#virgin!reader

it's hot. early autumn sun is burning the bleachers, forcing you to sit on your jacket to avoid your thighs stinging underneath. you wouldn't rather be anywhere else right now, though, even if it's not your favourite kind of weather.

across the field, ellie's hands are on her hips, her eyes on the ball being kicked between her teammates. they're playing like shit. not that you mind that, but ellie most certainly does. her frustration never causes her performance to suffer, though, and as soon as that ball is in her reach, she will not let a thing come between herself and a goal. she's not letting you watch her lose.

you met ellie around two months ago, and she has all but stolen your attention. one could simply look at her and understand why you're all worked up about her, but the real reasoning is in the way she treats you.

it's like she wants you. she likes your quiet voice, your giggling when she flirts, your simple lifestyle.

that simply hasn't been your reality before. you've never been wanted. you knew your aversion to partying and hookups was a problem in high school, but you didn't even think you'd be noticed by anyone in college.

still, your new friend dina introduced you to her boyfriend's best friend, and here you are. ellie didn't seem like the sweet talking type when you met her, but she's proven you wrong about that too.

times change incredibly fast. perhaps it was the new variety of people you've met in college, compared to the immaturity of high school, or maybe, you just blossomed over summer and became something people wanted. but you've upgraded from nobody to somebody, at least, and for the first time in your life you see a relationship like a realistic possibility rather than an unachievable dream.

at half time, you try to speak with dina and jesse, although it's not the most interesting conversation. nothing you can pipe into and give your thoughts to. you resort to your phone, checking the weather, checking instagram, and then snapchat, where you scroll onto someone's private story.

you involuntarily smile, thumb holding the screen to stop the image from going anywhere. there's abby anderson, flexing her biceps at the gym mirrors. you're a very simple girl. you see arms bigger than your own head, and you want them. the phone looks teeny tiny in her hand, further adding to your pleasure. you want to giggle so badly, but a girl like abby is completely unattainable.

you've met her a few times, and she's very sweet with you—a friend of mel's—but you've well and truly heard about abby's weekends. she lives in a frat, so it is to be expected. she snaps you whenever she's at the gym, tells you about her golfing hobby back home in utah or her latest read. but from others, you don't hear about the kinds of literature she's into; you hear about the kinds of girls she's into, the moves she likes to make.

you don't think you'll be entering your hoe era anytime soon. so it's pretty clear to you that abby is no more than a friend you sometimes fantasise about.

before sundown, the game ends, and ellie's first move after huddling with her team is to get to you. right past jesse and dina, though she gives them a smirk in passing.

"ellie, hi!" you stand immediately, so fast you almost make yourself lightheaded. "you played well today!"

"thanks, babe. you're easily impressed."

"stop it, you did well! if it weren't for you they'd have won." your lips drop into a pout, to ellie's pleasure. she'd kiss it away if you'd let her.

"hey, if you say so," she replies with a grin, shoulders shrugging.

"please, don't inflate her ego anymore," dina interjects, "she doesn't need it."

"don't listen to her... you just keep talkin' all you want, babe. i like it." ellie gives you a once over, her hand reaching out just to brush over your waist. "i like your dress. maybe you could wear it when you come to the party tonight, yeah?"

"what party?" you ask, heat rushing to your cheeks. "you want me to come..?"

"just some frat thing," ellie says. "you'll come, yeah? hang with me and those two freaks. just for a bit."

"i'm not sure," you murmur, sliding your arms around your middle subconsciously. "it's not gonna be wild, is it? do frat parties get crazy?"

"hey, we'll be fine. if it gets too much i'll just walk you back to your dorm, no problem at all. i wanna hang out with you."

in that pretty little dress you stand to the side of ellie, jesse, and dina, a chunky cardigan on with your decadent vanilla perfume swirling around you. the party isn't all that you expected it to be—granted, it's only just beginning—in the living room you can see flashing lights, out here in the kitchen there's bottles of vodka, mixers, and the classic red cups littered everywhere, and the music drums against the floor so heavily it makes your throat feel tight, sickly.

it's just nerves.

you're with a couple of friends who seem intent on watching over your safety, so there's nothing to fear.

you hear your name called, to yours and ellie's surprise, and turn your head to find it came from none other than abby anderson.

the dreamy blonde strides over, tilting her head down at you. she pushes her braid back, flashing her famous smile—the one she knows works on girls like you.

"i didn't think this was your kinda thing, no?"

"oh, mm, i guess not really, but..." you shrug, feeling much quieter now than you've been all day. "my friends brought me."

"well, it's good to see you anyway," abby replies. her arms open then, her weight shifting onto her other leg. "where's my hug?"

"oh!"

you push down a big smile, accepting abby's hug and feeling her tight t-shirt pressing against your cheek. a hug from abby is just like you thought it'd be. it's warm and firm, and she completely envelops you.

you just didn't think you and abby were like that, really. she's an acquaintance..? and you aren't like the girls she usually goes for. why would she want you?

but, maybe you were wrong about her.

until her hand slides down the back of your dress; testing the waters before it drops lower, grabbing over your ass.

"it's the entry fee, sorry." she chuckles to herself, patting your arm before wandering back to the bar. she leaves you next to a completely dumbfounded ellie, and honestly, your own expression isn't too different.

so it turns out, you were definitely wrong about abby.

"who the fuck...?"

"oh, it's abby!" you answer, giving ellie a small and reassuring smile. "we talk sometimes. you don't know her? she's really nice!"

"nicer than me..?" ellie quirks a brow.

you hear dina mumbling something to jesse, vaguely, before she takes his arm and walks to the bar herself. "let's get out of here before the lesbian apocalypse starts, i'm not dealing with ellie tonight."

ellie shakes it off, though she mutters something to you about abby's 'reputation'. you brush the thought off, sticking to her side.

"you want me to get you something to drink? dina and jesse might bring us something back."

"it's okay, really, i'm not much of a drinker," you say, looking down to where your hands fidget in front of you.

"you're not? guess i should've expected that," ellie says. she rubs the back of her neck, laughing quietly. "you're like a fish out of water."

"i am, i'm really not used to this place," you say, looking a little exasperated and stepping closer to ellie. for comfort.

"it's alright, you just stay by me and i'll keep you comfy," ellie assures. she takes your hand, giving it a light squeeze. "you like it by me, yeah?"

internally, you feel all kinds of pounding, from your heartbeat to your blood rushing in all directions. outwardly, you nod, looking down at your hand in hers. "it's good."

"good," she says. "why?"

"uh— because..." you mumble.

"that's not a reason," ellie teases, tugging lightly so that you step even closer. "you know what i noticed about you?" you say nothing, but look up again at the question, so she continues. "you always seem to clam up, turn all pretty and nervous, when i talk to you... you get this cute little stutter. it's almost like you're scared of me or something."

"scared? no, no, no, not scared. i'm not scared," you say, that very expression ellie was just speaking about now appearing on your face. an anxious smile.

"not scared of me... then what is it, huh?" ellie's got a wide grin on her own face, eyes burning into your already warm cheeks. "you secretly hate me?"

"no! i—"

"you secretly like m—"

before another word can leave her lips, ellie lets out a sharp 'ow!', pushing and shoving. abby's magically appeared once more, standing casually and seemingly using ellie as an armrest due to the difference in their height.

"manny's rounding everyone up to play some games—you wanna join? i'll even let your little friend here join us."

"fuck. off. anderson."

"are you sure it's okay for us to join..?" you ask abby, head tilting. "i'd love it if we could all play together and... get to know each other better. yeah."

"yeah? good girl." she knows exactly what she's doing, speaking to you like that. that smooth drawl, making you clam up and turn anxious, stammering.

"fuck this," ellie mutters, finally giving abby a hard enough push to get her away. "i'm gonna go get dina and jesse to come, alright?"

you watch ellie walk away, eyeing how she rests her hands on her hips, her gait the same as when she's frustrated in a game of soccer. she's ranting the second she reaches dina and jesse, and their half-assed attempts at placating her don't work. you can't hear much of it, aside from ellie's 'but she'll be so fucking worth it'.

oh.

how sweet is she?

"that's a nice dress," abby says, interrupting your spiral and filling the silence between you both. as you look back, she's got that same grin as before on her face.

"thank you." you glance away again—ellie's ranting to her friends. you're sensing some hostility. just a little bit. "abby?"

"yes, pretty girl?" she wraps her arm around your shoulder, beginning to lead you to the living room. you walk with her.

"i'd really love it if all my friends could get along," you say, keeping your voice earnest. you are just being honest, although you're tentative, not wanting to offend her. "ellie's really sweet. i'm not— i don't know, maybe i read things wrong, this isn't to be rude, but could you be a little nicer to her?"

abby laughs a little, looking down at you. "yeah. don't worry about it, sweetheart. i'm only joking around with her."

"oh, i'm sorry," you murmur. "i'm not very good with that stuff."

"no need to apologise," she says, holding you closer. "you just care about your little friend. i get it."

sitting criss-cross in a circle of people you hardly know is far from preferable for you, but you're satisfied with how the night's progressing regardless—you've introduced two of your friends to each other, and now you're all playing a game together—hopefully they'll get to know each other a little better, and maybe things won't be so hostile between them.

ellie's knee is pressed up against yours, her denim on your stocking, and it's hard to watch the game when you feel so sick. it occurs to you only now, you're playing a drinking game, and you feel so sick every time she looks at you. that's not a good combination—a shy girl who's not built up a tolerance for alcohol yet, plus your crush sitting next to you. but you look up and catch river blue eyes across the circle, and your stomach flips again. how long has abby been staring at you like that for?

it's ellie's turn now and that's how you wake up to your surroundings once more. it's your turn next. you swallow thickly, considering pulling out of the game entirely, because so many eyes on you and the idea of drinking right now makes you queasy.

ellie picks a card from the centre, ignoring the heckling of jesse at her other side. the game is simple; pick up a card, answer the question or take a shot.

"let's see... oh, this isn't too bad actually. do you pick your nose? no. i don't."

"what fucking kind of question is that? i get asked about the last time i got morning wood, and of course ellie gets let off easy," jesse rants, watching her snort and put her card into the pile of used ones.

"tough luck, man," she replies with a grin.

all you can think about is how you've ran out of time to escape. it's your turn now. maybe it won't be so bad—ellie got a question that wasn't embarrassing to answer, so maybe, you'll be just fine.

it's just the eyes. there are so many. you don't know many of these people at all—especially abby's fraternity brothers—and now it feels like the room's spinning. it's like you're a few drinks in but you know you're not, there's a cup of water sitting at your feet.

the silence doesn't help at all. dina's on your left, giving your shoulder a squeeze while you take the card off the top of the deck.

"w-who...— sorry," you mumble, the words on the card finally registering in your mind and rendering you speechless. you don't even want to read this out in front of everyone. "who took your virginity?"

there's an instant regret that's filling you now, worse than that time you wore a white skirt to school on the second day of your period. you shouldn't be here playing this game, surrounded by people far out of your league. people who wouldn't have spared you another look in high school.

it doesn't help that dina's sympathetically 'aww'ed at you. it feels like everyone's staring with pity, probably since you look so embarrassed you might burst into tears.

"well, um... nobody has."

"aww, someone will someday, honey," dina coos, squeezing you again before plucking the card out of your hands for you.

does that make this better or worse? you want to bury yourself now. nobody else has said anything and you don't want to look up, just keeping your face hidden behind the sleeves of your cardigan.

but if you did look up, maybe you'd've caught the priceless expressions on a certain two girls' faces. how they perked up like a dog when sniffing out a treat.

ellie and abby, declaring world war dyke across the circle with nothing but a glare. someone's going to have to get to you first, and no matter what, they will not let it be anyone but themselves.

you were already so enticing. tender-hearted, soft body with innocent mind.

abby didn't often go for girls like you, this was true. she's always opted for whoever approaches her at the party and led them to her bedroom. one of the perks of living in a frat—if there are any to begin with—is hosting parties and hooking up in the comfort of your own bed. she figured it was easy that way, until she met you, and learned what's really easy. she doesn't have to do much to get you worked up.

she feels like a wolf. a talented hunter. her prey is the best pick, and now she feels even more justified knowing you've never been touched before—it's like striking gold. no wonder everything she does makes you squirm, you're a fucking virgin.

she needs to be the one to ruin everyone else for you.

it's actually perfect; she's never felt so motivated in the gym before. abby's disciplined, she has her reasons and her goals and she works towards them easily.

seriously, it has never been this easy to stay motivated before. with you sat squirming a few feet away and her sweat-lined muscles shining as she pushes a few hundred pounds. she's almost tempted to order you over so she can bench you—she's certain she could, and even more certain you'd love that. anything to see you gushing.

she's just lifted more than you weigh, and it was nothing to her, but when she looks for your reaction, it's hardly as she thought it'd be this time. you aren't sat there spreading your legs like you can't help it. you aren't even looking—were you watching at all, this time?

you've got the brightest, tightest smile on your lips, eyes on your dim phone screen.

els ⚽️🎀 : wyd pretty girl? you want me to take you to that cafe you were asking abt later? i'm free all afternoon

you: hiiii! i can't rn :( i'm helping abby at the gym! u know, she's really strong, it's so impressive ^^

els ⚽️🎀 : i actually just got done at practise myself lmao

els ⚽️🎀 sent an image.

and you've been staring at the picture for god knows how long now, your body feeling like it's on fire. it's just a mirror pic—just a mirror pic. she's in the locker room, most of her kit still on. her hair's disheveled, wayward strands concealing her face, along with the hem of her shirt that she's using to wipe sweat from her forehead with. a whole lot of warm, freckled skin is revealed from beneath it, sculpted abs you didn't know she had drawing your attention just below her black sports bra.

it's art.

you can't even figure out how to reply, can't even think—can't even do anything!

can't even decipher why she sent it. is she trying to kill you?

you: wowwwww!!!!! you're so pretty ellie ♡

els ⚽️🎀 : why thank you :)

els ⚽️🎀 : not even half as pretty or adorable as you

"you're supposed to be countin' my reps for me," abby speaks up, reminding you where you were, what you're supposed to be doing here, and who you're with. "something more important?"

you smile a bit sheepishly, shoulders rising and falling with a reserved look. "i was just texting ellie."

"oh, the little one," abby mumbles. "of course."

"she asked if i wanted to go hang out at this new café in town i've been excited about, i guess because i was talking about it a lot." you say it in a giddy lilt, unknowing of abby rolling her eyes.

"how cute," she replies, voice mundane, disdainful.

"i know! it's so sweet when people remember things like that." you gasp, then, practically bouncing in your seat, exclaim, "maybe all three of us could go together!"

"oh, yeah? you know, that's a great idea." anything to stop ellie from getting a date with you. even if it means putting up with her in person again.

"i think so too! i'd love for you two to really get to know each other."

fuck this bitch abby, ellie thinks. she thought she was in, that she'd get her cute café date with you and it would have been enough to win the battle.

you're easy to fluster, but your talent for missing a social cue is what makes this hard. abby saw right through it and used that to her advantage, and now ellie's stuck between you and her.

well, she would be, if abby didn't steal her seat after she went to order something for you.

"outta my seat, steroids."

"what did you just call me?"

ellie chuckles, just a little, at how easily abby takes the bait. gym rats... so amusing to poke fun at. "you're in my seat."

"i don't take steroids."

"you can have my seat, els, it's okay!" you start to get up, only to be shut down instantly by both.

"you stay there, don't give yourself trouble just 'cause the little one is having a tantrum," abby says, giving your thigh a firm pat.

"it's not about the seat itself, baby," ellie says to you, very gently, "i wanted to sit next to you."

"oh," you murmur, biting back a soft, kittenish smile. "well, maybe we can share?"

abby's entire face falls. ellie moves in without a second thought, taking your spot and pulling you onto her lap with ease. you're overheating because that was the riskiest thing you've ever done. and it worked.

but looking at abby, sitting back with her arms crossed, you feel so bad. a pit of guilt opening in your chest. you don't want her to feel left out at all, that was never the intention.

the girls are both so sweet and they throw themselves at you like nobody else ever has. you can't help but wonder why—it's almost suspicious. you can't help but think it's undeserved, that they're far out of your league, considering they could get any other girl they wanted. but here you are, warm and cozy in your heart while abby and ellie dote on you. why? what about you is so tempting?

how can you have two crushes at the same time? how can you pick between them without hurting the other?

you don't even notice abby's several attempts to touch you, and ellie slapping her hand away. she's bouncing her knees, one arm holding you to her nice and tight with the other on your inner thigh. the rest of the visit to the café is like that, you missing their glares and eating the waffles they fought over buying for you.

leaving is another whole issue.

one hand is in ellie's. she's trying to walk you back to her car, giving abby a very pointed look; fuck off said through narrowed eyes. but abby's dragged your free hand onto her arm like you are a prize, insisting that you take a quick walk together before heading home.

ellie tugs you closer to herself.

abby pulls you back in her direction.

you are stumbling over your feet. it's like you're a doll. they both want to play with you, and neither want to share.

"i want to take a nice walk."

"well boo-fucking-hoo, steroids, we don't," ellie growls. it's the closest she can get to telling abby this was her date with you first, that she really has to get lost, without saying those exact words aloud and freaking you out.

"how do you know that she doesn't wanna come for a walk? did you ask, els?" abby replies. she shoves ellie backwards with a hand to her chest, but ellie's grip on your hand is tight, painfully so, to the point that her calloused fingertips may leave marks. you almost fall into her, and to be honest, you've had a smile on your lips throughout this entire conversation.

"sorry bibi, that's my special nickname for ellie. only i can call her that."

"you heard her, bibi."

"i'm gonna punch you."

you're right where you want to be! your friends are getting along so well that they're play fighting now, they even have nicknames for each other.

"how do you know that she does wanna take a walk with you?" ellie retorts. she thrusts her leg out at the very last second, a trick she's perfected in every game of soccer she's played. abby stumbles, but she catches herself quickly.

"you b—"

"as much as i am having fun hanging out with you two, maybe i should head home," you murmur, stopping in your tracks and looking at both. "i have to study."

and just like that, their attention is all over you once more.

"no, of course, i understand," abby says, still holding your arm. "you got a ride home?"

"you can come back with me, alright?" ellie decides.

abby says a goodbye that she makes sure to keep long, hugging you tightly and resting her hands too suspiciously low for ellie's liking, although it feels just right to you. and then, she must part ways with you, and begrudgingly watch ellie get her way, walking you back to her car.

she'd be irate if she knew you were sitting rigid in the passenger seat with ellie's hand on your thigh for the whole drive. butterflies swirl in your stomach the higher she moves her slender fingers, but you try to pretend like you don't notice, fixing some music to play at her request.

ellie and abby are almost at an impasse. there's only so much cockblocking that can be done and nonchalant thirst traps that can be sent before they exhaust you—which neither want to do—some progress needs to be made.

a date.

a date.

she promises you will love it, that it won't be scary, or overwhelming, she'll be careful with you.

abby asked you out on a date. technically not out—she's asked if she can spend a cozy night inside your dorm, to allow you something familiar and private.

she'd stopped by your dorm after her late class on wednesday afternoon. she didn't say much, just leaned against the doorframe and looked down at you as she told you her plan, asking if she could come in at that very moment. she had her backpack with her, filled to the brim, as though she'd stuffed more things than usual into it. you needed to study that night, but of course you'd never reject abby, you just found compromise. you told her when you'd be available, and she sauntered away quite happily after.

it blindsided you. it has had you questioning things for the past few days. has she really liked you that much, this whole time? you didn't want to make judgements on abby based on her reputation, although, perhaps subconsciously you had. you've been thinking she mustn't want you for anything serious, all she does is flirt and, you are weak enough to swoon over it, but your lack of intimate experience makes you a little too anxious to dive in fully.

your fist rests beneath your chin and you curl over your knees, watching the screen across the room. it's the first time you've sat in ellie's dorm before, surrounded by posters, action figures, and a couple of trophies. she's beside you on her bed with a playstation controller in hand, playing a story game you haven't been following, because your mind is consumed by your plans for this evening.

"you look bored outta your mind, huh?" ellie interrupts the silence, setting down her controller. she smirks slightly, reaching over to tug on the top of your thigh high. "let's do something else."

you tilt your head. that expression can mean so many things, but when it's ellie, it's very hard for you to decipher. she has so much confidence, is always up to something and always proud of herself.

"like what..? i can't stay long, even if i wish i could," you remind her. "i have a date with abby."

"i know you've got p— a date with abby?" ellie's eyes bulge out of her skull, smirk wiped clean off her face, instead a grimace of disgust is in its place. "seriously?"

"yes!" you smile a little timidly. "she's coming to my place, we're going to have a really cozy night in. i didn't know she really thought of me that way. did she ever tell you?"

it just gets worse. as you say abby is coming to your place, to have a really cozy night in, alarms and sirens are blaring in ellie's mind. that bitch.

"no, she never told me either," ellie says. she's so reserved this time, it's not right. "why don't you reschedule?"

"reschedule? i can't... i can't just do that at the last minute," you say, glancing back at ellie. your heart hammers against your chest at the look on her face; you don't like this at all, you don't like potentially hurting others, leaving them out, making them angry. you're this close to inviting ellie along for the ride at this point.

"why not? i mean, we're already hanging out," ellie says. she furrows her brows, acting with an almost regained confidence as she slides her arm around your shoulder and pulls you into her side. she's quick with it, strong, so you can't pull away. "and you're having fun with me. you and i have more common interests, like what do you and abby even talk about, you know?"

"uh... well, we, you know, we talk about books," you reply, bracing yourself with a hand on her chest.

"yawn." ellie chuckles a little, manoeuvring you on top of herself. "we play games... we listen to music and talk... we watch movies... you said we'd watch a couple today. why don't we? we won't take long. i'll get ya back to your dorm right on time."

you stare at the wall, hand fussing with ellie's cotton shirt. you mull over your two choices, and you just don't know what to do. they are both so perfect, you've never known what it felt like to be desired until them.

you wanted to get home early to ensure your dorm was clean and that you looked presentable in time for abby to come over. but cuddling, watching some movies? it might not hurt.

what to do, what to do...

stay and watch a movie with ellie ,

or head back for your date with abby ?

𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒆'𝒔   𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆   . . .   ౨ৎ  omg omg omg omg omg. anyway. choose wisely! or don't! read both endings if u like! ty lovely izzie 4 helping me think up this fic . . . ♡

You try to answer, but you’re too busy grinding without meaning to—your body so desperate for him that your brain has stopped pretending otherwise. Heat floods you, your cheeks going warm, your breath shaky.

“Bucky…”

He cups your face instantly, gentle, like you’re precious. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

You swallow. Your heart is pounding so hard it almost hurts. You’ve been dating a while, you’ve talked about going slow, about virginity not being something he’d ever rush you through. You love that about him. You love him.

But right now? Right now you want something else entirely.

“I want to…” You pause, cheeks burning. “I wanna put my mouth on you.”

Bucky stills.

His pupils blow wide, his throat working around a swallow as he tries to process what you just said—what you just asked for. His hands tighten on your waist, just slightly.

“Sweetheart,” he says quietly, “do you know what you’re asking?”

You nod, eager, breathless. “Please, Bucky. I want to taste you.”

A low curse escapes him. His eyes drag over your face, searching for hesitation, fear, uncertainty—anything. But all he finds is earnest desire, your lips a little swollen, your thighs squeezing around him like you’re starving.

He exhales shakily.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You hardly get a second to giggle before he’s helping you off his lap, pulling you gently to your knees between his legs on the carpet. His touch is careful, reverent—like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he moves too fast.

“You sure, baby?” he murmurs, thumb brushing your cheek. “We don’t gotta do anything yet.”

“I’m sure,” you whisper. “I want this. I want you.”

That finally cracks him open. His jaw tightens, and he leans back on the couch, tugging his sweatpants down just far enough to free himself.

Your breath catches.

He’s big—long and thick and already leaking for you. The sight alone makes your thighs press together.

“See somethin’ you like?” he teases softly, voice roughened by arousal.

You nod again, heat curling low in your belly.

He pets your hair like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever seen. “Then c’mere, doll. Lemme show you how to make me feel good.”

You lean in, licking your lips, but before you can do anything he stops you with a gentle hand.

“No pressure,” he reminds you, voice low. “You take what you can. I’ll tell you if something feels too good.”

Your body tingles at too good, but you don’t say anything. Instead, you bend forward and lick a slow stripe up the underside of him.

Bucky’s head knocks back against the couch with a quiet, broken, “Fuck…”

Emboldened, you wrap your hand around the base, tongue tracing him, tasting the salt and heat of him. You swirl it around the tip like instinct.

Bucky lets out a strangled groan.

“Baby—where the hell did you—” His breath shudders. “Jesus, you’re good at that.”

You take him deeper, cheeks hollowing a bit, and Bucky jerks involuntarily.

“Okay—okay, slow down,” he pants. “You’re gonna make me—god, sweetheart.”

His hands hover at your head, never pushing, never guiding—just trembling.

You hum around him, wanting to hear those sounds again, wanting to feel his thighs tense under your palms. So you do it again—take him deeper, use your tongue in ways you didn’t realize you knew how.

Bucky’s thighs jump. He swears again, lower this time.

“Where’d you learn how to—fuck, don’t answer that, don’t answer that—”

You pull off only long enough to say, breathless and proud, “Nowhere. Just you.”

The noise he makes is somewhere between a moan and a prayer.

He looks desperate now—hair messy, chest rising fast, a muscle ticking in his jaw. He’s trying so hard not to thrust into your mouth. You can tell.

“Baby, you’re killin’ me,” he groans. “You sure you’ve never done this? ’Cause you’re—god, you’re perfect.”

You smile against him, then take him again—slow, deliberate, letting him feel the soft warmth of your mouth, the careful pressure of your hand at the base.

He tries to warn you—tries to tell you he’s close—but it comes out as a helpless, “Sweetheart—oh god, doll, I’m not gonna—fuck, I’m gonna come—”

You keep going.

His whole body tenses, hips stuttering despite himself, and he spills with a broken groan of your name—raw, overwhelmed, undone. His hand finally cups the back of your head, not forcing, just grounding himself, holding onto you like he might fall apart otherwise.

When you pull back, you wipe your lips with the back of your hand, breath warm and uneven.

Bucky looks ruined.

Absolutely ruined.

Hair mussed, chest heaving, eyes blown wide with awe.

“Come here,” he whispers, tugging you gently into his lap again, kissing you slow and deep despite what you just did. “You’re unbelievable.”

You blush into the kiss, but he holds your jaw and makes you meet his eyes.

“No, really,” he murmurs. “I’m supposed to be taking things slow with you, and you’re over here on your knees being the sweetest, filthiest little angel I’ve ever seen.”

You hide your face in his neck, flushed, but he only laughs softly and hugs you tighter.

When he opens the door, you smile—because of course you do.

He’s in a button down, sleeves rolled and collar loose, looking relaxed but sharp. Like someone who always knows where he’s going to end up by the end of the night. His hair’s neat. His smile’s warm. Everything about him says steady.

He greets you like it’s the most normal thing in the world. A hand at the small of your back. A kiss to your temple. The scent of something expensive still clinging to his skin.

Inside, the lights are low. Soft. The place smells like cologne and something expensive. There’s music—crackly, old-fashioned, just loud enough to feel intentional. There’s wine breathing on the counter. Plates already set out on the table. You’re so consumed by taking in the apartment that you hardly even notice that there’s not even food. 

Ben doesn’t ask if you’re hungry. Doesn’t ask anything, really.

He just turns toward the hallway, slow and sure, and glances back at you with that same unshakable calm.

“Bedroom’s through here, sweetheart.”

Not a question. Not a command. Just something said with the kind of confidence that’s impossible to challenge.

And you follow—of course you do. He’s probably just giving me a tour, you reason, he wants me to know his space.

Because he’s been nothing but perfect. Because he’s never once made you feel unsafe. Because that voice of his could talk you into anything.

You don’t even realize until later that he never looked to see if you were behind him.

He already knew you would be.

The bedroom’s warm—dimly lit, quiet. Nothing about it feels overt or pornographic. Not yet. Just soft shadows, crisp sheets, and him standing by the bed like this is simply the next part of the evening.

He turns, slow and loose, and crooks two fingers at you with that same easy calm that’s lulled you from the start. “C’mere.”

You smile before you even move. A little laugh slips out of you—nervous, pleased—and you step closer.

He brushes your hair off your shoulder, trails the backs of his fingers down your arm like he’s smoothing out static.

“Y’know, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “I’ve really been enjoying all this time we’ve been spendin’ together.”

You duck your head, grinning. “Yeah?” you say, light and breathy. “Me too. It’s been… really nice.”

His mouth twitches like he knew you’d say that.

“You’re just—” he chuckles softly, shaking his head like he can’t quite believe his luck. “You’re a real rare thing. Classy. Sweet. Soft.”

You laugh again, quieter this time. “You make me sound like a collectible.”

He hums, amused, thumb rubbing slow circles over your knuckles. “Hell, baby,” he says, “I don’t think I’ve met a girl like you in decades.”

Your chest warms at that. You preen without even meaning to, shoulders relaxing as you look up at him through your lashes.

“Well… I don’t know about that,” you say, smiling. “I’m not that special.”

His gaze sharpens—fond, intent. 

“Yeah,” he says gently. “You are.”

He steps closer, crowding your space just enough to make your breath hitch. Taller. Broader. Older. But still careful, still gentle in that way that makes you feel precious instead of cornered.

“And when you told me you’d never been with anyone…” His mouth brushes your temple. “Well. That just about drove me insane.”

You laugh, flustered, cheeks heating. “Ben—” you start, embarrassed. “It’s not like it’s a big deal.”

You feel him smile against your skin.

“It is to me,” he says quietly.

You still just a little, heart fluttering, and he feels it immediately.

“Hey,” he murmurs, soothing. “Relax. I’m not gonna hurt you, sweetheart.”

His fingers skim the hem of your blouse, slow enough that it almost tickles. You suck in a breath, half‑laughing again.

“You’re making it sound so serious,” you say softly.

“It is,” he replies, just as soft. “Doesn’t mean it has to be scary.”

He kisses just below your ear, lingering.

“But if you’re gonna give it up to someone,” he adds, voice dropping, “oughta be someone who knows what the fuck he’s doin’, don’t you think?”

Your laugh comes out smaller this time. You nod without quite realizing you are. “I guess,” you murmur, shy but smiling. “You do seem… very confident.”

That does it. He smiles—slow, satisfied.

“That’s my girl.”

Then his fingers are unbuttoning your top, methodical and practiced, brushing every inch of skin he reveals with open reverence. You let him, body buzzing, head light, enjoying the attention too much to question it.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs again, mouth warm against your collarbone. “I’ll be real good to you.”

And somehow, that makes everything feel inevitable.

It’s not until he has you stripped naked on your hands and knees on the mattress—his own knee nudging your legs apart, his hands gripping your hips like a man who’s waited for this—that something shifts.

His mouth is on you before you can even process it—hot, messy, filthy—and you cry out, twisting in the sheets, your face already flushed and slick with sweat. He groans into you like he’s starved for it.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, “look at this sweet little pussy.”

You whimper. You’ve never heard him talk like that about you before. Not even close.

“So fucking wet for me,” he says, thumb spreading you open while he presses his mouth right back to you, licking deep like it’s his.

You try to speak—maybe a gasp of his name, maybe something uncertain—but the only thing that comes out is a moan, helpless and broken.

He hums against you, pleased. “Told you I’d take care of you, didn’t I?”

Then his fingers slide into your mouth—two of them, sudden and deep, pressing down on your tongue until you start to gag around them. 

“Deep breaths, sweetheart,” he drawls, the thumb of his same hand stroking the skin of your jaw.

He doesn’t rush it. Just holds you there, feeling you accommodate him, until your breathing shakily around his fingers, eyes watering, and your lips tentatively begin to close around them

“There you go,” he murmurs, pleased. “Knew you’d figure it out.”

You make a small, helpless sound around his fingers and he laughs quietly, fond.

“Easy,” he coos. “You’re doin’ just fine.”

He pulls his fingers out slowly, slick with your saliva, and before you can even process the loss, his hand slides around your front to rest in between your breasts. He presses you up, his chest to your spine, mouth close to your ear.

His other hand comes around to your jaw, thumb settling at the hinge, tilting your face just enough.

“Open,” he says softly. Not a command—an expectation.

You do.

He spits into your mouth—unhurried, deliberate—watching it land like he’s savoring the moment. His thumb strokes your cheek, grounding, approving.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “That’s it.”

You gasp, overwhelmed, and he keeps his hand there, steady, making sure you don’t pull away.

“Swallow,” he adds gently. “C’mon now, be good, sweetheart.”

You do, because of course you do.

He smiles against your ear, satisfied.

“See?” he says quietly, guiding you back down to rest your weight on your palms. “Nothin’ to it. You just needed someone to show you.”

You don’t know why your thighs are shaking so hard. You don’t know when he started spanking you, either—sharp, rhythmic cracks to the side of your ass between long, indulgent licks of your pussy—but it’s blurring, all of it. His mouth, his fingers, his voice.

“Why…?” You ask breathlessly, your voice is soft and high pitched and whiny. You’re not even sure what you’re asking about at this point, everything that’s happened since your clothes came off has felt odd and overwhelming and other worldly in the weirdest, best way. 

“Because this,” he says between licks, “is what people do when they love each other so very much.”

Another slap. You jolt, whine, clench around nothing.

“And you do love me, don’t cha? I’m so good to you, sweetheart.”

You’re nodding, babbling, your voice wrecked.

“Yes—yes, I love you—”

You don’t even know if you mean it. You think you do, you’ve thought about it an awful thought recently. Ben was like your dream guy–well, you thought he was. You’d even imagined this moment, but you don’t think your imagination ever could have come up with something so… dirty like this is. You thought your first time would be sweet and soft, maybe that it’d even hurt a little bit. There’s nothing sweet or soft about what’s happening right now.

His hand slides up your back, palm splayed between your shoulders, pinning you down.

“Yeah, you do,” he murmurs. “That’s why you’re lettin’ me do all this nasty shit to you.”

You should be humiliated. Heck, you should be alarmed—but you’re not. 

Because this is still Ben. 

Because his voice is still calm. His hands are still sure. And somewhere in the blur of praise and filth, you believe him.

“That’s my perfect girl,” he says, mouthing over the back of your neck like he’s claiming you. “Honestly, I didn’t think you had it in you. But fuck if you’re not made for this.”

You whine, gasping into the sheets.

“No wonder you never let anyone else get a taste,” he growls, lining himself up behind you now. “You’ve been waiting for me, huh? You knew I’d take such good care of you, no other limp dicked haircut could come close.”

And by the time he’s fucking into you—deep, rough, like he owns every inch of you—you’re so far gone you’d believe anything he tells you.

Even when he says:

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong about this, baby,” he murmurs, breathing heavy at your ear as he drives into you again, rougher now that he’s close. You can almost here the smirk in his voice when he speaks, “this is what true love looks like, afterall.”

Your whole body’s shaking, every nerve lit up and pulled tight. You’re gasping his name, fingers clawing at the sheets as the pressure coils and snaps all at once. It hits you hard—too much, too fast—and you cry out, hips jerking back against him as you come undone around his cock.

“That’s it, baby” he groans, feeling you clamp down, losing whatever control he had left. “Fuck—just like that.”

He doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t slow down. Just fucks you through it, chasing his own end with short, brutal thrusts until his breath stutters and breaks.

“Fuckin’ christ—” he growls, voice wrecked as he spills inside you, pressing deep and staying there, holding you open while it hits him in waves.

For a second, neither of you moves. Just heat and weight and the sound of both of you trying to breathe.

Eventually, he pulls out slow, deliberately, and groans like he’s never felt anything better.

You’re practically limp beneath him, face-down and trembling, your thighs still twitching, breath all hiccupy and uneven. There’s slick everywhere—your inner thighs, the sheets, his lower stomach and dick and thighs—and he just watches his cum drip out of you like it’s the best part of his night.

“Fuckin’ look at that,” he murmurs, dragging two fingers through the mess, rubbing it in with a low whistle. “You made such a pretty mess for me, sweetheart.”

You whimper into the comforter.

Ben laughs—soft, pleased, wrecked in the best way—and slaps your ass once, light, just to feel the bounce.

“Goddamn,” he mutters again, sitting back on his heels. “Didn’t think you’d let me take it that far, to be honest.”

You shift onto your side, stunned, your cheek hot against the cool comforter. “What the hell just happened…?” you breath softly, but your voice is raspy and cracks at the end.

“Hey,” he says, suddenly closer. His palm lands warm against your face, thumb at your jaw, turning your head so he can see you fully. “You alright?”

You blink up at him, wide-eyed, a little slack-jawed. You nod, but it’s faint—a dazed little gesture that barely gets halfway.

Ben coos. Actually coos.

“Aw, there she is. Still in there.”

His thumb strokes over your cheek, his hand big and solid under your chin, holding your face like it’s something delicate.

“You did so good, baby” he says, voice dropping low. “Y’ didn’t cry. Didn’t have to ask me to stop. Just laid there like a good girl and let me take care of you.”

He leans down and kisses your forehead—slow and heavy, like he means it—before flopping back on the bed beside you with a satisfied groan. His cigarettes are already waiting on the nightstand. He lights it in one motion, takes a drag, and exhales toward the ceiling, totally at ease.

“You want one?” he asks, holding it out to you.

You blink again. “I… I don’t smoke.”

“You didn’t fuck either, ‘til tonight,” he says easily, sliding the cigarette back between his lips. “You’re on a roll, why stop now?”

You’re quiet for a while until something crosses your mind and you can’t help but ask, “… is it always like that? Like, for everyone?” You muse absentmindedly, your eyes soft and unfocused

“Yeah, if you’re lucky and find someone who knows shit about sex.” He shrugs, giving your cheek a playful tap. “And you, sweetheart, are the luckiest girl in the fucking world for finding me. You should start buying lotto tickets.”

You laugh—sort of—but it’s more breath than sound. Your whole body still feels like it’s floating. Heavy and light at the same time. He watches you like he knows exactly what you’re feeling.

Then he reaches for the drawer in the nightstand and grabs a small orange pill bottle, rattling it with one hand.

“You need something to help take the edge off?”

Your head lifts, barely. “Something to take the edge off what?” You narrow your eyes at him in confusion.

“Klonopin,” he says slow, clearly amused. “Takes the edge off the comedown. Smoothes it all out, makes everything feel like glitter.”

You blink at him, still trying to catch up. “I don’t do drugs.”

“I know you don’t, sweetheart, but that’s what everyone says at first,” he says, all grin and no shame. “Doesn’t mean you won’t.”

He tosses the bottle back onto the nightstand and picks up a glass of whiskey you hadn’t even noticed was there before—not that you’d exactly had a lot of time to take in his end table decor.

“Last offer,” he winked, “you want a drink?”

You sigh—this you could do—and reach for it, but your hand’s wobbly, so he guides it to your lips and watches while you take two slow sips. Then he pulls it away and downs the rest himself, smirking as he wipes his mouth.

“Atta girl, baby”

He leans back, one arm behind his head, the other reaching out to tug you into his chest like it’s automatic. You go without resistance. You’re too loose and warm and entirely out of your depth.

“You know,” he drawls, bringing his cigarette back to his lips, “I’ve been on my best fuckin’ behavior for you,” he says, smoke curling from his mouth as he speaks. “Since day one.”

You hum, dizzy and relaxed, letting your fingers trace lightly along the edge of his ribs.

“Didn’t lay a hand on you,” he continues. “Barely even let myself flirt. Made myself real fuckin’ tolerable.”

He presses a kiss to your shoulder, then another to your neck.

“You think that was easy for me?”

You don’t answer, and you don’t need to. You’re curled into him, pliant and trusting, and he knows he’s got you. 

“Worth it, though,” he mutters against your skin. “You’re so much better than I thought you’d be.”

“Thanks? I think?” You say confused, even more so when he just laughs.

His hand slides down to your hip, not to start anything—just to touch. To feel the body he just wrecked.

He’s still stroking your hip when he shifts, rolls you closer like he’s just getting comfortable. His voice, when he speaks, is soft again—warm and low and perfect, like all that filth never happened.

“Y’know,” he murmurs, kissing your temple, “we look fuckin’ great together.”

You blink up at him, dazed, lips parted like you’re still trying to remember how to breathe.

“Can’t wait to show you off,” he adds, smiling like he means it. “Red carpets. Cameras. America’s fuckin’ sweetheart and her soldier.”

Your cheeks heat, even now. You laugh, breathless and a little shy. “You’re ridiculous.”

He grins. “Maybe. But I’m not wrong.”

There’s a pause. His thumb brushes the swell of your cheekbone.

“So what do you say, sweetheart?” His voice is warm again—sweet, almost bashful, like he didn’t just fuck you into the mattress. “You wanna be my girl? Officially?”

Your lashes flutter. It sounds so simple when he says it. So earnest.

Like you didn’t give him everything already.

You nod slowly, lips parted on a dazed little smile. “Yeah,” you breathe. “Okay.”

Ben grins—beams, really—like he just won the goddamn lottery. His hand squeezes your hip, thumb brushing the dip of your waist like he’s grounding himself in the moment.

“That's perfect, baby,” he murmurs, kissing your shoulder, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. “Knew you would.”

He lets the silence stretch a beat, just long enough for your pulse to settle, your breath to come back, for the ache in your thighs to really bloom.

Then, all easy charm and casual affection, he cuddles you even closer and asks—

“You still hungry?”

You blink, slowly. He’s already reaching for another cigarette from the nightstand like this is totally normal. Like this is just a regular Tuesday.

“Figured we could go out instead, maybe get some steaks,” he says, like it’s nothing. “There’s this little place up the block—old-school joint, real butter-heavy, they know me. You’ll love it.”

You can’t even process it. You’re still leaking him onto his sheets, still raw and sticky and half-drunk on the sound of his voice.

But his tone is light.

"After all, I did ask my girl over for dinner," he winks, "can't let you starve. 'Specially not after how brave you were for me tonight, sweetheart."

His smile is easy. And the way he’s looking at you—like you’re already his everything, like this is routine—makes your stomach flip in that dangerous, fluttery way.

You nod again, slow and dreamy.

“Steaks sound great,” you whisper.

He kisses your forehead and smiles.

And just like that, he’s got you all over again.

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GEN TAGLIST @spxideyver @tendertulip @n-o-p-e-never @fandomchik @tinas111 @0ccvltism @cupidzbunny @losers-clvb @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @thatg8rl @angelically-yours @dina-winchester @ilikw @lupinslibraries @kyleighsstuff @sadpods @mochminnie @spookyysinsanity @mindfulmesses @paristheonewhoreads @prettywhenipanic @mostlymarvelgirl @shortcyclicalstoner @dead-sirens @boba-is-a-soup @l3tholog1ca @allthingswickedpodcast @musesfromashes @mollymal @sh1a10

It’s not an unreasonable expectation. None of you have slept, because this thing is insane. There’s no obvious pattern to the victims, no connections, nothing in line with everything you’ve ever seen. It’s men and woman, a wide age range, no previous coflicts or knowledge of each other in life. There are holes through theirs chests that could be bullet wounds, but obviously aren’t, because Bullets don’t remove the heart from the body. But it’s not werewolves, because werewolves aren’t clean killers like this and every fucking person in this stupid town has passed the silver test. There’s a new kill every night, and a new body every morning, and another reason for you, Sam, and Dean to start screaming every day. Every hour makes you all wired, because it’s closer and closer to another evening where you won’t have caught this asshole and another person will die.

And it’s become really easy to get on each other’s nerves. Sam was mad at Dean because he’d purposefully gotten you all burgers instead of Sam’s rabbit food, you’re mad at Sam because he said you were bad at poker—and you are, but what the fuck—and Dean’s mad at you because-

Dean’s not mad at you. You and Dean don’t really get mad at each other. You understand each other, better than you’ve ever understood anyone else, and it’s the perfect amount of alike that you’ll lend him grace you wouldn’t lend anyone else—including yourself—but you don’t see enough of your own twisting, molding innards to hate him. You mostly see something better. A man that has all the same rotting parts, but has made something out of them while you just waste away in toxins.

And you think Dean sees something similar in you. It’s why you’d been obnoxiously chewing potato chips, right in his ear, and he hadn’t punched you or snatched the bag away from your hands. He’d just rolled his eyes, grabbed one of his own, and started chewing in Sam’s ear.

So you hadn’t really volunteered for interviews so much as been aggressively told by Sam you were doing interviews. And it was only fair Dean met the same fate.

But he hadn’t. And when you opened the door to the room, they both looked happy. 

Dean practically shouts your name when he sees you, wildly gesturing for you to join them at the table. “Sammy found it!” He grins at you almost manically, and it’s a little adorable. “We can finally fucking leave.”

“I might have found it,” Sam corrects, his smile a little more tentative, but still real. “And we can’t leave yet. Not until we actually get the thing-“

“Obviously, dude, but that’ll be soon, instead of in a million years.” Dean looks to you for agreement. “I mean, c’mon. You guys can’t really wanna stay in hicktown Ohio forever?”

You shrug. “I dunno. Good coffee.”

Dean glares at you. “The coffee tastes like ass and you freakin’ know it-“

“Dean.” You give him a flat look. “Do I actually get to know what the monster is?”

Sam sighs. “You’re not gonna like it.”

“I already don’t love it, it’s a monster that’s killed like, ten people-“

“Worse than that.” Dean lets out a dry chuckle. “It’s sorta like a dragon.”

You, very suddenly, don’t feel really well. Everything is hotter than it had been a second ago, and the walls seem to be closing in as your skin begins to prickle and ache. “Like a dragon?” You ask, forcing your voice to remain steady. “Or a dragon?”

“Like a dragon. Tell her, Sammy.”

Sam shoots Dean a glare—not happy being thrown under the bus—and mutters, “It’s a unicorn.”

You stare at him for a long minute, then shake your head. “It’s a what.”

“Unicorn.” Sam mumbles. “They’re, uh, looks like they’re real.”

“But not Pinky Pie and Disney.” Dean adds, turning Sam’s laptop for you to read. “Real fucking assholes.”

“They hunt virgins.” Sam explains. “To bond with. And it’ll kill anyone who falsely lures it.”

“Stab the poor son of a bitch right through the heart, then pull that sucker right out.” Dean adds, spreading his legs and propping his elbows on his knees. “And it looks like it’ll go after chicks and dudes, any age, so that’s why there’s no pattern. You’re able to fuck, you’re fair game.”

“Oh, cool.” You mutter, a lump starting to form in your throat. “I’m always looking for equal opportunity murderers in the monsters I hunt.” 

“Yeah, well, it’s gonna make it a little harder to find the thing.” Sam grabs his laptop back, frowning at the screen. “It’ll take a human form, then look for a virgin. And it won’t be able to tell until it gets the person’s heartbeat up, so it might be a guy or a girl, depending on who it’s hunting tonight.”

“But,” you glance at Dean, who’s grinning as you start to put it together. “It is hunting tonight.”

“Hunts every night.” Dean says, rubbing his hands together. “And we don’t know where, but we can take some guesses. Split up and look at all the bars in town ’till one of us finds something, then gank this douchebag and get the hell out of here.”

“Split up?” You whisper, something wired and flailing coiling around your guts. “That’s, um, shouldn’t we stick together? If it’ll go after anyone?”

“Not everyone.” Same shrugs. “Low, uh, body counts. I guess. Low enough that it can’t tell immediately.”

“So we just need a bunch of whores?"

Dean snorts. “Well tonight,” he spreads his arms, shooting you a wink that really isn’t helpful right now. “We’re the whores, Sweetheart. We’re safe, and we’re going to kick some unicorn ass.”

It’s a cheesy, stupid thing to say, and usually you’d laugh and crack a joke back. Something about unicorn ass and whores that you can’t really think of right now, because there’s bile in your throat and something heavy fogging over your brain.

“How do we, uh,” your tongue is numb in your mouth, and every word is dragged out of your throat. “How do we kick a unicorn’s ass.”

“Well, we’re looking for electrical malfunctions, golden eyes when it gets, uh, excited, and a refusal to drink anything but water.” Sam frowns at the screen, looking up at you with a half-shrug. “Anything amoral seems to knock it down, so just, uh, swear? Then shoot it with iron. Iron kills it.”

“And, um,” you swallow, tugging at the fabric of your sleeves. “What’s gonna to the virgin? If the unicorn finds it?”

Sam sighs. “They, uh, they seem to use them.”

Dean frowns, leaning around to try and read the screen. “Use them-“ 

“Their purity. Use their purity.” Sam raises his brows, and you can see the exact moment it clicks in Dean’s head. 

“That’s...” Dean trails off, running a hand over his face. “Shit.” 

Sam mutters an agreement, and your mouth feels like sandpaper, your heart beating like it’s trying to escape your chest.

“And after?” You whisper, a little unsure you want to actually ask the question, or know the answer. “After they’re used?” 

“Well, they’re not ‘pure’ anymore.” Sam puts an air quote around pure, and you feel a little sick. “So, uh, stab.”

“Oh.” You nod slowly. You might need to lie down. “Stab.”

Dean looks over you with a drawn brow, his voice low and cautious as he says your name. “Are feelin’ okay-“

“I’m fine.” You remember how to smile, and hope it looks real. Not like your teeth are starting to feel out of place in your mouth, and you can’t seem to find enough spit to choke on. “Let’s get the unicorn ass.”

Dean doesn’t look convinced. Hell, Sam doesn’t look convinced. But they both let it go for now, and you can breathe just a little easier knowing you’re not barreling towards a fight.

But only a little easier. 

Because you’re fucked.

Virginity is a funny thing. It’s just a social construct, but it’s a social construct some monsters seem to take as scripture, making it a hazardous thing to still have in your line of work. 

And you hadn’t meant to be a hazard. It just kind of happened. Because it started as something that was a given to have, then turned into something that you just were a little too busy to lose, before becoming an awkward conversation you’re not willing to have. Something that hangs, silent and sharp, over your head and around your throat. Something that’s now a question of why? Why is it never you? You’re not ugly. You’re even pretty enough that, if you tell someone, they won’t believe you and it’ll all feel worse. You’re even pretty enough that you’ve seen people size you up at bars, but none of them ever approach you.

So it might just be you. You might just have something on your face that gives away that you’re more trouble than you’re worth, a little too rough to touch and not have it sting, telling people stay away. 

And Sam and Dean will never know. You’re already a little younger, a little worse of a hunter, a small problem when they’re obviously trying to take someone to their bed but the girl sees you and makes quick and inaccurate assumptions. Sam is better at brushing them off—She’s like my little sister—but Dean gets red and awkward and suddenly loses all his well-practiced charm. He sulks back to the table, and won’t look you in the eyes for an hour or walk with you back to the bar. You’re honestly shocked neither of them have thrown you to the curb by now, an you’re not going to give them another reason to. Another reason for Sam to make a sad, puppy-eyed pity face and Dean to stare at you like he’s not sure you’re real. Like there’s no way someone could’ve possibility survived as a hunter like this. 

And a small, well-contained part of you wishes Dean would look at you the way he looks at other women. Like they still have beautiful, horrible secrets that he’d love to uncover with only his hands and mouth. 

You’ve got secrets. Dean can’t have them—because they’re a liability and you’re not looking to lose him forever—but you really wish he’d just look at you. Once, really look at you, and not see you. See something so much better, that you think he’s always a little close to finding, that nobody else ever seems willing to try and look for.

You’re a little grateful they left you alone in this backwater dive bar. It would hurt to watch Dean flirt right now, when everything feels raw and wired in your body, and every time someone drops next to you at the bar you feel more and more sick. There are quick, polite conversations with random strangers who sound like they’d rather be anywhere than here, with you, and by the time you’ve repeated your cover story for the eighth time your lungs are wrapped iron and your nails feel like a burden on your fingers.

It’ll be over by tonight. All three of you know what you’re looking for, so the unicorn will be dead before sunrise, and you won’t have to do any explanations about why you’ve been quiet and tense since Dean said like a dragon. Nobody will look at you with pity or confusion, nobody will get hurt, and you won’t end up with a hole in your heart as the only people that have ever seen you to be worth something realize just how wrong they were. That you’re really just a small, useless burden that even a literal monster wouldn’t be able to stomach the presence of-

“You here all by yourself?”

Something sparks in your gut at the voice, coming from off to the side, because for a second you really think it’s Dean. It’s deep, moves through your whole body, and knocks loose something in your lower gut that always makes you feel hungry, but it’s not Dean. When you turn, the man next to you looks like someone ran Dean through a printer too many times and he came out faded. A little too short, not quite as broad, all the pretty scars that make Dean Dean seemingly vanished, and a gleam in his eyes that Dean’s never had. It’s a little more feral, without any playfulness or glowing shadows. Too much yellow instead of green, the cocky smirk just a little off, none of it right. None of it Dean.

“I’m, um,” you frown, because this man even smells like Dean. “I’m waiting for a friend. He’s running late.”

Not-Dean clicks his tongue. “Shame, leaving a pretty girl like you all alone. You want some company until your boyfriend shows up?”

You shake your head, turning your glass around in your hand. “Not my boyfriend. And I’m actually…” You trail off, your eyes falling on the man’s own glass. The clear liquid inside. “You drinking vodka?”

“Am I- Oh, sure.” The man chuckles, raising his drink for you to click. “Here’s to not-boyfriends-“

“Can I have some?”

You watch the man carefully as he looks between you and the glass. “Nah, sweetie, you don’t want this, it’s some strong stuff-“

Sweetie. Not sweetheart. Not Dean, not right, not safe. And something is starting to crawl over your skin and shoot up your spine, making you sit a little taller as your heart pounds louder and louder. 

As Not-Dean licks his lips, and scans over you with yellow eyes that might be shining. 

Fuck.

“I, um, I’m gonna go call my friend.” You start to shift off your seat, pulling your phone slowly out of your pocket. “He should’ve been here a few minutes ago, and I’m worried-“

“C’mon, you haven’t even told me your name.” Not-Dean wiggles his brows, and it looks wrong on his face. “Bet I can guess, if you give me a hint-“

“No, it’s fine, my name is, uh…” you look down at your phone, the screen completely black. You’d charged it before you left.

“Your name?” Not-Dean prompts, grabbing your arm. Holding you near him, at the bar. “I’d really love to learn it. I could teach you a few things in exchange-“

“I was never given a name!” Your voice is a frantic shout, Not-Dean’s eyes narrow, and you do the only thing you can think of. Punch Not-Dean square in the face, yank your arm from his grip, and run. Fucking sprint out of the bar and not allow yourself to falter as you hear a roar that’s a little hoarse and off pitched. Like a horse keen. Like a wounded animal.

Like a monster.

Splitting up had been a terrible fucking idea. Now you’re alone, you don’t have even an idea where Sam and Dean are, and you can’t afford to stop and jack a car because you can hear it in the distance. Hooves, clapping against the pavement, getting closer and closer as you begin to run out of breath. You can’t hide, it can hear you, and you can’t go faster because you already feel faint and everything is beginning to collapse in your body. Muscles tightening and skin crawling and eyes pushing out of your skull, every breath too shallow and every step too short. 

You fall to your knees behind a truck, wrapping a hand around your own throat and trying to force your heartbeat back down. Slow, even breathes that come out in choked gasps, nails digging into your skin as the hooves slow, and you hear a low sputtering sound from somewhere behind you. 

And it’s too quiet. You can’t hear anything but your blood in your ears, and all you can see in the night is the flickering yellow light of a streetlamp in the distance. You squeeze your eyes shut and swallow every breath, hoping you can force yourself out before the unicorn finds you. You don’t want to be used. You don’t want to be alone. You just want Dean, where’s Dean, why the fuck did you let him leave you alone, why didn’t you tell him the truth, why can’t you think of anything else but Dean, where’s Dean-

There’s something hot on your neck, and a large presence at your side. Something like spit is being splattered on your neck, and you can’t contain the vomit when a too-rough hand trails up your arm-

“Get the fuck back, you son of a bitch!”

A loud bang cuts through the air—making you jump out of your skin as a heavy body slumps onto yours—and it sounds like church bells and music. It sounds like Dean. That’s his voice shouting your name, his arms wrapping around your body and carrying you away from the unicorn, his breath fanning over your face as he sits you on the curb and starts to turn your face in his hands.

“Fuck, never should’ve left you, but I didn’t-“ Dean cuts himself off with a huff, and you think he’s talking to himself more than you. “Did the asshole touch you anywhere I can’t see?”

You shake your head, keeping your eye glued shut as you curl your hands in Dean’s shirt. Maybe Dean’s shirt. Not-Dean had been wearing plaid too, and you don’t have the nerve or will to open your eyes and seen if it’s your Dean, or the cheap unicorn knockoff.

“Shit, sweetheart, I need you to talk to me. Sam’s on his way, but we gotta get you out of here-“

“Didn’t touch me.” You whisper, fighting every urge into your body to curl forwards and start sobbing weak and pointless apologies. “I’m okay.”

“You’re okay? You think, fuck-“ Dean’s arm—bigger, warmer, maybe actual Dean—loops around your waist, his voice a little closer to your ear. “Need you to hold onto me, got it? We’re goin’ back to the car, and you gotta, fuck, can you open your damn eyes?”

They fly open, almost on command, and it’s Dean. The smell of whiskey is stronger, more authentic, and his face is sharp in all the right places, and it’s really Dean. 

And he looks pissed. His touch on your body is careful, and his eyes are attentive and sparked with worry, but his jaw is clenched, and his every word is suddenly pushed through his teeth.

“You’re gonna hold onto me.” He orders, holding your wide-eyed gaze with a glower. “I’ll take a better look at you when we get back to the room-“

“Dean, I’m fine-“

“And,” Dean barrels on, as if he didn’t even hear you. “We’re going to have a chat. You’re, I can’t-” he shakes his head scooping you fully into his arms. “Just hold on.”

He sounds pissed. Dean’s rigid and silent the whole ride back to the hotel, his grip white-knuckled and tight on the wheel, and you feel even worse than before. This is it. He had to save you, and he’s going to learn why he had to save you, and he might not kick you out but he won’t look at you the same again. No more ease or awe or comfort or understanding, because Dean’s rotten in places where the mold can be burned away with every good part of him, but you’re just rotten. Just a hideous thing that roars in your chest, just angry and cowardlyand revolting and wrong. You’re just wrong. 

All the panic and paralyzing adrenaline had left your body, so you push yourself out of the Impala on unsteady feet. Dean mutters something about Sam dealing with all the cleanup as he opens to motel room door, watching you shuffle inside with clenched fists and an unreadable expression. You flop onto the bed with a small whine, your body beginning to drown in exhaustion, your gaze locked on the peeling paint of the ceiling as Dean moves around the room out of your view.

“Why’d you come back?” You ask, your voice hoarse and weak, and Dean lets out a long, low exhale from somewhere off to the side.

“You were actin’ really weird.” He grunts. “Didn’t sound like yourself. Weren’t laughing at my jokes, or making fun of Sam. Looked sick every time one of us said stab.”

“I could’ve just been-“

“Don’t.” He snaps, and you crane your neck to see him at the foot of the bed, arms crossed and looking at you. Dean seems to be really looking at you, all of you, and you suddenly really wish he would stop. You’re complete exposed below him, under his glare, and he’s going to see something he hates. Something you don’t have a name for that you’ve never wanted him to see, never wanted him to find. The thing that makes everyone else look away.

But Dean’s attention is like a drug, and you need him to stop before you lose him, but you also never want him to stop watching you. It’s confusing and raw and makes you feel like a live wire, one word or touch or stare away from snapping and bursting into a million sparks.

And Dean’s still looking at you. 

“I didn’t,” you swallow, his eyes like a magnet on yours. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry-“

“Don’t.” He repeats, his voice lower. Harsher. “You’re not injured.”

You shake your head.

“Good. We need to talk.”

“Dean, I-“

“I’m asking the questions.” Dean leers over you slightly, and you nod again. “Why the fuck did that unicorn seem like it was hunting you.”

He knows the answer. His whole face is already painted in anger, and you know he knows. He just wants to hear you say it.

“Because it was hunting me.”

“Unicorns only hunt virgins.” Dean grunts your name, still not looking away. “You’re not-“

“I am.” You mumble, folding your arms over your own body as you drop back down onto the mattress. “Sorry.”

“Why would you say, fuck- Why in goddamn hell wouldn’t you tell me and Sam-“

“Tell you and Sam what?” You scowl at the ceiling. “That I’m untouched? Pure? Boring-“

“That you’d be in danger!” Dean all but roars, and you don’t flinch, but you do cringe. All the mold in your body feels as if it’s spreading like cancer, because Dean would never hurt you with his hands, but he might be about to curb stomp your heart with only his mouth. “I don’t give a shit about the virgin thing, I care that you were so fucking stupid to go off alone, that you didn’t trust me enough-“

“It’s not about trust, Dean,” you sigh, squeezing your eyes shut again. “And it’s not like you tell me everything-“

“I do! I’ve told you about all the shit in my past, and my fear of flying, and Rhonda Hurley, and that weird freaking dream I had with the mice in top hats-“

“That’s not the same!” You’re pushing back up on your palms, raising your voice to match Dean’s. You just need him to stop yelling at you, to rip the band-aid off and finally give up on you so you can rest. “This isn’t your business-“

“It’s my business if it’s gonna get you fucking killed, Sweetheart. And I coulda helped you-“

“Helped me?” You scoff. “I don’t need your help with this, Winchester, I’ve come to terms with it-“

There was a brief moment where Dean had looked like you’d kicked him, but it vanishes in a second as he gapes at you in disbelief. “To terms with virginity?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, holding his suddenly slack expression with your own glare. “Nobody wants me, it’s not a big deal-“ 

Dean snorts. “There’s no damn way you’re that stupid-“ 

“I am not stupid-“ 

“Yeah? Cause you’re a fucking idiot if you think nobody wants you.”

It’s your turn to gape at him. Your heart stumbles slightly in your chest, your fingers curling into bedsheets, and the world begins to spin as you try and understand his words. “What?”

“You,” Dean takes a firm step forward, drawing your name. “Are a fucking idiot if you think that there’s not one damn person on the planet who wants you.” 

“But-“

“Nah. No freakin’ buts.” He’s closer now, his knees bumping yours as he glowers down at you. “I’ve watched too many hair-gelled losers at bars size you up like they wanna take a bite for you to have buts. Hell, I’ve-“ Dean shakes his head, running a hand over his face. “Shit, there’s just, there’s no way-“

Your face twists back into a scowl. “Fuck off, Dean. It doesn’t matter if you believe me-“

“Oh, I believe you, Sweetheart.” Dean’s eyes flash, nostrils flaring as a low groan leaves his chest, rolling through the air and settling between your legs in an aching heat. “And I finally fucking get it. You just, you have no idea. I thought you just didn’t want it, but you’re just- Shit-“

“Dean,” your voice is soft, a little breathless, and can’t help but rub your thighs together as his hands start to flex at his sides. “I don’t know what you’re talking about-“

“I know,” he mutters, scanning over your body with an almost predatory expression. “I’m not, I just gotta,” his gaze flies back to yours, his voice suddenly stern. “Sam tell you how the unicorn choses its form?”

You blink. “Wha-“

“It takes the form that will be most appealing to the target. To help the asshole get attention quickly. That unicorn,” his voice drop, deeper than you’ve ever heard it, and it takes all the will you have to not start fall back into in the sheets. “Looked kinda like me.”

“I, um, I don’t-“

“Do you want me?” Dean grunts your name, and you make the mistake of dropping your gaze down, to his pants. To where an impressive outline is straining against his jeans. 

“I’d, I mean, I’m not-“ You swallow, everything a dizzying haze of Dean. “Yeah, I think, but you’re not-“

“I’m not what?” He growls, kneeling down to your eye level, trailing a slow hand up your thigh. “Not interested?”

 “Yeah?”

“Wrong.” Dean’s hand moves higher, trailing closer and closer to your center before running back down to your knee. “So incredibly wrong, Sweetheart. I’ve wanted you since, fuck, since I first saw ya’. But you didn’t seem to want me, so I backed off, but if you just didn’t-“ He pauses, his brilliant green eyes suddenly tearing into your soul, unraveling you before he’s even touched bare skin. “Do you? Want me?”

“I already said-“

“You said yeah.” He mutters, rubbing his hand is a slow pattern on your knee. “Need you to say the full thing, before I do anything else.”

Dean’s face is suddenly softer, with something that aches and tugs on your own heart shining through his eyes, and you couldn’t lie to him if you tried. You can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to Dean. It feels cruel, and wrong, and as if you’d be denying yourself something so good and rare it will never be replicated if you walk away now. 

“I want you,” you whisper. “I’ve wanted you. But I’m not, it’s not going to be good for you. I mean, I know how to take care of that,” you point to the bulge in his pants, pressed slightly against your calf as he crouches before you, and Dean frowns. “But I’ve never, um, you know-“

“You’re not takin’ care of anything.” He says, scanning over your open face with drawn brows. “We’re doing this, it’s gonna be about you.”

“Oh.” There’s a little drool falling out of your mouth, Dean reaches up to swipe it away with his thumb, and your voice becomes a squeak. “Okay.”

“If you really wanna,” his mouth curves into a smirk, and you need it on yours now. “Next time, I’ll let you go to town on Little Dean.”

You can’t stop the small giggle escaping your lips, and it turns into a full laugh as Dean’s own grin grows, and nothing really feels that bad anymore. “Little Dean?”

“Compared to the rest of me, yeah.” Dean does a loose gesture at his broad, strong body, his grin growing cocky. Hungry. Starved. “But trust me, gorgeous. Ain’t nothing little about him.”

Your eyes widen, your thighs rubbing together as the need for him becomes almost unbearable, and Dean lets out a deep, low chuckle. 

“You want me, babygirl?”

You nod, and Dean’s eyes narrow as he squeezes his hand on your leg. 

“Need you to say it-“

“Yeah.” You whisper. “Yes, please.”

A grin splits over Dean’s handsome face, and his hand drifts to your stomach, his eyes never leaving yours as he drawls your name. “I’m gonna need to get you ready, so just,” he pushes you slightly, and you fall flat on your back, moving your own hands to hold his against you. “Stay there, look pretty, and let me work.”

You nod, your vision already a little blurred with desire as you stare at the ceiling. Dean draws back, shuffling around at the edge of the bed, and you look up to see his shirt gone. It’s all warm, slightly golden and freckled skin, strong and soft in all the right places. His muscles flex as he takes a long, deep breath, and big, calloused hands lowering to trace over your midriff, his eyes never leaving yours.

“What’d I say about stayin’ there-“

“I, um,” you gasp a little as his hand slips under your shirt, bunching the material and starting to slowly pull it over your chest. “I’ve done other stuff. Just so you know. And I’ve done things to myself-“

“I bet you have,” Dean mutters, wrapping an arm around your waist, holding you carefully against him as he helps you out of your clothing. “Shit, Sweetheart, you’re so damn beautiful. Can’t wait to taste you, touch you, fucking ruin you-“

You let out a high, needy moan, burying your face in his neck and mumbling against his skin. “Please, Dean, just-“

You cut yourself off with a gasp as his free hand slips into your pants, cupping your pussy over the fabric of your underwear and rubbing back and forth so torturously slow you might fly out of your skin.

“So wet for me already,” he grunts, tugging on your hair until you lean back, meeting his gaze. “Ready?”

You’re not sure what you need to be ready for, but as long as it’s Dean doing it, you’re good. You nod, wrapping your arm around his neck in silent affirmation, and Dean pulls back to pop open the button of your jeans with a single hand, offering himself easier access.

Two broad fingers toy with the hem of your panties, Dean’s eyes almost glittering as his attention falls to where he’s touching you. Watching your body shiver when he glides his thumb over your clothed slit, your hips jerk when he presses down on your clit, your legs stretch as wide as they can when he starts to rub small circles against you.

“Dean,” you whine, your free hand moving to cup his jaw, trying to move his gaze back to yours. “Please, shit-“

“That feel good, babygirl?” Dean starts to quicken his movements, adding small, teasing flicks and pinches that make your eyes roll back in your head. “You like me teasin’ you? Playin’ this pretty fuckin’ pussy until you’re soaked- Fuck-“

You start to grind on Dean’s hand, trying to chase relief while showing him that he didn’t need to play with or tease you. He has you, unraveled on his fingers and desperate for more of him, all of him, whatever he can offer you that will feel like this-

“Shit, you’re dripping.” Dean’s movement on your clit still as he drags his thumb down, resting right over your aching, already sensitive cunt, and pressing into you just enough to make you whimper. “I gotta taste you, Sweetheart, c’mon.”

His gaze shoots back to yours, something a little animalistic in his low, hoarse voice that almost makes you cum on the spot. “Need you hold on, pretty girl, we’re gonna get you out’a these.”

You nod, letting Dean lay you back down on the mattress, lifting your hips as he drags your jeans off your body, taking your underwear with them. Leaving to totally, completely naked on the bed. Vulnerable, entirely at his mercy, with not another place you’d wish to be in the world.

Dean crawls slightly over you, one of his hands tracing up your stomach, palming at your breasts, then rolling your nipple between two, rough, expert fingers. You gasp, arching slightly off the bed, and a low, deep groan rolls from Dean’s chest.

“Holy fuck, Sweetheart. You’re,” Dean cuts himself off, dropping his mouth to your other breast and latching plump, slightly chapped lips around your nipple. Your vision starts to line with light that might be angels coming to take you away, because this has to be heaven. This is better than heaven. Heaven wouldn’t allow such sinful things as Dean groaning against your skin, his boner pressing into your thigh, or his hand kneading at your ass. Someone shouldn’t be allowed to feel this good. This feels like everything, and blissfully nothing, and mostly just Dean.

You must have moaned his name, because he crashes up, fisting a hand in your hair as he pulls you into a sloppy kiss. All teeth and spit and burning need. Dean tastes like coffee and whiskey and syrup and fruit when he shoves his tongue down your throat, and he smells like gunpowder and leather as his weight hold you easily down, and his lips are so soft but so demanding as he practically devours you, and you’re high. He’s not even inside you yet and you’ll never have enough. This isn’t more than what you’ve done before, but Dean’s ruined you with just teasing touches and wet, starved kisses, and you’re starting to worry you might ascend when he actually fucks you.

He starts to kiss and suck a line over your jaw, down your neck, and between your breasts. It’s heavy and wanting, but still so carefully coordinated. Every move Dean makes seems to be calculated, because he nips at your collarbone right as he tugs on your hair, and the sound that leaves you is high and undignified and exactly what he wanted. His chuckle rumbles in his chest—now pressed against your stomach—and all you can do is moan as he continues his perfect torture. Licking one nipple as he pinches the other, dragging two fingers through your folds as he kisses down the plane of your stomach, stopping right at the apex of your thighs with glittering eyes and firm hands, slowly guiding your legs open.

“Shit.” He mutters, warm breath right over your pussy, making your hips jerk slightly. “Goddamn, baby, you’re responsive.“ A wide, smug grin overtakes Dean’s face as he pushes one finger into your pussy, and you squeak. “I’ve been waiting for this.” He growls your name, and starts to pump that finger in and out, the pace so slow and almost painfully good. “God, you have fucking idea how long- How bad-“ Dean groans as you squeeze around him, and adds another finger. “You’re making such pretty sounds, babygirl, better than I ever imagined. Shit, you’re sexier than a fucking dream.”

His eyes drift back to yours, and shiver goes up your spine from how Dean’s looking at you. Really looking at you. Watching your writhe in the sheets and plead for him in weak gasps, watching you at your most vulnerable state, and grinning like he loves what he sees. Like he’s never seen anything better.

“Dean,” you gasp as his fingers pick up speed, starting to scissor inside your dripping cunt, bumping against a tender spot inside of you that seems to sing under his touch. “Oh my god, Dean, please-“

“Such pretty sounds,” Dean grins at you, crooking his fingers against that same spot to rub. “Let’s see if we can make some more.”

Without further warning Dean drops back down, latches his lips onto your clit, and sucks it right into his mouth like candy. It’s almost immediate, how he pulls you from warm pleasure to raw, almost feral desperation. You’re right on the edge, grinding on his face as his stubble burns your inner thighs in the best was possible, his tongue flicking over that pulsing bundle of nerves, his fingers reaching a demanding and brutal pace-

“Fuck, I’m-“ You let out a loud moan as Dean growls against you, pulling at his short, soft hair to try and both move him away as you dangle over the drop, and urge him on to let him catch you when you fall. “Close, Dean, I’m close, please-“

He pulls away, and you almost scream from the loss. You even force yourself up to glare at him, but you’ve barely gotten a steady balance when a high, needy breath escapes you at the sight of him. 

Dean’s towering over you, his pants discarded into another corners of the room, stroking his massive, fully-erect cock in one hand as he scans over your sweaty, flushed body. 

“I wanna fuck you dumb, babygirl.” He grunts, and you can’t really hear him your own Dean-addled brain, so you just gape and moan, and he chuckles. “Shit, looks like we’re already halfway there. You got any words for me-“

“Dean, please.” The words start to fall out of your mouth with the slight drool on your chin, almost as if he’d commanded them. “Please, I need you, need you so bad-“

You spread your legs in offering, and Dean groans. “Fuck, Sweetheart, you can’t just-“ He closes his eyes, running a hand over his face, and there’s a moment before he speaks again where you worry you’ve ruined it. That you’d shown too much, or Dean saw too much, but no matter what this is over before you can even get that huge, glorious cock inside of you- 

“I’m sorry-“

Dean frowns, his brow drawn as he looks down at you. “What the hell are you sorry for.”

“I dunno, I’m just not-“ You swallow. “I’m not good at this, I don’t know what to say-“

He grunts your name, prowling over your body under your trapped between his strong body and the bed, unable to escape his intense, searing gaze. Looking at you, examining you, and not flinching or moving away. “You,” he says, tracing one gentle hand over your cheekbones. “Are fuckin’ amazing at this.” 

You can only gape at him, so he keeps going.

“I’m the one that might fuck this up, Sweetheart. You’re so,” he makes a loose gesture to your body, and you really wish he’d use words, but the look of sheer awe in his eyes will be enough for now. “And I get to do this for you, and I’m not trying to blow my load before you even cum once.”

“I almost came.” You offer him a small smile, your fingers tracing over the sharp line of his jaw. “But you stopped me.”

He lets out a dry chuckle. “Yeah, well, I’m plannin’ to make that up to you. If you still-“

“I want it.” You cut him off quickly, rolling your hips up, right against his cock. “Please, Dean, I really want it.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, dropping a little further down. “Are you-“

“I’m sure.” You guide Dean’s lips back to yours in a soft, almost sweet kiss, and say the words you really hope will snap whatever leash he’s put on himself. “I want you.”

It works. Something flashes in Dean’s eyes, and his hand snakes between your bodies, finding your clit and rolling it in slow circles as he growls in your ear.

“Wanna feel you, babygirl. Fuck you raw. I’m clean, but if you want me to grab a rubber you’re gonna need to keep yourself going while I-“

“No!” You almost yelp, wrapping your arms around him in a desperate attempt to keep him above you. “I mean, I’m clean too, obviously, and I take birth control just for like, lady stuff-“

Dean raises his brows at you. “Lady stuff?”

“It kinda helps with period cramps and-“ You cut yourself off with a moan as Dean flicks your clit, tossing your head back you start to squirm, trying to catch him into you. “Fuck, Dean, please just fuck me-“

“You mean like this?” Dean guides the head of his cock inside you, and your mouth falls open in a silent scream. “Fuck ya’ like this, baby?”

You grind on him, scratching at his back as you plead. “Shit, that’s, Dean that’s good, more-“

“More, baby? You need more already?” His grin is shit-eating, and you’d hit him if the dark look of lust in his eyes, the baritone of his voice being several octaves lower than you’ve ever heard it, and the throbbing ache of him starting to split you open wasn’t rending your limbs only putty in his arms.

“Dean, please-“

You might stop breathing as Dean guides himself fully into you, settling his face in your neck as he bottoms out. There’s a long moment where it’s only Dean’s warmth over and inside you as he gives you time to adjust, groaning against your skin as you squeeze around him.

“Shit, Sweetheart, you’re so tight.” He kisses right behind your ear. “Feel, fuck, feel so good around my cock, so fuckin’ good-“ He emphasizes his words with one, short thrust that pushes him right against that one spot and makes you whine. “You ready, baby? Ready for me to pound this tight little pussy until you cum all over my cock-“

You almost yank him back down into a desperate, borderline feral kiss, because if he kept talking you might have cum from just the sound of his low, rough voice growling in your ear and rumbling in your chest.

Dean takes a long, ragged breath when he pulls away, and you roll your hips only once. Just enough for him to groans and fall back over you, kissing and sucking on your skin like he thinks you’ll vanish if he doesn’t mark you with his touch. 

Then he starts to move, and you were right. This is heaven. Dean’s moving so slow, pulling almost all the way out before driving back inside, until you’re fully impaled on him—his cock pressed fully against that one spot, making your whole body feel warm and alight, and your head feel a little dizzy—then repeating the movement again. And again. Over and over, so fucking slow, still leaving softer, slightly uneven kisses along your collarbone and grunts against your skin but-

“Dean,” you gasp his name, your nails digging into the muscles of his broad back as he continues to move on you. “Fuck, Dean, go faster, please-“

He rises up to meet your eyes, an unreadable expression on his face that’s made entirely hunger and want, but edged with something a little stronger you don’t understand. “You sure-“

“Yes.” You’re practically whining, scratching at Dean’s skin as you squirm under him, desperate him to really, properly fuck you. “Please, Dean, feels so good, need more, need you-“

He shakes his head slightly. “Don’t wanna hurt you-“

“Not gonna-” you let out a breathy moan as Dean pushes back into you, the movement a little harsher than before, and so fucking good. “You won’t hurt me, please, Dean, fuck-“

“I’m-“

“You said,” you force your eyes to stay on Dean’s, even as he sits deep into you, cock throbbing against that soft spot and making you see stars. “You said you wanted to fuck me, Dean.” You raise your chin, grinding up into his torso until his throat bobs. “Fuck me.”

A low, primal noise leaves Dean’s mouth, and he fully snaps. You might have screamed his name when he began to move again—ramming into you at an unforgiving pace, creaking the bed and bruising your hips as he grabbed at your skin, molding you perfectly into his touch and body—but he swallows the noise with a deep kiss that makes your eyes go unfocused, your whole body slack and only for Dean to play with as he drags you higher. Slamming against that spot, balls slapping onto your ass, one free hand squeezing at your tits before dragging down your side and finding your clit-

“So fucking good, babygirl.” Dean groans into your mouth, and you think you might be floating or falling or flying, but it doesn’t matter because Dean grunting in your east and slamming into your dripping cunt, and that’s the whole world. “Look so good, all ruined and whiny, such a good fucking girl, taking this cock so well, made to be fucked so fucking pretty-“ He pinches your clit, and you whimper his name. “Wanna cum, baby? Wanna fucking soak this cock-“

“Yes,” you gasp, scratching at his back, muscles rippling as he drills into you. Something in you hopes it leaves a mark. That Dean feels you on his back a little forever, just like you know you’re going to feel him in your pussy and on your neck for the rest of your life. “Feels so good, Dean, feels so fucking good, wanna cum so bad-“

“Beg-“

Dean barely grunts your name before you bite on his upper lip, almost screaming into his mouth. “Please, Dean, please, need to cum, wanna cum so bad-“

“Shit, baby, you’re-“ Dean groans, his pace becoming uneven and thrusts slightly staggered, cock twitching deep inside you as he ruts into your aching, clenching pussy-

Dean flicks your clit once, sending your hips almost flying off the bed, and starts to rub you at a frantic, savage pace. 

“Cum with me.” He growls your name, lips ghosting over yours and you stare at him under, cockdrunk, lidded eyes. “C’mon, baby, cum-“

Your scream is hoarse as your orgasm slams into you like a freight train—pure, drug-like bliss washing over your whole body, a soft haze of Dean settling behind your eyes and over your skin—and Dean roars as he slams open, warmth coating inside you and dripping between your thighs, down your ass, and onto the bed.

Dean rolls over, taking you with him, and remains carefully sheathed inside you as your cunt grows sensitive and your breathing slows back down. It helps that he keeps your ear pressed to his bare chest, where you can hear his heart beating. Calm and steady and strong, just as certain and constant as the man it’s inside. 

As the man had been.

You’re not sure what he’s going to be now.

“That, ah,” Dean breaks the silence, his voice low and almost soft. “That do it?”

You smile against him. “If you mean take my virginity, then yeah, I think you did it-“

“No, I mean was it,” He groans, his arm shifting slightly around as his voice drops. “Was it good. For you.”

“Oh.” You nod slowly, trying not to hum like a needy fucking when Dean starts to run his fingers through your hair. “Yeah. Really good.” You stifle a moan as he twitches inside you. “It was awesome. Good, uh, good job?”

“Thanks, Sweetheart.” You can hear to smug grin in his voice, his free hand starting to rub soothingly on your back. “You were pretty fucking awesome yourself.”

There it is. You were pretty awesome. And he’s still inside you. And you need to know if you were awesome enough for something, anything to stick.

“You said, um,” you swallow, staring at his tattoo because you can’t bear to look at his face right now. “You said I could give you a blowjob next time. Did-“ 

“Did I mean it?” 

You nod nervously, and Dean’s whole chest rumbles with his low laugh, rolling right through your body. He grunts your name, and—when you still don’t look at him—hooks a finger under your chin to guide your gaze to his. 

“Look.” He sighs, and this is it. He did you a favor, and that’s it. He won’t stay, nobody stays, why would Dean Winchester be the one to stay- 

“I get it,” you mumble, and wish you would find the will to make your body roll away from his. “You don’t need to explain-“ 

Dean’s grip on you remains firm, and his voice is a deep, amused drawl. It feels a little cruel in your gut, because you’d have really liked more. More would have been the best. You didn’t even need all of Dean, you’d just have really like more. 

“You get it.” He raises his brows, and you nod again. “Sweetheart, you might want to actually hear the explainin’ part before you say anything.”

“I, um-“

“See, I’m a firm believer that all ladies should ride more than one dick in life. Too much of a good thing, ya know?” He winks at you, thrusting slightly up into you, and you flush. “But, if you’re taking applicants for long-term dicks, I’d have to be dumb not to apply. I’m never gonna complain if I get you all to myself.”

You stare at him, your voice barely a whisper. “So, um, you mean-“

“If you’ll have me,” he mutters. “I’ll take you up on that blowjob offer soon. And any other offers you’ve got.”

“Offers,” you swallow. “For long-term dicks?”

He shrugs—tracing a finger over your arm and refusing to meet your eyes—and it might be your turn to make the move. 

“Dean.” You whisper, crawling up his chest just enough for his eyes to easily find yours. “I’d really like you being my long-term dick.”

He frowns. “Sounds stupid when you say it like that-“

You drop down to press a soft, tentative kiss against his lips, and he tenses for only a second before overtaking you. Deepening the kiss with his tongue pushing on your lower lip, groaning when you open for him without a moment’s hesitation, pinning you onto his chest with big, strong arms as you fall fully into him.

Dean pulls back for only a second, searching over your open expression—all affection and need for him, swollen lips and shallow breaths—until he finds what he’s looking for, and his face splits into a wide grin. 

“If you’re lettin’ me,” he says, tucking a little bit of hair behind your ears. “I think I’ll stay your long-term dick for while, Sweetheart.”

“I’m letting you.” You whisper, a small smile pulling on your own lips. “But we need to come up with a better name than long-term dick.”

“Boyfriend?”

You stare at him for a second, unsure if this is real, because Dean just said that word like it was obvious. Not something he’s adamantly refused to be for anyone, ever, for the entire time you’ve known him. He said it like he was waiting to say it. And, looking at him—unfamiliar hope haunting the very deepest part of those perfect eyes, his grin so genuine but filled with nerves—you think he might have been. And all the money and glory and pleasure in the world couldn’t make you tell him no.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Boyfriend’s good.” 

Dean’s grin becomes almost boyish, and this last kiss is sweet. It’s a kiss in the rain, or under bleachers, or on a rooftop with nothing but time and peace around you.

And you and Dean have never had either of those things. 

But you’d really like to and find them. And if it’s with Dean, you really think you could.

End Note: Look at Dean. Being Emotional. I'm so proud of him (I made him do that)

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