#anon request

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

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

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

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

Run of the mill.

Simple.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You would’ve been home by now.

But Dean wants to be a little fucking bitch.

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m tryin’-“

“Not hard enough.”

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

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

“You’re gonna attack a dying man-“

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

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

“They are. Think about it.“

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

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

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

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

Dean grunts. “No. Next name.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He mutters your name, but you push on.

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

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

“Sorry-“

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop.”

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

“No. Don’t want Ella-“

“Emma-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dean wants to be done with this.

You’re not done with him.

You swipe right on Emma.

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

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

“Baby, I need you not to talk-“

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

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

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

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

“No.” He grunts, and you blink.

“It’s okay-“

“No. I‘m not doin’ that to you.”

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

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

Looking at you.

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

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

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

“’m fine-“

“You’re not fine-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A bar.”

He makes a sour expression. “Why.”

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

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

You sigh. ‘Dean-“

“No. I told you, I’m not doin’ that.“

“Yes, you are.”

“No-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dean grunts your name, and your eyes shoot up.

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

“Where-“

“She left.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He frowns. “No, I’m not-“

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

“I don’t want someone else.”

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

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

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

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

“I’m not acting like a child-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He rasps your name, and you shake your head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t hate you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

“Why-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“De- Dean-“

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

“Dean-“

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

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

Dying wish.

He still thinks he’s allowed to die.

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

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

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

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

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

“I told you, no-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dean mouth hangs slack.

“Jesus fuckin’-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re sure-“

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

“Yes.” You snap, and Dean hums.

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is different.

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

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

“De, be- Be careful-“

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

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

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

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

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

“Answer me-“

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

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

“Dean-“

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

“I- I don’t remember-“

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

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

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

“Oh my- Dean-“

“I told you, answer-“

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

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

“Mmm- Mhm-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dean, Dean, please-“

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

“Dean-“

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

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

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

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

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

“Dean, please- Please, fuck- please-“

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

Then he finally lets you over the edge.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll get over it.”

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

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

“Wha-“

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

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

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

“Blame it on the curse.”

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

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

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

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

He rasps your name, and you blink away tears.

“Dean, if it’s just the curse-“

“It’s not. It’s-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At least he still sweeps you off your feet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.” You gasp. “Yes, Dean, please-“

Again, he moves.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Feels good.”

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

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

Dean groans. “Fuck, baby…”

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

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

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

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

“Dean…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it was worth it.

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

"The patient still needs an ortho consult." You mumbled. "Can you not tell-"

You were cut off by the patient who'd assaulted you, yelling loudly in pain. Everyone looked over to see Park manhandling him and checking his knee.

"Before that happens..." You sighed softly.

"I've never seen him that aggressive," Dennis whispered to Trinity.

"Can you blame him?" Trinity gave him a look and everyone fell quiet again, attention shifting back to you as most people entirely ignored the yelling completely.

Park exited the room and threw away the gloves, santizing his hands as he looked across the space and finally saw you. You gave your head a light shake to not make a scene which he promptly ignored and made his way right to you.

Before he could even speak, you were explaining how you were completely fine. Santos was still holding your arm.

"Well?" Park looked at her.

"Bruising and maybe a fracture. Will need an XRay to be sure." She immediately spoke.

"Fine, hm?" He turned to you.

"Okay, people. Show's over. Let's go." Dana herded everyone away, specially dragging Robby's nosy ass with herself.

"Why didn't you call me?" Park whispered.

"I'm fine. Really- It's-" You tried but he glared, making you pout. "It's not a fracture. See?" You grimaced as you showed movement of your wrist.

"Can I?" He asked softly and you gave him your hand.

He was so delicate with it. Touching and feeling around the joint.

"Still needs an XRay to be sure." He said, making you nod. "Did you call the police?"

"Dana did. Should be here soon." You hummed, "But I-"

"You will be pressing charges." He said firmly.

"Brendon." You sighed but he wasn't hearing any of it.

"You will." He repeated, still holding your hand carefully. "Please?"

"I... I'll talk to them then see. Okay? Best I can do for now." You gave him a hopeful smile.

You and him have been friends for a good few years now, having met him just a little before his 'Off The Wall' album release. Accidentally bumping into the then-twenty year-old-star in a record store of all places, a few apologies were exchanged before your eyes noticed the Donna Summer album in his hands. That led to further conversations ranging from talking about how good Donna Summer's latest single is, to Michael showing you the Bee Gees album he's planning on purchasing, and somehow ends with you playing a record of Blondie's on the store turntable to make him listen to the B-sides.

It was a whole hour and a half before a burly looking gentleman kindly reminded Michael he had other affairs to tend to, and after eagerly sharing each other’s contact details, you got home urgently to listen to the newly bought records of Jackson Five. 

From then on, you've been calling and exchanging letters with Michael non-stop. Postcards from the different states he’s touring in, long distance telephone calls when his shows end, and everything in between. He finds a way to contact you so often that when his mother knew of you, she asked you to come over for one of their family gatherings. That's likely when it's been established that you and Mike are pretty much best friends. 

You were lucky enough to witness Michael at his most focused when he was working on final touches to Off The Wall, changing musical tunes during late nights in the studio. Memories of celebrating with him when said album won the Grammys, as well as the AMAs. There’d even been numerous times where you got to come to his shows during the Triumph Tour with his brothers. It’s been well over four years since you met, and at this point he’s the only person to truly know you inside and out.

A quick snap out of your thoughts when the bathroom lights turn off, and Michael steps out as he dries his curls with a towel. He’s been out the whole day doing… whatever it is pop stars do during their spare time, only reaching home about half an hour after you already made yourself a cup of tea to heal from a long day at the diner. You don’t even know how it got to the point where you can just waltz into Michael’s home without him even being there, but it’s better not to question much about it. 

Michael walks around the bedroom, shifting things as he gets ready for bed. Glancing at you, his eyes soften. "Tired, baby?" He asks gently. 

"Mhm," you hum in response, sinking further into the blankets. "Had the worst customers today. I don't even care about the no tipping, y’know? The thing that’s bugging me is why the hell were they drinking fifteen shots of espresso at 9.30PM? And God... One of them had a rat-tail, Mike. I sure hope it doesn't become a thing because it's just so unfortunate to witness." 

A soft chuckle escapes him, warming your heart. You continue ranting, “Mike, that one mean woman who comes for coffee every lunchtime? She got to the diner late, and then proceeded to blame me for making her late because by the time her food arrived, her break was almost ending. Can you even believe that?” 

Michael clicks his tongue, getting on the bed. Making himself comfortable, he pulls you in and wraps his arm around your back, your head laying atop his chest. "I told you to please just stop working there. I can take care of you, baby. You know that. We'd be just fine and you can do whatever it is you want." 

Shaking your head vehemently, you nudge at his chest. "No way, Mike. I can handle myself. I'm a responsible adult. I'm a strong, independent woman, y'know?" 

"I know you are, beautiful. I'm just tellin' you that I can help while you look for somethin' you'd actually enjoy. Not that horrible diner place. You deserve so much better," Michael says as he leaves soft kisses on your temple. 

You melt at his touch and close your eyes. Murmuring, "Thank you, Mikey. It's just hard leaving Daisy all by herself. The others are so mean to that poor kid." 

"Hell, I'll hire her for somethin' if it means you're out of that damn place," Michael grumbles as he shifts and pulls you closer. 

Snickering quietly, you hush him before kissing his jaw, "That's enough out of you, hm?” 

“I'm serious, sweetheart. That job is stretching you thin, and I'm not liking any second of it. I'm just worried about you,” Michael looks at you with furrowed brows, thumb stroking your cheek. 

Michael has never not worried about you, you think. The man has protective tendencies towards everyone he cares for, but it's been noted by many that whenever you're in the picture, it's as if it gets dialed up to the maximum level. One of the most insane things he's done so far was that he had three extra secure locks installed at your front door when you first moved into your apartment, and despite it being against the rules, the landlord couldn't really argue with the Michael Jackson over his loved one's safety. 

You respond quietly, “I know, Michael. Don't worry too much. I got everything handled, okay? I'm looking for job openings as we speak.” 

“If you'd just consider the fact that I know many people in all kinds of businesses, baby–” 

“No,” you cut him off, shaking your head. “Uh-uh, I'm not doing this again. Mikey, I don't want to take advantage of you for this. I'm doing this myself because that's the right thing to do.” 

“It's not taking advantage, it's called networking,” Michael sighs. 

Shaking your head again, you shift to make yourself more comfortable against his chest. “No helping, Michael. Not unless I'm absolutely desperate. Which I'm not… yet.” 

He sighs again, silent for a moment before kissing your head. “Fine. But I'm tellin' you right now. The minute you want to quit, go on ahead and don't hesitate. You got me, you know that right?” 

“Yes, I do.” A small smile forms on your face, eyes closing slowly. “Goodnight, Mike.” 

"Goodnight, baby," he wishes, shifting down slightly as he gives a peck on your lips before burying his head into your neck. Murmuring softly, “Love you.”  

“Love you,” you reply, already out of it. The room’s silence filled with only the sounds of you and him breathing in sync, and the TV playing the end credits of Roman Holiday. 

Despite the quiet, your mind races. 

Okay. You're aware of how it seems between the both of you. It’s been mentioned by a few who witness your dynamic and you’re aware of how weird and frankly, even disturbing for friends to be this close. Cuddling is one thing, but kissing on the lips and saying ‘I love you’s are on a totally different level. It doesn't really occur to you when that has evolved. As far as you're concerned, he just started calling you sweet names one day and became more physically needy than usual. 

It happened around after he returned from his tour in Europe, so you figured they really weren't joking about how Europeans are more touchy. Well, that's what the travel magazines say anyway. 

With that, you leave it be. In retrospect, you're never one to turn down any physical affection from Michael. And deep down you know it gives you butterflies, but you remind yourself daily to just ignore it.

So you do. Remind yourself, that is. Without fail. 

It gets a lot more difficult each day, if you're being honest with yourself. On some days, it feels almost impossible. Especially when he gets so touchy and soft. Holding your waist as he talks to his brothers. Firmly holding your hand when he walks down the studio hallways. Even during the little days when he has free time and instead of doing something more worthwhile with someone more important, he'd persuade you to come stay at his house and play all kinds of board games.

You beat him at Connect Four every time, by the way. 

Once having realized the risk of this becoming a huge problem if you don't handle the… pool of feelings swirling in your gut… and how it would lead to everything crumbling down, you knew you had to do something.

That's why, after much pressure from your boss, Janine, you're going on a blind date with her nephew. 

“He'll be just the perfect man for you, doll,” she said to you so excitedly. In fact, so excitedly that you couldn't really turn her down. It's set for the day after tomorrow, and you still haven't told Michael.

Make it work first, see the guy first. See how things go before saying anything to Mike. That's your plan. It'd be a waste of time if the date didn't work out and you got Michael's hopes up regarding your love life for no reason at all.

How on Earth would you even start? Michael knows you're not exactly the type of person to go on just any blind date. He'd ask. And what could you answer? That you're falling in love with him more every single day that passes? That you're only doing this to get over it? 

Absolutely not.

•

Mornings with Michael are always the epitome of domesticity at its finest. Both of you are hanging around the kitchen. Michael is sitting at the kitchen island, with only intentions of accompanying you, who's currently craving a bowl of freshly sliced fruit. 

“Hey, baby? I'm gonna be home late again. Q called and said somethin’ about some adjustments the album needs. You got anything planned for today?” Michael asks, eyes focusing on his book of notes. Hand gripping on a pencil, eager to underline or scratch words about whatever it is he's working on. He writes down any important pieces from meetings, or anything that comes to mind about a lyric or a tune. You call it his ‘book of wonders’, and Michael laughs it off with a shy blush every time. 

“What more adjustments does it need? I think the album is already perfect!” You scoff. 

Michael laughs quietly and shrugs, “I think he's gonna cut another song from the final tracklist. Been drivin’ me crazy with that.”

Pointing at him briefly, you press your words firmly. “Don't let him cut Billie Jean, Mike. I swear to God.” 

“I promise I won't. Not Billie Jean,” Michael snorts, “Anyway baby, your plans? For today?” 

You hum absentmindedly, too distracted with cutting up some apple slices for your fruit bowl. “I’m going out later. Thinking about doing some shopping.” You're off work today and tomorrow, so there's plenty of time to get ready and make yourself beautiful for the stranger you're about to go on a date with. 

God, everything is so silly.

“Ooh, somethin’ special going on? You never shop for yourself spontaneously. I always have to beg for you to do that,” Michael asks, getting up from his seat and walking up to you. Hands snaking around your waist, chin resting on top of your shoulder as he takes a gander on the bowl of fruit snacks you're making for yourself. 

“Looks like heaven, doesn't it?” You ask with a teasing grin, gesturing towards the bowl. 

“No, angel. You do,” he replies with a kiss on your temple. “You didn't answer my question.”

“Oh, that. Well…” You shrug, “Maybe, maybe not. We'll have to wait a bit and then you'll get your story, hm?” 

“Hmm… Okay, I'll bite. I'll be waitin’ for some kind of update soon, okay?” 

“I promise,” you say. 

Michael nods with a smile, tilting down and softly presses his lips against yours. Your heart lurches as you hesitantly kiss him back. Not two seconds later though, he pulls away with a grin when a knock comes onto the door. “That's Bill. Hold on, baby.” 

As he walks away, you take a minute to gather yourself. Breathing deeply, you groan at the delusional path your heart was heading down. What was that kiss? Jeez, Europe really did a number on him. 

Turning back to the bowl of fruit, you rethink how good of an idea it is to actually go on this damn blind date. 

•

“I’m telling you, Daisy, what if this is a bad idea?” You hiss in desperation into the telephone. 

You’re back in your own apartment, surrounded by messy piles of clothing. It’s almost 10PM and the thing is, what you should be doing is some facial care before the date tomorrow, but instead you’re currently freaking out on Daisy. You were supposed to be back at Michael’s. But then. During your retail run, you belatedly realized it’s almost impossible to sleep at Michael’s the night before your blind date.

One, he would try to heckle his way into knowing what you’re going to be up to. 

Two, you would immediately give in to him and tell him everything. 

Three, after all of that, he’d question your sudden urge to date.

And finally, you’d have to tell him you’re doing it to get over your stupid feelings for him. 

Ruining your friendship with Michael would have to be the worst thing that you could do to your life. 

So that’s how you end up back in your own space, though the comfort you felt at Michael’s is sorely missed. Picking up a nearby sweater, you throw it across the room to the ‘No’ pile. “What if the date turns out really well but it’s just my subconscious self making it work to forget about Mike? That wouldn’t be fair to Janine’s nephew.”

“Okay, first of all, if your subconscious self is making it work, that’s a good thing. At least some part of you have an effort to try. Second, it’ll be exactly perfect if you got over Michael. I mean… c’mon, you’ve been friends for years. If he hasn’t made his move by now, then he never will.”

‘Well yeah, but if I told you he kisses me almost every day, you’d probably be saying something different,’ the thought runs through your head silently. Blinking away your delusions, you sigh, “What if Janine’s nephew thinks I’m too breezy?”

Daisy laughs, “Girl, you’re not as breezy as you think you are. And even so, breezy is in now. You’d be having him drooling all over ya’.” 

A brief pause. 

“You keep saying ‘Janine’s nephew’,” Daisy says, “Girl, do you even know what his name is?”

Shameful heat blushes your neck, grimacing silently, mind running to remember. 

“Uhm… Kevin… what’s-his-name?”

Shrieking laughter from the other side of the telephone makes you flinch in shock. You’re telling her off, whining as Daisy repeats to herself the word Kevin. “It’s Calvin, girl,” she corrects you, chortling unabashedly. “Calvin Johnson, Janine’s sister’s son. Remember that before you embarrass yourself tomorrow night.”

“But Daisy! What if it’s a bad idea?”

“Listen to me. Calvin is also being set up, right? He’s probably just as nervous as you are. And he doesn’t know you yet. If you somehow don’t hit it off, which I seriously doubt because, well, don’t tell Janine this, but she’s a killer matchmaker, I mean, hello? Douglas from the kitchen and Jake from the laundromat across the street? Who the heck expects that? Anyway, if you somehow don’t hit it off, he won’t be hurtin’ and cryin’ in the ditch somewhere. He’s fine, and so are you. Just do this.”

You bite your lip, “Daisy…”

She immediately cuts you off. “The main reason why you’re still apprehensive is because you want to know what Michael thinks. And he probably would not give you the input you secretly want. I love you, really I do, but it’s time to acknowledge the fact that nothing seems to be blossoming there. You deserve the world, babe... You can go try and gettin’ it yourself instead of waitin’ around for someone to give it to you.”

Listening to her gentle voice, you fiddle with the string of pearls on your corner table. Sitting back on the couch, looking at the mess in front of you while the words she says slowly take root in your mind. Daisy is right. You’ve spent years trying to hollow out your feelings, ignoring whatever is growing inside the crevices of your heartstrings whenever you look at Michael, forgetting those sneaky thoughts of what it would be like to have him as your boyfriend, husband, the lover of your life. All of that, you’ve been pushing down so deep, and the fact that Michael is so openly and brazenly affectionate with you starts to feel a little insulting. Here you are, absolutely spiraling from every single touch shared, and yet, for him it’s just another friendly peck. Everything he does means the whole world to you, but why doesn’t it seem to mean much to him?

You’re aware you’re being unfair. Michael doesn’t owe you anything. All he asks from you is a loyal companionship, be it in a platonic way. He never expressed intentions of something more, at least not officially. It’s your own fault for developing feelings. You can’t be mad at him.

You can never be mad at Michael. Not when all he’s done for you is provide love and unconditional support. 

After a few more minutes of slow conversation with Daisy, you tell your goodbyes after reassuring her you won’t back out on the blind date. Heaving a deep sigh, you get up from the couch and start cleaning up your mess. Already deciding on what to wear for tomorrow night, you’re determined to never have to look at a piece of stray clothing ever again because it will absolutely slay you if you did. You haven’t been this fashion anxious since forever ago. Having Michael as a friend has its perks, and one of them is receiving endless fashion tips; that actually works for you. 

And obviously, Michael should be no such help for this particular instance. 

The landline rings and you pick it up, half assuming it’s Daisy to convince you to not back out again. The girl has such little faith in you, you scoff. 

“Daisy, I promise—”

“It’s Michael.”

Your eyes widen briefly before a soft laugh escapes you, “Oh, hey, Mike.”

“Where are you?” he asks, voice sounding a little stiff. Momentarily freezing, your head tilts in confusion over his tone.

“I’m at home, why?”

“No, you’re not. I know this because I’m calling from home. I thought you’re staying here tonight?” Michael asks.

“Oh, I thought you’re supposed to come home late tonight?” You ask him. 

Michael replies with the same stiff tone, “I got out early, Q just wanted to get rid of Billie Jean and I chewed him off and got out of there before he could jump me. Baby, you’re not home. Why?”

“I meant I’m at my home, Mike. And because I figured I had to stay here at least for tonight, the space is literally about to gather dust.”

“That’s never stopped you before?” he argues.

Letting out a nervous laugh, you say, “Mike, maybe it’s because I don’t want you to get sick of me—”

“That’s a bunch of bull, sweetheart. C’mon, what’s happenin’? Please, baby, tell me,” Michael pleads, voice almost upset. “You’re supposed to be here with me. I want you here.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, sensing the upcoming begging and persuading coming from him. Firmly reminding yourself that no matter what pretty words he says, you’re putting your foot down and not surrendering to him. Regardless how tempting it is.

How insanely tempting.

“I’m sorry, Mike. It’s just so late already, you know?” You try to deflect. 

“Who said anything about you drivin’? I’ll get Bill to drive you, I’ll call him right now—”

“Wait, Mike, don't!" You exclaim. “Poor Bill needs his rest. And so do you. Mike, we can sleep apart for one night.”

“We can but I’d rather not, baby…” he replies, almost completely quiet. “Is something the matter? You usually tell me when you’re not coming over.”

Slapping your palm to your forehead, you let out a soft gasp. “Of course! Oh, Mike, I’m so sorry. It completely slipped my mind. I was too distracted from the– from today! I’m sorry, honey, I should have given you some kind of note.”

Michael hums, “That’s okay… Just… Don’t you want to come over?” 

Hearing his desperate tone, you almost stood up to grab your keys right then and there. Fighting against the strong urge, you sigh out and try to ignore the heavy guilt inside, “Mike, I’d love to but it’s late. Please rest. I promise I’ll see you the day after tomorrow okay?”

“Woah, hang on, why not just tomorrow?”

A tugging of your bottom lip, you think of what to say. You genuinely can’t bring yourself to tell him the truth. You don’t want to risk it. Not if he’s going to interrogate you until you confess your undying love for him. Gosh, your head feels as if it’s about to explode.

“Because I’m gonna be doing something tomorrow. Remember the little update?”

“Why can’t you just tell me now? Or tomorrow night?” Michael almost pleads. 

“Mike, please don’t make this harder for me,” you tell him, whining. “I promise, promise, promise I’ll tell you the day after tomorrow. Please?”

A beat of silence. 

“I can’t…” he starts so timidly.

You hum in question, “You can’t what, Mike?”

A clearing of his throat before he replies, voice firmer, “Nothing. Okay, baby. I’ll wait until the day after tomorrow to see you, but I’m callin’ you tomorrow midnight. I need to hear your voice and I need to know you’re at home safe.”

“Okay, Michael. That’s very sweet of you.”

He only hums in response. Furrowing your brows, you ask him. “Mike, are you alright?”

“I just miss you so much, baby,” he replies after a short second. He says it so earnestly, your cheeks warm up. 

“We just saw each other this morning,” you softly remind him with a laugh.

“I don’t care.”

You smile softly, finger coiling with the landline wire. “I miss you too, Mikey. I’ll see you, okay?”

“Don’t forget to call.”

“I won’t!”

“You better not… Go to sleep. Goodnight, baby. I love you.”

“I love you too, Mike. Goodnight.”

Hanging up, you let out the deepest sigh you could muster. Plopping your head on the back of the couch and staring off into space, you wonder why Michael is taking it so hard about you sleeping in your own apartment. 

•

Taking a sip from your wine glass, you smile politely as Kev– Calvin tells his story. Sitting at a table for two in a fancy restaurant is honestly not what you expected, but when he stood in front of your doorstep dressed in a black suit and tie, that would have been your first hint. You’re immediately relieved about choosing the dark, sleek dress that was purchased spontaneously the day before. 

“And then my boss just went off on him, I did nothin’ but walk away, it was so bad,” he laughs. Calvin Johnson has a really cute laugh. He was pretty, too, you think. His hazel eyes gleam brightly and he knows how to land a joke. He orders good food and good wine. His voice is pleasant and deep. He dresses nice. 

But… nothing. You feel absolutely nothing.

Here you are, dinner with the perfect gentleman who knows to compliment, and you’re feeling absolutely nothing. Your mind is just filled with thoughts of what Michael would have done if he saw the waiter passing by with mismatched neon socks, or what Michael would have ordered if the menu only consisted of fourteen different types of spaghetti, if he would have vomited and just starved altogether, or what Michael would have said to you when you pointed out the painting of the restaurant’s owner at the entrance that resembled Gene Kelly. Michael, Michael, Michael. It’s like he’s taken over your life the more you try to forget about your feelings. 

You’re immediately being consumed by guilt at the thought of hurting Janine and her nephew. They are both really nice and warm people, and you’re returning the favour by playing games. Michael would have been so disappointed. He probably would enjoy talking to Calvin. Maybe if it doesn’t work between you and Calvin, and you’re being real honest here, it definitely won’t, you could introduce him to Michael. They already have the musically talented section in common. Only Calvin was more towards classical instruments. Well, maybe they could read music sheets together. 

Biting your lip, you realize you’re only thinking of things that include Michael to help you go through this date. And that only makes you feel worse. You’re a terrible person. 

“ — Hey, are you okay?”

You slightly jump, wide eyes gazing back at Calvin’s concerned ones. “O-oh, yeah, yes! I am okay, I’m so sorry. I’m just so… full, I get a little breezy when I’m, uh, full.”

Just pulling shit straight out of your ass. 

He nods in acknowledgement, giving a small smile before he continues his story about… kangaroos or underoos. Either one. 

You couldn’t really focus on the rest of his story, not that you did in the first place, but this time the focus was actually elsewhere instead of inside your own head. Your eyes flicker to a few tables behind Calvin, and the familiar face catches you off guard. Slightly squinting, you try to make out who the person is, before pausing your breath. It’s one of Michael’s bodyguards, you think. He’s newly appointed, but he seems nice. He has ginger hair and a small tattoo behind his ear, that’s how you know it’s him. Tilting your head further to the side, you try to recognize the rest of the table he’s sitting at. Nerves racking, you hope with everything you have that Michael isn’t there with them. But after seeing the whole table only has burly men laughing aloud, you realize they’re just on their break. Michael gives them his card sometimes and tells them to get fancy dinners. This must be one of those nights where he wants to be completely and utterly alone. Your heart drops. Could something be bothering him? He was definitely off from the phone call last night. 

Your eyes suddenly make contact with one of the guards, who looks just as dumbfounded as you are. It was the world’s worst staring eye contest before you clear your throat. Averting your gaze, you force a smile as Calvin cluelessly continues his story. 

That redhead is so gonna rat you out. 

•

Returning home couldn’t be any more relieving than it is now. You’re leaning against the front door after closing it, sighing heavily. Thinking of moments prior. 

“Hey, listen… I had a wonderful time tonight. And I think you did, too. But just as friends, huh?” Calvin asks as he walks you to your doorstep. You only look at him with your mouth slightly agape, not knowing what to say. 

He laughs, shrugging, “I only agreed because of Aunt Janine. And I’m assuming you did too. That woman doesn’t know how to take no for an answer, that’s for sure.”

“She sure doesn't,” you softly chuckle. 

Calvin rubs his nape, looking at you with an almost sympathetic grin. “And uh… don't take this the wrong way, but I sincerely hope you don't go on another date with a stranger.” 

Trying to hide your offended face, you ask him. “Why do you say that?” 

“Because this whole night, I was just talkin’ your ears off but your mind is in a completely different place. I mean, I was talking rubbish towards the end, with the kangaroos and all. Not even a peep from you, because you're busy thinking…” he trails off, displaying a pitying look as you nervously fiddle with your fingers, looking away. 

“... Of someone else, hm?” 

You don't respond, but you settle for a small smile. “You're too understanding.” 

Calvin sighs deeply, “I know.” He says in a melancholic tone. 

Laughing with him, you sigh and step closer to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Calvin. I'm so sorry this didn't work out. I'm sorry for not trying.” 

“Eh, forget it,” he reassures you. “Honest. We wouldn't work anyway, I actually liked those risottos.” 

“They were disgusting,” you tease back. Hugging Calvin a very short second, you let him off with a goodbye. 

Which brings you to now, sighing like the world's biggest loser. You hated letting people down. It feels like you're hurting them on purpose, but it truly isn't your intention. You thought you'd get over your feelings for Michael at least a little. 

Instead, the thing you want to do most right now is cuddle up against him. 

You're thinking of the possible phrases on what your excuse could be if Michael asks what you've been up to today, not taking any chances that he wouldn't heckle. It's been a good two minutes since Calvin left your doorstep, and the date is being fast forgotten.

More so when a sudden knock comes down on your front door. You instantly know it's not Calvin. This one felt too comfortable, familiar…. Intimate.

You must be imagining things. 

Walking back to the door, you take a look at the peephole. And lo and behold, Michael's standing right at your doorstep. His face unreadable. 

As you open the door, you force a bright grin onto your face. “Michael, hey—” 

“Who's he?” Michael asks sharply. Almost robotic. His body tense, jaw clenched ever so slightly.

“Hm?” You hum in response, tilting your head in confusion. 

“The guy you were just with,” he quietly adds, walking into your apartment. 

You realize what he's talking about and let out an ‘Oh’. “That's Janine's nephew,” you answer. 

Michael just looks at you with a deep gaze. Murmuring hoarsely, he says to you, “C’mon, baby… don't play with me like this. Not right now.” 

“Michael, I'm telling the truth, that is Janine's nephew. His name's Calvin.” 

“Calvin…” he scoffs before turning around to pace back and forth in your living room. Meanwhile, you get more and more confused. 

“What, you went on a date with him or somethin’?” Michael asks you shakily.

Well, the cat's definitely out of the bag, but Michael's reaction is not one you're expecting in any way, shape or form. 

“Y-yes, I did… Come on Mikey, what's going on?” 

He gives you the most incredulous look he's ever given anyone. “What's going on? Are you actually asking me that? What's… What's wrong with you?” 

Hurt strikes through your chest at his words. Michael has never, ever been rude or said anything harsh like that towards anyone, least of all you.

Why is he talking like that to you? And why does it hurt so much with the way he's being so… different?

“What did I do, Mike?” You ask in a small voice, hugging yourself nervously.

“Oh no, no, no, you don't get to be upset, I'm upset,” he says with glassy eyes staring back at you. You almost gasp at the sight, his hurting can be seen as clear as day. Michael continues, “You were on a date with a rando? What, did you think I wasn't gonna find out? And you're so– so casual about it, do you even care at all?” 

“Mike, what's… It's one date, Michael, what could be the issue? Please tell me why you're so bothered!” 

“Why the hell do you think I'm bothered?” 

“I don't know! It's just one date and you're not even my boyfriend, so tell me, Mikey, please.” 

Michael throws his arms in the air, “Oh, sure! Just one would be fi– wh-what? I'm sorry?” 

“What?” 

“What did you say?” 

“It's just one date!” 

“No,” Michael whispers, shaking his head. “After that… what did you mean by that?”

Tilting your head, you furrow your brows. “Mike?” 

He suddenly walks right up to you, hands slowly coming up to cradle your face. “I'm not… your boyfriend?” 

“ … No?” 

Michael's eyes flutter, pain being etched on every surface of his face. “Are you breakin’ up with me, baby?” 

“What?” You ask with a soft voice, eyes widening. “When did we get together?”

“What?” 

“What?” You repeat, starting to breathe really hard. Michael gives you an astounded look, thumb stroking the apple of your cheek. His lips part in surprise, and it appears as if his brain is taking an extremely long time to register your words. 

“What do you mean when did we get together?” 

Close to crying, you whine softly, “Michael, I don't follow!” 

Michael clenches his jaw, eyes boring into yours as his brows furrow deeper. “Baby, this isn't funny.” 

“I'm not trying to be funny!” You reply. 

“Then what are you talking about? I am your boyfriend!”

“Since when?” You ask loudly, eyes getting wider by the second. 

His jaw only drops further in response, head shaking repeatedly. “She's joking,” he murmurs softly to himself. You deny it again, strongly needing to know what the hell is actually going on. 

“Well, baby,” Michael starts with a bewildered look on his face, “I happen to think we got together since I started callin’ you baby every day and how you're practically livin’ with me because I don't think I can actually sleep without you anymore, oh and I almost forgot, we're kissin’ damn near all the time!” 

You stand there, yet another dumbfounded look on your face. “I just thought you took home some European customs,” is the only thing you could say in a small voice. 

“What?” Michael asks again, another confused facial expression before he sighs and pulls you close. “Baby… you're telling me this whole time…?” 

You shake your head, hand coming up to softly stroke his jaw. “I didn't know anything. God, I'm so sorry, Mikey. I mean, I mean what am I supposed to think? You never asked me about it– you didn't clarify anything, did you?” 

“I thought in a way, you knew!” 

You ask softly, “How could I have known?” 

Michael looks away, arms still wrapped around you. “Okay… I’m sorry. I’m really sorry for yelling because now I’m just rethinking everything… I was a stupid twenty year old. Remember how we kissed for the first time?” 

Heat rises to your cheeks at the memory. Yes, you certainly did.

By then, both of you have been friends for about a few months. It was late at night, and you were sleeping over at his family house. It was just you two in front of the television, everyone else having already gone to bed. The time was nearing 1.30AM when the movie finally ended. 

“Mike, I told you we should have just rewatched Dog Day Afternoon.”

“How was I supposed to know it was gonna be that bad?” He snorts as he places the half eaten bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. 

Laughing, you lean back on the couch and make yourself comfortable. Turning to him, you ask. “We went straight for the movie earlier, I never got to ask you how your day was.” 

Michael sighs and closes his eyes, making you frown in concern. Reaching out to softly grip his hand in between you two, you give a small smile.

“Wanna talk about it?” 

He shrugs, looking elsewhere. “I don't know, it's just…” 

“New album jitters?” You try, knowing how under the pressure he's been, with Off The Wall about to be released in a few days. If someone were to ask you how dedication was to be presented in real life, you'd point instantly to the man next to you. You've never seen someone so passionate about what they do as much as Michael is with his music. 

“... No, it's not that,” he laughs softly. “I mean, I'm nervous about that too, but tonight is different. It's just my brothers. They wouldn't stop ragging on me earlier.” 

Pulling your knees to your chest, you tilt your head. “Why? What's the matter?” 

“I had them listen to the final picks for the album, and they—” 

“If they didn't like it, that's their problem. The album is perfect!” You cut him off, already raging at the thought. You’ve always been his number one supporter and defender.

Michael laughs again, shaking his head. “No, no, they were real supportive about that… it's just the fact that I've uh, I've been singing about, y’know… romance and all.” 

You nod, and raise your brow when he doesn't continue. “And?” 

He sighs after what felt like forever, “Well it's silly... because I've never even had my first kiss yet, so.” 

“Michael, that's okay. Me neither.” 

Eyes widening, he sputters out, “You haven't?” 

“No,” you laugh. “Is that so unbelievable for you?” 

Yes, he happens to find it completely unbelievable because you're so gorgeous all the time. Boys were bound to try something on you. Now once he's realising nobody's ever come close, he feels a sense of happiness. Happy that nobody came close. That she rarely gives her time of day for anyone. And he happens to be one of the few exceptions. 

He only shrugs in response to your question before shifting closer. “Does it bother you?” 

Shaking your head, you smile at him. “Not really. I'm not dying to be kissed. I know it's gonna happen when it happens. There's no use dwelling on it. But then again, I don't have brothers, nor am I releasing songs about romance.” 

“Yeah, they really did their thing when I Can't Help It played,” Michael grumbles. 

Softly giggling, you grip onto his hand more firmly. “Don't let them get to you. You have so many girls that've been wanting to kiss you for years. Take your pick, Mike,” you tease. 

He only smiles and brings your intertwined hands to his lap. “I know, oddly enough. And I'm flattered that a lot of pretty girls like me. But I don't know them. I can't… I'm not like my brothers.” 

“I know you're not,” you whisper. “And that's okay. It's great, even.” 

“Yeah?” He says softly in response.

“Yeah.”

Michael bites his lip, thoughts running in his head. He’s thinking of something stupid… Something reckless. Something that can’t be undone if he does it. The silent hum of the room becomes overbearing to him, gaze focused on your soft eyes, down the slope of your nose to your lips. He lingers there, thinking to himself how it would feel like. What it would taste like. Would he still taste the remnants of your flavoured lip balm? Would it be soft and light? Or something else he can’t even imagine?

“Michael?” comes your quiet voice.

“Hm?” He’s out of it, almost. Dazed with some type of need. He doesn’t want to call it lust. He doesn’t think you deserve that. He feels more. The need to be with you. Sit beside you. Hold your hand. Kiss you. Everything he imagines to do with a girlfriend, is what he’s imagining with you. 

Good grief, since when did he start crushing on you?

“Michael, do you want to kiss me?”

His brain shuts down. His mouth, hands, and eyes don’t move. Mind blanking out.

After a few moments of silence, he manages to stutter out, “Wh- I’m sorry?”

Softly giggling, you shift your legs down and scoot closer to him. Hand still laced together with him, you look deep into his eyes. Gleaming with amusement, excitement and trepidation altogether. “Do you… Would you like to share our first kiss?”

He stares at you, jaw slack. “I thought it’ll… I thought it’ll happen for you when it happens.”

“Mhm,” you nod, “If you want to, it happens now. If you don’t want to, it will happen for me another time. I won’t be mad at you, Mike. I promise.”

You try to act cool, but the truth is your insides feel far from it. You don’t know what came over you, but from the way he was staring off into space, looking at your lips, the quiet surrounding you felt almost suffocating from the way you wanted him to lean in closer. To do something. Say something. So, you gathered your courage and took initiative. Even if there is no guarantee of him actually agreeing, you find yourself not regretting making your move. You wanted to know what a kiss feels like. And you wanted to know how it feels with Michael. You couldn't think of any better way to have your first kiss if not with him.

Michael is quiet for a few seconds, giving you some time to think of some lame segue out of this suddenly odd predicament you singlehandedly put you and him in. Before you could utter out an excuse, though, he cuts you off. 

“I’d really like that.”

Your eyes widen, “Oh?”

“Yeah, I’d like that a lot, actually,” he whispers, leaning more towards you. “Are you sure you want this?”

You could only nod, breathing out a ‘yes’. 

Michael’s eyes flicker down to your lips, before gazing back into yours. Shifting closer, his head slightly dips down, you moving with him. Lips a hair’s breadth away from each other, his fingers coming up to gently hold your chin, closing the distance.

When your lips meet his, it feels like a quiet magic blossoming from your lungs and into every crevice of your heart. Eyes closed, you press yourself further against him. Sighing out, Michael tilts his head to the side, parting your lips with his and kissing you deeper.

He does taste your flavored lip balm. And he thinks that’s the happiest discovery of his life.

A close second to knowing now how it feels to kiss you. At first, when you suggested to him to share his first kiss with you, he thought you were joking. But when you joke, he’d know right off the bat. And he knows your tone. You weren’t joking one bit. His mind was racing through what felt like numerous mountains of anxiety and anticipation. In that second, there was nothing he’d like more than to kiss you. 

During the kiss, your hand comes up to stroke his cheek. A hum reverberates from him, sliding his tongue against yours, almost breathing into you. It’s a few more seconds of pure bliss before Michael slightly parts away, eyes still closed as he bites his lip. Closing the distance again, you leave some more pecks against the corner of his mouth, making him tilt his head and meet your lips with more passion and fervour. Smiling against the kiss, you melt into him as he holds you against him. 

It feels like a long time before one of you takes the initiative to pull away, properly this time. The room is quiet save for the sounds of your heavy breathing. A soft smile is etched onto your face as you eye his gleaming face. 

“Was that good?” You ask him, teasing. 

“That was good, babe,” he laughs, “That was real good. I liked that a lot.”

Letting out a soft chuckle, you tell him, “I did too.”

“Can we do that more often?” he tries, leading to rounds of shy laughter to echo through the walls of the room. 

Snapping out of your memories, you clear your throat. “Yes, what about it?”

Michael reaches and cradles your face, “Well, that was quite literally… one of the best things to ever happen to me. I loved that night. I loved kissin’ you. I loved it so damn much, and I assumed– I assumed you loved it too. I didn’t say anythin’ about you bein’ my girl because I thought it was gonna naturally happen. And the longer I left it alone, and the more we got closer, I just... I thought we'd been together for a while. Nothing too official, because… I didn’t know where you stand on that, but I figured we’d only feel like this towards each other.”

You lean into the palm of his hand, and he leans down and presses a kiss against your temple, continuing gently, “I didn’t think we needed any establishing. I thought you already knew I’d… I’m so in love with you, baby. I fall in love with you more and more each day. But it’s my fault for, well, for not telling you properly. For assuming. I’m really sorry, I should have said something sooner.” His voice is bordering on sounding pained now, but you hush him.

“Mikey, gosh, stop, you’re fine. You’re perfect, don’t be sorry,” you whisper as you leave kisses on his forehead, down his nose and to the apples of his cheeks. “We’re both really stupid.”

He laughs and pulls you closer, if it’s even possible. “Tell me about it. Baby, I really am sorry. Please forgive me?”

“Shh, I forgive you, and I hope you’ll forgive me too. I’m sorry,” you say.

“There’s nothin’ to forgive. You didn’t know. See how funny that sounds now? God, I could just hit myself,” he sighs heavily. “Sweetheart, are we together officially now? I want you to be my girl. Been wantin’ that for years, if you must know.”

You teasingly grin and shrug, “I don’t know… Quite presumptuous of you, already calling me your girl.”

“Baby, I’ve seen the way you look at me,” Michael smirks smugly, “It’s not wholly my fault for thinkin’ we’re together when you gaze at me the way you do.”

“I don’t gaze at you,” you gasp.

His arms snake around your waist again, pulling you closer and nodding dramatically. “Yes, you do and I can’t blame you, baby. I’d want to be my girl, too.” Swatting at his chest, you could only laugh in response.

“I’m serious, y’know? I’d like for you to be my girl. And just mine. No foolin’ around with this amateur stuff,” he says in a quiet tone, “I want you. You’re my best friend and I’ve never loved or wanted anyone as much as I do you. I want to marry you one day, I want everything a man can have with the love of his life, and I want that with you. There had never been and never will be anybody else. I love you, so much. Can you be my girl for real now?”

A soft hum escapes you, “Michael, I love you too. God, I love you so much.”

He doesn’t reply. Michael only leans in and catches your lips so, so urgently, it almost brings you down to your knees. It almost feels like your first kiss again. Except, this time Michael wasn’t afraid. Or doubting. He knows you want him just as much as he wants you. Heat grows from the way he pulls you closer, every inch of you burning from his touch and passion. His lips brushing against yours, tongue slipping in between to glide against yours. Softly nudging you backwards until you’re leaning against the wall, he tugs your bottom lip with his teeth before continuing to kiss you fervently. Your fingers come up to run through his curls, and he tilts your head upwards into the kiss. And that drives you crazy. 

Leaving small pecks against your lips before kissing down your neck, he murmurs against your skin, “I love you.”

You could only hum dazedly, weakening as he continues his ministrations on your skin. “I’m so glad you’ll have me, baby.” He continues to whisper.

A final kiss to your lips, he pulls away to softly grin at you. “Tell that Kevin schmuck to kindly get out of your life, please?”

“It’s Calvin, honey.”

“And for the lady…” He starts, digging through the truck before he hops back out. He holds up a large container of cheese puffs.

Huh?

“I didn’t ask for those…?” Your statement sounds more of a question.

“Oooouuu!! Cheese puffs!” Steve exclaims, reaching a hand out to grab them. Murray slaps his hand, “They’re not for you. Y/N, I strongly suggest you take these.”

Realization finally hits you, the two of you sharing a look before you snatch them. You say a quick thank you before running inside.

You place the container on the counter, looking back to make sure nobody was coming inside before shoving your hand inside to go hunting.

Almost immediately, your hand feels a plastic box. You check one more time to make sure everybody was still outside before pulling it out.

Unopened, it came with two sticks and a long list of instructions. Pee on it, wait ten minutes, then come check on it.

One line = Not pregnant.

Two lines = Pregnant.

You stare at the box like it might explode.

Your heart is thumping so loudly you’re sure someone could hear it through the walls.

A month since you and Steve crossed that line you’d spent weeks pretending you hadn’t crossed. And now the evidence sat in that box, in form of a thin plastic test.

You set the test on the counter.

Maybe you’re just stressed? Maybe that’s why you’re late? Maybe it’ll come tomorrow? Or tonight?

In the distance, you hear Murray’s voice through the cracked window. Probably teasing Steve about something. It makes your stomach clench. Will he be happy? Sad? Mad? Will he just leave you?

You shove the box in your pocket, not bothering to clean up the cheesy, powdery snack. You make your way to the bathroom, softly closing the door behind you. You face the mirror.

Please be negative.

Please, please, please, please, please.

You peel the cardboard open like it’s sacred, eyes darting towards the door every few seconds. You pick one of the sticks up. It feels heavy in your hands, too real.

Taking a deep breathe in and holding it for a few seconds, you finally let go and open the toilet seat.

After you’re done, you put it on the bathroom counter upside down. The bathroom feels too quiet, too small, too restricting.

You sunk down, back against the door as you brought your knees up to your chest. You were shaking, a million thoughts running through your head.

Ten minutes suddenly feels like a lifetime.

A knock rattles the bathroom door.

Your heart launches in your throat. You launch up, hiding the test.

“Hey,” Steve’s voice comes through, soft and concerned. “You okay in there? You kinda just ran off.”

You swallow hard.

“Uh— I-I’m fine.” Your voice cracks. “I just needed to use the bathroom!”

“Are you crying?” Steve’s voice is closer now, even more concerned.

You can’t tell him.

Not yet.

“I’m fine.” You barely managed to say.

It’s quiet. You can tell he knows you’re lying. He could always read you like a book.

“Are you sure?” He says, this time his hand was on the doorknob.

“Y-yes!” You say, quickly putting your weight against the door so he couldn’t come in.

He hesitates, letting go. “Okay. I’ll be right out here, okay?” He speaks softly. “Take your time.”

His footsteps fade, but your pulse doesn’t.

You grab the test from where you hid it, putting it back on the counter.

Six more minutes.

You pace once.

Twice.

Your nerves buzz under your skin like electricity.

A slow, dreadful six minutes go by. Slowly, very slowly, you flip it over.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

Just look.

Just get it over with.

Just—

Your eyes snap open and the world stops.

Two lines.

Two pink, undeniable lines.

You blink a few times, rubbing your eyes to make sure they weren’t playing tricks on you.

Nope.

Maybe if you shake it?

Nope, still nothing. Just the same two lines.

The air rushes out of your lungs all at once. You stumble back, hitting the wall as the test drops.

Two lines.

Holy fuck you’re pregnant.

A tear slips down your cheek before you even notice it, then another, and another.

Steve.

What are you going to tell Steve? What about the group? Nancy? Robin? Joyce? Hopper? The kids? Dustin—

Another knock interrupts your thoughts, “Y/N?”

That wasn’t Steve.

“There’s a crawl tonight. We need you.” Nancy says, knocking again.

Shit.

The lights flicker on, “So, all in all, signs point to another successful crawl.”

There’s an awkward silence.

Nancy frowns, crossing her arms. “Is there a problem?”

Jonathan looks at the trio sitting by the table: Robin, Steve, and Y/N before looking back at his girlfriend.

“Uhm…” He hesitates, “No, no, I mean, I think it’s all good.

Steve talks, “Yeah, yeah, it’s good. It’s really good… it’s just uhm..”

“Zone G1 is not that exciting or Venca-y.” Robin interrupts him. “What does it have? A Circuit City, a couple of houses, and a Big Buy?”

Nancy looks offended. “Doesn’t matter. We stick to the plan and…”

Her voice keeps moving, focused and filled with words you’ve already heard what is it, 30 something times before— “pattern”, “radius”, “30 miles only”, “dont mess this up”, “more than enough time”, “staying focused”.

But it all turns into static in your ears.

Your eyes stay locked in your lap. The image of the two lines popping in your head.

Your stomach churns and all of the sudden, before you know it, you are running to the nearest trashcan and throwing up.

“Woah- woah- hey, you’re okay. You’re okay.” You hear his voice. Steve’s hand, wrapping around your hair to hold it back. The other hand rubbing up and down your back.

You hear feet shuffling, getting closer and closer. “Nervous?” Robin speaks, handing you napkins.

You wipe your mouth, still trembling, the sour taste still lingering on your tongue.

“Thanks,” you mutter, embarrassed. Everyone is staring now. Jonathan was in a different spot now, closer to offer help but not close enough to see the waste. Nancy was in the same spot, blinking like she’s mentally calculating twenty different explanations for what just happened. Robin is looking away, trying not to gag and Steve, he looks like a kicked puppy. Eyes wide as saucers as he scans you to make sure you’re okay.

“You okay?” He speaks, his hand hovering near your shoulder like he’s scared to touch you. “Is it because of the shitty plan?”

“It is not shitty!” Nancy snaps, eyebrows furrowed but then they soften when she looks back at you. “Is it?”

“N-no… It’s just those dang cheese puffs. I ate too many.”

Your excuse hangs in the air as everyone exchanges looks.

Robin squints at you. “Okay but like… you’ve eaten way more disgusting things than that before. Remember those nachos Dustin made?”

“You’re gonna make me puke again…”

“Robin.” Steve hisses, glaring at her.

“What? I’m just saying—“

“I’m fine.” You cut in quickly, forcing a small smile. “Really I’m fine.”

Nancy’s brows pinch. “You barely ate any of those,” She says carefully, suspicious.

Jonathan shoots her a look.

Nancy rolls her eyes but lays off. She wasn’t annoyed at you or because of you. She was annoyed that everybody was so oblivious. Obviously, something was going on with you.

And she was going to find out.

“Where’s Henderson?” Steve asks over the radio.

I look over to Mike, he shrugs.

“Anyone heard from Inspector Gadget?” Hopper asks, in full gear. He was standing next to Joyce, waiting for Dustin.

When it comes to Crawls, Steve and Dustin are in charge of keeping in touch with Hopper while he’s in the Upside Down. Steve drives, Dustin listens to the frequency. They carefully follow Hopper by his frequency, ensuring he’s safe. Sometimes you tag along, riding next to Steve or laying in the back of the van.

Everybody shakes their heads. I sigh, talking into the walkie talkie, “He’s not here.”

“Well, how am I supposed to drive and listen?”

Will immediately cuts in, hopeful. “I can do it! Right, mom?”

Joyce immediately frowns, “No.”

“But— but I know how to! I helped Dustin put togeth—“

“No! You’re not going, it’s too dangerous.” Joyce quickly dismisses her son. “Jonathan, you can do it?”

Will’s face falls. He looks at Jonathan, eyes pleading to at least try to change her mind. He doesn’t though.

“Yeah… I think I can.” He mutters.

“You think? Or you know? I can’t die out there.” Hopper asks.

Jonathan swallows, nodding before answering. “Yes. Yes I can.”

You talk into the walkie talkie, “Jonathan is gonna help you.”

A groan erupts from the other side, “Really?”

You roll your eyes, not bothering to respond. Steve and Jonathan don’t like each other. They haven’t for a while. It all started when Jonathan was taking pictures of Nancy, Steve’s girlfriend at the time. Steve broke Jonathans camera, Nancy got closer to Jonathan, and well you know the story. Although Steve was very much over Nancy Wheeler, he still held a grudge against Jonathan.

You feel a hand tap your shoulder lightly and it makes you jump. It’s Jonathan.

“Uh… Y/N?” He asks quietly, “Do you know where Nancy went? I want to say goodbye before I go.”

You look around the room quickly, confused. Nancy had been the one leading the plan, but now… she’s nowhere in sight.

“C’mon kid. We gotta go.” Hopper says, rushing him.

“I’ll find her so she can say bye over the talkie. I promise.” You say. You wish everybody a safe journey before asking Robin if she’s seen Nancy.

“Uhm…” Robin thinks for a moment. “I think she went to the bathroom?”

Your throat tightens. You can’t speak.

What if she finds the pregnancy test?

You buried it deep, deep, in the trash in a rush because of the crawl. But what if it wasn’t deep, deep? What if it was poking out and she saw it? What if she went through the trashcan? What if I didn’t hide it? What if it was just sitting on the counter?

You take off running to the bathroom, not a word to Robin. You begin knocking like a crazy woman.

“Mike! Hold on—“

“It’s Y/N.”

She stays quiet.

She knows.

She definitely knows.

Can the ground just open up and swallow you whole?

The door opens, and she stares at you. A sympathetic look on her face. That’s all it took for you to burst into tears.

Nancy’s face softens instantly. She doesn’t hesitate, softly grabbing your shoulders and pulling you inside. She closes the door.

“Hey, hey… it’s okay. It’s okay Y/N.” She whispers, even though neither of you believed that.

You’re already shaking your head, tears flooding down your cheeks. “Nance— I— I didn’t want anyone to know, I swear— Steve doesn’t know and now he’s gone—“

Your breath hitches, your words collapsing into a sob.

Nancy grabs the rag hanging off the hook, dabbing your tears away. “Hey, hey. Look, it’s okay. You’re not alone.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, “I didn’t want anyone to know.”

“Y/N… we all would’ve helped you and supported you. We love you.”

Her gentle words make you cry even more, heart beating fast. “Please don’t tell anyone. Please.”

She nods. “I won’t.”

“I just— what am I supposed to do? I can’t have a baby. Not now— with Vecna out there? With the quarantine? I can’t— I can’t—“

Then the lights start flickering.

The both of you freeze, staring at the lightbulb in the bathroom.

The lights die all at once.

Nancy’s grip tightens around your wrist. She says your name, barely above a whisper. You nod even though she can’t see you, your pulse pounding violently.

Then—

A scream.

Nancy reacts first, yanking the door open. You stumble out with her.

Will Byers is on his back, his mom behind him and comforting him. She’s whispering sweet nothings as he’s shaking violently, sweat forming on his forehead. The only source of light coming from Robin’s flashlight.

“I saw it.”

Joyce furrows her brows, “Saw what?”

“The Demogorgan.” Will says, a shiver going down his spine.

Joyce looks even more confused.

“It’s coming. It’s coming for them.” He sobs.

Joyce grabs his face, “For who? Who’s them?”

Will slowly turns, still shaking. His eyes land on Nancy.

Nancy goes pale instantly.

The car rattles as Nancy speeds down the road, knuckles white around the wheel. Eleven is sitting in the passenger seat, her hoodie on so she doesn’t get spotted. You’re in the back, curled forward, hands shaking around your belt.

The Demogorgan was going after the Wheelers.

Nancy keeps glancing at you through the mirror. Every time you catch her, she looks away. She’s trying not to panic, you can tell.

Turning onto the Wheelers house street, you can see the lights flickering in the house.

Eleven suddenly sits up straighter.

“It’s here.”

Nancy pulls into the side of the house, slamming on the brakes. You all rush out, Nancy holding a shotgun and you holding Steve’s bat.

Eleven swings open the door with her powers. You all walk in, making sure to be quiet but fast.

The house is eerily silent.

“Mom?” Nancy chokes out. She’s shaking. She’s trying her best not to, but she can’t even hold the gun right. You touch her shoulder softly causing her to jump. You give her your best, “It’s going to be okay look”.

It seems like she didn’t really appreciate that because instead of smiling or saying a thank you, she looks grossed out and scared all in one.

What the hell did you do to this bitc—

Nancy shoves you out of the way, landing to your knees. You can barely process what happened before a shot is sent and your ears are ringing.

You fall onto your back, blood turning into ice when you hear that all too familiar growl.

That tall, impossibly tall, figure steps out of the shadows and pushes Nancy away.

You scream, grabbing the nailed bat. You swing at the creature, only hitting it once before it slapped the bat away. Eleven shouts, using her force to push the Demogorgan away. She rushes to you, trying to help you up. Nancy is near the doorway, her arm is cut up pretty bad from the claws. She still tries her best to load the gun anyways.

She holds the gun up, aiming.

It’s quiet once again.

Too quiet.

Then there’s a crash above your head and before you know it, the creature has you by your leg.

You claw at the floor, nails scraping the wood.

Nancy grabs your arm, trying to pull you back, “ELEVEN!! STOP IT!”

The monster yanks and the force sends Nancy on her back.

Your body is dragged across the floor, you’re trying everything you can to get out. Clawing at anything.

The last thing you hear is Nancy sobbing your name.

Hands wrapped around your waist, your thighs on either side of his, and you can feel him hardening softly beneath you. Trying not to rock your hips back and forth.

Giggling as he pats your backside the water splashing onto the floor. The bubbles already sticking to his skin, and he almost looked angelic.

Looking up at you with a mischievous grin on his face, and you know that look. That's the look of 'no more relaxing in the tub when I'm here'.

"I get now why you love these bath salts, my sweet wife."

Baelor:

Baelor absolutely loved to take baths with you. He never hesitated to join you. In fact he found it even more relaxing than you did sometimes.

Littering the water with many rose petals, and filling it with jasmine scented oils. He knew it was your favorite.

Sitting on the opposite side of you with your legs next to his. Loving to grab one of your ankles and massage your foot softly and tenderly.

He never looked at you sexually in the bath like that. All he wanted to do was touch your soapy skin, and admire your beauty.

Every once in a while he would touch you more sensually and beg for sex, but for the most part he stuck to his side.

He could stay in the water for hours with you, and not grow tired of it, but once his skin started to become pruny he knew it was time to get out.

"I added extra petals in for you this time my love."

Daeron:

Daeron every once in a while liked to take a bath with you, as long as he could touch you as much as he wanted, or however he wanted.

Your back to his chest with his arms wrapped around the tops of your breasts. Lips softly kissing along your skin like he was soaking in your scent.

Pushing away the bubbles from your body so he could see every inch of you, and admire you.

His fingers always dancing along your skin inching closer and closer to between your legs, and his lips pressing to your shoulder.

Between the heat from his body, and the heat from the water, you could feel your eyelids becoming droopy, and your mind was becoming fuzzy.

But, he would never give you what you want in that moment. His hand quickly leaving you as he stepped out, and held his hand out to help you out.

"Not even this luxurious bath can keep you from my touch, my burning flame."

Duncan:

Duncan couldn't exactly get into the tub, being as tall and big as he was. He therefore settled by pulling up a chair and sitting next to the tub.

Always drawing you the bath first, and making sure that it was the perfect temperature.

He could sit in this chair and watch as you soak in the tub for hours. It pleased him to see you laid back and relaxed. Since that was the only thing that actually mattered to him, was your comfortability.

Feeling his eyes raking up and down your body, biting his lip in temptation to just grab you and pull you onto his lap.

Placing his hand into the water tracing it with his fingers, wanting to touch your skin, but feeling like it wasn't the right time to be touching you sensually.

But when you grabbed his hand and placed it on your heaving chest, that was all he needed before grabbing the fatty flesh.

"My love, you look so breathtaking in this water, like a goddess."

Maekar:

Maekar only liked taking baths as long as he could touch you all he wanted. His hands roaming all over your body not wanting to miss a spot.

Maekar always felt like moments in the bath were the most intimate and erotic, and wanted to keep it that way.

Sitting on top of him your hands on his shoulders, with his wrapped around your back. Your bodies stuck to each other like glue, like you couldn't get off him.

Maekar leaning forward to place his mouth on your chest, and neck and shoulders. Biting the skin gently but just hard enough to get a whimper out of you.

Hands moving to your backside so that he could guide your hips to move back and forth. Feeling his hardening beneath you.

Staring up at you with such intensity that you wanted to look away, but at the same time you felt like you couldn't.

"Don't think this water will stop me from taking you how I want, my wife."

Valarr:

He was the most playful when he was in the bath with you, he found it more fun and exciting than erotic.

Sitting across from you and he played with the bubbles, and every once in a while splashing you with the water.

Gathering bubbles into his hands before placing them on your face, and giving you a bubbly beard, laughing out loud at how silly you looked, but still more beautiful than ever.

Holding your hands in his as he traced your skin listening to you talk about your day.

Scooting closer to you so he could wrap his arms around your waist, and pull you even closer to him. Placing kisses on your cheeks and forehead with such love it made your heart flutter.

Prompting you to lean back as he grabbed your leg, placing it on top of his, running his hand from your ankle to your knee not realizing what his touch was doing to you.