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loaksx · 6 months

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tequila sunrise

(part one of the drinks finale, link to the original:🍹and the bridge fic: 🍷 )

tags: brothersbestfriend!mike, dom!mike, sub!reder, ANGST OUT THE ASS (instances of mild violence [slapping], alcohol mentions, infidelity, arguments), A LOT OF SMUT (unprotected sex, filmed sex acts, multiple positions [riding, doggy, full nelson, reverse cowgirl], many kinks [corruption? exhbitionism? degradation, rough sex, overstimulation {m!recieving}, car sex, many creampies), masturbation (m + f); also lots of talk about their morally ambiguous situationship.....mdni.

[sure that i missed some tags so let me know, also proofread but not perfect </3 sorry for potential errors!]

so, that actually did happen.

mike did tell you that he loved you back, and it'd thrown you into a reverie; you laid in his arms with your own clutched tightly to your chest, soothed into a peaceful slumber with the idea of you two bound forever knocking around in your head.

that idea was nice, heavenly even, but it wasn't one that mike shared with you.

you loved him in a romantic way, fantasizing about being his pretty little girlfriend and letting him corrupt you just like you'd written in your diary, but also getting his 100%; feeling safe and satiated with him at every moment.

he loved you like a charge; you'd entrusted him to satisfy you through learning, and he loved the obligation, loved the fact that you needed him. he protected you from bad situations, experiences, whatever else, and kept you locked in your own bubble where you were wrapped around his finger.

he liked the situation, as pathetic as it was. he knew you liked it too, and it only fueled the friction he felt within himself between his morals and his pleasure.

it felt good, but it wasn't good, or healthy in any way. it was once a simple thing, and though mike knew he shouldn't have agreed to it in the first place, you'd both taken it to a distance far from its original intent.

dates, kissing, and sex existed beyond romantic relationships. to you two, they should've existed as what they were; you went on a date, you kissed, you fucked, you said goodnight and that was it. love never had a place, and neither did entitlement, but somehow, you'd managed to find a way to wedge them into your arrangement.

and, if mike needed extra convincing, you were his best friend's younger sister. that was a boundary he shouldn't have crossed, and he knew better.

he knew better about all of it, but god, he couldn't help you.

he couldn't help the allure, all in your amorous eyes and lips and attitude, and the way you felt wrapped around him, in many ways.

he currently has you in one of the ways, your fingers gripping tightly onto his backseat headrest as he guides your bouncing on his lap, using both of his hands to hold onto your ass. the sound of your connection is intoxicating to the both of you, and you're squealing his name into his ear as he feels you melt into him more and more. he's had you like this for almost the entirety of the summer, and despite what he knows needs to be said and done, he can't give this up.

especially not moments like this, ones where you’re beyond tipsy off two tequila sunrises from brunch with a friend and crying out in desperation to ride him.

"feel good, baby?"

"soooo good, mike. don't wanna go back to school. wanna stay with you and feel this everyday,"

he takes one hand from your ass, slowing the pace of your movements. you're still breathing heavily, and you're about to ask him why he's slacking when he stops completely. he tells you to sit up so he can see you fully, and you do so without argument, stretching your arms behind his head so you're able to run your fingers through his hair.

he only stares at you, taking in the girl that wants to stay here with him. right now, you're all burning cheeks and cockdrunk grins, ecstasy humming from your electrified body, and he can't believe that this is what you want.

he would've killed to go to school outside of this state, finally leave home and never look back. you have that opportunity, yet, you're fine with staying here, complacent with your choice because of a man you shouldn't have been with from the beginning.

the thought makes mike nauseous, but he has no time to process it before you're waving a delicate hand in front of his face, singing, "helloooooooooo....."

mike snaps out of his daze, swallowing the bile in his throat and rubbing his clammy hands over the skirt of your dress. "sorry, just...thinking."

"about?"

"nothing that concerns you."

"well, it does because i was about to come and you stopped, meanie. tell me."

"no, and i'm not mean. just distracted."

you pout, jutting your bottom lip out as you begin to rock yourself into mike again. "distracted while you're in me...that hurts."

mike throws his head back a little, blinking up at the roof of his car with a deep sigh. "i'm sorry, y/n."

"no need," you mewl, leaning back down against mike's chest with your hands pressed into the creases of his elbows for stability. you lift on him without his help, letting him nearly slip out of you before sucking him back into your warmth, sheathed with one long stroke. you do it repeatedly, watching as mike's fingers clench into white-knuckled fists and his adam's apple bobs with every swallow. "just don't let it happen again."

your irritated tone makes mike come too fast, too much, too everything, but you don't let him pull out. he's still hard even though he's overstimulated, and you continue to ride him, despite his whiny protests. "baby, please---"

"we're not done until i come too," he's writhing in orgasmic purgatory, so many feelings culminating in his groin that it all just feels gray, but so earth-shattering. you're just using him, ignoring the way his thighs tremble against yours. you're humping and panting and dripping, your moans harmonizing with the slick sounds of your come-filled hole as you eagerly work yourself towards bliss. mike watches, stunned into a quietly whimpering shell.

you come with a shrill gasp, and mike feels the cloth seat under him tickle at his skin, material wet and uncomfortable from the mixture of your fluids that leaks between you. you're resting against mike, trying to catch your breath when you tearfully whisper, "please don't forget about me when i leave."

"won't, baby," mike answers, surprising himself with how quick his response is. he rubs at your back, "gonna miss you and this dangerous body when you're gone."

you're back to school the week after that.

logical mike thinks it'll be nice for you two to have this distance again. that side of him thinks that it'll let you see the world, help rid your mind of ideas with him; ideas that ultimately kept you in a box, stuck to the same place forever. it clashes with his devious side, thinking about you locking yourself in your dorm room outside of class, calling him and sending him texts adorned with trillions of attachments when you're not doing anything else.

he only has to miss your body in a tangible sense with all the videos and pictures he has saved of you. you're always sending a small dump of footage to him, varying from cute, silly photos of you in the mirror to depraved near films of you creaming all over the jackrabbit toy and butt plug he'd gotten you as going away gifts.

every single day, he feels so highly favored to be on the receiving end of this, able to slide his hands into his boxers and relieve his stress with you, watching you moan so prettily into your phone's mic as you ride your fingers, or stuff a dildo down your throat pretending it's him. you always talked to him, too, saying such disgusting things in the sweetest tone mike's ever heard.

you usually send mike videos of you from the present, the posters on your dorm wall visible in every one, but tonight, you send mike something from the summer, followed with, remember this? (;

he had you face down on your bed, one of his hands on your hips and the other tangled in your hair, holding your face close to your phone, propped against the clock on your nightstand. he'd wanted to make sure the camera caught your face clear as day; you looked so pretty with your blushed, tear-stained cheeks, unchaste eyes, and dizzy smile, all teeth, shining through the mild darkness of your room.

you giggled and gasped as mike's pelvis smacked into yours from behind, touching parts of you you hadn't even known existed. your entire body rippled with his efforts, and mike jerked your head a bit when your eyes started rolling back, scolding you. "eyes open, doll."

you did as he said, exchanging more dirty talk with him, but all mike can focus on as he watches is the wide open door in the back of the shot. you'd fallen in love with having sex with the door open, and begged mike to leave it ajar every time after the first. the risk had you coming harder than you ever had before, and while it scared the shit out of mike, he couldn't resist the way it made you strangle his dick, milking him for all he was worth and then some.

your brother had been at work, and your parents had gone to the store without you that day. you'd snuck mike in soon after they left, giving yourself to him as soon as you'd entered your room. you knew they'd all be home soon, and the thrill of trying to come and collect yourselves before they came back trapezed through your body, eventually passing itself on to mike, who'd suggested you record the moment.

"really hope they don't come back while i'm stuffing you full, princess," mike groaned to you, slowing his hips down to a moderate drag. "be a real tragedy if they saw us like this."

he leant down over your back, tightening his grip on your hair as his thrusts picked back up into sharp stabs that had you crying out with each blow. "parents have to see me corrupting their little angel, and your brother...he'd fucking kill me."

"don't c-care if th-they see, m-m-mikeyyyyy," you whimpered, moaning into his mouth when he grabbed your jaw and swept you into a graceless kiss. "want you to come in me no matter what."

"yeah? want me to fill your sloppy hole?" your hummed answer didn't satisfy mike, and he pulled your hair again, shoving you a bit closer to your phone.

"use your words, slut. say it to the camera."

"want you to fill my sloppy hole, mike," you muttered softly, but mike wasn't going for the innocent act. he yanked your hair again, giving you a particularly hard thrust that made you thrash. "you want it so bad, say it like you fucking mean it."

"want you to fill my slutty holes, pleaseeeee mike. please stuff me with your come, i always want it, please please please----"

present day mike is coming from your volume difference, your scratchy voice amplified over the sound of your sopping pussy drawing him in until he actually did fill you with a load; one that he remembers he cleaned up and swapped with you via a disgusting kiss, some of it dripping down the valley of your chest.

it's vulgar as hell, and his post-orgasm clarity has him wanting to toss his phone in the toilet along with his come-soaked tissues.

it's wrong in every way imaginable, and he knows that he needs to stop it once and for all. he shouldn't be doing this to you, feeling so much pride swell in his chest at the fact that you're so keen to do what he says, so willing to have his come leaking from you at the end of the night.

you're young, and vulnerable, and too close to him. he needs to stop this before it gets any more serious, any deeper. he'd had his fun, and while he didn't want to stop, he knows he must now.

except, once again, he doesn't.

when you're back home for winter break, he's foolishly giving in to the syrupy way you ask to come over, with your cute, girlish giggles and icy, pink lipgloss; all "really wanna see you" and "got something i wanna show you...something i wanna try.".

mike's not expecting the something to try to be reverse full nelson in the mirror, your knees held to your chin and hands tightly clasped around his wrists as he makes you watch the pornographic way his dick spreads you open, your slick collecting around his base in a creamy ring. he's also not expecting the something to show to be the complete clarity of your union, your bare mound keeping your swollen clit and parted folds in the spotlight.

"went with my friends to get waxed during the semester, really liked how it looked," you confess to mike breathlessly, statement punctuated with a whimper. "got another one cause i wanted you to see how pretty."

" 's gorgeous regardless, baby," mike rasps, sitting you both on the edge of his bed and arranging you into reverse cowgirl. "don't have to do all that."

"i know," you mumble, holding onto his forearms for support to begin rolling yourself onto his dick, swollen and shiny in the mirror. "my body, gonna do what i want. know i'll get fucked regardless, just like how it looks."

"glad you know, baby," mike praises, reaching around to rub at your clit while he cranes his neck so he can see your reflection. your eyes are rolled into your head, mouth open with whine after whine for him. "definitely a sight to see though." he feels you clench at his words, a bashful smile creeping onto your face as you buck your hips.

he comes in you too fast, too much, too everything again, and you're giggling once you're laying beside him, calling him an old man even though he's only pushing thirty and you know he could fuck you under the table. he begins joking along with you, dazed and tired and giggly as well until you utter, "wanna be with you forever, mike."

it nearly stops his heart from beating, and the tightness in his chest has him needing to slip from under his sheets, beginning to pace the room. he ignores your distressed eyes and calls from his bed as he cleans himself of your mess, throwing on random clothes he finds on the floor. why did he do this again? why didn't he learn? why doesn't he know how to put his foot down to you, tell you that this isn't love and it isn't right?

"mike!" you yell, and he finally turns to you, spitting, "get dressed, i'm taking you home."

you pull his sheets up over your chest more, eyes brimming with tears. "no, you're not."

"yes, i am," he clammers around searching for your things, tossing your bra and jeans onto the bed in front of you. "get dressed, now."

"no! i don't want to, and you're being fucking weir---"

"we're not going to be together forever, y/n!" mike thunderously retaliates, his nostrils flaring as he grabs for your arm and tries to pull you towards him. you lunge away, wrapping yourself in the sheets as you run across the room, evading his attempt at catching you. "stop fucking running!"

"no!" you cry, and you can't lie about the fear you feel inside. he'd turned on you so quickly, telling you less than twenty minutes ago that you were such a sight to see, making you feel so special and pretty. "why can't you just talk to me? how are we supposed to be together if you can't e---?" mike rolls his eyes in exasperation, brashly interrupting you with, "y/n, please stop doing that."

"doing what?"

"that! you do it all the fucking time."

"please simplify all of this for me, mike, i'm having trouble speaking dumbass with you---" mike stomps over then, walking you into a corner. though you two are similar heights, he makes you feel small with his dark, unkind eyes, stalking upon you until your back is pressed against his chilly drywall. you clench his sheets around you tighter, biting at your lip and working to keep your tears from spilling over onto your cheeks as he grimaces at you with deep, wrathful breaths.

"this is the last time i'm going to say this, y/n. we are not together. we never have been, and we never will be. you wanted me to fuck you, and then you fell for me, and now you have this fantasy in your head that we're gonna fall in love and you'll get to be my fucking wife when you're nothing but a naive whore i shouldn't have fucked in the first place!" the words nearly stop your heart this time, and you've failed at not crying in front of mike, blinking back your emotions as you croak out, "funny, considering you don't reject me, and stop calling me naive!"

"you're right, y/n! i don't! that's why i'm doing all of this now. we've taken this little...situation of ours too far and we need to call it quits. we need to end it, now, and you are! you're getting too wrapped up in this, in me."

"but i want you, mike,"

"you can't have me! you can't," mike's own voice cracks, his hands flying to his head as he begins pacing again. "you can't. this is wrong, wrong in so many ways, and i need to be an adult here and stop this from happening right now. you're young, you're vulnerable, and this power dynamic isn't healthy. you can't even tell anyone in your family who you're with because it's me! they would literally kill me if they knew what we've done."

"mike, please..." you're wholly sobbing now, strolling towards him with soft sniffles. he turns away, grabbing his phone from his dresser and messing around on it without acknowledging you.

how had it gotten to this? why did you have to have these feelings, get so hooked on him and his charm, when all you wanted initially was his experience? "look, i don't care what anyone else thinks. i may be young, but i'm sure of what i want. my family can't tell me who to love, and i don't care about the dynamics of it. i love you, love being yours. i love you being possessive over me and my body, and giving into---"

"the basis of all this is that you're giving into me because i'm older, and i’m giving into you because you're younger. you wanted to learn and i wanted to teach, but y/n, you're my best friend's sister. i love you, but in a fucked up way. i want you to need me, but...i've seen you grow up. shit's fucked, and i don't want to be a part of it anymore."

"but we never did anything, and i-i-i-i didn't start liking you like that until i was 19---"

"an uber will be here for you in five minutes," mike announces plainly, reaching onto the bed for your items before turning to you and placing them in your hands. he's dejected, completely apathetic towards you and your cries and the way you're trembling. you let out a bewildered scoff, your eyes glassing over with devastation as mike continues, "and i want you to know that it doesn't matter, y/n. i should've never let it get to this point. should've shut you down that night when you sent me your entries, but i didn't, and that's my fault. you deserve your first relationship to be with someone your age that wants to be with you, not someone you know you shouldn't be with."

you're ignoring him as you frantically hunt for the rest of your belongings, slipping your clothes on as you cry inaudibly and wipe at your cheeks with every movement. mike only inspects you, in your position now as he calls out your name for a response. "y/n..."

"fuck you, mike. knew you just wanted to fuck me, come in me like the naive whore i am, and clean me up after so you can feel good about yourself. you're not really trying to give 100%."

mike sighs out in indignation again, hissing, "watch it. i'm not the one still conjuring up fake feelings based off of a conversation i wasn't even supposed to be listening to in the first place. just because i come in you and take care of you after we fuck doesn't mean you're my girlfriend; that last thing's literally called aftercare...maybe you should google it so you can actually know something---"

the hefty sound of your hand connecting with mike's cheek would've resonated to miles away if you'd slapped him outside, but you didn't, and the waves are contained within his bedroom, causing both of your ears to ring with high-pitched frequencies.

the air is marked with mike’s heavy, measured breaths as he watches you shuffle around for the rest of your things, hiccupping and rubbing at your red-rimmed eyes. his cheek stings, but he pays no mind to it; he deserves it. being mad gives him no right to talk to you out of turn, and he understands why you’re upset. he should’ve been smart enough, responsible enough to really protect you by not letting you get so engrossed in him.

“the car’s green,” mike informs you, and you silently thank him but proceed towards his bedroom door with yourself as collected as you can manage to be. you look back to him, sorrowful energy passing between the two of you as you share a gaze. "y/n, i want you to know that this is what real love is. i wouldn't be doing this if i didn't genuinely care about you."

you scoff, rolling your eyes as you exit his bedroom sans reply. you make it out the house to your ride, leaning your head against the window as tears glide down your face. the street lights begin to bleed together, and you wish you had enough tears to wash away the entire last year, carry it far from you along with every shred of sadness you feel within.

you knew mike was right. logically, morally, generally---everything you two were doing was wrong. you shouldn't have been chasing after your brother's childhood best friend, someone who'd seen you grow into the girl you were now; someone older, even though six years wasn't that bad. you should've been pursuing the people at your school, flirting with the ones in your classes and on your dorm floor, but you just couldn't stop thinking about mike.

he was different. he wasn't fickle, at least before now. he was serious, charming, mature. he was funny. he was a dickhead, obviously, and you shouldn't have liked him. his whole shtick, all-knowing and scornful, should've repelled you, but in addition to the care you'd received from him, that supposed 100%, you'd done nothing but succumb to him, tripping over your feet in order to get his heart in your hands.

you shouldn't want him anymore, especially not after what'd just happened, but your heart still yearns, aching in a way that you don't quite understand.

you tried to pinpoint the feeling as you floated through winter break, spending most of your time in your room. ever since your blowout with mike, you'd been biting at your nails and nervously writhing in bed waiting for texts from him.

the night of all that, he'd sent you did you make it home?, even though he'd watched the uber app like a hawk, making sure your driver took all the right turns and got you home in one piece.

yes, mike.

safe and sound

good. i'm glad.

it felt like you finally understood what toiled inside of you in the moment after you'd put your phone down.

you and mike were okay. you two would always be okay. an argument like that wouldn't be able to break up your bond, something that had been built over years and years. he did care about you, and he would be there.

at least, you thought he would.

you're leaving soon, blowing up his phone to try to make plans, or at least see him once before you go, even if it's just small talk. he wasn't coming around anymore, and anytime your brother left, screaming that he was heading to mike's, you wanted to throw yourself in his trunk and ride over there with him.

you're patient with mike at first, sending small, non-invasive messages like,

hiiii mike

hope you're doing okay

he responds with his usual curtness, simple hey y/n and doing fine, but nothing more after that. you think back to times when you two did nothing but text back and forth, chatting about everything and nothing until mike finally called it a night.

i'm heading back soon

wanted to see you before i left

pretty busy w work these days

how long till you're gone?

two weeks

i'll let you know, okay?

promise.

he breaks his promise, and during your final week in town, you begin pestering him everyday. from monday to thursday, you're texting him incessantly.

mike

mike, come on

you type at computers all day

you don't have a real job

i mean i guess it is real but like

i'm sorry

it's just been days, mike

you never let me know.

broke your promise.

he finally replies on friday.

i'm sorry

really busy, like i said

but free enough to hang with my brother?

he doesn't reply again, and it's embarrassing, the way your flaming cheeks are wet with tears as you dial his number, met with his voicemail every. single. time. over just two days, you've called him nearly 100 times, and you know it's obsessive. it's wrong and unhealthy, just like he'd said about your relationship, but you can't find the significance within yourself. you don't care about these things anymore.

if he'd actually tried to be with you and things didn't work out, fine. you had your whole life ahead of you, and sure, you could find someone else.

it killed you the most that he didn't even try. he'd wrapped you up in his web, loving how important you made him feel, yet relying on the fact that he was able to toss you away at any moment he suddenly decided that your pairing was wrong. he didn't want to try because it was wrong.

it'd always been wrong; he knew that, yet it didn't matter much to him when he was in your guts, or protecting you from getting taken advantage of while he did just that.

why should it have mattered to you?

you feel something start to shift within your brain, but you're not attentive to it as you finally hear mike's voice on the other end of the line. "hello?"

you're silent for a little, your mouth hanging open while you try to clear the lump in your throat and speak. "hellllllo?"

"mike---"

"y/n---" his tone is shocked, and you hear him whisper, "one sec" as the background noise, clinking glasses and hushed conversation, fades. he's walking away from something, someone. "don't...don't call me."

"you answered my call!"

"i didn't know it was you, okay?"

you blink your eyes in confusion, causing more wetness to trail down your skin. your heart pinches in your chest, and you're clutching your sheets in an iron grip as you cry, "you deleted my number?"

"y/n, don't call me---better yet, just don't contact me at all anymore. i'm begging you."

"so, i'm just ten digits to you now? you came in me two weeks ago, and now you want nothing to do with me?"

"y/n, we talked about this. have a good night," he hangs up before you can screech a comeback at him, leaving you to the silence of your own bedroom.

you're unnerved in your bed, staring at your shattered reflection in the mirror when your phone buzzes with a message.

delete my number y/n.

forget about me, okay?

you're going to ruin your life if you keep this up.

you'll ruin my life, too.

it drives you mad. you've never broken down like this before, nearly hyperventilating as you dash from under your covers and make your way around your room. you're clutching at your chest, licking at your tear-salted lips while you round up everything mike's ever given you with grinding screams and agonizing sobs. you're shoving things off of your vanity, ripping your dresser drawers open and throwing things at your walls, wishing that you'd never asked anything of him.

you should've lied that day. you still didn't understand why you were honest, why you'd agreed to let him be the one to guide you. it'd done nothing but cause you pain, and you couldn't believe you'd gotten wrapped up in him not once, but twice.

"y/n, what the fuck is going on?" your brother stands in the threshold of your room, gaze flickering around at the mess you've created. you freeze him out, throwing all of the gathered items into an old box and preparing to carry them to the backyard. you try to scoot past him, but he's grabbing onto your shirtsleeve, taking in the heartbreak that's smothering your demeanor. "are you okay?"

"i'm fine, y/b/n. just leave me alone," you attempt to leave again, but he halts you, beginning to pick his fingers through the box. you angrily snatch it away, hissing, "stop!"

"tell me what's going on then! you've been holing yourself up in here for weeks, and now you're making a bunch of fucking noise and you've got all this shit in your hands. what the fuck is up?"

you know you should tell your brother what's been going on. you know you should tell him about what mike's done, but you can't get the words to come out. you can't bare to let him in on everything that's happened in the last year, to tell him how much you loved his best friend and the entanglement you two had going. he would kill mike, of course, but he would never look at you the same. he'd have to tell your parents, and they'd have to tell mike's family, and it would all just be too much.

the relationship that'd been cultivated between your families over decades would be damaged beyond repair, and even though you were 23 and almost done with undergrad, you'd always been the little sister. you were small, and everyone would see you as a young, innocent girl that mike schmidt exploited, even though you'd agreed to it.

mike was right. it was fucked. this situation couldn't be remedied stealthily by anyone else but you and him, and while no contact was the simple answer, you didn't want that. there's something in you that wants to go deeper, darker, more disastrous.

"nothing, y/b/n. i...broke up with someone. just throwing all their shit out." your brother crosses his arms over his chest, nodding at you with mild conviction.

"y/n..."

"i really don't want to talk about it, okay? just wanna get rid of this stuff." he gives you a tight lipped dismissal as he steps back, allowing you to make your way down the hall. you pause once you reach the top of the stairs, turning to face him again. you're not sure if he ever stopped looking at you.

"i, uh...noticed mike hasn't been around recently. is he doing okay?"

"oh yeah, he's doing great; better than me anyway. got a promotion at work the other day, and he's been dating this super hot chick we went to high school with...vanessa afton."

your brother salaciously whistles, chuckling to himself, but you just about release the box you're holding onto your feet as you take in his words. your eye twitches, but you will yourself to be calm. "oh, really?"

"yeah. only been together about a month, but they've been in contact since we all graduated. he thinks she's the one."

you gnaw at the raw skin of your bottom lip, taking a deep breath to stop your body's quivering. you give your brother a small head nod, just as unconvinced as his own earlier, and say, "that's great. tell him not to be a stranger", before making your way down the staircase, unable to stop the overflowing from your eyes.

your face is locked in an icy stare, lips carved into a deep frown as you're warmed by the raging fire glowing in front of you. you're painted in red and orange strokes as you watch mike's pretty, heavily- lighter-fluid-soaked gifts to you turn to ash, the flames licking at the edges of clothes, toys, and the occasional notes he would slip under your door when he was over; you stare blankly as they disintegrate, creating a pile of rubble in front of you.

that's what your heart was. a pile of nothingness, grinded to dust by the hands of someone who was supposed to keep its humane fleshiness protected. in addition to ripping you in two, he'd made you the other woman. ever since you'd been home, he'd been giving vanessa that 100%, while using you for his disgusting, perverted needs. he probably took everything so nice and slow with her, calling her honey and my love while you got slut and naive whore.

you're not sure if you'll ever stop crying. you feel so stupid, screaming and kicking at the powdered remains of fabricated "love" in front of you. they disperse in the air, creating a cloud of darkness that entices you into it. it's not good for you, but you love the smell. the smokiness conjures fire, and you think about burning mike like how you've burnt all of his frivolous presents; you'll turn him to nothing.

you will ruin his life, guaranteed.

so, i understand that this is truly alot lmaooo. it's so long and there's still more to come. i hope you all enjoyed this, this story is very interesting to me and i'm really excited to do an insane wrap up with this next part! (this was supposed to be one part but you all know me; i wrote too damn much lmao. part two coming soon <3)

faire's seedlings ✿

@leahdhopkins4321-@pyr0-kai-@angstywhore-@sunazroo-@nyxthoughtss-@mirophobic-@fayethor-@marixsimps-@regretfulme-@ithinkitszeph-@707xn-@cattt777-@violetta-ximena-@amnesia33-@topnerd03-@fastnights-@laprvphette-@savage-aespa-@mfdxz-@0-tatiana-0-@dusstory-@delwrites-@mikeschmidtgf-@jun1p3rlol-@xyzstar-@aquamarine001-@atrociouslybear-@ickleronniekinsemotionalrange

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loaksx · 8 months

Text

Don't bet on it

Navigation, Supernatural

Castiel x AFAB!fem!Reader

Supernatural (2005)

Word count: 9.6K (I'm shocked too dw)

Summary: I have no idea how to describe this I'm so sorry it's just smut. There's also some morning-after shenanigans. Believe me if I could I would but thinking of a title was hard enough.

Content: Just... pretty much 9.6K words of shameless Cas smut because I love him. Only one bed, porn with a plot, friends to lovers (sort of), little bit of hurt/comfort and first aid (?), Cas is a bit of warning honestly. Smut: Cas is a virgin, first kiss, making out, hickeys, blowjob, handjob, vaginal sex, unprotected sex (yikes), fingering, very very light dirty talk, very loving very gentle sex, sharing a bed. Dean is a bit of an oblivious idiot, Sam is less oblivious.

Notes: I wrote this while trying to fall asleep at my friend's house and didn't proof read. I've also only known Cas for six episodes (almost seven), so most of the characterisation for him is based of gifsets, incorrect quotes, and other fanfics (so is the lore/plot because I'm not that far into the series yet but I was impatient so just ignore any mistakes or plot inconsistencies if you find them, although I did try). Hence it's probably bad. But oh well, this wouldn't leave my brain until I wrote it and like I said I'm impatient and also I'm a little bit proud of the smut alone and he's fucking hot I mean come on. Dean Winchester is a better man than me because god damn I would've jumped his bones the second he looked at me and I have no idea how he didn't. Be nice.

Cas was watching you. Again. It wasn’t like you minded, but something about his cool eyes following your movements from across the booth made butterflies swirl in your stomach. You were acutely aware of every single bubble in your glass of lemonade, every clink of the ice cubes, every slurpy noise it made through the straw you were sucking on. You probably looked a bit stupid, hunched over your drink and the plate that had contained your burger, the huge shirt you’d borrowed from Sam while the one you’d packed for yourself dried rolled up to your elbows, hanging off your shoulders way too much to ever be considered cute. Not that you wanted to look cute, and not that it mattered, but…

“There’s a pharmacy down the street,” Sam was saying. “They’d probably have more of that antiseptic, right?”

There was a pause in which you snuck a glance at Cas. His gaze was fixed on the bubbles clustering on your straw, mildly interested as they formed and floated away, formed and floated, again and again in an endless cycle. You’d never found bubbles so fascinating, but now that you looked – and you knew he was looking too – there’d never been anything so beautiful.

“(Y/N)?”

Right, yeah, antiseptic. The cut on your shoulder seemed to itch at the thought, prickling under the carefully applied dressing. You’d done it on a barbed wire fence that had barred the entry to a nest of vampires, and a day later Sam was still worried it would get infected. It wasn’t exactly a clean cut – the fence had been filthy, and your assurance that yes, you were up to date with tetanus shots had stopped him driving you to a hospital. You appreciated the concern, but really, you were sure it would be fine.

“Mhm,” you answered, leaning back in your seat. “D’you think it’ll still be open?”

Beside you, Dean frowned, looking around for a clock. “It’s not that late, right?”

“There’s an open sign in the window.” All eyes swung to Cas, who shrugged, pointing. “It’s lit up,” he added.

“Oh, right,” you said faintly. “Thanks Cas.”

He smiled, a tiny twitch of his lips that had no right to make your heart speed up as much as it did. “That’s ok.”

You smiled back. Your face seemed determined to ignore your brain and grin like an idiot, and it was a damn struggle to keep it to a normal expression.

“Right,” Sam said, clearing his throat and bursting the little bubble you could have sworn you’d been stuck in. You would have liked to stay there, where it was just Cas smiling at you. But no, you were being silly.

“Right,” you echoed. There was a slightly awkward silence, in which you swirled your straw around idly, watching Cas watch the movement of ice cubes and bubbles. When you’d first met him, you hadn’t really believed he was an angel. He seemed so… ordinary. Shabby, even. But the longer you were around him, the surer you’d become that he was the real deal. Strange, not what you’d expected at all, but a real honest-to-goodness angel nonetheless. Even now that he was human, there was still definitely something otherworldly in Cas. Something that, despite the grime and rust of the lives all four of you lead, was almost pure, precious to you, and a little unnerving all at once.

“Do you want some?” you asked, gesturing to your drink.

Cas’s eyes snapped up, almost guiltily.

You smiled. “Lemonade.”

He nodded slowly.

“Here.” You pushed the glass across the table, leaning your chin on your hands and watching as he moved the straw around, then sipped it. You’d been having way too much fun plying him with new things to taste, since food now actually tasted like… food. As opposed to molecules. Apparently.

He wrinkled his nose, drawing back and staring at the glass. Then he leaned forward again and took another sip. There was something in his near-childlike wonder that made your heart ache, the appearance of innocence and naivety so profound that it was hard to remember he was – had been – a soldier. A divine soldier of God. Watching him made you want to reach across the table and just… Well, you didn’t know what it made you want to do. Grab him, maybe? It didn’t matter.

“Any good?” Dean asked, watching Cas mildly.

“It’s very sweet,” he reported. “And sticky.”

Despite yourself, you laughed.

Cas surveyed you, then gave another of those little smiles you’d come to treasure. He took another sip, his eyes never leaving your face.

You cleared your throat, suddenly hyper aware of exactly where you were and what you were supposed to be doing. Not staring at – “mooning over” Dean had teasingly called it not even three days ago, a thought that still plagued you – Cas, that was for sure. You slid out of the booth, since you were the one who needed the antiseptic and you were on the edge. “I’ll go across, meet you back at the hotel.”

“You sure?” Sam asked, watching as you dropped some money on the table. Enough to cover your burger and a small portion of the tip.

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry.” You turned towards Cas, shooting him a small smile. He looked a little confused, and you couldn’t deny the pang of guilt that tugged at your insides. “You can finish that off,” you told him, “if you want.”

“Thankyou,” he said after a moment.

“Yeah, sure.” You nodded to Sam and Dean, the former of whom was staring between you and Cas with a look of what could only be described as incredulity plastered across his face. You were going to ignore it, you decided. “Seeya later,” you said, and left.

You stood before the motel room, shopping bag in hand, staring at Sam’s text. Had he and Dean done this deliberately? Was this some kind of conspiracy between the two of them?

“Room 09,” the message read, “you’re sharing with Cas.” And then, shortly after; “Don’t worry, it’s a double.”

Well, you thought, at least you wouldn’t have to share a bed, and at least you wouldn’t have to deal with the guilt of Cas taking the couch – even though he insisted he didn’t mind, and refused to let you do it.

Just as you raised your hand to knock, the door swung open and there stood the former angel, still in his beige trench coat, tie and all. He hadn’t even taken his shoes off.

“Hi,” you said, slightly breathless. There was something stupidly endearing about the way he just stood there, looking at you.

“Hi,” he repeated. “Do you want to come in?”

“Uh, yeah.” Awkwardly, you squeezed past him into the dully lit room, switching on the light with your elbow. Had he just been sitting in here by himself, in the dark? You hoped not, but at the same time, it was exactly the sort of thing you could imagine him doing.

You deposited your groceries – the antiseptic, a new packet of dressings, painkillers, and a twix you’d grabbed at the counter. You’d figured you could share it with whoever your roomie was, and now you were glad you’d had that foresight. You turned, surveyed the room, then did a double take. Surely not. There had to be something you were missing.

But no, on closer inspection, your eyes were not deceiving you. There was only one bed. A double bed, sure, but still only one bed.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you muttered, already reaching for your phone.

“What’s wrong?” Cas asked, a concerned wrinkle appearing between his brows.

“Sam said this was a double,” you told him.

“It is.”

“Yeah, but there’s only one bed. I always feel bad kicking you to the couch.”

“I don’t mind. And besides,” he added, “you’ve never kicked me.”

“No it’s–” you broke off, catching his smile. “Yeah, alright”

The smile widened. He was a little too proud of himself for your liking.

You looked away, hoping to hide your own grin as you dialled Sam’s number. “You said it was a double,” you accused before he could even greet you.

“Yeah, hi to you too,” he snorted. “It is.”

“There’s only one bed, Sam. Does your room have only one bed?”

“No, we’ve got two singles.”

“Lucky you,” you practically spat. “Now I’m gonna have to live with the guilt of knowing Cas is on the couch.”

“So?” You could almost hear the frown in Sam’s voice. “He doesn’t mind.”

“I know, but–”

“Share the bed with him if it bothers you that much,” he cut you off. In the background, Dean was saying something. Sam shushed him. “I’m sure he’d be happy to.”

“What’s that supposed to–”

He interrupted you again, all too cheerful. “You’ll sort it out.”

You stared at the phone, “call ended” flashing up at you. “Fuck you, Sam,” you sighed.

By the door, Cas frowned. “Is something the matter?”

“No,” you sighed again, grabbing the dressings and antiseptic and taking a seat on the end of the singular bed. Through the gap in the curtains, the sky was darkening from the pale purple it had been at the diner to a deep indigo. “Just… Sam.”

Cas nodded solemnly, as if he knew exactly what you meant.

You tried not to pay too much attention to him as you unbuttoned Sam’s shirt, sliding it down off your shoulder to bare the current dressing. You’d had it on all that day and the night before, so you figured it was time to change it. Gently, you peeled back the adhesive, hissing as the air brushed over the cut. It wasn’t as bad as it had been, mostly scabbed over and less raw-looking than when you’d first applied the dressing, but it was still tender. It was awkward to reach too, running from your shoulder along your collarbone, stopping just shy of the centre of the sternum. Stupid, you’d cursed yourself when you’d done it, and you cursed yourself again now.

“Would you like some help?”

You looked up, meeting Cas’s eyes. Soundlessly, he’d crossed the room and was now standing directly in front of you.

He gestured to the cut. “It looks hard to reach.”

“Uh, yeah, it is.” You shifted over, making room for him beside you. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He sank down beside you, his weight tilting you towards him. Your stomach lurched.

Determinedly dismissing it, you turned slightly to face him, one leg dangling off the side of the bed, the other folded under you. Almost immediately you wished you hadn’t done it, because now all you could see was him, bent over you, his face impassive and focused to a fault.

He took the antiseptic from you, gently dabbing it along the edges of the scab.

“Is that alright?” he asked when you gasped softly.

“Mhm,” you nodded. “Just… stings a little.”

Guilt flashed across his face. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s not you. You’re fine,” you assured him. “It’s the antiseptic, it’s normal.”

“Should I keep going?”

You nodded, your heart racing. His skin was cool where it brushed yours, the shitty lighting somehow playing tricks with the colours in his eyes, making them appear even more startlingly blue than usual. Those eyes were fixed on your cut, like it was the only thing that mattered in the world.

“I wish you’d taken me with you,” he said as he reached for a dressing pad.

“Hm?” You frowned, unsure what he meant. You’d gone alone, which wasn’t why you’d fumbled crossing the fence, but it certainly hadn’t helped. Sam and Dean had been after a demon in the next town over – it took precedence over vampires, you all knew that – and Cas had been with them. You’d been convinced you’d be alright to tackle such a small nest, it was only three, barely a nest at all, and had insisted on it. But still, you’d been a bit more wired than usual, and that was probably to blame for your bungled entrance. It didn’t matter now, you were fine. They were dead.

He shrugged, smoothing the dressing over your skin more gently than you’d ever thought possible. “On the hunt. I wish you’d taken me with you.”

“Nah,” you shook your head, trying to dispel the ache his action caused inside you. “You had other stuff on. You don’t need to be wasting time running after a nest of vampires, demons take priority.” You smiled. “You’ve got more to worry about than a silly little hunter who can’t jump fences.”

Cas looked up, that little wrinkle reappearing on his forehead. “That’s not true,” he said, “I’ll always have time for you. I’ll always worry about you.”

You froze, taken aback by the… intimacy of the words. You’d mentioned before that you liked when people just said what they meant (“Even if it hurts you?” he’d asked, frowning. You’d said that you’d rather that than be left searching for double meanings and hidden clues, and he’d seemed to find that acceptable.), and since then he’d indulged you in that regard. But this felt different, it felt more real than anything he’d ever said to you before. He’d always have time for you, he worried about you.

“Really?” you asked. “You mean that?”

He nodded, his eyes sincere where he held your gaze. There was something here, you knew, something tingling in the air between you. You’d half thought you were imagining things when you noticed him looking at you. You’d chalked it up to him being, well, Cas, and hadn’t allowed yourself to dwell too long on the glimmer of hope that it was more than that. And he’d been an angel for Pete’s sake; divine, untouchable, totally out of your reach. But here, now, with his hand resting where it had settled on your thigh and his face inches from yours, the dimness of the motel somehow illuminating every dancing fleck of colour in his eyes, every beautiful shadow and line on his – human – face, you weren’t ignoring it any longer.

His voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke. “You’re important to me, (Y/N).”

Oh. Oh. There it was.

He was still looking at you, but there was a hint of what you would have said was nervousness, maybe apprehension, mixed with the sincerity and lingering concern in his eyes. It was so… raw. You felt strangely vulnerable, while at the same time like you were seeing something you weren’t supposed to.

Involuntarily, your eyes flicked down to his lips, your breath hitching in your chest. Fuck it, you thought, then closed the few inches of space between you and pressed your lips to his.

He was completely motionless, and for a wild moment you were convinced you’d grossly misread something and had just made a massive mistake. Then it was like he was coming to life beneath you, pushing back against you, his lips parting under yours, his free hand finding its place cupping your cheek. His mouth was soft, impossibly soft. His tongue, when you brushed against it with your own, tasted like your lemonade.

It was near dead silent in the room, the ticking of the clock on the wall and the distant thrumming of traffic outside the only noises. Then, as you slid your hand up over his leg, fingers squeezing gently at his thigh, Cas made a sound.

It was halfway between a sigh and moan, tiny and restrained, and you could feel him hesitate in the kiss. This is new, it said. This is nice. You let your lips curve into the smile they’d been trying to, squeezing again. It’s alright, you told him with your hand, you’re alright.

You drew back momentarily, sucking a quick breath as Cas chased you, his hand on the back of your neck pulling you closer and closer and closer and closer and impossibly closer until your chest met his. Then you were shifting into his lap, swinging your leg over his and straddling his hips like it was the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it was. It sure felt like it.

“Cas,” you breathed, breaking away properly this time and raising your hands to cup his face. “Castiel.”

“Hm?”

You moved your thumb in a soft arc over his cheekbone, smiling as he closed his eyes and leaned into your touch. His lips found your hand, peppering your palm and wrist with featherlight kisses.

“Can I?” you asked, reluctantly freeing a hand to push at the trench coat he was still wearing.

He looked up, frowning. “What?”

“Take it off,” you whispered, then heat rose in your cheeks. “If you want to, of course. If you want this. You don’t have to.”

He shook his head, pulling back to shrug off the heavy piece of clothing. The blazer followed. He loosened his tie, then seemed to think for a moment before undoing it altogether. It was the first time you’d seen him without it, and he looked… different. Unguarded, almost. Then he was reaching up and unfastening the buttons of his shirt, torturously slowly. He paused, meeting your eyes.

“Is this alright?” he asked.

You smiled, nodding. You’d been staring, you realised, watching his deft fingers work at the material so intently that you hadn’t been thinking about what would show on your face. You took over, finishing off the last few fastenings and pushing the shirt back off his shoulders. You didn’t know what you’d expected his body to look like. You’d had the vague notion that it would be nice, that it would somehow match the rest of him, and you hadn’t been wrong, but now that he was in front of you that same disconcerting feeling of unearthliness haunted the back of your mind. This was Cas, Castiel, and that made it somehow hallowed – irony aside.

“Are you alright?” He was peering up at you, apprehensive.

You nodded. “Are you?”

He echoed your gesture, his fingers running along the collar of your own shirt. A question, a request, testing the waters.

Careful of your still-tender shoulder, you reached for the hem of your shirt and pulled it smoothly over your head, then undid your bra and cast it to the side. Cas’s eyes snapped to your chest, interest and a sort of hunger mixing on his face. Hesitantly, slowly, his hand inched up your waist to your ribs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He paused.

“It’s ok,” you breathed. When he still seemed wary, you reached down and took his hand in your own, guiding it to your breast and giving a gentle squeeze. His breath hitched, his tongue darting out between his lips.

“I’m…” he broke off, swallowing hard. He shifted, a hard bulge pressing against your thigh. You smiled.

“Hm?”

“I’m… I’m kind of…” He stopped again, floundering.

“It’s alright, Cas. You’re alright.”

He looked up, something close to nervousness dancing across his face. “I haven’t done this before,” he whispered. “I don’t know…”

Oh. Right. Why hadn’t you thought of that? It made sense, you supposed. Despite Dean’s best efforts, Cas hadn’t picked up the other guy’s… habits, at least not yet. You’d wondered about it briefly before coming to the conclusion that it had to be an angel thing, a choice on his behalf. You knew some people didn’t want that with just anyone, which you could understand. What you couldn’t understand was a world where nobody was interested in Cas, but then again, you might have been biassed.

You bit your lip. “Do you want to? It’s ok if you don’t.”

“I do,” he said, his hand still resting on your chest. “I really do, (Y/N). But I don’t know… what to do.”

“I’ll help you,” you assured him, affection blooming in your gut. And alongside it, an odd sort of pride. Cas was trusting you here, enough to admit he didn’t know what to do. It was more than any guy you’d ever been with had been willing to give away.

“We’ll go slow,” you continued. “You tell me what you like, what feels good. If you wanna stop, you say so, ok?”

He nodded.

You took his face in your hands again, running your fingers over the rough stubbled coating his jaw. “Can I touch you?”

“Please,” he murmured.

You trailed your hand down his neck, along his collar bone, over his chest. His skin was soft, smooth. It wasn’t scarred like Dean or Sam’s or your own, and suddenly you wondered if that was somehow a turn off for him. He’d been an angel, immortal, eternal, unblemished even now. If he hadn’t done this before, or even if he had with a normal human, he probably wouldn’t have encountered the kind of skin a hunter such as yourself possessed. Would it bother him?

Then his chest heaved under your hand, the flesh twitching as your touch crept lower, sideways, up again, mapping the expanse of his torso. He moaned softly as you pressed a gentle kiss to his temple, fingers splayed over his heart. Again, you swept down the centre of his body, all thoughts of your own imperfections dashed from your mind as you revelled in the little hums of pleasure you were coaxing from him.

Carefully, slowly, you inched lower. You passed his belly button, the light trail of hair that led down from it, finally encountering his belt buckle. You paused, tracing aimless patterns over the skin just above the waistline of his pants, pushing your fingers below the material after a moment.

“Is this alright?” you asked, watching his face. His eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted, cheeks flushed.

“Mhm,” he sighed. “Yes.”

You smiled. God, he was beautiful. “You wanna take ‘em off?”

At that, his eyes snapped open, the pupils so wide they almost obscured the blue of his irises. “My pants?” he asked.

You nodded. “You don’t have to, but…” You ran your hand lightly over the increasingly noticeable bulge you could feel. “I can touch you? Here.”

He stared. “Do you want to?”

You gave a little huff of laughter, nodding. “Only if you do. I can keep touching you other places if you want, I can kiss you…” You stopped as he deftly reached down and undid his belt, button and fly in one fluid motion, lifting his hips momentarily and kicking off his pants. It was very fast, impressively smooth. And underneath…

Your mouth watered at the sight. The outline of his cock straining against his underwear, a small wet patch already forming. You usually didn’t indulge the mantra of “bigger is better”, especially not when it came to penises, but there was no denying that your pussy was already aching at the thought of the stretch Cas’s would cause. Not that it was a behemoth, far from it, but he was certainly well endowed.

His voice snapped you from your reverie, jerking your gaze away from his dick and back to his face. “Is that…” he paused, searching your gaze anxiously. “Is it alright?”

Your heart melted. “Oh, Cas,” you sighed. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect. Just perfect.”

A sound that could only be described as whine slipped from his still kiss-bruised lips, sending a bolt of heat shooting down your spine to pool between your legs. Before the request had formed on your tongue, he shed his underwear too, leaving himself bare to you.

“Have you touched yourself?” you asked, jerking your gaze from his cock. Fuck, you’d never wanted to lay hands on a dick more in your life.

Cas looked away for a moment. “No,” he said. “Should I have?”

You shook your head. “It’s up to you. I’d like to, if you’re ok with it.”

“Touch me?”

“Mhm.”

He opened his mouth, closed it again, then nodded.

“Ok.” Dammit, you thought. If this was his first time, you wanted him to feel good. Would he tell you if he didn’t? You thought he would, he was always honest when you asked him to be, and he clearly wanted this. But it was that same want that made you wonder if he’d just keep going no matter what, and you didn’t want that.

You quickly spat into your hand, stretching up, placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth. Then, on second thoughts, you licked softly at his bottom lip. His breath rushed against your skin, the kiss hot and messy and barely even a kiss at all. It was more you licking into Cas’s mouth, Cas experimenting with his tongue in yours. After a few tries he found a rhythm, soft and supple, gentle and careful. Wonderful.

It was then that you reached down with your spit-lubed hand, wrapping your fingers around his throbbing length, coating the whole thing with moisture. There was already a little precum beading on the tip, and you used that too, your hand sliding easily. The skin here was smooth too, apart from the thick veins and swell of the head, the slit that you ran your thumb over, causing Cas to moan – really moan – into your mouth.

“Like this?” you murmured, moving your kisses away from his lips, over his stubble-roughed jaw, down to his neck. You sucked gently at the hollow under his jaw bone, hot and wet, leaving a red mark behind. You moved further down, over his jugular, more and more hickeys blossoming in your wake.

“Ah, (Y/N), yes–” Cas gasped. “Oh, just like that, please.”

You hummed softly, his breathlessness coupled with the words themselves like fog clouding your mind. All you wanted was more. More of his ragged voice, more of the desperate pleading, more of his hips jerking up into your hand and as your fingers slid smoothly over his cock. Your mouth paused at the base of his throat, made more apparent by the strain in his neck – the Plender gap, you thought it might have been called. You could vaguely picture that word with an arrow pointing to the spot on a medical diagram, although you weren’t sure why – and sucked a particularly dark hickey into the skin there. His collar would cover it in the morning.

His hand, which had been flitting about your waist, suddenly found its way to your hair. His fingers tangled in it, pulling your head back up so he could kiss you again. You smiled, your own free hand squeezing at his thigh just as you had before.

He moaned again, deep in the back of his throat, the sound reverberating through your whole body. How had you waited this long? If you’d known it’d be like this, you’d have jumped his bones the second you laid eyes on him. Hell, you’d wanted to.

“Can I use my mouth?” you asked between kisses – they still weren’t really kisses by any stringent definition, too messy for that.

“You are, hm, using your mouth,” Cas pointed out.

You laughed. It was so… matter of fact. “I mean down here,” you explained, giving his dick a gentle squeeze. “I can keep doing this if you want, but…”

“But?”

“I wanna taste you, Cas,” you smiled.

His mouth fell open, his cheeks colouring. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he was new to this, you supposed. “Taste me?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, ducking forward to nip at his lip. “Wanna feel you in my mouth, wanna choke on your cock. I’ll make you feel so good, Cas, I promise.”

“(Y/N).” His voice was even more gravelly than usual, roughened by the raw desire glinting in his eyes.

“Mhm?”

“Are you sure?”

“That’s sweet,” you laughed again. “I’m sure, Cas. Remember you can stop me whenever you want, though, yeah?”

“Yeah, alright.”

“Alright?”

He kissed you again, more gently and with more precision than before, then nodded. “Go ahead.”

You felt a grin break across your face, your mouth already watering. You didn’t waste time, giving Cas a quick peck on the cheek before sliding off the edge of the bed and kneeling between his legs, your arms resting comfortably on his thighs. You ignored the slight pull of your cut, taking his cock once more in your hand and pumping it gently, once, twice, three times before you lowered your head and kissed the tip.

Cas’s stomach twitched, his hand going once more to your hair as his breath caught in his throat.

“Alright?” you asked, your own breath ghosting over the sensitive area, raising goosebumps.

“Yes,” he sighed. “Keep going?”

You smiled. “Magic word?”

“Please,” he practically growled.

Alright then. You slid your lips over him, relaxing your mouth as you sank as far down his length as you could. What wouldn't fit in your mouth was taken care of by one hand, the other busy holding his hips down. He nearly whined when you moved, bobbing your head back and forth slowly at first, but faster by the minute.

“Oh,” he panted, “oh, (Y/N), yes–”

“Good?” you mumbled, but it didn’t come out sounding like the original word at all. Still, Cas seemed to get the point.

“So good, feels so good. You feel so good, (Y/N), you have no idea.”

The praise went straight to your panties, pooling with the rest of the hot wetness that had been gathering steadily. You’d wanted to take your time, be as careful and gentle as he’d been with you. But now, breathing in the smell of him, feeling the weight and the heat of him, you were losing your composure.

“Oh,” he whispered again as you sped up, your hand moving in tandem with your mouth. He dick was slick with your spit and only getting messier, the saltiness of his precum mixing with the lingering sweetness of your lemonade.

You moaned, the vibrations jolting Cas’s hips despite his best efforts to stay still, as well as your hand attempting to hold him down. You gave a tiny huff of laughter out your nose, lowering your head even further until the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat, relaxing completely.

“(Y/N),” he panted. “(Y/N).”

“Hm?” You glanced up at him, your eyes watering slightly. He made a sound you’d thought only existed in pornos as his fingers tightened in your hair.

“You look… ah, so…” He paused, the words choked by another moan as your tongue swirled around his cock. “So beautiful.”

For the second time, your heart felt like it was melting in your chest. You smiled, your enthusiasm doubling. You were gonna make him cum in your mouth, you were determined. And after that – if he wanted, of course – you’d spread your legs for him and let him fuck you senseless.

He was close, he was so damn close, cock twitching and fingers clutching desperately at you despite his best attempts to be gentle. “I’m–” He broke off, gasping. “So much, (Y/N), it’s so much.”

You wondered if you should stop, if you should pull back and ask if he was ok. If he’d never done this before and hadn’t touched himself either, it was unlikely that he’d ever experienced an orgasm. Maybe you should reassure him. You ran your free hand down his thigh, squeezing gently. It’s alright, you tried to say with the gesture, hoping he’d understand. I’ve got you, you’re alright.

Then he was groaning deeply, his head thrown back and his eyes closed, thighs shaking under you and hot saltiness shooting down your throat. His skin shone with sweat, his chest heaving, his hand gripping your hair so tight it almost – almost – hurt. But it couldn’t have, not when your throat was working to swallow every drop of what he was giving you, not when he looked so beautiful laid out bare above you, not when you could see the pure, raw pleasure painted on his face.

As gently as you could, you drew back and licked him clean. You rested your head on his thigh, placing a soft kiss there, then drew back and sat, waiting.

Finally, Cas opened his eyes and looked at you. He took in your swollen lips, the flush you could feel dusting your cheeks, the tears that had leaked from your eyes, the bird’s nest that was your hair. And he smiled, reaching out a hand to help you up.

“Are you alright?” you asked, settling back on the bed beside him. You took his hands, holding them close to you. “It wasn’t… too much?”

“It was wonderful,” he said solemnly. Then he looked away. “Can I…”

“Yeah?” you prompted. “Can you…?”

He turned back, meeting your eyes. “I want to make you feel like that, too.”

Your stomach did a flip. “Oh.”

“Will you show me?” Cas’s eyes searched yours, curious and sincere. And how the hell could you say no to him?

You nodded, unbuttoning your pants and casting them off – admittedly with much less grace and efficiency than Cas. After a moment’s hesitation you did the same to your underwear, dropping them carelessly over the edge of the bed. You could hunt for them in the morning.

He was watching you the whole time, eyes following every movement you made in that way that was so him. You’d been unnerved by it before you’d gotten to know him, but now it just turned you on.

Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out and ran his hand over your stomach, up, up, up until he reached your breast. He didn’t stop as he had before, his thumb skimming your hard nipple, making you suck in a harsh breath.

“Is this alright?” he asked.

You nodded. “Mhm.”

“What about this?” He slid lower, past your belly button to where your leg joined your hip. It sent tingles running through your whole body.

“Mhm.”

“This?” Lower still, over your thigh, along the inside of it, so close to where you wanted him most.

“Yeah, Cas, you don’t have to ask.”

“I want you to feel–”

You stopped him with a kiss, brief and gentle. “Whatever you do is gonna feel great, ok?”

“But I’m–”

“Cas.”

He fell silent when you placed your hand on his face, leaning into your touch.

“Don’t worry,” you whispered. “I’m gonna help you, remember?”

He nodded, leaning forwards to press his lips against yours. He was getting pretty good at kissing, you noted. Not that he’d been bad when you’d started, but he’d figured out what worked with you.

“Show me,” he urged, the hand that had been tracing over your leg finding yours. “Show me where to touch you.”

This is it, you thought as he drew back, watching where his fingers twined with your own. He had officially smashed apart your standards for all men – and former angels – with just six words. You did as he asked, drawing his hand down between your legs to your now practically drenched pussy.

“Here,” you murmured, a little shock going through you as your fingers brushed your clit.

Cas’s eyes were wide, the pleasure-haze from his orgasm all but gone now. “Here?” he confirmed, pressing gently at the stiff little bundle of nerves.

“Yes,” you gasped, your voice much less steady than you’d have liked.

“Like this?” He slid his finger in a careful circle around it, his eyes never leaving your face.

“Yes, Cas, just like that.”

He did it again, then again and again. You sucked a harsh breath through your teeth, your hips twitching involuntarily.

“Fuck,” you moaned. “Fuck, Cas.”

“Is this alright?” he asked mildly.

“More than alright,” you half laughed, half panted. You broke off in another moan as he moved his hand, sliding the tips of his fingers around your hole, his palm pressing against your clit. You briefly wondered if he was doing it deliberately or just experimenting, and if he’d heard something about how to finger girls somewhere. If so, you wanted to know where. But, you thought a moment later, who really cared when it felt so damn good?

“Can I?” he murmured, watching your face carefully.

“Yeah,” you nodded frantically. “Yeah, go ahead— please.” The word was torn from you in a way that made colour bloom over Cas’s face as he pushed his finger into you. The heel of his hand was still pressing on your clit, and you ground down on it in a desperate search for friction as he added another finger, your own fingers digging into his shoulders and your breath coming in short gasps.

“Am I…” he started, then swallowed. “Is this good?”

“So fucking good,” you replied. “How the fuck are you so good at this?” It was ridiculous, unfair. Most dudes who’d tried had lamely poked at you until you’d given up trying to show them and just moaned loudly, leaving them to grin smugly, convinced they’d made you cum. Cas, however, was well on his way to conjuring the real thing.

He looked away for a moment, a small satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Good, you thought. He should be satisfied, he was fucking phenomenal. “I’m not sure,” he said.

It was your turn to smile. “Well you are,” you said simply. Then he moved his hand again and all you could think was fuck, because he really was incredible. He was kissing your neck, sucking at the spot where it met your shoulder, his other hand resting on your hip as you rocked against him, his own soft moans mixing with yours.

And God, you wanted him to fuck you.

“Hold on,” you panted. Much as his fingers were doing it for you, you couldn’t fight the shiver the thought of his cock buried inside you sent down your spine.

Cas froze immediately.

“No, no, it’s ok,” you assured him quickly. “I wanna try something else.”

“Is this not–”

“You’re doing great,” you interrupted. “I promise. But…” As before, you slid your hand gently down to palm at the already half-formed erection sitting between his legs.

Cas frowned.

“Would you like to fuck me?” you asked tentatively. You hated how unsure you sounded, how small.

His eyebrows shot halfway up his face.

“Only if you want to,” you added quickly. But from the way his dick had visibly hardened at your words, you guessed he probably did. So, you continued, “I’d like it if you did.”

Again, his tongue darted out over his lips. His voice was husky when he spoke. “I’d like it too.”

“Ok, what are we waiting for?” You smiled, shuffling backwards and easing yourself back on the bed. When you saw that Cas wasn’t following, you reached over and took his hand, dragging him down on top of you. “Come on,” you encouraged.

He gave a little “oof” as he crashed against you, quickly propping himself up above you. It looked uncomfortable.

“Relax,” you said, wriggling into the mattress and running your hands over his arms and shoulders. “It’s alright.”

“I don’t want to squash you.”

You smiled, pulling at him to come closer. “You won’t, don’t worry.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do. Besides, I wouldn’t mind.”

He snorted indignantly. “I would. Then whose lemonade would I steal?”

You laughed at that. Castiel, former divine soldier of God, joking about stealing your lemonade while he was about to fuck you. If you’d gone back and told yourself from a year ago, she’d have slapped you in the loony bin. “You could just order your own,” you pointed out.

“I could,” he conceded. “But I will not.”

“Ok, I don’t mind.” You stretched up, capturing his lips with your own and drawing him down towards you. What you’d said was true, he really didn’t need to worry about squashing you. You liked the warm weight of him, the firmness and certainty that his body pressed against yours brought, his arms caging you to the bed.

You smiled as his tongue slid along your bottom lip, opening your mouth almost immediately. Yeah, he knew what he was doing now. You hooked your leg over his, pulling his hips hard against your own. You were still tingling, still electrified with want and need from having deprived yourself of his fingers just minutes before, and almost without your conscious awareness you ground against him.

You swallowed the little moan that slipped from his mouth, rubbing your wetness over his hard cock.

“(Y/N),” he gasped, breaking the kiss, his hips moving in time with yours.

“Cas,” you echoed, equally as breathless. “Please?”

He swallowed, his eyes dark.

“I want you inside me,” you continued. “Please, Cas, I need you inside me. Now.”

He cursed softly, so softly the only thing you caught was the tone. You wondered what angels cursed by. Not God, surely. But it didn’t matter, because he was taking himself in hand and lining up at your entrance, looking at you for permission. “Here?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah, go ahead.”

Gently, so gently, he pushed inside you. You gave a little whimper that might have been embarrassing in any other situation at the stretch, the delicious feeling of being filled up completely by him. Cas, on the other hand, didn’t make a sound. He wasn’t even breathing, just staring at the place where your body swallowed his, his eyes wide.

“Hey,” you said softly, smiling at him when his eyes met yours. “You alright down there?”

“Yes,” he whispered, running a hand reverently over your stomach. His fingers brushed over your scars, some silver, some a newer pale pink. Your earlier doubts fluttered to the front of your mind, but you determinedly pushed them away. Now was not the time.

“You can move,” you told him, rocking your hips gently against his by way of demonstration. Then, “Please?”

He nodded, one hand resting on your hip as he pulled out a little, sliding smoothly back in. He hummed quietly, did it again, then again and again and again, finding his rhythm. It was good, it was as gentle as everything else, firm enough to pull at that special place deep in your belly, steady and decisive. Most of all, it was Cas. Cas fucking you, Cas’s cock sending spasms of heat through your body, Cas’s hand steadying himself and you, Cas’s lovely gravelly voice mumuring your name.

He leant further over you, bending his head to place a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the cut-free side of your collar bone, following it with another, more forceful one, then more until you were sure you looked like someone had spilt wine over your chest. You supposed it was only fair, given how many love bites you’d showered him with.

“Shit, Cas,” you whispered, your hand coming up to run over the back of his head, fingers carding through his mussed-up hair. You’d always wanted to fix it, stroke it down, maybe make it worse. When you’d first met him you’d gone so far as to tell him to his face that it was “un-angelic”. He’d been amused by that.

Now, he groaned against your skin. You smiled to yourself, stroking his scalp again and coaxing another wonderful little moan. You curled your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, lifting your hips off the mattress in time with his thrusts. His breath fanned over your neck, the muscles of his arm taut.

“I’m so close,” you whispered, and you were. The tightness was building in your stomach, coiling and swirling into a dense knot of pleasure. Every movement Cas made had his pelvis hitting your clit, the bedhead hitting the wall behind it – you briefly felt bad for the next room’s residents – and Cas’s cock hitting deep inside you. The only sounds were the squeaking of the mattress – again, you felt bad – and the wet slap of skin on skin, peppered with your combined moans and sighs.

“Fuck, Cas,” you gasped, your voice rising in pitch as you spiralled closer, closer… “Oh, shit, fuck, oh my God, Cas, Cas, I’m gonna cum, holy shit I’m gonna– Castiel!”

You let go, your eyes screwed tightly shut, spine arching off the bed as the bomb inside you exploded. Sparks fizzed through your veins, every muscle in your body clenching as stars speckled your vision and you cried Cas’s name over and over like some kind of mantra.

He hadn’t stopped, in fact he’d sped up, and when your mind finally crashed back into your body his hips were stuttering, his face buried in your neck. He spilled inside you, hot and thick as it had been in your mouth, a deep groan thrumming through you from where his lips still rested on your chest. He stilled after a moment, still holding most of his weight off you despite your arms wrapped around his back, whispering your name like it was a prayer.

You wriggled sideways, smiling as he went limp and flopped down beside you. Well, sort of beside you. His head and the better part of his shoulders still rested over your chest, his lips ghosting over you in feather light kisses, his hand running up and down your arm.

“We should get cleaned up,” you whispered after a moment.

“Hm?”

“Clean up,” you repeated. “We’re all sticky.”

“Oh,” was all he said. Then, “alright then.”

You extricated yourself, squeezing his shoulder gently as you rose and headed for the bathroom. You debated pulling him into the shower with you, but as your eyes settled on the folded washcloth by the sink you scrapped that idea. This would be quicker and easier, and you were tired, dammit. There’d be other opportunities — at least you hoped there would be.

You wiped yourself down, turning to find Cas standing in the doorway. The flickering yellow neon strip of illumination above the mirror cast weird shadows over his body, still shining with exertion. Beautiful, even with the medley of hickeys on his neck and the mess of his and your cum around his crotch.

You beckoned him closer, spongeing away the sweat and other spunk coating his skin. Occasionally you’d look up, without fail meeting his eyes. The usual interest had been replaced with something more; something whole and warm and just for you. The thought made your heart skip a beat.

When you were finished, you stretched up and kissed him again, just once. Then you took his hand, heading back towards the bed.

He hesitated, and you turned. He was looking at the couch, indecision marring his face.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

“I assumed you’d want the bed to yourself,” he shrugged. “You usually don’t share”

Oh, ok. “Usually, yeah,” you replied, as casually as you could. “But I wanna share with you.” You looked down at your still joined hands, pulling gently. “Stay?”

After a moment, he nodded.

It took longer than it should have to sort out the stupidly layered sheets and blankets, but finally you were both finished wriggling and shifting around, comfortably facing each other. You smiled at him, taking his hand again.

“I wondered what it would feel like to lie beside you, while you slept. You looked so… at peace.” He leaned forward the few inches between you, his lips cool against your forehead. “Beautiful.”

Your voice was quieter than you’d meant it to be, and breathier. “You watch me sleep?”

“It’s hard not to.” It may have been your imagination, but he sounded a little guilty.

You laughed, leaning forward to whisper, “That’s a little creepy, Cas.”

“Should I not have?”

“I don’t mind,” you said after a pause, “but maybe try not to mention things like that. Most people would find it weird.”

“You don’t?”

You shook your head. “Not when it’s you.” The hand that had been holding his was free now, sliding up to cup his face almost of its own volition. You pressed your lips to his, softly and slowly, sweet as syrup. You shifted closer still, draping your arm over him.

“Because I’m important to you, too?” he asked when you drew back. His eyes searched yours in the dimness, sincere and open. God, he was just… so much.

You smiled. “Yeah, Cas, you sure are.”

You woke to a hand running over your shoulder, the rise and fall of a chest beneath your cheek and the steady beating of a heart. Cas’s heart, Cas’s chest, Cas’s hand.

“Hi,” you whispered, sitting up. His hand ceased its movements, his lips curling into a gentle smile.

“Hello.”

You dipped down, kissing him softly, your finger tracing the outline of his lips when you drew away. “Sleep well?”

He sighed deeply, staring at the ceiling for a moment before his gaze found yours again. “Better than I ever have before. Thank you, (Y/N).”

“That’s alright.” You looked away, heat rushing to your face. “It was my pleasure.”

“I can see why you – humans – like it so much.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“Sex,” he explained. “I think I get it now.”

“Oh,” you laughed. “Well, that was pretty good sex. For someone who’s never done it before, you were amazing.”

“Really?” He leaned back, surveying your face carefully.

You nodded. ��And anyway,” you went on, “it usually feels better when it’s someone who’s…”

He waited, watching you stumble over your words.

“You know…” You paused, swallowing, half wishing you’d just left it at telling him he was good. “Someone who’s special to you,” you finished lamely.

“Well,” he said after a moment, “then I’m glad it was you.”

You didn’t really know how to respond to that, so you just smiled and kissed him again. It was slow and lazy, his bare chest silken under your own, nothing but the soft rush of breath and tiny hum he gave, the rustle of the sheets, the ticking of the motel room clock. Then your phone rang.

“Fucking hell,” you muttered as you broke away, giving Cas a final apologetic peck before making your way to the table where you’d dumped it. Sam’s name flashed on the screen.

“What do you want?” you growled.

“Breakfast,” he answered. “What’s up your ass?”

“I was sleeping” you answered smoothly, then, “I don’t like being woken up.”

He snorted. “Yeah, alright. Meet us outside in, say, twenty minutes?”

You glanced at Cas, who was now sitting up and, you guessed it, watching you. You squished the phone to your chest. “Breakfast in twenty?” you asked.

He nodded, already swinging his legs over the side of the bed. You couldn’t help staring just a little as he went about getting dressed, drinking in every rapidly disappearing inch of skin like some kind of sexually repressed Victorian maiden.

“Sure,” you said to Sam, then hung up. The problem that you hadn’t thought through last night was the hickeys. You had a scarf, you could button your shirt over your chest, and thankfully Cas had shown more restraint than you had. The most problematic mark sat right in the hollow under his jaw, two love bites blending together. It wasn’t even hickey-shaped, really, but you didn’t think that’d fool Dean and Sam.

“What’s wrong?” Cas asked, fastening the final button on his shirt.

“Nothing,” you sighed. “But Dean’s gonna give us endless – and I mean endless – shit.”

“You’ve killed demons, (Y/N),” he smiled. “And you still can’t deal with Dean’s endless shit?”

“Oi! I can, I just don’t want to.” You crossed the room, poking him square in the chest. “And you’re gonna be dealing with it too, so don’t get cocky.”

“We’ll deal with it together.” It was tentative, almost a question.

You smiled, taking his hands. “Castiel and (Y/N) vs Dean Winchester’s endless shit. I can work with that.”

Things were a little strange over breakfast. Sam and Dean kept glancing at each other, having their annoying silent conversations that consisted of raised eyebrows and side-eyes, the occasional jerk of the head or twist of the mouth. Self consciously, you re-adjusted your scarf, pointedly not meeting anyeone’s eyes. You’d almost made the call not to sit next to Cas, but then he’d looked up at you from his spot by the window and you didn’t stand a chance. You were grateful for your decision when the food came, it made sharing with him a lot easier.

“Dude,” Sam said suddenly, twisting to face his brother and nearly taking out his glass of water. The eyebrow raising and eye-widening had gotten more intense in the last minute, and clearly they’d hit a boiling point.

“It’s not a hickey!” Dean protested. “It’s not even hickey-shaped!”

You froze, fork halfway to your mouth.

“What?” Cas voiced your thoughts, frowning over the cup of coffee he was nursing.

Sam sighed. “Cas, look out the window for a second.”

“Hey–” you started, but you were too late. Both Sam and Dean’s eyebrows shot halfway up their foreheads, and Cas was dutifully peering through the glass. Why did he choose now of all times to listen to Sam?

“That’s a hickey,” the younger man was claiming triumphantly, nodding to the stain on Cas’s neck.

Dean whistled softly. “That’s two hickeys. It’s like… a Siamese hickey.”

“Gross, Dean,” you muttered, ignoring the heat in your cheeks.

He shrugged. “It’s a beautiful, natural act, (Y/N), lighten up. Congratulations, Cas. Who’s the lucky girl?”

Sam made a noise like he was choking. You studied your hands on the table in front of you. Dean grinned. Cas didn’t say anything.

“Was it that waitress?” Dean asked, leaning forwards. “She was cute, man, I’d have tapped that.”

“No, it wasn’t the waitress.”

Dean frowned, then his eyes widened. “The hotel receptionist?” he whispered. “Dude, she was a milf. Nice one.”

“Dean…” Sam started, looking between you and Cas. You glared.

“What? He deserves a pat on the back. I gotta say, I wasn’t sure if you had it in you.”

Sam sighed. “I don’t think it was the hotel receptionist.”

“No? Who else?”

Again, he glanced at you. You hadn’t moved, stiff as a statue and bracing for impact. You were so close to just spitting it out right there, biting the bullet and getting it over with. But you hadn’t discussed that with Cas, and you couldn’t exactly do so now.

Dean was looking expectantly at Sam, who was shaking his head in disbelief. You couldn’t blame him. Then, as if in slow motion, Dean’s face fell and realisation dawned in his eyes.

“No,” he said softly. “No, you didn’t.”

It was your turn to shrug. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t get a little bit of a kick out of Dean’s absolutely horrified expression. Endless shit that was about to rain down on you and all.

“You slept together? You,” he looked at you, “and you?” He looked at Cas.

“Yes,” the former angel said stiffly. “It was nicer than the couch.”

“No, I mean–”

You raised a hand, stopping him. “Yes, Dean,” you sighed. “Just… get it out now.”

“Aw, man.” He groaned, rubbing a hand over his forehead. “That was you guys?”

“I told you,” Sam shrugged, looking all too smug.

Cas frowned. “Told him what?”

“We could hear you,” Dean muttered, his cheeks going a deep red. “I didn’t think we were sharing a wall, Sam did. Drew me a diagram of the motel layout and everything. I didn’t wanna believe it, I didn’t wanna know that… Aw, man!”

Sam’s smile widened, and he extended a hand across the table. “Pay up.”

“Pay up?” You glared at him, incredulous. “What the fuck do you mean, pay up?”

“I mean he owes me fifty. Thanks for that, by the way.” With this, he nodded to Cas.

You gaped. “Please don’t tell me you bet on me and Cas sleeping together. And please don’t tell me you bet for it.”

“What can I say? I knew it’d happen eventually, the way you drool over each other. Not my fault Dean actually took me up on it.”

You groaned, twisting to bury your face in Cas’s trench coat. Absently, he patted your hair. “Why can’t you guys just be normal about one single thing?” you lamented. “Who the hell bets on their friends sleeping together?”

“Actually,” Dean said through a mouthful of bacon, “it’s a very normal thing to do.”

“Mhm, back at Stanford–”

“Back at Stanford,” you mimicked, cutting him off. “I can’t believe you two.”

Dean held his hands up as if surrendering. “Hey, sorry, but I didn’t think either of you would have the balls to ever make a move. And it was fifty dollars, don’t try to tell me you wouldn’t take that.”

“I can’t believe I’m gonna have to sit in the car all day with you.”

“Me too,” Cas added solemnly.

You sighed, taking his hand under the table and laying it between you, squeezing in full view of Sam and Dean. Cas squeezed back.

“You’re not allowed to… do anything in the back of my car.” Dean said after a moment. “Especially not with me or Sam there too.”

Defiantly, you shifted closer to Cas, fingers still entwined with his, firmly meeting Dean’s eyes. “Don’t bet on it.”

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