. It’s not gonna-

“Dude! You’re not even looking!” Dean admonishes, chewing. “This is the best part! The Final Girl!” 

There’s screaming on the screen, blood splattering all over the place, and the killer growls and snarls like some rabid dog. It sounds way too much like a Hell Hound. Sam swallows.

“Dude, you okay? Lord of the Flies leave you with a concussion after all?” 

Dean’s eyes are on him now, giving him the full Winchester-X-ray scrutiny, pizza and movie momentarily forgotten.

While it’s true that the Crocotta knocked him out, Sam doesn’t think he has a concussion. His head hurts, and he’s a little dizzy, but he can see straight and he doesn’t feel like throwing up the two beers he just drank. No, the lump in his throat is nothing but dread, pushing up through the bravado he, too, has been putting on for Dean. 

“D’you want a poem?” he’d joked earlier, to kill the tension and knock Dean out of his panic. It had worked. Humor sometimes was the only thing that worked when his older brother was spiraling. Humor or pure, physical force. And Dean needs him. No matter the show he’s putting on, Sam sees it in the taut line of his shoulders and hears it in his exaggerated laughter. Behind the pretend mirth, despair still glimmers in the green of his eyes. 

For once, Sam’s got to be the one to lean on. He can’t waver now.

“I’m fine,” he says, waving at the TV. “Just that Pizza Face over there is not exactly making my mouth water.” More blood sprays on the screen as the triumphant Final Girl takes an ice pick to the killer’s ugly face. Sam pointedly wrinkles his nose. “Yuck.”

Mollified, Dean chuckles. “Lightweight.” He takes another hearty pizza bite and licks a string of cheese from his split lip. “Wait till you see what happens with the teacher in part two! Guy knows how to handle a chainsaw, I’m not kiddin’!”

“There’s a part two?” Sam asks, horrified. Why anyone would want to watch a sequel to this ludicrous garbage eludes him.

Dean grins devilishly, although it must be hurting his badly bruised cheek. “Yeah, and it’s on right after. A marathon, in fact. Parts one through four back-to-back.”

Sam has to keep himself from sagging in dismay, and he stops the agonized groan that wants to slip out of him. A whole night of battling insomnia and the monsters waiting for Dean in Hell with badly made-up, fictional monsters prowling over a scratched TV screen - it’s not his idea of conquering fear. But, apparently, it’s Dean’s, and if this is what his brother needs, if this is what helps him face the nightmare waiting ahead, Sam will be by his side. In this dismal motel room and in the three weeks to come.

“Alright then. Pass me a slice,” he says, gesturing at the pizza, to a crescendo of screaming coming from the TV. “And another beer.”

Dean’s grin widens, and if he’s still scared underneath the twinkle in his eyes and the bright flash of his teeth, it’s hard even for Sam to detect. “That’s my boy!” 

He balances a slice from Sam’s veggie half of the pizza onto a napkin and hands it to him, followed by a fresh beer that he pops open with his ring.“Get comfortable, dude,” Dean instructs joyfully, rearranging the pillows between his back and the headboard. Then he lifts his beer bottle to toast to Sam. “It’s gonna be a looong night.”

Sam toasts back, a twinge in his chest. Twenty-one nights left. It’s time they start making them count.

The Damage Control Series Masterlist

Read the whole series on AO3 here: