Formerly the writer r66dus

☆ Earth-1114 — THE WALKING DEAD A survivalist’s haven, parallel to our own universe, where survival is earned mile by mile and the air is thick with pine, woodsmoke… and the scent of pending decay.

Designation honors November 14, 2010 — the air date of “Tell It to the Frogs,” marking Daryl Dixon’s first major appearance in The Walking Dead.

M.I.R.A.: Signal saturation reached. This Earth is no longer accepting incoming requests. Further exploration will proceed under current coordinates only.

☆ Earth-1104 — Drew Starkey Here, the Hollywood Hills watch over the city like ancient sentinels, and the air is thick with both love and ambition. The lights never fade, the ocean never stops whispering, and the line between dream and reality is beautifully blurred. Almost identical to our own Earth, this timeline’s only divergence is the date of birth of the traveler, a presence that subtly bends fate’s threads in unseen ways.

The designation 1104 honors the birthday of actor Drew Starkey — a nod to the day the star of this Earth first entered the timeline.

☆ Earth-1110 — Simon “Ghost” Riley This Earth shares much of our timeline but it exists on the far side of the sun, a place where shadows rule and every victory comes at a cost.

Number assigned for November 10, 2009 — the launch of Modern Warfare 2, and Ghost’s first mission in our records.

☆ Earth-181938 — Clark Kent An Earth where hope soars as high as its heroes, where the horizon is always just a little closer to the clouds, and where truth itself can take flight.

The designation 181938 honors April 18, 1938 — the historic date when Action Comics #1 introduced Superman, the first superhero of his kind, whose legacy would echo across the entire multiverse.

☆ Earth-0424 — Joe Keery

An Earth layered with static and neon, where fiction and reality bleed into one another. Here, identities overlap and small-town streets hide doorways to something stranger beneath the surface.

The designation 0424 honors April 24, 1992, the birth of Joe Keery, the origin point of a signal that would later fracture into singer, actor and hero, each echoing through the same universe.

☆ Earth-66 — Dean Di Laurentis

An Earth fueled by hockey games, loud music, restless nights and the freedom that only exists before real life catches up. Here, college campuses blur into ice rinks under fluorescent lights and unexpected romance tends to arrive at the worst possible time.

The designation 66 honors Dean Di Laurentis’ jersey number, a signal now permanently tied to this universe’s frequency.

Hi travelers, welcome aboard!!

Who am i? | Questions answered

Request channels are always open so you can submit your coordinates if you wish to see more destinations. Each new request expands M.I.R.A's database, so more characters may appear over time.

I log and process requests in the order they arrive, though I occasionally interleave them with my own scheduled timelines to ensure quality navigation. Your request will launch eventually but patience protocols are highly advised. If a timeline (link) malfunctions, send a direct comm signal.

Data rights protocol: I do not authorize the translation, duplication, or reposting of these timelines to any external network. If you wish to support this vessel, the repost and like functions are installed for your use.

Advisory notice: This archive contains explicit transmissions (stories) and may include sensitive subject matter, always accompanied by the proper warnings.

You are responsible for the realities you choose to enter.

The CDC was the first breath of relief you’d taken since the world fell apart. There was soft couches, hot water and hard-earned food that wasn’t scavenged but that same comfort unraveled you. As soon as you sat down, the exhaustion you’d buried deep started to claw its way up. Your limbs felt heavy and your stomach turned from eating too much and too fast, so you rushed toward the nearest bathroom. 

The air was thick with steam, the mirror blurred in fog. You cleared it with your hand, gripping the edge of the sink like it was the only solid thing left. You couldn’t afford to be sick, not when you had no idea what tomorrow would look like. 

You tried to will the nausea away but something in the mirror shifted.

Your gaze caught Daryl’s through the glass. His expression was unreadable, towel in hand. You spun around, eyes darting anywhere but him as he finally wrapped the towel around his waist.

“Shit…sorry, I thought that office was unoccupied and…the bathroom.”

He didn’t look bothered. “Ain’t no other empty office. Ya can stay,” His voice, softer than you expected and a little slurred, felt oddly comforting. Your eyes flicked back to him just once. That’s when you saw the scars across his chest and immediately, you knew they weren’t the kind you got from walkers.

You looked away fast. The world had been cruel before it ended and now it was just wearing its brutality on the outside. 

“I didn’t see your things in there…I’ll leave,” you added.

“Ya look like shit,” he said flatly. Then, almost sheepishly he added, “No offense.” 

You let out a breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, a single tear slipping past your lashes. “None taken.” You wiped it away, straightened up then sniffled. “Probably shouldn’t have had that wine.”

He shrugged. “Ya were celebratin’”

“Celebrating what?” you murmured, no trace of humor in your voice. “I’ve been celebrating just keeping myself alive my whole life. This?” You shook your head, “This doesn’t feel like something worth toasting,” After a long pause, your voice dropped to a whisper, like saying it out loud might shatter the fragile illusion. “Did you see the countdown?”

He nodded slowly, jaw clenching. “Couldn’t stop lookin’ at it.”

Daryl took a step closer. “Wether’s down ‘ere or out there…there’s gon’ be a clock tickin’, tha’s just the one ya can see.”

You met his eyes again, barely able to hold them. “It’s exhausting.” There it was, that awful truth you hadn’t said aloud, even to yourself. You were tired, bone deep, soul-tired.

Daryl stepped forward again, rough hands cradling your face, surprisingly gentle. His thumbs brushed your tears away like they’d done it before. “Whatever yer thinkin’ of doin’, it ain’t happenin’. Not on m’ watch. Ya hear me?”

Your breath caught as someone had finally seen through the mask. Still, you chuckled, soft and bitter. “I’m not asking to be saved, Dixon. I’m not looking to be anyone’s little project.”

He turned without another word, disappearing into the adjoining office space, the towel slung low on his hips, steam curling in the air behind him. You watched him go, caught somewhere between confusion and a quiet ache you didn’t have a name for.

As he rummaged for his clothes, his voice drifted back to you. Low and rough, as if it hadn’t meant to be heard. “Hell…you were it the second I met ya.”

Kids had very vivid imaginations. They could make up monsters during playtime, their own best friends and see love where you believed there was none.

Yours and Steve’s classrooms faced each other, so in the mornings as you stood by the door welcoming in the children to class, your gazes often met in shy glances. The old brick building of Hawkins Middle School still carried the faint scent of chalk dust and floor wax even after the town had tried its best to move on from everything that had happened years ago.

You taught English in room 212 and Steve Harrington had somehow ended up right across the hall in room 211, teaching history to the same group of energetic sixth graders. It wasn’t something either of you had planned but life after the nightmares of Hawkins had taken strange turns for everyone.

Today the hallway was quieter than usual between periods. You had been wrestling with a lesson plan on early American literature when you realized your notes on colonial timelines were a mess because the dates refused to line up neatly with the stories you wanted to share. 

Steve’s voice drifted across the hall, steady and warm, explaining something about the Louisiana Purchase. You glanced at your watch, his class still had twenty minutes left but the question in your head wouldn’t wait.

You smoothed your simple dress and stepped across the hall. The door to room 211 stood open. Inside, desks were arranged in neat rows but the students were anything but neat. A few boys in the back were folding paper airplanes under their desks, while two girls near the window whispered and giggled behind their textbooks and one kid was balancing a pencil on his nose, clearly testing how long it would stay there before it clattered onto the floor.

Steve stood at the front near the blackboard, chalk in hand, drawing a rough map of the Mississippi River. His hair was still that same perfect swoop, though a little shorter now for practicality. He wore a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and khaki dress pants that somehow made him look both professional and like the former King of Hawkins High who had never quite lost his charm. When he spotted you in the doorway, his brown eyes lit up in that familiar way that made your stomach do a small flip.

“Miss,” he said, using the polite title the kids knew you by, “everything okay?”

A dozen heads swiveled toward you as the paper airplane folded itself into stillness and the pencil clattered to the floor. Suddenly every sixth grader in the room found the interaction far more interesting than westward expansion.

You smiled, trying to ignore the way your cheeks warmed. “Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Harrington. I just had a quick question about the colonial period. My notes on the timeline for the Salem witch trials are all jumbled and I thought since you covered the Puritans last week…”

Steve set the chalk down without hesitation. “Of course, come on in. We were just finishing up anyway.” He turned to the class, his tone easy and confident. “Everyone, eyes up here for one more minute. Who can tell me why the Louisiana Purchase was a big deal for the United States?”

A few hands shot up. While one boy answered proudly, Steve stepped closer to you near the front desk and the kids watched like hawks. You could practically feel their imaginations spinning stories already.

He leaned in just enough to keep his voice low but still audible. “The witch trials stuff lines up around 1692, right after some of the earlier settlements. I’ve got a good map in my desk if you want to borrow it. The timelines match better if you tie them to the religious tensions from England carrying over.”

You nodded, genuinely grateful. His explanation was clear and enthusiastic in that subtle way he had when he forgot to play it cool. You had always suspected Steve was a history nerd at heart, the kind who read extra books not because he had to but because the stories stuck with him. It was endearing.

“Thanks, that helps more than you know,” you said. “I owe you one.”

One of the girls in the front row sighed audibly, a dreamy little sound that made her friends elbow her. Steve’s ears turned faintly pink but he kept his focus on you.

“Actually,” he said, glancing once at the clock, “class, start packing up. Quietly.” Then, softer to you, “If you have a free minute after the bell, maybe we could talk in the hall? I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

The room erupted into whispers the second the dismissal bell rang a few minutes later. Students shoved notebooks into backpacks with exaggerated slowness, clearly hoping to catch every word. You and Steve stepped just outside into the hallway between your two doors, the flow of kids parting around you like a stream around rocks.

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit you had noticed over the months. “So, this is probably not the smoothest way to do this, but I’ve been thinking about it for weeks…Uh would you want to grab dinner sometime? Not school cafeteria mystery meat, an actual dinner. Maybe that little Italian place on Main Street this Friday?”

You blinked, heart picking up speed. The hallway smelled like pencil shavings and the faint lemon cleaner the janitors used and a few lingering students hovered near the drinking fountain, pretending not to eavesdrop.

You could not help the teasing smile that spread across your face. “Dinner? With me? Are you sure this isn’t just to keep your kids happy? The kids have been pairing us up since the first week of school. I even heard one of them say we’d make a cute ‘history-English power couple’…whatever that means.”

Steve laughed, a warm, genuine sound that made the teasing worth it. “I swear it’s not for them. Though they’d probably throw a parade if they knew…This is for me. I like talking to you in the mornings, I like how you get excited about books the same way I get excited about old maps and battles and I…I really like the way you look at me across the hall even when you think I don’t notice.”

Heat rose in your face again. You glanced toward your classroom where a few of your own students were already settling in for the next period. “Alright, Harrington…dinner sounds nice, but what if this doesn’t work out? We’re literally across the hall from each other every day. Who between us will be transferring then? I can’t exactly move my whole English library in one go and you’d have to haul all those heavy textbooks and maps…I’d feel bad.”

He grinned, nodding. “I’d transfer…History can go anywhere. Besides, I’d never make you give up your window view. You like watching the birds out there during planning period...I notice things too.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Smooth, very smooth…Okay, Friday…but if the kids start making heart-shaped cards for us by Monday, I’m blaming you.”

“Deal,” Steve said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’ll pick you up at seven…And don’t worry about the timelines, I’ll bring that map.”

You both turned to head back into your classrooms at the same time. The moment you stepped through your doorway, a wave of applause and cheers erupted from both rooms. Your students and Steve’s had clearly been watching through the open doors and the windows facing the hall. One boy in Steve’s class let out a loud whoop while a girl in yours started clapping so hard her bracelets jangled.

Steve paused in his doorway, turned back and gave you a quick, private smile before disappearing inside. You closed your own door gently, cheeks warming but heart light.

As the applause died down and you tried to settle the class into the next lesson, your mind wandered to the possibility of two Harringtons at Hawkins Middle School. The thought made you smile wider than it should have and the kids would lose their minds in the best way. They already saw love everywhere, spinning stories out of shy glances and hallway conversations. 

So, maybe this time they were right.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a pleasant haze of discussions about short stories and stolen glances across the hall whenever you both stepped out to monitor the corridor. Steve caught your eye once and mouthed “Friday” with an exaggerated wink, to which you rolled your eyes playfully but nodded.

By the final bell, the rumor mill had already started. A group of students waved at both of you as they headed for the buses, whispering excitedly. You stood by your door again, watching the flow of backpacks and laughter and wondered what the school would make of it all if things turned out right. Two teachers, two classrooms facing each other and a whole lot of young imaginations cheering you on.

It felt like the start of a pretty good story. 

One you would not mind writing together, one ordinary school day at a time.

A - Aftercare and adrenaline: Dean might come across as the ultimate cocky fuckboy who’d roll over and smirk after wrecking you but he’s surprisingly attentive once the high fades. He pulls your trembling body flush against his sweaty chest, big hockey-player arms wrapping around you like he never wants to let go. His voice is low and rough as he murmurs against your hair, “You good, baby? Fuck, you took my cock so deep…such a perfect girl for me.” 

Post-game adrenaline turns him feral, after a win he’ll still be buzzing, scooping you up in his suit jacket or half-dressed, carrying you straight to the shower where he fucks you slow and deep against the tiles, water cascading over your bodies while he praises how hot you looked screaming his name from the stands.

B - Bondage and teasing: Dean loves restraining you with his hockey tape or expensive silk ties, stretching your arms above your head and tying you to the headboard so you’re completely at his mercy. He steps back, slowly stroking his thick cock while his eyes devour every squirming inch of you. “Look at you, all tied up and dripping for me. So fucking pretty when you’re desperate.” 

He teases you mercilessly with his fingers and tongue, circling your clit and dipping inside your soaked pussy without giving you what you need until you’re begging with tears pricking your eyes. Only then does he finally sink into you, groaning at how tightly you clench around him as he fucks you hard and deep, using your bound body exactly how he wants.

C - Creampies and breeding kink: Dean is absolutely addicted to filling you up. He loves pounding you until he’s buried to the hilt, then holding himself deep as he cums hard, thick ropes of hot cum flooding your pussy while he growls filthy breeding talk right against your ear.

“Gonna knock you up, baby. Want this tight cunt full of me until it takes.” He’s obsessed with watching his cum leak out of your stretched hole, pushing it back in with two thick fingers while kissing you messily. The thought of you swollen with his kid makes him feral, he’ll fuck you for hours, spilling multiple loads deep inside, keeping you plugged with his cock afterward so nothing escapes.

D - Dirty talk: That smooth, cocky voice gets low and filthy the second your clothes come off. “Fuck, listen to how wet this greedy pussy is for me,” he groans while thrusting deep, the wet sounds of your bodies echoing. “This tight little hole was made to take my cock, wasn’t it? My perfect dirty girl.” He mixes praise and degradation effortlessly, calling you his good girl when you’re clenching around him and his filthy little cumslut when you’re begging. He keeps eye contact the whole time, watching your face as he tells you exactly how good you feel squeezing his dick and how he’s going to ruin you for anyone else.

E - Edging and overstimulation: With his insane hockey stamina, Dean can edge you for hours. He’ll work your clit with his tongue in slow, teasing circles, bringing you right to the edge before pulling away with a wicked smirk. “Not yet, baby. I want to hear you fucking beg for it.” 

When he finally lets you cum, he doesn’t stop, he fucks you through it with deep, punishing strokes, then keeps going until you’re shaking, oversensitive and sobbing his name. He loves the way your thighs tremble around his head and how your pussy flutters desperately around his cock as he wrings every last orgasm out of you.

F - Frat house / Fast and rough: Dean thrives on risky, spontaneous fucks around the hockey house. When the team’s out, he’ll bend you over the kitchen counter or the couch, yanking your panties aside and slamming into you from behind without warning. If they’re home, one big hand covers your mouth to muffle your screams while the other grips your hip hard enough to bruise. “Shhh, baby. Don’t want the boys hearing how loud you moan for my cock.” He fucks you fast and rough, the thrill of possibly getting caught making him even harder as he fills you up and leaves you dripping.

G - Goon and guided sex: Dean loves when you ride him but he’s still very much in control from below. He grips your hips with strong hands, guiding you up and down his thick length while watching your tits bounce. “That’s it, just like that…fuck yourself on my cock, baby. Look at you using me so well.” He thrusts up hard to meet you, turning it into a sweaty, filthy battle. When you start getting tired he takes over completely, flipping you onto your back and driving into you with powerful strokes until you’re creaming all over him.

H - Hickeys and hair pulling: He marks you up like he owns you, with dark and possessive hickeys on your neck, breasts and inner thighs that he traces with his tongue the next morning. He loves when you pull his hair while he’s devouring your pussy and he returns the favor by fisting your hair tightly, guiding your mouth down on his cock until your nose presses against his pelvis. “Fuck yes…Choke on it, baby,” he groans, hips twitching as saliva drips down your chin.

I - Impromptu and intense: Spontaneous sex is Dean’s addiction. In the locker room after practice, in a bathroom at a party or in the back of his luxury car with tinted windows, he takes you whenever the mood strikes. He’ll push you against the nearest surface, drop to his knees to eat you out like a starving man, then stand up and fuck you senseless, whispering how he couldn’t wait another second to be inside you.

J - Jealousy and possessiveness: Dean pretends he’s chill but seeing someone flirt with you makes him snap. He drags you to the nearest private spot, bathroom, alley or empty room and pins you against the wall and fucks you hard and claiming. “You’re mine,” he growls between deep thrusts, biting your shoulder. “This pussy belongs to me. Say it while I fuck you stupid.” The sex is rough, apologetic and intense, ending with him filling you while murmuring how sorry he is for losing control.

K - Kinky games: Everything becomes a game with Dean. Strip poker that ends with you on your knees sucking him off or betting how many orgasms he can pull from you before the movie ends. Loser gets spanked with his big, rough hands, leaving perfect sore prints on your ass while he laughs and teases you for being so easy to beat.

L - Lingerie and lap dances: Dean goes feral when you wear expensive lingerie just for him. He leans back on the couch, legs spread, palming his hard cock through his pants while you give him a slow, teasing lap dance. “C’mere, baby. Let me feel how soaked that pretty set is.” He eventually pushes the lace aside, burying his face between your thighs and eating you out until your legs shake before pulling you down onto his cock.

M - Manhandling and mirror sex: Those strong defenseman arms make manhandling effortless. He flips and lifts you like you weigh nothing, fucking you against walls or tossing you onto the bed. His favorite is mirror sex, bending you over in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom so you both watch as his thick cock stretches your pussy. “Eyes on the mirror, baby. Watch how well you take every inch of me.”

N - Nipple play and neck kisses: He’s obsessed with your tits, sucking, biting and pinching your nipples while he fucks you slow and deep. His mouth on your neck leaves dark marks as he grinds against you, whispering filthy praise that makes you clench around him.

O - Oral (giving and receiving): Dean eats pussy like it’s his favorite meal. He throws your legs over his broad shoulders and devours you, moaning against your clit and tongue-fucking you until you’re grinding on his face. When you suck him off, he’s loud and filthy, groaning your name, praising how good your throat feels and gently fucking your mouth while his hand tangles in your hair.

P - Praise and public teasing: “Such a good girl taking my cock,” and “Fuck, you’re so perfect for me.” He’s generous with praise but loves teasing you in public by sliding his hand up your thigh under the table at team dinners and whispering exactly what he’s going to do to you later until you’re squirming and soaked.

Q - Quickies and quality: Even his quickies are intense. A hard, fast fuck in the stairwell or his car where he still makes sure you cum hard, often twice before pumping you full. He makes every minute count.

R - Rough sex: When the mood hits, Dean fucks like he plays, hard, fast and relentless. He pins your wrists above your head, delivers deep powerful thrusts and lightly chokes you while feeling your pulse race, and growls filthy things in your ear. He always checks in afterward, making sure you’re okay before going for round two.

S - Stamina and sweaty sex: Hockey conditioning means he can fuck for hours. Expect sweaty, loud, bed-breaking sex where the sheets end up soaked. He loves the slide of your slick bodies, the way your skin sticks to his as he drives into you over and over, both of you panting and moaning.

T - Toys and teasing: Dean’s adventurous with toys. He loves using a remote vibrator on you during team events, controlling the intensity from across the room while watching you try to stay composed. He’ll edge you with dildos and plugs before finally giving you his cock.

U - Uniform kink: The hockey gear is a huge turn-on. He’ll fuck you with his jersey still on (on your or him), pads half-off in the locker room, the scent of sweat and ice on his skin driving you crazy. You love riding him while he’s still in parts of his uniform, gripping the fabric as you cum.

V - Voyeurism and risk: Dean loves the thrill of almost getting caught. Balcony sex, fingering you under the table or fucking you against the floor-to-ceiling windows of his apartment where anyone could see. The risk makes him fuck you harder and deeper, hoping to make it worth the potential trouble.

W - Worship: He worships your body like a trophy by kissing, licking and praising every inch while buried inside you. You return it just as eagerly, tracing his abs, scars and cock with your tongue until he’s groaning your name like a prayer.

X - eXhibitionist tendencies: He’s shameless. He’ll let you ride him in the hot tub at a party or record you sucking his cock so he can rewatch it later and get hard again. The danger of being seen only turns him on more.

Y - Yearning and make-up sex: After away games or fights, the reunion sex is desperate and intense. He pins you against the door the second he’s home, tearing clothes off and fucking you deeply. “Missed this tight pussy so fucking much,” he growls, pounding into you like he’ll never get enough.

Z - Zoned out and cockdrunk: Dean lives for fucking you into a blissed-out, cockdrunk mess. He keeps a relentless, grinding rhythm with deep strokes that hit your G-spot perfectly, watching with dark eyes as your eyes roll back, drool slips from your parted lips and you can only whimper and tremble. “That’s my girl. Look at you, all fucked stupid on my cock. So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, hips still moving as he keeps you floating in that mindless pleasure for as long as he wants.

The sight of your vacant expression only fuels his aggression. He grips your hips with bruising force, fingers digging into your skin to anchor you as he drives himself deeper. Every thrust is a violent, calculated strike, his thick cock slamming against your cervix with a wet, slapping sound that echoes through the room.

He shifts his weight, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder to open you up completely. The change in angle allows him to bury himself to the hilt, balls slapping hard against your soaking wet pussy. He focuses on that one specific spot, grinding his pelvis in a circular, punishing motion that sends electric shocks through your entire nervous system.

"You're not even here anymore, are you?" Dean growls, his voice a low, possessive rumble. He leans down, biting hard into the sensitive skin of your shoulder, marking you as his while he continues to pump into you.

You try to form a word, a plea or a moan but all that comes out is a broken, airy whimper. Your head thrashes against the pillow, eyes fluttering, seeing nothing but white light and the blurred image of his dark, hungry gaze. You are completely undone, your mind stripped away by the sheer intensity of the friction.

Dean watches the drool leak from the corner of your mouth, a smirk playing on his lips. He loves this, the total erasure of your will, the way you become nothing more than a vessel for his pleasure. He increases the pace, his breaths coming in harsh, jagged gasps. The sound of his cock sliding in and out of your drenched pussy becomes a rhythmic, frantic drumming.

"Take it all," he commands, voice dripping with dominance. "Take every fucking inch of me until you can't remember your own name."

He feels your internal muscles begin to spasm, the first waves of a massive orgasm beginning to ripple through you. Instead of letting you peak and crash, he slows his pace to a torturous, agonizing crawl. He pulls out until only the head of his cock remains inside you, then plunges back in with a sudden, savage force that makes your back arch off the bed.

The sensation is too much. You scream, a raw, guttural sound, as your orgasm rips through you. Your pussy clamps down on him in tight, rhythmic pulses, milking him desperately. Dean lets out a low groan, his own control finally snapping. He hammers into you one last time, hips locking against yours as he fills you deep, his hot cum erupting in thick pulses against your G-spot.

He stays buried inside you long after the shaking stops, heavy chest heaving against yours as he leans in, licking the stray tear from your cheek, eyes dark and satisfied.

"That’s my good girl," he whispers, his voice possessive and cold. "Now stay right there. I'm not done with you yet."

A - Aftercare and altitude sex: Clark loves wrapping you in his cape and flying you somewhere private for soft cuddles right after heated sex. He checks your pulse and focuses on your breathing because he’s terrified of hurting you or losing control of his abilities when it comes to you. He tries to bring you even higher than the sex itself. It’s followed by slow, weightless floating aftercare, with him keeping his eyes on you while you look down at the world and he admires his.

B - Bondage: Whether it’s with his tie after work or heat vision-welded restraints (especially if you’re superpowered), Clark doesn’t necessarily need them but he knows how much you love being manhandled. He enjoys using his super-strength carefully to pin you or letting you tie him down so he has to hold back from breaking free while you ride him. He’s stuck watching, relying only on his self-control as you sink down on his throbbing cock, back arching, head thrown back, nipples hard and nails scratching his tensing abs.

C - Creampies and breeding kink: It stems from Clark’s alien biology and his deep need to feel connected. He can go multiple rounds and always holds you close while he fills you, whispering about how perfect you feel. He definitely indulges in light breeding talk, “I want to put a baby in you…even if we can’t.” At the beginning of the relationship he worries about getting you pregnant, not because he doesn’t want kids but because he fears it might be too much for you. Once he makes peace with it and you start trying, his biology is no joke. There’s no real “trying” it was one and done and you were carrying his child. He can control when he cums if he focuses, but he loses that control when it comes to you.

D - Dirty talk (in that low Kansas drawl): It’s all soft praise mixed with filthy promises, “That’s it, honey…take all of me,” and “You’re the only one who can handle me like this,” growled right against your ear while he’s buried deep inside your weeping pussy. His accent mostly comes out during sex and the intensity depends on how hard you’re going or how long it’s been since you last had each other. He praises not just how good you’re doing, but how you sound and look and it always pushes you over the edge prematurely, which he fucking loves. He grins at the sight, especially when you beg him to keep talking like that, all while maintaining intense eye contact.

E - Edging and overstimulation: Super-speed means he can edge you for hours and his pattern recognition makes the sex feel perfect. He alternates between slow, deep thrusts and vibrating super-speed tongue or fingers until you’re shaking and begging. He loves hearing your keening mewls and watching you writhe under him, trying to run from the feeling while still pushing your body back into him, desperate for more.

F - Flight and floating sex: It didn’t take long for you to agree to this once you realized how easily he inspires absolute trust. Who’s better than Superman himself? Zero-gravity fucking high above Metropolis happens at least once a week. He could do it in normal clothes but chooses the suit so he can wrap you in his cape, keeping you naked yet warm all over, not just where his cock breaches your pussy. He holds you confidently mid-air while pounding into you, wind whipping around you both as your moans erupt freely into the night sky.

G - Gentle giant / guided sex: Clark is extremely careful with his strength when it isn’t needed, while still giving you everything he has. As big and commanding as he is, he lets you guide him on exactly how rough you want it, “Harder, Clark. I can take it.” His priority is your pleasure, making sure you get everything you want and need every time you take his thick cock. He holds your hips, maintains eye contact when the position allows and reads your body. Don’t even think about lying to him, his ears may be drowned by the sound of your squelching pussy but they’re also glued to your heartbeat and he knows exactly how to tell the difference between pleasure and anything else.

H - Heat vision play: There are insane levels of intimacy and trust involved when he uses controlled heat vision to warm your skin, trace patterns that fade in seconds or lightly stimulate sensitive spots without burning. He also leaves heavy hickeys that he heals with super-breath afterward. He loves watching his marks disappear, replaced by goosebumps spreading across your skin.

I - Invulnerability play: Solar eclipses are always marked on your calendars for this. You marking him by scratching, biting and  riding him as hard as you want, is a sweet treat he wouldn’t miss for anything. On normal days, since he can barely feel it, he focuses entirely on how it feels for you and how you can’t help but try to mark him anyway.

J - Jealousy (reporter vs hero): Clark wouldn’t call himself a jealous person but ‘possessive Clark’ comes out whenever someone flirts with you at the Daily Planet. It leads to rough but apologetic office or alleyway sex where he reminds you and mostly himself, exactly who you belong to. “Didn’t mean to act like a jerk, sweetheart,” he breathes into your ear as his thrusts get deeper. “Or to raise my voice…you can be mad at me, just let me feel you cum.”

K - Kryptonite play (consensual and careful): This only happens if he suggests it first and requires insane levels of trust. A controlled amount makes him feel more human and sensitive. It stays at a safe distance, ideally with you in the dominating position, riding him while watching deep green veins crawl up his skin. When you start worrying and try to move faster, he begs you to slow down so he can experience this vulnerability under your control. He’ll tell you when he needs it to stop but often keeps it around during aftercare so he can feel tired and sleepy with you.

L - Lingerie: He absolutely adores the nights you wear nothing but his cape or just his dress shirt and glasses, making a whole show of slow dancing and bending over for him. He watches you through walls, fighting the urge to abandon dinner on the stove and follow you to the bedroom. You love using his cape as lingerie because he’s torn up expensive pieces before, even when trying to be careful but when you do wear it, he ends up pushing it aside to thrust into you gently, murmuring between your moans and whines, “I’m so sorry honey, I should know how delicate lace is…Let me make it up to you, yeah?”

M - Manhandling: He loves how much you love it and how it makes your heart jump, even when you trust him completely not to hurt you. He effortlessly lifts and flips you, grabbing your ass while you cook or brush your teeth, which often leads to him pulling you into the shower, lifting you smoothly and pushing his cock into your unprepared pussy just to hear your moans bounce off the tile walls. He loves leaving fingerprint bruises he kisses better later and biting your shoulder while pulling your ass back onto his cock.

N - Nipple play (with super-breath): Super-breath on wet nipples is his go-to. It makes your back arch, pushing them into his warm mouth as he sucks the chill away. The contrast is heaven and the noises he makes while doing it drive you wild.

O - Oral (super-powered): The first time he went down on you, he tried not to show off but his tongue and super speed still gave you the best head of your life. You pulled his hair hard enough to leave bald spots on anyone else. You also had to beg him to let you deepthroat him, “Clark come on, let’s just give it a shot.” Clark looked at you in disbelief, “It’s not like I’m asking you to hold me upside down in the air while doing it,” You added and held in laughter as you watched his eyes widen.

In the end, he ended up holding you like he was doing bicep curls before wearing your legs like a scarf, tongue buried deep in your pussy while trying not to thrust too hard into your mouth and choke you.

P - Praise kink: Clark loves being told he’s good, whether you’re dressed or naked, under him or on top. The words and tone go straight to his cock. “Such a good hero,” you moan as you feel his muscles clench under your fingertips. “You’re so strong but so gentle for me,” you whine when he hits your G-spot just right. It makes him melt and fuck you harder just to hear more.

Q - Quickies: They’re never really quick with Clark. He always makes time for you, especially if he gets multiple orgasms out of it. Between saving the world and deadlines, you stay late at the office so he can make up for disappearing in the middle of the day by fucking you on your desk once the building empties. Rooftop quickies happen while he’s still breathing heavily in the suit or he superspeeds you somewhere private for fifteen minutes that feel like hours.

R - Rough sex (very controlled if you’re human): Pinning you against walls or furniture, delivering hard deep thrusts, light choking with perfect pressure control so he can feel your pulse under his fingers. He pulls your hair to redirect your kisses or guide your mouth along his cock while he growls your name. “There you go, all the way in… that’s it,” he rasps, watching your lips stretch around his length, saliva coating it and dripping down your chin, knowing he’ll kiss it clean later.

S - Super-speed and stamina: Hours of endless sex. He never gets tired but you eventually will, so it becomes a game of how long he can keep you right on the edge. You adore the sensory overload of him moving at different speeds inside you while he watches your body tense, back arching, toes curling, then trembling as your orgasm builds.

T - Toys and teasing: Clark sees toys as teammates. He blushes in sex stores but carefully checks materials so he can make sure they’re safe to warm up with heat vision or cool them with arctic breath. He especially loves remote toys he can control while across the city, listening to you writhe and moan his name with super-hearing.

U - Uniform kink: You welcome him with open arms and legs whenever he comes home in the Superman suit, no matter how dirty or ripped it is. You beg him to fuck you with the cape still on, always face-to-face so you can trace the emblem and hold onto it during orgasms. You’re just as turned on when he’s in his glasses and button-up, watching them fog up as he kisses you while fucking you into whatever furniture you land on.

V - Voyeurism: There’s the thrill of possibly being seen from below while floating and fucking mid-air or the spontaneous moments on the fire escape where you lean over the railing and he takes you from behind, the fresh air cooling the heat in your core. He’s also not above using super-hearing and x-ray vision to watch and listen to you touching yourself from miles away, it’s like immersive phone sex.

W - Worship: There’s deep body worship from both sides. It’s easy to worship every inch of the Man of Steel but even easier to make him forget he was built for the world. You worship Clark, the man you get wholly and completely while he worships you like you’re the only thing that makes him feel human.

X - X-Ray vision: He teases you by describing in detail exactly how wet and aroused you are and how your pussy walls contract around him. He watches his cock slide in and out from inside, the tip kissing your cervix as he fills you. Best of all is watching himself cum inside you in real time as he shamelessly tracks your racing heartbeat during foreplay, driving you crazy with it.

Y - Yearning (and yandere-lite): Clark practically invented the concept, even before you started dating. The intense longing when he’s away saving the world leads to desperate “I missed you so much” reunions that last all night and into the morning with soft, gentle sex all over the bed until the sheets are soaked. Even after you’re done, you cockwarm while talking and kissing, trading whispers about how you knew he’d come home safe and how he could only think of you out there.

Z - Zoned Out: Clark is an expert at fucking you so good you go blissed-out and cockdrunk, drooling, eyes rolling and whining with every breath while he watches you fall apart with pure adoration and lust, thanking the skies for his stamina because he can make it last.

He doesn't just want to fuck you, he wants to erase the world around you until there is nothing left but the sensation of his cock filling you and the sound of your own broken whimpers.

He isn't rushing, Clark knows exactly how to pace himself, using his inhuman stamina to maintain a relentless, grinding rhythm that hits your G-spot with surgical precision. Every thrust is deep, heavy and unwavering, driving into you with a force that makes your entire body shudder.

He watches with dilated pupils as the "glaze" begins to take over. Your eyes start to roll back, the whites showing as your consciousness drifts away from the room and sinks deep into the heat of the friction. You aren't even speaking words anymore, just whining, a high, needy sound that vibrates in the back of your throat, your breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps every time he thrusts back in.

"That's it," he rumbles, voice a low and vibrating growl that you feel in your chest. "Let me in and let everything else go. Give it all to me, I can take it."

He increases the speed, his powerful hips slamming against yours with a wet, rhythmic slap. He watches a thin trail of drool escape the corner of your mouth, jaw slack and your expression one of total, mindless bliss. You are completely cockdrunk, intoxicated by the sheer volume of pleasure he is pumping into you. You try to cling to him but your fingers just twitch uselessly against his biceps, muscles turning to jelly.

Clark feels a surge of pure, possessive adoration. He looks down at your ruined face, warm, sweating and utterly undone and he feels a primal pride. His Kryptonian endurance allows him to keep you in this state of suspended animation for hours if he wants to, milking every moan and tremor out of you.

He leans down, licking the drool from your lip before burying his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he praises your pussy. He feels your internal muscles clamping down on him in a desperate, involuntary rhythm and he simply smiles, digging deeper, determined to keep you floating in that mindless, erotic void until you completely forget your own name.

You were having an exceptionally difficult time not thinking about that night.

Three days had passed, which was long enough for embarrassment to settle in and for common sense to reappear, for you to convince yourself that perhaps your memory had exaggerated certain details. Maybe the tension hadn’t been quite as intense as you remembered, maybe the look in Dean’s eyes had meant less and maybe the entire thing had only felt significant because it had been built on months of denial.

The problem was that every time you tried to convince yourself of that, reality immediately disagreed.

You didn’t regret it and judging by the steady stream of texts sitting unanswered in your phone, Dean didn’t either but you couldn’t answer him…shouldn’t.

Every single vibration in your pocket made your stomach tighten before you even looked at the screen. His messages ranged from annoying to shameless to surprisingly genuine, each one making it harder to maintain the distance you’d spent months carefully constructing. So you avoided him, the rink, the locker room and every hallway he regularly occupied.

You had already cut your time around the team nearly in half, showing up long before practice began or lingering hours after everyone else had left. It wasn’t sustainable and you knew it, because sooner or later people would notice, the players would definitely notice and your godfather?

Your godfather noticed everything, that thought alone made your eye twitch.

Whenever your personal life became complicated, you always retreated toward certainty, toward things with rules, deadlines and clear answers, meaning you buried yourself beneath coursework. Exam season was approaching fast enough to justify the obsession and soon most of your days were spent hidden in forgotten corners of the library, surrounded by textbooks, highlighters and half-empty coffee cups. It was easier there and safer.

At least it should have been.

Instead, you found yourself staring at pages without absorbing a single sentence as words dissolved into memories and paragraphs transformed into flashes of Dean sitting across from you in his room and the unbearable awareness of each other hanging between you from the second you’d climbed through that window.

You squeezed your pen harder as a line of ink dragged crookedly across your notes.

Some stubborn part of you still admired the restraint the two of you had managed that night. After months of wanting, avoiding and pretending, things could have spiraled much further than they had but another part of you, one you tried very hard not to acknowledge, resented that restraint entirely because taking the edge off hadn’t solved anything. 

It had only confirmed what you’d spent months trying not to admit. This wasn’t temporary and it wasn’t a simple crush, it was attraction that wouldn’t simply go away.

“Psst.”

Your pen continued moving automatically across the page. You focused on the music playing through your headphones and on the sentence in front of you…Well, you actually just tried to focus on literally anything except your own thoughts.

“Psst.”

You frowned. The sentence you were copying suddenly looked wrong, very wrong. Your eyes scanned it again and half the words were misspelled while the other half appeared to belong to entirely different paragraphs. You stared at the mess in genuine disbelief because never in your entire life had you been this distracted.

Suddenly, a tiny paper ball landed directly on top of your notebook.

You blinked slowly at it before looking up. The library stretched quietly around you, rows of shelves creating narrow aisles in every direction. Several students nearby were already looking annoyed, though at what exactly you couldn’t tell.

You pulled one side of your headphones off and only heard silence, then…“Psst!”

This time you heard it clearly and your head turned toward the source. You watched as two thick books moved apart on a shelf several rows away to reveal a familiar face squeezed between them.

It sported a grin, dimples and far too much confidence…Dean. His eyes lit up the second he realized you’d spotted him and his grin somehow grew wider. 

You stared at him as he stared back but neither of you moved, then Dean lifted a hand and gave you an absurdly enthusiastic little wave through the gap between the books and your stupid heart betrayed you, because after three days of successfully avoiding him everywhere else on campus, the last place you’d expected him to find you was your hiding spot and judging by the victorious look on his face, he knew it.

Reluctantly, you pushed your chair back and stood. The legs scraped softly against the library floor, earning another irritated glance from a nearby student which you ignored. Your notebook remained open on the desk with highlighters scattered around it and headphones abandoned beside a coffee that had long since gone cold. For a second you considered grabbing your things and making a run for it until you looked through the gap in the shelves again.

Dean was still standing there, grinning and entirely too pleased with himself…which ultimately made you regret getting up at all.

Weaving through the rows of books, you kept your pace quick and your expression carefully neutral. Dean watched your approach openly, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatshirt, looking entirely too comfortable for someone who had just spent several minutes terrorizing an entire section of the library.

The second you reached him, your voice dropped into a furious whisper.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Trying to get your attention.” He nodded as though the answer should have been obvious as the grin remained firmly in place.

You stared at him. “Yeah, I think you got everyone’s attention.”

His smile only widened. “Mission accomplished then.”

“Dean.” You lowered your voice even further. “What do you want?”

“Hmm.” He tilted his head thoughtfully, extending his fingers one by one as though consulting a very serious list. “Let’s see. I’d like you to talk to me. I’d like you to text me back. I’d also like you to stop hiding from what we did.”

“Shh!” The sound came out much harsher than intended and before he could continue, your hand covered his mouth. You grabbed his sleeve with your free hand and dragged him farther between the shelves, away from the study tables and unsuspecting students trying to finish their assignments.

The last thing you needed was Dean casually announcing your personal business in the middle of the library.

“Keep your voice down,” you hissed.

His eyes danced with amusement above your hand.

“We didn’t do anything.”

His brows shot upward as he started speaking into your palm. You felt the vibration of the words before realizing exactly what position you’d put yourself in and your hand disappeared from his face so quickly it almost looked like you’d been burned.

Dean inhaled dramatically.

“You demonstrated it just now,” he informed you. “Except your fingers were sweeter and wet too…you also forgot the part where you kissed the back of your hand afterward and then vanished off the face of the earth.” 

You folded your arms. “If you need a sequel to the second half, feel free to call action right now.” You tilted your head slightly. “I’m excellent at improvisation.”

You watched every stage of his suffering pass across his face in real time. Disbelief, then annoyance…followed by resignation and mild murderous intent…but still, no regret. By the end of it, Dean physically looked like he was restraining himself from rolling his eyes.

“You’re impossible.”

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“Sucks, cause it sounded like one…maybe try smiling a lot less.”

Dean exhaled heavily through his nose before grabbing your forearm and steering you away from the shelves.

You barely had time to protest before he was guiding you toward the nearest side exit.

“Wait, Dean–”

“Nope.”

“Dean.”

“It’s still ‘no’.” 

The emergency door opened with a metallic click and cool air rushed in from the stairwell beyond, only then did his hand settle briefly against the small of your back as he ushered you through ahead of him.

“You’re hilarious, by the way,” he said dryly. “Have you ever considered stand-up comedy?”

There wasn’t a single trace of amusement in his voice.

You smiled teasingly. “Could never make a bigger joke than you.”

The door swung shut behind both of you with a heavy thud and silence followed. The stairwell was empty, stone walls echoing faintly with distant footsteps from other floors.

Dean stopped on the landing and stared at you. “You really are a pain in my ass.”

“Then what are you doing here?” You descended several steps instinctively, creating distance before he could close it.

Dean followed to remain close. Then he continued farther down until he stood a few stairs below your position. For once, the difference in height disappeared, you found yourself looking directly into his eyes without having to crane your neck.

You crossed your arms tightly across your chest, only then did you notice what he’d done. He wasn’t standing there accidentally, he had positioned himself between you and the lower exit.

The realization earned him a narrowed look which he promptly ignored completely.

“I’ve been thinking.”

You groaned theatrically. “Oh, great. The world’s ending.” His eyes closed briefly so you continued anyway. “I can’t spell basic words anymore and Dean Di Laurentis has finally managed to make two brain cells rub together. Truly historic.”

“Well.” A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “One of us has to keep the ship from sinking.”

“I think you can stop…I’m a great swimmer.”

Dean pointed toward you. “See? That.”

“What?”

“That thing you do to deflect. Can you stop for five seconds? Jesus.”

You looked entirely too pleased with yourself while Dean looked entirely…too tired. The words weren’t harsh, if anything, they sounded exhausted. He planted his hands on his hips and looked away briefly before returning his attention to you.

The smile had faded and so had the teasing. For the first time since he’d appeared in the library, he looked genuinely nervous. His jaw shifted once, then again like he was carefully choosing every word before saying them.

“We fucked up, Dean.” The words came out quieter than you intended, stripped of most of their bite by exhaustion. You tightened your arms across your chest and leaned back slightly against the railing beside you. “I’m trying to go back to normal.”

“Well, it’s not working.” Dean shook his head.

The grin he’d been carrying around since ambushing you in the library was far gone. His hands dropped from his hips, frustration slipping through the cracks of his composure. He looked at you for a long moment before speaking again, searching your face like he was trying to find the version of you that hadn’t spent the last three days dodging him.

“You being mean right now, it’s…” He exhaled heavily through his nose. “It’s not helping, okay?”

His eyes stayed fixed on yours as you forced yourself to hold the gaze. That had to be safer because looking anywhere else felt dangerous while looking lower felt…even worse.

The memory of his bedroom was already doing enough damage without additional help.

“I’m not looking,” you said quietly.

The corner of Dean’s mouth twitched despite himself and the growing tent in his pants. “I’d rather you didn’t…it’s getting embarrassing."

His voice softened noticeably but the next sentence only made your face twist further.

“Didn’t know it was that hard cleaning cum stains out of dark fabric.”

“Dean.” You looked genuinely horrified. “Can we not talk about it?”

His expression changed from amusement to disbelief so quickly it almost gave you whiplash. 

“I can’t!” The words bounced around the stone stairwell loudly. He ran a hand through his hair afterward, visibly frustrated with both the conversation and himself. Three days of unanswered messages, three days of avoidance and three days of pretending nothing had happened had clearly pushed him well past whatever limit he’d been trying to maintain.

Your stomach dropped and your eyes widened. “Did you tell someone?” You stepped down another stair before pointing an accusing finger directly at him. “Dean, I swear if you–”

“I didn’t tell anyone.” The interruption was calm but immediate. Dean held both hands up briefly before letting them fall again. “I talked to you about it.” His brow lifted slightly. “Which you would’ve known if you’d read my texts.”

“I told you texting me would get you blocked.” The reminder sounded weaker than you had meant for it to, mostly because both of you already knew it hadn’t happened.

Dean smiled a slow, smug smile that made you regret opening your mouth. “I’m not blocked.”

You blinked as your brain immediately began searching for a response, something clever and perhaps devastating…but unfortunately Dean moved faster.

“How can you be so sure?” you asked.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached into the pocket of his sweatshirt and pulled out his phone. Your stomach sank instantly as you watched him unlock it, type something with alarming speed, then hit send.

The silence lasted all of two seconds, then your own phone vibrated inside the back pocket of your jeans and merely a second later came the familiar notification sound.

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Do you wanna get that?”

You glared at him. “Probably my godfather,” you replied, refusing to acknowledge the obvious. “I’m having dinner at his place tonight.”

“Mm.” Dean nodded slowly, lips pressed together as though he was physically restraining a comment. Then he reached toward you, the movement was casual until his hand stopped midway when your voice cut through the stairwell.

“I could push you down these stairs.” There wasn’t a shred of conviction behind the threat, Dean noticed that much.

“You’d do anything for an excuse to kiss me better.” His response came just as quiet, just as effortless.

Before you could even formulate a comeback, his fingers slipped into the back pocket of your jeans. The movement was so smooth and familiar that it made your pulse stumble as he pulled your phone free while maintaining unwavering eye contact the entire…fucking…time.

The bastard was smiling and you hated that specific victorious smile…or at least you hated that you didn’t hate it.

He tapped the screen awake and immediately began scrolling through the notifications crowding it. His grin widened when he noticed the top message was from him…and so was the one beneath it…and the one beneath that.

Dean tilted the phone slightly toward himself. “Well, look at that.” His eyes flicked upward. “Did they remove the block button?”

“Relocated, I believe.”

“Mm.” The hum lingered in his throat as he continued looking at the screen before finally lifting his gaze back to yours. The amusement was still there but beneath it sat something softer. “Didn’t try very hard, did you?”

“And you would know all about ‘hard,’ wouldn’t you?” You tilted your head slightly as you threw the comment back at him. The smile tugging at your mouth made it clear you already knew exactly what reaction it would get.

You didn’t need to look anywhere below his face to know you’d landed the hit.

Dean’s eyes narrowed.

You watched him inhale slowly through his nose and let the breath back out with visible restraint, shoulders rising and falling once beneath his sweatshirt. Then, without breaking eye contact, he slipped your phone into the front pocket of his jeans, far away from your reach and so that grabbing it back would require getting entirely too close.

The fact that he looked completely satisfied with himself afterward only made it worse but both of you knew you were stubborn enough to leave it behind and buy another one out of spite if necessary, which meant the gesture had absolutely nothing to do with the phone.

“I have a proposition.”

Your eyebrows lifted. “Do you, now?” The words came out smooth and teasing as you shifted your weight against the stair railing. “Is that what all those texts were about?”

A grin spread across his face, the one that usually meant he was about to say something deeply unnecessary. “I was texting you about how sweet you sound when you’re not making smartass comments every five seconds.” The grin widened.

“What can I say?” You shrugged. “Been spending too much time around you.”

“Not nearly enough.” The answer came too quickly like he’d been thinking it for days.

For a brief second, his eyes dropped to your mouth before returning to your gaze. The movement was small enough that most people would’ve missed it but you didn’t and neither did your pulse.

The silence stretched long enough for him to notice and for your breathing to betray you. That’s when Dean smiled to himself, victorious and deeply infuriating to you.

“You like plans,” he continued. “Rules…lists and color-coded schedules. So I’m here with a plan.”

You groaned dramatically. “Does this plan include fixing that fuck-awful interview you gave the other day?” 

Hope actually crept into your voice, you still couldn’t understand how he’d managed to perform so badly. You’d written the questions and he’d picked the ones that would be asked, then somehow he’d stood in front of the camera and acted like he’d never spoken to another human being before.

Dean looked genuinely offended. “They usually go better when there’s someone else behind the camera asking them.”

You stared at him and he stared right back, neither of you budged.

“What? Are you hard of hearing? Should I have asked them to speak louder?” you finally asked.

His grin returned. “Been hearing just fine.” He paused. “I’ve just been distracted lately.”

You closed your eyes briefly, he just couldn’t help himself. “What is your plan, Dean?”

The question came out flatter this time, because every second this conversation continued, your imagination became increasingly unhelpful. The enclosed stairwell wasn’t helping either, nor was the fact that Dean had somehow positioned himself close enough to matter while still maintaining enough distance to pretend he wasn’t doing it intentionally.

“It’s simple.” His hands slid into his pockets and his shoulders relaxed. The expression on his face said he believed he’d just solved a major international crisis. “Once is an accident, twice is coincidence…and three times is a pattern.”

You already hated where this was going but Dean continued anyway. “Which means we can screw up twice and still be fine.”

For a second, you simply stared at him, then you laughed in his face, a sharp sound that bounced off the stone walls around you.

“Have you ever heard the phrase ‘don’t jump to conclusions’?”

His grin remained firmly intact. “Maybe.”

“Because right now it feels like you backflipped into one.” You pointed at him. “Several, actually…and I thought skating was your thing.”

Dean looked entirely unapologetic, the smile threatening at the corner of his mouth told you he was enjoying this far more than he should have and unfortunately, the fact that you were smiling too made it very difficult to claim otherwise.

Dean nodded reluctantly and the eye roll still came anyway. He knew perfectly well you were right. His argument had several holes in it, most of them large enough to drive a truck through but he wasn’t ready to abandon it yet.

“It still makes sense,” he insisted. “Think about it.”

“No, you think about it.” You folded your arms tighter across your chest. “We’ve technically already fucked once…remember?”

His entire face twisted and a dramatic sigh left him as he looked away toward the stone walls, blowing out a breath through pursed lips before turning back to you.

“That’s–” He pointed vaguely between the two of you. “That was a sample.”

You blinked. “A sample.”

“Yes.” The confidence alone nearly made you laugh. “You don’t walk into an ice cream shop and immediately buy a whole cup of some new flavor,” he explained, gesturing with his hands as though this was a perfectly reasonable comparison. “You sample it first.”

His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Or at least stare at it through the glass deciding if it’s worth the commitment...which was what we did.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Who’s the ice cream in this scenario?”

A grin spread across his face so quickly it almost looked painful. “I lick spoons clean when I’m done.” He nodded once, entirely pleased with himself. “You’ll figure it out soon.”

“Dean.” His name came out as a warning.

Dean immediately raised both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay.” But the grin remained. “The saying applies to penetrative sex.”

You continued staring.

“And maybe some of the other stuff too,” he added. “But then the numbers start adding up really fast and–”

“That’s just greedy.”

“I thought so too.” He nodded in agreement as the conversation stalled.

The teasing was entirely gone and the stairwell grew quiet again. Somewhere several floors below, a door opened and closed while distant voices echoed briefly before disappearing.

Dean glanced down at his shoes as you watched him. He looked back up a second later and found your eyes already on him.

The sight alone softened something in his expression. “What do you say?” The question was quiet and careful.

You exhaled slowly and looked away first, turning toward the window beside the stairs. Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the glass, casting pale strips of light across the stone steps.

“The off-limits thing wasn’t my idea.” Your voice was softer now. “And it’s fucking ridiculous.”

Dean nodded without hesitation. “I agree.”

“And so’s this.”

“I agree with that too.”

That earned the smallest smile from you, when you looked back at him, neither of you spoke for a few seconds. The silence felt different, it was less defensive, the fragile sort that appeared whenever honesty slipped into the conversation by accident.

“But?” Dean asked it before you could stop yourself from smiling.

“But,” you echoed, it made his attention sharpen quickly. “I guess I could entertain the thought for a little while.” His grin appeared before you’d even finished speaking and you rolled your eyes. “I mean, I should probably give you credit.”

Dean straightened slightly. “For?”

“Allegedly using whatever’s underneath all that hair.”

His smile widened instantly as he teasingly tilted his head, lowering his already soft tone. “Just promise you won’t pull too hard.”

You laughed. “Only if you promise to make it worth my while.” The answer came with a smile neither of you bothered hiding.

Dean nodded firmly as the confidence returned, his brows lifted. “A kiss to seal the deal?”

The hopeful look accompanying the question was almost embarrassing…almost.

You stepped down one stair, then another while Dean’s attention followed every movement and by the time you stopped, barely any distance remained between you.

You were close enough to notice the faint stubble shadowing his jaw and to see the way anticipation had already settled behind his eyes. You held his gaze the entire time as your hand slipped into the front pocket of his jeans.

Dean’s breath caught, the reaction was so clearly involuntary that it made your mouth twitch. Your fingers searched briefly before finding what you’d come for, the phone…and nothing else but still, they grazed the tip of his hardening cock, feeling it twitch in its restrained state before you wrapped your hand around the phone and slowly pulled it free.

“I think,” you said quietly, lifting the device between you both, “you need to find something better to do.”

His eyes dropped briefly toward your mouth before returning to yours. “Nothing better than you.”

For a moment neither of you moved but eventually, you carefully stepped back, one step…then another and one more as the distance returned slowly.

You watched Dean remain exactly where he was, looking up at you with entirely too much confidence and not nearly enough concern for his own well-being.

Shaking your head, you turned toward the library door. “See you around, Di Laurentis.”

You pushed the library door open without looking back, already stepping into the familiar hush of turning pages and whispered conversations.

Behind you, Dean let out a quiet breathy laugh. “Oh, yes you will.”

The confidence in his voice followed you through the doorway and you hated how easily it made you smile.

Once must be an accident…

The first time happened at the training center, which was undeniably your first real act of rebellion.

The building had mostly emptied hours ago. Practice was over, meetings were done and the endless stream of athletes, trainers and staff had long disappeared into the night. Only a handful of overhead lights remained on, casting warm pools of light across the otherwise dark hallways. The polished floors reflected every movement, every shadow and sound, including yours.

Your laughter echoed loudly through the corridor as you walked beside your godfather, bouncing off the high ceilings and glass office walls. It was the sort of laugh that came easily around him, unfiltered and familiar after decades of shared history.

He shook his head as he laughed too.

“You were such trouble,” he said. “And I knew it would only get worse the second you started walking.”

You shrugged dramatically. “You still keep me around. I’d say you’ve had plenty of years to fix it and decided not to.”

“That was my first mistake.”

“Probably.”

He snorted. The smile never left his face as he circled an arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer for a brief side hug. The gesture was automatic, practiced through years of scraped knees, school events, birthdays and every other milestone in between.

“Nobody else around here benefits from nepotism quite like you do.”

Your laugh burst out immediately. “Wow.”

“Hey, you know it’s true.”

“You actually said it out loud. That’s…wow.”

That only made him laugh harder. “You’re good at what you do,” he continued. “You’re passionate about it. You work harder than most people in this building and half the ideas the department uses come from you.”

“Aw.”

“Besides,” he added casually, “I apply a family discount to your paychecks.”

You gasped so dramatically that he nearly stumbled laughing. Pushing him away, you stared at him in mock horror. “Are you serious?”

His head tipped back as the sound of his laughter filled the hallway. “Your college housing is free,” he reminded you. “You could move in with me and your aunt tomorrow and be a ten minute drive from campus…I also paid for your car.”

You opened your mouth to speak but he kept going. “You have a weekly allowance too…What exactly are you struggling with here?”

“How about that family discount turns into a promotion with benefits?”

His grin widened. “You mean more money.”

“It’s the only language you speak.” You pointed at him. “Don’t act surprised.”

He scoffed. “I speak plenty of languages.”

“No. You speak hockey and money.”

“That’s two.”

“Barely.” You continued walking together, your footsteps echoing softly through the corridor. “If I start calling you Coach Jensen in front of the guys instead of all the ridiculous nicknames I gave you growing up,” you offered, “would that help my chances?”

“Oh, never that.” His response was immediate as genuine horror crossed his face and you laughed. “No amount of money is worth that.”

“See? Promotion worthy answer.”

“Not happening.” He shook his head.

The two of you continued down the hall, passing framed team photographs and championship banners hanging behind glass displays. Most of them had been there for years. Some of them included players who were now professional athletes and others included kids he’d coached before you’d even started high school.

Then his expression softened slightly. “The rest of that money’s invested, by the way.”

You glanced over. “What money?”

“The money you’re constantly trying to get out of me.”

“Oh.”

“It’s sitting in an account collecting interest.” His shoulder bumped yours lightly. “It’ll do you a lot more good when you finally leave the nest.”

You grimaced. “Who says I’m ever leaving?” His brows lifted in curiosity so you continued. “Nepotism’s nice,” you informed him. “It’s comfortable…It offers a very soft life.”

That earned a quiet chuckle as he looked at you for a moment, observing and thinking, though it wasn’t difficult to guess where his thoughts had gone. The subject had come up before, of the assumptions and the advantages that came with being connected to him. 

You’d spent years hearing variations of the same concerns.

He cleared his throat. “Nobody giving you a hard time about that?” The question was casual but the concern underneath wasn’t.

You shook your head. “Your boys are good.” A small smile tugged at your lips. “I’d say they’re nicer than most people give them credit for.”

His expression softened. “And outside this building?”

You shrugged. “I’m not sure many people even know.” Then you smiled slightly. “And if they do, I don’t really care.”

His eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“I mean it…I’m a grown woman. I can handle someone being annoying.”

The look he gave you said he wasn’t entirely convinced. “You’re still my kid…you’re still my responsibility.” You looked away first because the sincerity always got to you.

“If something happens,” he continued, “you come to me. I don’t care who it is.” He pointed down the hallway as if the guilty party might suddenly appear. “Anybody gives you trouble, I deal with it.” His jaw tightened slightly. “Especially if it’s one of my players.”

Your heartbeat picked up immediately for reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with the conversation. You focused very hard on the floor as you walked. “Right.”

“You hear me?”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

Unfortunately, all you could think about was Dean, about stairwells, text messages, plans and about how catastrophically this conversation could go if Coach Jensen ever discovered what had been happening.

“You give really good fake-dad speeches.”

He snorted. “Fake?”

“Adoptive.”

“That’s better.”

You hesitated. “Hypothetically…”

His eyes narrowed as he looked at you and you instantly regretted the choice of words.

“Uh-oh.”

You chuckled. “There’s no uh-oh.”

“There’s definitely an uh-oh.”

“I just…” You paused, “You mean that in a ‘if someone hurts me’ way, right?”

There was absolutely no hesitation in his voice. “I’ll decide when the time comes.”

It did absolutely nothing to ease your concerns but before you could respond, he glanced down at his watch. His expression changed instantly as he stopped walking and patted one pocket, then another and finally his jacket.

“Crap.”

You stopped too as he checked all of his pockets again individually. “What’s wrong?”

“I forgot my keys in my office,” he said, already patting down his pockets once more for good measure with a quick, irritated exhale. “We’re running late and I’ve got to make a call. I wanted to do it in the car.”

“Make your call,” you replied, already stepping backward down the hallway. “I’ll go get them.”

He hesitated only a second, eyes still scanning his pockets as if willing the keys into existence.

“It might take a while. Twenty, maybe thirty minutes. Should I call you an Uber and just cancel the whole dinner?”

“No way you’re getting out of it,” you said without slowing down. “I’ll wait. I’ll just use your printer to get some work done so I can sleep in tomorrow. Call me when you’re done.”

His brow lifted slightly. “So you’re the reason I’m constantly out of ink.”

You shrugged as you kept walking. “The library charges thirteen cents per color page. I’m not made of money…color coding saves lives.”

A quiet scoff followed you down the hall. “No color coding for my favorite goddaughter. Can you imagine?”

“It’s criminal,” you called back.

He finally pulled out his phone, already thumbing through it. “Keep your phone close,” he added without looking up, voice slipping back into that habitual coaching tone. “Or you’re walking home.”

“Yes, Coach,” you replied with a lazy salute over your shoulder before turning fully toward his office.

His muttering faded behind you as he scrolled, already pulled into whatever chaos lived on his screen. You kept moving through familiar corridors, passing framed team photos and closed doors, the building quieter now than it had been all day. He had always been like that, always halfway inside something else, phone never truly out of reach, his attention constantly split between ten different responsibilities. You’d grown used to it long before you ever realized what it meant for you.

You pulled your phone out while walking, scrolling through the documents you needed to print, checking formatting and margins out of habit as you turned the last corner. The office door came into view at the end of the hall, slightly ajar.

You pushed it open enough to slip inside and nearly jolted out of your skin when two hands landed at your hips, pulling you in before your brain even caught up. Your head snapped to the side so fast your hair whipped across your cheek, breath catching hard in your throat before your eyes locked onto Dean standing right behind you.

He lifted a finger to his lips in a quick, silent shush, then guided you further inside with an ease that made your stomach drop for a second, nudging the door shut behind you with his foot.

“You motherfucker,” you hissed the moment the latch clicked and turned to face him. “I watched you leave.”

Dean’s grin was immediate, infuriatingly relaxed. “I was waiting for you in the parking lot.”

Your eyes narrowed in the dim office light as it settled properly around you. The space smelled like paper, coffee and the faint sterile edge of hockey equipment that never fully left anything he occupied. The desk behind you was cluttered, a laptop still open while folders lied stacked slightly unevenly near the edge.

“Oh, fantastic,” you muttered. “That’s not creepy at all.”

He stepped closer, still smiling. “You came to practice tonight.”

“Wow,” you replied flatly. “Anything else, Sherlock?”

His hands tightened at your hips again as he started guiding you backward without hesitation. The motion was slow, controlled, like he already knew exactly where this was going and had no interest in pretending otherwise.

“You look beautiful,” he added.

You rolled your eyes, but the words still landed. You were wearing a light summer dress. You’d kept a blanket wrapped around your shoulders during the game earlier, tucked into the rink seating, ignoring the cold while Dean had spent half the period barely paying attention to the puck.

“Yeah,” you said, voice quieter now as your back hit the edge of the desk. “I know.”

The realization of where he’d led you hit a second too late, making your breath catch again.

The desk pressed into your ass as your hands hovered uncertainly near the surface. You swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself as logic tried to catch up with instinct.

“Dean,” you started, firmly. “We don’t have time for this…You hear me? There’s no time to test the waters.”

“Good,” he simply said and with a sudden, decisive movement, he hoisted you up onto the table, the cool surface a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off his body. “I mean to taste them.”

Your eyes widened instantly. “I’m serious. He could walk in.”

“I heard you out there. We both know he’s incapable of walking and holding a professional phone conversation at the same time,” Dean said without hesitation, his tone annoyingly certain as he adjusted your position on the desk. “I’ll be fast.”

Your eyes narrowed immediately, hands bracing lightly on the edge of the desk as papers shifted beneath your palms, sliding just enough to remind you how fragile this situation actually was despite the confidence in his voice.

“I’m not walking out of here half-pleasured,” you decided flatly, holding his gaze so he understood you weren’t joking, not even slightly.

Dean didn’t even blink. “Who said you are?”

That answer only made your expression tighten further.

“Oh, so you’re just magically going to figure me out in…” you glanced down briefly at your phone screen, thumb hovering over the time without thinking. “Fifteen minutes?”

A slow, confident exhale left him.

“You’re not the only one good at observing, Hawkeye,” he said, eyes locked on yours as if the rest of the room didn’t exist at all. His hands moved again, gathering the fabric of your dress with controlled ease, the motion unhurried but so intentional that it made your breath catch slightly despite yourself.

The desk creaked faintly beneath your weight as he leaned in closer.

“Ice isn’t the only thing I’m fast on.”

He stepped closer between your thighs, his presence overwhelming and absolute. He didn't break eye contact for a single second, his gaze heavy and knowing as he reached down. You felt the sudden, firm hook of his fingers into the lace of your panties as he pulled them down slowly, the fabric sliding over your skin with an agonizing pace.

"I want you quiet," he murmured, voice a low, dangerous vibration that seemed to settle right in your gut. A smirk played on his lips. "I know how hard that is for you, so...try your hardest."

The arrogance of it sparked a flare of defiance in you. Even as your heart hammered against your ribs, you managed to bite back, "I know how to stay quiet."

Dean’s grin widened, sharp and predatory. Without a word, he bunched the fabric of your panties into a tight ball in his fist and in one swift motion, shoved them into your open mouth. The taste of your own scent and the sudden fullness of the fabric gagging you caught you off guard, forcing your jaw open and stifling any further retort.

"Just a precaution," he whispered, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "I'm keeping those after."

He sank to his knees between your legs, the movement fluid and confident. You stared down at him, chest heaving as the feeling of being gagged for the first time sent a jolt of raw, forbidden electricity through your nerves. It was humiliating and exhilarating all at once, stripping away your voice and leaving you completely vulnerable to whatever he decided to do next.

Dean leaned in, breath hot against your inner thighs before his mouth found you.

The first touch of his tongue was a revelation. He didn't fumble or guess, he hit your clit with a precision that made your entire body jerk while a muffled, desperate sound died in the back of your throat, trapped by the fabric in your mouth. He knew exactly where to go, his tongue swirling in a tight, wet circle that sent a wave of heat crashing through you.

It was toe-curling, an intensity of pleasure you hadn't known was possible. He began to suck, his lips creating a firm, vacuum-like seal around your nub, pulling it deep into his mouth. The sensation of the wet, sliding friction of his tongue combined with the rhythmic pressure of his suction was overwhelming.

You felt your face heat up, your eyes fluttering shut as you lost yourself in the sheer sensory overload. Every flick of his tongue felt like a lightning strike, vibrating through your hips and settling deep in your core. The contrast was maddening, between the silence forced upon you by the gag and the loud, screaming pleasure echoing in your mind.

Driven by a sudden, primal need for more, your hands flew to his head. You gripped his hair, fingers digging into the strands to pull him closer, wanting to fuse your body to his mouth. Dean noticed the second you grabbed him and a low hum of satisfaction vibrated from his throat and directly into your sensitive flesh. He leaned into the pressure, increasing the pace, tongue working with a relentless, expert rhythm.

He was sucking you with a hunger that matched your own, his mouth wet and warm, creating a sloppy, sliding sound that filled the quiet of the room. You could feel the moisture coating you, the slickness of his saliva making every stroke of his tongue feel even more immersive.

As you sat there, gagged and trembling, you hated how right this felt. You hated that the agonizing wait, the teasing and the verbal sparring had all led to this exact moment of surrender. The confidence he radiated and the way he took control without a shred of doubt, was intoxicating. You were trapped in a cycle of intense anticipation and shattering satisfaction, your body humming like a live wire, desperate for a release that he was intentionally, cruelly delaying.

Dean didn't let up for a second, his tongue becoming a weapon of pure pleasure. He shifted his angle, pressing his face deeper into your pussy, nose brushing against your folds as he focused entirely on your clit. He began to use the flat of his tongue, delivering long, slow and wet strokes from the bottom of your opening all the way up to the peak of your nub, coating you in a thick layer of saliva that made every movement slide with effortless, slick friction.

The sensation was agonizingly perfect. You felt your thighs tremble, your muscles twitching involuntarily as he alternated between those broad, sweeping licks and sharp, pinpoint flicks of his tongue. He was playing you like an instrument, knowing exactly how to build the tension without letting you break. Every time you felt yourself tipping toward the edge, he would slow down, swirling his tongue in a teasing, lazy circle that left you whimpering into the fabric of your panties.

The gag in your mouth felt heavier now, the taste of yourself mixing with the heat of your breath, turning your muffled moans into desperate, nasal whines. Your head fell back, eyes rolling back as you focused on the wet, sloppy sounds of his tongue working between your legs.

He suddenly increased the intensity, tongue hardening and darting rapidly against your clit in a blurring rhythm. It was a relentless assault of pleasure, a rhythmic drumming that sent sparks flying behind your eyelids. You gripped his hair even tighter, knuckles lightening, pulling his face harder against your pussy, almost begging him with your body to never stop.

He responded by sucking you back in, lips creating a tighter, powerful seal that pulled your clit between his teeth. He sucked with a rhythmic, pulsing force and it soon felt like it was drawing the very soul out of you. You could feel the constant vibration of his throat as he let out a low, muffled growl against your skin, his confidence radiating through the sheer dominance of his technique.

You were floating in a sea of heat and wetness, your entire world narrowing down to the point where his mouth met your flesh. You were drenched, your own juices mixing with his spit, making the encounter sound wet and filthy.

He teased you, pulling back just a fraction of an inch to let the cool air hit your wet skin before diving back in with a sudden, deep lick that made you gasp into the gag. He was prolonging the torture, savoring the way your body shook under his control. He knew you were desperate, knew you were hovering on the precipice of something shattering and he took a sadistic pleasure in keeping you right there, suspended in a state of pure, unadulterated arousal.

Dean soon felt you trembling, body vibrating with a tension that had become almost unbearable. He knew you were balanced on a razor's edge and with a predatory glint in his eyes, he finally decided to push you over. While his tongue continued to swirl and flick against your swollen clit, he slid two fingers deep into your soaking wet pussy.

The sudden intrusion nearly broke you. The feeling of him filling you, stretching your tight walls while his tongue relentlessly hammered your nub, was an overload of sensation that shattered your composure. Your shoulders began to shake, chest heaving as you fought for air through your nose. Your eyes forced shut, the world disappearing into a haze of white-hot pleasure and you bit down on the fabric of your panties with everything you had, jaw aching as you muffled screams of ecstasy into the gag.

He didn't let you fall yet. He kept you right there, at the agonizing precipice of orgasm, fingers curling inside you to hit your G-spot with rhythmic, punishing precision while his mouth worked in a wet, sloppy frenzy. You were trapped in a loop of pure erotism, hips bucking wildly against his face, body begging for the release that he stubbornly denied you. For what felt like an eternity, you hovered on the brink while your muscles twitched and your mind screamed for the end.

Then, the sharp, intrusive ring of your phone pierced through the silence of the room.

The sudden shock of the sound, combined with the peak of the stimulation, was the final trigger. Your body snapped. You let out a muffled, guttural shriek into the gag as a violent orgasm ripped through you. Your walls clamped down hard on his fingers, pulsing in rhythmic waves of intense pleasure that made your toes curl and your back arch. Your eyes flew open, wide and glazed, looking down at the vibrating phone on the desk as you shuddered through the climax.

Dean stayed right there, slurping up every drop of your juices, tongue licking the cream from your folds with a greedy, satisfied sound. He continued to suck and lick even as the waves subsided, ensuring he tasted every bit of your release.

Slowly, he pulled back but he left his two fingers buried deep inside you. He stood up tall, looming over you, his expression one of complete enamourment. He watched you breathe heavily, chest heaving as he continued to move his fingers in and out of your dripping hole in a slow, teasing slide that reminded you exactly who was in control.

With shaking fingers and trembling legs, you reached up and pulled the damp fabric of your panties from your mouth, pulling out the gag. You didn't pick up the call. Instead, with a shaky hand, you typed a quick text back. "I'm coming."

Dean leaned over, reading the screen and let out a low, dark chuckle. "Yes you are," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction.

He finally withdrew his fingers with a wet pop, maintaining intense eye contact as he lifted them to his mouth and licked them clean, savoring the taste of you one last time.

"You're such an asshole," you breathed, voice raspy and exhausted. You hopped down from the desk, legs feeling like jelly and looked around for your bunched-up panties. You swore you had left them on the desk just a second ago.

Dean opened his opposite palm, revealing the lace fabric gripped in his hand. "Told you I'm keeping them," he said with a smug grin. Then motioned toward the door with his head. "Go, before he comes looking."

You grabbed your phone and found your godfather's keys, turning to leave but just as you reached the door, his voice stopped you, dripping with a mix of mischief and dominance.

He licked his lips, "I made sure to get all of it but don't walk too fast...just in case."

He grinned, knowing exactly how drenched you were. You didn't say a word, face heating up as you opened the door and finally stepped out. Behind you, Dean stood in the center of the room, breath heavy and staring after you with the biggest, hardest erection of his life as the scent of your sex still clung to his skin.

“There you are.”

Your godfather’s smile appeared the second you stepped into view, warm and completely unaware as he pushed himself away from the wall he’d been leaning against. The overhead lights cast long shadows across the now-empty lobby, the training center nearly silent around you aside from the distant hum of ventilation and the occasional echo of a door closing somewhere deeper in the building.

“Ready for dinner?”

You forced a smile onto your face and tossed the keys toward him before he could look too closely at you. The metal jingled through the air before he caught them one-handed, only then did you trust yourself to speak.

“Is it bad that I’m craving takeout?”

He laughed and as far as you could tell, he wasn’t suspicious but the sound made guilt twist somewhere deep in your stomach. 

“Not bad at all.” He slipped the keys into his pocket as you finally reached his side. “We’ll save the dinner for next week.”

You nodded quickly. “That sounds good.”

The two of you headed for the exit together. Your godfather reached the door first, holding it open as cool night air rushed inside, carrying the scent of damp pavement and freshly cut grass from the athletic fields beyond the parking lot.

You stepped outside and the darkness felt refreshing against overheated skin.

The parking lot stretched ahead under pools of yellow light, mostly empty now except for a few scattered vehicles belonging to coaches and staff members working late.

Your eyes immediately found his car.

“Coach!”

The voice hit like a gunshot and your entire body locked before your mind forced it to turn around…and there he was.

Dean jogged out of the building toward the two of you, sports bag slung across the front of his body in a position so intentional it almost made your eye twitch. His hair looked slightly messy too but the fact that he could still look this comfortable after what you’d done made you want to throw something at him.

“Di Laurentis.” Your godfather stepped aside to lock the doors behind everyone. “Five more minutes and you would’ve been spending the night with the cleaning crew.”

Dean laughed the same laugh he used with coaches, professors, reporters and strangers. “I fell asleep after practice.” His eyes landed on yours and the smile on his face shifted almost imperceptibly as he reached up and pushed a hand through his hair fixing it.

You nearly choked.

“It was an…accident,” His gaze lingered on yours, the sweetness in his voice was subtle when he spoke again. “Hi, Y/n.”

“Hey.” The answer came out remarkably normal considering you suddenly remembered exactly what he’d looked like less than twenty minutes ago.

“Accidents happen.” Your godfather finally finished locking the doors and turned back toward you both. An arm settled comfortably around your shoulders. “You did good at practice today,” he told Dean. “Go get some real rest.” Then he looked down at you. “We could drive you.”

“No need.” You spoke up far too fast, making both men look at you instantly.

Shit.

You forced a smile as you watched Dean’s mouth twitch.

That fucking asshole…

“Yeah,” he agreed before anyone could think too hard about it. “I’m good.” His sports bag moved slightly against the front of his jeans and you swore you almost saw him wince. You looked away before things could get worse. “Night.”

He began backing toward his car, slowly, eyes lingering on you every chance he got.

“Night,” your godfather answered. Then his arm tightened around your shoulders as he steered you toward the car.

The conversation immediately changed to something entirely different, his voice filling the space between your thoughts as he launched into yet another debate about ordering pineapple and pepperoni pizza.

You groaned automatically as he laughed.

The parking lot stretched ahead beneath the lights as the two of you walked away and despite your best efforts, you could still feel Dean’s eyes on you from somewhere behind.

That might have been the greatest accident to ever exist but then again…

Coincidences had always been better.

It wasn’t often that you skipped parties. As exhausting as college could be, you firmly believed it was supposed to be filled with shared experiences, stupid stories, regrettable decisions and memories people laughed about years later. If your friends were going somewhere, you usually went too, even if you only stayed an hour before disappearing home.

Tonight was the exception.

Jules had handed you the keys to the boys’ house earlier that afternoon. You’d let yourself in without knocking, music already blasting through your headphones and immediately claimed a stool at the kitchen island.

The house seemed and looked unusually quiet, there was no shouting and no hockey game playing on the television.

You spread your work across the countertop and got comfortable.

Most of your evenings had been spent reviewing PR material for the upcoming week. Social media calendars, engagement reports, interview clips and promotional content. You frequently collaborated with Jules to make sure everything the team posted felt consistent, professional, and aligned with the image Briar Hockey wanted to project, at least, that had been the plan. 

Instead, you found yourself checking your phone every few minutes because your roommate had a guy over again. The arrangement had seemed like a great idea when you’d first arrived at college. Living with a roommate felt like one of those essential university experiences everyone was supposed to have. It built character and created memories, now it mostly created scheduling conflicts.

If you couldn’t go home yet, you might as well be productive. Gathering the notes Jules had asked you to leave in Logan’s room, you pushed yourself off the stool and headed upstairs.

The music in your headphones swelled as you climbed and your body immediately followed the rhythm.

One hand trailed along the railing while your hips swayed unconsciously with the beat. You sang lyrics you couldn’t actually hear over the volume, completely off-key and blissfully unaware of it. You made the stack of papers bounce lightly against your thigh as you moved through the hallway, turning the familiar walk into a private concert attended by absolutely nobody…or so you thought.

You stepped into Logan’s room without hesitation and the notes landed neatly on his desk.

You turned toward the door again, still moving with the music, shoulders rolling gently with the rhythm while your fingers slid absentmindedly over your own arms and down your sides as you spun once, completely caught up in the song.

Until you looked up…and screamed. The sound tore itself out of your throat before you could stop it.

Your entire body jumped and your soul practically left through your mouth as Dean stood in the doorway, motionless and watching with a towel hung low around his hips, damp skin still glistening from the shower. His hair looked darker wet, strands falling across his forehead as tiny droplets continued disappearing down the side of his neck.

You ripped the headphones off so fast they nearly flew across the room. “What the fuck is your problem?!”

Dean’s eyebrows lifted slowly as he pointed at himself. “What is my problem?”

“Yes!” Your hand pressed against your chest where your heart was still attempting to escape. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here.” The reminder came accompanied by an entirely unhelpful grin. “Nice moves, by the way.”

Your eyes narrowed while adrenaline still surged through your veins. “Fuck you.”

His grin widened. “I might start begging you to.”

You groaned loudly and pushed past him, unfortunately, instead of leaving the house entirely, your feet carried you directly into his room and Dean followed.

“What are you even doing here? There’s a party tonight,” you asked as you dropped onto the edge of his bed.

“I was studying.”

“Naked and wet?” You questioned.

“I was in the shower.” He added flatly, “Which you would’ve heard if you weren’t surgically attached to those headphones.”

You rolled your eyes. Then, somehow, the room grew quieter, the two of you looked at each other long enough for your breathing to gradually settle into the same rhythm and for Dean’s attention to drift toward the headphones hanging around your neck.

“What’s so special about them?”

You glanced down. “The headphones?”

“The obsession.”

A small smile tugged at your mouth. “It isn’t the headphones.” You removed them and turned them over in your hands. “It’s the music.”

Dean remained where he was, listening.

“If you find the right song,” you continued, “it can completely change where you are.” Your fingers traced absent patterns along them. “It can take a boring walk and make it feel important. Turn studying into something less miserable and make a random day feel cinematic.” Your smile softened. “It just makes everything better.”

Dean tilted his head. “Better?”

You nodded. “Sexier.”

His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Sexier?” The amusement in his voice made you regret using that word…only slightly. “Does it work with everything?”

You swallowed. The question felt harmless but the way he asked it didn’t. “What’s everything?” you asked carefully.

Dean held your gaze for another second before nodding toward the headphones in your hands. “Put them on.”

His voice was quiet and patient, entirely too interested in whatever reaction he thought he was about to get.

You slid the headphones over your ears and the world instantly shifted. The sudden surge of music drowned out the ambient noise of the room, isolating you in a cinematic cocoon of sound. The bass thrummed through your skull, vibrating in your chest, turning the reality of the room into a silent movie where only the visuals mattered.

Dean stepped directly in front of you, his presence commanding and heavy. Because you couldn't hear him, your entire focus narrowed onto his face. He leaned in, his expression a mixture of hunger and playful dominance. He didn't speak or if he did, the music swallowed it but he carefully mouthed the words, “Watch me...read my lips.”

A shiver raced down your spine. You nodded, your heart hammering against your ribs in time with the beat of the song. His hands moved slowly, reaching for the towel wrapped around his waist. Before he moved it, he paused, gaze locking onto yours, silently asking for consent.

You nodded again, breath hitching.

The towel pooled at his feet in one fluid motion. You sat perched on the edge of the bed, your eyes immediately dropping to his cock. It was semi-hard, thick and pulsing slightly, with a neat trim of hair at the base that only made the sight more visceral. You watched, mesmerized, as the blood rushed to it, the shaft thickening and lengthening right before your eyes, straining upward as he sensed your gaze.

Driven by a sudden, desperate need to be bare before him, you began to undress. You kept your eyes locked on his hardening length, the visual of his arousal fueling your own. You kicked off your shoes, the friction of the carpet against your soles a distant sensation compared to the heat radiating from him. You peeled away your pants and slid your shirt over your head, leaving you exposed. Without a bra, your breasts were fully revealed, nipples already peaking from the chill and the anticipation. Finally, you reached for your panties.

As you slid them down your thighs, Dean reached out, his fingers twitching as if to snatch them away, a callback to his possessive streak. You quickly shook your finger ‘no’ with a small and defiant smile playing on your lips. He chuckled, though you only saw the vibration of his chest and the crinkle at the corners of his eyes.

He began to crawl toward you, his movements predatory and slow. You retreated, crawling backward into the center of the bed, the soft fabric of the sheets sliding against your skin. He followed, closing the gap until your head hit the pillows. You remained pinned by his gaze, holding intense eye contact as he loomed over you.

Then, his touch arrived.

His fingers began to graze over your naked body in a light, agonizingly slow exploration. He traced the line of your sternum, the sensation sending electric sparks through your nerves. When his hands reached your breasts, he cupped them firmly, thumbs rolling your nipples between his fingers. The friction was exquisite. You gasped, your back arching instinctively but the sound of your own moan was lost to the music, leaving you in a vacuum of pure sensation.

Dean, however, heard it. He saw the way your throat tightened and heard the muffled sound of your pleasure and the sight of your vulnerability made him even harder. He leaned down, capturing one nipple in his mouth. The heat of his tongue and the sharp tug of his suction sent a jolt of lightning straight to your core. He switched to the other side, lips wet and demanding, swirling around the peak of your breast until you were writhing beneath him.

As your back arched off the mattress, you felt your pussy clamp shut around nothing, the internal muscles pulsing with a desperate, empty longing. You were slick, the heat between your thighs becoming an ache that demanded to be filled. Dean must have seen the way your hips tilted, the way your thighs trembled, because he shifted his weight.

He slid two fingers deep inside you in one smooth motion. You let out a sharp whine, your head tossing back against the pillows. The feeling of him filling you, the stretch and the sudden friction, was overwhelming. He began to move his fingers in a rhythmic, curling motion, hooking them upward to hit the sweet spot.

Your focus remained obsessively on his face. You watched his lips, searching for a word, a command, a promise…anything, but he remained teasingly silent, refusing to kiss you, denying you that final point of contact. Your eyes fluttered, the pleasure threatening to pull you under into a blackout of bliss but you fought to keep them open, desperate to read his lips, to stay connected to him through the only channel left.

Your legs twitched open wider, inviting him in, body humming like a live wire. He curled his fingers deeper, increasing the pace, the wet sounds of his intrusion lost to the music but felt vividly in every nerve ending. You were hovering on the precipice, the tension building into a towering wave but he kept you right there, on the edge, breathless and begging, with no release in sight.

Until he leaned closer, his body a heavy, radiating heat between your thighs. His fingers continued their relentless work inside you, curling and sliding in  rhythmic friction. You looked up at him, vision slightly blurred from the intensity and your lips parted.

"Fuck me louder," you breathed, the words barely a whisper, lost to the thumping bass of the music in your ears. “I know just how much you like to hear me sing.”

He saw the desperation in your eyes and the way your hips were bucking upward. He moved, pressing the raw, blunt tip of his cock directly against your clit. The sudden, direct pressure made you whine, a high-pitched sound that vibrated in your own throat but remained unheard by you.

In one swift, decisive motion, he withdrew his fingers. For a heartbeat, there was a void, a cold, empty ache and then his lips ghosted over yours, a teasing promise of what was coming as he lunged forward, pushing his thickness into you in one powerful thrust.

The stretch was immense. You felt your pussy walls scream and then surrender as he bottomed out, burying himself to the hilt. A synchronized groan escaped both of you, the sound muffled by the collision of your mouths as you finally, desperately, kissed. The sensation of him filling you completely for the first time was an explosion of tactile data, you could feel every vein, the heat of his shaft and the way your internal muscles clamped tight around him in a shocked, welcoming grip.

The kiss became messy and hungry, tongues clashing and swirling as you fought for air and dominance. Your body struggled to adjust to his size, your pussy walls twitching and pulsing rhythmically around him, trying to mold themselves to his shape. Your nails dug deep into his sides, leaving red crescents in his skin as you anchored yourself to him.

He began to move.

He pulled back nearly all the way, almost slipping out, before slamming back in with a force that rattled your teeth. You couldn't hear the wet, slapping sounds of your pelvises colliding or the guttural groans he was making into your mouth but you felt them. You felt the vibration of his voice in his chest against yours and you knew with absolute certainty that you were both making insane, primal noise that would have filled the room.

The sensory deprivation heightened everything to an unbearable degree. Because you were blind to the sound of the world, the physical sensations became hyper-focused. Every slide of his cock felt like a lightning strike. You didn't know if it was the hypnotic rhythm of the music or the agonizing anticipation of the last hour but the sex was transcendently good.

Dean broke the kiss to dive back down to your breasts, latching onto your nipples and sucking them hard, the sharp tugging sensation mirroring the deep rolling thrusts of his cock. His large hand slid down, gripping your ass cheek with bruising force, lifting and tilting your pelvis to change the angle of penetration.

The change in position allowed him to hit your G-spot with every single plunge. You felt as though you were going to shatter into a thousand pieces. Your face twisted, eyes rolling back in a mask of pure, unadulterated pleasure, your mouth hanging open in a silent scream. The visual of him, his muscles straining, his face tight with lust and the sight of his hips slamming into yours, combined with the feeling of being completely impaled, pushed you further and further toward the edge.

He was relentless, driving into you with a rhythmic, punishing pace that left you breathless. You were a prisoner to the music and the friction, trapped in a loop of exquisite torture where the only thing that existed was the feeling of him stretching you open and the sight of his hunger. You were hovering on the precipice again, the tension building into a towering, unstable wave but the release remained just out of reach, leaving you desperate for more.

Dean stopped the linear slamming and began to employ rolling thrusts, grinding his pelvis in a slow, circular motion that smeared his cock against every sensitive ridge of your vaginal canal. The friction was agonizingly perfect, a swirling pressure that stoked the fire in your gut until it became a roaring blaze.

You were unraveling. Your head thrashed against the pillows, mouth wide and gasping, emitting a torrent of raw, uncontrolled moans and whimpers. You couldn't hear the volume of your own voice but you saw the look of satisfaction on Dean's face. He was drinking in the sight of your undoing, the knowledge that while you were trapped in a silent world of bass and rhythm, your voice was filling the room. To him, your desperate cries were a symphony, a private concert of pleasure that belonged solely to him. He loved that you were oblivious to how loud you were, how completely you had surrendered your dignity to the sensation of him.

The tension reached a critical mass. Your internal muscles began to seize, clamping down on his shaft in involuntary spasms. You felt a sudden, electric snap deep within your core and then the dam broke.

It was the longest, most delicious orgasm of your life. It didn't hit like a wave, it hit like an earthquake, shattering your composure and sending jolts of white-hot electricity radiating from your clit to your fingertips. Your body arched, spine curving off the bed as you locked your legs around his waist, trying to pull him even deeper. Your eyes rolled back into your head, leaving only the whites visible as you drifted into a void of pure, sensory overload.

He sensed the climax gripping you and used it, fucking you right through the peak. He drove into your pulsing walls with a ferocious intensity, his cock sliding through the flood of your release. The combination of your orgasm and his relentless pace pushed him over the edge. 

With one final, guttural surge, he buried himself to the absolute hilt, pinning you to the mattress as he erupted. You felt the hot, thick jets of his cum pulsing deep inside you, filling your womb with a searing warmth that seemed to anchor you back to reality.

The world slowly began to refocus. 

The two of you remained locked together, chests heaving in a synchronized rhythm as sweat glued your skin together. The noise in your ears was still there, the music continuing its steady beat but the physical intensity had changed into a heavy, languid glow.

Before he let his weight collapse onto you, Dean reached up. His fingers brushed your hair as he carefully slid the headphones off your ears.

The sudden influx of sound was jarring. The room rushed back in, the distant hum of the house, the rustle of the sheets and most prominently, the ragged, heavy sound of your shared breathing. The noise was intimate, raw and echoing.

As the sound of his labored exhales hit your ears, you felt a fresh wave of arousal ripple through you. Your pussy, still tight and sensitive, gave a series of rhythmic, needy throbs around his softening cock, making Dean let out a low, shaky breath against your neck.

It probably took the two of you twenty minutes to finally peel yourselves away from each other and even then neither of you moved very far. You lay side by side beneath tangled sheets, staring up at the ceiling, shoulders barely touching whenever one of you moved. Every muscle in your body felt pleasantly heavy, as though simply sitting up would require far more effort than either of you were willing to spend.

Unfortunately, being comfortable didn’t stop either of your brains from working.

If anything, the silence only gave them more room.

You found yourself thinking about how this could possibly happen again eventually. At the same time, another part of you was already trying to figure out how to stop it from happening a third time. The contradiction would’ve been funny if it wasn’t so hopelessly obvious.

You truly believed this was your “twice”, your glorious coincidence.

Beside you, Dean let out a long sigh before finally breaking the silence.

“Would you say it counts if we don’t move?”

Your chest shook with tired laughter. “If you want a positive answer, you might want to ask the Mormons.”

Dean groaned. “So no.”

The room fell quiet again and for several seconds neither of you spoke.

Then your eyes widened slightly. “Wait.”

Dean turned his head toward you as you continued staring at the ceiling while thinking through the idea.

“What if we don’t orgasm?”

“No.” The answer came so quickly you almost laughed again. Dean didn’t even need time to consider it. After everything he’d experienced over the past hour, the suggestion wasn’t remotely tempting. “No, absolutely not…I can’t do that. I won’t survive it.”

You smiled toward the ceiling. “It’s good that you’re finally admitting how greedy you are.”

“I’m not that greedy.”

“You absolutely are.”

Dean scoffed.“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It usually is.”

A grin tugged at his mouth despite himself. “Maybe it resets every month.” His voice sounded thoughtful now.

You turned your head toward him. “What does?”

“The count.” He gestured vaguely toward the ceiling as though presenting serious scientific evidence. “Maybe there’s a monthly reset and every month we get two new chances.”

You stared and Dean shamelessly stared right back. “I’m serious, what day is it?”

You suddenly burst into laughter as you ran both hands down your face, though the sound still echoed softly around the room.

“We are in so much trouble.” Your voice came out muffled behind your palms.

Dean couldn’t keep his eyes away from you and the smile that appeared was lazy, warm and entirely too satisfied for someone supposedly worried about consequences and patterns.

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

You peeked at him through your fingers and rolled your eyes as he laughed quietly to himself before settling deeper into the mattress.

“But sure…I’ll get back to you on that,” he said. “Sometime after my brain starts working again.”

Unfortunately for both of your very optimistic interpretations of statistics, neither of you had started counting at the right place. The truth was that you’d been sampling this relationship for months before the night you climbed through his window.

With every lingering conversation, stolen glance, every excuse to stay five minutes longer and every hallway, stairwell, empty office and late-night text message, the line had been moving long before either of you admitted it existed and those had merely been milestones along a road the two of you had already been traveling for a very long time.

This was your third…the very last piece of the pattern, which meant there was no stopping this anymore. 

The only thing left to do was keep it hidden for as long as possible, hoping the secret survived longer than your self-control had.

After all, mathematics had never really been your forte but public perception certainly was.

The kitchen was bathed in the warm, amber glow of the ambient lights, the scent of a simmering dinner still lingering in the air, though it had long been forgotten. Your bag lay abandoned by the front door and your clothes were a discarded trail of fabric leading across the linoleum floor to where you now sat pinned against the cold granite of the countertop.

You were completely naked, your skin warm and sensitive. One of your arms was stretched high above your head, wrist locked tight in a pair of heavy steel handcuffs that David had clicked shut around the handle of the upper cabinets. The metal was cold against your skin, a stark contrast to the searing heat of his body holding you in place.

David, still smelling of the city and the grit of his shift in the Harford County Narcotics Task Force, was positioned between your thighs. He had you folded perfectly, just the way he always liked, with one of your legs hiked high, calf resting heavily over his shoulder, while your other leg was hooked firmly around his waist. The position left you completely open, exposed and vulnerable to him.

As he pushed his cock forward and past your entrance, the sensation was overwhelming. You were incredibly tight, walls gripping him with a desperate intensity because despite the distance and complications between you, you hadn't let another man touch you. You were reserved only for him. 

You both looked down together, breaths hitching in unison as you watched his thick, rigid cock slide slowly, inch by agonizing inch, into your soaking wet pussy.

The sight of the penetration and the way your flesh stretched and molded around his girth, made you gasp. You looked up at him, eyes hooded and heavy with lust and whispered in a sultry, teasing drawl, "Welcome home."

His gaze snapped to yours, blue eyes darkening with hunger. He reached up, fingers brushing your wrist as he tightened the handcuff just a fraction more, securing you firmly to the cabinetry. 

"That's my line," he rasped, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through your chest.

He began to move his hips, the motion slow and tentative, as if he were rediscovering every curve of your interior. You kept your eyes locked on the point of contact, mesmerized by the friction and the wet, slapping sound of your bodies meeting. David, however, couldn't look away from you. His eyes drifted down to the wedding ring that dangled from a delicate chain around your neck, resting right between your breasts, metal shimmering under the warm lights. He was still wearing his own ring, a silent testament to a bond that neither of you had truly managed to break.

As he drove deeper, the pleasure spiked, sending a jolt through your spine that made your head thud softly against the top of the cabinets. You closed your eyes, your breath coming in shallow, ragged hitches as you tried to focus on breathing, though the sensation of him filling you made it nearly impossible.

David’s large hand came up to grip the leg resting on his shoulder at the thigh, his fingers digging into your soft skin. He leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to your ankle and the tenderness of the gesture made a pathetic, needy whine escape your throat.

"Being inside you is my home," he murmured against your skin, voice thick with emotion. "I hope you feel that."

You could only nod, head lolling back against the cabinets as he continued to fuck you, pushing all the way in until there was no space left between you. He didn't rush, he savored the tightness, the way you clung to him and the sheer eroticism of the scene.

The warm light reflected off the glistening moisture where your pussy met his girth, the lubrication making every slow slide feel like silk. You were trapped, folded and dominated, yet the intimacy was suffocatingly sweet. Every time he bottomed out, you felt the weight of him, the raw power of his body and the undeniable truth that no matter where you went, this desperate, sensual collision in a quiet kitchen was the only place you ever wanted to be.

The slow, tentative pace eventually changed, evolving into something more urgent and possessive. David’s free hand left your thigh and slid upward, fingers wrapping firmly around your throat. He didn't squeeze to hurt but the pressure was commanding, tilting your head back and exposing the line of your neck as he crashed his lips against yours. It was a hungry, open-mouthed kiss, your tongues tangling in a desperate dance that mirrored the friction between your legs. You moaned into his mouth, the sound muffled and needy but he didn't slow down to enable it.

He fucked you with a renewed intensity, hips driving forward with a rhythmic force that threatened to slide you right off the granite. Your free hand scrambled across the cold countertop, fingers splaying wide as you gripped the edge to anchor yourself against the power of his thrusts. Every time he bottomed out, the impact sent a shudder through your entire frame, body vibrating from the sheer depth of him.

He was driven by a frantic sort of hunger. 

He didn't know when he’d see you again because you were a ghost in his life, a beautiful haunting that appeared and disappeared at will. If he was lucky, you might stay until the morning but the probability was high that you’d be gone before he even woke up. That desperation fueled him, making every slide of his cock into your soaking pussy feel like he was trying to brand you from the inside out.

As he pulled back slightly, his gaze dropped back down to the ring dangling between your breasts. The metal shimmered against your sweaty skin, colliding softly against your chest with every heave of your breath. Your nipples had peaked, hard and sensitive, reacting to the cool air of the kitchen and the heat of his body. Your breathing accelerated into ragged gasps and the whining in your throat grew louder, echoing the wet, slapping sound of your pelvic bones colliding. Slap. Squish. Slap. The lubrication was excessive now, a thick, slippery slick that coated his shaft and leaked onto the countertop.

"I know, baby. I know what you want," he groaned, his voice a gravelly rasp.

The hand that had been on your neck moved, thumb finding your clit with pinpoint accuracy. He began to circle the swollen nub, applying a firm, rhythmic pressure that made your world tilt. You melted instantly, a violent shudder racking your spine as the dual stimulation of his cock filling you and his thumb teasing your peak pushed you toward the edge.

Suddenly, he withdrew. He slid out of you slowly, the vacuum of your tight walls creating a wet, popping sound as he fully exited. You both watched, breathless, as he held himself just an inch away, tapping the head of his thick, glistening cock against your opening and clit. A string of clear, viscous slick stretched between the two of you, a glistening bridge of arousal that snapped as he pushed back in.

He forced you to look at him, eyes boring into yours with an intensity that felt like it could strip you bare all over again. He captured your lips in another deep, tongue-heavy kiss, this time pulling you flush against him, eliminating every millimeter of space.

"Try not to rip out the cabinet door, will you?" he murmured against your lips, a ghost of a smirk playing on his mouth.

You smiled, a smartass retort forming on your tongue but before you could utter a word, he slammed out and back into you. At the same moment, his fingers reached up to pinch and roll one of your hardened nipples. You let out a deep moan that vibrated in your throat, eyes rolling back as the pleasure became an all-consuming wave. This was the only cure for the day you'd had, the raw, unfiltered dominance of the only man who truly knew your body.

"Nobody else in Baltimore to fuck, huh?" he asked, his voice dropping to a low, teasing rumble as he trailed kisses down your jawline.

Above you, the handcuffs rattled violently against the cabinet, the steel clinking as you strained against the restraint, itching to wrap your arms around him and pull him even deeper. Your free hand reached out, clutching at his shoulder, nails digging into his skin.

"Only one who knows how," you moaned, voice breaking.

The pace accelerated into a blur of heat and friction. The sound of body slapping echoed through the quiet kitchen, a combination of the rhythmic, wet thud of his hips hitting your inner thighs, the squelch of your pussy gripping his cock and the heavy sound of your combined breathing. He was fucking you raw, movements becoming more primal, driving into you with a force that left you breathless and trembling, the wetness between your legs turning into a frothy lather as he continued to claim you.

The friction intensified, the rhythm now changing to frantic. David’s hips became a blur of motion, driving into you with a relentless force that made the kitchen cabinets groan under the strain. You were locked in a feverish kiss, tongues battling for dominance while your breathing began to falter. The air in your lungs seemed to vanish, replaced by a mounting, electric tension that coiled tight in the pit of your stomach, radiating downward toward the point where you were fused together.

As the orgasm began to crest, David shifted his grip. He reached up, palm curling around the wedding ring dangling against your skin and clutching one of your breasts in a firm, bruising hold. He pressed the metal and your flesh hard into his palm, massaging them closer to your heart. He wanted the imprint of that ring, the symbol of what you once were and what he still claimed you to be, to be branded into your skin by the sheer pressure of his desire.

Your lips parted in a silent plea for release that escaped you. Your foreheads met, skin slick with sweat and together you both looked down. You watched the sight of his thick, glistening cock disappearing completely into your soaking wet folds, the skin of your pussy stretched taut and glistening with a lather of arousal.

"Come on, I know you have it...breathe," he commanded, voice low.

The combination of his voice, the visual of his cock burying itself inside you and the agonizingly perfect friction triggered the collapse. You gasped for air, a sharp, jagged intake of breath that broke into a series of high, needy moans. Your body suddenly shuddered with it, your internal walls clamping down on him in a series of rhythmic, involuntary spasms. Your pussy twitched and pulsed around his cock, gripping him with a desperate tightness that nearly brought him to his knees.

He forcefully kept his hips moving, driving through the waves of your climax, refusing to let you simply drift away. Every time he withdrew almost entirely, the vacuum of your orgasm triggered a release and you began to squirt, jets of clear, hot fluid spraying across his pelvis and the floor with a wet, splashing sound. Squelch. Splash. Slap. The sound of the lubrication and the squirting became a symphony of filth, the air smelling of sex and salt.

"I'll never get tired of seeing you cum," he groaned, voice thick with a primal hunger. “Fucking love to see it.”

The sight of you unraveling, body shaking and leaking all over him, pushed him over the edge. 

His cock gave a sudden throb deep inside your walls and with a deep-chested groan, he finally broke. He slammed himself into you one last time, pinning you against the cabinets as he began to cum.

You felt the hot, thick pulses of his seed erupting from him, filling you up in heavy, rhythmic bursts. The sensation was that of a flood of warmth that seemed to reach your very core. David’s entire body shivered, his muscles locking up as he poured himself into you, his breath coming in ragged, desperate hitches. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against the cabinet beside your head, chest heaving against your breasts once he finally released his grip.

You stayed there for a long moment, suspended in the afterglow, the only sound the heavy, synchronized thumping of your hearts and the dripping of fluids onto the floor. Your hiked-up leg remained there, though it now trembled from the intensity of the release. Your hand moved from his shoulder, sliding up to the nape of his neck, nails running through his hair as you felt the last of his cum fill you to the brim.

As the silence of the kitchen returned, you felt the cold steel of the handcuffs biting into your wrists. You knew there would be angry marks to hide the following morning, bruises that would serve as a map of this encounter but as you felt the heavy, warm weight of him still inside you, you didn't care. 

You hoped he stayed branded inside you, a secret, liquid mark of his possession that you would carry with you wherever you disappeared to next.

David couldn’t stop thinking about it almost a month later, which pissed him off more than he cared to admit, because he was sitting in the middle of an active investigation surrounded by cops who expected him to be paying attention, expected him to be chasing leads and to be doing literally anything besides staring through the glow of his computer screen while his chair rocked lazily from side to side beneath him.

The task force had spent days chasing a surname that seemed to exist everywhere and nowhere at the same time, buried beneath dead ends, sealed records, reluctant witnesses and databases that returned absolutely nothing useful and every road they took somehow circled back to the same frustrating conclusion: somebody was protecting somebody else and nobody wanted to talk or cooperate. 

They were stuck and all he could clearly think about was…sex.

“Any luck?” Gordon’s voice cut through the room as he abandoned his desk and walked toward the printer.

David blinked and sat forward, forcing himself back into the present. “No.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw and shook his head. “I’m thinking we should make some calls.”

Across the room Gordon slapped the side of the printer after it refused to cooperate for the third time. A second later the machine groaned to life. “Calls to who?”

David’s gaze drifted away from the desk phone and landed on his personal cellphone instead. 

He shrugged. “We’re wasting time trying to guess.” His thumb moved the mouse through photographs, names, reports and connections on his screen, trying to find something they’d missed while staring at the same evidence for days. “There might be someone I could ask.”

Gordon grabbed the fresh page from the printer and started scanning it. “Your buddy in intelligence?” He watched as David shook his head. “Wouldn’t it go against protocol?”

David laughed without humor. “Fuck protocol. We’re stuck.” He leaned back again. “We want the same thing…It’d be a favor I won’t have to pay back.”

Gordon considered that for a moment, eyes moving across the growing list of dealers, suppliers, runners and associates cluttering the page in his hand.

Finally he sighed. “Make the call.”

David nodded and reached for his phone but the movement stopped halfway once Scott walked into the office looking like he’d just swallowed something unpleasant.

His shoulders hung lower than usual, while his expression was that of annoyance and resignation. “The feds are here.”

The room around them went quiet as he pointed toward the conference room before turning around again, already moving towards it because nobody asked questions or needed to.

David exchanged a look with Gordon before pushing himself off his chair and following the rest of the task force down the hallway.

The conference room was already full by the time they arrived. Half the unit was sitting around the tables or against them while the other half leaned against walls staring forward as several people in suits stood at the front beside the whiteboard that had become a graveyard of photographs, names, timelines and theories.

David walked in last, feet faltering once his eyes locked onto yours and for a second, the entire room disappeared.

You stood at the front beside other federal agents and Andrea Smith herself, head of the Organized Crime Drug Enforcement Task Force, posture straight, expression unreadable and hands folded neatly in front of you like you belonged there.

Like you owned the room…and this wasn’t the first time you’d been standing across from him while holding all the cards.

His jaw tightened which you noticed, because nobody in that room knew him the way you did. They didn’t know how quickly irritation settled into the corners of his mouth or the difference between David being angry and David trying very hard not to be.

This wasn’t anger yet but it definitely was disappointment that came from realizing somebody had been sitting on information they probably should’ve shared a long time ago.

Andrea cleared her throat once everyone settled.

“It seems our investigation has crossed jurisdictional lines. I’ll be giving the FBI the lead and I expect everyone here to cooperate so we can continue moving this case forward together.”

Murmurs spread through the room but Andrea ignored them and stepped aside as you stepped forward. For the briefest second your eyes met David’s again before your attention moved to the rest of the room.

“I want to reassure everyone that we’re not here to take over your case or claim credit for work you’ve already done. We’ve simply been assigned to prevent this investigation from moving into areas that exceed your jurisdiction.”

“And those are?” Scott asked from somewhere behind David.

You didn’t hesitate. “Confidential.” Several groans answered that but you continued. “We’re operating as a joint federal task force.”

You motioned toward the agents beside you. “Organized crime and drug enforcement, financial crimes and safe streets.” Your gaze swept across the room already preparing for the reactions. “I’m Special Agent in Charge…McDougall.”

The room went silent. David’s expression didn’t change but Gordon turned so fast his chair nearly tipped over while a few other heads moved between the two of you, the same sudden realization spreading through the room.

You continued. “I’m assigned to the Public Corruption Unit and you’ll be answering to me.”

Eyes continued to drift toward David with varying degrees of subtlety but when half a room of cops tried to be discreet at exactly the same time it stopped being subtle altogether, becoming its own loud, awkward thing that settled over the room. The shift in attention was immediate and impossible to miss. Men who had spent years reading witnesses, suspects, informants and each other were suddenly pretending they weren’t looking directly at him.

David felt every second of it. Still, his eyes never left you.

You let the silence sit for a moment, long enough to make everyone uncomfortable without letting it turn into a spectacle.

“I know this isn’t ideal,” you said, your voice level and controlled, your attention moving around the room now instead of lingering on him. “Nobody likes finding out their case has a ceiling they didn’t know was there. That’s not a reflection of your work, it’s a reflection of how far this thing goes.”

Your hands remained clasped together in front of you. “What you’ve built here matters. The names, the patterns, the connections and the dead ends–” You paused. “Especially the dead ends…We need all of it.”

You reached back and tapped the whiteboard behind you.

“From this point forward your chain of command remains intact for everything that stays inside your jurisdiction. The moment something crosses into ours, it comes through me first. Not around me, not after the fact…but first.” Your eyes swept across the room again. “I’m not asking anyone here to trust us…I’m asking you to work with us while you decide whether you do.”

You took a step back which was the universal signal that the speech was over. “Any questions?”

David nearly rolled his eyes before the sentence had fully left your mouth because he knew what was coming. In his peripheral vision Scott’s hand was already halfway in the air.

You pointed at him. “Go ahead.”

Scott sat forward slightly. “Any relation to…” His finger pointed toward David and the room somehow became even quieter.

“Yes.” You didn’t hesitate.

If cooperation was going to happen, you knew some things were better handled immediately rather than letting rumors do the work for you. You’d made peace with that possibility years ago when you decided not to change your name.

“He’s my ex-husband.”

A slow ripple of realization moved through the room. Several heads turned as pairs of eyes dropped to David’s left hand and to the wedding band he still wore, then to yours which was bare.

The silence thickened again so you cut through it before it could settle. You tilted your head. “Do you also want to know my blood type?”

Scott blinked with a scoff. “What the hell would I want–”

“You came up with one stupid question.” You shrugged. “I was checking to see if you had another.”

A few snorts escaped around the room. Scott looked offended while Gordon looked like he was trying not to laugh and failing miserably at it.

You didn’t give anyone the opportunity to continue. “We’ll be set up in that room over there.” You pointed toward an office near the back. “So you can keep using this space freely.”

Then you turned toward your own team. “Try not to step all over these gentlemen’s work…Get to it.”

The room finally started moving again, chairs scraped, papers shuffled and people stood while conversations started in low voices and the spell broke. At least for everyone except David, because while everyone else was thinking about jurisdiction disputes, federal oversight and whatever fresh headache had just landed on their desks, he was thinking about you.

Specifically how the hell he’d let this happen without seeing it coming.

His gaze found yours again and for a second it looked like you might actually walk up to him and speak but then a ringtone sliced through the noise.

You grabbed your phone and answered quickly. “Mcdougall.” A second later your posture straightened. “Yes, ma’am.”

You turned away and headed for the hallway, the conversation already pulling your attention elsewhere.

David watched you disappear through the doorway before finally pushing himself upright.

“You in bed with the feds?” Scott’s voice stopped him halfway across the room.

David turned slowly and could see that the look on his face wasn’t accusatory so much as deeply curious which somehow made it worse. “That’s my wife you’re talking about.”

The response came automatically, so sharp that it made several nearby heads turn.

Scott raised an eyebrow. “Ex-wife by the looks of it…I’m wondering how your current wife feels about that statement.”

“What?” For the first time all afternoon David genuinely looked confused.

Gordon finally walked over and without a word, pointed toward David's wedding band. His jaw tightened as he followed their gazes before looking between them again, but mostly at Scott. 

“You do ask stupid questions.” David shook his head and walked away before either of them could continue.

A few minutes later you stepped back into the room, phone still in your hand after ending the call. The conversation around you continued uninterrupted as most people had already returned to work, except for your ex-husband who was already moving towards you.

“Talk for a second.”

There wasn’t even the slightest attempt to make it sound like a question. He didn’t stop or wait to check whether you’d agree. He simply kept walking and the assumption that you’d follow him was still firmly intact after all these years.

To your mild annoyance, you did.

He reached an empty interrogation room near the end of the hallway and held the door open for you. The second you stepped inside, he followed and shut it behind you both, letting the click of the latch echo in the small room.

You opened your mouth immediately, clearly prepared to smooth things over before the conversation could become an argument but David beat you to it.

“Is this what that night was?” He asked, the implied accusation as clear as nothing else could’ve been. ”Merely getting info out of me?...That was a low blow.”

The claim landed harder than either of you expected, because David was angry enough to reach for whatever explanation hurt the most and you could see him doing it in real time, trying to force pieces together into a version of events that made sense to him, one where he hadn’t been blindsided in front of his own task force, one where he hadn’t spent the last month remembering you in ways that made him feel like a complete idiot.

You stared at him for a second before a humorless laugh escaped you, the sheer absurdity of it catching you off guard. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t get shit out of you because we were too fucking busy having sex.”

His jaw flexed. “No,” he shook his head. “I’m sure you made it fit somehow in there.”

Your eyebrows shot upward. “Yeah, definitely. I think it was somewhere between the third and the fourth round…Was it before or after we fucked in the hallway on the way to the shower?” You asked sarcastically.

He threw his arms to the side. “Sure. I don’t fucking know…you always were a great multitasker.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fuck you.”

His laugh came out sharp and immediate.

“You did and that’s my fucking problem. You did a month ago and now you’re fucking me again, except this time I’m clothed and at work which makes it way less fun, by the way.” he shook his head, running a hand over his head in frustration. “I should’ve known.”

There was the real problem and it surprisingly wasn't the FBI and the jurisdiction nightmare sitting outside that door. It was you and the fact that you’d shown up after all that time and he’d simply opened the door without a second thought.

“Known what?”

His eyes locked onto yours.

“You hate Baltimore! You always have, even when we were married. You couldn’t wait to get back to Quantico,” He motioned towards you. “That night you showed up at the house and I just…I let you in. I didn’t question why you were there, and I should’ve. I’m a detective, for crying out loud…It’s my fucking job.”

The statement almost made you laugh because it was true, absurdly so. “You didn’t ‘let me in’ David, you just never asked for the keys back, which means it’s still my house.”

In all the years since the divorce, through every argument, every period of silence and every failed attempt at pretending you were finished with each other, it had never once occurred to him to ask for those keys back.

“Then why did you ring the doorbell?” He asked, frustration slipping through the cracks.

You shrugged. “I don’t fucking know. What if you had company?  Excuse me for being considerate.” A dry laugh escaped you. “I’m so sorry, that’s always been my greatest flaw.”

The answer visibly offended him. His face twisted, like you’d said something genuinely unreasonable.

“I’m not seeing anyone, much less bringing them into our home,” he pointed.

The words hung between you heavily and neither of you dared correct his words, you simply nodded as something in you gave way and the fight bled out at once, your voice softening before you even fully realized it had.

“I was wrong for that, okay? It’s your space…and we agreed to keep it that way. I should’ve just gotten a hotel room–”

The second the apology appeared, David’s expression changed enough for you to recognize the discomfort immediately. He hated apologies from you, always had, especially when he didn’t deserve one. He let out a slow breath as he shook his head and stepped closer. 

You continued. “I was here for work but I swear it wasn’t about your case. I didn’t even know it was yours when I agreed to it and when I found out, I–”

His hand came up, settling against your neck and jaw with a familiarity that neither of you thought twice about. His thumb rested near your cheek as his expression softened.

“Okay, that’s enough. I’m sorry–” he said, bringing your face to his in a deep searing kiss.

The apology barely registered past the contact of his mouth on yours, the words dissolving into the space between breath and impact and whatever resistance you still had left in you didn’t even pretend to last because your hand was already catching the front of his shirt, pulling him back in like instinct had taken over where restraint should’ve been.

The apology actually surprised you more than the kiss did. It always did with him, that sudden shift from bite to something almost careful and honest, as if he didn’t know how to stay angry at you for longer than it took to get close enough to forget why he started it.

“You’re an asshole,” you said in between kisses as his lips curled into a smile.

That smile made it slower and linger instead of resolve, muscle memory was doing half the work for him while the rest of him kept dragging the moment out, refusing to let it end cleanly.

“I know…I know, baby,” he mumbled as he went in for more, tilting your head up for better access. “But you could’ve called.”

His mouth pressed back onto yours soon after, he was trying to make a point without words.

You exhaled into it without meaning to, the sound swallowed between you as he moved closer, crowding the space without actually moving you anywhere else, just pinning the moment in place with nothing but presence and the familiar arrogance of someone who knew exactly what he was doing to you and didn’t care.

Years of habit were overriding every sensible thought either of you should have been having and for a few reckless seconds it became dangerously easy to forget where you were, that there were federal agents, detectives and task force members less than fifty feet away.

Only then did reality return and you pushed firmly against his chest to create distance as you stepped back and he didn’t try to stop you, just watched while you couldn’t help but lick your lips subtly.

“I fucking hate you.” It came out entirely without conviction.

His grin widened as he moved to sit on the edge of the desk nearby and crossed his arms. “You hate that you don’t.” He paused. “And I don’t like how easily ‘ex-husband’ slipped out…so watch your mouth while we’re at it.” he cautioned playfully.

Your brows lifted while a reluctant smile threatened to appear. “Excuse me? Are we not divorced? I mean, we’re not great at it but–”

“I didn’t say that.“ he shrugged. “I said I don’t like how it sounded.”

You laughed under your breath. “Well, too bad. I remember you in court when it happened…and I didn’t put a gun to your head to sign those papers.” You shrugged.

The smile disappeared from his face. “No, I know.” His voice was quieter now, not revealing even a fraction of what crossed his mind every time he remembered that courthouse, every signature, document and opportunity he could have stopped it but didn’t. “...Would’ve told you to make sure you didn’t miss.”

The honesty of it caught you off guard. You looked away first. “I have to go.”

His eyes tracked your movement as you stepped toward the door. “Hate to see it.”

Your hand almost reached the doorknob before you stopped, turning back as professionalism slid back into place. “And just in case you were too busy thinking about sex out there while I was talking, I’m your boss now…a helpful indicator being that we’re both dressed and vertical,” you pointed out, making sure your bedroom tendencies and dynamics didn’t bleed into your jobs.

David nodded once. “Yes ma’am.”

You narrowed your eyes as he looked entirely too pleased with himself and your hand finally settled on the doorknob.

“I love you” he waited, seeing as you still weren’t moving. “Say it back.”

“I’m on the clock and your superior...I’ll say it at lunch.” You pulled the door open, the hallway noise immediately spilled back into the room.

“As long as I get to slide home tonight.” He said under his breath as he got up and followed.

You shook your head as you stepped through the doorway, fighting a smile that absolutely did not belong on the face of a Special Agent in Charge.

David let the door close behind him and knew two things with complete certainty. The first was that working under his ex-wife was going to be a disaster and the second was that by the end of this assignment, he’d be getting down on one knee again…whether it was to sate his primal hunger, sucking the honey right from the source or to propose again, he didn’t know.