Angel

your gun shakes in your hands.

“sweetheart,” the one on the left says, breathless. “look at me.”

the one on the right flinches. “don’t call her that,” he snaps.

same voice. same rough edge. same wounded anger tucked under the words. your stomach turns. “stop,” you say, and it comes out smaller than you want. “both of you. stop talking.”

they do and it almost makes it worse.

the shapeshifter has dean’s memories. sam warned you, voice tight over the phone while you were still running through wet alleyways and trying not to throw up. it can know things. private things. motel rooms and bad jokes and the way dean hums under his breath when he thinks you’re asleep. the first time he kissed you. the first time he said i love you and then immediately panicked and pretended to check the car’s oil. all of it. stolen.

“ask me something,” left-dean says, stepping half an inch forward.

you lift the gun higher. “don’t.”

he stops.

right-dean’s jaw tightens. “ask me.”

your eyes burn. “you both know.”

“not everything,” right-dean says.

left-dean scoffs, and god, it sounds so much like him you feel sick. “that’s what i’d say too.”

your finger rests near the trigger. not on it. near.

you think of dean’s hands on your hips in the bunker kitchen, warm and grease-stained from fixing something that didn’t need fixing. you think of him stealing your fries, then pretending he didn’t. you think of the night he crawled into bed beside you without a word after a hunt went bad, pressing his forehead between your shoulder blades, silent until he finally whispered “don’t make me talk yet”.

you know him. you do. so why can’t you breathe? “what did you tell me,” you start, voice cracking despite the effort, “after jolene’s case? when i wanted to quit?”

both of them go still. left-dean answers first. “i told you that you could. that i’d drive you anywhere you wanted. no guilt trip.”

your chest caves a little. right answer. perfect answer.

right-dean swallows hard. “and then i said i was selfish.”

left-dean turns sharply. you freeze.

right-dean looks at you. “i said i was selfish because i wanted you to stay,” he says. “and then i got scared you’d hear that as pressure, so i made a joke about your terrible motel coffee and you threw a pillow at my head.”

left-dean’s mouth twists. “cute. doesn’t prove anything.”

no. it doesn’t. that’s the awful thing. it still doesn’t.

then left-dean softens his face, careful and familiar, and takes one slow step toward you. “baby, come on. you know me.”

baby. too easy. too clean. your dean almost never uses that when he’s scared. he gets rougher. quieter. meaner to himself.

right-dean’s eyes flick to your gun. then to you. “shoot me,” he says.

your heart drops. left-dean goes silent.

“what?”

right-dean’s voice is hoarse. “if you can’t tell, shoot me. leg, shoulder, whatever. silver’ll show you. don’t let him near you.”

“dean—”

“don’t argue with me.” his face breaks, just for a second. “please.”

there. not in the memory. not in the words. in the way he makes himself the sacrifice before he lets you become one.

your hand steadies.

left-dean sees the shift before you move. his expression hardens, dean’s face turning strange with something that is not dean at all. “you sure about that?” he says.

you aim at him. “yeah,” you whisper. “i am.”

the shot splits the rain. silver hits shoulder, not heart, because even now—stupid, stupid—you can’t shoot dean’s face without mercy. the thing screams with his mouth, skin rippling wrong under the streetlight, and then sam is there from nowhere, finishing it before your knees can give out.

after, dean catches you before you fall. the real dean. solid. shaking. warm. you grab his jacket with both fists and shove your face into his chest, furious at him, furious at yourself, furious that you ever had to learn him this way.

“you told me to shoot you,” you choke.

his arms tighten around you. “yeah,” he says, voice breaking at the edges. “i know.”

“i hate you.”

“yeah,” he whispers into your hair. “i know that too.”

you hold him harder anyway, because his heartbeat is under your ear and it is his. it is his. it is his.

He’s apologized fifty times. He apologized when you left that old, moldy house and he started staring at you and palming himself in the car. Apologized when you’d been walking inside, and he’d doubled over in pain on the side walk. He’d grabbed your hip for support, and while you’d been trying to figure out if he was okay, his hand had slipped up to your inner thigh. Apologized when you went to get him some ice—he’d said he was warm, you’ d been worrying about a fever—and you had to come back to find him lying in your bed, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut and groans slipping from his lips.

At least he hadn’t been touching himself. He’s managed not to do that at all, which you’d be impressed by if you weren’t so worried.

Sam says it’s a pretty basic sex curse. Maybe a pollen, from that mold. Nothing you need to worry about finding a magical cure for.

“We’ve seen these before.” Sam had said. “It’s run-of-the-mill. Dean knows what to do.”

Run of the mill.

Simple.

Sam had said it like you’d be clear in an hour. Nothing fancy required.

Dean gets laid, the fever goes down, everyone’s good.

And it might’ve been simple. You might’ve been done an hour ago, if Dean just got it over with and left when he was clear. You would’ve sat in your bed, running the sheets between your fingers while you read. Trying desperately not to think about Dean only a door over, about the sounds creaking through the wall as he railed someone else into oblivion, about how he’d look.

Probably just like this. Wrecked and hungry, his eyes blown out and skin slick with sweat. Every muscle in his body straining, hair stuck to his brow, mouth hanging open as he’d hover over some lucky girl, showing her a heaven even angels didn’t get to experience.

Your heart would’ve silently ached, a wound you’ve been letting fester opening wider and wider. Your hands would’ve tugged nervously at the sheets, trying to gather whatever he’d left over like a twisted little souvenir for your perverse brain.

The brain that won’t stop being in love with him, no matter how much logic you offer to counter it. You’ve spent nights staring at the ceiling, acting like love was a debate. Like if you reasoned with yourself enough, all the blood in your body would simply stop flowing in a song of his name. Your heart would shift into a new rhythm, no longer a war drum trying to call for him. Your eyes would stop looking for tiny bits of evidence he loved you too, in just as much silence as you love him.

He’s about ten years older than you. He opens doors for you, and that can be a secret desire thing. He’s not emotionally available. He talks to you, about his dad and complicated fights with Sammy and his past, and that has to mean something. He’s got anger issues. He’s stubborn, he’s reserved. You have issues too, and you’re more stubborn. He’s fucked up- You’re fucked up, and he’s also sweet and loyal and handsome and the best kind of stupid a man can be, where he’s a dumbass that never pretends to be incompetent. He’d probably be possessive. You’d like to be possessed. There’s no future there. Yet.

You’ve always lost the debate. You stay in love with Dean, because your heart wasn’t even kind enough to give you a crush. A brief and intense high of adoration and lust would’ve been manageable. You would’ve recovered.

Instead, it’s love. Not even love with a half-life, weaning off with just a little time. Deep, long love.

The kind of love that has you looking at him now, and crudely thinking that he’s being a bit of a pussy. It’s not a fair thought. He’s cursed, has a fever of a hundred and two, and his body is probably trying to convince him to do things that he’s not on board with.

But you live like that every day, and you don’t whine about it. You’ve felt like if he didn’t touch you now you’d die, you’ve gone sick with your own perverse thoughts about what you’d let him do to you, you’ve been delirious with adoration until Sam clears his throat, and mutters that you’re staring again. Maybe the mold should’ve crawled into you, or however this works.

You wouldn’t have been such a massive bitch about it.

You would’ve had nasty motel sex with a stranger an hour ago.

You wouldn’t have made Dean sit in a room with you while you pillow humped, forcing him to look for a sex partner to break your back.

You would’ve been home by now.

But Dean wants to be a little fucking bitch.

“You’re being a bitch.” You say it plainly, because maybe it will snap him out of whatever the fuck this is.

Instead he just chuckles, twisting to give you an amused look. “Ouch, sweetheart- Shit-“

The movement looks like it made his dick brush against something, and now he’s back to cowering in the sheets. Jaw clenched and eyes squeezed shut, visibly pained, and what’s wrong with you that he’s never looked so hot-

“You’d be a bitch too.” He mutters, groaning as he rolls back onto his stomach. “I feel like I’m dying-“

“You’d stop feeling like that, if you’d just pick someone to fuck.”

“I’m tryin’-“

“Not hard enough.”

“Trust me, I’m plenty hard enough- Fuck-“

You throw one of his pillows at his face, and he makes a strangled noise like you hit him with a bullet.

“You’re gonna attack a dying man-“

“I can do whatever I want, when I’m helping you find a fuck buddy.” You stick your tongue out at his back, then return your attention to his phone. “How about Miranda? She’s thirty-six, she’s got really nice hair, and- Oo-“ You scroll a little further down the page. “She likes boats! Those are like water cars, you guys could bond over that.”

Dean laughs again, shaking his head. “Boats aren’t water cars.”

“They are. Think about it.“

“They don’t have a big engineering overlap, I don’t know shit about boats-“

“Then you can just fuck her stupid, you nerd.”

Dean’s silent for a long moment, and you hover your thumb over the screen, fully ready to subject yourself to the worst torture possible for Dean’s stupid, cursed sake.

“She looks nice.” You mumble, praying he doesn’t hear the exhausted, hopeless pain in your voice. “I think you’d like her.”

Dean grunts. “No. Next name.”

You sigh, and swipe left. Adding Miranda to the long, long pile of rejected applicants.

It’s been like this for two fucking hours. Dean lying in your bed, you cross-legged in his, absolutely no progress on curing the curse. He barely even looks at you anymore. He’s been facing the opposite wall since you sat down, burying his face in your pillow every time he moans, trying to hide the roll of his hips under the sheets and failing miserably.

The tingling pain between your legs is almost unbearable now. You’d call Sam and ask if the pollen was transferable, if you weren’t terrified of the answer being no. There’s no way it’s not just Dean anyway. His thick arms stretching up to grip the pillow, his broad, muscled shoulders and back bare, the fact that sometimes when he humps fast and rough, the sheets ride up and you swear you see the tip of his cock. It’s wrong. So fucking wrong, to be getting off to him like this.

But it’s your own personal hell, to have this responsibility. To have him right there, and not be allowed to touch him.

You’ll deal with your shame later in the shower, where you can wash it off and maybe cry from a few different places over your body.

Later. When he’s not dying, and doing absolutely nothing to help you save him.

“Hannah.” You read out the next profile, pulling your knees to your chest. “She’s got curly hair, really nice brown eyes. Looks like she’s a nail artist. That could be nice.”

Dean snorts. “What, you think I’m gonna have her get me a manicure after?”

“No, I just-“ You take a long breath. You’d rather have a living Dean that doesn’t love you, than a dead Dean, who also doesn’t love you.

Dean starts to twist—he’s going to try and look at you again—and you clear your throat.

“It might be nice to look at. Aesthetically. Or- arousing.”

He mutters your name, but you push on.

“For a handjob. Nice nails, going- Up and down your- Um- Your dick-“

Dean lets out the loudest moan yet, and your jaw snaps shut. That sounded like your name. He was probably just trying to warn you to shut up, but that still sounded like your name-

“Sorry-“

“Stop talking.” He snaps, and you nod.

Without him asking, you swipe left on Hannah. He seems to have forgotten about her, and you have no desire to let her and her perfect nails anywhere near his dick.

It takes a while for Dean to request the next candidate. Long minutes of him just panting and grunting, burying his face in the pillow and thrashing in the sheets like he’s having a nightmare.

You see the head of his cock again. It’s thick looking and red and shining with pre-cum. Angry and hard and Jesus fucking Christ-

“Emma!” You shout to the room. You need this to be done. “She’s a nurse, that can be a kink thing-“

“Stop.”

You sigh, turning down the phone screen. “Dean-“

“No. Don’t want Ella-“

“Emma-“

“Don’t fuckin’ care. We’re not doing more of this- Shit.”

“Are you just swearing, or is that an adjective-“

“Sweetheart.” He’s almost growling, a hand slipping out from the sheets to fist the mattress. “Stop. Talking.”

You close your mouth, bowing your head as shame floods your body. You’re trying to help. You’ve given your whole night just to help the man you’re hopelessly in love with have sex with someone else, and you’re tired. Tired of doing this to yourself, tired of him shooting everyone down like suddenly he’s got the highest sexual standard in the world, tired of acting like it’s not killing you and tired of watching him like this.

He’s in so much pain. You can hear it straining in every word, tensed in every movement. You’re not allowed to touch him, but the last time you made him check his own temperature, it had gone up again. With how he’s looking, how he’s muttering to himself under his breath, you’re willing to bet it’s gone up another handful of degrees.

Dean’s going to die, if he doesn’t deal with this. And if he dies, you’re not going to deal with it.

You don’t want to think about what you’ll become, if he goes. You might be the one that turns into a ghost, haunting this goddamn hotel room and growing up the walls like that mold. A shell of a person, caught in a million what-ifs, her heart ash in the wind with his body.

Dean wants to be done with this.

You’re not done with him.

You swipe right on Emma.

For an hour, you let him keep moping and groaning. You flirt with Emma for him, because you’re the best friend in the world, and pretend you can’t see him trying to move a pillow between his legs to offer extra pressure.

“Dean.” You say softly, and he grunts.

“Baby, I need you not to talk-“

“You can take it out.” You mutter, keeping your focus on Emma’s texts. “If you need that. I’m a big girl, I- I won’t mind.”

That’s a lie through more than just your teeth. If he starts touching himself in front of you, all the poetic fawning about how your love is killing you won’t be dramatic anymore. Your heart will beat right out of your ribs, your head will get so light you’ll float away, your need for him will become so consuming you’ll either fall to your knees and open your mouth for him to use, or simply just explode.

But if it helps him. You’ll do anything to help him, even if it’s searing the most sinful, impossible image into your head for the rest of your life.

Dean with his cock in his hand, head thrown back, beating himself right next to you. Maybe moaning under his breath, thrusting up into his fist, accidentally looking at you as he cums, mouth hanging open and eyes hooded as thick white ropes paint the sheets-

“No.” He grunts, and you blink.

“It’s okay-“

“No. I‘m not doin’ that to you.”

You swallow, heated shame rushing through you. “I- I could leave the room-“

“No, don’t-“ He almost shouts your name, flipping over suddenly.

Looking at you.

His eyes are almost black with lust, his face red and slack, expression desperate. He hisses—the movement likely too much—but still reaches out a shaking hand, like he’s going to try and grab you.

“Don’t go, just- Fuckin’-“ His words trail off, eyes locked on your face, and another moan escapes his lips.

You push up on your knees, fear clenching at your heart. “Dean-“

“’m fine-“

“You’re not fine-“

“I’m- Son of a bitch-“ His eyes widen on yours then slam shut. His hand curls into a taut fist, face pulling in pain, and that’s enough.

“Fine. Don’t masturbate, see if I care.”

He says your name, low and rough, and you shake your head. 

“You’re not fine, you fucking idiot. You’re dying.” You push to your feet, grabbing his phone from the bed.

Emma’s very nice. Nice in the kind of way that’s going to make you hate her, and you feel sort of bad. She was doomed to your loathing from the moment she swiped right.

But she’s going to help. She’s going to save Dean, and you’ll offer her grace for that.

Dean’s eyes had opened, when he heard you moving. He’s looking at you like a lost street dog, opening his mouth to say something that only comes out in a panting groan of your name.

Whatever protests he has, you won’t hear them. He’s not allowed to die.

“Get up.” You snap, tossing his clothing onto his face. “Get dressed. I’m starting the car in ten minutes, and if you’re not there, I’m coming back and you’re having sex with me.”

You don’t look over your shoulder to see his reaction. The sounds of torment leaving his chest are bad enough.

It hurts. It cuts deeper than a blade, the idea that he detests the idea of sex with you that much. You’re good at sex. You’ve gotten raving reviews, you’re batting a hundred, flawless reports and a hundred percent customer satisfaction rate, even if you don’t really enjoy most of it yourself. Most people you have sex with don’t manage to make you cum, and when they do it’s a tiny little shudder through your body that you forget about in five minutes.

Dean witDean would be lucky to have sex with you. You’d worship him. You’d get on your knees and let him use you until he was leaking out of every hole. You’d let him fuck himself back into you, you’d let him throw you around, you’d do anything-

It’s probably a good thing your threat works. Dean stumbles out of the motel right at the nine-minute mark, pallid and flushed all at once, hunched in pain and wearing a massive raincoat over his jacket to hide the boner.

You never would’ve forgiven yourself, for taking advantage of him like that. It’s better like this, no matter how much it hurts.

You smile when he gets into the car. “Nice fashion statement-“

“Shut up.” He grumbles, glaring out at the road. “Where’re we goin’.”

“A bar.”

He makes a sour expression. “Why.”

“Because you have a date. With Emma the nurse.”

Dean goes dead quiet. He tenses next to you—your elbows brushing for a split second, before he recoils like your skin is coated in toxins—works his jaw, then shakes his head.

You sigh. ‘Dean-“

“No. I told you, I’m not doin’ that.“

“Yes, you are.”

“No-“

“Yes!” You slam the brakes harder than you mean to, as you approach a stop sign.

You expect Dean to snap about you being careful with his baby. Maybe try to make a joke about how maybe the frustration is rubbing off on you, or argue about how this is his dumb choice to make.

And it is. But he made the wrong choice, and you are not letting him die.

He mutters your name, and it’s the same way he said it earlier. Soft. Almost pleading.

You take a deep breath, and twist to look him in his pretty, glazed and dilated eyes.

“You’re going into that bar. You’re going to flirt with Emma. If she asks if you have a fever, you tell her you work construction or something, and you’d just been at a shift. You run hot. Nothing for her to worry about.” You drum your fingers on the wheel, forcing down the lump in your throat. “You’re going to tell her she’s pretty. You’re going to call a fake uber, and I’m going to drive you to the motel. You’re going to fuck Emma until you’re cured, and then we can go home. Understand?”

Dean’s throat bobs. He opens his mouth, a glint in his eyes like he’s going to argue. You don’t give him the chance.

“No. You’re doing this. If you don’t, you’ll-“ You cut yourself off, pressing your lips in a tight line. You won’t cry. You won’t.

Dean says your name, and he has to stop doing that. It’s too gentle. Too close to something real.

“You’re not allowed to- To go.” You look out at the empty road, praying the night is hiding the glossy tears, pricking at your eyes. “I can’t- I won’t- You’re not allowed to.”

You raise your chin, your breathing too shaky to speak for a moment. The silence hangs in the car, even the sound of Baby’s engine not enough to drown out your thoughts.

“Okay?” You snap, trying to sound stronger than you are.

Dean lets out a low sound, but nods. “Okay.” Then, under his breath. “For you.”

You pretend you don’t hear. There’s too much weight in those words, and you don’t have the time to pick them apart, don’t have the energy to ask him what the fuck that means.

Instead, you just give yourself the easiest out. Dean does love you as a friend. You’ve never doubted that for a second. He’s doing it for you because you’re the one demanding he go have sex.

What a horrible friend you are, making him get laid so he doesn’t die.

You huff a dry, pitiful, laugh to yourself. Your drink swirls in its glass, untouched and mocking. You ordered it when you got here, about thirty minutes ago. Made Dean take a possibly dangerous dose of Advil and Tylenol to make him lucid, then hidden yourself in a booth on the other side of the bar. Where you can see Dean and Emma, but only Dean can see you. He’s supposed to give you a thumbs up, when he’s about to call the ride. Right now, he seems so engrossed in her that you’re worried he’s going to forget.

Emma’s pretty. Just as pretty as her pictures. She lit up, when she spotted Dean, and you’d felt a sickening, loud hatred take root in your chest.

Everyone should be happy to see Dean, but none of them are happy like you’re happy. You know him. He’s the love of your life, and your joy is born of that, not just seeing a pretty man. You love seeing him because you know you’re going to be safe. Because he’s going to smile and the world is going to be alright, you’re going to talk and he’ll listen and look at you like there’s no one else in the world, he’s going to make jokes and you’re going to laugh.

But he’s making Emma laugh right now. She’s got one of those high, insufferable giggles, and you’re being needlessly mean but you hate her. You have a giggle like that. It comes out for Dean all the time, and it has a little snort on the end that you hated until Dean casually mentioned that he liked it, and you’ve felt like the most beautiful thing in the world.

It doesn’t really matter though, whose laugh Dean likes more.

Emma’s the one going home with him. You’re being left here.

You focus on ignoring their laughter and voices from the bar. You can’t drink, but you sulk and focus on the music floating through the bar. Your fingers drum on the table, pull at your sleeves, shred three napkins before gripping the cold of the glass like a lifeline. Your vision is going unfocused with envy. Every second you feel the wound in your heart tearing open, an infection of jealousy taking root, and you might actually be about to throw up-

Dean grunts your name, and your eyes shoot up.

He’s standing outside your both, hands in his pockets and a deep scowl on his face. Emma’s not with him. Or at the bar.  

“Where-“

“She left.”

Your mouth falls open. “She left? I- What the fuck happened-“

“I told her to. Wasn’t gonna work out.”

“Dean, you-“ Your voice cracks, every thought in your head getting louder. He’s dying, he’s dying, he’s dying. “You promised-“

“I know.” He’s jaw tics, eyes darting away from yours. “Just couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t what? Couldn’t fuck her? What the hell was wrong with her that somehow doesn’t meet Dean Winchester’s if it’s got a hole standards?”

Dean flinches, and it was a low blow, but right now you don’t care. He’s going to die. Why doesn’t he fucking care that he’s going to die and leave you.

“Come on.” You snap, slamming a few bills on the table and shooting up. “We’re chasing her. You’re apologizing.”

He frowns. “No, I’m not-“

“Then we’re going back on the dating app, and finding someone else.”

“I don’t want someone else.”

You roll your eyes, shoving the bar door open and marching to the car. You have Emma’s number. You’ll do the apology yourself if you have to.

Dean’s stumbling after you into the parking lot, and you can’t stop yourself from looking over your shoulder every few seconds. Just to be sure he hasn’t hurt himself. He calls your name, voice pained, and you freeze. Turn slowly, your arms crossed over your chest.

“I’m not doin’ this.” He snaps, stalking towards you in uneven steps. “You can bitch and whine about it all you want, sweetheart, I’m not fucking that girl.”

“I’m bitching and whining?” You laugh, the sound crude even to your ears. “I’m not the one who decided the best time to become a fucking celibate was when he got hit with a sex curse. You’re the one acting like a fucking child here-“

“I’m not acting like a child-“

“Then you’re acting like an idiot!” You scream, taking a large step forward.

Dean goes rigid. Takes a long step back, like you’re poisonous. It just fuels the burning, exhausted fire, kindled by every bit of fear, of love, of fury that he’s putting you through this with almost no remorse.

“It’s not like you have to marry her!” You shout, barbed wire tightening around your throat. “It’s just sex! Fuck, you don’t even have to look at her, it’s- I don’t understand why this is so fucking hard for you all of a sudden, it’s not like you’re some virgin fucking pussy-“

He mutters your name, a low warning, and you ignore it.

“I’ve spent all day trying to save you, Dean! I was going to be your- Your fucking sex chauffer, and I haven’t been complaining, but you can’t do me one fucking favor and have sex with a pretty girl?”

You take another step forward, and this time he isn’t fast enough. You jab his chest, and he stumbles back like you shot him, eyes panicked and wide on yours.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” You shriek, shoving him again. “Do you want to die? Are you trying to fucking kill me? Do you hate me, Dean? Is that what this is?”

He rasps your name, and you shake your head.

“I’ve been trying so- So hard to save you. I- I told you that I can’t- If you-“ Your words are getting choked, and the pain is too heavy to just shake off. “You’re not allowed to go! I told you, I won’t let you, but you- You fucking hate me-“

You try to shove him again, hot tears burning down your face, but this time Dean’s ready. He catches your wrist, and you try to pull back but he’s got more strength left than you thought.

He squeezes his hold on you, stalking forward. A fire lights in your core, at the intensity of his gaze. Unyielding and hot, searing into you as your back hits the Impala. He towers over you, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring as he takes in your open mouth and slack expression. You don’t know how you expected him to react, but it wasn’t this. This makes your knees weak, your heart hitting a dangerous pace at the top of your chest.

You can smell his cologne, smell his. A salt, deep musk that’s just Dean, that might as well be a drug for how it’s making you freeze. Your free hand moves to press flat against his chest, but you don’t push.

He grunts, his muscles rippling like you just threw a rock into water. He seizes up, head bowing, and there’s nowhere for you to hide from him.

Dean’s tongue darts over his lips, and your breath hitches.

“Don’t do that.” He grunts, and you just nod.

Lean a little closer, until the heat of your breath is fanning over your cheeks. Your eyes flutter, and when you risk meeting his gaze he looks almost predatory. The hunger in his eyes sends a pleasant shiver down your spine, your thighs pressing together, and it’s hot, so hot-

“I don’t hate you.”

You blink at him. You’d forgotten about that. “Dean-“

“I don’t.” He snaps. “Don’t fuckin’- Never think that, alright? I don’t hate you.”

“Then why are you doing this to me?” You whisper desperately. “Why couldn’t you just go have sex with Emma-“

He shakes his head. “I don’t want Emma.”

“Then let me find you someone you want, please-“

“No.”

“Why-“

“Cause I don’t want any of them.” He hisses, your foreheads bumping as he leans further down. “I don’t want some random fuckin’ chick you pull for me, I don’t want to fuck her, don’t wanna touch her, hell, I don’t even want to goddamn look at her.”

You take a shaking breath, a haze overtaking your head. “Dean, you need someone-“

“You think I don’t know that?” He pushes his hips forward, and you can feel it.

His cock, straining through his jeans, pressing against your thigh. You bite down a moan, completely still in his arms, trying to make him understand with just your eyes. It’s not fair for him to do this to you. He doesn’t understand, this is all you’ve ever wanted and he’s just taunting you with it-

“I can feel it, sweetheart.” He mutters, rolling slightly against you, making that fire in your core threaten to sweep you away. “I feel myself dyin’. My muscles are hurting like I ran a mile, I’m sweating through ten damn layers, think the fever is getting me so bad I might be about to go fucking crazy. But I didn’t even notice ‘till you started getting all worried. You know why?”

It takes you a second to realize you’re supposed to answer. You barely shake your head, before he’s squeezing your wrist, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“’Cause of you.” He breathes, voice soft and dangerous. “I always feel like an animal when I see you. Spent the whole car ride back from that damn house wanting to hump your leg and didn’t think twice. You just do that to me, and you got no fuckin’ idea.”

You gasp slightly, turning your head to look him in the eyes. They’re hooded, almost feral on yours. You’re so dizzy, you’re worried you might be walking through a dream.

“De- Dean-“

“You can keep looking for some random girl for me, if it’s gonna make you feel better. But I won’t fuck ‘em. I can’t.” His lips ghost over yours, and you lean forward.

“Dean-“

“Sex barely even works for me anymore, baby.” He mutters, tongue flicking over his lips. “Nothin’ does. I get kicked out of bed ‘cause I call your name. So just fuckin’-“ He squeezes your wrist again, drawing slowly back. “Stop. If you wanna give me a dying wish, cut it out and let me go in some damn peace.”

You gape at him as he pulls away, his grip going slack on your wrist.

Dying wish.

He still thinks he’s allowed to die.

“What- What if you fuck me?” You say, so quiet you barely even hear yourself.

Dean’s head jerks up, and he says your name with a harsh, unforgiving snap. “No. I’m not askin’ you to do that just because I’m some perv who can’t get it up-“

“You’ve got it up.” You smile at up, pressing your knee up into his crotch.

He groans, doubling back down so you’re caged against the Impala again. “Baby, don’t fuckin’- I’m not bending on this shit, alright. I’m not gonna be some pity fuck-“

“It’s not a pity fuck, I’m saving your life-“

“I told you, no-“

“Do you not want to have sex with me?” You challenge, and Dean gives you a pleading, wrathfully frustrated look.

“Don’t ask stupid questions, course I wanna have- Fuck-“ He groans, eyes fluttering as his brow presses against yours. “Yeah. Yeah I want to. But- I won’t ask you to. So no.”

You swallow. It’s probably the fever making his tongue so loose. He’s so hot it almost burns to be this close, but that might just be Dean.

It’s always just Dean. And he has to know that.

“What if I want to have sex with you?”

Dean grunts, shaking his head. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it-“

“I mean it.” You fist your hand in his shirt, dragging him a little closer. “Do you?”

He stares at you again. Scans over your face like he’s looking for one clue that you’re just indulging him, that there’s a single doubt running through your head.

There isn’t. Your breathing is uneven, but your heart is going too fast for it to be anything else. You’re flushed with an unending, arduous hunger to just have him, however he needs you.

Slowly, testing the waters, Dean slides a hand onto your neck. You raise your chin, holding his gaze. He squeezes slightly, and you lean into him, tugging on his shirt for more.

His thumb moves up, dragging over your lower lip. You part your lips, and his nostrils flare.

Dean pushes his thumb slowly between your lips, and you close them obediently around him. Your eyes flutter as you suck, letting your tongue circle around the thick finger, tilting your head and letting your eyes flutter. He pushes a little deeper and you moan. Your hand flies up to grab his wrist, holding him against you, and Dean groans. His eyes are clearer than they’ve been all night, shining with something like awe.

You smile, grinding up into his torso and humming with pleasure.

Dean mouth hangs slack.

“Jesus fuckin’-“

He cuts himself off, pulling his thumb out with a pop and grabbing your jaw. You giggle happily for a second, and Dean swallows the sound, crashing his mouth against yours.

You’ve pictured this kiss a million times, a million ways, almost every night since you met him. Somehow, this is better than any slow, fairytale kiss with swelling music and sunlight hitting both your faces like a spotlight.

Dean’s not taking his time. He’s kissing you like you’re the last thing he knows, the only thing he’s ever wanted. Like a man who’s been starving himself, finally allowed a feast and wasting no precious seconds on manners. It’s urgent and forceful, words he can’t say being pushed down your throat with his tongue and spit. You kiss him back with everything you have, your fingers digging into his chest through his shirts, your head spinning as you neglect breath just to taste a little bit more whiskey and salt on his tongue. But nothing you throw at him Dean can’t seem to double.

You yank at his shirt, and he pulls your hair back. You try to grind up again, and he grabs your leg, hiking it over his hip. You grab his face, trying to kiss harsher, give more, and Dean slams down like a tidal wave, dominating your mouth with unforgiving need.

A moan escapes your throat, your body going limp in his arms, and he grunts. Ruts up into your core once, making your legs spread in a shameless invitation.

Dean grunts, yanking back like someone pulled him on a leash.

He stares at you for a long moment, his thumb finding its way back to your cheek. He smears a bit of spit over your cheek, and you tilt your head into the touch.

“You’re sure-“

“Yes.”

He nods tightly, takes a heavy breath, and leans away. “Get in the car.”

It’s a short, curt order. You don’t think twice before you obey.

You scramble into the driver’s seat, fumbling with the keys and slamming them into the port like you’re about to enter a car chase. Dean’s barely in the car before the engine is rumbling and you’re reversing out of the spot, gripping the wheel with white knuckles. It’s happening. It’s happening.

“Easy, baby.” He chuckles, the sound raspy and sending more shivers through your body. “You that eager-“

“Yes.” You snap, and Dean hums.

A light, almost taunting hand lands on your thigh. You glance over and find him palming at his crotch, his eyes wholly black and mouth hanging open. It’s an animalistic expression, his chest rising and falling at a rapid pace, and when you murmur his name he barely seems to hear.

His fingers dance up the inside of your leg, and you take an unsteady breath, spreading your legs wider. A deep, rumbling sound leaves Dean’s chest, those infernal fingers curling on the sensitive spot where your leg meets your core. Little electric shock rush through your body, and that’s just through the jeans.

“Dean.” You whisper, not even managing to make your voice firm. “I- I’m driving-“

“So look at the road.” He growls, knuckles brushing against your groin.

You bite your lower lip, and nod. It’s not worth arguing with him, and if you don’t think you can focus, you’ll just pull over. You told him you were sure. Told yourself that whatever he gave you, you’d be happy.

You just didn’t expect him to be borderline feral. The palming you could deal with. You expected.

This is different.

Dean scoots further, and you’re about to mumble something about a seatbelt when his lips brush the curve of your neck. You inhale sharply, gripping the wheel for dear life. Dean hums, his tongue flicking over a pulse point. His fingers start to crawl up to your abdomen, his mouth getting more insistent on your neck.

He nips at a pulse point before sucking on his, his tongue flat on your skin and a low sound leaving his chest when you lean back to grant him further access. He kisses a sloppy line up your throat as his fingers dance on your stomach, and you’re starting to get a little dizzy.

“De, be- Be careful-“

You cut yourself off with a breathy gasp, as his mouth latches behind your ear and he pulls down your zipper. He bites softly before sucking another bruise, popping the button open and slipping his hand into your pants.

“I- Fuck-” You tip your head back, hopelessly trying to keep your eyes on the road, and this is not a safe way to drive. You really should be shoving him away, but there’s no one on the road.

And with how he’s barely even speaking—just touching—you’re a little worried it might take extra effort to drag him out of the haze of the curse and push him away. He seems to be blinded to anything that isn’t you. His mouth drags back down your jaw as his fingers brush over your clothed pussy, and your whole body shakes.

He hums, leaving open kisses on your cheek and hairline. “Sensitive, sweetheart. Been a long time?”

You flush, and Dean starts to gather the fabric of your panties best he can through your pants. He drags it up, bunching it around your pussy, and another moan slips out from the pressure.

“Answer me-“

“Maybe.” You mumble, forcing yourself not to grind into his hand. “You- You know I don’t do that-“

“Do what?” He presses the fabric deeper between your pussy lips. “Don’t fuck?”

“Dean-“

“How long’s it been.” His words are hot against your neck, demanding and possessive. “Who touched you last, baby, who shoved their fingers in this pussy-“

“I- I don’t remember-“

“That’s fuckin’ right.” He pulls your panties tighter against your clit. “’Cause they don’t’ fuckin’ matter, sweet girl. No one else is ever gonna touch you like this. I’m gonna make you soak my fingers, my face, my cock, and it’s gonna feel so good in that smart, pretty mouth,” he kisses the corner of your lips, and only the wheel in your hands stops you from turning and claiming his mouth again. “That’s always fucking teasing me, it ain’t gonna remember a single word but my name. You want that, baby? Wanna be my perfect fuckin’ slut?”

Jesus Christ, this is worse than the not speaking. If this is a dream—because you’ve had them like this before—you never want to wake up.

He yanks his hand away, leaving your underwear bunched up in your cunt, and slaps your pussy over the jeans. Your mouth falls open and you lean forward, lightning surging through your whole body.

“Oh my- Dean-“

“I told you, answer-“

“Yes, I- Yes, please-“ Your words fall off into a moan, as Dean shoves his hand back against you, this time dragging the panties away and plunging two fingers deep into your pussy. “Dean-“

“That’s right.” He mutters, crooking them deep against a sensitive spot. “That’s my girl, you’re so fuckin’ wet- This all for me?”

“Mmm- Mhm-“

“Fuck yeah it is.” He starts his attack on your neck again, only speaking between kisses, his fingers scissoring inside your pussy. “So damn tight, know you’re gonna take my cock so good, bet you taste like heaven- Fuck, I wanna taste this pussy, wanted to taste it for years-“

His own words fall into a moan, and for a second you think he’s just out of dirty talk, but he’s still mumbling incoherently against your skin.

Then you risk another look at his body, and the hand that isn’t in your pants has pulled out his cock.

And fuck, if it isn’t the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Thick and long, but not painful looking. Throbbing and twitching as he jerks himself, the tip leaking and slick with pre-cum. It takes effort to look at the road and not just stare at the rock-hard, veiny marvel of a specimen between his legs.

You don’t know why you’re surprised. Dean’s a specimen himself.

He’s somehow already figured out how to finger you in such a confining position. His wrist has twisted, letting his thumb drag lazy circles around your clit, his fingers giving shallow, rough thrusts that make his fingers taunt your g-spot. Never really fully touching it, but sending shivers through your whole body.

“Oh- Oh-“ You have to take deep breaths to keep your head clear, your whole body winding tight with the arousal he’s pulling out of you, more and more every second. “Dean-“

“Shh.” He grunts, biting right under your jaw, and you squeak. “Just feel it. Sweet fuckin’ pussy, gushing around my fingers-“

You moan, loud and lewd, his deep voice not doing anything to help you keep it together.

It’s a miracle you make it to the motel. It’s a shit parking job—you’re definitely over the lines—but you’re both alive.

You barely shift the gears before Dean’s pouncing on you like an animal. Whatever the ride was, he still seemed to be showing restraint. Now that you’re safe, all bets are off. 

A squeal leaves you, as he flips your body. Pressing your back to the window and prowling over your body, slamming his mouth over yours and kissing until you’re slumping against the glass. Your hand flies up to grab the back of his neck, your hips rolling up to where his knee is pressed between your thighs. Your eyes dart down when you pull apart for a single, ragged breath—Dean pulling your lip between his teeth, and kissing your nose and cheek like breathing is really no longer his concern—and you whimper at the sight of him, still erect and hanging out of his pants.

Dean drags your chin back up, searing his lips over yours, and you melt. He’s a good kisser. And you knew that, but it’s not like anything you’ve felt before. It’s like you’re trading souls, like he’s trying to brand you with wandering hands and lips.

When you pull away again, your dizzy from the pleasure and force of him. You whine at the loss as he leans away, but Dean just squeezes your waist and smirks.

You hear a rip, as he claws your pants and underwear down your legs. You don’t get a chance to adjust before he’s shoving your knee up against the bench, dragging the other one over his shoulder as he ducks between your legs.

“Dean- Shit-“ Your breathing gets shallow as his breath fans over your pussy. “We- We’re supposed to be doing things that are- Like blowjobs-“

It’s so hard to argue with him when he’s between your legs. The sight alone is almost enough to tip you into a frenzy. His shining eyes looking up at you, his full lips grazing your inner thigh, leaving teasing kisses everywhere but where you’re aching for him. You run your fingers through his short, soft hair, trying to get his attention. He just makes a low sound like a purr, and presses his mouth over your clit.

You almost fly out of your skin. He’s making out with the sensitive nerve like they’re your mouth, his tongue dragging and pressing, his hands on your thighs kneading with every suck and graze of his teeth. All you can do is cover your mouth and try to stifle your moan.

Dean withdraws, and you make a strangled sound of frustration. He can’t just do that, it’s not fair-

“No doin’ that.” He grunts, dragging your hand from your mouth. “Wanna hear it.”

You nod weakly, but still try one more time to remind him who this is about. “Dean, it- it’s supposed to be stuff that’s good for you-“

“This is good for me.” He mutters, letting go of your thigh over his shoulder to let his fingers drag back over your fluttering pussy. “Look at you.” He mutters with pure awe. “Responsive, wet little pussy. Bet you’d like it when I do this.”

He pushes one finger knuckle-deep inside you, and you yank on his hair with delight.

“Yeah, you do. How about,” he drags it out, then shoves it back in, and your head tips back against the window, eyes screwing shut.

“Dean, Dean, please-“

He groans, adding a second finger and repeating the slamming motion. Once, twice, a third time. His tongue flicks against your clit on that last one, and your eyes roll back in your head.

“Dean-“

Another deep sound, another flick, and you’re seconds from begging like a whore when he snaps.

Dean wraps his mouth back around your clit, resuming his ministrations from before with twice the fervor. His fingers pick up their pace, wet sounds filling the car as he finger-fucks you into oblivion.

The curse seems to have it’s full hold on him. He’s borderline feral. You’ve never had a man who eats pussy like he’s having a five-star meal, like it really is good for him. Sometimes he just pulls his fingers out and drags his tongue down your cunt, angling his head to press his tongue deep inside you and working his jaw until your toes are curling. His nose bumps your clit and his stubble scrapes your thighs, his free hand squeezing your thigh as he devours.

“Oh- Oh fuck-“ You let out a vulgar, lustful sound as he drags you further forward against his mouth, the pleasure rushing through your body. “Dean- God, just like that-“

He drags his mouth back up to your swollen, neglected clit, and those two fingers pump back into your hole. It’s somehow better and worse, and a shriek rips from your mouth as he spanks your pussy, then resumes his rhythm.

“Dean, please- Please, fuck- please-“

You’re already babbling, the tension in your lower abdomen so tight it’s almost painful. Your body is shaking with the stimulation, and Dean’s working you like an instrument. He finds every hyper-needy spot that makes you moan his name and playing it like a professional. You’re kept right on the edge for what feels like a million years, his fingers and mouth switching in and out, begging and begging as he turns you into an empty-headed, drooling wound-up mess.

Then he finally lets you over the edge.

Dean pushes his fingers right against your g-spot, and rubs. Your body seizes up, eyes crossing as his tongue flicks against your clit, and the heat built up in your gut explodes.

You shake as your orgasm rips through your pussy, your spine, every nerve in your body glowing with a deep, sex-addled bliss. Your clit is swollen between Dean’s lip as he drags you through it, your pussy gushing around his fingers and fingers yanking at his hair.

“Fuck, yes- Yes-“ You moan, legs locking around Dean’s head, and he groans against your pussy.

When it pulls another lewd sound from your chest, he does it again, slowly easing his fingers out and starting to clean up the mess between your thighs. He licks and hums, the sensation making your oversensitive body spasm every time he finds one of those spots.

It’s not certain you’re going to be able to walk to the motel room, when he finally pulls away.

But there’s a gleaming light in his eyes, that makes you think it’s really not going to matter.

Dean’s a wreck. His face is flushed, chest heaving, cock still hard but coated in a white stain that tells you he’s not close to working off the curse.

“Oh, you’re gonna be so mad about that when you’re better.” You mumble, seeing the stains on his precious bench, and Dean chuckles.

“I’ll get over it.”

You giggle, and Dean leans over you again, kissing you slow and deep. One orgasm seems to have cleared his head for a seconds, enough that he’s gently rubbing your bare, tender pussy, a soothing touch that’s really only working you up more.

“Love that sound.” He mutters, and you frown against his lips.

“Wha-“

“Your laugh.” He sucks on your upper lip, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Love it so much. Don’t think I’ve told you that before.”

He hasn’t. It somehow makes you flush more than any of the dirty things he’d been hissing in your ear before.

“You’re telling me a lot of new things.” You manage to mumble, and he huffs in amusement.

“Blame it on the curse.”

You giggle again, and his face shines like he won a prize.

“Son of a bitch,” his eyes are already darkening again, voice getting thick with the curse-driven hunger. “I love you, you know that?”

You can only gape at him. He must not have said what you thought  he said. “What?”

“You heard me.” He presses his brow against yours, reaching up to cup your cheek. “I love you.”

He rasps your name, and you blink away tears.

“Dean, if it’s just the curse-“

“It’s not. It’s-“

He slides his mouth against yours and this is the romantic kiss you always pictured. Slow and devoted as he takes the time to memorize you, to bask in the glow of your heart as you shine with love beneath him.

“You know it, right?” His voice is gravelly, his body pressing firmer over yours. He’s going back under. He can probably feel it. “That I mean it?”

He’s still asking—almost begging—you to tell him that you know.

“I know.” You mumble. “I- I love you too.”

Dean goes rigid over your body, and you blink up at him, as nervous as a doe in headlights. Just like the kiss, you’ve dreamed of saying it. Pictured it somewhere romantic, your makeup perfect and the breeze running through your hair. Dean falling to his knees after, kissing your hands before sweeping you off your feet.

Instead you’re lying in the car, cum staining your tangled legs, everything in you ruined from being eaten out by the sinful mouth that haunts your dreams. Dean’s hovering over you, tongue darting over those same lips—shining with your arousal, making your thighs rub together under him—and your holding onto his flannel, both your clothing stuck to your skin from sweat.

He doesn’t fall to his knees. He just looks at you like he’s not sure it’s a dream either.

At least he still sweeps you off your feet.

Dean moves like a machine. You’re not even sure what’s happening until you’re being hit by the wind, dragged down the bench by your ankles and wrapped in one of his jackets to preserve your modesty. His dick has been hastily shoved back into his pants—the fly still fucking down—and you’re about to tell him you’d at least like your underwear before he’s picking it up and shoving it into his pocket.

“Dean!” You gasp, and he just grunts, sweeping you fully into his arms.

“Mine.” He mutters under his breath, looking around the parking lot like he’s still trying to orient himself. “I- I gotta, fuck-“

Gently, you reach up and turn his chin in the direction of your motel room. “Over there, De.” You mumble, and he nods tightly.

He’s fully back under. You don’t bother to struggle or try and convince him that you can walk, because you’re not even sure you could. It’s not worth distressing Dean over anyway.

Despite his fever soaring and gaze being fogged by the curse, he manages you gently. When you get into the room you’re tossed on the bed and pinned back down for his mouth to work you open again, but the brusing grip is full of care, his mouth worshipful on your pussy. After that he’s rising over your body, ripping clothing like it’s a personal offense on his sensibilities and descending over you with another feral growl.

Your legs are shoved apart, but he rubs a hand over your calves almost reverently. Staring at your glistening, abused pussy with a look of pride and affection, gaze slowly dragging up your flushed breasts and thoroughly marked neck to meet yours.

You give him a honeyed, coaxing smile. You’re his to take, if he wants it.

He makes a low sound from his chest, and starts to kiss up your body. You gasp when his lips wrap around one of your peaked nipples, sucking gently until your grinding up into him. His hand splays over your stomach, gently guiding you back down, and you whine desperately.

“Patience.” He hums, kissing over your breast before switching to the other nipple. “Gonna take care of you. Fuck- You’re so beautiful, so fuckin’-“

Dean moans to himself, and you whimper his name, yanking on his hair.

But there’s no rushing him. He plays with your tits until he’s had his fill—when they’re swollen and you’re arching into every touch—then works back down to your pussy. Tasting your arousal, soaked and messy and almost shamefully dripping down his hand when he touches you.

He doesn’t seem to mind it at all though. 

“Messy girl.” He grunts, twisting one finger inside of you. “Think you’re ready for some cock, aren’t you. Gonna take me, princess? Show me how much you love me?”

You blink at him through tears, on the brink of screaming his he doesn’t let you cum again soon. When you nod it’s like a bobblehead, and you only remember his orders from before at the last second.

“Yes.” You gasp. “Yes, Dean, please-“

Again, he moves.

You’re almost a ragdoll in his arms. A ragdoll that he moves like you’re threaded from gold, tossing you around and gripping your hips so hard you’ll have a handprint in the morning, but kissing over every hickey on your neck and muttering words of low, tender praise every second.

“Good girl.” He mutters as he drags his cock between your pussy lips. “Good fuckin’ girl, already cockdrunk and stupid for me, aren’t you. Love taking you like this, looking at you all pretty and dumb-“

You whine, head lolling to the side. Dean slides two fingers into your mouth and you suck on them like candy, taking anything he’ll offer.

He growls, dick catching on your entrance, and you shiver, looking up at him under fluttering eyes.

Dean drags you up like you weigh nothing, slowly sitting you down on his massive cock, and every thought but his name is driven from your head.

He’s thick. So think you almost don’t think you can take it, but your whine of protest is only met by cooing, filthy praise in your ears and careful circles around your clit. You don’t know how he can still be so far into the curse and able to restrain himself from rutting you like a beast.

Probably because it’s Dean. That feels like explanation enough.

It takes a moment for him to bottom out, and when he does you’re sure you’ve never been this full. He’s hitting places inside of you that you hadn’t known existed, dropping you into a pool of pleasure that makes your breathing stuttered, your nails scratching over his shoulders as you try to keep yourself from floating away.

Dean kisses you, hot and deep. You moan against him and he grabs your hips, starting to roll you up and down on his cock. You can tell he’s experimenting again, trying to figure out where he hits the deepest, working you open until you’re riding his cock smoothly your head falling back as pants of his name leave your mouth.

It’s paradise. Your toes are curling with every twitch of his cock inside you, every rush of heat when he slams extra hard and hits your cervix. It takes him takes him some time to decide how he wants you , and you’d laugh at what he settles on if the air wasn’t being fucked from your lungs.

Dean cums while holding you in his lap, his thrusts getting short and a groan of your name falling from his mouth when he ruts up, his cock pumping hot release inside of you and your own orgasm rolling through your body like an electrical storm. But then you’re being picked up and flipped around so your back is pressed to his chest, his arm locking around your neck and his hand returning to your clit as his fucks up into you. Then you’re moved forward onto the mattress, Dean turning your face so he can hear your moans and keeping your ass into the air as he slams from behind, his balls slapping against your clit and bringing you back up to the edge.

You’re in his lap again, folded under him with your knees to your chest, rolled on top of him so he can play with your tits and watch you ride.

Every time he cums, you’re thrown into a new position and held there until you both fall back over the edge. You’ve never been wrecked like this before, your head empty, pussy drenching his cock as he spills and claims every spot on your body.

“Dirty fuckin’ girl,” he growls into your ear from below you, dragging his fingers down your inner thigh, gathering his release on his fingers. “So pretty, bouncing on this cock, my pretty fuckin’ baby-“

“Dean.” You whine, scraping at his chest. “Dean, feels so good, so fucking good-“

“I know.” He coos. “Made for me, getting so fucking stupid on my cock- Open.”

He slaps your cheek lightly, and your lips part. Dean feeds you his cum, other hand rubbing up and down your spine, and you grind down onto him with need.

“Good girl, fuckin’- Christ you’re so good-“ His thrusts get shorter, brutal and uneven. “You’re mine, this sweet pussy is mine, gonna- Gonna fuckin’ worship you, fuck-“

He drills up into you, taking his hand away to bounce you how he likes.

You both cum, Dean calling your name and throwing his head back, watching you under hooded, still hungry eyes.

There’s a second to catch your breath, as he palms your breast. Pinches a nipple, rolling it between his fingers, watching how you arch into his touch.

“You like that?” He grunts, and you hum.

“Feels good.”

“Damn right it does.” He grabs the other one, working them in tandem.

You whine his name, looking at him under pleading lashes.

Dean groans. “Fuck, baby…”

He’s hard again, and you’re being moved into another position.

By the time he finds one he wants to keep, you’re a disaster of a woman. Making sounds that are supposed to be his name, boneless below him and still trying to chase more, even as your body turns into a raw, live nerve.

Dean’s got you under him again, his body pressed over yours, cock plunging in and out of your pussy at a lazy, torturous pace. You’ve been like this for what must be an hour, maybe a day, maybe fifty years. Tears of pleasure are stained on your cheeks, there’s a wet sound with every thrust as his cum leaks out of your stuffed hole, and Dean’s praise is becoming more and more lucid.

“I love you.” He mutters, and you moan, turning your head to try and kiss him.

“Dean…”

“I know.” He mutters. “I know, baby, but you’re doin’ so good. Feeling better, almost done, just gotta-“

He kisses over your face, finally capturing your lips as he starts to rut, pounding into your swollen g-spot over and over.

You barely have the energy to arch up, when you cum. You breathe out his name, pussy clenching as you feel that last bit of his cum squirt into you, and a wet, hot feeling floods your pussy as your vision goes white.

“Love you.” Dean’s still muttering as you float through the haze, his lips pressed over yours. “Loved you forever, never- Never thought-“

His voice cracks, and you know the curse is over. He’s not getting hard again inside of you, not trying to chase more.

Just pressing his face into the crook of your neck and holding you tight, words muffled against your skin.

“Thank you.” He mutters. “Thank you for- For sayin’ it back, even if that wasn’t-“

“It was,” you breathe out. He needs to know. “I love you, Dean. Have for longer.”

He chuckles, squeezing your body, and you smile into the air.

You find the strength to thread your fingers through his hair, and he hums, pressing a sweet kiss to your sensitive skin. You shiver, whining softly, and he chuckles again. Both of you too fucked out to move. You’re not sure you’re going to be able to walk in a straight line for a month.

But it was worth it.

Holding Dean here, so peacefully, was more than worth it.

He’s apologized fifty times. He apologized when you left that old, moldy house and he started staring at you and palming himself in the car. Apologized when you’d been walking inside, and he’d doubled over in pain on the side walk. He’d grabbed your hip for support, and while you’d been trying to figure out if he was okay, his hand had slipped up to your inner thigh. Apologized when you went to get him some ice—he’d said he was warm, you’ d been worrying about a fever—and you had to come back to find him lying in your bed, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut and groans slipping from his lips.

At least he hadn’t been touching himself. He’s managed not to do that at all, which you’d be impressed by if you weren’t so worried.

Sam says it’s a pretty basic sex curse. Maybe a pollen, from that mold. Nothing you need to worry about finding a magical cure for.

“We’ve seen these before.” Sam had said. “It’s run-of-the-mill. Dean knows what to do.”

Run of the mill.

Simple.

Sam had said it like you’d be clear in an hour. Nothing fancy required.

Dean gets laid, the fever goes down, everyone’s good.

And it might’ve been simple. You might’ve been done an hour ago, if Dean just got it over with and left when he was clear. You would’ve sat in your bed, running the sheets between your fingers while you read. Trying desperately not to think about Dean only a door over, about the sounds creaking through the wall as he railed someone else into oblivion, about how he’d look.

Probably just like this. Wrecked and hungry, his eyes blown out and skin slick with sweat. Every muscle in his body straining, hair stuck to his brow, mouth hanging open as he’d hover over some lucky girl, showing her a heaven even angels didn’t get to experience.

Your heart would’ve silently ached, a wound you’ve been letting fester opening wider and wider. Your hands would’ve tugged nervously at the sheets, trying to gather whatever he’d left over like a twisted little souvenir for your perverse brain.

The brain that won’t stop being in love with him, no matter how much logic you offer to counter it. You’ve spent nights staring at the ceiling, acting like love was a debate. Like if you reasoned with yourself enough, all the blood in your body would simply stop flowing in a song of his name. Your heart would shift into a new rhythm, no longer a war drum trying to call for him. Your eyes would stop looking for tiny bits of evidence he loved you too, in just as much silence as you love him.

He’s about ten years older than you. He opens doors for you, and that can be a secret desire thing. He’s not emotionally available. He talks to you, about his dad and complicated fights with Sammy and his past, and that has to mean something. He’s got anger issues. He’s stubborn, he’s reserved. You have issues too, and you’re more stubborn. He’s fucked up- You’re fucked up, and he’s also sweet and loyal and handsome and the best kind of stupid a man can be, where he’s a dumbass that never pretends to be incompetent. He’d probably be possessive. You’d like to be possessed. There’s no future there. Yet.

You’ve always lost the debate. You stay in love with Dean, because your heart wasn’t even kind enough to give you a crush. A brief and intense high of adoration and lust would’ve been manageable. You would’ve recovered.

Instead, it’s love. Not even love with a half-life, weaning off with just a little time. Deep, long love.

The kind of love that has you looking at him now, and crudely thinking that he’s being a bit of a pussy. It’s not a fair thought. He’s cursed, has a fever of a hundred and two, and his body is probably trying to convince him to do things that he’s not on board with.

But you live like that every day, and you don’t whine about it. You’ve felt like if he didn’t touch you now you’d die, you’ve gone sick with your own perverse thoughts about what you’d let him do to you, you’ve been delirious with adoration until Sam clears his throat, and mutters that you’re staring again. Maybe the mold should’ve crawled into you, or however this works.

You wouldn’t have been such a massive bitch about it.

You would’ve had nasty motel sex with a stranger an hour ago.

You wouldn’t have made Dean sit in a room with you while you pillow humped, forcing him to look for a sex partner to break your back.

You would’ve been home by now.

But Dean wants to be a little fucking bitch.

“You’re being a bitch.” You say it plainly, because maybe it will snap him out of whatever the fuck this is.

Instead he just chuckles, twisting to give you an amused look. “Ouch, sweetheart- Shit-“

The movement looks like it made his dick brush against something, and now he’s back to cowering in the sheets. Jaw clenched and eyes squeezed shut, visibly pained, and what’s wrong with you that he’s never looked so hot-

“You’d be a bitch too.” He mutters, groaning as he rolls back onto his stomach. “I feel like I’m dying-“

“You’d stop feeling like that, if you’d just pick someone to fuck.”

“I’m tryin’-“

“Not hard enough.”

“Trust me, I’m plenty hard enough- Fuck-“

You throw one of his pillows at his face, and he makes a strangled noise like you hit him with a bullet.

“You’re gonna attack a dying man-“

“I can do whatever I want, when I’m helping you find a fuck buddy.” You stick your tongue out at his back, then return your attention to his phone. “How about Miranda? She’s thirty-six, she’s got really nice hair, and- Oo-“ You scroll a little further down the page. “She likes boats! Those are like water cars, you guys could bond over that.”

Dean laughs again, shaking his head. “Boats aren’t water cars.”

“They are. Think about it.“

“They don’t have a big engineering overlap, I don’t know shit about boats-“

“Then you can just fuck her stupid, you nerd.”

Dean’s silent for a long moment, and you hover your thumb over the screen, fully ready to subject yourself to the worst torture possible for Dean’s stupid, cursed sake.

“She looks nice.” You mumble, praying he doesn’t hear the exhausted, hopeless pain in your voice. “I think you’d like her.”

Dean grunts. “No. Next name.”

You sigh, and swipe left. Adding Miranda to the long, long pile of rejected applicants.

It’s been like this for two fucking hours. Dean lying in your bed, you cross-legged in his, absolutely no progress on curing the curse. He barely even looks at you anymore. He’s been facing the opposite wall since you sat down, burying his face in your pillow every time he moans, trying to hide the roll of his hips under the sheets and failing miserably.

The tingling pain between your legs is almost unbearable now. You’d call Sam and ask if the pollen was transferable, if you weren’t terrified of the answer being no. There’s no way it’s not just Dean anyway. His thick arms stretching up to grip the pillow, his broad, muscled shoulders and back bare, the fact that sometimes when he humps fast and rough, the sheets ride up and you swear you see the tip of his cock. It’s wrong. So fucking wrong, to be getting off to him like this.

But it’s your own personal hell, to have this responsibility. To have him right there, and not be allowed to touch him.

You’ll deal with your shame later in the shower, where you can wash it off and maybe cry from a few different places over your body.

Later. When he’s not dying, and doing absolutely nothing to help you save him.

“Hannah.” You read out the next profile, pulling your knees to your chest. “She’s got curly hair, really nice brown eyes. Looks like she’s a nail artist. That could be nice.”

Dean snorts. “What, you think I’m gonna have her get me a manicure after?”

“No, I just-“ You take a long breath. You’d rather have a living Dean that doesn’t love you, than a dead Dean, who also doesn’t love you.

Dean starts to twist—he’s going to try and look at you again—and you clear your throat.

“It might be nice to look at. Aesthetically. Or- arousing.”

He mutters your name, but you push on.

“For a handjob. Nice nails, going- Up and down your- Um- Your dick-“

Dean lets out the loudest moan yet, and your jaw snaps shut. That sounded like your name. He was probably just trying to warn you to shut up, but that still sounded like your name-

“Sorry-“

“Stop talking.” He snaps, and you nod.

Without him asking, you swipe left on Hannah. He seems to have forgotten about her, and you have no desire to let her and her perfect nails anywhere near his dick.

It takes a while for Dean to request the next candidate. Long minutes of him just panting and grunting, burying his face in the pillow and thrashing in the sheets like he’s having a nightmare.

You see the head of his cock again. It’s thick looking and red and shining with pre-cum. Angry and hard and Jesus fucking Christ-

“Emma!” You shout to the room. You need this to be done. “She’s a nurse, that can be a kink thing-“

“Stop.”

You sigh, turning down the phone screen. “Dean-“

“No. Don’t want Ella-“

“Emma-“

“Don’t fuckin’ care. We’re not doing more of this- Shit.”

“Are you just swearing, or is that an adjective-“

“Sweetheart.” He’s almost growling, a hand slipping out from the sheets to fist the mattress. “Stop. Talking.”

You close your mouth, bowing your head as shame floods your body. You’re trying to help. You’ve given your whole night just to help the man you’re hopelessly in love with have sex with someone else, and you’re tired. Tired of doing this to yourself, tired of him shooting everyone down like suddenly he’s got the highest sexual standard in the world, tired of acting like it’s not killing you and tired of watching him like this.

He’s in so much pain. You can hear it straining in every word, tensed in every movement. You’re not allowed to touch him, but the last time you made him check his own temperature, it had gone up again. With how he’s looking, how he’s muttering to himself under his breath, you’re willing to bet it’s gone up another handful of degrees.

Dean’s going to die, if he doesn’t deal with this. And if he dies, you’re not going to deal with it.

You don’t want to think about what you’ll become, if he goes. You might be the one that turns into a ghost, haunting this goddamn hotel room and growing up the walls like that mold. A shell of a person, caught in a million what-ifs, her heart ash in the wind with his body.

Dean wants to be done with this.

You’re not done with him.

You swipe right on Emma.

For an hour, you let him keep moping and groaning. You flirt with Emma for him, because you’re the best friend in the world, and pretend you can’t see him trying to move a pillow between his legs to offer extra pressure.

“Dean.” You say softly, and he grunts.

“Baby, I need you not to talk-“

“You can take it out.” You mutter, keeping your focus on Emma’s texts. “If you need that. I’m a big girl, I- I won’t mind.”

That’s a lie through more than just your teeth. If he starts touching himself in front of you, all the poetic fawning about how your love is killing you won’t be dramatic anymore. Your heart will beat right out of your ribs, your head will get so light you’ll float away, your need for him will become so consuming you’ll either fall to your knees and open your mouth for him to use, or simply just explode.

But if it helps him. You’ll do anything to help him, even if it’s searing the most sinful, impossible image into your head for the rest of your life.

Dean with his cock in his hand, head thrown back, beating himself right next to you. Maybe moaning under his breath, thrusting up into his fist, accidentally looking at you as he cums, mouth hanging open and eyes hooded as thick white ropes paint the sheets-

“No.” He grunts, and you blink.

“It’s okay-“

“No. I‘m not doin’ that to you.”

You swallow, heated shame rushing through you. “I- I could leave the room-“

“No, don’t-“ He almost shouts your name, flipping over suddenly.

Looking at you.

His eyes are almost black with lust, his face red and slack, expression desperate. He hisses—the movement likely too much—but still reaches out a shaking hand, like he’s going to try and grab you.

“Don’t go, just- Fuckin’-“ His words trail off, eyes locked on your face, and another moan escapes his lips.

You push up on your knees, fear clenching at your heart. “Dean-“

“’m fine-“

“You’re not fine-“

“I’m- Son of a bitch-“ His eyes widen on yours then slam shut. His hand curls into a taut fist, face pulling in pain, and that’s enough.

“Fine. Don’t masturbate, see if I care.”

He says your name, low and rough, and you shake your head. 

“You’re not fine, you fucking idiot. You’re dying.” You push to your feet, grabbing his phone from the bed.

Emma’s very nice. Nice in the kind of way that’s going to make you hate her, and you feel sort of bad. She was doomed to your loathing from the moment she swiped right.

But she’s going to help. She’s going to save Dean, and you’ll offer her grace for that.

Dean’s eyes had opened, when he heard you moving. He’s looking at you like a lost street dog, opening his mouth to say something that only comes out in a panting groan of your name.

Whatever protests he has, you won’t hear them. He’s not allowed to die.

“Get up.” You snap, tossing his clothing onto his face. “Get dressed. I’m starting the car in ten minutes, and if you’re not there, I’m coming back and you’re having sex with me.”

You don’t look over your shoulder to see his reaction. The sounds of torment leaving his chest are bad enough.

It hurts. It cuts deeper than a blade, the idea that he detests the idea of sex with you that much. You’re good at sex. You’ve gotten raving reviews, you’re batting a hundred, flawless reports and a hundred percent customer satisfaction rate, even if you don’t really enjoy most of it yourself. Most people you have sex with don’t manage to make you cum, and when they do it’s a tiny little shudder through your body that you forget about in five minutes.

Dean witDean would be lucky to have sex with you. You’d worship him. You’d get on your knees and let him use you until he was leaking out of every hole. You’d let him fuck himself back into you, you’d let him throw you around, you’d do anything-

It’s probably a good thing your threat works. Dean stumbles out of the motel right at the nine-minute mark, pallid and flushed all at once, hunched in pain and wearing a massive raincoat over his jacket to hide the boner.

You never would’ve forgiven yourself, for taking advantage of him like that. It’s better like this, no matter how much it hurts.

You smile when he gets into the car. “Nice fashion statement-“

“Shut up.” He grumbles, glaring out at the road. “Where’re we goin’.”

“A bar.”

He makes a sour expression. “Why.”

“Because you have a date. With Emma the nurse.”

Dean goes dead quiet. He tenses next to you—your elbows brushing for a split second, before he recoils like your skin is coated in toxins—works his jaw, then shakes his head.

You sigh. ‘Dean-“

“No. I told you, I’m not doin’ that.“

“Yes, you are.”

“No-“

“Yes!” You slam the brakes harder than you mean to, as you approach a stop sign.

You expect Dean to snap about you being careful with his baby. Maybe try to make a joke about how maybe the frustration is rubbing off on you, or argue about how this is his dumb choice to make.

And it is. But he made the wrong choice, and you are not letting him die.

He mutters your name, and it’s the same way he said it earlier. Soft. Almost pleading.

You take a deep breath, and twist to look him in his pretty, glazed and dilated eyes.

“You’re going into that bar. You’re going to flirt with Emma. If she asks if you have a fever, you tell her you work construction or something, and you’d just been at a shift. You run hot. Nothing for her to worry about.” You drum your fingers on the wheel, forcing down the lump in your throat. “You’re going to tell her she’s pretty. You’re going to call a fake uber, and I’m going to drive you to the motel. You’re going to fuck Emma until you’re cured, and then we can go home. Understand?”

Dean’s throat bobs. He opens his mouth, a glint in his eyes like he’s going to argue. You don’t give him the chance.

“No. You’re doing this. If you don’t, you’ll-“ You cut yourself off, pressing your lips in a tight line. You won’t cry. You won’t.

Dean says your name, and he has to stop doing that. It’s too gentle. Too close to something real.

“You’re not allowed to- To go.” You look out at the empty road, praying the night is hiding the glossy tears, pricking at your eyes. “I can’t- I won’t- You’re not allowed to.”

You raise your chin, your breathing too shaky to speak for a moment. The silence hangs in the car, even the sound of Baby’s engine not enough to drown out your thoughts.

“Okay?” You snap, trying to sound stronger than you are.

Dean lets out a low sound, but nods. “Okay.” Then, under his breath. “For you.”

You pretend you don’t hear. There’s too much weight in those words, and you don’t have the time to pick them apart, don’t have the energy to ask him what the fuck that means.

Instead, you just give yourself the easiest out. Dean does love you as a friend. You’ve never doubted that for a second. He’s doing it for you because you’re the one demanding he go have sex.

What a horrible friend you are, making him get laid so he doesn’t die.

You huff a dry, pitiful, laugh to yourself. Your drink swirls in its glass, untouched and mocking. You ordered it when you got here, about thirty minutes ago. Made Dean take a possibly dangerous dose of Advil and Tylenol to make him lucid, then hidden yourself in a booth on the other side of the bar. Where you can see Dean and Emma, but only Dean can see you. He’s supposed to give you a thumbs up, when he’s about to call the ride. Right now, he seems so engrossed in her that you’re worried he’s going to forget.

Emma’s pretty. Just as pretty as her pictures. She lit up, when she spotted Dean, and you’d felt a sickening, loud hatred take root in your chest.

Everyone should be happy to see Dean, but none of them are happy like you’re happy. You know him. He’s the love of your life, and your joy is born of that, not just seeing a pretty man. You love seeing him because you know you’re going to be safe. Because he’s going to smile and the world is going to be alright, you’re going to talk and he’ll listen and look at you like there’s no one else in the world, he’s going to make jokes and you’re going to laugh.

But he’s making Emma laugh right now. She’s got one of those high, insufferable giggles, and you’re being needlessly mean but you hate her. You have a giggle like that. It comes out for Dean all the time, and it has a little snort on the end that you hated until Dean casually mentioned that he liked it, and you’ve felt like the most beautiful thing in the world.

It doesn’t really matter though, whose laugh Dean likes more.

Emma’s the one going home with him. You’re being left here.

You focus on ignoring their laughter and voices from the bar. You can’t drink, but you sulk and focus on the music floating through the bar. Your fingers drum on the table, pull at your sleeves, shred three napkins before gripping the cold of the glass like a lifeline. Your vision is going unfocused with envy. Every second you feel the wound in your heart tearing open, an infection of jealousy taking root, and you might actually be about to throw up-

Dean grunts your name, and your eyes shoot up.

He’s standing outside your both, hands in his pockets and a deep scowl on his face. Emma’s not with him. Or at the bar.  

“Where-“

“She left.”

Your mouth falls open. “She left? I- What the fuck happened-“

“I told her to. Wasn’t gonna work out.”

“Dean, you-“ Your voice cracks, every thought in your head getting louder. He’s dying, he’s dying, he’s dying. “You promised-“

“I know.” He’s jaw tics, eyes darting away from yours. “Just couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t what? Couldn’t fuck her? What the hell was wrong with her that somehow doesn’t meet Dean Winchester’s if it’s got a hole standards?”

Dean flinches, and it was a low blow, but right now you don’t care. He’s going to die. Why doesn’t he fucking care that he’s going to die and leave you.

“Come on.” You snap, slamming a few bills on the table and shooting up. “We’re chasing her. You’re apologizing.”

He frowns. “No, I’m not-“

“Then we’re going back on the dating app, and finding someone else.”

“I don’t want someone else.”

You roll your eyes, shoving the bar door open and marching to the car. You have Emma’s number. You’ll do the apology yourself if you have to.

Dean’s stumbling after you into the parking lot, and you can’t stop yourself from looking over your shoulder every few seconds. Just to be sure he hasn’t hurt himself. He calls your name, voice pained, and you freeze. Turn slowly, your arms crossed over your chest.

“I’m not doin’ this.” He snaps, stalking towards you in uneven steps. “You can bitch and whine about it all you want, sweetheart, I’m not fucking that girl.”

“I’m bitching and whining?” You laugh, the sound crude even to your ears. “I’m not the one who decided the best time to become a fucking celibate was when he got hit with a sex curse. You’re the one acting like a fucking child here-“

“I’m not acting like a child-“

“Then you’re acting like an idiot!” You scream, taking a large step forward.

Dean goes rigid. Takes a long step back, like you’re poisonous. It just fuels the burning, exhausted fire, kindled by every bit of fear, of love, of fury that he’s putting you through this with almost no remorse.

“It’s not like you have to marry her!” You shout, barbed wire tightening around your throat. “It’s just sex! Fuck, you don’t even have to look at her, it’s- I don’t understand why this is so fucking hard for you all of a sudden, it’s not like you’re some virgin fucking pussy-“

He mutters your name, a low warning, and you ignore it.

“I’ve spent all day trying to save you, Dean! I was going to be your- Your fucking sex chauffer, and I haven’t been complaining, but you can’t do me one fucking favor and have sex with a pretty girl?”

You take another step forward, and this time he isn’t fast enough. You jab his chest, and he stumbles back like you shot him, eyes panicked and wide on yours.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” You shriek, shoving him again. “Do you want to die? Are you trying to fucking kill me? Do you hate me, Dean? Is that what this is?”

He rasps your name, and you shake your head.

“I’ve been trying so- So hard to save you. I- I told you that I can’t- If you-“ Your words are getting choked, and the pain is too heavy to just shake off. “You’re not allowed to go! I told you, I won’t let you, but you- You fucking hate me-“

You try to shove him again, hot tears burning down your face, but this time Dean’s ready. He catches your wrist, and you try to pull back but he’s got more strength left than you thought.

He squeezes his hold on you, stalking forward. A fire lights in your core, at the intensity of his gaze. Unyielding and hot, searing into you as your back hits the Impala. He towers over you, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring as he takes in your open mouth and slack expression. You don’t know how you expected him to react, but it wasn’t this. This makes your knees weak, your heart hitting a dangerous pace at the top of your chest.

You can smell his cologne, smell his. A salt, deep musk that’s just Dean, that might as well be a drug for how it’s making you freeze. Your free hand moves to press flat against his chest, but you don’t push.

He grunts, his muscles rippling like you just threw a rock into water. He seizes up, head bowing, and there’s nowhere for you to hide from him.

Dean’s tongue darts over his lips, and your breath hitches.

“Don’t do that.” He grunts, and you just nod.

Lean a little closer, until the heat of your breath is fanning over your cheeks. Your eyes flutter, and when you risk meeting his gaze he looks almost predatory. The hunger in his eyes sends a pleasant shiver down your spine, your thighs pressing together, and it’s hot, so hot-

“I don’t hate you.”

You blink at him. You’d forgotten about that. “Dean-“

“I don’t.” He snaps. “Don’t fuckin’- Never think that, alright? I don’t hate you.”

“Then why are you doing this to me?” You whisper desperately. “Why couldn’t you just go have sex with Emma-“

He shakes his head. “I don’t want Emma.”

“Then let me find you someone you want, please-“

“No.”

“Why-“

“Cause I don’t want any of them.” He hisses, your foreheads bumping as he leans further down. “I don’t want some random fuckin’ chick you pull for me, I don’t want to fuck her, don’t wanna touch her, hell, I don’t even want to goddamn look at her.”

You take a shaking breath, a haze overtaking your head. “Dean, you need someone-“

“You think I don’t know that?” He pushes his hips forward, and you can feel it.

His cock, straining through his jeans, pressing against your thigh. You bite down a moan, completely still in his arms, trying to make him understand with just your eyes. It’s not fair for him to do this to you. He doesn’t understand, this is all you’ve ever wanted and he’s just taunting you with it-

“I can feel it, sweetheart.” He mutters, rolling slightly against you, making that fire in your core threaten to sweep you away. “I feel myself dyin’. My muscles are hurting like I ran a mile, I’m sweating through ten damn layers, think the fever is getting me so bad I might be about to go fucking crazy. But I didn’t even notice ‘till you started getting all worried. You know why?”

It takes you a second to realize you’re supposed to answer. You barely shake your head, before he’s squeezing your wrist, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“’Cause of you.” He breathes, voice soft and dangerous. “I always feel like an animal when I see you. Spent the whole car ride back from that damn house wanting to hump your leg and didn’t think twice. You just do that to me, and you got no fuckin’ idea.”

You gasp slightly, turning your head to look him in the eyes. They’re hooded, almost feral on yours. You’re so dizzy, you’re worried you might be walking through a dream.

“De- Dean-“

“You can keep looking for some random girl for me, if it’s gonna make you feel better. But I won’t fuck ‘em. I can’t.” His lips ghost over yours, and you lean forward.

“Dean-“

“Sex barely even works for me anymore, baby.” He mutters, tongue flicking over his lips. “Nothin’ does. I get kicked out of bed ‘cause I call your name. So just fuckin’-“ He squeezes your wrist again, drawing slowly back. “Stop. If you wanna give me a dying wish, cut it out and let me go in some damn peace.”

You gape at him as he pulls away, his grip going slack on your wrist.

Dying wish.

He still thinks he’s allowed to die.

“What- What if you fuck me?” You say, so quiet you barely even hear yourself.

Dean’s head jerks up, and he says your name with a harsh, unforgiving snap. “No. I’m not askin’ you to do that just because I’m some perv who can’t get it up-“

“You’ve got it up.” You smile at up, pressing your knee up into his crotch.

He groans, doubling back down so you’re caged against the Impala again. “Baby, don’t fuckin’- I’m not bending on this shit, alright. I’m not gonna be some pity fuck-“

“It’s not a pity fuck, I’m saving your life-“

“I told you, no-“

“Do you not want to have sex with me?” You challenge, and Dean gives you a pleading, wrathfully frustrated look.

“Don’t ask stupid questions, course I wanna have- Fuck-“ He groans, eyes fluttering as his brow presses against yours. “Yeah. Yeah I want to. But- I won’t ask you to. So no.”

You swallow. It’s probably the fever making his tongue so loose. He’s so hot it almost burns to be this close, but that might just be Dean.

It’s always just Dean. And he has to know that.

“What if I want to have sex with you?”

Dean grunts, shaking his head. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it-“

“I mean it.” You fist your hand in his shirt, dragging him a little closer. “Do you?”

He stares at you again. Scans over your face like he’s looking for one clue that you’re just indulging him, that there’s a single doubt running through your head.

There isn’t. Your breathing is uneven, but your heart is going too fast for it to be anything else. You’re flushed with an unending, arduous hunger to just have him, however he needs you.

Slowly, testing the waters, Dean slides a hand onto your neck. You raise your chin, holding his gaze. He squeezes slightly, and you lean into him, tugging on his shirt for more.

His thumb moves up, dragging over your lower lip. You part your lips, and his nostrils flare.

Dean pushes his thumb slowly between your lips, and you close them obediently around him. Your eyes flutter as you suck, letting your tongue circle around the thick finger, tilting your head and letting your eyes flutter. He pushes a little deeper and you moan. Your hand flies up to grab his wrist, holding him against you, and Dean groans. His eyes are clearer than they’ve been all night, shining with something like awe.

You smile, grinding up into his torso and humming with pleasure.

Dean mouth hangs slack.

“Jesus fuckin’-“

He cuts himself off, pulling his thumb out with a pop and grabbing your jaw. You giggle happily for a second, and Dean swallows the sound, crashing his mouth against yours.

You’ve pictured this kiss a million times, a million ways, almost every night since you met him. Somehow, this is better than any slow, fairytale kiss with swelling music and sunlight hitting both your faces like a spotlight.

Dean’s not taking his time. He’s kissing you like you’re the last thing he knows, the only thing he’s ever wanted. Like a man who’s been starving himself, finally allowed a feast and wasting no precious seconds on manners. It’s urgent and forceful, words he can’t say being pushed down your throat with his tongue and spit. You kiss him back with everything you have, your fingers digging into his chest through his shirts, your head spinning as you neglect breath just to taste a little bit more whiskey and salt on his tongue. But nothing you throw at him Dean can’t seem to double.

You yank at his shirt, and he pulls your hair back. You try to grind up again, and he grabs your leg, hiking it over his hip. You grab his face, trying to kiss harsher, give more, and Dean slams down like a tidal wave, dominating your mouth with unforgiving need.

A moan escapes your throat, your body going limp in his arms, and he grunts. Ruts up into your core once, making your legs spread in a shameless invitation.

Dean grunts, yanking back like someone pulled him on a leash.

He stares at you for a long moment, his thumb finding its way back to your cheek. He smears a bit of spit over your cheek, and you tilt your head into the touch.

“You’re sure-“

“Yes.”

He nods tightly, takes a heavy breath, and leans away. “Get in the car.”

It’s a short, curt order. You don’t think twice before you obey.

You scramble into the driver’s seat, fumbling with the keys and slamming them into the port like you’re about to enter a car chase. Dean’s barely in the car before the engine is rumbling and you’re reversing out of the spot, gripping the wheel with white knuckles. It’s happening. It’s happening.

“Easy, baby.” He chuckles, the sound raspy and sending more shivers through your body. “You that eager-“

“Yes.” You snap, and Dean hums.

A light, almost taunting hand lands on your thigh. You glance over and find him palming at his crotch, his eyes wholly black and mouth hanging open. It’s an animalistic expression, his chest rising and falling at a rapid pace, and when you murmur his name he barely seems to hear.

His fingers dance up the inside of your leg, and you take an unsteady breath, spreading your legs wider. A deep, rumbling sound leaves Dean’s chest, those infernal fingers curling on the sensitive spot where your leg meets your core. Little electric shock rush through your body, and that’s just through the jeans.

“Dean.” You whisper, not even managing to make your voice firm. “I- I’m driving-“

“So look at the road.” He growls, knuckles brushing against your groin.

You bite your lower lip, and nod. It’s not worth arguing with him, and if you don’t think you can focus, you’ll just pull over. You told him you were sure. Told yourself that whatever he gave you, you’d be happy.

You just didn’t expect him to be borderline feral. The palming you could deal with. You expected.

This is different.

Dean scoots further, and you’re about to mumble something about a seatbelt when his lips brush the curve of your neck. You inhale sharply, gripping the wheel for dear life. Dean hums, his tongue flicking over a pulse point. His fingers start to crawl up to your abdomen, his mouth getting more insistent on your neck.

He nips at a pulse point before sucking on his, his tongue flat on your skin and a low sound leaving his chest when you lean back to grant him further access. He kisses a sloppy line up your throat as his fingers dance on your stomach, and you’re starting to get a little dizzy.

“De, be- Be careful-“

You cut yourself off with a breathy gasp, as his mouth latches behind your ear and he pulls down your zipper. He bites softly before sucking another bruise, popping the button open and slipping his hand into your pants.

“I- Fuck-” You tip your head back, hopelessly trying to keep your eyes on the road, and this is not a safe way to drive. You really should be shoving him away, but there’s no one on the road.

And with how he’s barely even speaking—just touching—you’re a little worried it might take extra effort to drag him out of the haze of the curse and push him away. He seems to be blinded to anything that isn’t you. His mouth drags back down your jaw as his fingers brush over your clothed pussy, and your whole body shakes.

He hums, leaving open kisses on your cheek and hairline. “Sensitive, sweetheart. Been a long time?”

You flush, and Dean starts to gather the fabric of your panties best he can through your pants. He drags it up, bunching it around your pussy, and another moan slips out from the pressure.

“Answer me-“

“Maybe.” You mumble, forcing yourself not to grind into his hand. “You- You know I don’t do that-“

“Do what?” He presses the fabric deeper between your pussy lips. “Don’t fuck?”

“Dean-“

“How long’s it been.” His words are hot against your neck, demanding and possessive. “Who touched you last, baby, who shoved their fingers in this pussy-“

“I- I don’t remember-“

“That’s fuckin’ right.” He pulls your panties tighter against your clit. “’Cause they don’t’ fuckin’ matter, sweet girl. No one else is ever gonna touch you like this. I’m gonna make you soak my fingers, my face, my cock, and it’s gonna feel so good in that smart, pretty mouth,” he kisses the corner of your lips, and only the wheel in your hands stops you from turning and claiming his mouth again. “That’s always fucking teasing me, it ain’t gonna remember a single word but my name. You want that, baby? Wanna be my perfect fuckin’ slut?”

Jesus Christ, this is worse than the not speaking. If this is a dream—because you’ve had them like this before—you never want to wake up.

He yanks his hand away, leaving your underwear bunched up in your cunt, and slaps your pussy over the jeans. Your mouth falls open and you lean forward, lightning surging through your whole body.

“Oh my- Dean-“

“I told you, answer-“

“Yes, I- Yes, please-“ Your words fall off into a moan, as Dean shoves his hand back against you, this time dragging the panties away and plunging two fingers deep into your pussy. “Dean-“

“That’s right.” He mutters, crooking them deep against a sensitive spot. “That’s my girl, you’re so fuckin’ wet- This all for me?”

“Mmm- Mhm-“

“Fuck yeah it is.” He starts his attack on your neck again, only speaking between kisses, his fingers scissoring inside your pussy. “So damn tight, know you’re gonna take my cock so good, bet you taste like heaven- Fuck, I wanna taste this pussy, wanted to taste it for years-“

His own words fall into a moan, and for a second you think he’s just out of dirty talk, but he’s still mumbling incoherently against your skin.

Then you risk another look at his body, and the hand that isn’t in your pants has pulled out his cock.

And fuck, if it isn’t the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Thick and long, but not painful looking. Throbbing and twitching as he jerks himself, the tip leaking and slick with pre-cum. It takes effort to look at the road and not just stare at the rock-hard, veiny marvel of a specimen between his legs.

You don’t know why you’re surprised. Dean’s a specimen himself.

He’s somehow already figured out how to finger you in such a confining position. His wrist has twisted, letting his thumb drag lazy circles around your clit, his fingers giving shallow, rough thrusts that make his fingers taunt your g-spot. Never really fully touching it, but sending shivers through your whole body.

“Oh- Oh-“ You have to take deep breaths to keep your head clear, your whole body winding tight with the arousal he’s pulling out of you, more and more every second. “Dean-“

“Shh.” He grunts, biting right under your jaw, and you squeak. “Just feel it. Sweet fuckin’ pussy, gushing around my fingers-“

You moan, loud and lewd, his deep voice not doing anything to help you keep it together.

It’s a miracle you make it to the motel. It’s a shit parking job—you’re definitely over the lines—but you’re both alive.

You barely shift the gears before Dean’s pouncing on you like an animal. Whatever the ride was, he still seemed to be showing restraint. Now that you’re safe, all bets are off. 

A squeal leaves you, as he flips your body. Pressing your back to the window and prowling over your body, slamming his mouth over yours and kissing until you’re slumping against the glass. Your hand flies up to grab the back of his neck, your hips rolling up to where his knee is pressed between your thighs. Your eyes dart down when you pull apart for a single, ragged breath—Dean pulling your lip between his teeth, and kissing your nose and cheek like breathing is really no longer his concern—and you whimper at the sight of him, still erect and hanging out of his pants.

Dean drags your chin back up, searing his lips over yours, and you melt. He’s a good kisser. And you knew that, but it’s not like anything you’ve felt before. It’s like you’re trading souls, like he’s trying to brand you with wandering hands and lips.

When you pull away again, your dizzy from the pleasure and force of him. You whine at the loss as he leans away, but Dean just squeezes your waist and smirks.

You hear a rip, as he claws your pants and underwear down your legs. You don’t get a chance to adjust before he’s shoving your knee up against the bench, dragging the other one over his shoulder as he ducks between your legs.

“Dean- Shit-“ Your breathing gets shallow as his breath fans over your pussy. “We- We’re supposed to be doing things that are- Like blowjobs-“

It’s so hard to argue with him when he’s between your legs. The sight alone is almost enough to tip you into a frenzy. His shining eyes looking up at you, his full lips grazing your inner thigh, leaving teasing kisses everywhere but where you’re aching for him. You run your fingers through his short, soft hair, trying to get his attention. He just makes a low sound like a purr, and presses his mouth over your clit.

You almost fly out of your skin. He’s making out with the sensitive nerve like they’re your mouth, his tongue dragging and pressing, his hands on your thighs kneading with every suck and graze of his teeth. All you can do is cover your mouth and try to stifle your moan.

Dean withdraws, and you make a strangled sound of frustration. He can’t just do that, it’s not fair-

“No doin’ that.” He grunts, dragging your hand from your mouth. “Wanna hear it.”

You nod weakly, but still try one more time to remind him who this is about. “Dean, it- it’s supposed to be stuff that’s good for you-“

“This is good for me.” He mutters, letting go of your thigh over his shoulder to let his fingers drag back over your fluttering pussy. “Look at you.” He mutters with pure awe. “Responsive, wet little pussy. Bet you’d like it when I do this.”

He pushes one finger knuckle-deep inside you, and you yank on his hair with delight.

“Yeah, you do. How about,” he drags it out, then shoves it back in, and your head tips back against the window, eyes screwing shut.

“Dean, Dean, please-“

He groans, adding a second finger and repeating the slamming motion. Once, twice, a third time. His tongue flicks against your clit on that last one, and your eyes roll back in your head.

“Dean-“

Another deep sound, another flick, and you’re seconds from begging like a whore when he snaps.

Dean wraps his mouth back around your clit, resuming his ministrations from before with twice the fervor. His fingers pick up their pace, wet sounds filling the car as he finger-fucks you into oblivion.

The curse seems to have it’s full hold on him. He’s borderline feral. You’ve never had a man who eats pussy like he’s having a five-star meal, like it really is good for him. Sometimes he just pulls his fingers out and drags his tongue down your cunt, angling his head to press his tongue deep inside you and working his jaw until your toes are curling. His nose bumps your clit and his stubble scrapes your thighs, his free hand squeezing your thigh as he devours.

“Oh- Oh fuck-“ You let out a vulgar, lustful sound as he drags you further forward against his mouth, the pleasure rushing through your body. “Dean- God, just like that-“

He drags his mouth back up to your swollen, neglected clit, and those two fingers pump back into your hole. It’s somehow better and worse, and a shriek rips from your mouth as he spanks your pussy, then resumes his rhythm.

“Dean, please- Please, fuck- please-“

You’re already babbling, the tension in your lower abdomen so tight it’s almost painful. Your body is shaking with the stimulation, and Dean’s working you like an instrument. He finds every hyper-needy spot that makes you moan his name and playing it like a professional. You’re kept right on the edge for what feels like a million years, his fingers and mouth switching in and out, begging and begging as he turns you into an empty-headed, drooling wound-up mess.

Then he finally lets you over the edge.

Dean pushes his fingers right against your g-spot, and rubs. Your body seizes up, eyes crossing as his tongue flicks against your clit, and the heat built up in your gut explodes.

You shake as your orgasm rips through your pussy, your spine, every nerve in your body glowing with a deep, sex-addled bliss. Your clit is swollen between Dean’s lip as he drags you through it, your pussy gushing around his fingers and fingers yanking at his hair.

“Fuck, yes- Yes-“ You moan, legs locking around Dean’s head, and he groans against your pussy.

When it pulls another lewd sound from your chest, he does it again, slowly easing his fingers out and starting to clean up the mess between your thighs. He licks and hums, the sensation making your oversensitive body spasm every time he finds one of those spots.

It’s not certain you’re going to be able to walk to the motel room, when he finally pulls away.

But there’s a gleaming light in his eyes, that makes you think it’s really not going to matter.

Dean’s a wreck. His face is flushed, chest heaving, cock still hard but coated in a white stain that tells you he’s not close to working off the curse.

“Oh, you’re gonna be so mad about that when you’re better.” You mumble, seeing the stains on his precious bench, and Dean chuckles.

“I’ll get over it.”

You giggle, and Dean leans over you again, kissing you slow and deep. One orgasm seems to have cleared his head for a seconds, enough that he’s gently rubbing your bare, tender pussy, a soothing touch that’s really only working you up more.

“Love that sound.” He mutters, and you frown against his lips.

“Wha-“

“Your laugh.” He sucks on your upper lip, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Love it so much. Don’t think I’ve told you that before.”

He hasn’t. It somehow makes you flush more than any of the dirty things he’d been hissing in your ear before.

“You’re telling me a lot of new things.” You manage to mumble, and he huffs in amusement.

“Blame it on the curse.”

You giggle again, and his face shines like he won a prize.

“Son of a bitch,” his eyes are already darkening again, voice getting thick with the curse-driven hunger. “I love you, you know that?”

You can only gape at him. He must not have said what you thought  he said. “What?”

“You heard me.” He presses his brow against yours, reaching up to cup your cheek. “I love you.”

He rasps your name, and you blink away tears.

“Dean, if it’s just the curse-“

“It’s not. It’s-“

He slides his mouth against yours and this is the romantic kiss you always pictured. Slow and devoted as he takes the time to memorize you, to bask in the glow of your heart as you shine with love beneath him.

“You know it, right?” His voice is gravelly, his body pressing firmer over yours. He’s going back under. He can probably feel it. “That I mean it?”

He’s still asking—almost begging—you to tell him that you know.

“I know.” You mumble. “I- I love you too.”

Dean goes rigid over your body, and you blink up at him, as nervous as a doe in headlights. Just like the kiss, you’ve dreamed of saying it. Pictured it somewhere romantic, your makeup perfect and the breeze running through your hair. Dean falling to his knees after, kissing your hands before sweeping you off your feet.

Instead you’re lying in the car, cum staining your tangled legs, everything in you ruined from being eaten out by the sinful mouth that haunts your dreams. Dean’s hovering over you, tongue darting over those same lips—shining with your arousal, making your thighs rub together under him—and your holding onto his flannel, both your clothing stuck to your skin from sweat.

He doesn’t fall to his knees. He just looks at you like he’s not sure it’s a dream either.

At least he still sweeps you off your feet.

Dean moves like a machine. You’re not even sure what’s happening until you’re being hit by the wind, dragged down the bench by your ankles and wrapped in one of his jackets to preserve your modesty. His dick has been hastily shoved back into his pants—the fly still fucking down—and you’re about to tell him you’d at least like your underwear before he’s picking it up and shoving it into his pocket.

“Dean!” You gasp, and he just grunts, sweeping you fully into his arms.

“Mine.” He mutters under his breath, looking around the parking lot like he’s still trying to orient himself. “I- I gotta, fuck-“

Gently, you reach up and turn his chin in the direction of your motel room. “Over there, De.” You mumble, and he nods tightly.

He’s fully back under. You don’t bother to struggle or try and convince him that you can walk, because you’re not even sure you could. It’s not worth distressing Dean over anyway.

Despite his fever soaring and gaze being fogged by the curse, he manages you gently. When you get into the room you’re tossed on the bed and pinned back down for his mouth to work you open again, but the brusing grip is full of care, his mouth worshipful on your pussy. After that he’s rising over your body, ripping clothing like it’s a personal offense on his sensibilities and descending over you with another feral growl.

Your legs are shoved apart, but he rubs a hand over your calves almost reverently. Staring at your glistening, abused pussy with a look of pride and affection, gaze slowly dragging up your flushed breasts and thoroughly marked neck to meet yours.

You give him a honeyed, coaxing smile. You’re his to take, if he wants it.

He makes a low sound from his chest, and starts to kiss up your body. You gasp when his lips wrap around one of your peaked nipples, sucking gently until your grinding up into him. His hand splays over your stomach, gently guiding you back down, and you whine desperately.

“Patience.” He hums, kissing over your breast before switching to the other nipple. “Gonna take care of you. Fuck- You’re so beautiful, so fuckin’-“

Dean moans to himself, and you whimper his name, yanking on his hair.

But there’s no rushing him. He plays with your tits until he’s had his fill—when they’re swollen and you’re arching into every touch—then works back down to your pussy. Tasting your arousal, soaked and messy and almost shamefully dripping down his hand when he touches you.

He doesn’t seem to mind it at all though. 

“Messy girl.” He grunts, twisting one finger inside of you. “Think you’re ready for some cock, aren’t you. Gonna take me, princess? Show me how much you love me?”

You blink at him through tears, on the brink of screaming his he doesn’t let you cum again soon. When you nod it’s like a bobblehead, and you only remember his orders from before at the last second.

“Yes.” You gasp. “Yes, Dean, please-“

Again, he moves.

You’re almost a ragdoll in his arms. A ragdoll that he moves like you’re threaded from gold, tossing you around and gripping your hips so hard you’ll have a handprint in the morning, but kissing over every hickey on your neck and muttering words of low, tender praise every second.

“Good girl.” He mutters as he drags his cock between your pussy lips. “Good fuckin’ girl, already cockdrunk and stupid for me, aren’t you. Love taking you like this, looking at you all pretty and dumb-“

You whine, head lolling to the side. Dean slides two fingers into your mouth and you suck on them like candy, taking anything he’ll offer.

He growls, dick catching on your entrance, and you shiver, looking up at him under fluttering eyes.

Dean drags you up like you weigh nothing, slowly sitting you down on his massive cock, and every thought but his name is driven from your head.

He’s thick. So think you almost don’t think you can take it, but your whine of protest is only met by cooing, filthy praise in your ears and careful circles around your clit. You don’t know how he can still be so far into the curse and able to restrain himself from rutting you like a beast.

Probably because it’s Dean. That feels like explanation enough.

It takes a moment for him to bottom out, and when he does you’re sure you’ve never been this full. He’s hitting places inside of you that you hadn’t known existed, dropping you into a pool of pleasure that makes your breathing stuttered, your nails scratching over his shoulders as you try to keep yourself from floating away.

Dean kisses you, hot and deep. You moan against him and he grabs your hips, starting to roll you up and down on his cock. You can tell he’s experimenting again, trying to figure out where he hits the deepest, working you open until you’re riding his cock smoothly your head falling back as pants of his name leave your mouth.

It’s paradise. Your toes are curling with every twitch of his cock inside you, every rush of heat when he slams extra hard and hits your cervix. It takes him takes him some time to decide how he wants you , and you’d laugh at what he settles on if the air wasn’t being fucked from your lungs.

Dean cums while holding you in his lap, his thrusts getting short and a groan of your name falling from his mouth when he ruts up, his cock pumping hot release inside of you and your own orgasm rolling through your body like an electrical storm. But then you’re being picked up and flipped around so your back is pressed to his chest, his arm locking around your neck and his hand returning to your clit as his fucks up into you. Then you’re moved forward onto the mattress, Dean turning your face so he can hear your moans and keeping your ass into the air as he slams from behind, his balls slapping against your clit and bringing you back up to the edge.

You’re in his lap again, folded under him with your knees to your chest, rolled on top of him so he can play with your tits and watch you ride.

Every time he cums, you’re thrown into a new position and held there until you both fall back over the edge. You’ve never been wrecked like this before, your head empty, pussy drenching his cock as he spills and claims every spot on your body.

“Dirty fuckin’ girl,” he growls into your ear from below you, dragging his fingers down your inner thigh, gathering his release on his fingers. “So pretty, bouncing on this cock, my pretty fuckin’ baby-“

“Dean.” You whine, scraping at his chest. “Dean, feels so good, so fucking good-“

“I know.” He coos. “Made for me, getting so fucking stupid on my cock- Open.”

He slaps your cheek lightly, and your lips part. Dean feeds you his cum, other hand rubbing up and down your spine, and you grind down onto him with need.

“Good girl, fuckin’- Christ you’re so good-“ His thrusts get shorter, brutal and uneven. “You’re mine, this sweet pussy is mine, gonna- Gonna fuckin’ worship you, fuck-“

He drills up into you, taking his hand away to bounce you how he likes.

You both cum, Dean calling your name and throwing his head back, watching you under hooded, still hungry eyes.

There’s a second to catch your breath, as he palms your breast. Pinches a nipple, rolling it between his fingers, watching how you arch into his touch.

“You like that?” He grunts, and you hum.

“Feels good.”

“Damn right it does.” He grabs the other one, working them in tandem.

You whine his name, looking at him under pleading lashes.

Dean groans. “Fuck, baby…”

He’s hard again, and you’re being moved into another position.

By the time he finds one he wants to keep, you’re a disaster of a woman. Making sounds that are supposed to be his name, boneless below him and still trying to chase more, even as your body turns into a raw, live nerve.

Dean’s got you under him again, his body pressed over yours, cock plunging in and out of your pussy at a lazy, torturous pace. You’ve been like this for what must be an hour, maybe a day, maybe fifty years. Tears of pleasure are stained on your cheeks, there’s a wet sound with every thrust as his cum leaks out of your stuffed hole, and Dean’s praise is becoming more and more lucid.

“I love you.” He mutters, and you moan, turning your head to try and kiss him.

“Dean…”

“I know.” He mutters. “I know, baby, but you’re doin’ so good. Feeling better, almost done, just gotta-“

He kisses over your face, finally capturing your lips as he starts to rut, pounding into your swollen g-spot over and over.

You barely have the energy to arch up, when you cum. You breathe out his name, pussy clenching as you feel that last bit of his cum squirt into you, and a wet, hot feeling floods your pussy as your vision goes white.

“Love you.” Dean’s still muttering as you float through the haze, his lips pressed over yours. “Loved you forever, never- Never thought-“

His voice cracks, and you know the curse is over. He’s not getting hard again inside of you, not trying to chase more.

Just pressing his face into the crook of your neck and holding you tight, words muffled against your skin.

“Thank you.” He mutters. “Thank you for- For sayin’ it back, even if that wasn’t-“

“It was,” you breathe out. He needs to know. “I love you, Dean. Have for longer.”

He chuckles, squeezing your body, and you smile into the air.

You find the strength to thread your fingers through his hair, and he hums, pressing a sweet kiss to your sensitive skin. You shiver, whining softly, and he chuckles again. Both of you too fucked out to move. You’re not sure you’re going to be able to walk in a straight line for a month.

But it was worth it.

Holding Dean here, so peacefully, was more than worth it.

Tonight was your fifth “non-date” that definitely counted as a date, and this time, you’d invited him over for dinner. Real dinner. At your place. No fancy clothes, no takeout. No BS. Just food. Homemade, hearty, and a lot of it.

Because one thing had become crystal clear in the short time you’d known him. Chris Redfield needed to eat for three. And for some reason, the thought of feeding him, properly, intentionally, had filled you with an odd sense of satisfaction. Something intimate. Something grounding.

You weren’t trying to impress him. 

You just wanted him to sit down, relax, and for once, maybe, feel looked after. 

Your small kitchen smelled divine by the time he arrived.

Garlic, rosemary, slow-cooked meat, caramelised onions, the kind of scent that hugged the air and clung to your clothes. Youd made herb-roasted chicken thighs, golden and crispy. Honeyed carrots. Creamy mash. Thick gravy from the pan drippings. Homemade sourdough rolls warming in the oven. And a buttery apple crumble sitting on the windowsill like something out of a fairy tale. 

You weren’t nervous. But you were aware, of the effort, the timing, the little voice in your head hoping it wasn’t too much. 

He knocked on your door right on time, of course. 

You opened it, apron still tied, hair a bit mussed from the kitchen heat. 

And there he stood. Chris Redfield. Six feet of bulk, beard, and probably five concealed weapons, wearing a soft black t-shirt and jeans that looked like sin on his thighs. His expression warmed the second he saw you. 

“Hey,” he said, low and gruff as ever.

“Hi,” you smiled. “Come in. dinner’s just about ready.”

He stepped inside, taking in the smell with a slow inhale. 

“Jesus,” he muttered. “you didn’t have to-“ 

“I wanted to,” you cut in, flicking off the oven and tossing the apron onto a hook. “And you’re going to sit your tactical ass down and let me feed you, understood?”

Chris blinked, then huffed a quiet laugh through his nose. “Understood.” 

You served him a plate that could’ve fed a small army. Chicken thighs piled high, potatoes like clouds, vegetables so soft they practically melted, and gravy ladled over everything. 

You own plate was about half the size, because you knew his appetite, had watched it, noted the rhythm of it. Noticed how he always finished everything without complaint, and yet sometimes still looked…… unsatisfied. Like he could’ve eaten more if it wasn’t rude. 

So this time, you gave him permission. Quietly. Thoughtfully. With a plate full of love. 

He didn’t speak for a while, just ate, slowly at first, like he didn’t want to seem rude, then with increasing comfort. He made a soft, surprised noise after. The first bite of chicken.

“This is….. damn,” he said, mouth half-full. “You really cooked.” 

You shrugged. “I had a hunch you eat like a bear after hibernation.” 

He paused, eyes flicking to yours.

“I mean that with love.” 

His lips twitched, chewing thoughtfully. “It’s accurate.” 

You grinned, cutting into your carrots. “I figured. So I made enough for you to have seconds. Or thirds. Maybe fourths.” 

Chris gave a soft exhale. It might’ve been a laugh. It might’ve been something else.

For a man who spent most of his time commanding rooms and barking orders, it was the quiet moments that fascinated you, the way his eyes softened, how his shoulders slowly dropped. Like armour being set aside. 

He finished his plate clean, then hesitated. 

You stood and wordlessly brought him seconds.

He looked up at you as you set the plate down, something unreadable in his gaze. 

“Thank you,” he said, and his voice was different now. Quieter. Almost hoarse.

You blinked, taken slightly aback by the way he looked at you, like you’d just done something far more intimate than roast chicken. Like you’d handed him something fragile. Or important. 

“It’s just dinner,” you said, smiling gently.

Chris tilts his head. “No. its not.” 

You didn’t speak for a moment, letting the silence stretch. Letting him feel it. Letting yourself feel it too.

“I noticed how much you eat,” you said finally. “That’s all.” 

“No one’s ever noticed before,” he murmured. “Or…. They did, but never like this.” 

You watched him take another bite, slower now. As if savouring not just the food, but the moment. The meaning behind it. 

After dinner, you both sat on the sofa, nursing warm mugs of tea while the apple crumble cooked. Chris looked full. Satisfied. Sleepy, even. 

You watched him lean back, one hand resting on his stomach, eyes half-lidded. 

“Alright, bear?” you teased.”

“Could hibernated right here.” 

“On my sofa?”

He cracked an eye open, “Your lap’s softer.” 

Your heart stuttered.

“Cheeky.”

Chris smiled, a real one this time. Lopsided. Private. Like you were the only one allowed to see it.

A long pause stretched between you. The air warm. The soft sound of the city beyond you window. 

Then: “can I ask you something?”

You looked at him. “Anything.”

Chris sat forward slightly, mug in both hands. “Why’d you do all this? I mean, its only been a few weeks, you didn’t have to…”

You smiled softly. “Because I like you. And I wanted you to feel…. I don’t know. cared for. Nourished. Like you could stop running for a bit.” 

Chris didn’t answer straight away. He just stared at you, eyes dark and steady, something unspoken blooming behind them.

The he set his mug down, leaned in, and kissed you, slow and warm, like molasses. Like gratitude and yearning and something dangerous growing deeper by the second. 

And when he pulled back, forehead resting against yours, he whispered: 

“You’re dangerous, you know that?”

You laughed, breathlessly. “Me?” 

“Yeah,” he murmured. “You’re gonna ruin me with this.” 

You kissed him. 

“Here’s your check, sweetheart,” she said, bringing a small rectangular paper to brush against your fingertips.

“Thank you,” you replied as you took it from her. Your eyes immediately made their way back to the storm outside that grew worse by the second.

She followed your gaze, her palm staying in place on your shoulder. Unlike you, Ada’s face remained composed. She wasn’t worried in the slightest. She’d known this storm was coming. It was an integral part of her plan for tonight.

But despite her internal calmness, she furrowed her dark brows and injected some worry into her tone.

“It’s getting bad out there. That snow is just piling up,” she proclaimed, “There’s no way you should be driving in weather like that.”

Reluctantly, you nodded. Your thoughts had been reaching the same conclusion. You were just hesitant to voice them because after a long day of work, you yearned for the comfort of your apartment. It was finally the weekend, and your plush bed and soft sheets called to you. You’d been dreaming of the quiet between those walls all day. The privacy to do whatever you wanted that you didn’t have when you were here for most hours of the week. 

Make no mistake, you loved your job as the Kennedys full-time nanny, but regardless of your enjoyment, it was still work that required a lot of attention and labor. Their daughter was the sweetest child you’d ever met; however, carting her to and from dance class and kindergarten along with making her food, playing with her, and putting her down for naps piled up on you.

“Maybe if I leave now, I can make it…” you thought aloud.

“Oh please. Honey, you live across town. You’d have to take the highway, and people drive crazy as is. I should know, my husband is one of them,” she joked.

Your brows raised at the mention of Leon. You hadn’t even thought about how your other employer would get home tonight. You looked over your shoulder at her again. “Do you think he’ll be ok? It’s coming down really hard out there,” you said.

“Oh he’ll be fine,” she waved off, “His friend is giving him a ride home tonight. I’m sure they’ll make it in one piece.”

Releasing a small breath of relief, you nodded again.

“It’s really no problem if you stay,” she continued, “We have the guest room all set up. It has a bathroom attached, so you’d have total privacy. And I wouldn’t make you watch Christina or anything if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Oh no,” you reassured, “It’s not that, don’t worry. I just don’t want to be a burden on you and Mr. Kennedy.”

“You’re never a burden on us. With all you do for Christina, you’re practically part of the family. I wouldn’t want you driving off and getting into an accident just because you didn’t want to impose. I’m sure you know that we have more than enough space in this house,” she said and ran her hand over your bicep down to your wrist. Her manicured nails scraped over your skin, eliciting a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

You felt a simmer of heat in your chest upon hearing those kind words coming from her painted lips. That combined with the teasing touch had your heart pumping a little faster in your chest. It was something you rarely thought about, but maybe, just maybe, a tiny part of why you enjoyed this job so much was because both of your employers looked like reoccuring stars in people’s wet dreams all over the world.

“Thank you. I would really appreciate it,” you answered, your prior trepidation dissolving under the heat of her gaze. You slid your check into your purse and then placed the bag back down on the end table by the door.

She smirked, though she tried to make it appear as an earnest smile. Of course, Ada sensed the little crush you had on her and her husband. It wasn’t hard to tell given the way you preened in the face of the slightest of compliments or gave them the look a puppy would give its owner whenever they praised you for your hard work.

“Great,” she said, “Come with me. I’ll put on some dinner. We’ll get you fed and then I’ll show you to your room and be out of your hair for the night.”

Her slender fingers clasped around your hand, guiding you back through that archway and towards the kitchen. The two of you passed by a few family portraits and expensive paintings before reaching your destination - the luxurious kitchen that probably held a value higher than all the money you’d made in your life.

You could fit about six of your kitchens in this one. That would be another nice thing about staying here for the night, getting to use the high end items they had stocked rather than the odds and ends you owned.

She led you across the gray marble floors over to the spacious island, all but sitting you down on one of the stools.

“You just relax for a few minutes, and I’ll work on the food,” she said.

You took your seat, not willing to protest her hospitality further. Your eyes scanned around the kitchen you’d become so familiar with over the last year. She walked into the pantry for a couple seconds, returning with a box and some small containers before setting them on the counter.

“You like pasta?” she asked.

“Who doesn’t?” you responded.

She let out a small laugh at that. “No wonder Leon likes you so much. A girl after his own heart.”

Your heart fluttered at the idea that Mr. Kennedy liked you. Before hearing that, you didn’t suspect he had any problems with you. In fact, he let you know all the time that he was pleased with your performance and couldn’t ask for anyone better to take care of Christina. But appreciating you and liking you were two separate things, the latter of which gave you that warm feeling in your stomach.

In the corner of the counters, Ada bent down to grab a pot. Your eyes went with her, dragging along her figure to where her form-fitting black slacks covered the swell of her ass. As soon as you realized you were staring, you averted your gaze. You pushed out any further thoughts about how her red blouse was probably unbuttoned at the top, allowing a clear view of her breasts down the front of the shirt.

She stood back up with the pot in hand and filled it with some water. Tapping the electric stove to life, she put it on to boil. You watched as she poured some oil in the water and then grabbed a pan to put on for what you assumed would be the sauce.

With both pieces heating up, she moved to the cabinets up above. She reached for the one next to the section that held all of Christina’s dishes, her sippy cups and princess plates. The cupboard you took from most of the time you were here.

Instead of grabbing a Little Mermaid themed piece of tupperware, her hand retrieved two wine glasses. She spun around to face you and brought the fragile items over to the island. After placing them in front of you, she stepped into a nearby alcove, the place you knew they kept all the liquor.

She came back with a nice bottle, something more rich than you’d ever drink on your own. Popping it open, she went to pour, but you interrupted.

“I don’t really need any,” you said with a timid smile.

While you weren’t a prude about drinking under other circumstances, Ada was still your boss. Being under any kind of influence around her held a risk you didn’t find worth taking.

She just smirked at you though, not making any effort to conceal it this time.

“C’mon, loosen up a bit,” she coaxed, “You’re not on the clock. You’ve been working all week, even later today since I was late. Take it as my apology.”

“You don’t have to apologize. You paid me for the overtime,” you replied.

“Still. Keeping you longer than expected on short notice is inconsiderate,” she said. 

She rounded the counter with the bottle and your glass in hand. Upon reaching you, she set the glass down directly in front of you with the bottle beside it. The proximity left no room for hesitation. One of her hands came up, brushing across the back of your neck to rest on your shoulder like it had earlier.

“You’re not saying no because you think this is some sort of test, do you? Because I wouldn’t bother with something like that, sweetheart. I was young once too,” she told you. You swore she was leaning in closer as her voice became more of a purr next to your ear, but you didn’t dare look. “I know how good a drink can feel after a long week. You’re human. My husband and I don’t expect you to be a child-friendly saint even when you’re not working,” she continued.

Her fingers rubbed miniscule circles on the cloth of your top. You still didn’t think it was the best idea to drink around your boss, but Ada had never given you a reason not to trust her. It was quite the opposite. Most days, the Kennedys seemed too good to be true.

You knew they were human. Occasionally while speaking to you, they’d slip in a jab about the other or allude to some sort of marital problem that sprouted up after years of being together. They’d make mistakes like coming home late or forgetting to tell you that Christina’s dance lesson had been canceled until you were already on the way there.

But when it came to their relationships with you, they were absolute dreams. They gave you expensive gifts for your birthday and Christmas. Paid you above what was the standard for nannies in this area. Talked to you like someone they were interested in rather than a person they were forced to interact with. And hell, now they were offering up their home to you when you needed it.

“Alright. If it’s ok with you,” you agreed.

“That’s what I like to hear,” she said and tilted the bottle towards your glass.

Deep red liquid spilled into the curved dish. She wasn’t shy with how much she gave you, that was for sure. You could already smell that heady aroma swirling around the air.

“You can have as much as you’d like. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, we want you to feel at home here with us,” she said.

Before she walked away, her hand swept down your back, stroking it with a domineering, almost maternal sort of affection. It sent another round of chills through your body. You reached for the wine glass and gripped the stem hard. It was probably for the best that she and her husband weren’t actually around for most of your work here if this was how you reacted to a simple touch.

You brought the glass to your lips and sipped some of the liquid as she poured her own. After taking down some of the drink to numb your responsive nerves, you set it down again. You didn’t want to over-indulge.

“I really do feel at home here. I wasn’t saying no because I’m not comfortable with you. I just really care about what you and Mr. Kennedy think of me. I wouldn’t want you thinking you hired someone irresponsible to watch over your daughter,” you explained. What was left unspoken was that you didn’t want either of them thinking you were trashy in your own right either.

She nodded and stirred the bubbling sauce on the stove. She had to stop herself from saying I know. “That’s good. But you don’t need to worry so much. Both me and my husband think very highly of you,” she said instead.

A rush coursed through you upon hearing that. You smiled and raised your glass again, ingesting some more of the intoxicating liquid.

She watched out of the corner of her eye. It was a struggle to keep quiet and not fawn over how adorable you looked when you got all giddy. She kept her attention on dinner though, adding the noodles when the water reached a boil and spicing the sauce.

There was nothing she needed to say right now. She’d just be quiet and let you nurse that drink. It wasn’t that she needed the alcohol for what she wanted to do tonight. She could probably seduce you right now without much effort if she so desired. But tonight had been well-planned out, and for all the effort she put into it, she was gonna get everything she wanted out of it.

Ada had wanted you since the day they hired you. She could still remember the cute little outfit you wore on that Sunday you showed up for your interview. A nice plaid skirt with a dark sweater up top. Objectively modest but still attractive enough to garner attention. You’d been so polite, sitting with your ankles crossed and perfect posture. She could tell you were fighting off nerves with each answer you gave her and Leon. You were only the second candidate they’d met with, but Ada dismissed any other option before you’d even said your goodbyes.

That craving for you only became more intense over the last month or so. She’d had enough of coming home to you passed out on the couch, all sprawled out and vulnerable but not being able to take advantage. She was sick of only feeling grazes of the silken nature of your skin as she caught you before and after your shift.

That was why she calculated everything for tonight down to the minute. It would go off without a hitch. This wasn’t one of Leon’s missions that stumbled along and almost collapsed at multiple points before barely reaching the correct target. No, she’d thought this through.

By the end of the night, she would have you in the palms of her and Leon’s hands. She’d known this snow storm was coming, and she’d intentionally stayed a little later at work so that she’d be home by the time it was already raging outside and you’d put Christina to bed. She’d have the guest room for you, but you wouldn’t have any of your own belongings, which meant she’d have chances to lure you into her territory. She’d get you all peaceful and pliant by giving you a nice dinner and a fair amount of drinks. Everything would play out just like she intended it to.

She longed to see you at a baser state without any of your usual modesty impeding on your desires. She wanted you all giggling and cute, falling into her arms and spreading your legs without even being asked. You would love it. She just had to show you that.

She hummed to herself at a low volume while finishing up the food. Combining the curled pasta with the creamy sauce, she scooped two helpings onto each plate and made her way over to you with the dishes.

The two of you sat at the island, eating and drinking and talking. The conversation started on Christina but moved around to your personal life and her job among other subjects. She made sure to top off your wine whenever it got close to being empty.

“I know this job must keep you pretty busy, but do you do anything outside of it?” she eventually asked, “Maybe school or some other interests taking up your time?”

“Um… well,” you answered, “I tried out school for a while, and it wasn’t really the best fit for me… I messed around with some other things, and you know how that goes.”

A little laugh slipped from your lips. Your words were definitely more free-flowing than usual.

“Well there’s nothing wrong with taking things day by day,” she replied with a warm smile. She took a sip of her own drink before continuing her point. “You’re still young. You could stumble on something you don’t even know about right now.”

“Exactly!” you responded, all too excited to have someone agree with you, “That’s exactly how I feel. Like you know, this job. I feel like I won the lottery with you guys most days I’m here.”

“That makes me so happy to hear,” she said.

“It’s the truth. Ugh, the kids I babysat in high school were nightmares. And their parents barely paid me anything. I wasn’t even allowed to eat the food at the house. It was horrible. But you guys, you’re perfect I swear. Christina is so sweet and funny and smart. And this house is great. And you and Mr. Kennedy, you two… you’re like dreams,” you rambled.

“Really?” she asked with mild amusement. She set her drink down and leaned forward on her forearms.

The way your eyes widened and your lips parted, you looked like a little fish upon realizing how your last statement sounded. “I just mean you guys are like so great to work for. My favorite job I’ve ever had for sure,” you added.

She reached out, laying her smooth hand on your wrist. “That’s so sweet of you, honey. You’re great to have around too. Much better than our last nanny,” she said, “She always had some complaint about something, and her hours never ended up being consistent. Plus, she wasn’t as cute as you.”

The statement struck you like a bolt of lightning. You were sure your eyes widened to the size of gold medals. Heat oozed up from your chest into your face. This honestly felt like a dream. In reality, you were supposed to think your boss was hot. You were supposed to thirst after them, pine for moments of reciprocation that would never actually happen. But one just did.

“Oh, thank you,” you shrugged, an involuntary smile pulling at your mouth.

A low, knowing laugh echoed from her without her lips ever breaking that calculated smile. Ada’s rich eyes stayed on yours, not letting you get a reprieve from eye contact that lasted longer than a handful of seconds. Her fingertips massaged little circles onto your wrist as you spoke. The light touches felt like the tips of sparklers against your skin. Each one sent tingling warmth up your arm down to your belly.

“Oh come on, don’t look so nervous,” she said, “You must get compliments like that all the time. You’re a very pretty girl.”

Again, you shrugged. “I guess,” you answered. The weight of her attention pressed on you, causing your gaze to lower to your lap.

She didn’t let you get away though. One of her hands ventured up to cup your jaw and pull your face upright. Her fingers lingered there as she stared at you. The curled, the flat backs of her knuckles smoothing across your cheek.

“Do you have a boyfriend? Or a girlfriend?” she asked.

Your pulse thundered in your ears. You shook your head no.

She hummed in response. Her fingers continued exploring the expanse of your cheek before dropping to lie on your shoulder.

“That’s good. No need to tie yourself to one person at your age. Though you do deserve someone to take care of you,” she said.

That dull heat in your stomach had long outgrown something so mild. It festered into full arousal by this point, a need hot and pulsating between your thighs. You bit your lip. It was all you could do to keep yourself from squirming in an attempt to grind on the stool.

“I can take care of myself,” you said, though the tone of your voice alone called the truth of that claim into question.

She laughed softly, the sound light and condescending. Her hand glided back and forth along your shoulder in short strokes.

“I’m sure you can, sweet girl. But you shouldn’t have to. You spend all week caring for someone else. You deserve to relax in your free time and have someone take over,” she said.

A visible shiver ran through you. Your teeth dug into the inside of your lip harder as you looked at her now.

“That does sound kind of nice,” you agreed.

She nodded along and brought her hand back to your face. One set of her nails lightly scraped along the frame of it, trailing down after to stroke your jaw. The sensation was enough to make your eyes flutter and send another small burst of desire through you.

“Of course it does,” she said, “You work so hard. You shouldn’t have to go home and cook or do dishes or laundry. You’re probably so tired by the time you get there.”

A hazy sigh puffed out from your mouth. “Yeah sometimes,” you confirmed.

“Mhm. Poor baby,” she cooed, “Someone should be there, letting you rest, doting on you like the precious thing you are.”

Now you felt as though you were glowing. Your breaths came in deep, lifting your chest up and down with each breath. A lazy, blissful smile sat on your features as your dreamy gaze fixated on her. Everything really was starting to feel like a dream. If you weren’t so captivated, you might have tried pinching yourself.

She chuckled at the expression before standing up. Her palms swept down to your shoulders again.

“You look tired, honey. We should probably get you some clothes to sleep in and then send you off to bed,” she said.

“Sounds good to me,” you said and started to rise from the stool yourself.

“Perfect. Just finish this off for me, sweetheart,” she said and lifted your glass to your hand again. It was nearly empty, but it couldn’t hurt having you drink a few drops more.

Denying her didn’t even occur to you in this condition. You brought the drink to your lips and swallowed the remainder while she cleared the counter of other dishes. 

In the blink of an eye, she was back at your side. One of her arms slipped around your waist while the other held your shoulder.

“Good girl,” she praised, “Come with me.”

Again, you followed the order without a trace of resistance. You walked alongside her down the path you had come. This time around you leaned into her for support. Your head felt cloudy. A sense of dizziness pervaded every movement you made. She watched with pure satisfaction as she led you to the hall.

“There you go. We’re almost there,” she cooed as if you didn’t know the layout of the house.

You passed the front door and turned into the area that held the doors to one of the bathrooms and the office space. At the end of the small corridor, she opened up the double doors that led into her and Leon’s room. Despite being here five days a week, you rarely ever went in here. You could use one hand to count the number of occasions in which you ever needed to cross this threshold.

The decor was much darker than the rest of the house. Shades of gray morphed into dark black in here. Obsidian drapes framed the window, separated at the moment to let the moon shine through. All the furniture was crafted in deep tones of wood. The rug sprawled across the floor was nearly pitch black, spare the thin red designs sewn throughout.

You took it all in as if it was brand new to you. She paid your curiosity no mind and sat you down on the edge of her bed.

“Stay here for me. I’ll go find you something that fits you,” she said, running her hand over your head as if you were a prized pet.

You obeyed like one, not moving as she stepped away and into the walk in closet in the corner of the room. Your palms spread out on the bedding. The plush comforter tickled your fingers. It had to be one of the softest things you’d ever felt. Much different than the ratty old throw blankets you had on your bed back home.

A sigh seeped from your lips, and you found yourself laying back against the luxurious surface. You spread your arms out as though you were making angel wings in the snow outside. What would it be like to come home to this every night? To work hard all day and then be able to really relax in a place like this? To unwind with each one of your bosses at your side tending to you?

As these thoughts danced through your mind, you felt a hand grasp your thigh. You popped your head up to find Ada before you again, a couple pieces of clothing draped over her arm.

“Don’t fall asleep on me yet,” she teased.

“I wasn’t. Sorry. Your bed is just like really comfy,” you said with a small giggle as you sat up.

“Isn’t it? We just got this one last year. Leon loved our old one, but I just find this one so much easier to sink into,” she agreed.

“Mhm. For sure,” you said, nodding your head up and down with too much enthusiasm for the subject.

That didn’t matter though. Ada didn’t think she could find one thing wrong with you right now if she tried. Beside you, she laid out the few things she’d taken from the closet.

“I wasn’t really sure what type of clothes you liked to sleep in or what you would fit so I brought a few for you to choose from,” she said.

With a gentle hand, she directed your attention to the outfits on the mattress. There were two, and they looked like night and day. Two opposites with no neutral middle. 

The one on the left consisted of a small black camisole, one that had to belong to Ada. A pair of silky, navy blue shorts sat with them, another find from her side of the wardrobe. Next to those two was a large gray sweatshirt and some flannel pajama pants, probably her husband’s if you had to guess.

Your eyes lingered on each. It appeared as though you were taking your time to decide, but really you just couldn’t stop trying to picture the clothing on their owners’ bodies. You imagined Ada’s soft curves covered by the thin cloth, her smooth thighs emerging from the shiny fabric of the shorts. Images of Leon flickered in your head too, the sleeves of that shirt rolled up to his elbows and leaving his forearms exposed. The plaid pajama pants hanging low on his hips and giving you a nice view of his v-line.

While you stared at your options, she angled herself behind you, lifting one knee onto the bed. Her hands landed upon your shoulders to gently massage.

“Pick whatever you want. It’s totally up to you. You can take one or the other or combine the two. Maybe layer a bit since it’s so cold,” she whispered. She had leaned in right next to your ear. Her lips brushed your skin with every word.

It took everything you had not to whimper for more from her. Under normal circumstances, you would be squirming out of your skin, stuttering and awkwardly trying to justify her affection for you. But right now, you leaned back into it, letting the warmth flow through you.

She smiled and snaked her arms around your body, holding you tight against her. “I’ll have to buy you some clothes to keep here in case this ever happens again. We’ll keep a cute little wardrobe for you in the guest room, so you can stay whenever you like,” she added.

That pulled another giggle out of you along with growing the lazy smile on your face. “I’ll take both of these,” you finally decided and pulled the two tops toward yourself. You messily bundled both pieces into your lap.

“Great. But you still need some pants, sweetheart,” she teased.

“But I don’t like sleeping in pants,” you said and looked up at her with earnest eyes.

She reveled in your thoughtless confession but played it cool. “Are you sure? The bed upstairs has a lot of blankets and the heat should be on, but I wouldn’t want you getting cold,” she offered.

You shook your head. “I’ll be ok, but thank you,” you answered.

Standing up, you swayed on your feet a little. She rose from the bed herself and moved the rejected pairs of pants to the dresser nearby. When she turned to you and caught the wobbly nature of your stance, she moved in like a viper through tall grass and grabbed you by the elbow.

“Why don’t you just change in here? You know that way if you don’t like anything you won’t have to stumble up and down the stairs. Plus you can just leave your clothes here, and I’ll put them in the wash in the morning,” she said, making the offer as if it was based on a genuine desire to help you.

You blinked at her. “Like… change in here? In the bedroom?” you checked.

She nodded, her fingers gliding up your arm. “Mhm. We’re both girls, honey. No need to be shy. I’ll even turn around if you want me to,” she said in a way that somehow soothed you and set your whole body on fire.

You felt like a fireworks show was going off in your stomach. The adrenaline rushing through your veins made you light-headed, and the wine probably didn’t help. You couldn’t think of a reason to say no.

“Alright,” you agreed with a heavy breath.

“Good girl,” she praised with a squeeze to your shoulder.

You felt your clit throb between your legs. At this point, you knew you’d probably have to rub one out as soon as you reached the privacy of the guest room.

Turning around, you dropped the two shirts back on the bed. Without much hesitation, you started to undress. Your shirt was first to go. You tucked your fingers beneath the hem and peeled it off.

Ada’s gaze focused completely on you as she saw the soft skin of your back completely exposed. This was the most important part of the night. If she messed up here, all of it would have been for nothing. She hadn’t planned out every minute movement she would make, but she could think on her feet. This would work.

She headed over near the closet entrance again but didn’t venture inside. She stood right outside in front of the full length mirror, a seemingly reasonable position where she was sure you’d be able to see her if you turned around.

Bending down, she unbuckled her heels and then kicked them to the side. She undid her slacks next and shimmied them off to pool around her ankles.

You heard the rustling of the fabric and the clicks of unfastening. It didn’t register in your mind what they would be coming from until you glanced over your shoulder and spotted her. Your jaw fell open while your eyes bulged from their sockets. You were pretty sure you stopped breathing in the middle of removing your bra.

She stood there as if nothing about this was odd. Her fingers worked on undoing the buttons on her blouse, parting the two sides and revealing a sliver of her skin. Her legs were already out in the open, all for your eyes to see.

In the reflection of the mirror in front of her, she caught your wide-eyed stare. She spun around to face you head on. She unhooked the last button. Her shirt fell open, allowing you to see her flesh from her navel to her collar bone. Underneath the blouse, she still had on a lacy bra and matching panties.

Not missing a beat, she just chuckled and walked closer. “Did you get stuck, honey? Need some help?” she asked.

She approached your frozen form and brought her hands to your shoulders where your bra straps sat. Using her nimble fingers, she guided the thin pieces down your arms. The entire garment fell away and dropped to the floor in front of you.

“There you go. Let mommy help you,” she whispered.

This time you actually couldn’t tell if the words were real or imagined. They’d been so hushed, so faint, but you would swear on anything that you felt them fan over your neck.

She moved to your jeans next, flicking the button open and tugging the zipper loose. The denim crumpled under the force of her hands shoving them down. You stepped out of each pant leg before she kicked them aside along with your bra.

Her hands came to rest on your hips for a moment before gliding up your sides. They smoothed over your curves like streams of warm water. You felt the gentle pressure move from your sides around to your tummy. She was only teasing you right now. Her touches felt good, but they didn’t explore anywhere that would give you true pleasure.

“You have such soft skin,” she cooed.

“Thank you,” you hummed, preening under her touch.

“So tender and pretty. Perfectly smooth,” she whispered.

You were already melting under her hands, but she knew she could go further. She ducked in and kissed your neck. You moaned at the feeling, at her hot mouth latching onto your skin. She laid a few more there after to follow.

“Mmm, so sweet too,” she hummed.

You whimpered and let your head fall back onto her shoulder, leaving more of your neck accessible to her lips. She took advantage. Leaning in, she licked a stripe over your pulse and followed the trail of saliva with a series of kisses. Her teeth scraped across the sensitive flesh.

“A-ada…” you sighed.

“I’m right here, sweet baby,” she purred, “Does that feel good?”

“Mhm,” you whimpered.

“I bet it does. You’re so sensitive, aren’t you? Jumping under every touch. I was like that at your age too,” she teased.

Her hands broke the little patterns they’d been tracing into your stomach to float upward. One by one they each landed on your breasts. Her palms cupped the mounds and gave them a gentle squeeze.

“You have such a gorgeous body,” she said as she nuzzled the space behind your ear, “You’re so shy. So precious. Running around my house like a skittish little puppy.”

No words of protest or denial made their way out of you. It felt good to bask in her attention, to know that she saw you as something so delicate.

“I think I’m starting to understand why though,” she teased.

Her fingers went to your pebbled nipples, pulling and tweaking the sensitive nubs. You mewled and squirmed in her grasp.

“Mommy,” you whined, not caring if she had actually been the one to say it first.

“Mhm. Look at you, already calling me mommy. You were thinking about this, weren’t you baby? You’ve been wanting mommy to take care of you?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, not being coy about it.

She grinned against your neck before turning you around. Once you could see her, she displayed a much more seductive expression. “Let mommy take care of you then,” she said.

With caring hands, she guided you onto the bed and laid you against a mountain of the pillows near the headboard. She crawled above you, looking down at you like a panther that had just caught its next meal.

“Let me have a taste of those lips. See if they're as soft as the rest of you,” she murmured before lowering herself.

She connected her mouth to yours. Her lips engulfed your own in a kiss, her tongue teasing you. You reciprocated. Your lips parted as you moaned, granting her access. She didn’t waste any time. Her breaths came out heavier as she focused herself entirely on you.

As her mouth worked on you above, her hands continued roaming your body below. She groped your hips and explored your thighs. You gasped softly at the mix of sensations, rolling your hips up against nothing.

“So impatient, baby,” she breathed as she pulled back, “You act like such a good girl all the time, but I bet that leaves you so desperate, huh?”

“Mhm,” you whimpered.

She nodded and moved down to your neck again. Her mouth trailed over the skin with little pecks and soft sucks. The idea of leaving marks tempted her, but that could come later. She didn’t intend on this being her only time with you.

You felt her kisses migrate across your throat to your collarbone and down to the valley between your breasts. Her tongue played there for a moment, drawing out the moments before she would give you your first real taste of relief.

“Mommy, please,” you tried, eyes fluttering.

“So demanding,” she cooed. She moved her mouth to the right though and wrapped her lips around your nipple.

You arched your back off the bed and breathed out a whiny sigh. The tip of her tongue swirled around the bud. She laved at it, applying the perfect amount of pressure to get you squirming. Her hands massaged your waist in the meantime. She would make sure you felt good all over.

Your legs shifted around at the tingling building between your thighs. You craved some friction so badly, but she was still fixated on your chest. Her mouth released your nipple and planted one more kiss on it before she moved to the other and gave it the same treatment.

It got the same pleasured reaction out of you that only increased when one of her hands came up to toy with the sensitive peak that already experienced her mouth. You mewled without shame, digging her heels into the mattress.

She finally let it go as she had the other one, with a wet pop. Her eyes flitted up to you, taking in your breathless expression. After a couple seconds, she started kissing down your belly. She scooted herself down between your legs.

“You’re so needy,” she cooed, “No one’s taken care of you in so long. It’s left you aching.”

Her fingers ghosted over your thin panties, the ribbed fabric nowhere near as luxurious as hers. You watched her eyes follow her hands. The dark irises locked on your center. Her thumb traced the length of your cunt, grazing over your clit down to your leaking entrance. A nice wet patch began forming on the seat of your panties.

“That’s ok though. No one else could take care of you like mommy can. You’d be wasting your time.”

Your eyelids felt heavy as you watched her tug your panties off, drooping with the weight of your lust. You felt the cool air hit the glistening folds between your legs as soon as your lower half was free of the thin covering.

“So wet for me already,” she said, “That’s my good girl. Always so eager to please.”

She didn’t waste time teasing. Why would she? After months of coveting, she finally had you within her grasp, ready for the taking. She gripped your thighs and dove in, flattening her tongue against your soaked core. With a broad stroke, her tongue dragged over the slick flesh.

You mewled in response. A soft gasp accompanied the sound. She spotted your fingers gripping the bedding. So responsive from the simplest of touches. You were going to be fun.

She attacked your clit next. First, she treated it with little flicks of her tongue. Quick and repetitive, it stroked the tiny bud until you let out a pretty whine. She then latched her lips on, sucking on your pulsing bundle of nerves.

All the thoughts in your head melted away. The only thing you could do at this point was babble out a small collection of words including “mommy” and “please more.”

She got into it. All her focus trained on you. This was what she had been dreaming of for a year after all. Ever since she saw you in that little plaid skirt. She’d have to have you wear it again one of these days so she could eat you out under it.

Your thighs squeezed around her head as she lapped at your entrance. It felt good, a more dull kind of bliss than what she’d brought you before, but still good. She didn’t mind the pressure from your legs. Her nails dug into your tender flesh and kept you right in place to continue on with her task.

You trembled and twitched with the ecstasy coursing through you. Your eyes rolled back, your vision going out for a second. It felt as though your head was engulfed by drowsy clouds straight from the heavens. The few people you had been with before never made you feel like this.

Your head had lolled back for a moment in the throes of carnal pleasure. When your vision started to return, you brought it back up to look at her again. Only she didn’t catch your attention this time.

Instead your pupils landed on the shadowy figure at the double doors you had entered through.

You practically jumped out of your skin before you realized who it was. She felt you startle and briefly looked over her shoulder before returning her attention to your pussy. The person stepped forward, allowing moonlight to cast over their figure and show their face.

Leon.

“It sounds like you broke her already,” he said as he approached the bed. Making his way to your pair, he ended up standing beside you. His eyes scanned over your nude body, drinking in every inch of your figure.

“I told you I’d have her nice and warmed up by the time you came home,” she replied, shooting him a smile from the crux of your thighs.

Their words flew over your head. You couldn’t really hear them with how fast your heart was beating. God, how could you have been so stupid? You totally forgot about Leon until this very moment. Apparently, a few drinks was all it took to let your pussy take control. All you had been thinking about for the last half hour was how badly you wanted Ada, how beautiful she looked laying in front of you, devouring you whole. The fact that she was married with a husband completely slipped your mind.

“Mr. Kennedy, I’m so sorry. I- um- We just-” you stammered, incapable of coming up with any sort of defense for your actions.

But he didn’t look mad. He sat down beside your shoulder, gazing down at you with some sort of affection in his eyes.

“I think I’ve told you before that I prefer when you call me Leon, sweetheart,” he told you, petting your head.

Biting your lip, you leaned into the touch. Your eyes looked so sweet gazing up at him as you did. He felt his blood beginning to flow South in response. His hand continued stroking over your scalp before moving to your shoulder, feeling your soft skin beneath his fingers.

“She’s been such a good girl for mommy,” Ada praised from below before rubbing your clit rapidly with her middle and index finger. The quick motion drew a whiny moan from you, only adding to Leon’s arousal.

His eyes flicked between you and his wife. “You didn’t give her too much to drink, did you?” he asked.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “She only had a few. What do you take me for?”

“Well she looks a little out of it. I just thought I’d check. My mistake,” he said, rubbing your cheek with his thumb absentmindedly.

She laughed softly at that. “You know I’m good with my mouth, darling. I don’t need any help getting her to look like that.”

You whimpered as she reattached her mouth to your cunt. Turning your head, you squished your face against his thigh. Your hips bucked. You could feel your release building up, the urge to let go flourishing inside you. Your noises became more high pitched, more needy. He looked down at you with something resembling curiosity with a trace of adoration.

“That feel good, baby? Not too much for you?” he asked.

“N- no, feels- mmph! Feels good,” you choked out between labored breaths. The hand closer to him flew up to grab at his thigh. Your digits dug into the material of his pants as another whine erupted from you.

He swapped his leg for his hand, letting you squeeze his palm as hard as you wanted.

“That’s it. Good girl. Hold daddy’s hand. I’ve got you,” he hummed.

Ada let her hand take over again and brought her head up to watch the two of you.

“Are you close, honey?” she asked.

“Mhm,” you responded instantly.

“Good. I want you to cum for me, ok? Cum for mommy and daddy. We’re gonna get you all nice and wet before you take daddy’s cock,” she said with the sweetest smile on her face in contrast to her dirty words.

You jolted at the prospect. A sharp breath tore through you right before your orgasm did. Your body shook and convulsed, arching and rolling as if you were possessed. Vaguely, you could hear both of their voices. You couldn’t make out the exact words, but the tones were that of praise.

The world around you faded away as you came on her fingers. Your chest puffed up and down with heavy breaths, and your head went limp against Leon’s leg.

Moments later as you began to come down, you felt him shift your weight onto the pillows. His presence receded and more hushed words filled the room. You heard fabric crinkling and a belt hitting the floor.

The mattress dipped as he climbed back on. Your eyes cracked open in time to see him kneeling between your legs. His hands rested on your bent knees, fingers caressing your skin. 

Your eyes swept over one of the bodies you’d been imagining in recent months. You could see the few veins that marked his forearms and biceps. He was still muscular despite getting older, but he had begun to fill out a little with some softer flesh. Brown hair dusted the skin from his navel down to a thicker patch of it at the base of his cock.

Meanwhile, Ada landed by your side. You took a breath, and her scent overwhelmed you in place of Leon’s. Her curves pressed up against you. Your head rested against the cushion of her breasts while you could feel the smoothness of her belly against your arm.

She kissed the crown of your head, nestling her nose against your hair. “You ready for daddy, baby? I know he’s ready for you,” she whispered.

You nodded, watching Leon as he gave his cock a few tugs. His eyes remained soft even in the midst of his desire.

While Leon wasn’t the one who’d hatched this plan to get you here, that didn’t mean he was oblivious to your beauty. There was a reason he’d agreed to this in the first place. He’d become just as enamored with you in the same time his wife did. He couldn’t help it. Even though he knew it was such a cliche at his age, he couldn’t stop himself from lusting after the babysitter.

He was only human. It was only natural for his eyes to linger on your waist when you squatted down to say goodbye to his daughter. The flutter in his stomach when you hugged him from the side a few times was just a matter of instinct. It wasn’t his fault the sound of your laughter nearly had him drooling or that the sight of you carrying his child to the car made him weak in the knees.

At least that’s what he told himself. That it was just a harmless crush. Something he’d never act on or get to experience anywhere other than the little scenarios that played in his head while he jerked off in the shower.

But then he found out his wife had an interest in you too. Your name came up during an intimate moment of their own. Between kisses, Ada asked him what he thought of you. He had pulled back, confused by the sudden question (and slightly nervous that he’d have to discuss you while already half-hard).

“Uh… she’s good. Christina likes her. She’s sweet, responsible, hardworking. Little shy, but I’m sure that’s just when we’re around,” he’d shrugged.

“Not like that,” she’d rolled her eyes and leaned back in to kiss his neck, “What do you think of her? She’s young, pretty, looks at you like you hung the stars. Don’t tell me you’ve never had a little babysitter fantasy before, darling.”

At first he’d thought it was a test. He denied it, proclaiming that was wrong. He only had interest in his wife, and you were just trying to do your job. The fact that you were easy on the eyes meant nothing to him. He didn’t care about your sparkling eyes or soft lips or nice curves. He didn’t notice the sweet sound of your voice or any of your cute little mannerisms. Pffft. No way.

“That’s a shame. Because I think she’s beautiful. She’s just so sweet and cute, and she doesn’t even know. The only place she could look any better is lying between us. And you know she’d be so sensitive to every little touch. She’d whimper like a little puppy,” she whispered against his skin.

In that moment, all his guilt had zapped away. He groaned at her words, accepting them without hesitation. There was no jealousy on his end, absolutely no discomfort at the idea of his wife lusting for someone else. Not when that someone else was you.

Because it meant that he got to have you like he did right now, spread out before him all blissed out and pretty. He guided his length to your entrance and dragged the tip over your folds. It glided through your wetness, nudging your clit before falling back down.

“You sure you’re ready, princess?” he asked.

“Mhm. Pretty please,” you affirmed, natural puppy dog eyes on display.

“Look at you. So polite,” he mumbled.

He prodded the head at your entrance, popping it inside. For a few moments, that was all that entered you. He let you adjust to the intrusion and let himself get used to the vise-like clamp of your velvety walls. The few seconds were necessary if he didn’t want to humiliate himself by blowing his load in less than a minute.

After that time though, he began easing it inside of you inch by inch. You whined at the light stretch. Ada stroked your arm with one hand and caressed the swell of your breasts with the other.

“That’s right, honey. You’re taking him so well,” she crooned.

“Fuck, she’s tight,” Leon grunted.

Ada grinned at that before looking at you again. “Are you squeezing daddy nice and tight? Showing him where to go?” she teased.

You moaned and nodded while Leon groaned and shut his eyes. Ada kissed your cheek as her husband bottomed out. Her hand fell to your stomach, rubbing over it. He leaned forward. His palm pressed down next to you on the mattress to keep his balance. He hovered above you, blue eyes looking down with lidded awe.

Pulling his hips back, he rocked them forward again right after. He dragged his pelvis away and then brought it right back, flush against your core. You whimpered with each movement. The satisfying slide sent warmth through you each time.

“Atta girl. Taking it so well, just like mommy said,” he mumbled.

Now he pumped his hips with more dedication. He increased his speed. Exploratory moves became deliberate strokes. Leon settled into a rhythm. He swiveled his hips and angled the way he pistoned them based on the little noises you’d make and the expressions that took over your face. He paid close attention to it all, wanting to learn what you liked, what made you feel good.

Ada continued moving her hands along your form. One moment she played with your nipples, the next she held your hips, after that she pulled your knees up further. It was dizzying trying to keep up.

“Our sweet girl,” she cooed in your ear, “Precious baby. Maybe this should be your new job. You’re good at your other one, but I think we’d like having you all to ourselves.”

Leon groaned again, his head hanging forward. Although the words had been directed at you, they had just as much of an effect on him.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you, baby?” he asked, “Sitting around and looking pretty. Letting us spoil you like you deserve”

“You know she would. Do you even have to ask?” Ada said, “She’d love it. Spending the day kneeling between your legs while you work, using that mouth of hers whenever you want.”

“She could spend some with you too. Sit on your lap and let you play with her with one hand while typing with the other,”  he offered in return.

“And then one day, if she’s really good, maybe daddy will breed that cute little pussy and fuck a baby into her,” she whispered.

Leon’s hips snapped against you hard as you turned to eye her. The words broke you out of the spell his cock had you under before.

“What?” you asked.

She chuckled and cupped your jaw, giving you a patronizing kiss.

“What, sweetheart? You’d like that wouldn’t you? It’d make mommy and daddy so happy, you giving us another baby,” she said.

Your head spun at the idea. You blinked and sputtered. In your right, rational mind, you’d put a pause to this. But with a few drinks in you and one orgasm already under your belt, the idea didn’t sound all too bad. It’s not like you were gonna sign a contract or something. They weren’t even asking you to agree to anything right now. But just imagining it…

“You’d look so pretty, babydoll. Your hips all rounded out, all those curves nice and full, that cute stomach swollen with our baby,” Leon sighed.

Imagining it was in fact fun you decided. Your pussy clenched around him again before relaxing. You heard Ada moan softly beside you. Glancing over, you could see her fingers moving beneath her panties, working herself to the edge alongside you.

“You’d love it, honey. You’re made for it. And we’d take such good care of you, make sure you had everything you could want,” he added.

“Mmmm… daddy,” you babbled, unable to voice the full extent of your enthusiasm.

“Uh huh. Daddy’s right here. I’m gonna fill you up. You’re first little taste, yeah? I’ll get you nice and full so you know how it feels,” he moaned.

His bicep flexed as he continued to pound into you. Over and over, he slammed into your cunt. Ada continued moaning beside your ear. Her own noises were growing more desperate. You could feel her hips rocking up to meet her own touch.

“Daddy gonna- gonna- ah- gonna cum,” you whimpered.

“Go ahead, pumpkin,” he grunted, “Cum for daddy. Let me see my pretty girl let go.”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

You let release wash over you in a smooth wave. Your body writhed and twitched below his. You squirmed atop the blankets, letting your muscles melt into the plush comfort of them.

Next to you, Ada reached the high too. Watching you fall apart was the final straw in her own resolve. She bucked her hips and nuzzled into your throat while crumbling under the bliss of release.

Leon was the last one to join the club. He fucked you through your euphoria while approaching his own. When he finally hit it, a strangled moan burst from him. He fell forward against you, burying his face in the side of your neck not occupied by his wife. His hands gripped your hips and held them in place as he rolled his pelvis against your ass like a dog in heat. He fucked rope after rope of hot cum into you.

By the time he pulled out, you were nice and full just like he said you would be.

You were also undeniably sleepy. Your eyes were all but shut, and your body was curling up as though you were ready for a nap.

He stretched his arm out and pulled you against his side to rest. His other hand rubbed down your body, tenderly coasting over your soft skin.

“Such a good girl for us. You were so good,” he murmured, “Our sweet baby.”

Ada scooted near your back, her hand joining Leon’s in soothing you.

“Don’t keep her all to yourself,” she teased.

He rolled his eyes. “You had her to yourself hours before I got here,” he dismissed.

She smirked and pecked his lips before looking down at you. Leaning in, she nuzzled your ear. “Sleep now, baby. You need the rest. Daddy will carry you to bed in a little bit,” she whispered.

"leon?" your voice is quiet, soft-- you wish to gently break his slumber, hand gingerly patting his back.

he doesn't wake up. you call his name again, pat him a little bit harder. he still doesn't wake. you're insistent on avoiding rude awakenings, so you try this for a few more minutes, no longer groggy and now filled with a slight determination.

7:16am. you need to get ready.

you lean your head back into the pillow, glare at the ceiling.

here's another thing : leon s. kennedy is also a liar.

heavy sleeper, my ass, you think. he tends to be clingier after returning from missions, which is entirely understandable, and you truly do not mind, but you really, really, don't want to deal with another scolding from your boss. you still entirely, listen to the sound of his breathing.

yeah. he's awake.

"leon s. kennedy. you are awake."

he holds his breath instinctively. you feel it.

"listen, pretty boy. i gotta get ready for work." your fingers run through his messy bed head. "i need you to move."

he doesn't move. doesn't even react. he keeps up the facade.

7:19am. jesus christ, leon.

you pinch the bridge of your nose, let out a sigh. you try-- keyword being try, to sit up, but suddenly he's so much heavier, and you realize that he becomes dead weight just to make this so much harder-- which says a lot, because he's already incredibly muscular, and god, you think you can win against those arms? think again.

"leon, i swear--"

"call in."

when you lie back down, a means of waving the white flag, he finally looks up at you, blue eyes gentle and exhausted. there's something so incredibly tender in the way his gaze meets yours, hand reaching for yours as if it's instinct. you're the one holding your breath now, swallowing hard when he smiles that reserved smile that only you have the pleasure of seeing.

"stay with me, please." he squeezes your hand, once, twice, three times, and somewhere in that means an i love you, and you both know this.

you can't win. you can never win against him.

7:27am. oh, whatever, it doesn't matter anymore, you think, so you set your phone aside, focus on leon instead.

he notices the conflict in your eyes, then a brief contemplation, and the quiet admittance of defeat. he feels your body relax beneath his as you squeeze his hand four times, the kindest of smiles falling on your lips.

"fine, pretty boy. guess i'm sick, huh?"

"got a cold?"

"hm? sure."

he grins-- that shy little grin that you love so much, and you pinch his cheek, the curl of your lips growing ever so slightly.

"what a shame," he murmurs, "guess i should warm you up."

"i lied. suddenly i feel fine. i'm going to work."

the sunset has always brought peace to Leon. it was like a rinse, a reminder that his day was ending and starting for someone else across the globe.

a reminder that the day was fading into night and then would fade into morning then night again. it was a peaceful goodbye, silent and celebrated by some in the world. 

the orange, pink, blue, and purple hues brought warmth to his heart. the soft breeze blew up from the cliff and into his hair, his deep brown strands flicking into his eyes and ticking the heights of his cheekbones. his cheeks felt cold to the touch just like his heart. 

unlike the beautiful view and sunset, the peaceful breeze, and the silence, the storm inside Leon was the complete opposite. his skin was littered with ugly scars that he tried his best to hide. there was a storm inside of his heart, tornados destroying his peace, and noise in his head he couldn’t clear. 

he couldn’t sleep, worried about too many things he couldn’t handle or solve. he was tired but sleep only made him even more tired. the nightmares he’d face every night made it hard for him to stay asleep. he’d shoot up in a cold sweat, slapping his hands around his comforter looking for something … or someone. 

nothing can erase the image of that bling, the blinding reflection of a diamond, blinding his eyes from his view of you. it wasn’t any ordinary ring, it was a wedding ring. it hurt, more than any knife or bullet that has painted scars on his body.

he couldn’t believe it. he wanted to deny that even though it’s been so long, that there was still hope. hope for the two of you, that one day time and fate would bring you back together. 

but it seems like fate had other plans. someone else caught your eye, maybe he’s better, maybe he’s enough, maybe he can be there for you the ways Leon couldn’t. 

all while, Leon has been waiting. he stares into the sunset and it reminds him of the warmth of your skin and the shine of your smile. he is planted onto the ground instead of floating on a high like he was when he was with you. he cries and he doesn’t have you to hug him. 

he stirs in his sleep and he doesn’t have you to calm him. he gets home tired and he doesn’t have you to lull him into a peaceful sleep. he’d fall into the crook of your neck, practically putting all his weight on you and you’d accept it with your arms wide open. 

you could barely wrap your arms around him but you still tried, running your hand up and down his back, cooing into his ear and placing soft kisses to his tears. it’s funny how two people can go from cuddling skin to skin to absolutely nothing in a day. 

even though he’s seen every inch of your body, held you in your most vulnerable states, touched you in places no one else can, spoken to you about the future, he even met your family. all that only for you to treat each other like strangers. he’s nothing but a stranger now. it’s not fair. 

he should be the one getting down on one knee and proposing to you. he should’ve been the one to see you clasp your mouth in shock and watch the tears of joy well in your eyes. he should’ve slid that ring onto your finger, he should’ve been the one. 

that man that you married doesn’t even know your jewelry of choice. he had no taste. Leon knew you much better than that. 

his fist clenched in the pocket of his leather jacket. 

it should’ve been him. 

he jumped at the sound of a car door shutting behind him, his head whipping around and his muscles tensing.

it was you. 

you had just crawled out from your car — parked next to Leons. your facial expression was indiscernible but he could tell you were shocked to see him. though, you weren’t alarmed. he watched as you pursed your lips, “you’re here.” 

it was more of a statement rather than a question. the sound of your voice instantly stilled the storm in his mind. suddenly, there were clear skies and sunlight. no more rain and thunder. no more noise. just silence and peace. 

there you were, standing there so casually in a sweater and jeans. nothing has changed but at the same time so much was different. 

he shrugged, hands still in his pockets. 

“i’m here,” 

he watched your lips curve into a chuckle, he wasn’t sure if his heart had stopped or if his heart was racing at a rapid pace.

you were just as beautiful as the day he lost you. it left him speechless at how gorgeous you can be, in any setting, with any hairstyle, wearing any clothes — preferably his clothes. he loved it watching you dig through his dresser to pull out any old t-shirt. 

it’s all you would wear around the house. his clothes. 

your head dipped down as you walked towards him. slow footsteps, dead leaves at your feet crunching as you got closer and closer. he could feel his heart speed up with each step. blood rushing to the tip of his ears and his cheeks, now warm with a small blush. 

you slowed your steps down at a tree — your tree. your hand ran over the initials carved into the bark. your heart instantly stung at the sight and memories were quick to play in your head. 

it was a late night, both you and Leon had leaned up against this very tree. 

you two were enjoying the peace and he was pointing out the constellations in the sky. you weren’t keeping memory of what stars connected to make this instead, you were looking at him. listening to him speak. 

you always loved listening to his passions. 

there was a certain glimmer in his eyes that always captured your eye, that glimmer that indicated he was happy or excited. if you asked him what his favorite band was, he’d spark up, or even when you’d laugh at his horrible jokes. his eyes would gleam, his smile would grow and his face would no longer look so … tense. 

it hurts that you haven’t seen that look in a while. 

you smiled, tracing the tip of your finger over the ‘scar’. he had carved your initials into the tree and back then, it was still bright green and fresh. you remember laughing at how he struggled to carve a heart with the tip of his combat knife. it was cliche, something kids would do, but you were kids back then. free and in love. 

you let your hand fall back into the pocket of your jeans as you continued walking towards him. he kept his eyes on you the whole way, still as enamored as he was before. 

no, he couldn’t be. you were going to be married soon. 

“how are you?” he asked while clearing his throat. 

“i’m…” you paused looking out into the horizon. meanwhile, he was stuck looking at you. the orange light from the sun warmed up your skin beautifully, a natural glow highlighting the tip of your nose and your cheekbones.

he is reminded too much of the memories you two made when he looks at you. 

he loved kissing the tip of your nose and nudging the tip of his into your cheeks. you’d complain at how cold the tip of his nose was and then he’d instantly warm your skin with a kiss. 

“i’m alright, how about you?” you finished staring back at him. if you were being honest, you weren’t alright. you were having many many doubts.

did you get engaged too fast? are you even in love? should you have said yes? is he the right man? will the wedding be a disaster? who are you going to invite? 

all these thoughts were rushing through your head and you needed peace and quiet. so you went to the only place that could relatively give you that. your spot, the one you shared with your past lover. 

“i’m still standing, aren’t i?” 

you chuckled, such a Leon thing to say. 

“also, uh congrats,” his hand left his pocket and gestured down at your left hand. instantly, the cold weight of your wedding band became apparent to you and a chill ran through you. hiding your hand behind your back, you smiled up at him. 

you knew how much it hurt him, you could see the pain and the dullness in his eyes. they weren’t glimmering, he wasn’t happy. 

“thanks,” you smiled, timidly. 

“when’s the wedding?”

“um, don’t know, still trying to figure that out,” you breathed out, tucking a coil behind your ear. “just like everything else in my life,” you mumbled out the last part but Leon heard it all along with the fact that you were wearing earrings. 

~

‘i uh,’ he was bad at giving presents. he always was. he wasn’t sure if the recipient would like it or not. 

‘i got you these but-‘

‘Leon! ‘ he watched your eyes shoot open as he brought the small velvet box into your view. 

‘yes?’ he asked with a lift of his brow before flicking open the box. a set of beautiful earrings that were small and childish but they reminded him of you. 

‘oh! i love them!’ 

‘out of all the things i bought you, these are your favorite?’ he tsked, tucking your hair behind your ear as he prepared to put them on for you. 

‘i know but they’re cute,’

‘silly goose,’

~

he’s seen you happy many times before but that was pure joy. the way you jumped into his arms and hugged him with the grip of a gorilla. they were simple earrings from a small shop, but he watched as you grazed your fingers over them in awe. 

you asked how much they were and winced back at the price. nothing was too expensive to Leon, as long as it was for you. 

his heart dropped at the sight of those earrings, they don’t even match your necklace-

actually, they do.

~

‘babe, want this?’

‘huh?’ you turned towards him away from speaking with another employee. 

‘they match your earrings,’ he tapped at your earlobes causing them to jiggle. 

‘leon, it’s expensi-‘ you were cut off by him placing a finger to your lips while shaking his head. 

‘shush.’

‘you don’t have to.’ he smiled, placing a small kiss to your lips. 

‘i want to.’

~

you’re wearing the matching necklace as well. both contrasting against your ring. one being gold the other being silver. he knew how persistent you were about matching your jewelry to your outfits and to one another. 

you never wore gold and silver at the same time. so why?

your hair dropped back down in front of your face with a gust of wind, hiding away your earrings. 

Leon steered his attention away from you and back down to his feet, “your hair is longer,” he commented. 

you lifted your hand up and tugged at a strand of your hair, “oh yeah, i guess so,” 

you haven’t even noticed, funny how time moves so fast but yet so slow for you. it only feels like yesterday that you and Leon were up here, sitting on a blanket and watching the day fade into the night. your hair was much shorter back then. 

“it looks good, suits you,” 

“thanks,”

the tension was only getting thicker and thicker. this was the first time you two actually talked ever since … god knows when. when you two broke up maybe? it left a bitter taste on your tongue whenever you thought back to it. 

it reminded you that you and Leon rarely argued. you two both worked in the same field, you both understood the weight and responsibility it was to be an agent.

but sometimes, when you love someone so much, you tend to ball up a lot of emotions in order not to hurt them. 

it was about time that you both would explode. 

“why are you here?” you suddenly spoke up, finally cutting the tension down a little. 

“i’m thinking of you…” Leon spoke honestly, “of us,” 

he watched as you froze, eyebrows curving upwards and the corner of your lips dropping into a frown. 

“Leon-“

“i am happy for you,” he was quick to cut you off, raising his voice over yours. 

“stop,” you mumbled out, dropping your head to avoid his gaze. 

“but why? how…” he paused, collecting his anger. he licked his lips and looked down at you. he watched as you bit your bottom lip and screwed your eyes shut. 

“why couldn’t we work?” he asked pointing between the both of you. 

“we were hurt, Leon,” you sighed, blinking away a tear before it could fall as you looked up at him. when you met his blue eyes, your heart sank. he was so hurt. he was still hurt. even after years, he is still hurt. 

“and hurt people hurt people.”

his sad blue eyes always hurt you more than any wound ever inflicted upon you. seeing him sad could easily bring you to your knees, as it is your biggest weakness. you were convinced that nothing could hurt you more than Leon. 

“we could’ve worked it out, we could’ve talked, gone to couples therapy,” he took a step closer to you, his body felt weak almost as if he had broken every bone in his body. “we could’ve done something,”

“i did something! i moved on, okay!” you suddenly shouted out at him, causing him to pause. “i found someone who can communicate and i found someone who doesn’t bottle up and hide away, he loves me-“

“does he?” Leon grimaced, you pursed your lips and hid away from him. almost, as if you were ashamed. he continued to slowly approach you as if you were a timid animal. he was gentle and slow. 

“see, don’t do that-“

“he doesn’t even know half of you, he doesn’t know you like i do,” 

“Leon, stop.” 

even if you told him to stop, you weren’t moving away. you two were opposite sides of a magnet, you couldn’t help but attract each other.

the smell of his cologne was dragging you back to him, the smell of his sweat and his shampoo. the sound of his voice. the warmth radiating off of him. 

it was something you were so used to. it was home. 

he grabbed ahold of your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours. you instantly melted into him, the feeling of his rough palms was always better than anyone else. you could recognize his touch out of a thousand men. 

he was never rough, he was always gentle. he used his hands to kill but to also touch and soothe.

“please,” he whispered out. a breeze coming from behind you lifted the scent of your perfume off your skin and into Leon. you always had a signature scent, one that had his mind in a frenzy whenever it hit him. 

“i know your dream ring by heart, like the back of my hand.” he huffed out. you couldn’t help but breathe out the air caught in your lungs. he reached up slowly with his other hand, brushing your hair back to reveal your earrings. 

“they matched these exact earrings,” his hand traveled down to pick up the pendant of your necklace, “and this necklace.” 

as he turned the pendant around, your initials were carved on the back, the same font and style as your initials on the tree. he still remembers going to the jeweler and asking him to engrave those two letters, with a really bad heart around them. 

showing him the picture of the initials carved onto the tree. you must treasure her. he had said and Leon replied, more than she’ll ever know.

“why do you still have these?” 

“because…they’re my favorite.” you couldn’t lie. out of the plethora of necklaces and earrings, you always reached for this pair. telling your fiance lies; oh, they were a gift from my father. 

“because they’re from you and i can’t let them go, i can’t…” you trailed off, looking down at his chapped lips. he was biting on the inside of his cheek, you could tell. you remember telling him so many times not to do so, you didn’t like it when he was anxious. 

you would always remind him that you were right there beside him, even if he was all alone. 

no words could explain what you were feeling right now. it was a mix of anger and sadness.

but it wasn’t the type of anger that made you want to lash out, it was the type of anger that made you want to cry and walk away. but the sadness was something else, it made you want to curl up into his chest and stay there. 

it made you want to go home. but home was where Leon was. 

Leon was the first man you’ve ever loved. you wanted him to be your first and your last. you remember looking at him and seeing a peaceful future. you thought, after you two split, that you were going to be able to start over again. 

with someone new, something fresh. but your fiance, he wasn’t Leon. he was great in his own way. he was handsome and kind. he was smart and caring. but he wasn’t Leon. 

sometimes, his voice would morph into Leons. his laugh would sound like Leon's. his pattern of breathing sounded like Leon's. you couldn’t escape him or maybe you just couldn’t let him go. 

“are you happy?”

his question caught you off guard, your eyebrows scrunched up at him, and you were slightly taken aback and sure that he meant something else. though, once you looked into his eyes you knew he was serious. “what?”

“does he make you happy?“ 

“stop.” you shook your head. 

“answer the question,” he gulped down the lump in his throat, searching for something and anything in your eyes to prove that he was wrong. 

“yes,” you stammered out. his hopes died then and he nodded slowly, understanding that there was no longer a place for him in your heart anymore. he was happy that you were happy, but he just wished you were happy with him. 

he let go of your hand, letting it drop to his side. 

“but,” he was taken aback when you reached back for his. you wrapped your hand around his pinky, halting him in his steps. “i’ll never love him like i loved you.” 

his eyes flickered up to yours, only to meet the top of your head as your head was tilted downwards towards the ground. you were fighting back tears, your bottom lip shaking. 

“he makes me happy but the very thought of you has me overjoyed,” you looked back up at him, a tear slipping out from the corner of your eye and the tip of your nose swelling red. 

“he buys me designer clothes but i still wear your sweatpants i stole five years ago i-“ you continued to ramble and Leon just listened, his heart fluttering with every word. he never thought he’d hear those words spill from your pretty lips. 

“i still come here almost every day to look at the constellations you showed me,” you sucked in a deep breath, “i drive by the house, our house,” 

you let the tears fall freely as his hand slowly intertwined with yours again. he thought you didn’t pay any mind to him, that he was just a lost memory to you, that you couldn’t care less about him but…

“i still have all your gifts, your letters, your trashy collectibles, i…” you paused to suck in another deep breath, your hands shaking in his but you calmed down at the wind blowing his cologne your way. he was here in front of you and finally, you could tell him the truth. the one you’ve wanted to tell him for a long time. 

“i wanted it to be you.” 

Leon's breath faltered as the words left your mouth. you wanted it to be him, not anyone else. 

without another word, he tugged you closer to him. it was a matter of seconds before his lips found yours, enveloping them in his warmth and passion. you reciprocated his kiss instantly. a tear falling down your cheek and meeting the corner of your mouth. 

he could taste the salty tear in your kiss, and it reminded him of the days he would spend kissing away your tears after you had a nightmare or cuddling you to his chest as you ruined another shirt with your tears.

his arms wrapped around the small of your back, bringing you closer to him as he pressed deeper into your kiss. he was holding onto you so tight to the point it was hard to breathe and even harder to stay put on two feet. 

his tongue swiped across your bottom lip, both eagerly and hungrily. as he did so, you opened your mouth for him. his tongue met yours in a wet frenzy, and he moaned into your mouth as his grip on you only grew stronger. 

you took a few steps back, feeling as if you were going to fall. he only followed you in pursuit, up until you had backed up into the tree. you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer. your kiss was becoming sloppy, with wet lips and fighting tongue. 

he gave your thigh a quick two taps and you knew exactly what that meant. you jumped up, wrapping your legs around his waist and he smirked against your lips. the fact you remembered, even after all these years, drove him insane. 

you let him carry you wherever he wanted, you didn’t care to look or pull away from his lips. you trusted him. if he were to take you away right now, you would go. you’d leave with him and live the life you always wanted…with him. 

he pressed you up against his passenger door, unintentionally slamming your body into the metal. the only time Leon was ever rough was during times like this. desperation, hunger, and pure lust. his hand frantically searched for the back door handle. 

the minute he got it open, one minute you were pressed against the door and the next you were being thrown into his backseat. you landed on his leather seats with a loud thud, your chest heaving up and down as you stared at him. 

his eyes were no longer gentle or sweet, they were filled with lust and something devious. but also something so deep and passionate. he was hungry but he was never greedy. 

he slowly crawled into the car as you crawled away. he was out of breath, cheeks flushed and lips swollen pink. you looked up at him as he slowly crawled on top of you. 

he hooked his foot into the door handle and he pulled his knee up to shut the door. his eyes stayed on yours, he didn’t want to waste another word or breath. he slid his fingers through your hair, taking a hold of the back of your head. 

it suddenly dawned on you what had happened and what you two were doing. he was leaning down to meet your lips once again and you forgot. to you now, this was another late night, you two had just carved your initials onto the tree and he had just got his new car. 

he was still blonde and your hair was shorter. he didn’t have his bullet wound and you didn’t have a scar on your hip. you didn’t have this heavy ring on your finger and you were still young. 

you leaned up onto your elbows, meeting him halfway with just as much heat. his hand traveled up your thigh, guiding you to wrap your leg around his waist once again and you followed. just like before, you followed his every instruction. 

“god, i missed you,” he breathed out with a kiss to the corner of your mouth. he then traveled down your jaw, with slow wet kisses. your whole body shivered as he found that spot just south of your earlobe. you sucked in a shaky breath. 

“Leon, please,”

“patience, my love,” he tsked. your legs tightened around his neck, even though he said you needed patience, you needed him. you missed him so much, a part of that was the sex. the sex was fucking amazing. it always was, from the very first time you met until now. 

he fucked you in a way you could never comprehend. he knew just the right things that had the breath leaving your body and your heart leaping out of your chest. 

as he kissed at your collarbone, his hands were traveling up your sweater. large, hot, and rough. his hands felt like sand paper against your soft skin but god it felt so good. you let out a trembling breath as you ground your hips into the buckle of his belt. 

he groaned at the friction, grinding his erection down to meet your hips. he could feel your heartbeat pulsing at your heat through both of his jeans. it was evident that you both were in dire need of each other. 

his calloused hands cupped at your bare breast and he groaned into your skin at the feeling of your bare skin. something he hasn’t felt in so long, your warm and soft skin. his cock jumped in his jeans, just the taste of your skin has driven him crazy. 

he felt dizzy, he hadn’t breathed or blinked ever since his lips hit yours. he didn’t want to waste a single taste or glance. he circled both of your pebbled nipples with his thumbs, smirking at the small whine that left your mouth. 

“no bra, huh?”

“shut up,” you grumbled, beyond sexually frustrated. 

he couldn’t help but laugh as he dragged your sweater off of your body. he tossed it somewhere in his front seat and you could see in his eyes that excitement.

he stared at your breast in complete awe, your body was something Leon worshipped. you were his god and he was all but a simple beggar on the street. 

he always stared at you as if you were some distinct painting; taking note of every small detail, every mole and every scar. even if he’s seen you a thousand times, he always acts like its the first time he’s laid eyes on you. 

“my gorgeous, gorgeous girl,” he sighed, his lips meeting yours in a quick kiss, “how can you be so perfect?”

your heart fluttered at his words, he never failed to have you utterly speechless. 

you trailed your hands over his shoulders and underneath his leather jacket. as you slowly worked his jacket off of him, eyes watching every inch of skin slowly being revealed to you. his muscles flexed underneath his t-shirt as he shrugged his jacket off and threw it somewhere into the front of the car. 

he then pulled his t-shirt over his head in a quick and rushed manner, throwing it along with the rest of his clothes. he’s grown more muscle and definitely bulked up since you’d last seen him. he’s always been so perfect. his body was nice and toned, decorated with firm and chiseled muscle. he was like a marble statue, the ones in the museum with gorgeous proportions and sharp features. 

how can he be so perfect?

he leaned back over you, and rather than your lips in less of a rush of lust, he kissed you slowly and passionately. the feeling of your sensitive nipples brushing up against his warm chest made you shake and let out a small whine. 

his hand traveled up your side again, taking your breast into his palm, and squeezing your nipple between his index and middle finger. you shuddered, a small moan leaving your lips as his other hand traveled down to the button of your jeans. 

he worked his way around the hem of your jeans to take off both your jeans and your panties at the same time. you reached down for his belt, struggling to unbuckle it whilst also struggling to shimmy your pants off of your hips. 

the windows of the car were beginning to fog up, you could barely see the outside, any light shining through was only a smudged blur. it was getting harder to breathe and much harder to think. as you kicked your jeans off, you were quick to help push off his. 

you both were as loud as you wanted, the sound of moans mixed with wet kisses and heaving breaths. 

“i need you, i need you,” you panted out like a prayer. 

he kissed down your chest, bringing your nipple into his mouth while his hand soothed the inside of your legs — sticky with sweat and arousal. you keened under his touch, your thighs shaking and your clit aching. 

you clenched around nothing, desperate for his touch. in your mind, you were counting down the seconds until he touched you. counting each inch that his fingers traced up your thigh. it was when his fingers slotted between your damp folds you broke. 

a desperate sob left your lips and your hips bucked. he moaned into your skin, pulling away from your nipple with a pop. “so wet, all for me,” he breathed out, pressing a small kiss to your breast.

his fingers prodded at your hole, collecting the arousal that dripped when you clenched around nothing. he could tell you were so eagerly waiting for him. eyes gleaming down at him and watching his every move. 

his thumb found your clit and he applied the right amount of pressure that had you arching your back with a small wail. the leather of the seats were hot, there was condensations dripping down the windows and it smelt heavy of sex and his cologne. 

“tell me, tell me what you need, baby,” he heaved out against your cheek. 

“i need you, i want … you,” you replied, out of breath and strength. with that, his inserted one of his fingers, the small stretch was enough to have your jaw hanging open and your legs quivering out of control. nothing and no one has ever had this much of an effect on you, not even fear. 

but Leon, he could make you weak with a simple glance. 

as you clenched around his finger, Leon found it hard to breathe. you were so warm and dripping all over his palm, he could smell your sex everywhere in the car, it was sweet and god it was good. he screwed his eyes shut, trying to contain his composure but you were driving him wild. 

each moan that spilled your lips with every stroke of his finger, he was teetering on the edge of sanity. 

he inserted another finger, slowly and carefully. he didn’t want to hurt you, but watching as your eyebrows curled upwards and your head tilt back, he knew he was doing everything but hurting you. 

a deep moan spilled from your tongue as he curled his fingers up into your gummy walls. at the same time, his thumb pressed circled against your clit. 

“oh god, please-“ 

“calling on god in a situation like this is pretty sinful of you, baby,” he snickered. you wanted to slap him across the face for such a comment but you could barely process his words, your mind was too focused on the pleasure he was giving you and drooling at the thought of his cock. 

he could feel you pulsing around him whilst dripping with need. each curl of his fingers earned him a thristy moan and a squelch. he kissed down your neck, in between the navel of your breasts, and down you stomach. until he reached you abdomen. 

he sucked at your skin, hoping to leave a mark where it wasn’t too noticeable. the pressure on your abdomen along with the pressure of his fingers curling inside of you caused your legs to clamp around him. 

“fuck!” you whined out, carding your fingers through his hair. one of his hands traveled up underneath your thighs, bringing them to rest on his shoulders. your chest rose up and down with excitement, your heart thrumming up against the cage of your ribcage and sweat trickling down your face. 

you took a moment to admire him, kissing at your abdomen while his fingers circled at your swollen clit. he was so pretty. his blue eyes seemed to glow, even if it was dark. the moonlight shining through the foggy windows highlighted the messy strands of his hair and made out every feature of his face. 

his jaw, his straight nose and his hooded eyes. he was beautiful, in between your thighs, standing in the sunlight, standing in the moonlight, asleep or awake, he was just beautiful. 

his lips traveled up between your thighs, kissing at the fat and nipping at your skin. you jumped at the feeling off his teeth but still you loved it. his tongue ran along the small bite mark before he created another. 

“mmm Leon,” 

“shhh,” he soothed, nudging his nose into your plump skin. 

he removed his fingers from your aching cunt with a small pop and before you could whine in protest, he tapped the side of your thigh because he knew that you were going to whine.

once you shut up, he smirked against your inner thigh and brought up his slicked fingers up to your mouth. you opened your mouth and allowed him to place his fingers onto your tongue. 

you swirled your tongue around his digits before sucking your slick off of them. he groaned at the sight of you sucking his fingers, eyelashes batting down at him and face glimmering with sweat. 

“so dirty,” he smiled, blowing air onto your clit. you shivered at the sensation. 

he kissed down your thigh until his tongue found your clit, flicking at the bud with the tip of his tongue all while looking in your eyes to watch your reaction. you moaned around his fingers, lifting your hips — eager for more. 

“patience, my love,” he pressed a kiss to your clit while taking his fingers out from your mouth with a pop. 

he slowly crawled over you, leaving kisses in his path. he finally reached your chin, placing a kiss there and then to your lips. he sucked in a deep breath through his nose, letting his hand run down your side until he guided your thigh back around his torso. 

he stroked himself a few times, groaning against your lips. when his tip nudged your clit, you opened your mouth with a moan, allowing him to stroke his tongue along yours. 

“tell me if it hurts,” he whispered to you, you gave him a reassuring nod and he shook his head. 

“i need your word-“

“yes, yes! i’ll tell you,” 

he slowly sank into you, watching your facial expressions keenly. you were overtaken with pleasure, your jaw hanging open at the painful stretch but also a moan boiling in your throat from your ache being relieved. 

he reached up for the car window behind you, looking for some grip. he left a hand print on the foggy window as his fingers trailed down to the handle. a groan left his lips and he buried his face into your neck, “fuck, so tight.” 

your gummy walls were pulsing around him, making it hard for him to breathe. you were so wet and so warm, making it easy for him to thrust in without any problem. Leon felt like a teenage boy all over again, ready to burst within seconds. 

his swollen tip pressed against your cervix and a whine left your lips. your toes curled and you struggled to suck in a breath, “so good,” you managed to squeak out, clawing at his back to leave scars. 

he slowly rocked his hips into you, grunting at each small thrust. you wrapped your legs around him, begging him to go deeper even if it hurt. one hand stayed on his back while the other ran up the nape of his neck and into his hair. 

“god, you’ve always taken my cock so well,” he whispered out into your ear, with that he began thrusting into you, causing your body to jolt and bounce with every connection of your hips. they were so and deep thrusts. 

he wanted you to feel every inch of his cock and he wanted to watch your face contort as his tip hit your g-spot every time. 

you arched your back into a moan and he took this chance to wrap his arms underneath you. he wanted to keep you pressed to him, he wanted to feel you because he knew this would be the last time. he knew you’d both regret your actions once the passion has died down but he wanted to live in the moment. he didn’t want to think of consenquences after this. 

he just needed to feel you one last time. 

“faster,” you begged, kissing the lobe of his ear. chills ran down his spine at the feeling of your hot breath and your dragged out words. he obeyed without question, pounding into you at a pace that has you sobbing. the car shook underneath you guys and both of you were sure any hikers could hear and guess what was going on inside his tinted jeep. 

“this pussy’s so good, fuck,” he seethed through his teeth, opening his mouth to bite down onto your collarbone. 

“mm fuck,” you whined out, tossing your head back and clenching your legs around him tighter. you could feel his cock throbbing inside of you, with every thrust there was a wave sent through you. you could feel him in your bones. the tension was only getting tighter, your limbs were on fire but you liked the burn. 

you tugged him away from sucking at your breats and your chest, guiding his lips to yours in a rushed manor. you wanted to taste him. his teeth clashes against yours but it wasn’t long until you both found a rhythm. 

he moaned into your mouth, ignoring the ache in his chest from the amount of air. you were his air. he could breathe when he was around you, he felt light. you were his fix. you were his drug. you were his lifeline. 

you controlled whether his heart beat or stop. you controlled whether he was happy or sad. you controlled his mind, body, and soul. you had complete control over him and you just didn’t know it. 

you parted from his lips, a string of saliva snapping back onto your chin. “it’s too much,” you sobbed. you watched the inner corner of his lips twitch, almost as if he was about to smile. he brought your legs up over his shoulder, positioning you the way he wanted that way he cold fuck into you deeper. 

this new angle was enough to put you on the egde, a tear slipped past your eyes and your pupils had rolled back into your skull. 

“you can take it,” he heaved out, as he continued to piston into you. your brain was mush, you couldn’t speak or reply back to him. the only thing on your mind was the feeling of his cock stretching your walls and the sound of his voice. 

“Leon,” you stammered out. you were clenching around him tightly, your legs shaking and your moans spilling out nonstop. he knew you were close, he could tell from the look on your face. completely fucked out of your mind, not a single thought processing.

“my beautiful girl,” he reached down for your clit, “come for me,” 

he kissed another tear slipping down into your hairline as you whined beneath him. your breath was caught in your throat and you could see stars waltzing behind your eyes, you gushed around his cock while moaning out his name. 

he gripped the leather by your head, every taut muscle in his body relaxing as he spilled his hot seed into you. he pressed his tip deep to your cervix, hoping you’d feel every hot rope he gave you. he kissed at your cheeks slowly, slowly rolling his hips into you as you both came down from your highs. 

he was buried in the crook of your neck, heaving out deep breaths and in between them he said, “i love you.” 

your heart sunk. you could physically feel it. your blood ran cold and there was a pain in your chest. 

“i, i have to go,” you could feel his eyebrows scrunch against your shoulder as you sat up from underneath him. you hurriedly reached for your clothes as your sinuses began to sting and tears welled up in your eyes. you were so so stupid. 

how could you have done this? how could you sleep with another man when your wedding is in mere months? not just any man, but your ex. 

you struggled to slide on your panties, you skin still sticky with sweat and cum. 

Leon let his head drop as he listened to you struggle and cry. he reached out for you, “honey, wait-“

“no!” you smacked him away, turning to face towards him with tears in your eyes. “i’m sorry, we should’ve never done this, i’m so sorry,” you broke down and before you knew it he was scooping you back into his arms. 

you wanted to push him away but you had no strength, physically and mentally. “i should’ve never came here and-“

“shhh,” he soothed the back of your head, coaxing you into laying your head onto his shoulder. 

“it’s my fault for still-” you paused suddenly. Leons breath hitched and his body went still. 

“still what?”

“i’m sorry, Leon.”

you pulled away from him, refusing to look him in the eyes. it hurt too much to face him. he doesn’t know how much power he has over you. you couldn’t hide secrets or say no. you couldn’t lie to him. it breaks you to lie to him.

it hurts that you still love him so much.

you reached for your sweater in the passenger seat and throwing it on. 

“answer me,” his voice cracked and with that your heart shattered. you couldn’t turn around and see him crying. you just can’t. the hem of the sweatshirt sat on your tits as you put on your jeans. your throat was aching and you were trying not to cry. you felt like a child.  

“do you still love me?” he reached for your hand, stopping you from reaching for the door. you turned to face him, your eyes now puffy with tears and your lip trembling. you tried so hard not to let the tears fall but it was too late. he watched as you swallowed back a cry and let your hand fall from his. 

“goodbye, Leon.” 

those were the same words you spoke to him when your relationship ended years ago. it was like slow motion, his brain was catching the final moments of you. it was so odd seeing your back profile, even if he’s seen it so many times, it was odd to see it when you were leaving him. 

you left Leon there in your once shared apartment. 

now you leave him in a foggy car that smells just like you. 

as the door opened, he was hit with the fresh night air, cooling the sweat on his body. the smell of fresh pine hit him along with the smell of your perfume. there were sounds of croaking frogs, trees dancing in the wind, crickets, and your choked back sobs. 

then the car door shut. there was silence all around him. he was stuck watching your foggy figure fade away, watching you get into your car and drive off without looking back at him once. he remained frozen, unsure of what to do or say. 

all he could do was let a single tears run down his cheek before he quickly wiped it away. he leaned back into his own car seat, looking up at the roof with a heavy sigh. 

here comes the storm, once again. 

(divider creds to @saradika ,, photos off of pinterest)

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