vee (she/they)

---

Two hours later and everyone was getting into position, Scott was with you and Derek was going to go with Lydia and Stiles.

“Hey, (Y/n). You run, okay?” Derek said seriously as you moved to the back of the car.

“You know Derek, sometimes I think you forget I could kick your ass any day,” you smirk as you open the trunk of the Camaro and lift the hidden compartment to grab a gun from the mini armory you had stashed.

Derek was the only one who knew who you were, well Chris had too, but your hunter past was something that was pretty buried. You had met Derek on a case when you were a kid, your dad, John Winchester, had brought you and your brothers, Dean who was older, and Sam who was younger, with him. You had given up hunting after the closest thing you had to a real father, Bobby Singer, died. Bobby Singer was more of a father to you than John Winchester ever was. Your dad was always preoccupied with hunting the thing that killed your mom, then making sure his golden child, Dean, was being shaped into the mold he desired. Or John was busy arguing with Sam, they never got along, and they always had different points of view. Sam was smart, he graduated and saw his ticket out. You stayed.

Then dad went missing, and sam came back. For a while it was okay. When it was just the three of you, nothing ever was that bad. And then came Chuck and his angels. When Bobby died, you wanted out, out of hunting, out of demons, and angels. So you packed up and left.

It was funny when you realized the only place you felt comfortable was with a werewolf. You’d arrived at Derek’s loft at two in the morning, soaked from the rain. When he had spotted you he had welcomed you in and you’d been here ever since. Derek had been your best friend throughout it all. He was your biggest secret growing up.

When you had first met Derek on that case when you were younger you both just connected and when he saved your life and shown you his werewolf nature you had kept your mouth shut. Your dad wouldn’t have cared that Derek was a good person, or that he was the same age as you, or even that he’d saved your life. he would’ve hunted him the same way he does with all other supernatural beings.

Derek became the person you’d call when you had a moment alone or e-mail when you could. He was your confidant because he knew what you were the same way you knew what he was, and you were always thankful for that.

Months passed after you had arrived before anything really happened between the two of you, but after one night where he took care of you while you were absolutely plastered the two of you became closer than you thought possible. The two of you came out stronger, together.

“Trust me, (y/n), I never forget,” Derek laughed as you picked up your gun, you checked the clip before tucking it behind your waistband.

Derek leaned over and handed you an extra clip and two knives, both made of silver, “You know I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Junior Detective over there had figured out my family history,” you smiled while placing the weapons on your body, glancing at Stiles.

“With the way you gear up it shouldn’t be too difficult to figure out,” He shook his head leaning close to you.

“Keep an eye on them, yeah?” you gesture to Stiles and Lydia, he nods pressing a quick kiss to your lips before stepping back.

“Hey, Scott!” Derek called out, gaining the younger werewolf’s attention. “Keep an eye on her, yeah?” he asked, sending you a wink causing you to laugh and shake your head.

“Always,” Scott nodded with a smile before you all broke up to cover more ground.

You and Scott had been creeping around for about an hour now when Scott’s head whipped to the side.

“What?” you whispered.

“Someone’s coming!” he whispered back.

“The omega?” you mouth.

“No, human,” Scott said with a confused look and your eyes hardened.

“Hide,” you order.

“What? I’m not going to-” Scott tried to argue.

“Hey, I said to hide, now. If it’s human I’ll flash my badge and get them to leave, that won’t work if they see some high school kid next to me,” you tell him seriously.

This time you heard a twig snap and you gave Scott a look, one he thankfully understood. “Derek’s gonna kill me!” he hissed before he carefully crept away. You pulled out your gun and turned the safety off before moving to turn.

“Don’t move!” a gruff voice shouted and your grip on the gun tightened, you knew that voice. “Drop the gun!” he shouted.

“I drop this gun, it's gonna go off,” you tell the strangely familiar voice.

“Turn around, slowly,” he huffed.

You did as the voice said and when you finally met the eyes of the man a feeling of relief flooded your body. Those eyes were green, a shade of green you’d known your whole life. His lips parted and his arms holding the gun dropped a bit as he stared at you. A small breath escaped you and while you felt relieved your heart rate sped up. Before you could say anything though Scott came barreling out of nowhere knocking the man off his feet. Immediately you were switching the safety on and running towards the man and Scott.

“Scott! Scott, get off of him. McCall! move! now!” you shouted shoving the teen wolf.

When Scott fell away the man was staring at you, his eyes tough and a bit broke but still the ones you remembered vividly, “Need a hand, big brother?” you laughed.

“Brother?” Scott asked.

“(Y/n)?” Dean’s brows furrowed as he accepted the hand you offered to pull him up.

As soon as he was up he was wrapping you in a hug, “Damnit kid, where the hell you been?”

“It’s good to see you too, D,” you sighed, wrapping your arms around him too.

When you pulled back Scott was standing again but his head was whipping around as if he could smell something, “Scott?”

“There’s something close…” he trailed.

“The...omega?” you asked.

“It doesn’t smell like another werewolf, it doesn’t even smell remotely human. It smells sort of putrid… like…” Scott listed.

“like rotting flesh?” Dean offered and my head turned to him.

“Yeah,” Scott nodded with a concerned expression.

“Dean, what were you hunting?” you asked urgently, turning to your older brother.

“A wendigo, super strange to be this far west, but don’t worry, Sammy’s got this,” Dean answered and you paled.

“Scott, you need to call Stiles, now!” you shouted at the teen. “And we need to get back to Camaro,” you whispered.

You all took off, Dean following you, and Scott wasn’t even sweating, “Any answer?” you shouted, jumping over a log.

“No!” he shook his head and you forced yourself to go faster.

“Scotty we got split up!” you decided.

“You’re joking? You’re the one that says pairs, always!” he argues.

“I know!” you shout back panting as you skid to a stop by the cars. “Dammit!” you curse kicking the Camaro’s tire. “Okay! New plan. Dean, you call Sam, I’m going to call Derek, if we get no answer Scott you take your bike and you find Derek, you’re the only one who can,” you tell him seriously as Dean and you pull out your phones. You dial Derek and you know Dean’s tryna get a hold of Sam.

“C’mon Der, pick-up your damn phone, please,” you beg quietly.

“Hey, what’s up?” Derek asked, his voice a hushed whisper.

“You need to grab Stiles and Lydia and get back to the cars, now, Derek, right now,” you tell him seriously.

“(Y/n), what’s going on?”

“Derek, run, and don’t stop, especially Stiles, okay? He’s the one at the most risk.”

“Okay, we’re on our way back,” Derek assured you and you finally took a breath.

---

When Derek, Stiles, and Lydia finally showed up you were changing out your weapons of choice. instead of a gun and blades, you grabbed your lighter and an aerosol spray. You grabbed a flare gun and a machete too, just in case.

“Hey, what’s up?” Derek asked, stopping in front of you, hands going to your shoulders to check in with you, his intense eyes checking for anything.

“It’s not an omega,” you tell Derek seriously as you move from his grip.

“So what? An Alpha? Because we’ve handled alphas in the past,” Lydia argued.

“And why’d you say I was the one at the most risk?” Stiles butt in.

“Because it’s not a werewolf, it’s a wendigo,” you sighed, shutting the trunk.

“Who’s that?” Stiles was giving Dean the side-eye and Derek’s eyes flickered to Dean and then back to you.

“Which one is this?” Derek’s voice was soft as he asked but he knew that the person behind me was related.

“Dean,” you mouth and Derek’s eyes dart to Dean again, though this time they’re more guarded.

“You mean the one who’s more likely to kill me than talk to me?” Derek asked with an irritated look.

“Yup,” you nod, slipping the machete into the harness you had attached to your waist and leg.

“Is that a machete? Why the hell do you have a machete?” Stiles asked.

“Derek, get them back to the loft, check-in with Kira and Malia, I know they stayed in tonight, but no chances,” you order.

“If you think I’m ditching you now, you’ve lost your mind,” Derek said seriously.

“I’ll be okay. I got Dean, and Sam should be here soon, right De?” you tell Derek while looking back to your brother.

“Sam’s on his way,” Dean nodded, carefully analyzing Derek.

“What happened to being a team?” he asked you and you gave him a pained look. “Fine, if you’re not back at the loft before nine tomorrow I’m calling Stilinski,” Derek warned.

“I’ll be there, no sweat. I’m not about breaking promises,” you wink before turning to Scott, Stiles, and Lydia. “Listen to Derek, please. And don’t do anything stupid and under no circumstances, and I mean none, will you come out here without Derek or without me, do I make myself clear?” you hiss at the teens.

“That turned very dark very quick,” Stiles nodded.

“No, I’m serious, okay? A wendigo is not a joke and none of you are equipped to deal with one,” you say seriously, they offer you a couple of nods in reluctant agreement.

You sigh, “thank you,” you tell them and suddenly the three of them are charging at you, they give you a tight hug and you smile as you squeeze them back. They take a step back and you smile at them one more time. Derek reached out and you squeezed his hand tight before moving towards Dean.

“You even remember how to hunt? Two years is a long time?” Dean sniffed, his earlier enthusiasm seemed to have ebbed away to pain, the pain of you leaving, and pain at everything that’s coming to light before him now.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Dean. I’m still very capable of hunting, family business after all,” you muse, and the headlights from another car reach your vision.

“What were you doing with a werewolf? With any of them, for that matter...” Dean asked as Sam arrived.

“That’s not important,” You shake your head a small smile on your lips as your younger brother steps out of the car he had no doubt “borrowed”.

“(Y/n),” Sam let out a breath and pulled you into a hug.

“Hey Sammy, it’s been a while,” you chuckle into his chest.

“No kidding,” he laughed back.

“How are you doing, little brother?” you smiled.

You didn’t miss the way Sam’s eyes darted to Dean and then to the ground before settling on you, “Busy,” he answered and you decided you’d pull that string later on.

---

When you finally arrived back at the loft the sun was starting to rise over the horizon and it was with a foul mood. The three of you had managed to kill a wendigo but it was just your luck that there was another one out there.

“Where are we?” Dean asked, eyeing the building.

“Somewhere safe,” you tell them, fishing your keys from your pocket.

“Hale? Scotty? Stiles?” you shouted as you pulled the large metal door open.

You spotted Scott, Stiles, Lydia, Malia and Kira all passed out on the couch and the floor beside it, the sound of feet on the stairs drew your attention from the sleeping teens.

“They passed out around three AM this morning,” Derek told you and you knew, from the look in his eyes that what he really meant was that he was glad to see you.

“They’re gonna complain when I send them home in a few hours,” you shake your head. “Did you tell Melissa that they’re here?”

“Yeah, and she told the rest of their parents,” Derek nodded, and then his eyes narrowed on you. “You’re bleeding.”

It was a statement and you laughed dryly pulling the door back shut, your brothers behind you. You peeled your bloody jacket off and revealed the growing red spot on your side from where the wendigo had grazed you.

“How could you tell that it was my blood?” you asked, moving towards the kitchen with a slight limp and painful groan.

“I’ve gotten your scent down over the years, I’m sure Scott has too,” Derek shook his head, grabbing the first aid kit and throwing a pillow at the sleeping teens.

You slumped against the kitchen counter and pulled off your ruined t-shirt, allowing Derek to get a better look at your side. Dean and Sam had moved closer, carefully watching Derek and you.

“You in pain?” Derek asked as all the teens slowly stumbled over to the four of you in the kitchen, Derek grabbed you by your hips and lifted you up on the counter apologizing when you groaned.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” you smirk and Derek meets your eyes, he’s close now, a few inches away and he’s smirking back at you.

You heard Dean clear his throat and you rolled your eyes before looking up to your brothers.

“Right, everybody, these are my brothers, Dean and Sam Winchester,” You introduce, and one of your hands comes up to Derek’s shoulder to help steady yourself. “Dean and Sam are hunters, just like I used to be, they’re here for the wendigos that have been killing everyone.”

“Hunters? Wendigo? Yesterday you said it was an Omega, you remember that? You know before you sent us home!” Stiles butt in.

“I was...wrong,” you pull a face while saying the word.

“No, you weren't. You knew,” Scott realized. “You knew but you didn't say anything.”

“Secretive as always, little sis,” Dean chuckled dryly.

“You want to talk secrets?” you press with a glare, warning him not to go any further. “And I didn’t know, not really, I had a hunch…”

“She’s pulling out the mom glare,” you heard Kira whisper, and your head turned to her in a warning.

“Okay, this is going to hurt,” Derek interrupted, holding a bottle of hydrogen peroxide.

Scott moved forwards to grab your hand, the black veins appearing instantly. But you oulled back with a warning glace. He huffed but nodded and you send the boy a soft smile in relief and then a nod to Derek. Derek helped you lay back on the counter and he turned to Malia, “Hold her shoulders,” he told her and the new addition moved to do so.

Derek turned the bottle over and began pouring the liquid along the gash and then dabbing and wiping at it with the gauze he had. You squeezed Scott’s hand a little harder as he did so and let out a strangled groan.

Derek helps you sit up before wrapping a bandage around your middle. Letting his hand linger on the skin. Black veins appearing as he leeched the pain from your body.

You swayed for a second. relief hitting you, on hand dropping to Dereks shoulder to hold tight until you tapped him to stop. The veins ebbed away and you took a few deep breaths before letting your eyes flutter open.

When you were done Stiles came over, his face pulled in an expression of disgust holding a glass of whiskey for you.

“Thanks, kid,” you laugh, taking the glass.

“Brothers of mine, meet Derek Hale, Malia Tate, Stiles Stilinski, Kira Yukimura, Lydia Martin, and Scott McCall,” you finished the introduction.

“Better?” Derek's question is soft in your ear.

You offer him a half smile, "Yeah,” you nod, forehead resting against his forehead a second.

“It's... uh... nice to meet you all,” Sam forced out with a tight smile that you saw straight through.

“Yeah, can we talk to you?” Dean asked, looking you straight in the eyes. His voice had that ‘it’s not really up for discussion’ tone to it.

“Sure,” you mutter, jumping down from the counter with some help from Derek. You gave a small wince before walking over to Dean.

“This is where you’ve been?” Dean asked, his tone was accusing.

“Yes,” you nodded.

“The entire last two years, you’ve been here?” Dean repeated.

“Yes.”

“I think what Dean’s trying to say is that you should’ve sent us a message, to let us know where you were,” Sam cut in as Dean glared at you.

“No,” you shook your head.

“No? No? Are you insane, we had a right to know! You took off in the middle of the night-” Dean hissed.

“No. Because if I told you where I was, you guys would view it with your hunter’s brains,” you tell them seriously.

“What? like your little teen wolf over there? Huh? The one who tackled me last night,” Dean pointed and you knew Scott, Derek, and Malia were listening in.

“Yeah, Scott’s a werewolf, and the only reason he tackled you, was to protect me, or did you forget there was a gun in your hand?” you shoot back at Dean.

“You held a gun at her?!” Sam’s hissed whisper is directed at Dean and he rolls his eyes.

“I didn’t know it was her,” he defended.

“I-,” Sam pauses, shakes his head, looks over his shoulder and then back to you, “the one who patched you up, he’s one too, isn’t he?” Sam asked, brows dipping.

Before you could answer Dean cut in, his voice taking on a meaner tone, “Of course he is, talking about smelling blood, knowing your scent. But did you see the way he was looking at her, the way he touched her while patching her up?” Dean pressed and you shifted under your older brother’s glare. “What’s the matter little sis, you screwing the big bad werewolf?” Dean bit and you met his glare head-on.

“Shut up, Dean,” you warned.

“What? You’re some alpha werewolf’s bitch now?” Dean pressed.

“Dean-” Sam attempted to interrupt but got cut off when you shoved Dean.

“You have no clue of what’s going on here, so don’t act like you do,” your tone was low because you were on edge, finger pointing at him.

“Or what? Huh? You’re going to sick your puppies on me? Reality check (y/n) they’re monsters. We hunt monsters, remember? Saving people, hunting things, the family business!” Dean was leaning closer now and when he smacked your hand away it set off a chain of reactions.

A growl could be heard from off to the side and so your head, as well as your brothers, snapped over there, you had been expecting it to be Malia as she still had the least amount of control but it was Scott, his red eyes glowing brightly for the boys to see.

“What the hell?” Sam asked rhetorically, his voice just audible as a whisper.

“Dammit Scott. Hey, it’s okay. Alright? They...they’re not a threat to me,” you hold your hands up as you begin to walk closer to Scott.

“(Y/n)!” Dean called trying to grab you but you side-stepped him.

Derek was squaring up and Malia was looking between you and Scott and then to Sam and Dean before she frowns at Sam and Dean. Stiles seems to pick up on that too because he moves closer to his girlfriend, with a nod at you.

Scott let out another growl as you reached arm distance, “Hey!” you shout at him drawing his attention away from your brothers. “Take a breath, and pull it together, Scott,” you tell the boy, using the tone that Lydia had dubbed the mom tone.

Scott’s eyes immediately flicked back to brown and his shoulder sag a little as he looks up at you with a nervous look, like a puppy who knows they messed up.

You took a deep breath in and put a hand on his cheek moving your thumb in a soothing manner, “it’s okay, we’re okay,” you remind the boy.

“I’m sorry, I..I don’t…” Scott trailed and you knew he felt bad.

“He’s been struggling since, well… you know…,” Stiles jumped in and you offered the boys a sad smile, you did know.

You should’ve realized this was going to be a lot tougher for him now, now that he doesn’t have Allison. Now that none of you do. You look at Scott and you realize you don’t want the next victim to be one of these kids or someone else that they care about.

“It’s okay, I know they seem intense,” you nodded smiling at Scott. It was so easy to forget that the pack was made up of teens, kids. “But you don’t need to worry about me, I can lay them both out quicker than you’d think,” you wink, attempting to lighten the mood.

“(Y/n)!” Dean shouted again.

“Dean, I’m going to go pack a bag, and we’re gonna go get the last wendigo, today,” you tell your older brother, but your eyes stayed on Scott, making sure the teen was okay.

“I wasn’t done,” Dean huffed.

“Dude!” Sam interjected.

“No, that’s fine. But you’re gonna shut the hell up until we’re in the Impala,” you decide, finally looking at your brothers. “I’ll be right back,” your voice is tight as you excuse yourself before walking up the stairs.

You had just grabbed the duffle when Derek appeared in the doorway, “put the bag away, you’re not going anywhere,” Derek argued.

“I have to Derek,” you tell him.

“Why? Because your brothers said so? That’s a shitty reason,” Derek shot back.

“I’m going for you! And those kids downstairs! Our kids, Derek. Because you know that’s basically what they are, I’ve already watched three of them move away, I’ve watched four of them die! I’m not going to lose another one. I can’t handle that, but this, this is a wendigo, that’s my wheelhouse, and you know it!” you argued.

Derek’s eyes softened as he placed one hand on your shoulder, “Allison wasn’t your fault,” he said softly as he pulled you into a hug and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

Your eyes shut as you took a deep breath, fist clenching in the soft material of Derek’s shirt, letting him take your weight for a moment, “she took that blade for me,” you whispered, “it will always be my fault.”

Derek held you for a moment longer, finally understanding why you had to do this, why you were willing to put up with your brother's bullshit. And then he helped you grab the weapons you had locked away in a safe in one of the cabinets.

When you came back down the stairs Scott was looking at you, brows furrowed and lips turned down, “she wasn’t your fault,” he said softly and your face fell from the tight-lipped smile it had been in.

“We don’t blame you,” Lydia added and you shut your eyes for a second to take a breath in.

“You don’t have to, I blame myself,” you tell them honestly. “And I thought I told you guys to stop eavesdropping on Derek’s and my conversations,” you remind them.

“Don’t go,” Stiles cut in. “Whatever is going on, we can handle it.”

“Look, kid, whatever you think you can handle I promise this is something you can’t,” Dean’s gruff voice spoke and you sighed because you knew these kids could handle it, you just didn’t want them too.

“Yeah old man? I think we can handle a lot more than you think,” Stiles argued.

“Who are you calling old man, kid?” Dean stepped forwards putting an emphasis on the word kid.

“Wow, you must be in some serious denial,” Stiles scoffed.

Dean opened his mouth to say something else but you cut him off.

“Alright!” you interrupted. “Stiles I know you can handle it. I do, but you guys deserve a break, okay? You have school tomorrow, so just make sure you guys are ready for that,” you ask.

“You’re benching us?” Kira asked, her hands playing with the ends of her long hair.

“Yeah, this time I am,” you nod.

“Are you benching Derek too? Because if Derek’s going, we’re going,” Malia stated flatly.

“Derek’s being benched too,” you sighed.

“Call us, when you’re done?” Scott asked, knowing that this wasn’t a winnable argument.

“Yeah, of course,” you nodded.

“Are you kidding me?” Stiles shouted. “This is bullshit! We’re just supposed to let (y/n) leave with those two assholes who look like they want to kill all of us?”

“Watch it, punk. We’re her brothers,” Dean glared.

“Some brothers, you haven’t even tried to look for her in over two years!” Stiles shot back and you gaped at Stiles, maybe he had searched into your family history a bit.

“Stiles-” your tone was warning but he was glaring at Sam and Dean.

“No, they want to complain about (y/n) coming here, but these guys, the great Winchesters, they’re supposed to be some of the best hunters out there, and somehow they couldn’t find (y/n) when she wasn’t even attempting to hide!

“That’s enough!” you slammed your hand down drawing everyone’s attention.

Lydia took a step back and pulled Kira with her. Malia’s frown deepened. Stiles’ eyes went wide as head whipped to you, his mouth parted open. Sam and Dean both had shocked expressions on their face and you understood why. You weren’t as aggressive or loud the last time you had seen them. Scott was calculating everyone in the room but his eyes were trained on Derek. Derek was stone-cold now, a deep glare aimed at Dean but everyone who saw it shrunk away.

“Lydia, would you please take Malia and Kira home, unless you’ve got something to share with the class?” you hint at her.

“Yes, Ma’am,” she sighed, pulling out her keys. “We’ll see you later,” she says it firmly and you take the reassurance as it comes.

You nod and she grabs the other two girls and walks out, shushing Malia as she goes.

“Scott, you too, go home,” you tell him.

Scott looks between you, your brothers, and Derek, “(Y/n)…” his tone is uneasy.

“Go home, do your homework, I’ll help you with the SAT prep stuff later this week,” you decide, you’ve dedicated yourself to trying to keep things normal, to reassure them, that this is just a bump in the road.

“Yeah,” he nods and slowly starts to leave, but not without casting another look over his shoulder. “You should know, she might be your sister, but she’s a part of our pack, and we’ve faced a lot worse than you. We protect pack,” he adds, it’s a low warning but it’s a threat you weren’t fully anticipating.

You catch the upward twitch of Derek’s lip as he smirks in approval. Scott only waits another second before walking out.

“Derek,” you turn to face your best friend and boyfriend, “I will see you when I get home,” you say softly with a small smile. “And you, smartass,” you turned back to Stiles, “You’re coming with us, it’s time to talk to the Sheriff.”

“No, I’m not letting some sarcastic punk in my car, no way!” Dean shook his head and you rolled your eyes.

“Fine. Stiles, if Dean won’t drive we can take the Camaro,” you decide.

“Dean,” Sam said seriously. You knew why, Sam wanted you all together so he could play mediator, just like he always had.

“No,” Dean stayed stubborn and you scoffed at him, before glancing over to Derek.

“Not a scratch,” he said reaching into his pocket to hand you the keys.

You walked up to grab the keys, but he held them tight looking into your eyes. “Your car’s gonna be fine,” you tell him.

“Wasn’t talking about the car,” he said seriously, and you can feel the heat in your cheeks. “You, don’t wanna see you get hurt, again,” his voice was soft so only you could hear, though when you were with werewolves you were never really sure when they were listening or not.

“I can’t promise that,” you remind him, not wanting to lie. “But I’ll do my very best.”

He nods releasing the keys, you notice the way his eyes dip to your lips but then flicker back to your brothers. You shake your head slightly, not really bothered to know what they think. Grabbing his soft green v-neck you pull him close for a quick peck and a soft smile. He gives one back to you and you turn around, walking to the door, Stiles right behind you, silent as a mouse.

You waited until you were in the Camaro before speaking again, “When did you figure it out?”

“Scott and I have known since the second month after you arrived,” Stiles admitted. “You may have noticed I don’t tend to trust new people easily,” he huffs.

Your lips quirk at that, understatement.

“You never said anything,” you note, biting your lip to keep from laughing at him.

“We told Derek and Mr. Argent, asked them some questions, but they already knew. We trusted them, at least, on this we did, and over time we learned we could trust you too. Scott always figured you’d tell us when you were ready,” he explained.

“And the rest?” you inquired, starting the car.

“Lydia, Isaac, and Allison were the only ones, and well…” he trailed and you sniffed, pulling out of the garage and then out onto the main road.

“What about your dad?” you asked as you began navigating toward the sheriff’s station.

“He knows that there’s stuff from your past that you haven’t shared, pretty sure he thinks you were a hunter, and what about your brothers?” he shoots back.

“Black Chevy ‘67 Impala,” you nod towards your rearview window.

“They’ve been following us,” Stiles realizes.

“Yeah,” you agree stiffly.

“They’re jerks, you know, or at least the shorter one is, not that either of them is short, I mean they’re both massive, are you sure they’re human?” Stiles rambled and a small smile quirked to your lips.

“Yes, they’re human, I mean, last I checked they were, and as for the jerk part, Sam, the taller one, is usually very sweet and Dean is usually very abrasive, so…” you trail hitting the signal before turning into the sheriff’s parking lot.

You park and wait outside the Camaro for your brothers and you know that Stiles has more questions but you nod ahead, telling him to grab his dad and he disappears inside.

“Sheriff’s station?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, Sheriff Stilinski happens to be more aware of what happens in this town than it’s everyday citizens,” you hint.

“And why’d you bring the smartass?” Dean questions.

“Because he’s the sheriff’s son,” you lament with a lazy smirk and Dean’s face scrunches in annoyance. “What are you guys doing here?” you press

“Told you, the wendigos,” Dean argues.

“Bullshit, this town has a very deep supernatural history, two wendigos with a fresh and minor body count should’ve flown under your radar considering everything else here that has. So cut the shit, what are you doing here?” you argue.

Sam sighs and pulls something from the inside pocket of his fed jacket, a newspaper article. There in print is your face, it’s not the focus but the article had been on the three freak ambushes that hit beacon a couple of months ago, you knew it to be courtesy of the nogitsune. That’s why they had come, because they had finally found you.

“This was months ago, why are you here now?” you huff, shoving the paper back to Sam.

“We didn’t see it until about a week ago, a hunter buddy recognized you and sent it to us,” Sam explained. “We were worried.”

“Yeah well, your worry is overdue and unnecessary. I can handle the wendigo, really, because as much as I came here to get away from hunting, I’m constantly kept on my toes in this town. You guys can go, move on to the next town, that’s what hunters do, right?”

“What happened to you?” Dean finally spoke up and he started staring hard at you.

“Me? Nothing,” you negate.

“Now who’s bullshitting?” he pressed.

“Fine!” you amend. “You’re right, I’m different Dean because I’ve grown up. More than dad ever made me. More than Bobby did. I’m a different person, a better person. I have a real job here in town, I have a place to call home, people who love me-”

“They are not people!” Dean interrupted and you sniffed and stepped back as the crushing reality reminded you that your brother would never be able to shake your father’s mind control, even now years after the man had passed.

“Maybe not to you, Dean, definitely not to dad, but I’d argue they’re more human than we are, because those kids? They still have their entire souls, which is more than can be said about us, right big brother? It’s not like they’ve had demons tear up their souls, cut into them, manipulate them. No, last I checked, that’s just us.”

Dean goes quiet, expression sour as he stares at you. Sam’s hovering eyes darting between you both as if he’s not sure what it is exactly that he wants to say, but is forced to listen. “They are a pack, my pack, and I’m really lucky to have them,” you state, forcing your tone to be level, as you stare at your brothers.

“Do you need another minute, or….” Stiles had come back and was hesitant in approaching us.

“Nah,” you shook your head and smiled at the older man, “Hey, Sheriff. These are my brothers Sam and Dean. They’re hunters,” you explain.

“Like Argent?” Sheriff checks.

“Yeah, and also like Argent, my family have been hunters for a long time,” you inform the sheriff.

“That… explains a lot,” he chuckles.

“Yeah, we just wanted to let you know that there’s a rogue wendigo in Beacon, which is strange because historically Beacon is werewolf territory and they are not west coast creatures. Sam and Dean are here to help get rid of it, thought we’d give you the heads up,” you smiled.

“I appreciate that, (Y/n), I’ll let Parrish know too. Stay safe, alright?” he requested resting a hand on your shoulder with a heavy pat. “Call if you need any backup.”

“Yes, sir,” you agree.

“And, uh, keep this one out of trouble if you can?” he refers to his son.

“It’d be my pleasure,” you smile at the man.

“Thanks (y/n),” he offers you one more smile before patting his son on the back and walking back into the station.

“Let’s go, Stiles,” you decide and move to open the car door.

“(Y/n) we weren’t done,” Dean scoffed.

“I was,” you state flatly. “Out of everything I’ve learned Dean, hunting, and living here, I’m not going to waste my time, not when it’s so insecure. So if you wanna yell at me, tough shit big brother. I don’t feel like being yelled at for something you don’t understand. And you can pull the big brother card if you want, but you’re not dad and thank fuckin’ god, because that man fucked us up more than we can ever truly repair,” you state before getting in the Camaro.

Stiles doesn’t say anything when you drop him back off at the loft. When the Impala pulls up right after you, Stiles pauses.

“Get in, (y/n),” Dean states, and you quirk and eyebrow. “We’re gonna take care of that wendigo problem,” he says cooly, and you nod. You grab your gear bag and toss the Camaro keys to Stiles.

“Tell Derek, and if I’m not back in 24 hours then you can get the pack on it, okay?” you tell the boy as he looks at the keys and then at you.

“He’s going to be so pissed,” Stiles reminds you and you smirk.

“I like it when he’s pissed, it’s hot,” you muse and Stiles snorts. “I’ll be okay Stiles, I’ve dealt with wendigos before, and I’m trained a lot better than you think,” you assure the boy.

He nods and heads inside and you slip into the back of the impala, “How very deja vu this is,” you joke as you settle against the seat.

“Oh, she’s got jokes too, what a night we’re in for,” Dean states sarcastically.

“I’m sorry did I hurt your feelings, Dean?” you shoot back.

He lets out a heavy sigh but says nothing and you catch the way Sam looks at him and then at you and you shrug your shoulders in nonchalance.

“We missed you,” Sam stated carefully and your gaze moved to the window.

“You think I didn’t?” you ask. “Do you seriously believe that there wasn’t a single day that passed that I didn’t miss my brothers? Because I did. I just couldn’t go back, I still can’t. Not to that life, living out of this stupid car with no real ties or relationships. I needed a real life.”

“You could’ve told us that, you know? When you left, you should’ve told us that you weren’t gonna come back. Instead of pulling a disappearing act and leaving a shitty letter,” Dean huffed.

“Oh yeah? You would have just let me leave?” you press.

“Well-” Dean began and you cut him off.

“Exactly, this was the only option.”

“Things are different now,” Sam says wisely.

“No, Sam, things are the same. We’re different now,” you correct and he nods in concession.

“Why, here?” Dean asked, suddenly.

“Dad worked a case here, once, when I was in middle school,” you recalled and Dean nodded. “After school one day Dad sent me to go get you and to go get some information, you got preoccupied with a girl so I went alone. I met Derek…”

“Holy shit, Derek was the kid!” Dean shouted.

“What?” Sam asked, and you blushed.

“When I finally caught up with (y/n), she was walking out of a diner with some kid her age. They were adorably awkward as they said goodbye,” he mused and you rolled your eyes.

“The case was long, we were in beacon hills for almost 3 weeks,” you continued. “Derek and I became friends, on the last day we exchanged… contact info,” you trailed.

“Wait, three weeks, and a guy?” Sam back-peddled. “Did he play basketball?”

“How could you even know that?” you pressed.

“Because I saw some guy with a basketball kiss you, and it was the same guy I’d seen you with for a while.

“You kissed him!” Dean turned to look at you.

“Focus on the road!” you argued.

“Wait, you’ve kept in touch all these years?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, when I initially left I had no clue where to go and so I found myself on a bus to California and then eventually here, to Beacon Hills. It’s been… nice…” you admit.

“You look a lot….. better,” Sam added.

“Sam when I left I was a borderline alcoholic who barely slept, I looked like shit, all the time,” you reminded him.

Dean parks the car back at the preserves, a more secluded area that you had found last night. The three of you jumped out of the impala and you watched as the boys went to the trunk, they lifted the bottom and started gearing up.

“We should probably grab a badge,” Sam decided as he closed the trunk.

“I think I got that part covered,” you muse and your brothers turned back to you with confused looks. “I’m a deputy with the sheriff’s department,” you added, showing them your badge.

“Like, actually?” Dean questioned coming up to look at the badge clipped to your pants.

“Yeah, I get a paycheck and everything,” you smirk.

“That’s cool…. I guess…” he sniffed stepping back.

“You’re jealous,” you laugh, dropping the shirt back over the badge.

“Whatever,” he huffed, turning towards the preserves.

“Alright, let’s go gank this thing,” Sam agreed, and you all looked out.

You heaved a deep sigh and then you were all trekking back through the preserves.

---

everything tags: @butterfly-skinnylegend

A small vibration interrupts you as soon as you have finished scanning the content pages and settled on the chapter to read first, Dick’s name flashing in a text message.

Want to come to the park with us? Weather’s nice. Jason, Steph, Barb and Wally are coming.

Nothing sounds better right about now, but the guilt of pushing your work aside again would eat you alive. Dejectedly, you settle on a “Can’t, at the library :(“ and dive back into your book. The writing is better in this one, so you actually work through the chapter at a decent pace. The sounds of the library fade, replaced by the soft, low music your headphones emit, sealing the small bubble you sink into.

-

Jason’s frown is immediate when he reaches the park and fails to spot you amongst the others, the second cup of coffee he brought proving obsolete in your evident absence. He doesn’t even sit down, standing behind Dick while Wally shields his eyes from the sun to properly see him. “Why do you look more grumpy than usual?” “Where is she?” Delighting in the petulant tone in his younger brother’s voice, Dick can’t help but snort at the nigh pout on his face. “She cancelled. Something about library and studying.”

“She’s working on her paper,” Barbara explains, but Jason barely hears the end of her sentence, already turned around on his heals and walking away from the group.

–

The sight of a coffee cup being placed in your peripheral vision makes you look up finally. The faint twinge in your neck from being hunched over is evidence of how long you spent reading and making notes. When you meet Jason’s eyes, you take your earphones out. “What are you doing here?” He snorts at that and pulls out an empty chair to face you before sitting down. “What? No hello? How are you? Thank you for the coffee?” You have the decency to give him a sheepish smile while reaching for the cup.

 “Thank you. But I thought you were at the park with the others?” The shrug you receive is non-committal; meant to soften the significance of his choices and deter from any deeper meaning one could read into them. “I just got bored.” Lie. “I wouldn’t survive that without you anyways, not Dickhead and Wally at the same time.” Less of a lie.

He places a water bottle and an ibuprofen on the table next, and this time you are sure your eyes reflect your gratitude. “You’re my hero.” He grins with a wink and opens the bottle for you while you unpack the pill, swallowing it down with a few sips of water. “And now? You want to suffer here with me?” He takes out a book and holds it in the air for a moment for you to see. “Keeping you company.”

Though, arguably, Jason barely registers the words he was reading, using his angle as an excuse to subtly watch you work. Every detail, every new facial expression, ingrains itself in his mind. The way you frown when you are concentrating on something, or how you chew your lip when trying to figure out how to phrase a sentence. It is oddly endearing to catalogue these things, you the object of his very own secret studies. He’s almost caught when your eyes suddenly lift to him, just so able to look back at his book. You haven’t noticed, carrying on like nothing was amiss.

“Dinner when I’m done? I’m craving summer rolls from that place downtown.” He nods without missing a beat. “Anything you want.” With a smile, your gaze returns to your books, and his stays on you.

––––

Level 2: Teamwork

Dick plops down next to you with a groan, hand on his stomach and head tipped back in bliss after the dinner Alfred prepared. It’s a rare afternoon with everybody in the manor; Bruce having convinced each of his sons to come. You were there because you’re friends with most of the others… and maybe Jason refused to come until your name was mentioned. When Dick slides sideways to lean most of his weight against you, you playfully shove at him but ultimately settle down and succumb to your fate of being used as a human sized pillow.

Everybody gathers on the remaining couches, Bruce in his armchair, Tim on the floor, Damian at the far corner of one couch so to not seem like he enjoys spending time with his family for once. It’s a curious sight every time you witness this mismatched family and how they care for one another more than they like to show outwardly.

When Jason’s joins as well, having helped Alfred with the dishes, you pat the spot next to you and he readily settles there, thigh brushing yours.

“How about a game?” Steph suggests after her five-minute food coma. Dick perks up. “Monopoly?”

“I refuse to play Monopoly with you anymore,” Tim grumbles half-heartedly. You remember the last time. Dick’s a cheat, and he Monopoly Incident last year still haunts you. He makes a scandalized sound, hand on his chest. “Not my fault you landed on my hotel.” “You stole money from the bank,” Tim looks about ready to lunge at his older brother. “Did not.” “Did too.” “Did not.”

“We could play Uno,” you interrupt their spat, earning a few grateful glances.

Soon everyone is gathered around the coffee table. It’s a brutal game, you don’t remember a deck consisting of so many Draw 4s. Steph and Damian were arguing about rules, Dick was slipping cards up his sleeve when he thought nobody was watching, even Bruce cheated and somehow always had a card to avoid having to draw. In the middle of the game, you tap Jason’s leg so he can discreetly look at your cards beneath the table. When he frowns at the sight, two of your remaining three cards Draw 4s, you subtly take one of his number cards to switch out for one of them, a scheme taking its course. If Dick – who just proudly yelled “Uno!” to Jason’s other side – can play dirty, so can you.

Jason seems to read your mind; you can see the faintest upwards pull of his lips even if the others don’t. Maybe because you keep looking at– you shake out of your thought when it’s your turn, placing down your Draw 4 and then watch Jason do the same, Dick’s face falling. Everybody breaks out in laughter, glad to see Dick lose for once.

What neither you nor Jason sees is Bruce watching you with a soft smile behind his cards. He saw the whole exchange of cards, but he also saw your lingering look and the way Jason gravitates towards you. Even now he was leaning into your space, the gap between him and Dick much larger than the one between the two of you.

He’s just glad to see Jason finally find happiness in life.

––––

Level 3: Ease

The gala was loud, pompous, and obnoxious. At least those are the words you’d use if posed with the prompt “describe Bruce Wayne’s soirées in three words.” The only upside seems to be the excuse to dress up nicely, and the fact that no matter how miserable you were, you can name four individuals that are even worse off than you.

Dick was able to mask his gloominess rather well with a charming smile and a few well-placed words in a conversation. Bruce’s golden child does not need much sweet talking to woo his opposite. It helps that he has years of experience on the others in these matters. Tim was less successful but played the part of the future Wayne Enterprises CEO by taking to important business partners and sticking by Bruce’s side. Damian you spot next, he seems as brooding as ever but you suppose the years of being trained by the league in plenty of matters included decorum at events like these. He elegantly avoided speaking to too many people by finding excuses to walk towards somebody new, only to turn halfway through the crowd when he’s out of sight.

Jason has resigned himself to a corner, an untouched glass of champagne in hand, and a frown on his face that steers off anybody even remotely interested in talking to Bruce’s lost and them resurfaced second son. But when has that frown ever stopped you from approaching? With parts of your dress in hand so you walk faster, your heels clack against the polished marble while you snake around the people separating you from the sombre figure by the fountain.

“Dance with me?” You hold out a hand when you stand before him, glossed lips pulling in a bright smile. Everything in you seemed to ease in you now, coiled muscles relaxing while your anxiety ebbs in his presence.

Jason raises a sceptic brow, eyeing your hand. “I don’t dance.” “Please.” It’s more a whine than a plea. Nevertheless, it works. The victorious grin on your face when his hand takes yours and you lead him to the dance floor has his signature glare replace the frown. You laugh and let him pull you into position. When the song changes, you move, almost immediately stepping on his toes. “I should have mentioned I don’t know how to dance.”

“I know you don’t,” he adjusts you without much fuss, but by the third time he takes your waist and lifts you just enough to place your feet onto his. It might seem goofy to the people around you but that doesn’t matter right now. The faces fade and it’s just you and him dancing. Well, him dancing and you following along.

The trance you find yourself in — neither of you talking but the eye contact disgustingly intense as Dick will recount later — ceases when the song stops and Bruce is called to make a speech. Your face heats up and you step back again with a small smile, turning to the front to listen and entirely missing the way Jason’s eyes linger on you with a fondness in them either of you only read about in those classics you read.

––––

Level 4: Deep Deep Denial

Barbara’s laughter echoes through your apartment on a rare day you two get to spend alone together. The wine glasses have been filled for the third time already, and a mindless reality dating show has been your source of entertainment for the evening.

“I mean— what does she see in him?” You huff. “That guy is all fake tan, muscles that scream I avoid food to look shredded, and his brain lack basic levels of intelligence.” Barbara snorts, “and yet he’s the best catch there. A tragedy for modern dating.”

The episode comes to an end when Barbara turns toward you and pauses before the next starts automatically. “Which one of them would you be most willing to date?” “I’d rather cut off my own leg,” you take another sip from your glass. “But if I’d have to choose… Thomas seems alright. At least he has actual hobbies that exceed going to the gym.” Her approving hum and the sense of ease you feel are cut short by her next question.

“What is your ideal type then? I mean, I’ve seen the people you dated, and they never follow a certain pattern…” You shrug, “I guess it varies. I don’t have a dream person.” “Everybody has the ideal version of a person they’d date.” You shake your head in amusement. “Not me.” The deflection does not seem to satisfy the red head and she pouts dramatically. “Try.”

“Fine,” you relent and set down your glass. “I suppose… I mean if it’s a man I’d like him to be taller than me, dark hair preferably. The eye color isn’t important as long as they’re kind. I don’t like overly muscly, but I like strong, you know? Something about knowing he can lift me up easily but would also eat two pizzas in one sitting with me just hits the spot. I also can’t anymore with dim men. Just have an interest, read books, have a niche thing or whatever. Just be— “

“Jason?” That makes you pause. “What?” “You’re describing Jason.” “No, I’m not.”

The look she gives you makes every argument you have die in your throat. Yes, you are utterly head over heels for your best friend. At least that he was that is something you can admit. But admitting to your feelings out loud would make them real. Now, they were simple fantasies, a small crush that will disintegrate sooner or later, not love. Love would feel different, surely. Is it not to be exciting and full of butterflies. What you feel beside Jason is neither. It’s warm, comfortable, safe. But surely that’s because you see him every day and he’s kept you safe on more accounts than one.

“Hello?” Barbara asks a little louder, eyes crinkled with quiet laughter. “Are you daydreaming about your knight in leather armour with a red helmet?” “Shut up.” You hide your bashfulness in your glass, hoping the wine serves a distraction from the wordless admission to your feelings. A futile thing to try with a trained detective. “I knew it.”

“Even so,” you grumble and start the next episode. “It’s a one-sided crush, no need to dwell on it.”

“If you truly think that crush is one sided, then you are blinder than I thought you are, babes,” Barbara mumbles into her glass, too low for you to hear over the intro.

––––

Level 5: Acceptance

It’s a rare occurrence for you to be woken up in the middle of the night, but the window sliding open and a loud thud is enough to make you sit up in shock and clutch the nearest thing you have as a weapon. Arguably, there is better things to defend yourself with than a half empty bottle of water, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

The weapon reassumes its position on your bedside table when you recognize the figure slumped against your wall. His name is barely a breath that leaves your lips, almost inaudible over the rustle of the sheets when you scramble up. A second body threatens to crumble to the floor when the stubborn fabric tangles with your legs, but you catch yourself. “Are you okay? What happened? Why are you here?” Hands hover around him, unsure where to settle. The grin on his face filters through the mechanic rasp of the voice modulator. “Nice to see you too. I need your medical skills.” His breath was ragged and he peels back his jacket to reveal blood seeping through his armour, staining the black at his side an even deeper black. “’S not too bad,” your worried contemplation must have been written on your face in that moment, Jason quick to placate. “Just a stitch or two, bullet’s out.”

These situations were never easy to you. You’re not even remotely trained in these things. Your sewing skills were mediocre in the first place, but suturing? His stubbornness to insist you patch him up was a thorn in your side. “Alfred truly proves better at these than I do, Jason.” No answer is expected, the argument recurring and always shot down with a simple “I don’t care.”

“My non-existent medical skills will not always suffice,” you grumble but retrieve the medical kit you keep for him regardless. The injury is not too deep, and you work in silence. It’s almost mechanical by now. Stop the bleeding, clean, stitch up, clean again, bandage. The same procedure each time. 

The next time you look up, convincing yourself it’s to check on him, his helmet is gone and your eyes are met with tired blues. You quickly look down again. Fuck. “Don’t stare at me.” with the last stitch done, you clean the blood off and bandage the wound.

“Can’t help it.” If you were to describe the cadence of the words, you could not. It’s as if your mind draws a blank, blacks out, erases the details of the situation so it stays as fleeting as it feels in that moment. When you look up, his eyes are fixed on your lips and your heart speeds up impossibly further. Can this induce a heart attack? Is this why you feel so hot all of a sudden?

Deeply buried in panicked thoughts, neither of you registers the gravitational pull that forces you to lean closer. Maybe it’s your sleep-addled brain or his exhaustion, but in the moment neither of you truly cares for the reason. You feel his breath fan across your lips, the very tip of his nose brushing yours. Just a millimetre closer and your fates would be sealed. You would both give in to the feelings you’d long accepted in yourselves but denied in the other. The crackle of his helmet makes you flinch back, the moment gone as quickly as it arrived with Roy’s voice cutting through the silence. “Red? You okay?”

“Yeah.” If Roy heard the small crack in the word, he doesn’t comment on it (yet). “I’ll meet you in a bit.”

Jason is gone a few minutes later and you’re back in bed with your pillow pressed against your face. So much for sleeping eight hours.

––––

Stage 1: Surrender

Jason has been avoiding you for the past three days and you’re beginning to get fed up. With anybody else, you’d give them their space, maybe send them a text that invites them for a talk and asks if everything is okay. But this was so unlike Jason that your insecurity morphs into anger. To have the audacity to spend most days with you, eating your food, sleeping on your couch, and getting patched ip by you, just to ghost you now? Yeah, no way.

After Tim confirmed for you that Jason was at home, you march over to his apartment building, used your spare key to get inside and then for dramatic effect, knock on his door loudly until he opens. Before he has enough time to compose himself and potentially close the door again, you push inside and start to go off.

“I don’t know who you think you are Jason Peter Todd, but I want you to know that you messed with the wrong person. Who the fuck thinks it’s okay to just drop off the face of the earth like that. Leaving me on read? You have a death wish. I have to answer your texts in five minutes, or you break down doors, and now you think I don’t get to hold you to the same standards?”

Jason was just staring at you during your rant, admiring your hair, your nose, the way your eyebrows scrunch together when you get angry. He so rarely gets to see you angry, he wants to savor every moment of this. Only when you step closer does he realize it’s his turn to speak now.

“I’m sorry.” “Sorry doesn’t cut it anymore, I want reasons.” With your hands on your hips, you stare up at him expectantly. Did he turn the heater on? He’s sweating. His breathing is faster, in tandem with his pulse. You make him nervous. You *fluster* him. He’s screwed.

“I can’t tell you.” That earns him a scoff. “Please, what possibly could it he that you can’t tell me? You told me about the time you landed in a trash container after jumping off a roof and showed me the surveillance footage, but this you can’t tell me?”

“Yep,” he nods, trying his very best to seem nonchalant.

“Jason,” you warn him and then it’s two minutes of simply staring at one another. It feels like an eternity. An era. An epoch.

“I can’t tell you,” he breathes again. It’s not for a lack of trying. His brain simply refuses to put the adequate words together in a way that could make sense to you. “Jason, I’m not leaving before I don’t know what I’ve done. If I can fix this, just tell me how.”

“You haven’t done anything.” Your anger simmers into frustration, it’s like talking to a wall. You hate secrecy like this. Usually, what people declare none of your business is something you do not pry about. They have a right to their privacy. But if it directly involves you and affects your friendship, then you see yourself having the right to know what happened.

You are about to say something else when all your senses are enveloped by Jason. You smell his bodywash, feel his warmth, and taste the mint toothpaste you steal whenever you sleep over. It takes a moment for your brain to catch up with the situation and realizes that Jason Todd is kissing you. As soon as it registers, however, your hands are in his hair, and you eagerly return the kiss.

It’s messy at first, charged with months of pining and impulse control shattering above your heads. Then it softens a little, just slightly, so you can catch your breath.

“I crave you,” Jason whispers against your lips, and you swallow his words, breath hitching. This was more than an admittance of love, this was two souls reaching out to one another, desperate to intertwine and merge. To bind their fates together.

This was Jason’s way of saying he loves you, of confessing to need you, to be dependent on your stability, your presence.

Once you pull back, you seize the moment to simply look at him. His pupils were dilated and his cheeks flushed. He looked younger than he already was, and you can’t help but utter the words he’d longed to hear since he met you.

“I love you.”

"You're a bit warm, and paler than Stiles when someone mentions he has responsibilities."

"Thank you, I feel beautiful," you replied with all the sarcasm you could gather in your current situation. "And I'm not sick, just menstruating, you know?"

Derek shook his head and sighed as if he were facing an unstoppable mystic force. Somehow, he was.

"Does it hurt that much?"

"As if my uterus wanted a divorce from the rest of my body and burn my house down in the process. Yes. A lot."

Derek seemed to think about it for a few seconds. Then, he got up from the floor with a swift movement and sat next to you on the sofa. Carefully, he moved away the blanket to introduce one of his hands inside of the sweatshirt, placing it over your belly. It felt nice and warm. But also, the gesture was so delicate that almost felt strange coming from him.

You were shocked.

"What are you...?"

"I'm a werewolf," he simply said.

You glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. "I know."

"I can absorb physical pain if I touch it" he explained. "Not all, but enough of it."

"Is that real or are you making up new abilities just to impress me?"

He turned his head to the side. "Do you want to feel better or not?"

You nodded slowly, feeling his hand against your skin, firm and warm. It was weird but not in a bad way. A soft warmth started to spread through your belly like a magic hot bag but better. It was as if the pain were starting to dissolve.

Now your muscles, tense for hours, started to loosen too.

"Oh...." you murmured, surprised. "That helps. How do you do it? Are you a human heater? Derek Hale: premium edition" you made a gesture in the air with your hands while speaking.

Derek snorted, only half amused. "Shut up," he added, but he wasn't mad or anything. Just happy to make you feel a bit less miserable although he wouldn't say it out loud.

"No! Why did you never tell me you could do this?! You could have saved lives in high school, such a great business. Think about it."

"I didn't know you were this dramatic on your period."

You huffed.

"I'm a tragic poem with legs, Derek!"

For the first time since he arrived, Derek smiled. A real one. A soft, real one.

"You're being silly" he said very quietly, if he hadn't been sitting next to you, you would have had trouble hearing.

"I know, but now I feel less like a zombie. Thank you."

After exchanging a glance, silence came back but this time, it was comfortable. Derek didn't take his hand away and you didn't ask him to. He remained there with you, giving you warmth as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Then, on the verge of falling asleep, you muttered something.

"Hey, Derek."

"Hm?"

"If one day I have to choose between you and ibuprofen, I'd probably choose you."

"Just probably?"

"Well, ibuprofen doesn't grunt when I complain too much."

Derek Hale didn't let go. He didn't relinquish control, and he definitely didn't beg.

That was the code he lived by, the unspoken law of the loft.

But the air had been growing thicker, charged with a static that had been building for days. It was a game you'd started, a deliberate stoking of a fire you refused to let him extinguish. For the past week, you'd been the architect of his frustration; tracing the hard lines of his abs just to hear his breathing hitch, or pressing your lips to the pulse point in his neck until his hands tightened dangerously on your hips, only to pull away with a breathless excuse about a friend expecting you or some errand in town that couldn't wait.

You noticed the confusion in his eyes every time you stopped, the dark flicker of rejection that he tried to bury under his usual stoicism. But you knew better. Derek Hale wasn't rejected; he was being primed. He was so used to taking, to steering the ship with a heavy hand and a heavier silence, that he didn't know what to do when the helm was suddenly empty.

It's not that you weren't satisfied—Derek was a very good lover, and he always took care of you in every way, from sweet cuddles to mind-blowing orgasms. But a heat had been simmering under your skin, a strange kind of desire. You wanted to see him break. For once, you wanted to see him let go completely.

So you had been deliberately working him up all week, but never giving him what he wanted. And Derek was teetering on the edge—you could tell.

Tonight, the storm that had been brewing in the atmosphere finally broke.

You could feel the thrum of his tension before you even touched him. Derek was standing by the bed, his back to you, his shoulders a rigid line of defeat and anticipation. He looked like a man waiting for a sentence, expecting you to deliver another breathless blow about a sudden midnight emergency.

You didn't speak. You simply stepped up behind him, pressing your chest against the hard plane of his back, and wrapped your arms around his waist. He went rigid, a muscle in his jaw jumping as he felt your hands splay across his stomach, drifting low.

He didn't turn. He didn't reach for you. He just stood there, vibrating like a plucked string, waiting for the other shoe to drop. For you to leave him wanting.

"Derek," you whispered against the fabric of his shirt, the heat of your breath seeping through to his skin. "Relax."

He let out a sound that sounded suspiciously close to a scoff. "Easy for you to say."

You smiled against his shoulder blade, feeling the way his heart hammered a frantic rhythm against your palms. He was expecting you to leave. He was expecting the gentle push away, the sudden remembered obligation that had left him aching and alone for five nights straight.

But tonight, there was nowhere else you needed to be.

"You're so tense," you murmured, letting your hands drift upward, tracing the ridges of his ribs through the thin cotton of his shirt. "You're waiting for me to run."

"I'm not waiting for anything," he lied, his voice a low rasp that vibrated against your chest. It was a terrible lie, and you both knew it. His entire body was strung tight, a bow waiting to snap, simply because he couldn't predict your next move. Because he felt out of control.

You hummed, a low, soothing sound that seemed to contradict the intent of your hands as you slid them back down, hooking your fingers into the waistband of his jeans. "Liar."

Usually, by this point, Derek would have turned around, scooped you up, and taken charge. He would have pinned you to the mattress with that heavy, grounding weight of his and worshipped you until you forgot your own name. But you didn't give him the chance. You stayed glued to his back, one hand drifting to palm him through the denim, just enough friction to make his hips jerk instinctively.

"Let me," you whispered, when his hand came up to cover yours, trying to guide you or still you—you weren't sure which.

"Let me take care of you tonight, Derek."

He hesitated. You felt the war brewing behind his ribs, the instinct to grab the reins warring with the exhaustion and the growing pleasure. "You don't have to—"

"I want to," you cut him off, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "Trust me?"

The question hung in the air. After a beat, he nodded, his throat working on a swallow. "Always."

With that permission, you guided him to sit on the edge of the bed. He resisted for only a fraction of a second—a reflex born of years of needing to be the pillar, the wall, the unshakeable force—before his knees hit the edge of the mattress. He sat down heavily, the mattress dipping under his weight, and looked up at you.

You didn't lie down. Instead, you straddled his lap, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his thighs. It was a bold move, but he didn't push you away. His hands settled heavily on your waist, his grip tight, grounding him as he looked up at you.

The look in his eyes was dark, blown wide with lust, but there was a flicker of uncertainty there too. He was out of his depth, and you both knew it.

You took your time, peeling the cotton fabric of your dress up with an agonizing deliberation, inch by inch exposing the curve of your legs, then the soft skin of your stomach. The friction of the material sliding over your skin seemed deafening in the quiet room.

When you threw it on the ground behind you, letting it land with a soft thud, his breath hitched—a sharp, audible intake of air that sounded like it had been punched out of him. Despite the shadows obscuring your view, the lamplight caught the flush rising on his cheekbones.

He was burning up. His eyes, usually a guarded hazel, were swirling, darkening rapidly into that burning beta blue that only emerged when his instincts were overriding his control. It was a territorial color, a predator’s color, yet here he was, the predator pinned to the earth by nothing more than your gaze and your naked body on top of his.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips. When you leaned in to kiss him, it wasn't the hungry, dominating kisses he usually gave you. It was slow, deep, and lazy. You explored his mouth at your own pace, swallowing his groans when you rolled your hips against the growing bulge in his jeans.

He was getting desperate. You could smell it on him—the sharp, tangy scent of arousal, the way his breathing was turning ragged. His fingers dug into your hips, bruisingly hard, trying to urge you faster, but you resisted. You kept the torturous, slow rhythm, listening to the whine building in the back of his throat.

"Please," he gasped against your mouth, the sound barely audible but devastating.

You pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, your hand coming up to cup his jaw, thumb stroking his cheekbone. "What do you want, Derek?"

He stared at you, his chest heaving, his eyes darting over your face like he was seeing you for the first time. He didn't know how to ask. He didn't know how to say more or faster or I need you to ruin me without shattering that stoic image he clung to like armor.

"Let me..." he started, his voice cracking, before he grit his teeth and tried to regain control. He tried to pull you closer, to take back the momentum, but you held firm, your hands pressing against his shoulders to keep him pinned.

"No," you said softly. "Stay still."

He froze. The command hit him like a physical blow. His eyes widened, a flash of panic warring with a rush of heat so intense it made your head spin. He didn't move. His hands trembled slightly where they gripped your waist, but he didn't push. He didn't take back control.

He was letting you.

With a slow, deliberate movement, you reached between your bodies to unbutton his jeans. The sound of the zipper lowering in the quiet room was deafening. You freed his cock, wrapping your hand around it to give him one long, tight stroke that had his head falling back, a guttural sound tearing from his chest. He looked beautiful like this—vulnerable, at your mercy, but still trying so hard to hold it together.

You shifted your hips, lining him up, and slowly sank down.

The sensation was overwhelming. Derek let out a sound that was half-growl, half-sob, his head thrashing against the headboard. His eyes squeezed shut, his jaw clenching hard enough to make the muscles jump. You took a moment to adjust, watching him fight a losing battle against his own composure.

You started to move.

It was slow at first, a deliberate rise and fall that allowed you to feel every inch of him. But the heat was building fast. The angle was different than you were used to; you were in control of the depth, the speed, the pressure. And Derek... Derek was losing his mind.

His hands were everywhere now, clutching at your back, your hips, your arms, like he was drowning and you were the only solid thing in the world. He was trying to be still, trying to let you set the pace, but his body was betraying him. His hips jerked up involuntarily to meet you, chasing the friction, before he caught himself and forced them back down, a low curse falling from his lips.

"Look at me," you commanded softly.

His eyes snapped open instantly. They were wet, rimmed with red, completely unfocused. He looked wrecked. The sight of him—Derek Hale, the unbreakable Alpha, falling apart beneath you—sent a jolt of electricity straight through your core.

You picked up the pace, riding him harder, faster, chasing your own pleasure now. The friction was incredible, and the way he was looking at you—like you were a goddess and he was your devoted worshipper—was pushing you closer to the edge.

"Good," you breathed out, the word falling from your lips before you could think better of it. "You're so good, Derek."

He choked out a moan, his face crumpling. He didn't know what to do with the praise. He didn't know how to handle the pleasure without the buffer of control. He was just feeling, raw and unfiltered, and it was too much.

"Come on," you urged, leaning forward to brace your hands on his chest, giving yourself more leverage to grind down on him. "Let go. I've got you."

His control snapped.

His hands flew to your hips; not to guide you, but to anchor himself. His back arched off the mattress, a string of profanities falling from his lips as he spilled his cum into you, his body shuddering with the force of it. You followed him over the edge moments later, crying out as the pleasure washed over you, your cunt clenching around him as you rode out the waves.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was your combined breathing, heavy and loud in the quiet loft. You collapsed forward onto his chest, burying your face in his neck. He wrapped his arms around you immediately, holding you tight against him, his heart beating a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

Slowly, the world came back into focus. You waited for the shift—for him to roll you over, to take back the physical dominance, to make a joke or deflect with a grunt to re-establish his equilibrium.

But he didn't.

He just held you, his face buried in your hair, his hand stroking up and down your spine in a gesture that was surprisingly tender. You felt the rapid thud of his heart begin to slow, but he didn't let go. He didn't move.

You lifted your head to look at him. His eyes were closed, his expression peaceful, almost slack. He looked soft. Open.

"Derek?" you whispered.

He opened his eyes slowly. The guarded look was gone, replaced by something raw and a little spooked. He stared up at you, his gaze tracing your features like he was memorizing them.

"I..." He started, then stopped. He looked away, a flush rising on his cheeks that had nothing to do with sex. He looked almost embarrassed.

You reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair off his forehead. "What?"

He hesitated, then looked back at you, his jaw tightening as he forced the words out. "I didn't... I didn't hate it."

A small smile touched your lips. "I know."

He huffed a breath that was almost a laugh, his eyes dropping to where your bodies were still connected. He shifted slightly, a wince crossing his face, but he didn't pull away. "It was... different."

"Different good?" you pressed.

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and the vulnerability in his eyes made your breath catch. "Yeah," he whispered. "Different good."

He pulled you down for a kiss, but it wasn't the hungry, demanding kisses of before. It was slow, sweet, and full of a terrifying kind of surrender. And when he pulled back, resting his forehead against yours, you knew that while Derek Hale didn't beg, and he didn't surrender... he might just be willing to let you catch him when he fell.

Warnings: the reader is described as a girl/woman and has a vagina and breasts, and as with most of my fics, the primary pronouns used for the reader are you/yours - at one point, the reader is referred to by a teacher as ‘Miss’; the only aspect of the reader’s looks that is described is her body type - she is described as fat/plus sized, and this is something that Isaac finds heavily desirable (even if other side characters and other people in this universe do not); mention of the reader being called rude names due to her body type by an outside random character; one mention of Isaac lifting the reader - but it’s not unrealistic, credited to his supernatural strength; the reader’s clothing is somewhat described - she is described as wearing a dress and heels (and being generally feminine); other aspects of the reader’s looks are not described - the reader’s hair type, hair colour, eye colour, and skin colour/race are not described in anyway; the term Y/N is used (in this case, the term L/N, as in Last Name, is also used) (and as with all my fics, I highly recommend getting a word replacer extension to make the experience more immersive and fun); mentions of Erica x Boyd as a background ship; mentions of Scott x Allison as a background ship (and technically, mentions of them having rough consensual sex when Scott experienced a similar rut); hints at Erica x Isaac as a background ship, mostly mentions of them having casual sex; mentions of Isaac’s past trauma (his mother and brother dying, his father’s abuse - glossed over, not discussed in detail); mentions of Isaac being taller than the reader - this is based on the fact that he is over six feet tall and would be taller than most people; this is mostly smut with very little plot; this could possibly be seen as dubious consent with it being a rut fic, but I have made it clear that the characters very much want this, so not really; Isaac experiences a ‘rut’ - he experiences a rush of hormones due to the adrenaline of having a panic while being in close proximity with a potential ‘mate’; scent kink - mentions of how Isaac loves your scent and how werewolves identify a potential ‘mate’ by scent; mentions of Isaac’s claustrophobia; descriptions of panic attack symptoms (Isaac has a claustrophobic panic attack); there are no specifically defined roles, but Isaac is more submissive and the reader is more dominant (Isaac is very subby, because I am such a sucker for Sub Top Isaac); the reader calls Isaac ‘puppy’ and ‘good boy’ (would it really be one of my Isaac fics if that didn’t happen?); hair pulling (towards Isaac); praise kink/verbal praise - both ways, but a lot towards Isaac; oral sex - reader receiving; unprotected sex - penis in vagina sex; breeding kink (generally undertones of it throughout because it’s a rut fic); reader gets scratched by Isaac’s claws - a small, minor injury; I think that’s it, but please let me know if I missed anything.

A/N: I love this one SO MUCH. I love dumb puppy Isaac, and I don't think I could write him as a dom if I tried (maybe unless it's him and reader aggressively topping Stiles together) - but yeah, this is my favourite form of Isaac fic to write, and I hope to write 10,000 more.

...

Isaac craved a normal day.

Of course, his life had been anything but normal since he had received the bite of an Alpha and became a freaking werewolf, but hey – a guy could hope. (Of course, when he truly thought about it, his life hadn't really been normal since his mother had died and his brother had gone off to Iraq, eager to die at the hands of the military than at the hands of their grieving father. But – he didn't have time to unpack all that.)

He just tried to move through life simply, taking it one day at a time. And of course, his hopes for a single normal day were flushed down the drain when he saw you. Beautiful, perfect, amazing you standing in the foyer of the school, handing out flyers for… something. 

Of course, you were charismatic and confident enough to go up and approach people at random, and ask them about whatever you had to say. You were so bright, so brilliant, your smile lit up a room so well. And Isaac had to avoid you at all costs.

He tried to sneak past you, but of course - you saw him first. 

“Isaac!” You called out his name and ran around the table you had set up, bringing a bright green flyer toward him with an outstretched hand. “I'm working with a group that's building a community garden this weekend - it's a place where they can teach kids how to grow their own food, and the excess produce goes to a food pantry.”

Of course, you, with your big heart… you were always working on some kind of charity project. You were such a good person, and it only made Isaac infinitely more attracted to you.

“I understand if you're busy,” You looked at him through your lashes, probably more an affect of his height than you intentionally trying to be demure, pure shining hope in your eyes that pulled right at his gut. “You – you probably have some busy, blooming social life.”

You let out a nervous chuckle, and Isaac truly had no clue what to say. Currently, his social life consisted of trying not to die at the hands of blood-thirsty Alphas and hanging out on the couch with Scott, playing video games and eating junk food. Did you assume that he was popular for some reason?

When he didn't speak, and only stood there staring at you awkwardly with his jaw clamped shut, you continued on:

“But you know, if you have some time to spare, we could really use the help of a big, strong guy like you.”

You reached out and gently squeezed his arm, as if to emphasize your point by proving just how strong his bicep was underneath the bulk of unseasonably thick cardigan sweater, and a wave of heat rushed through his body at your touch. You pulled back too quickly for his liking, letting out another nervous laugh, taking the widening of his eyes and the way he bit his lip to mean that he hadn't received the touch well.

Wait – were you flirting with him? 

You had a distinct look in your eyes, and he thought he was delusional for mistaking it as affectionate. 

“Yeah, I-” He laughed nervously, reaching out and grabbing the flyer, not truly looking at the paper as it became wrinkled in his nervous grip. “I – I'll see.” 

“Thanks.” You grinned at him, your smile so sweet. Fuck – how were you so perfect? “And, I dunno, maybe we could go out afterwards? And maybe… we could go get coffee or something? You know – just the two of us?” 

Isaac wanted to scream. He wanted to say 'yes' so badly, but he knew that it was such a terrible idea. Scott had warned him about being alone with a girl he liked too much...

And on top of that, he knew that he might not even have the time. How much of an asshole would he look like if he made plans with you and then he had to stand you up because Scott needed his help or because Alphas were attacking again?

He knew that realistically, he would probably get wrangled into some plan by Scott, or just end up spending his weekend alone. But it was nice to imagine spending his weekend with you, out in the sun, watching you sweat as you knelt down in the dirt… 

He swore he could smell you in the air now, your skin so close… 

“Isaac?” 

Blood began to thump harder inside his veins, and he felt his cock dangerously swelling to life... he swore, if he lapped at the air hard enough, he could practically taste your skin.

“Isaac? Are you okay?”

The deep rooted concern in your voice only made his blood hotter.  

“I have to go.” He grunted out rudely, turning sharply on his heel and marching in a direction that he definitely had not intended to go, eager to get away from you as quickly as possible. 

“Okay.” You sighed quietly to yourself, disappointment ripe in your voice. “I'll see you later, I guess.”

… 

Isaac liked to believe that he hadn't changed much in the grand scheme of things. He liked to believe that truly, he hadn't changed much since Derek had turned him. Sure, an Alpha's bite was the definition of change - giving an ordinary human the ability to transform into a powerful werewolf, causing them to sprout razor sharp claws and large canine teeth, giving them speed-healing and impossible new heightened senses. But Isaac liked to believe that beyond all that, he hadn't truly changed that much as a person. 

But deep down, he knew that wasn't true.

Even though he hadn't been the one to kill his father, he had still cowered in the man's shadow before his father was met with a violent, but seemingly karmic death. Before Isaac had ever known about the existence of werewolves or Kanimas or Alphas in Beacon Hills, he had been a very different person. He had been quiet, shy, reserved, someone seemingly terrified of his own shadow. He had been someone terrified to set a single toe out of line, fearful of the consequences that his father would reap down on him if he did. 

And now, Isaac was someone entirely different.

He knew that he had been a bit wild with the freedom when he had first tasted it. Threatening Lydia Martin so openly when the preteen heartbreak she had doled out onto him wasn’t even something he was still all too upset about, mostly seeking out a justification to hurt her because Derek had ordered it and he didn't want to believe that he was following the man too blindly. Brazenly raking his claws against lockers because it made him feel powerful, dry-humping Erica on the crowded dance floor of a rave when he wasn't even that romantically interesting in her just because it made him feel alive. 

He loved that feeling of being powerful, feeling like he could do anything. Before, being trapped in his father's house had made him feel so damn helpless, and it was addictive, finally being released from that, and getting to drink in the most anti-helpless feeling in the world.

It was something he had only previously tasted on the lacrosse field, only because his father had encouraged him to try out. His 'winning is everything' overly violent attitude caused him to only cheer for Isaac at games when he smashed into other players and nearly broke their bones with excessive force. Isaac knew that his father had the wrong ideas about what made someone a man, and he never truly got into the sport because he wanted some claim to brotherhood. Isaac himself just liked to run, liked to let it all out on the field. The only place his emotions were truly allowed to be free. And over time, he had come to like the pain of colliding with another person and feeling them crumble underneath him.

And somewhere in between, he did find balance. Under the guidance of Scott, who had been raised a lot better than he was – he learned that between freedom and power, there was a way to do right. He had learned something he never thought was possible – that he was capable of good. He made friends, even though he felt like he kept losing them at an impossible rate to dangers popping up all around him. 

And now, Isaac wasn't someone who cowered at every shadow or feared going home to his father's fist. He wasn't someone who feared being locked in a freezer for the smallest perceived wrong.  

He was someone who could confidently ride a motorcycle through the halls of Beacon Hills High and do a back-flip off the front of it, only thinking of revenge and spite, not even considering what punishment or consequences would come his way. 

However, that mindset did lead down another troubling path – because when he was met with the consequences of his own stupid actions, he didn't consider just how awful they would be. 

“Lahey, you're with Miss L/N - restocking the janitor's closet.”

This immediately presented two big problems for Isaac: the closet and you.

See, that was another big thing that had changed for him since The Bite – how he felt around you. Derek and even Scott had tried to warn him that dating would be very different, and how he would act around people he was attracted to would become entirely different because he would start to feel different.

Derek had given him a very blunt talk about how not to maul someone to death during sex, giving him straight forward and crude reminders about his claws and teeth. A topic that had come up after Isaac had helped him pull Boyd and Erica apart during a full moon where it looked like they were trying to maliciously tear each other to pieces, but Derek insisted that it was natural. He said that was how wolves 'mate'.

Scott had been a lot more tentative, treading around the subject, asking Isaac what his relationship status with Erica was like he was fishing for gossip, and telling him that things would 'feel' different now that he had heightened senses and the wolf in him would be triggered by a sudden rush of adrenaline. He had warned Isaac to be 'gentle' with any future partners, and told him that he should rush off and back away if he ever felt himself getting 'too out of control'.

Isaac had never really known what either of them meant, not to feel it for himself – not until he had been around you again. You were someone that Isaac had been crushing on for a long time. He had admired you for a distance long before the Bite had changed his life. In his opinion, you were the most gorgeous girl at Beacon Hills, far above Lydia or Erica or Allison – between your sparkling smile, your airy, excited giggle, your curvy figure, and the cute way you dressed, you were someone who had invaded his most private thoughts for a very long time. 

But between his father turning his life into a battle to survive and the newly discovered battle for survival that Derek had introduced him to, with the monsters and the new strange dangers around every other corner, there wasn't really time for him to date. Isaac wasn't ready to ask you out, not even with his newfound confidence.

He had spoken to you from time to time. The two of you were acquaintances – mild friends, at best. You had worked on a couple of class projects together, you had spoken to him in congratulations a few times after lacrosse games, and he had poorly flirted with you when he came into your work (a local hardware store downtown) by chance sometimes. But the two of you had never specifically 'hung out' outside of school before. Isaac liked to think it was because you had better things to do with your time, not because up until a few months ago, he had basically been on house arrest because his father demanded it. 

And with his father's presence being lifted from his life, he found it harder and harder to avoid spending time with you. Because he knew that according to Derek and Scott's warnings, he had to avoid getting to close to you.

Recently, Isaac found being around you increasingly more difficult. The few times a week that he was forced to be around you, in classes that you shared together or by chance outside of a class when you tracked him down to say hello: it was slowly driving him insane.

Whenever he caught a whiff of your scent - not just the lovely strawberry watermelon body mist that you always wore, or the vanilla lip gloss that you had swiped on, but something deeper, something that was so truly you. Your scent. Something so much more natural that he didn't want to believe was the raw scent to your pussy weeping between your thighs, somehow wandering up to his supernaturally strengthened nose. He couldn't stand to think on it for too long, because fuck – if he knew for certain that he was actually smelling your pussy through your clothes, then he might just lose it.

Whenever that scent hit him, his blood would pound hard through his body, and he would start to go feral. His claws would sprout against his will, the world would go blurry around the edges, and even though he couldn't see himself, he knew that his eyes were glowing. And at times, if he stuck around you too long, he would lose the capability of words, and he would start to pant like a fucking dog. 

He knew that you likely saw him as colder and more rude, because every time he was around you, he kept cutting off perfectly polite, calm conversations with a caveman grunt in order to storm off, eager to get away from you. He was afraid of what he would do if he had to stand there much longer, inhaling your scent, becoming more devolved from it by the second. He knew you wouldn't understand, but ultimately, it was more polite for him to cut you off and run away.

There was just something about you that was actively driving him insane. 

At one point, Derek had called it a rut. He said it was what werewolves called it when they were driven to their most basic instincts to mate and breed. Another animal instinct that they needed to fulfill that humans weren't as susceptible to.

(That word along had nagged at the back of Isaac's brain, delivering pictures of him pinning you down and shoving his cock deep inside of you, fucking you so full of his cum while you moaned for him, your body so hot around his cock – and he had spent more than an hour jacking himself raw, thinking about it.)

Derek said that it was most often triggered by two things – being around a compatible mate, aka being around someone who's body chemistry 'aligned with your own'. That, and being in a situation where one's adrenaline was forcefully spiked – a situation of fear, panic, or anger. And a combination of those two things was lethal, likely to trigger a rut that couldn't be stopped, even by the most masterful and experienced Alpha. Most likely because werewolves evolved to fight for their mates, so there was an underlying sexual impulse to fuck a compatible mate after you had just fought for them and won. 

At the time, Isaac didn't fully understand it. His brain had faded out a few times during the conversation, admittedly, not fully paying attention.

But now, he definitely understood more and more as he was gaining the real life experience, feeling the true effects of what Derek had been saying. And he knew for certain that he couldn't be near you for extended periods of time, because he likely wouldn't be able to control himself.

Which meant he especially couldn't be with you in the janitor's closet – a tight space that would likely trigger his claustrophobia and cause him to panic. If what Derek had told him was true, then he wouldn't be able to use the calm, level-headed control that Scott had taught him to keep himself sane in the face of your maddening scent. And he would never forgive himself for mauling you, for doing something so harsh to you against your will. Even if it wasn't technically his fault in the end. How the hell would he be able to explain that to you? You would end up thinking of him as a monster. And he would never recover from that.

As much as Isaac desperately wanted you, wanted so badly to push deep into your soaking wet cunt between those thick, plush thighs and pound into you with reckless abandon until you were stuffed full of his cum - he never wanted to hurt you. He would never do anything to you without your permission. He could never do that to you. So he needed to protect you from himself. At least, he needed to protect you from the hungry wolf inside of himself that wanted so badly to devour you.

“Mr. Clark, can you send me somewhere else?” Isaac asked quietly, shuffling out of his seat to crowd closer to the scrawny teacher to be heard. He didn't want to make this inquiry too loud or too obvious. Naturally, he didn't want to embarrass you by making it seem like he didn't want to work with you.

“No.” Mr. Clark said bluntly. “If you didn't want to be punished, you shouldn't have been fighting. Make better choices next time, Mr. Lahey.”

Isaac let out a sigh of frustration, wondering how the hell he could get out of this aside from simply tucking tail and running out of the classroom, which would inevitably only get him into more trouble later on. But then, you might not be there next time.

“Fighting?”

You disrupted his thoughts with a chuckle, coming up behind him, having risen from your seat at the back of the room. Your scent quickly came to engulf him like a deadly cloud as you brushed past him to grab the keys from Mr. Clark's extended hand - a small key ring with a couple of keys on it, one for the basement storage room with the cleaning supplies, and others for the janitorial closets around the school. Isaac found it strange that students were trusted with these, but he guessed that the free labour being brushed off onto them was worth the risk.

“I wanna hear that story.” You grinned at him. “Come on, big boy.” 

You put a hand on his shoulder and ushered him out of the room, throwing the nickname out there so casually, obviously having no clue that it practically buckled his knees. Despite everything he had been convincing himself of, he rushed to follow you down the hallway like a good, loyal dog, completely forgetting that the goal was to keep his distance from you. It was too late now. He was entranced by your presence, already feeling himself losing his better sense because of that scent. Feeling himself getting lost in his stupid wolfish instinct because of you, because of the sway of your wide hips directly in his sight, because of the jiggle of your thighs peeking out from under your skirt. 

He had to do something. He had to control himself. 

He had to try and distract himself.

“So - what are you in for?” Isaac asked, having to swallow thickly around the drool pooling in his mouth in order to form words. 

Conversation would be a good idea. He needed to focus on something else. 

He never thought you would be someone fit for detention anyway. You always seemed like such a good girl. Naturally, it caused him to wonder what you had done to land yourself in detention alongside him. 

“Guess,” You told him, looking over your shoulder at him, tossing him a sweet grin with a mischievous glint lighting up your eyes. 

Isaac found it far too adorable. The sight made him light headed with his affection for you, and he tripped down one of the stairs as the two of you descended down to the larger supply closet in the basement. You let out a cute giggle at this, and before you could pose concern over his clumsiness, Isaac spoke up again. 

“What? Did you turn in your homework too early?” He posed jokingly. He really couldn't imagine you doing anything worthy of punishment. Perhaps one of your teachers just had a vendetta against you. That would be the more logical reasoning for you to be here in his mind.

“No.” You chuckled softly in return, shaking your head as you used the keys to unlock the basement supply cage – a place that would have been intensely creepy if not for your shining presence there. “Come on, Isaac. I'm not such a goody-two-shoes. I can be bad sometimes, ya know.”

These words instantly put a picture in his mind of you down on your knees with his cock in your mouth, desperately trying to prove just how 'bad' you could be. He was instantly thankful for the relative darkness in the room and the fact that you were distracted with loading up supplies onto a cart, too busy to notice him adjusting the harshness of his zipper across his cock. You didn't see, and you couldn't make any comments about how terribly perverted he was for touching himself in that area. You couldn't stop and consider what kind of thoughts he might be having. 

Isaac forced himself to think about the awful smell of the boys locker room, dead bodies, anything to will his cock back down before he moved in to help you gather the supplies. He took a sharp breath, and finally mustered a reply.

“Seriously-” He said, his voice far too rough for his own liking, that stupid sex-addled, wolf-y adrenaline taking over his body again. Control yourself. He forced himself to have an aura of control. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Seriously, what did you do?” 

“You know Jason?” You posed. 

“Greenberg?” Isaac replied, mostly only knowing the annoying, obnoxious guy by his last name – often because Coach screamed it so much to yell at him in complaint. 

“Yeah.” You nodded. “Well, during class, he made a stupid 'joke' about how he couldn't see the board past my 'giant ass'.” 

You put both of these things furiously in air quotes, obviously not thinking that Greenberg's words had been anything comparable to funny, and only quoting his insensitive words to communicate just how much of an idiot he had been.

Isaac flared with anger. He knew that your beautiful body type – for some stupid reason – wasn't what most people considered attractive. It was something that was intensely difficult for him to comprehend. You were the most gorgeous creature he could conceive of – you were so much more, so round, so curvy, so perfect. If you ever blessed his presence by wearing something even slightly form fitting, he was distracted by even the slightest glance of you, loving every single roll and curve of your body, loving each dimple and ripple of your skin that he was able to catch a glimpse of.

Why didn't every single guy imagine fucking a bigger girl and feeling that thickness bouncing on their cock? Why didn't every guy dream of snuggling up to that soft warmth?

Isaac didn't like to spend long contemplating the stupidity of others, especially not people like Greenberg. Although sometimes, it gave him a flare of pride because he knew that he saw your beauty where others couldn't. Part of him was glad that there wasn't an entire mob of guys chasing you, especially not a bunch of idiots from the lacrosse team that would have spoken filth about you in the locker room. He knew that his rampantly jealous side wouldn't be able to handle it if half the guys on the team wanted to fuck you as badly as he did – he probably would have ended up benched for the rest of the season if he ended up carrying out that jealousy. So reasonably, part of him basked in their stupidity, enjoying the fact that he was one of the only ones who looked at your wide hips, your rolling curves, the slope of your stomach and saw gorgeous handles to grab onto while he fucked you into an oblivion (again, not that he was ever actually going to let himself do that). 

But he was glad that he got you all to himself, even if it was only in his daydreams.

Still – he would have to remind himself to check Greenberg extra hard on the field during their neck practice. 

“It wasn't even clever.” You laughed, a harsh bite in your voice that said those idiotic words, no matter how thoughtless and stupid, had still hurt you in some way. Isaac resisted the urge to reach out and pull you into a hug. “Anyway – I was just getting so tired of him. His voice constantly whining behind me, so – I smacked him with my textbook. And – apparently I broke his nose, or something.” 

You grinned at Isaac as you said this, and he couldn't help the sharp laugh that escaped him. 

“Oh my god.” He grinned back. “That's fucking amazing.” 

Another beautiful thing about you? Your confidence.

The two of you then made your way back upstairs, via the freight elevator, which you directed Isaac to because you knew how to use it. Apparently you had been down in the basement and used it to get extra chairs up to the gym during a drama night that the school held to raise money for charity – because of course, you spent your free time doing things like that.

In the small lulling silence, you turned your attention back to the reason that he had been put in detention. 

“So - you're also in detention because you hit someone?” You posed. “Mr. Clark said you got into a fight?” 

Isaac felt a wave of guilt rush over him, and hated that he couldn't explain the details to you. 'Oh yeah, the Alpha twins went psychotic on me because I realized that they've been killing people.' He just hoped that you didn't think of him as someone dangerous, or some kind of monster.

“Uh… yeah.” Isaac replied.

Technically, he hadn’t been in the fight that he had been blamed for, even if he had wanted to beat up the twins, very, very badly. And taking simply credit for that fight was much easier than trying to explain all the strenuous drama to you – especially when he didn't want you knowing about the existence of werewolves in Beacon Hills. He didn't want you getting involved with any of it. 

So instead, he just took the wrap of being someone who got into a fistfight on school grounds in the middle of the day. Which wasn't even entirely unlikely for him. He hated what you might think of him. He really didn't want you being afraid of him. 

Instead, you looked pensive as the two of you continued to walk to the janitor's closet together. 

“What was it about?” You asked, giving him a chance to explain, not immediately perceiving him as dangerous or guilty. Naturally, you saw the best in Isaac. 

“It's… complicated.” He sighed. “Just - you know those twins? The new guys?” 

You nodded. 

“You should stay away from them. They're really not good guys, and I… I don't want you getting hurt.” Isaac hesitated with the last part, not wanting to sound too affectionate or too sincere, and his stomach tightened at the way your eyes practically sparkled in reaction to his words. 

Little did he know, you were glowing inside – absolutely alight with your own bubbling affection at him being so warm towards you. For a while now, you thought that Isaac disliked you for some reason or found you annoying, even though it seemed like he actively sought you out. But it was a lot of mixed signals, with the way he had been cutting off your casual conversations, seemingly looking for an excuse to escape you when the two of you had only been interacting for a few minutes. And you hated being left confused when he ran off, even if he had been the one to first say 'hello', or if he spent entire class periods staring you down like you were the most interesting subject in the world.

You were left with that horrible emotional whiplash once again when he he snatched the keys from you in order to unlock the janitor’s closet, turning his back on you completely, not saying another word as he began to unload the supplies into the shelves. 

You sighed heavily, frustration knotting into your gut.

“Okay, did I do something?” You asked, picking up a bottle of cleaner and entering the spacious closet with him, caring much more about the conversation than the task you had been given.

You shouldered off your purse and dropped it carelessly in the corner, focused much more on Isaac – watching his whole body tense as he continued to work. He bent down to poke at some things on a lower shelf, keeping himself mindlessly busy, very intent not to look at you. He didn't say anything, continuing to ignore you.

“Isaac?” You pressed, slightly more stressed that he wouldn't even answer you. “Hello? Did I do something to piss you off? Because if I did, I would rather you just tell me-” 

“Look, it's not you.” Isaac said, standing abruptly and turning to face you. You were now entirely aware of his towering height, especially because of how you had to crane your neck slightly to look up at him. 

“Well, what is it then?” You pressed, trying not to let your words falter – hating now your attraction flared up at being this close to him.

“It's complicated.” He answered, his voice small, muting off with intense thought. 

“Isaac, if you're upset about something, you can talk to me.” You told him, reaching out to gently grab his forearm, something that only made him more tense. You reacted quickly, pulling away sharply, not wanting to force your touch onto him if he didn't want it. “I know you and I aren't very close, but I'm a pretty good listener, and I won't judge-” 

Just then, your words were cut off by a harsh bang – the sound of the closet door slamming shut, shrouding the two of you in complete darkness. You heard a distinct 'click' as it was locked from the outside, and then, harsh scraping. The sound of something intensely heavy being shoved across the floor and propped against the door to prevent the two of you from being able to get out. 

Panic flooded Isaac as the closet door slammed shut from the outside. 

No.

“Oh no. No, no, no, no!” 

He couldn't be trapped in here. 

He couldn't be trapped in here with you. 

Isaac pounded fruitlessly on the door, and reached for the handle, twisting it, becoming more horribly panicked as he felt it not budge an inch. Then he began to shake the doorknob so hard that the entire door shook in its frame – but he still couldn't move it. Not when something so large and heavy was blocking it from the outside.

He shoved his shoulder against the door, harshly, a few times, trying to bust it down, trying to shove that heavy thing out of his way. He was feeling his lungs swell more inside his chest each time, feeling his chest muscles becoming concrete, fighting him, his breaths becoming more intense and rapid each time – his panicked gasps sounding more and more like crying with each passing second. 

“No, no!” He cried out. “It's blocked from the outside.” 

He finally paused, pressing his forehead against the door in defeat. Suddenly, he felt all too hot, all too trapped inside of his own skin. 

He rushed to peel off his heavy cardigan, desperately needing some cool air, needing some way to breathe. You felt a pang of guilt as your eyes were drawn to the curve of his back muscles, the heavy slope of his shoulders as he panted, the sinful way his tight white shirt clung to his skin, especially now that sweat was gathering there. 

You felt terrible, looking at him with lust when he was clearly so upset, so panicked. 

“Isaac, it's okay, it's gonna be fine-” You reached out, trying to comfort him, but the second your fingers grazed across his shoulder, he let out a near feral growl. 

The sound startled you, and you let you a quiet squeal from the back of your throat.

“Get away from me.” He barked at you, his head still pressed tightly to the door, not looking at you. 

You drew back sharply, brewing with even more intense guilt. Okay – so he didn't like to be touched when he was upset. That was fine.

Isaac shook the door handle harshly again – he couldn't be trapped in here with you. He couldn't be this close to you, he couldn't risk getting caught up in your soft touch...

Every single panicked breath he took caused him to draw in more of the confined air, caused him to take in more heady lungfuls of your scent. And with each passing second that he was trapped inside this tight space with you, gulping down your scent, knowing that you were so damn close, he was losing it. The intensity of the blood thumping, claustrophobic panic was rapidly turning into a maddening, mind-melting lust.

He had to get out.

He had to escape.

If he didn't get out soon, then he wasn't going to have any sense left. And he was going to do something that he wouldn't be able to turn back from. Something that he might not even regret. A tiny part of him hoped that you wouldn't regret it either. A tiny little shred of hope lived inside of him that you might even want it, that you might want him -

He let out another feral growl, forcing himself to shake off that thought. No, you would never want him.

You spiked with fear as Isaac pounded on the door harshly, letting out a sharp, angry scream. 

“Let me out!”

“Isaac! Isaac, stop!” You yelled, trying your best to scream over him. “That's not helping!” 

He took a breath, pausing for a moment. His body craved more oxygen, and more of your gorgeous scent planted itself deep in his nose, so heavy on his tongue.

He was so fucked.

“Look, you need to calm down.” You said quietly, fearful that he would hurt himself if he kept this up. “Then we can figure out how to get the door open.” 

Painfully, he knew that you were right. But he didn't know how the hell he was going to calm down. Not with you so close by.

He collapsed onto the floor, squeezing himself back into the corner that was farthest away from you, putting a hand flatly over his mouth and nose, trying to douse down as much of your scent as he could. Your beautiful, raw, sweet scent – but of course, he was still bathed in it, absolutely undeniable. He was trying his hardest to even out his breathing while his muscles shook furiously. 

Your mouth became dry as you took in how truly pitiful he looked – his eyes wide and glassy, his forehead licked with sweat. Your stomach curled with a unique ache of sympathy, and you wanted nothing more than to help him. 

“I read somewhere that eating sour candy can help with panic attacks, I think I have some in here-” You were eager to help, rushing to get the words out as you thought of the solution.

You moved to grab your purse where you had dropped it earlier, bending at the waist to grab it off the floor, and that was when Isaac was truly done for. 

The way you bent perfectly revealed your underwear to him – your dress riding up just enough to reveal your panties, unintentionally revealing a little peek of your cloth-covered pussy to his eyes. And more importantly, exposing it to his nose.

The movement caused the scent to spike just enough in the open air to have his brain truly melt between his ears; his cock alive and throbbing inside his jeans, his claws sprouting out against his will, his eyes glowing a gentle yellow in the dark of the space. Mindlessly, his jaw lulled open in order for his tongue to spill out and lap at the air mindlessly, causing him to look more like a dog by the second, his body needing to drink more of that delicious fucking scent. 

Isaac, now panting much more like a bitch in heat than like someone having a panic attack, began to crawl mindlessly across the floor toward you, desperately seeking out more of your scent.

He startled you harshly when you felt something bump up against your panty-covered pussy lips from behind – in that moment, not knowing that it was the tip of his nose. You let out a yelp and jumped away from the sensation, accidentally dropping your open purse in the process, spilling the easily forgotten contents all over the floor as you tried to orient yourself and figure out what had just touched you. You shoved your body right up against the shelves that held the cleaning supplies, looking around through the darkness (that your eyes had well adjusted to by now), looking for what had touched you...

And you were met with an entirely strange picture – something right out of one of your fantasies. 

Isaac was on his knees in front of you – a very clear outline of his cock pushing up against his jeans, his white shirt sticking to him with sweat, making each of his beautiful muscles even more defined. His chest was heaving as he panted, open-mouthed, his eyes closed as he clearly tried to collect himself. 

“Sorry,” He panted quietly, a whiny edge on his voice that made him even more pathetic and even more sweet at the same time. “Sorry, I-” 

And then he crawled closer to you again, closing the gap, pinning you right up against the shelves, his body a hot, deadly force against your own. Even on his knees, as tall as he was, his head easily came right up to your waist, and he slouched, sloping his neck to rest his head against the soft plush of your stomach. You couldn't mistake the sound when he hummed contently, pushing his cheek into you, seemingly soothed by being closer to you.

Okay, so he did want to be physically comforted. 

“It's okay.” You told him, trying your best to use a soothing, soft voice. You reached a hand up on instinct and ran your touch through his hair – it was slightly damp from sweat, a burning heat coming off his skin. “It's okay. You're alright.” 

He let out a warbling moan, a sound that cut right through you, humming against your core like a tuning fork, reminding you just how badly you had always wanted him.

In an instant, you knew that claustrophobia was no longer the major issue at hand for him. Not when he was making sounds like that. It was almost like he was feral. Like he was some kind of animal. As though he was so turned on that he could no longer control himself.

You had no clue what to do, especially not when his large, hot hands came up to grip your hips, and his knees tightly bracketed your ankles, effectively keeping you from running away. Not that you ever would have wanted to. But it made it much harder to think when all you could feel was the thickness of his cock pressed against your calf, and his big, warm hands holding onto you like you were something so damn precious.

You felt an odd sharpness poking into your side, and when you glanced down, you saw that his nails had somehow sprouted into thick, brown claws. When he opened his eyes and looked up at you, instead of that sweet baby blues you had come to know, you were looking down at a unique, nearly shocking yellow. 

And then, somehow, it all came careening into perfect clarity.

You should have been terrified. But an incident with Allison about a month earlier meant that you knew exactly what was going on here. You went to her place early to pick her up for a nail appointment that the two of you had scheduled, only to find her room a chaotic mess, and to see her covered in bruises, with her shoulder bloody and clawed. You grabbed your phone, rushing to call the police, or at the very least, her father. And you had only panicked more when she knocked the device out of your hand and begged you not to. It led to her sitting you down and telling you about Scott. She told you all about his 'special abilities', and how her tempting him and teasing him on a full moon had led to the best sex of her life. 

You had no clue when the next full moon was, but it had to be soon for Isaac to be acting like this. 

An excited, lustful ripple went through you, and a distant murmur in the back of your mind told you that it was a terrible idea to have sex in a school supply closet. You really wanted to hush that voice.

“I - I thought you were having a panic attack.” You gasped, coming to the conclusion aloud for it to truly be real. 

“I was.” Isaac admitted in return, his voice oddly small, as though feeling guilty that he had somehow deceived you.

Isaac let out another whine, pressing his forehead tighter into your stomach as he closed his eyes, trying to calm himself, desperately trying to hold himself back. He couldn't let this happen. No, no, no. You smelled so good – but no. His hands gripped your hips harder, his claws digging into you slightly. You were so close, but he wasn't allowed to touch you.

Allison saying the words 'best sex ever' kept ringing through your skull. You had imagined being with Isaac for so long, and now he was on his knees in front of you, so visibly desperate. Your pussy began to get wet as the thoughts truly hit you and the smell reached Isaac's nose within seconds. 

“Sorry, I'm sorry,” He whimpered, unsure what he was apologizing for – the thoughts he was having about you, or the fact that he might actually act on them with the rapid way that his self control was crumbling. “Sorry.” 

He nosed down to the edge of your dress, his actions entirely contrasting his words. He felt the need to apologize, but he ultimately, deep down, he knew that he couldn't stop what was about to happen. He couldn't help himself as he tightly shoved his face right up against the front of your underwear under your dress, causing your muscles to tense up in shock at the sensation, your thighs almost clamping around his face.

But still - you didn't find yourself hating it, not one bit. You just weren't used to guys being so brazen and direct with what they wanted from you. If anything, this was more of a turn-on.

You continued to pet soothingly through his hair as nosed tightly against your mound, the tip of his nose tracing a pattern on the front of your underwear that quickly sent dizzying tingles through you. He was panting even harder now, his breath fanning out over your thighs – seeing him so needy and wanting making you wetter and wetter by the second. 

“Don't be sorry,” You said, finally gathering more words past the horrible dryness of your mouth. “Don't be sorry. It's okay, puppy.” 

The nickname slipped so naturally from your lips – because how else could you think of him? On his knees for you, panting like a dog, looking at you with his big, sweet puppy eyes. He was a sweet, loyal little dog, and you wanted to keep him at your side forever. You wanted him to be your puppy.

Isaac let out a sharp whimper when he heard it, only further adding to your theory. You had wired into his animal nature, the way he looked so perfect on his knees for you, the way he was so desperate and mindless, looking for a command, silently begging to hump. He was your puppy now. 

You used your other hand to pet across the broadness of his shoulders, hating the intense tension that you felt there. You had no clue that he was ripe with stress from him holding himself back, forcing himself not to rip your clothes to shreds just so he could get at your pussy. Instead, for now, he settled for letting his tongue out – licking wetly at the cotton fabric of your panties, making your whole body jolt and making you cry out, bucking towards his face when he accidentally skimmed across your clit through your underwear. 

He let out another whiny moan.

The taste was so much better.

Unconsciously, a part of him hated sucking on the fabric, but another part of him said that he wasn't allowed to touch, wasn't allowed to move the stupid fabric out of the way, so this was definitely the next best thing. Part of him knew that he was lucky to be on his knees like this for you, that he was lucky to drink your scent like this. He was lucky to even be in the presence of a goddess like you.

His brain continued to melt away and be barely noticed when he began to hump against your leg like an animal, unconsciously grinding his cock against the firmness of your calf, seeking any friction that he could get against his aching, angry hard dick. 

“Isaac, puppy,” You breathed out, giving a gentle tug on his hair, trying to force him to look up at you – when he did, he was so damn beautiful. 

His eyes had calmed back down to that beautiful blue – somehow, soothed by having you under his tongue. Soothed by finally letting himself drink in your scent, rather than denying it. And though his eyes were still tearful and watery, there was something so utterly beautiful in how pathetic he looked – a proper fucking dog, on his knees for you, panting hard with his tongue out, wordlessly begging to serve his master. 

“Come on, it's okay,” You said, further trying to soothe him, an instinct inside of you nagging, telling you that you needed to take care of him in this vulnerable state. “Tell me what you need. Whatever you need, puppy - I'll give it to you.” 

Your whole body was vibrating – you had never been so turned on in your life, and if he asked you to runway with him at that point, you likely wouldn't have thought twice before packing a bag.

Isaac let out a sob, absolutely incoherent, and shut his eyes again, seemingly distraught as he pressed his head against your stomach. He was once again enjoying the softness, soothing himself there. He took in a few more greedy lungfuls of your scent before he spoke. 

“No.” He whined out. “I can't.” 

“What? Why not?” You asked, disappointment ripe in your voice. 

“I – I like you too much. I can't – I like you too much.” He declared between gasping breaths, his cock nagging even harder against his zipper, reminding him what he was denying himself of. But no – he would never let himself hurt you. “That's my problem.” 

For a moment, you thought that he was opposed to having sex with you under the idea that it might be 'no strings attached' sex. You thought this was him confessing that he had feelings for you, and he didn't want to get emotionally attached to you to you through sex if you didn't want him in return. 

Fuck, he was so damn sweet.

“That's not a problem, Isaac.” You told him. “I like you too.” 

The warm fondness in your voice only made things harder for him, only made more tension ripple through his shoulders. He held back another sob.  

“That's the problem.” He pressed, his voice ripe with bitter urgency, trying to force you to understand, his whole body shaking now.

You couldn't help but to rub another soothing hand over him, your heart aching as he let out more sharp tears. 

“Why, puppy? What's wrong?” You asked, truly and utterly confused.

Isaac's eyes snapped up toward you again, and what he said shook you to your very core. 

“Because – I'm gonna fuck you.” He declared, his voice warbling with hurt, his words so entirely certain, as though it would happen no matter what, as pure as gravity or the passage of time – somehow filthy, even tainted with the sadness ripe in his voice. 

“Isaac-” You gasped in return, and he easily cut you off. 

“I'm gonna fuck you, and I’m not gonna stop.”

He nearly choked on his own words, so passionate, the beast inside of him desperately trying to rise up again. He choked it back down, taking in another harsh breath. He closed his eyes once again, petting his hands softly across your curves, desperately trying to remind himself that your body was tender and gentle and he had no business unleashing himself upon it.

“Y/N, please – you have no idea of the things I wanna do to you…” 

His voice had a unique kind of pleading, as though begging the universe to rid his mind of the filth you wanted nothing more than to know through a close-up demonstration.

You let out a whimper this time, and Isaac snarled when he smelled more wetness flooding out of you, this time truly soaking through the fabric of your panties, making it so much more potent in the air. He was losing that last little grip he had on his self control.

“I'm gonna ruin you.”

He rasped out, his voice so tired and wrecked, even though the two of you were still fully clothed, even though technically, nothing had happened. At least not yet.

“I'm gonna fucking ruin you… I'm gonna ruin this pussy, Y/N-” He spoke these words with scorn, as if it wasn’t the hottest thing you had ever heard, as if it didn’t make your very legs shake. “I can’t, I can’t, I’m sorry-” 

“Please, Isaac.” You said, tugging on his hair again, forcing his face up to look at you once again. 

He was so tearful, so beautiful, so pathetic – his pretty blue eyes were wide with shock, unsure that he had heard you correctly. 

Were you actually asking him to-? 

“I want you to ruin me.” 

“Y/N – you, you don't know what you're asking for.” 

“I do. I do, Isaac.” Truthfully, you didn't care. You had a good enough idea of what you were asking for, and you were becoming just as needy as he was. Your cunt was throbbing and you had a feeling that you needed it as badly as he did. “Make me yours. Please, Isaac.” 

“I wanna be good.” He whimpered, the last shred of reservation still tattering around inside his brain.

He didn't want to hurt you. He would never hurt you.

But it would be hurting you if you asked for it, if you wanted it -

“You are good, you're so good,” You replied, your voice full of breath, the lust finally beginning to become maddening for you too. Finally, you grabbed one of his hands, guiding it to slot into the waistband of your underwear, practically begging him to pull them off you. “You're so good for me – you're such a good boy. Such a good puppy for me.”

The words caused something to light up inside of Isaac. Nobody had ever said anything like this to him. Not ever. 

He stuck his tongue out again, greedily licking against the fabric of your panties. And then he outright sucked the fabric into his mouth like someone licking a wrapper clean before devouring their favourite treat, as though he was sucking all the goodness off the packaging before he got to what he knew would be the best part. It was something that caused you to gasp, causing another sharp jolt of pleasure through your body.

“Take them off, puppy, please-” 

Isaac was good, he was being good. He was being a good puppy, he assured himself as he hooked his fingers into the fabric and pulled down, partially ripping right through it with the sharpness of his claws, neither of you truly caring about that right now. He made quick work of having your underwear in a useless pile around your ankles and baring your cunt completely to him now. 

What a perfect prize.

It was all mindless from there. He dove forward with an intense hunger and you couldn't help but to open up your legs to him, having to detangle yourself from the tenseness of his thighs bracketed around your ankles and the scraps of your underwear in order to do so. Of course, he was too far gone to care about the clumsy exchange of limbs, or the way you used a demanding grip on his hair to shove him further into your pussy. You slung a leg over his shoulder, drawing him in even deeper, and he hummed in enjoyment, glad to be closer to you. 

He was in heaven. If catching passing glimpses of your scent was maddening before, then this was being driven off into insanity and fully enjoying it. He was coated in your scent now, your wetness smeared across his face as he shoved his tongue deep inside of you, desperate to have more. He was desperate to drink right from the source, happily bouncing his nose against your clit to further bury himself in that perfect scent. He would do anything to have more of you – more, more, more. 

With the plushness of your thighs resting against either side of his face, every single fantasy he had ever dreamt up about you was quickly coming to life. He was completely lost in you, so perfectly smothered against your beautiful, fat mound, loving the feeling of your round body so soft against him. The rest of the world shut out and forgotten – for once, he was enjoying a tightness and closeness, being wrapped in the warmth of another person, rather than being abandoned and alone in a tight, cold, forgotten place. With you, he wasn't forgotten, he wasn't alone. With you, he belonged. With you – he was good.

“Fuck, Isaac!” 

There was a certain discomfort in being pinned against a row of plastic shelves while having the life sucked out of your cunt, but you couldn't bring yourself to truly care, and you absolutely did not want it to stop. Not when it was Isaac, shoving his tongue deeper inside of you, moaning madly against you as though he was getting more pleasure out of this than you were.

It was so fucking good.

He was so good, so messy, practically fucking you with his nose like he knew every little move that he made would drive you closer to the edge. He was seemingly determined to shove his face as far inside of you as possible and not caring how wet and messy it made him. He wasn't eating your pussy in some dainty, hesitant way – he wasn't performing this pleasure as some mandatory step on his way to get his dick inside of you. No, instead, he was truly devouring you because it was what he wanted, what he needed, and that knowledge alone was making your legs shake. 

You easily felt the warmth of an orgasm curling in your gut, something that was as firm as the fact that Isaac was going to fuck you. It truly struck you when Isaac let out another needy moan into your cunt, vibrating you to your core, continuing to lick and suck at your wetness as though it was the most divine thing he had ever consumed. Your pussy pulsed harshly and your thighs quaked, and he grabbed onto your hips harshly, holding you closer to keep you from squirming away as your body shook harshly with the orgasm. 

“Isaac! Isaac!” You cried out, becoming increasingly breathless, your body becoming much more slack and urging to lean against the shelves, which did not feel like they were going to support you, your legs shaking more and more. “Isaac, I'm gonna fall-!”

You gasped out the words, and the simple phrase set off alarm bells in Isaac's lust-foggy head. He would never let you fall. Only a second later, Isaac had firm hands under your lower back, sweeping you off your feet – quite literally – as he lifted you in a smooth move to lay on the floor. You didn't have too much time to think about how perfect and easy that had been for him, how impossibly strong he must have been.

He hesitantly moved his face away from your cunt, his new favourite place to be, inhaling one last greedy breath from between your legs before he moved his head up your body, checking to see that you were okay. (Of course, that would always be his priority – knowing that you were okay.)

The feeling of his nose taking a sharp breath against your bare, raw cunt caused another pang to ring through your body, like a sharp note being played on a piano, and you let out a last harsh whimper as his face came to meet yours.

“Y/N?” He rushed out, his voice so soft, so impossibly full of concern, making you swell even more with affection for him.

“Isaac.” You answered back, unsure what else the answer could possibly be.

All there was in that moment was him.

You felt awash with intense affection at the sight of him – his white shirt slightly stuck to him with sweat, his face downright filthy with your wetness, his cheeks tinged pink, his eyes once again back to that seemingly innocent, pale blue and glassed over with lust.

You couldn't help but to pull him into a kiss, needing to be closer to him, needing to feel those now slick lips on your own. You moaned against his mouth, feeling pure heat coming off his swollen lips, loving the taste of your own tang on his mouth, and he let out another needy moan in return. He shoved his deep tongue into your mouth, feeling so lucky to be able to kiss you. Finally, finally – he was able to kiss you. It was something he had been dreaming about for so many months, something he had wanted for so long. 

His cock gave another demanding throb against the zipper of his jeans, and even though he was soothed by being surrounded by your scent, practically bathing in you, his balls ached with sheer need and he felt his claws threatening to burst out again. He wouldn't let himself hurt you. He knew that he had enough of a taste to control himself, so he either had to find a way out, or he had to - 

“Please.” He moaned against your mouth, pulling back from the kiss just enough to breathe, his voice broken and gravelly and so truly desperate. “Please, please, please, Y/N. I need to be inside you, I need to touch you, I need you, you're so perfect, your pussy is so perfect, you're so good, you're so warm, please-” 

“Yes.” You choked out in return, unable to find the backbone to tell him that horrible word 'no', not when he was still glistening with your wetness, not when his tone was so desperate, not when he was looking at you with those deadly sweet eyes.

Of course, you knew how utterly insane it was to have sex in the middle of a school day inside the janitor's closet – even if the door was blocked off, someone could come across the two of you at any moment. But there was a bit of a thrill behind it too, the possibility of getting caught. You twisted your head to the spilled contents of your purse, wondering if you had another condom or if you had given away your last one to a friend at a party the other weekend. Part of you wondering if you would even truly care if he used one or not, because this was Isaac Lahey, the hottest guy at Beacon Hills, the pretty faced, tall boy that you had been pining after for months, openly begging to fuck you.

“Yes, come on, I want your cock, be good for me – be a good puppy-” 

Those words were a soothing relief to Isaac.

“Thank you.” He moaned out, becoming breathless at the idea that you had even given him such sacred permission. “Oh, thank you.” 

And taking another good look at you, seeing you so beautiful below him, looking up at him with a pleased smile and lustful eyes, that was when he truly noticed that your head was pressed against the hard floor, and something harsh panged inside of him. Something beyond every single part of him screaming with lust, his nerve endings torn up by adrenaline, ravaged by your scent, something deeper inside of him was screaming: 

Take care of your Mate. 

So he took a quick glance around and he grabbed up his forgotten sweater, folding it nicely into a little pillow, and as he moved to put it behind your head, you quickly realized what he was doing and lifted your neck to make this easier for him. A tingle ran through you at the sweetness of the act as you laid your head back down, finding that it was much nicer cushioning to lay on. Isaac gently brushed your hair away from your face, nosing along your hairline – a deep, low, pleased growl coming from inside him, something bordering on a purr. He was deeply contented, filled with the pleasure of knowing you were comfortable, knowing he had taken care of you, and smelling that you were now surrounded by his scent, that possessive streak in him soothed and eased. 

“Isaac-” 

You spoke his name again, so beautifully, so softly – fuck, you were so perfect.

He cut you off with another deep kiss, reaching for his belt buckle as he properly situated himself between your thighs, becoming so clumsy with need once again that he struggled to get the belt open. As you parted your knees for him to get closer, a fresh wave of your scent wafted through the air, catching on his nose and making him even more desperate, another harsh throb going through his cock.

He parted from the kiss and inhaled deeply, his mouth falling open once again and his tongue lulling out to taste the air, drinking up every essence of you that he could get. He felt downright drunk on it, his new favourite sensation in the world. His head fell into the crease of your neck as the lustful dizziness overtook him, and he began to lick up the bits of sweat that had gathered there, once again mindlessly chasing his instincts, only caring about what was right in front of him, even while his cock was angry and painful with need.

You took pity on him and knocked his clumsy hand away from his belt and undid it for him, instantly thrilled by the large bulge under your touch – eager to explore the large, thick cock throbbing against his jeans, begging to get out. 

“You really are a big boy, huh?” You purred against his hair, your hands beginning to shake slightly, unable to contain your excitement as you reached for his zipper. “So good, such a good puppy. Such a good boy for me.”

“Thank you.” He hummed into your neck once again. “Thank you, thank you – oh god.” 

His words tumbled into a moan when you got your hand around his cock, pushing his underwear down just enough to free it. You got him warmly in your grip, getting a good feel for the hard, thick nine inches now under your hand, throbbing and flushed pink, standing tall from a nest of soft blond pubic hair that wrapped around his heavy, aching balls. You were only able to pump across him a few timed before he finally jumped into action.

He didn't wait, he couldn't wait.

He reached over and knocked your hand out of the way, just barely taking a moment to push his pants down more to free himself, his ass now bared to the room as the fabric slid partway down his thighs – but it was only a blink of a moment before he finally pushed his cock into you. It was a nearly clumsy slide against your abundance of wetness, his thickness fitting into you so perfectly, sinking home in a swift, needy, demanding movement. A single firm shove of his hips causing him to sink all the way inside of you – deep, so, so, deep.

“Oh my - Isaac.” 

“Holy fuck.” 

There was no shyness about it.

No hesitation, no more asking or begging – Isaac's body had taken over, his instincts now driven by need. It was that thing Derek had talked about: the need to find his mate, and breed.

Feeling you so close, so warm, he needed you now more than ever – he needed his cock so deep inside of you. And he was rewarded with the tight, hot clench of your pussy fully surrounding his cock now, a perfect home that he never wanted to leave. The softness of your belly and your breasts pressed up against him, the plush of your thighs fluttering beside his hips, surrounding him.

The part of his brain that was truly feral was angered by the fact that you were still wearing some clothes, that he couldn't truly feel every inch of your round softness pressed right up against him, that he couldn't feel every naked detail of your body so perfectly. And though he ached to tear your clothes off, he couldn't even focus enough to do so. He was too distracted by the perfect feeling of your wetness surrounding him, your heat. 

(He would remember this next time, and he would rip your clothes off without hesitation.) 

“Isaac, Isaac, fuck, oh my god.” You gripped onto him tightly, your hands moving up his back, underneath his shirt, your fingertips a cool spark against his overly heated skin as your thighs gripped tightly onto his hips. “Come on, puppy, you gotta move.” 

There was a unique pleading in your voice, something anchoring him against his feral mindlessness. The part of him that was convinced he had finally found a home, one that was warm and safe and so different from the world he had known, a place he wanted to live forever. But yet, his cock panged with need and his balls were still aching in protest and all his muscles were so tight and you were fluttering around him, gripping into the thickness of his cock like a silent signal, and -

Yes, that was it. 

He needed to move. He needed to fuck you. 

A wounded sound warbled out of the back of his throat, a clash as his whole world came colliding into perfect harmony. And finally, he steadied himself on his knees, and he began a sloppy rhythm.

Usually he would have tried to woo you, would have tried to impress you with some kind of purposeful skill – he would have intended to have you cumming on his cock and begging for more. (If he wasn't completely mindless, he might have remembered some of the things that Erica had tried to teach him.)

But his mind was completely wiped blank, and any essence of intention or skill had completely left his body in favour of need, lust, want, the instinct to be deeper inside of you, to feel more of your wetness and heat against his cock. He let out a whimper against your neck as he fucked harder and faster into you, creating a downright sloppy sound inside the small, closed off space as you began to pant and moan, his body becoming overwhelmed by the pleasure of you against him. 

“So - so good.” You moaned out, your breath dissolving into his sweaty hair where his head was collapsed against your breast. “So good for me.” 

Good? 

It was a word that had been quarantined away from Isaac all his life, and hearing it on your lips became damn near addicting in an instant. He was stripped away of everything, acting on his most naked instincts – and you called him good. This was the most bare version of Isaac in the world, the most unprotected he had ever been... and you thought he was good. He let out another needy moan, determined to hear it again – he was going to be good for you, he was going to be good for you – yes, yes, yes. 

Bouncing between the spark of that word in his head and the hot tingle of your pussy clenching around his cock, he knew he needed more. He reached for the edge of your dress, tearing it upward, needing to feel more of you, needing to see more of you, inadvertently driving his hips forward harder, making a harsher slap of skin on skin as he devoured more of you.

With his conscious sense all but gone, he had no clue when his claws had sprouted again but he didn't have the slightest bit of will to retract them now, and he did feel a pang of guilt when he heard fabric ripping and saw an angry red streak up the gorgeous fat mound of your stomach. He had been so desperate to move that fabric out of the way that he was now wrecking things in his wake, but fuck – now more of you was exposed. That gorgeous, round fat that was bouncing with every movement of his cock, so hot and perfect and soft for him – fuck, he really couldn't stop himself now if he tried, far too hypnotized by the sight of you leaking around his cock, the feeling of your heat consuming him. 

“Sorry.” He whimpered, trying to apologize for that weeping red scratch he had unintentionally left on you, a sting of pain that only made you wetter around his thick cock. “Sorry, sorry-” 

“Hey, shh.” You grabbed him by the hair, tilting his head up, forcing him to look you in the eyes before you kissed him on the forehead. “D-don't be s-sorry, pup.” You struggled to get words out, your body quaking around his cock as your orgasm drew near once again. “Fuck - ah! Fuck! You're so good!” 

So good. 

The words rang through his head again, bouncing off his cock like a scared song, and it drove his instincts into overdrive. He grabbed both your hands, weaving your fingers forcefully with his own – some deeper part of him knowing that this would be the best way not to let his hands wander, not to have his sharp claws pierce anymore of your perfect, tender flesh. And he pinned your hands above your head, now stretching his body over yours completely flat, pinning you to the ground with the full, overwhelming weight and heat of his body in an intensely intimate position that forced his cock deeper inside of you. 

You throttled out a moan as you felt it, felt his thickness pushing so deep inside of you. And he continued to fuck into you in deep, harsh thrusts, his hips bruising your own with each movement, rattling the fat of your inner thighs in a way that was sure to leave satisfying marks later on. 

“Mine.” He growled out, his words slightly muffled past fangs that were bullying their way into his mouth – something that should have scared you, but instead, caused another telling flood of wetness around his cock. “Mine.” 

Yours. Your Mate. Fill her up. Scent her. Cum in her. Make her so full of you.

“All yours.” You let out in a breathy whine. “All yours, pup. Come on, cum for me-” 

Fill her up. Fuck her good. Breed her so good. Fill her, make her yours - 

With a bright, snarling growl that sounded more like a whine, Isaac fucked his cock in deep, pressing his cock all the way inside of you and finally cumming, letting out bits of frantic bits of drool across your cheek as his eyes glowed that fantastic yellow once again. 

“Such a good boy, such a good boy for me-”

You gasped out, breathless, quickly following him over the edge, your orgasm hitting you like a brick as you were overwhelmed by the parade of sensations. The topper was feeling those thick spurts of cum flowing inside of you, feeling the overwhelming heat of his cock pulsing as he continued to fuck you through it, his hips stuttering in the most messy, sweetly selfish way. 

He shoved his head down into your neck, reducing to tiny whimpers and whines as he became overstimulated by the feeling of your pussy gripping and fluttering around his cock, but of course, he couldn't bring himself to pull out of the warm, perfect home he had made there. Especially not when one of your hands came to pet at his hair and you kissed along the side of his face, making him feel so loved in a way that he never had been before. You drew him even deeper into that wave as you wrapped a knee around his lower back, embracing him, keeping him there, further swallowing up both of your bodies in that filthy mixture that the two of you had created. 

“Such a good boy. Such a sweet puppy for me.” 

That deeper part of him was now entirely pleased by the way your two combined scents were filling the small space, and he realized that this was what he had been seeking all along – not just more of your scent, but the contentedness that came from the two of you together, the two of you ultimately close, the scent and feeling of you covered in him, the satisfaction his baser instincts felt of having you filled with him.

He let out a deeply content sigh and it was only then that he realized, laying happily on your breast, his cock softening inside of you, that his claws had withdrawn on their own, and his fangs had as well, and his heartbeat and adrenaline had entirely calmed. (He took the opportunity of his claws now being gone to reach a greedy hand down, groping across your thighs and your stomach and down to your ass, enjoying the fat and the smoothness that he had stared at for so long but never gotten to touch.) He was trapped in a closet, in a tightly confined space, for the first time in his life, not panicked by it. Being perfectly soothed by you, having you close. 

You were the cure to any horrors he had experienced in life.

“Are you okay, Isaac?” 

You asked, your voice small. 

Better than ever. 

“Yeah.” He replied, his voice having a sex-worn rasp to it now. “Look, I am sorry if I-” 

Of course, he had to be interrupted yet again. 

His stomach curled nervously when he heard the sound of scraping – something being moved harshly across the floor. And a moment later, someone harshly ripped open the door that had been snapped shut, originally trapping the two of you into the closet in the first place. Isaac blinked his eyes against the harsh burst of light and instinctively moved to shield you with his body for modesty, not caring that his pants were halfway down his thighs and his bare ass was sticking out. 

It wasn't until the person spoke that he recognized them. 

“Isaac? Y/N? I – oh my god! I thought you were in trouble!” 

Scott. Of course.

“Shut the door!” Isaac barked in return. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Shut it!” 

Scott did as asked, and Isaac was relieved when you burst out laughing. 

“I'm glad you found that funny.” He griped sarcastically, moving to hide his face in your chest once again, his face absolutely bleeding with embarrassment now.

“Well – the whole… bizarre-ness of the situation just really hit me.” You told him, your voice light. “And – at least the door's open now.” 

Isaac let out a laugh too.

...

A/N: Please note, this fic is a oneshot, and there will not be a continuation or a 'Part 2', and I find it rude when people rush to the comments to ask for one. If you would like to comment, please discuss the content of what has been written. I love talking about my fics and my favourite characters with fellow fans, so you are definitely not bothering me by commenting love for the fic or just the fandom in general. If you're feeling shy, feel free to come into my inbox and comment on anon.

I really, really appreciate comments and reblogs, and I highly appreciate when people trend against the culture of only leaving a like on a fic. I put a lot of hard work into my fics and something as simple as a short comment or a reblog makes my day.

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The anteroom doors hissed as you and Leon stepped in. You awkwardly stood beside each other, both covered in part of Leon’s…genetic material. 

The doors hissed again, on the other side this time and in walked Sherry Birkin, wearing a face mask and latex gloves. 

“I’m honestly glad to see you both in one piece,” she said, placing two stacks of dark grey clothes at a safe distance from you. “We have to cremate your clothes to reduce the risk of contamination. Leave them in the bin over there and put these on.” 

“Underwear too?” you asked. 

“All of it,” she said, clearing her throat, eyes flicking between you and Leon. “Leon, you’ll go straight into quarantine.” 

Leon nodded. 

“Do I quarantine too?” you asked. 

“Depends,” Sherry replied. “We’re gonna swab your…mouth, I think.” She wrinkled her forehead. 

“Yeah, her mouth,” Leon confirmed and Sherry flinched, holding up a hand. 

“You’re like a father to me, Leon. I don’t want to—I really don’t need to—” she broke off. “I didn’t want to know that about you. Like ever.” 

“I know,” Leon said. “I’m really sorry.” 

“I mean it’s kinda my fault,” you murmured. “I made him beg.” 

Sherry and Leon stared at you. 

“And…climax,” you added, barely audible and cleared your throat when you realised that was probably a little too much information. Sherry crinkled her nose, turned on her heel and walked out of the room, a shudder racking through her on the way out. 

“That was unnecessary,” Leon said, turning away and slipping his shirt over his head. Oh, so now you were concerned with giving each other privacy all of a sudden? 

You cleared your throat, turning around as well. “What was I supposed to say?” You slipped your shirt over your head. 

“Not that,” Leon grumbled and you heard the rustling of heavy fabric. 

The tiles covering the walls were sort of reflective and you got a great look at a particular back, a whole lot of muscles dancing under scarred skin with every movement. You swallowed, as your gaze trailed lower and you tore it away at the very last moment, your cheeks becoming hot. 

His taste still lingered on your tongue. The truth was, you couldn’t wait to taste him again. 

You cleared your throat and got rid of your bra, cupping your breasts as you threw your clothes into the bin in the corner, careful not to turn too far so Leon wouldn’t get an eyeful. 

Like you had. You creep. 

You slipped into the shapeless crewneck Sherry had brought with her, the fabric brushing over your already taut nipples. Leon paused in his movements, you saw it from the corner of your eye. 

He wasn’t also looking at the reflection, was he? 

While you waited for the medical staff to come pick you up, Leon and you awkwardly stood at opposite ends of the room. 

“Maybe we should,” Leon started. 

“Totally,” you chimed in without looking at him. 

“Keep this private,” he went on. 

 “And not tell anyone, yeah,” you replied. 

Leon cleared his throat, crossing his arms in front of his chest. You did the same, shifting your weight from one leg to the other, then back again. 

Finally, the doors opened once more and someone from contamination control guided Leon out of the room. You let out a heavy breath and relaxed your shoulders a little. 

Shortly after, one of the doctors came in and  motioned for you to follow them to the infirmary. 

Watching the medical staff from the DSO take turns in microscoping a sample of the mucous membrane from the inside of your cheek was probably one of the more mortifying moments of your life. Because you knew they would see something wiggling around in there. 

Maybe more than one. You had no idea what Leon’s sperm count was. 

Probably a lot. You had never seen this much cum before. Or maybe that was the plant. It had enhanced every sensation for him, so why wouldn’t it affect his sperm? 

If it affected his sperm, maybe you were contaminated after all. Your face anyway. What if you had actually hooked up? Would the plant enhance your senses too? 

An image flashed in your mind. Leon hoisting you up against the walls of the shipping container, the cold metal biting into your back at every thrust. You had your hands buried in his hair as you took him deeper and deeper until you cried out his name and—

“You’re all clear,” the doctor announced, looking at you over his clipboard. You jumped, being awoken from your daydream so crudely. “We couldn’t detect any infectious material, so you’re free to go.”

You blinked. “That can’t be right. Are you sure?” You pressed your thighs together, your folds slick with arousal already. 

“No, you’re good.” He signed off on a document and opened the door for you. 

You shook your head. “No, I-I’m pretty sure I was infected too.” 

“And I’m 100% sure you weren’t,” he replied, smiling at you, softly. “No need to be nervous.” 

Yes need to be nervous. Nervous as hell.

But you echoed his smile and stepped out of the medical examination room. Rubbing your forehead, you walked up to the elevator and frantically pushed the button. You could still hear Leon in your mind. The way he had hissed through his teeth, followed by helpless moans falling from his full lips. You wanted to kiss those lips so badly. Horny spores or not, a guy who was that vocal and filthy during a blowjob knew how to kiss you senseless.

He probably also knew how to do a whole lot of other things expertly. Agent Kennedy was very skilled in general. Granted, he had also had plenty of time to practice. He was what? In his fourties? Fifties maybe?

Old enough to make the blowjob even more problematic than it already was. 

The elevator doors opened. One of the two female agents inside broke off mid-sentence when she saw you. 

“Sorry,” you whispered, squeezing in beside them and pressing the button for the gym in the basement. You needed to get some of this energy out. You really couldn’t live like this. You felt like you were about to burst into flames. 

The agent that had listened to the other one raised an eyebrow and looked over inquisitively. The other woman shot her a warning look. 

You wrinkled your forehead and tore your gaze away from them, staring at the little ball of light dancing from one story to the next. 

“So how big is it?” the one with the raised eyebrow leaned in to whisper in your ear just before you reached the lower levels. 

Your head whipped around. “How big is what?” 

“You know, Agent K–” she stopped as the elevator doors opened again, Leon standing in front of them. 

You did a double take and looked at the buttons in the elevator. Instead of down, you had gone back up for some reason. 

“I thought you were in quarantine,” you squeaked. 

Leon stepped into the elevator. “They cleared me pretty quick.”

“That’s great,” you whimpered, his shoulder just inches away from yours in the tight space. “Where to?” 

“Gym,” Leon replied and pressed the button for the basement again. 

A nervous smile crept onto your lips. 

“Where are you going?” Leon asked. 

“Gym,” you croaked. “But if you’re going to the gym too, maybe I’ll give it a miss this time.”

Leon shrugged. “It’s big enough for the two of us to share.” 

The agent behind you snorted a laugh that turned into a wince, as the other one rammed an elbow into her side. 

The gym absolutely wasn’t big enough for both of you. Whatever Leon did, even if he was at the other end of the room, you were incredibly aware of his presence at all times. No amount of weight, no amount of cardio stopped your fantasies from running wild. What had started with you bent over his desk, had turned into you bouncing on his cock looking down at his blissed out face as he came inside you. Before it had a chance to turn into passionate missionary and breathy moans between whispered sweet nothings, you decided that it was time to clear your head. 

You walked over to the wall and stretched out your hands, bringing yourself into a handstand, eyes closed. You breathed in deeply, feeling your chest expand as you focused on balancing yourself on your palms.

On your next exhale, you shifted your weight onto your left shoulder, carefully lifting up your other hand and stretching one leg out to the side at the same time. Maintaining full concentration was crucial, or else your wrist would wobble and you’d topple over. 

Another inhale. 

No Leon, no dicks, just breathwork. 

Heavy breathing. 

Panting. 

Moaning and panting together. 

Your wrist wobbled and you set your other hand back down, leaning your legs back against the wall. You groaned. This wasn’t an infection, this was a curse. Satanic, evil, from hell. 

“Do you mind if I correct your form?” an annoying, grating voice sounded from beside you. 

Nostrils flaring, you closed your eyes again. “What do you want, Kyle?” 

The young agent tapped at your feet and you lost your balance. Before you face planted, you elegantly brought yourself back up into a standing position, hands propped against your hips. 

“Except for disrupting my training,” you went on, eyebrows raised. 

“Guilty.” He shot you a charming smile. “I came over to ask you something.” 

“Sorry, I don’t know where they keep your balls, Kyle. Haven’t seen ‘em,” you said and extended your arms again, ready to get back into a handstand. 

“You’re so funny,” he replied and nudged you in the side playfully—breaking your concentration. “That’s one of the things I like about you.” 

“Oh god,” you breathed, watching him. Kyle was an attractive guy, dark hair, angular face, tall and broad shouldered like all agents. Eyecandy, if you will. 

“So, uh, I was wondering if you ever wanted to grab dinner? With me?” 

“Why do you want to get dinner with me all of a sudden?” you replied. “We don’t speak outside of meetings.” 

“Well, I want to change that,” he shot back immediately. “Let me take you out.” 

You opened your mouth to ask him what the hell had gotten into him all of a sudden, but you didn’t get a chance to. 

“What she meant was ‘no’.” Leon stepped up behind you, you didn’t even need to look to know exactly where he was. It was like your body had an invisible antenna. Wherever your goose bumps pointed at, that’s where he was. 

Kyle inhaled to say something, then looked between you and Leon and abandoned the thought. 

“Your form’s actually great, there’s nothing for me to correct,” he said and walked off. 

You turned around to Leon. “I didn’t say no.” 

“He calls you agent TG,” Leon said, face stern. “The ‘T’ is for throat. You don’t want to get dinner with him.” So Kyle knew too, for some reason. As did the agents in the elevator. A shudder racked through you, then anger.

“What’s the ‘G’?” you asked and Leon crossed his arms in front of his chest. 

“Goat.” 

You sighed. “Why are they even concerned with contamination control? The only thing that spreads like wildfire around here is gossip.” You furrowed your brows. “And it’s not your decision to make who I have dinner with.” 

“You made the decision. I translated it for him,” Leon said. 

You held up a hand. “This is seriously overreaching. Just because you came in my mouth doesn’t mean you get to be jealous.” 

Leon scoffed, but avoided your gaze. “I’m not jealous.” 

“Good. Because you have no reason to.” 

He shrugged. “Well, I’m not.” 

You stared at each other, none of you moving an inch. Leon should be getting back to his training but he didn’t. A drop of sweat slid over Adam's apple and disappeared into the collar of his shirt. 

“If you wanted to take me out to dinner all you had to do was ask,” you hissed. “Not come over and be all territorial.” 

“I don’t have time to take you out to dinner,” he said without missing a beat like he had already considered that option. “I eat at my desk, I’m married to my job.” He tilted his head. “At least until we find out where they exported those plants to.” 

“And I’m not going to bring you lunch, so there was no need to clarify,” you hissed, not entirely unfazed by him rejecting the implied date. 

Leon cleared his throat. “Good.” 

You nodded. “Fantastic. You’re like a hundred years older than me anyway.” You wiped your hands on your pants and got back into a handstand. 

“Twenty-one,” he murmured absentmindedly, eyes trailing over your body, his jaw tight. “I’m twenty-one years older than you. And seven months.” 

Your breath hitched. “You know when my birthday is?” 

Leon pointed at your left flank. “You’re favouring one side when you do core exercises. You’ll always fall over like that.” 

Your arms gave out and you crashed down. Cursing, you sat against the wall and massaged your wrist. 

Leon had already walked back over to his side of the gym. 

A week went by. A week full of awkward debriefs of what happened between you and Leon in that shipping container and a week full of pretending the other one didn’t exist. So, business as usual. Except this time, it was also a week of you making yourself cum multiple times a night to the thought of you repeating what had happened in that shipping container. And expanding on it, which only made you avoid him more. 

But working together also meant that you sat in a meeting room with him for the nth time this week. They had located another warehouse full of plants and the sooner you destroyed the specimens, the better. So they called in your unit to assign roles for the upcoming field mission. 

You sat in the chair, avoiding looking at one particular agent and waited for your assigned task with Leon. 

K was the eleventh letter of the alphabet. And you had just gotten done with number 10. You sat up a little straighter in your chair, ready for your name to be called out next to Leon’s. 

“Kennedy, you’re with Agent Williams on this.” 

Kyle nodded. “Yes, sir.” 

You nearly jolted out of your chair. “What?” 

“Is there a problem?” one of the senior agents asked. Your stomach sank. 

“What about me? Who’s my mission partner?” you asked, sounding a little more pathetic than you intended. In the shipping container, Leon had told you under—well, duress—that he made sure to be teamed up with you every single time. Because he wanted to protect you. Because he didn’t trust anyone else with keeping you safe during a mission. 

“You’re actually our back-up for this one,” your supervisor said and continued on with the briefing. 

“Back-up?” you mouthed, eyebrows shooting up. Your head whipped around to who you thought was responsible for this. 

But Leon’s face was unreadable, stoic, if it weren’t for the muscle in his jaw twitching as he looked at the slides with the mission information. 

After the meeting, you were absolutely fuming as you walked up the hallway. Your kitten heels clanked over the tiles and you felt utterly ridiculous in your business casual attire, pencil skirt and everything, when what you actually wanted to do was break into a full sprint and barge through Leon’s door. 

Now you had to open it slowly like a civilian. 

“You’re here,” he said, looking up from his reports. 

“Why did you put me in the agent graveyard?” 

He slid a pair of glasses off his nose and tossed them onto the desk, rubbing his eyes. “That’s not what’s happening.” 

You stepped a little closer. “How is that not what’s happening? I’m being quiet fired.” 

“I don’t think we should work together again,” Leon murmured and closed the files on his desk. “So I requested a new partner. I didn’t know they were going to put you in the agent graveyard.” He winced at his own last words. 

You ignored the jolt of pain in your chest. “So, I am in the agent graveyard.” 

“Temporarily, I’ll get you back out of it, I promise.” Leon said and looked at you. 

“But you’ll never work with me again, because I sucked you off?” 

“You know how I feel about you. I told you in the shipping container. And I know how you feel about me,” Leon whispered. “I don’t think either of those feelings are appropriate for the workplace. Or a life or death situation.” 

Your cheeks became hot. Because of how angry you were or because of him admitting his feelings for you without being under the influence of anything, you weren’t sure. 

“It was actually very appropriate for the life or death situation you were in, Kennedy.” 

He gnawed on his lower lip. “Thank you for saving my life. And I’m sorry you had to do that.” 

You shrugged. “I enjoyed it.” 

Leon swallowed, hard. “I enjoyed it too. Which is why it’s so inappropriate. Me being infected made you do it.” 

“I offered,” you said. 

He huffed. “Because you didn’t want to let me die. Not because you wanted to give me a blowjob so badly.” 

“No, I would have let you die,” you said. “I wanted to give you the blowjob.” 

Leon’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re very blunt.” 

“And you’re conflicted.”

Leon watched your every movement as you rounded the corner and leaned your ass against his desk right in front of him. Can you blame me? It’s a good ass. 

“Because you’re twenty years older than me.” 

Leon sighed. “Twenty-one, yeah.” 

You ran a finger over the smooth mahogany of his desk. Your favourite fantasy out of all of them. Being bent over and fucked senseless, right here. It made you cum on your fingers in no time. “And you have no time to take me to dinner because you’re married to your job.”

Leon nodded, still watching you. 

You pushed yourself up onto the desk, kicking off your heels until they clanked on the hardwood floor. Leon leaned forward in his chair ever so slightly. 

“You’re always eating at your desk.” 

You didn’t break eye contact with him as you  reached under the hem of your skirt, pulling your lace thong down, until it hit the floor too. 

Leon’s lips parted, pupils blown wide, as his gaze fell between your legs. 

“What are you doing?” 

You spread your legs wide enough for him to see you, glistening and swollen, inviting him in. 

“Bringing you lunch to your desk.”

Leon’s eyes glazed over. “You said you wouldn’t do that.” 

“Guess we were both lying then,” you breathed, your heart hammering against your ribcage. If he rejected you this time, you could never show your face around here again. But you were already a back-up agent, so what did it matter?  

Leon’s breathing became flat. “Are you sure?” His eyebrows were knitted together in pure agony.

You pushed your skirt up a little more and spread your legs wider. “Yes, I’m sure.” 

Leon dropped to his knees and gripped your thighs. You bit back a gasp of relief. 

“Agent Leon Kennedy, folding under no press—” 

Leon yanked you closer to the edge, throwing your legs over his shoulders in one smooth motion. You yelped in surprise and propped yourself up on your elbows, watching his face disappear between your thighs. 

“And you’re very bratty for someone who’s about to beg me for more, junior.” 

You scoffed. “People who are this cocky, usually aren’t good in bed. Oh fuck.” Leon didn’t give you any time. He latched on to your clit with uncanny precision, making you whimper right out of the gate. 

Leon chuckled and you felt like maybe you had bitten off more than you could chew. You hadn’t considered the twenty-one years of sexual experience he had on you. This was not a level playing field. 

Leon let go of your clit and pressed an open mouthed kiss to your labia, licking up and spreading them with his fingers. He eagerly lapped at your centre, hooking his arms under your thighs and pulling you even closer to him. 

A lewd moan fell from your lips and your fingers threaded through Leon’s silky hair. None of your fantasies even came close to the feeling of him pushing into you, curling his tongue, as you felt him exhale in a breathy groan. 

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he whispered and went back to sucking on your clit, flicking his tongue against it. 

Your head fell back and you rolled your hips against his face, silently asking for more. Leon didn’t need to be asked twice. A finger pushed into you, sliding in effortlessly, your silky wetness covering him to the knuckle. 

How did he know this was exactly what you wanted? He had no business reading your body like that the first time he ever touched you. 

You mewled, your nails biting into his scalp, as you desperately tried to hold on to something. Biting back a helpless whimper, you clamped your thighs around your lover’s head, but he pushed your thigh back, opening you up wider to him. 

“Oh fuck, Leon,” you sobbed, breathlessly, desire coiling tighter and tighter in your abdomen with every stroke of his tongue and fingers working in unison. 

Leon shushed you, reaching one of his hands up, sliding under your shirt and pulling the lacy cup of your bra down, exposing your hard nipple to him. 

Your eyes fluttered shut, as you continued to moan like a whore, squirming under his touch, panting, calling out his name so he wouldn’t stop. Never stop. You wanted to experience this until the world ended. 

Your back arched off the desk and Leon didn’t stop you from clenching your thighs around his head this time, answering your moan. 

“That’s it baby, oh fuck, come all over my face.” 

A high pitched moan racked through you and your hips bucked, you were moments away from shattering. “Oh god, Leon.” Another moan, louder than the last one. 

Leon leaned back, the lower half of his face glistening with your juices. He was panting, struggling to regain composure. 

“You’ll have to be quieter, people are already talking.” 

Your head shot up as your orgasm ebbed off and you shimmied closer to him, looking for the tiniest bit of friction to keep you edging closer to pure ecstasy. 

“Why do you give a fuck about other people?” You panted, eyes rolling back in the back of your head, as you tried to catch your breath. “Keep going.” 

Leon chuckled, ran his tongue over his lower lip and dipped his head back between your thighs again, continuing right where he had left off. You softly squeezed his tongue with your inner walls, inching closer and closer. 

“I can’t wait to feel you do that around my cock.” Leon moaned shamelessly, making you clench down on his fingers this time at the finality of that statement. 

“I’ve been thinking about nothing else,” you panted. “You fucking me, it’s all I can think about.” 

Leon groaned, pressing his forehead against your vulva, as if he needed a moment to recalibrate, continuing to work you with his fingers. 

You whimpered, your lower abdomen becoming tight. “Oh god, Leon.”

“Oh fuck yes,” he breathed, licking up your folds and eating you like he was starving for it. The sounds of pleasure filling the office were beyond obscene. You didn’t care who heard. 

Until Leon paused his movements. 

“No,” you whimpered, once again left right at the edge of sanity. “What are you doing? No, don’t stop.” 

Leon bit back a laugh and your brows knitted together in fear as you realised he did this on purpose. He was toying with you. 

“I thought you should know what that feels like.”

You whined, tugging at his hair, but he leaned back, looking at you with a smug grin. “If I were you, I would make you beg. But I’m a lot nicer than that.” 

You helplessly kicked your feet, desperately trying to make him come back to you, getting the job done. “Fuck you, Kennedy.” 

He clicked his tongue, scoldingly. “I think you can do better.” 

“Don’t do this to me.” 

He raised an eyebrow at you, rolling his thumb over your clit agonisingly slowly, watching you suffer. “I’m being very nice to you right now.” 

“Fuck, Leon, please,” you whimpered, “Please don’t stop, I’m sorry, please, I need you.” 

“Yeah, that’s more like it,” he murmured, biting his lip, taking his sweet time observing your wet flesh as he dragged his thumb over it again, rubbing your clit in tight circles. 

Somewhere between Leon being the nicest person and him being the meanest person alive, you had sunken down to lay flat on the desk, squirming, thrashing under his touch, at the overstimulation without release. 

His mouth found your centre again, fully making out with your pussy and a shiver racked through you, the tiny hairs on your skin standing to attention. You were so close. 

Leon moved away from your clit and you sobbed. 

“If you stop again, I’ll kill you with my bare hands,” you whined, stretching out your hand, white knuckling the other end of the desk, your breath coming ragged, a single drop of sweat trailing down your knitted forehead. 

But Leon didn’t stop. He knew exactly what he was doing as he pushed two fingers deep into you, caressing your clit with his thumb. He hoisted your hips up higher, his mouth moving lower, tracing over your taut skin and you nearly blacked out. 

A gasp turned into a high-pitched moan as he teased your rim with the tip of his tongue. 

“Oh god, Leon, I–” You started pulsing around his fingers, gripping the edge of the desk tighter, chest heaving. “Oh my god,” you choked out as he licked you in broad strokes. 

With the next skilled stroke of his tongue, you were gone. 

Crying out his name, you clamped your thighs around his head, your heels digging into his back. Leon moaned against your hot flesh, continuing to eat your ass you through every wave of electricity coursing through you, rubbing yout clit, making you last longer, intensifying every sensation. 

“Oh holy fuck, oh my god.” A string of curses fell from your lips, as you came harder than you had ever before, panting, barely able to process the multitude of stimulation. 

You pressed your head against your arm, squeezing your eyes shut, mouth agape, probably letting the entire DSO know what Leon was doing to you, but you didn’t care. All you cared about was Leon making you see God. 

Leon pulled you back up into a seated position and pulled you to lean against him. Weakly locking your arms around his shoulders, you sank against his chest, your entire body shaking. 

You were still trying to catch your breath as Leon rubbed gentle circles over the small of your back. 

“We still haven’t kissed,” you whispered breathlessly. 

“First kisses are for first dates,” Leon panted. “What are you doing Saturday?” 

“Going on a date with you?” you breathed, burying your forehead in the crook of his neck.

Leon nodded. “Yeah.”

-----

Leon Kennedy fucking hated his job sometimes. To some extent, he always has. It’s unforgiving, thankless work he does, and he feels like he’s on the precipice of officially being too old for this shit.

He was especially irked over his current predicament. He and a newer agent had been deployed to the Arklay Mountains, the very region that had drawn him to Raccoon City nearly thirty years ago. The DSO had caught wind of suspicious activity, strange energy readings, and surveillance footage pointing to someone poking their head into Umbrellas' past. Naturally, they had sent the resident Raccoon City expert to investigate.

He had found evidence of an underground lab—one Umbrella had long ago left abandoned. He’s searching for something, anything, that will provide insight into what could warrant someone rummaging through abandoned research that was decades old.

The old linoleum flooring squeaks under the rubber of his sole as Leon rummages through yellowing papers.

“Find anything?” Your voice calls out from the next room. Leon glances your way, a small smile tugging at his lips. You’re a pretty young thing, and competent enough at your job that Leon, for once, hadn't minded much when they’d assigned you as his partner. Through the years, he’s grown hesitant about having to work with others; he always has a habit of getting too attached, only to lose them in the end. Leon can’t stomach the thought of losing you. The mere thought is enough to make him queasy.

“Not yet,” he calls back. The lights flicker ominously, and Leon hovers a hand over his pistol, dropping the papers as he cautiously examines the room. There’s a sour sweetness in the air, his nose crinkling at the smell as he moves deeper into the lab. The walls are cracked and crumbling as he examines the space. Vines have begun to sprawl over the rubble, thick and covered in thorns. Leon pauses, examining the plants. It shouldn’t be too out of the ordinary, after all, this place was long ago abandoned and far away enough from the missile strike that perhaps whatever radiation or destruction took the city didn’t fully reach this far in the mountain. Still, Leon thinks he’s seen these vines before. His flashlight follows the thickest vine; perhaps it’s just a trick of the light, but it almost looks like it’s pulsating, breathing even. The beam of his light slowly ascends upwards, the vines twisting and vibrating with life.

In the corner of the room, there is a flower. It’s fleshy and pink and dripping. Leon cringes at the sight, tilting his head as he examines it. His gut is screaming at him to run, and he’s learned before that plants in Umbrella labs tend to be bad news. He takes a cautious step backwards, his boot squeaking against the floor. The flower growls, shuddering as the petals bunch up, pulsating.

“That can’t be good,” Leon huffs. He raises his pistol to fire when the flower lets out a wheeze, gas slowly pouring out into the room. Leon can’t escape it, can’t hold his breath. It’s hot and heavy against him and seeps into every orifice.

As the perfumey gas lingers in the air, Leon coughs, the sickly sweet scent invading his nose and burning his nasal cavity. It smelled like musk and rose and chemicals, and the second he registered the smell, he could feel something in him heat up. It starts as a spark in the pit of his stomach, one that causes him to hunch over with a groan. The spark then sinks lower and lower, and it feels like his center of gravity is off as the heat takes hold of his groin. A bead of sweat forms on his brow as the spark grows hotter. He stumbles back into the light, coughing and wheezing.

Leon sees you through the glass window, and you finally notice him, hunched over and sputtering. You're quick to sprint over, banging on the glass as your muffled voice calls to him. You try the door, which is conveniently jammed. He raises a gloved hand, a placating gesture as he tries to stand up straight. A hiss leaves his mouth as the movement plucks a string within him, his insides coiling in tightness as he makes his way to the door. Leon isn’t stupid; he has an educated guess on whatever the gas he just inhaled was, lord only knows that was probably the least fucked up of all the Umbrella experiments he’s learned of through the years.

Leoon has to slam his shoulder into the wood to get it to budge. He stumbles out with a cough, and you're there to catch him. His massive body slumps against yours as he tries to steady himself, the blood from his head rushing south as he grunts at the feeling.

“Oh my god, Leon, are you okay?” you ask, concern in your tone. Leon knows he must look like shit, but he can’t help but give a thumbs up.

“Feel like a million bucks,” he rasped, using your shoulder as he wearily stands straight. His eyes meet yours, and he feels his face flush and his mind grow heady as he looks at you. For a brief moment, he allows himself the selfish desire of admiring your beauty, a desire he’s had since you joined the D.S.O.

He tries to squash down that thought. He’s grown good at ignoring his wants over the years.

“Jesus, you’re burning up,” you gasp, leading him away from the lab. “Let’s find a place where you can sit down and rest for a second.”

Leon lets you take the lead as he limps alongside you. His core feels like it’s on fire, and every movement he makes only stokes the flames inside him. He has to bite his tongue to avoid whimpering, feeling lightheaded. You lead him down to an old break room, securing the old metal door behind you as you help lower Leon onto a ripped plush chair.

“What the hell happened?” You demand.

“Some plant had taken over the lab, released some gas,” Leon groaned. He watches as the color slowly drains from your face.

“A plant–what did it look like?”

“I don’t know, lots of thick vines with thorns, a gross pink flower at the top,” he shrugs, face scrunching up with a hiss as the movement sets off a wave of overwhelming sensation over him.

“Oh God,” you mutter, pulling out the files you had discovered, rummaging through them frantically.

“What? What did you find?” Leon asks, looking up at you. He can smell you from here; he’s never noticed how sweet you smell.

“Well…” your voice trails off.

“Just rip the band-aid off and tell me the bad news, kid,” Leon huffed, feeling the heat wash over him in a nauseating manner. It was like his entire insides were on fire, twisting and turning within him. He was losing the ability to think clearly, and it took more and more energy not just to salivate at the thought of ripping your clothes off.

“Um, well–” you hesitated, shuffling the papers in your hand as you gulped and nervously glanced up at him. His eyes narrow at you as you try to steady your nervous breathing.

“It’s not just a bioweapon,” you start. “It looks like they were researching and testing behavioral override responses—removing inhibition, forcing biological drive into—” Your voice stutters at the last sentence, as if you were embarrassed. Cute.

Leon lets out a long breath, shoulders slumping in defeat. “Yeah–” he cuts in. “I get the gist.” He rubs a hand over his face, wiping away the sweat. “Great, does it mention if it's temporary?” Leon sighs.

“It can be,” you all but whisper.

“You’re killing me here, kid,” Leon groans. The heat is becoming unbearable, and he can feel the perspiration on the back of his neck, rolling down his back.

“It says if the subject follows through with the act of intercourse, the aphrodisiac will wear off and the subject will return to normal once achieving climax…” You trail off again, and Leon thinks you’ll be the death of him.

“If the act is not followed through with, the subject will soon suffer cardiac arrest due to lack of release, according to nine out of ten test trials.”

Perfect, well, isn’t that just great? Damn near thirty years of his life dedicated to fighting bioterrorism, and he’s going to die from not getting his rocks off. Pathetic.

“Of all the traps they could’ve left behind…Just put a bullet in my head, why don’t ya?” he groans, his head falling back as he pants softly. His mouth feels dry, and his clothing feels tighter than normal. Silence falls over the room, and Leon closes his eyes as he tries to think of how to fix this, how to calm down. It’s not the first time he’s been infected with something, but regardless, you should get out before he snaps.

“I could help,” he hears you say.

Well, that was unexpected. Leon raises his head, long strands of hair sticking to his damp forehead.

“What?” is all he manages to say.

“I’m not going to let you die, not when the remedy is so easy.” Easy, right? It wasn’t like this was his perverted dream come true. He’d rather have taken you the way you deserved to be taken. It had always been his hypothetical plan to wine and dine you all the way to his house, where he’d throw you on his silken sheets and have you gripping his comforter and screaming his name while he showed you how a real man treats a lady.

You take a step towards him, cautious at first, a hand outstretched as you reach for his shoulder. His hand caught your wrist, holding it gently as he let out an uneasy exhale.

“Are you sure?” he asks, voice thick as he tries to swallow his excitement.

“I’m sure,” you whisper softly.

His heart skips a beat at your softly spoken confirmation. “Sit on my lap,” he orders. He tries to make his voice steady and strong, but it comes out as more of a whimper. Nonetheless, you obey, shedding your jacket as you slowly slide onto his lap. He hums in the back of his throat, hips bucking up at the sensation of weight against him. The mere pressure of your body alone is already making his head spin.

His mouth is on yours in an instant, his large hand cups the side of your face as he all but melts against your warm lips. He thinks you taste like sugar as his other hand slides up the curves of your body, starting from your waist to the underside of your breasts. You lean into the kiss, relaxing as his fingers slowly slide back down as they worm their way under your shirt. Your skin is soft and warm, and touching your flesh sends tiny electric shocks through his fingertips. Leon lets himself be greedy as his hands tug your shirt upwards, grunting as you pull away from the kiss to work the shirt over your head.

“Loose this too,” he mutters, tugging at the band of your bra. You just smile at his quiet neediness and toss it over your head as well, leaving your torso bare for him. Leon exhales in pleasure as he tries to savor the sight of you.

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, his hand roaming from the softness of your stomach up to the swell of your breast, pinching at your nipple as you squirm on his lap. The slight friction feels delicious, and Leon can’t help but grin like a wolf. He leans forward and takes a bud in his mouth, tongue swirling around it as he places a hand on the small of your back, keeping you pressed against him as he toys with your breasts. You moan and writhe slightly, the friction picking up as you grind against him.

“Leon,” you sigh, your fingers entangled in his hair as you tug on his strands, nails scraping against his scalp. Leon hums in satisfaction and pulls away with a wet pop from your breast, the stubble on his chin scraping at your clavicle as he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to your neck.

“I’ve wanted this for a while,” he admits into your skin, undoing the buckle of your tactical belt, discarding it on the floor. He pops the top button of your pants open and taps your thighs.

“Take them off,” he grunts, working off his own belt and unzipping his pants. He tugs down his boxers just enough to free his cock, immediately fisting the enlarged length, precum dribbling from the tip as he watches you longingly as you strip the remainder of your clothes off. He pumps himself, feeling the heat scorch his insides as he pants softly, hips bucking upwards to meet his hand.

“Come on and ride me, gorgeous,” he groans. Par the drug-induced haze and life-threatening time crunch he’s under, Leon thinks he’s died and gone to heaven as you straddle him and slowly sink your tight, warm pussy down on his cock, impaling yourself with a moan as you slowly take him all.

“Fuck–” Leon chokes out, feeling himself lose all sense of sanity as you begin to bounce. Your hips rock against his as you drag yourself up and down on him. It’s warm and wet, and he wishes he could savor the feeling of your slick folds gripping him tight, sucking him deeper into your cavern. But Leon is a selfish man, and he needs more. A few more teasing bucks from you, and Leon has had enough. He grips your waist and looks up at you with blurry vision as his hips buck upwards, a cry leaving your lips as he fills you up. Again, his cock slides out only to buck back into you with vigor, setting a punishing pace as he feels himself get lost in you.

“Such a good girl for me,” he rasps, watching with a blissed-out expression as you moan and writhe on his cock. It’s the most beautiful sight, watching you unfold, and Leon hopes in the back of his mind you’ll let him do this again. Your trembling, he can feel your pussy spasm around him as short little gasps leave your mouth.

“Please,” you whine, and Leon has to give you what you need as well. His thumb presses against your lip in a silent demand, and you obey without hesitation, parting your lips and sucking on the thick digit eagerly. Leon grunts in approval, pulling it from your mouth and pressing the slick finger against your swollen clit, rubbing it with fervor as he watches you come undone against him. He can feel the slickness coat his dick as you arch your back, eyes rolled into the back of your head. He’s proud of you, really. He just isn’t finished with you yet.

A quick smack to the ass has you yelping as his pace slows down.

“Up,” he orders, his voice coming out strangled. “I want you on all fours.” He sucks in a breath as you slide off of him, mouth salivating as he catches sight of your pussy all covered in slick. He’ll have to discover what you taste like later.

He eyes you hungrily as you kneel on a dusty couch, lowering yourself as he commanded you to. His body feels like it will burst into flames as he pushes himself from the chair, his cock throbbing as he kneels behind you. He can practically hear your heart racing as he presses you down, shifting your weight onto your elbows as you prop your ass in the air for him.

He licks his lips, his hand trailing up your spine as he notches the tip of his cock at your abused entrance. The feeling of this alone has you squirming in desire. “So needy for me,” he slurs, filling you up with a single thrust. You cry out, and Leon can’t help but shudder at the sound of your sinful-sounding moans. The way you're thrusting against his cock has him wondering if you got a whiff of the aphrodisiac, or maybe you're just drunk off his cock. Either way, he’s more than glad to give you what you want and more than happy to take what he needs. His muscular body dwarves you as he leans over you, rutting into your wet heat. His bicep wraps around your throat, two fingers worm their way into the inside of your mouth, hooking onto your cheek as you all but drool around him.

“This pussy’s fucking mine,” he rasps, his breath hot against your ear, hips thrusting faster as the heat spurred him on. He can feel his groin grow tighter, and the fire is ablaze inside him. “Can’t believe I waited – ah fuck – this long to try it.”  

You're all but a babbling mess underneath him. Whining and twitching against his thick cock. Leon thinks it’s cute, the way you come undone so easily around him. Your pussy clenches around him just right, and he can finally feel the knot of heat inside him snap. His hips stutter, his arms tightening around you as he fills you up. A low guttural groan leaves his lips as he finally stills inside you. His cock twitches, the final remnants of his seed leaking from him as he slowly pulls out from you. His cock, finally softening, and the heat that raged as an inferno inside him has subsided.

Leon was fine. Well, he was actually much better than fine; he felt better than he had in a long time. He slowly moves off of you, gritting his teeth as he slides down next to you on the couch. You sink against the cushions, too tired to care about the filth. You weakly turn your head to the side, eyes heavy from exhaustion, as you smile at him.

“Think it’s out of your system?” you ask. Leon exhales a chuckle, his lips forming a smirk.

“If that didn’t get it out of my system, I don’t know what else would. If you’re concerned for my well-being, we could always go again,” he suggests. Now it’s your turn to chuckle.

“Ask me again tomorrow, any more right now, and I might break,” she says.

“Tomorrow? My, aren’t you presumptuous?” he teased. He leans over and kisses the side of your temple.

“Maybe someplace more romantic than a haunted lab?” He suggests. “Unless you're into that.”

You roll your eyes at him and smile. “Oh, Agent Kennedy, are you going to take me on a date?”

“And so much more,” he promises.

After he helps you back into your clothes, the two of you make your way to the surface, where the sun has started to set, casting rays of orange and violet across the desolate Arklay Mountains. Leon glances over at you as you bark your coordinates into the radio, ordering the extraction team to hurry up. Even after everything that had happened, you still sounded composed and in control.

For a long time, Leon had convinced himself that wanting things was dangerous. Every time he'd let himself care, the universe had found a way to rip it away from him. It was easier not to hope. Easier not to ask for more.

You finish your transmission and look over at him.

"What?" you ask, catching him staring.

Leon just smiles, “You’re cute when you're bossy.”

You snort a laugh, shoving his shoulder slightly. “And you’re a pervert.”

Leon laughs along, trailing beside you as the evening sun sets. Maybe wanting things wasn't such a bad idea after all.

K was the eleventh letter of the alphabet. You knew because you had been counting down ever since you had started working with the DSO. K like Kennedy. 

“Kennedy, you’re with the junior.” Of course. Every single time you got paired up with fucking Kennedy. 

“The junior has a name,” you murmured, shaking your head, shooting a look at the senior agent.

He looked pissed. Like being teamed up with you was the worst thing that could have ever happened to him. 

You had no idea what you had done to deserve this level of hatred but ever since you had walked through the doors of the DSO, it burned bright like a fire in him, apparently. He couldn’t even stand looking at you most days. Like now, grinding his teeth, avoiding your gaze at all costs. 

You and me both, old man, you thought.

At first you had tried to be friendly with him. He was kind of your superior after all. Not directly, but all junior agents answered to the more experienced ones, especially if they were a founding member. 

But lo and behold it became clear that he thought you were less than capable. At first you thought he was nothing but a misogynistic asshole. But then you realised he wasn’t like that with the other female agents. Only you. It seemed personal. Like he thought specifically you had no idea what you were doing, which pissed you off even more.

It hurt a little, if you were being honest. Leon Kennedy was well regarded by everyone. You wanted him to think highly of you, too. 

And you weren't a rookie by any means. Actually you were the most competent agent in your field, but something about working on a mission with Agent Kennedy made you feel like you didn't even know how to do the basics. Probably because he never let you do anything on your own and was always there to take the load off your shoulders. As if you were a damsel in distress. You hated it. 

It was dangerous as well. You were supposed to cover for him too. But he never let you. You had tried plenty of times. 

The mission at hand was retrieving some biochemically altered plants from an underground Umbrella facility. Ones that were suspected to spread airborne pathogens, infecting whoever was unlucky enough to breathe them in. 

“Let’s go then,” Kennedy growled, pushing out of his chair, already walking off to the armory without so much as looking at you. You involuntarily sank deeper into your seat. Something about Kennedy made you feel smaller than you actually were, younger too, less experienced. Incompetent.

You drew in a determined breath and followed him down the hallway.

This was the mission to change that. You were going to show him how capable you were, once and for all. And finally Leon Kennedy would tell you that you were doing a good job.

After a whole bunch of briefings because of the high risk of contamination on your mission, you and Kennedy were in the field, Sherry Birkin on your earpiece. 

“Sherry, we're in the warehouse.” Kennedy murmured, walking in ahead of you as if you weren’t even there. Why didn‘t he just go on these missions alone? He was so shit with other people, and especially you. 

Your determination to prove yourself to him had disappeared as soon as he had once again, come between you and your first target, eliminating it for you. It was an unarmed janitor. As if he could make it any more clear that he thought you had absolutely no idea what you were doing.

Kennedy didn't only walk in ahead of you, no. He held the door open for you as well, as if he suddenly remembered the liability he was constantly dragging around.

“I can open doors myself, you know,” you hissed.

“You’re slow. You need to keep up or you’ll get yourself killed.” 

“If you didn't run ahead like that all the time, I wouldn’t have to.” You asshole, you wanted to add but you remembered he was your superior after all. Not your direct one, but still. 

“Check the boxes,” Sherry said over your earpiece. “I need to know the serial number to find the one we’re looking for.” 

You nodded, grabbing one of them immediately. Too slow, you were going to show him 'too slow'. 

Kennedy did a double take. "Don't touch that." 

“She said check the boxes. Do you need a hearing aid?“ you hissed, getting out your knife and slipping it under the lid. 

“She said she needs the serial number,” he retorted, rushing to your side, his hands closing around yours, halting your movements. You ignored the way your heartbeat kicked up at his touch. Kennedy always made you nervous whenever he was near, that was nothing new. 

“If you had listened during the briefings you would know that they printed false serial numbers on the outside to lead us astray,” you spat, struggling against him.

It was pointless. The man was pure muscle, his grip like a vice. But you tried anyway because you were full of rage. He wouldn’t let you do anything. Not even what you were being paid to do. Not even checking a god damn label.

Because of your little tussle with Kennedy your knife got wedged deeper into the box than you intended.

“Let go,” you hissed through gritted teeth. 

“You let go, junior,” Kennedy growled in return. 

“Whatever you do,” Sherry’s voice sounded over your earpiece. “Do not puncture the—” 

Kennedy pushed down on your wrist too hard and you yowled, your hand slipping off the hilt. “You’re breaking my wrist, asshole.” 

Without you to counter his movement, Kennedy pried the lid open in one swift motion, a cloud of greenish yellow pollen erupting from the box, coating his entire face. He squeezed his eyes shut. 

“—plastic inside. As far as we know, they’re probably trying to contain some sort of highly infectious microspores.” 

Under all the pollen you still saw a muscle tick in Kennedy’s jaw. He wiped the dust off his face. “I said don‘t touch it.”

"Sorry," you stammered, cheeks hot, realising you had called a senior agent an asshole to his face. You wanted to disappear off the face of the earth. 

Kennedy sneezed. “Sherry, what if we did? And got the plant shit all over our face?” He sneezed again.  

“Wash it off with water immediately and check inside the box for the serial number. I‘ll try and find out what it is,” she replied. “But be careful not to get any more of that stuff on you.” 

Leon sneezed a third time and fumbled for his canteen, unscrewing the top and dousing himself with water. He shook his head like a dog, droplets flying everywhere. 

“I seriously hope for you this isn’t poisonous,” he hissed, taking a sip of water for good measure. 

You held up a hand. “If you had just let me do what I needed to do, you wouldn’t be covered in chemically fucked up plant right now,” you snapped, slipping on a pair of gloves and lifting the front of your compression shirt over your nose and mouth, before approaching the box. You had enough of him babysitting you. This was ridiculous.

“Excuse me, what?” He whipped around. “I’m a senior agent, you should listen to me and not think you know better all the time. Look where that got us both.” 

You carefully lifted the lid, dodging another whiff of pollen escaping, scanning the plastic inside for the serial number. 

He blamed you for this. If you ever had a chance of Kennedy respecting you, there it went. And with his standing in the DSO, you would never be able to get a foot on the ground in the organisation. You’d better update your CV asap. They would absolutely sack you for this.

You closed the lid as soon as you found it, sealing it shut with duct tape to be safe. “Sherry, the serial number is AV-4/B.” You slipped off your gloves and tossed them to the side. 

“Alright,” she said. “Are you both contaminated or just Leon?” 

“Just Agent Kennedy,” you replied. You would also call him Leon like every other person in the DSO but he insisted on keeping you on a last name basis. So you never dared. 

“I’m fine, Sherry,” Kennedy cut in, splashing some more water on his face and rubbing it onto the back of his neck too. You didn’t miss the way he propped himself up against the wall with his hands. “Besides, we have to keep going.” 

“Leon, I don’t think this is a good idea,” Sherry said. “We have no idea what this might do to you. It’s too dangerous.” 

Agent Kennedy was breathing heavily and you looked him up and down. He didn’t seem changed, but you agreed with Sherry. You stepped closer to him, feeling his forehead. 

He flinched like the touch pained him. “Don’t touch me.” 

“Holy shit,” you breathed. “Sherry, he’s burning up.” 

“Get him somewhere you’re both safe. I’ll try and figure out what he was infected with.” 

Kennedy shook his head, little droplets still slipping from his hair.

“You heard her,” you said, grabbing his shoulder, but he shrugged you off. 

“I said don’t touch me, junior” he hissed. 

You scanned your surroundings for a safe place where you could hunker down until you got the all-clear from your dispatcher. 

“In here,” you said, opening the door to the nearest shipping container, trying to push Agent Kennedy inside. 

He whimpered at your touch. The invincible agent Kennedy whimpered. This was bad. 

“Oh shit,” you hissed, barring the door from the inside.

“No, no, no,” Leon protested. “Don’t lock yourself in here with me.” 

You huffed. “Shut up, Leon.” Another inappropriate way of speaking to a senior agent, and first name basis as well. But you were done for anyway. “I’m not a damsel in distress, I know what I’m doing.” 

He winced, lowering himself down to sit against the wall. “I never said you didn’t.” 

You whipped around to face him. “You didn’t have to, you’re always on my ass, no matter what I do.” 

He squeezed his eyes shut, ridding himself of his weapons and harness, tossing them to the side. “Can you blame me? It's a good ass.” 

You did a double take. Kennedy was seriously unwell. He coughed, clearly trying to cover up what he had just said.

You crouched down beside him and he flinched again. 

“Don’t come so close,” he panted. “I can smell you.” 

“What do you mean, you can smell me? I don’t stink, I showered before we went out on this mission,” you said, offended.

Leon’s brow knitted together in helplessness and he leaned his head against the wall. “I’m serious, back off.”

“No way,” you insisted, fumbling for the canteen on your belt, screwing the top off and offering it to him. 

He eagerly grabbed it, drinking the water inside, some of it spilling down his prominent Adam's apple as he did.

Despite him being old enough to be your father—and an absolute asshole to be around—you couldn’t deny that Leon Kennedy was an exceptionally handsome man. Hot even. 

Right now, literally. He was sweating so much, wet patches had formed all the way down the back of his tactical shirt. 

“Take it off,” you ordered, as you began to unlace his boots. 

He shook his head, lips pressed together, like he was fighting something invisible inside his own body. 

You slipped off both his boots, tossing them to the side, grabbing where his shirt was tucked into his tactical pants. “I said, take it off, Leon. Don’t be so stubborn.” 

He struggled against you, trying to get a hold of your hands, but you managed to pull his shirt out of his pants at least, grazing his crotch when he tried to stop you. 

“Holy shit,” you breathed.

You had just touched your superior's dick.

Not your direct superior, but that didn’t matter. Because you also hadn’t touched his flaccid dick. No, no. Leon Kennedy was rock hard beneath those tactical pants. 

“I’m sorry,” he whined, squirming, desperately trying to get comfortable. 

You stared at him. “So when you said you could smell me you meant—” 

“Don’t say it,” he pleaded, swallowing hard, his throat bobbing. He looked like he was in agony. 

“My vagina,” you concluded. 

Leon bit back a moan and you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “It’s the plant,” he whispered. 

“So it’s what? Some kind of super potent viagra?” you said, still tugging at his shirt. 

“Stop, what are you doing?” He tried to push away your hand but as soon as your skin touched his, a groan slipped past his lips and he clasped his hands behind his back. 

“Leon, I know you’re incapable of listening to me in any situation, but this is serious. You’re burning up and I don’t care that you have a boner right now,” you hissed. “You were infected with some kind of chemically altered shit. Take your fucking shirt off.”

He finally caved, letting you slip his shirt over his head. You drew in a sharp breath. Leon Kennedy shirtless was a sight to see. Taut skin stretching over chiselled abs, beefy pectorals, perfect for propping yourself up on while you were riding him. 

You touched your chest, feeling for your heartbeat and breathing. Were you contaminated too? 

Oh. No, you were just horny for a man old enough to be your father. 

Leon’s nose crinkled and he turned his head away from you. “Stop that.” 

“Stop what?” you asked. 

“Getting wet, I can smell it.” 

You rubbed your forehead. This was going to make for one awkward as hell debrief. “I hope we don’t have to write a report on this,” you murmured and pressed your earpiece, calling for Sherry. No one answered. 

You took out your knife and cut off a piece of your shirt, exposing a sliver of your belly. 

“What are you doing?” Leon rasped. 

“Relax,” you shushed him, folding the fabric carefully and wetting it with water from your canteen. You scooted closer to Leon, dabbing his forehead with your makeshift cloth. His eyes fluttered shut. "I hate to break it to you, but you're in no state right now. You're going to have to let me take over."

“You hate me,” he huffed. 

“You hated me first,” you countered, flipping the cloth over so the new, cool side was pressed against his forehead. 

“I don’t though,” he rasped. “I think you’re one of the best agents we have.” 

You shook your head. “You’re delirious. We’ll talk about that when you’re less animalistic.” 

He chuckled and you joined in. 

A hand shot forward, grabbing your wrist. “Stop that.” 

“What?” 

“Laughing. Smiling, everything.” He writhed, palming his cock with his other hand, desperately trying to get comfortable.

Your breath hitched in your throat. It was the plant, you reminded yourself. This wasn’t really him. 

“Anytime you laugh in a meeting it’s torture for me,” he whispered. 

“Is that why you never talk to me?” you breathed, continuing to dab his forehead, the fact that his hand was still clamped around your wrist not escaping you. 

He gave a shy nod. 

“So when you say you don’t hate me…” you went on. 

“The second you set foot in the DSO headquarters I knew you were going to be my downfall,” he rasped. 

You paused, watching the way he was leaning into your touch involuntarily, like he couldn’t help himself. “Did you request to be partnered up with me? Is that why I’m on missions with you every single time?” 

He nodded again and you leaned closer to him. “I needed to ensure your safety myself. I don’t trust anyone else with it.” 

You bit back another comment about how you didn’t need anyone to take care of you. You had a feeling your capacity of knocking a grown man out cold had nothing to do with his instinct to protect you. 

“Leon, if this is some kind of enhanced viagra, I can help you.” 

He shook his head, his jaw working. “I would never ask that of you.” 

“I’m offering. And in a way this is … necessary,” you whispered. “But if you’d rather do it yourself, I can look the other way and make sure you’re okay while you do it.” 

"Fuck no, that’s way worse," he grunted, a rosy blush creeping up on his cheeks. "I'm not gonna let you watch me jack off."

“Alright, it’s settled then,” you said, hands moving down to the buttons of his tactical pants, undoing them one by one. Your mouth watered with anticipation. 

You would be lying if you said you had never imagined what Leon S. Kennedy looked like naked. Or what he would be like in bed. Matter of fact, the second you had seen him, walking into the DSO on your very first day you thought he was the most attractive man you had ever set eyes on. The fact that he was so much older, making it all the more forbidden and enticing. 

Leon’s hand shot forward again in an attempt to keep your hands from doing what they were doing. “Don’t. This is so unprofessional,” he pleaded and you felt him twitch beneath your palm. He was hanging by a thread. 

You sighed. “Yes, it is. Very much so. But do you not want me to?”

He bit his lower lip and his restraint finally snapped. His hands fell down to his sides and he let himself sink lower against the wall, giving in.

Your hands became shaky when you pushed his pants off his hips. What would this be like at the office? 

Avoiding each other at all costs? Not looking when the other person spoke? So business as usual. 

His cock sprang free and you gasped. It was the most beautiful cock you had ever seen: thick, long and just as veiny as Leon's forearms. 

"Oh fuck," you breathed. How was he the one under the spell of those damn plants when you could feel yourself grow wetter by the second? 

Leon whimpered again, covering his eyes with his arm. Right. Heightened sense of smell. 

You closed your hand around his base, squeezing him. That was already enough to draw a breathy moan out of him. 

The great Leon S. Kennedy. Putty in your hands. 

You gently spread the pre-cum that had gathered on the tip with your thumb, giving him a tentative pump. 

“Oh fuck,” Leon groaned. “I’m so sensitive. It’s not usually like that.” 

A grin tugged at your lips. Was he now? No time like the present to take a little revenge for all those times he had made you feel like a child during your missions. It was too easy. 

You leaned down, gently running your full lips along the underside of his cock, as you slowly pumped him, gripping him tightly. 

His breath hitched and his head shot up, staring at you with half-lidded eyes, brows drawn together. “You don’t have to do that, you can just ah—” 

You shut him up with an open mouthed kiss to the tip of his cock and a hand slipped into your hair. 

“I always exceed expectations, Agent Kennedy,” you whispered, breath fanning over his most sensitive body part. “If you ever let me do what I’m being paid to do on our missions, you would know that already.” 

Leon whimpered and you licked up his entire length in one broad stroke. His hips bucked and the grip on your scalp tightened. 

“Please don’t make this any harder than it needs to be,” he whined and you chuckled, looking up at him. 

“Oh, I will make it harder,” you promised, closing your lips around his tip, hollowing your cheeks. 

Leon growled, drawing in a sharp breath. 

You hummed in response, swirling your tongue around his tip, continuing to work him with your hand, as you french-kissed his cock. 

“Oh fuck, that feels so good,” Leon breathed, his cock twitching in your mouth. You released him with a lewd popping sound, looking at him with lustful eyes. 

He stared at you, mesmerised, his other hand coming down to cup your cheek, running his thumb over your lower lip, all wet and glistening with your saliva and his pre-cum.

You grinned. “Do you want it sloppy or neat?” 

He chuckled, dipping his thumb into your mouth for you to suck on. “Has anyone ever said neat?” 

You shook your head. “Never happened.” 

Leon grabbed a fistful of your hair and pushed you back down on his cock, thrusting his hips up. You eagerly took him deeper into your mouth, saliva running down the sides, gathering at the base of his cock. 

“Fuck yes, just like that,” he groaned, hitting the back of your throat. You gagged, but that only meant more saliva to lubricate for a softer glide.

“I’ve been thinking about this in meetings all the fucking time,” he confessed, moaning loudly. “That’s why I couldn’t look at you. Because I kept thinking about what you’d look like choking on my cock.” 

A moan racked through you at his confession, sending vibrations through his entire body, making him draw in a sharp breath. You came back up to catch your breath.

“What else were you thinking about?” you asked, puffy lips spreading your saliva all over his length. “Because when I first saw you, I thought about how I wanted you to bend me over your desk and fuck me.” 

Leon groaned. “Don’t say that. I’m old enough to be your father.” 

You shot him a fiendish grin. “Daddy.” 

You sank down on him again. 

“Holy shit,” Leon panted, squirming underneath you, cock twitching. You swallowed around him, raking your fingernails over his abs. 

“I’m gonna cum,” he moaned, his breathing coming ragged, his fingers in your hair tightening, pulling at it ever so slightly. 

Tongue pressed to the underside of his cock, you moved up, sucking him into a vacuum for the grand finale, spit leaking past your lips. 

"Oh fuck, just like that." He gritted his teeth, moments from losing it. "Don't st—"

You pulled your mouth off him.

Leon's eyes flew open and he let out most pathetic sound you had ever heard. His hips bucked, cock thrusting up at—nothing.

You chuckled. "You didn't think I'd let you cum that easily, did you?"

He whimpered, brows knitting together. "What are you doing?"

You shook your head. "This whole time, you make me feel like I'm a good for nothing rookie and now you think I'm just gonna suck you off like nothing happened?"

He swallowed, trying to catch his breath. "This is serious, I could die from this."

A smirk tugged at your lips. This was too good.

You shrugged. "See, if I were in your situation, I would ask nicely."

"Junior..."

You clicked your tongue, scoldingly wagging your finger in front of his face.

He let out a laboured breath, fists clenching at his sides. Oh, he hated this. For a moment, you almost backed down.

But you were going to have to look for a new job anyway, so fuck it.

"Say 'please'," you purred, sticking out your tongue, almost close enough to reach, close enough to run over his length, tracing every vein.

"This is very unprofessional," he whined, eyes never leaving you. "We are supposed to work together to ensure mission success."

You raised an eyebrow at him. "Unprofessional? Leon, you have your dick in my face." You licked his tip and he let out another broken moan. He was at the very edge of sanity. "Besides, I feel like it's not me who needs a lesson in cooperating with my assigned mission partner."

He thrust his hips upward again, desperately pushing himself against your face. You leaned back.

"Say it." You leaned in closer, watching his muscles ripple underneath his skin, a sheen glint of sweat coating his entire chest. "Fucking beg for it, Leon."

"Please, okay? Please make me cum, I'm fucking begging you, I can't take this anymore," Leon whined. "Please let me cum in your mouth."

You closed your lips around him, making eye contact as you did. Leon looked like he was about to die. Because of the plant or because of you was hard to tell.

Hollowing your cheeks, you picked up right where you had left off, sucking, licking, lapping up every bit of precum and restraint he had left in him. Every single muscle in his body was taut like a bowstring, ready to snap at any moment.

His lips fell open and he let out a strangled moan, cock twitching inside your mouth. Your hand moved down to cup his balls, tight and ready to release all he had into you and you pushed down on his length, swallowing around him.

He cried out, grabbing the back of your head and pushed himself impossibly deeper into your throat, making your eyes water.

"Oh fuck," he panted and you tried to relax your throat, failing, gagging on his cock.

Leon came with a moan loud enough to echo through the entire shipping container and you desperately tried to come back up for air, thick ropes of white coating your tongue, some of it spilling out the corners of your mouth.

This was sloppy as hell. Cum dripped all over his tactical pants and down your chin as you kept sucking him through his orgasm. 

“Fuck, you look so beautiful like that,” Leon breathed, cock twitching, giving you one last bit of cum to lap up. Your eyes fluttered shut at the salty taste. Why did he taste so good? 

Despite the state of you, you licked him clean and pressed a parting kiss to his now softened tip. You sat up, both your breaths coming out ragged. Cum trickled down the collar of your compression shirt and tears were beginning to dry on your cheeks.

Oh, this debrief was going to be hell for everyone involved.

Leon’s chest was heaving, as he came down from his high and—his infection. 

"I don't know what to say," he panted, staring straight ahead.

"Me neither," you replied, shyly backing away, sinking down against the wall next to him, wiping your mouth and chin with your sleeve. Fuck it. This was a whole mess anyway. And you weren't talking about the shirt.

“I..." Leon started, pausing. "Good job, agent."

You chuckled dryly. What the hell were you thinking? Playing with him like that in a life or death situation? This was bad. What had gotten into you? You could drag your ass straight to HR after this, cum stained shirt and everything.

"I feel like I owe you dinner,” Leon murmured, wrinkling his forehead.

Your eyebrows shot up. “Thanks, but I just ate,” you whispered, mechanically.

You and Kennedy looked at each other from the corner of your eyes, waiting for each other's reaction.

“Agents? Agents are you there?” Sherry’s voice over your earpieces made you both jump. Leon frantically pulled up his pants. “Leon? Are you okay?”

“Sherry,” you rasped. “Please tell me you didn’t hear any of that.”

“Nobody heard a thing,” she replied, voice a little shaky.  

Leon grabbed his earpiece. “What do you mean nobody? Sherry, who else is there?”

a/n: this is holy water

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