The Reader inadvertently gets Steve hot and bothered by almost getting into a fight.
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader (Y/N)
Warnings/Promises: language, alcohol, elevator SMUT, dom!Steve, dirty talk, orgasm stealing, begging, implied further smut
Word Count: 1540
Note: This was supposed to come out last week. Oops. I’m fighting not getting burned out till I can go home for break, so bear with me. Have some Steve Rogers smut in the meantime. Tag lists and requests are open. Enjoy!
Another holiday season. Another one of Tony’s parties.
“Can I get you a drink?”
“I’ve already got one, thanks.” To emphasize your point, you took a sip from your glass, showing off that it was still half full.
The man didn’t take the hint. “That looks like a hard drink for someone as soft as you.” He ran his knuckles up your bare shoulder. “Don’t you’d think you be better off with something sweeter?”
“I’m sweet enough. Excuse me.” You tried to leave, but the man placed his hand on yours over your glass.
With a glare from you, he retracted his touch and held his hands up in defense. “Didn’t mean to offend. But I want to give you a better night than drinking by yourself.”
You sighed. Why wasn’t he going away? “Actually, I’m here with someone.”
He looked around. “Really? Well, it’s their loss for leaving you here all alone.” He leaned close to your ear, grabbing your arm so you couldn’t get away. “I bet they leave you to take care of yourself too. Take what they need and then leave you flat. I could do so much better, baby. Give me a chance.” Then he grabbed your chin and leaned in for a kiss.
Faster than he could open his eyes, you landed a punch to his jaw and grabbed him by the throat, pinning him to the bar.
“Y/N!” Steve rushed up, having finally escaped a ‘Stupid Tony Storytime’ with Rhodey. “Let him go.”
Begrudgingly, you did. The man sputtered and coughed. “Crazy bitch.” Steve caught you around the waist before you could launch at him again. “You might want to keep your girl on a tighter leash.”
“Says the man who wouldn’t take no for an answer,” you growled. Steve pulled you closer to his body. Your breath hitched to feel his hardness straining against his jeans.
“Might I suggest you get lost?”
He looked between you both, then scurried away holding his jaw.
Steve chuckled to watch him go. “Now I know why Bucky was always pissed at me.”
Rolling your eyes, you shrugged out of his grip. “I had it under control.” You avoided his gaze, even as he linked his fingers with yours and pulled you out into the hallway.
“Mhmm. And public relations would be giving me another earful.” The elevator dinged as the doors opened. Once inside, he pressed the emergency stop. You flattened yourself against the cold metal walls, admiring the way his arms flexed braced on either side of your head. “Though I have to say,” he glanced down to the bulge in his pants, “you never fail to amaze me.”
Faster than you could blink, his lips were on yours in a scorching kiss. You tried to link your hands around his neck, but he pinned your wrists to the wall. You whined. “Steve-“
“Nuh-uh. After that stunt you pulled, you really think I’m going to let you touch?” With a tilt of his head, you could see how dark his eyes had become. “No.” You shivered with the chaste kiss he pressed to your lips. “You’re going to have to ask forgiveness first.” His nose nuzzled against yours. “Hands on the wall, baby.”
You did as he commanded, rubbing your thighs at what was to come. Steve nudged your stance open with his shoe, giving you a glance that made you whimper. Not yet. He may have been Captain America, but you weren’t going to fold with just a look. A soft whine panted from your lips as he breathed down the curve of your neck. Okay, maybe you could fold a little bit. Your hips jerked as he popped the button on your jeans. With a little more maneuvering, his reach was down your front and two fingers were pressing up and down on top of your panties.
Steve chuckled darkly. “I can already feel how wet you are, baby doll. Do you like the idea of getting fucked in an elevator?” Nodding, you watch his tongue dart out to wet his lips. “I’ll have to keep this in mind for when I want to see how fast you can cum. Get in on the bottom floor, have you moaning and barely standing before we get to our floor near the top.” He slipped his fingers under your panties, just barely curling them. “But how to hide you from other people who might need the lift? Hmm. Any suggestions?” Already, your brain was addled, though you had come up with something. Just as you opened your mouth to answer, he sucked down on your neck and quickened his curling. You squeaked instead. “Another session, perhaps.”
“Please,” you breathed, “Steve-“
“Yes, Y/N?” He leaned back from your neck and watched your hands desperately tap at the wall.
“Let me touch?”
“Not yet.”
“Yes, Sir.”
The title gave him pause enough to smile with pride. “Good girl,” he said, tapping your nose before swallowing your following cries with a kiss. While one hand was focused on your sex, the other palmed over your breast. He growled to feel your thin lace through your blouse. Pushing your top fabric up, he groaned and nipped at the swell of your breasts. “Gonna take my time with these later.”
By now, you were clawing at the cold metal. “Steve, let me touch.” Without being able to wait for his reply, you reached forward and ran your hand along the outline of his cock. A second later you realized your mistake. Steve pinned your wrist to the wall, touching his forehead to yours.
He tsked. “What am I going to do with you, Y/N? You think you’re impatient? I should have left Rhodey the second I saw that creep lay an eye on you. Watching him stalk you like an animal made my skin crawl. Then you went and did your thing.” He barked a laugh. “Almost couldn’t make it to the bar since you got me hard just like that.” To prove his point, he moved your hand to his length for just a second, then placed your palm back as it was before. “Leave it there.”
Your attempt to say “yes, Sir,” broke once it hit the air. Steve had renewed the pace of his fingers and his mission to sweetly torture your pulse point. Despite the warning, the chilled, unforgiving elevator wall wasn’t enough to ground you. The lighting zings through your pulse were making it hard to breathe. Or was it Steve’s stifled moans against your skin? Either way, your other hand reached and curled into his hair.
Steve growled. He pressed his body flat against yours, stretching your arms above your head and holding them there. You bit your lip as he rolled his hips into yours.
“That’s two. If you get to three, and I run out of ways to hold you, then I’m just going to grind into that desperate heat of yours till I cum. And you’re just going to have to stand there and take it. No matter how messy you make my jeans. Am I clear?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good girl.”
He gave you another warning roll of his hips, then gripped your wrists in one hand. The other returned to its prior occupation, teasing you and making your body shudder. All under his focused observation.
You were so close. But just as you were seconds from the brink, Steve would change his tactic and revert your pleasure. The jump from one high to the other kept you from taking that last step to release. You knew what you had to do.
“Steve,” you rasped, “let me cum?” You forced your eyes open to look into his heavy blue gaze.
He smirked. “Beg me nicely.” With a cry, you bucked down onto his hand, frustrated that he had slowed down to almost nothing. Steve tilted his head, waiting for you to take that last step.
“Please, Sir. Let me cum! I’m so close, and your fingers are so good. Please. Let me cum on your fingers. Then on your face and on your cock. I need it. I need to give it to you. Please, Steve. Please!”
Steve gave you what you needed, plunging his fingers deep into your slick and his thumb circling your clit. A strangled scream burst past your lips, quickly swallowed up in a kiss. He kept going. Faster and faster until your legs quaked and you feared they would collapse under you. Steve felt you clench in panic and stepped close, wrapping a strong arm around your waist and allowing your hands to fall to his shoulders.
When you couldn’t scream anymore, he withdrew from your pussy. Through half-lidded eyes you watched him suck his fingers clean. Then your jeans were rebuttoned. Your shirt brought down to cover your flushed skin. And then he stepped away like nothing had happened. The elevator dinged as it came back to life.
Had anyone entered, there wouldn’t have been any evidence to what happened except your smeared handprints and your blissfully exhausted expression.
“Recover while you can,” Steve mentioned. “Because I’m not done with you yet. And our floor is only a few seconds away.”
Prompt: “Could you write me a Prince Devitt fic? All cocky and arrogant he is and really kinky? He meets me at a bar or something like that? 😍” – @florist-laura
Pairing: Prince Devitt x Reader (Y/N)
Warnings/Promises: alcohol, language, bad decisions, SMUT, FILTH FILTH FILTH, public fingering, elevator make-out, spanking, name calling, hair pulling, master/sir use, oral (both receiving), orgasm control, begging, choking
Word Count: 2130
Note: Father, forgive us about to sin. Okay, so originally this was a Finn/Balor fic that I could never seem to finish. Thank you so much for sending this prompt in. I finally got to use the darn thing! Having said that, I wrote all of the rest of it in one sitting. Sweetie, this is filthy trash and I hope that’s what you were asking for because here it is. Happy WWE Answered Request Week. Have at it!
You felt his hand grope your ass.
Within a split second, you had grabbed his wrist and spun it behind him. Before he knew what was happening, you slammed his head into the bar, narrowly missing your glass of whiskey. He fell to the floor with a thud. The man jumped to his feet, fists raised.
You grinned at him. “Are you going to back off, or do you want me to reintroduce you to the floor?”
His face twitched as he growled “bitch” under his breath. But he walked away all the same.
You downed the rest of your drink under the amused eye of the bartender. “What?” you asked.
“Nothing. But a guy in the corner booth is motioning for me to refill your glass.”
“Seriously?” You turned to flip the guy off, but you stopped when you saw who was in the booth. He looked dangerous in the best of ways. Short hair, a scruffy beard that looked like it belonged to Jack the Ripper, and a black leather jacket. One hell of a gorgeous man. Those bright eyes shining from the shadow made your chest tight and your heart thunder in your chest. He lifted his glass in a salute, which you mimicked. You turned back to the bar before you were completely lost.
The refill burned as you took it like a shot. A chaser eased it along.
“Glad to see he got my message,” an accented voice said. The man from the corner stood on your right, filling in where the jerk stood just moments before. “Ya’ve got some style there, miss…?”
“Y/N. Thanks for the drink. And the compliment.”
“Ya deserve many compliments. More than I could give ‘n a lifetime.” He glanced away and ran his fingers through his hair. “Yer prob’ly not drunk enough for such lines. Or for hearin’ any more after that last prick.”
You smiled and looked at your glass, running your finger around the rim. “But you aren’t being a prick about it. Mr…?”
“Devitt. Prince Devitt.”
You snorted. “Prince? Started out on the top of the food chain early, huh?”
He barked a laugh. “I’m the best. The only way I could ‘ave started was at ta top.” Before you could say another word, he laid his hand on top of yours. “Come sit wit’ me.” An order. One you gladly followed when he reached over the bar and grabbed a bottle of anything and two glasses.
It was half empty in a blink. It was going to be a bitch in the morning, but for the moment your skin was alive. Prince’s cheeks had a rosy glow to them that was almost cute, except for the way his eyes were o clear over them. Always looking at you. Your chest. Skimming your form. Your lips. Glaring at any man who dared look at you on the way by. His hand rested on your thigh dangerously close to the apex of your thighs. When you wanted it the most, he reached a finger to the seam of your jeans and pressed. You swallowed. Anything was better than moaning, even in such a deafening place as that. If he kept going, there was going to be trouble hiding your expressions. Already several people kept looking over.
“So, this is what you were holding out for?” The jerk from earlier stumbled up to the table. “You’re better off hooking up with someone else, dude. Paid the chic a compliment and she tried to slug me.”
Prince growled. “She did slug ya. And a slap on the ass is ‘ardly a compliment.” His face darkened as the man chuckled.
“Really? And flowers are more your style? Then you’re in the wrong place. This bar is for men who can take what they want.” His hand gripped your forearm as he began to drag you out of the booth.
You heard it before you saw it. The jerk was holding his face from the floor. His face looked like it was drunkenly trying to consider the existence of de ja vu. Prince’s shadow hovered over him like a foreboding hurricane. Right now he was in the eye, but here in a second, he was going to get hit with part two. Prince lifted the guy off the floor.
“No.” You stood and caught his arm. “Not worth the trouble. He’s too drunk and stupid.”
The jerk fell with a thud as Prince let go. You felt an arm around your waist and left with it. “We’re goin’ ta my place. I’m gonna to really show ya what a real man is. An’ take what I want in a way that’s gonna make you scream.”
You hummed. “Promises, promises.”
***
It started in the elevator. Other people got in a level after you, which seemed to irk him but not enough to stop him. He stood directly behind you and tightened his hands on your waist.
“Ya know why that prick was never gonna get ya?” He nipped at the shell of your ear and whispered, “yer too much for ‘im. I could see it soon as I saw ya. Ya wanna be throuwn around and given it rough. I’m gonna make ya drip before we make it to ma door.” The longer he talked the thicker his accent became. And the tighter you pressed your thighs together. “I’m right, aren’t I? Yer wet already.”
Since you were in the back of the elevator, everyone was looking at the doors. He popped your button and shoved his hand down the front of your jeans. You gave a jolt and his arm constricted around you. It was a fight to keep your breathing quiet and your eyes forward. Prince curled a finger into your slick and hummed into the back of your throat.
“I’m gonna love cummin’ in this tight cunt.” Twisting his head, he used his nose to push your head to one side. He bit down at your neck. “Gonna love markin’ ya. Makin’ ya mine.” He pulled away as the elevator emptied. You could feel the teeth of his smile on your skin as no one else got on. “Here we go.”
You gasped as he turned you around and slammed your back into the wall. His lips attacked your jaw’s underside. His hands reached up under your shirt and pinched at your breasts through your bra. Like any good woman, your mind latched onto the hot bulge pressed into your crotch. You reached for it, only to find your hands pinned above your head as Prince continued to ravage your chest and throat with kisses, bites, and a possessive licking across your collarbone.
The doors dinged. Prince was calm, borderline stoic, as they opened to his floor. You, on the other hand, looked fucked ten ways to Sunday. And he hadn’t even fucked you yet.
He dragged you down to his door, pinning you to the inside of it and fumbling to lock it. You rushed to remove your clothes before he could rip them. With a smirk, he stood still as you sank to your knees to undo his belt and pull down his pants. His length bobbed in your face, distracting you as you helped him step out of his clothes. You yelped as he tugged you to your feet by your hair straight into a teeth-gnashing kiss. He reached behind and grabbed at your ass.
“Hmhmm,” he chuckled. “ya got a great ass.”
You gasped as his nails clawed at your lower back. “Is that supposed to be a step up from the guy at the bar? I have to say… I’m not impressed.”
“You will be.”
Grabbing the back of your neck, he guided you over to the kitchen table. The wood was cool against the flush of your body. You yelped as Prince slapped your ass. Soon there was a matching handprint on your other cheek. It stung when he gripped the globes of your ass and parted your cheeks. He groaned in approval and gave you a series of lighter swats so he could watch your pussy clench.
“Yer such a slut, aren’t ya?”
“Yes, sir.”
Prince paused. “I like that. Let’s take it up one more step.”
“Master?”
“Good girl.” He leaned down and kissed the base of your spine. “Ya gonna be loud, yeah? Gonna tell tha whole fookin’ floor who’s fookin’ ya.” He slapped the back of your thigh. “Right?”
“Yes, Master.”
Prince kneeled and bit at your ass cheek in a place he hadn’t hit. “Good girl.” He sucked harshly at your leaking pussy, making you cry out. Setting a ruthless pace, he shoved two fingers past your lips and scissor them open. With a shout, you grabbed the sides of the table. The speed and force of it all took your breath away. Your walls tightened around his fingers. Then he pulled away with a smirk you could hear.
“Oh, cailín leanbh,” he cackled, “ya thought I was goin’ ta give it to ya that easily?” His voice was suddenly at your ear. “Yer not cumin’ till I says so.” Again he took hold of your hair and pulled you to your feet. “Now get down there and suck like the little slut coileach ya are. No hands.”
The floor bit at your knees as he shoved you to the floor. Whatever pleasure you had been experiencing had fed into making his head an angry red that matched the bright handprints on your ass. You placed your hands on his thighs and messily kissed your way up his cock. His grip tightened in your hair as you laved around the head. Taking him into your mouth, you sucked and hollowed your cheeks. Prince threw his head back while his thighs tensed.
“That’s it. Good girl. Such a great mout’. Suckin’ me dow’n like the proud slut ya are. Gunna fook yer mouth, cailín leanbh. Gonna fook yer t’roat till yer beggin’ me to cum.”
You bobbed faster. Your nails dug into his skin as he placed both hands on your head and held it steady as he took over. His moans and whines were the only thing helping you to focus on breathing. Your kees hurt, your ass stung, and your pussy was dripping and unattended. You needed him to cum. Then, maybe, he would let you cum too. He gave a strangled cry as you choked a bit.
“Oh, Y/N,” he hauled you to your feet again and crashed his lips to yours. You fumbled not to fall backward, but he pushed you back onto the table. Prince kissed up your stomach to your breats where he bit at your nipples. “Beg for it, Y/N. I can last all night or finish on ya face. Neith’r helps you. So, beg for it.”
Whimpering softly, you tried. “Please. Please, Master, let me cum.” He bit harsher at the side of your breast. You weren’t loud enough. And his cock was so close you could feel the heat of it. He slapped lightly at your pussy making you screech. “Please! Master. Make me cum. I need you. Your cock. Need it. Please.” You stopped as a hand came to rest on your throat.
Prince teased his head at your entrance. “That’s all I needed ta hear.”
Your body quaked as he sheathed in one hard push. You barely had time to catch your breath before he was pulling your hips to his thrusts, leaving you with nothing to do but survive the ride. Bruises were surely going to cover your body tomorrow, and you didn’t care. And there was no chance of you being able to walk tomorrow. You didn’t care about that either. What you cared about was how Prince’s cock was spearing into each and every one of your sensitive places, known and formerly unknown.
“Prince,” you rasped.
“That’s it, Y/N. Cum on Master’s cock. Cum!” He pinned one of your legs back and thumbed harshly over your clit until your vision whited out. Vaguely you could hear screaming. It must have been you. Your walls fluttered as hot cum coated them. Prince’s wrecked voice hissed into your skin as he fell forward.
What a wonderful way to die.
“Y/N? Ya still alive?”
Honestly? Barely. You were probably dangerously close to passing out. “I’m just… perfect,” you answered with a sigh.
“Well, yer ruined for anyone else now. No one is gonna be able to fook you like I just did.” In the only moment of tenderness he’d shown all night, Prince lifted you into his arms and carried you towards your bedroom. You laid your head on his chest and he chuckled. “What? Did ya think I was done with ya?”
Note: There was supposed to be more to this, but the week got away from me. If you’d like there to be a smutty part two, let me know. Any other thoughts, comments, and ideas can be sent to my requests, which is open for business. So is my tag list for a bunch of fandoms. Enjoy!
When he walked in, he immediately stood out like a perfect target. The swagger was like something pulled out film noir. A bad one. And the “tattoos?” Even temporary tats should be applied over a few days so they don’t all look fresh, ignoring how fake they looked.
He blustered up to the bar and waved you over. You groaned.
“A martini, please. Sh-“
“I swear, if you say the Bond line I will kick your ass myself.” You made him the drink quickly, eyeing everybody that was eyeing him. He paid for it then and left a great tip. “Honey, that’s sweet and all, but you really don’t belong here.”
He nodded and took a sip. “I agree this is not my typical drinking destination. But I’m looking for someone.” The bar instantly went silent. The man continued on like nothing had changed. “He’s about six-two, balding, has a four-leaf clover tattoo cut through by a scar on his left shoulder, is wearing a bright blue shirt, and has a really bewildered look on his face right now.”
A man fitting that description stood at a back-corner booth. “Who’s lookin’ for ‘im?” He was a local gangster known for sneaking ammunition in and out of the city. Cináed by name.
The rookie didn’t look back. “Oh, a few people. But just me at the moment.” He finished his drink and swiveled around on his bar stool. “I was wondering if we could talk.” He reclined against the bar as Cináed’s men left their table and formed a circle around him.
“One more time,” Cináed growled, “who’s askin’?” His hand reached under his coat. “Everybody out!” He made eye contact with you. “Sorry, miss.” He pulled out a wallet and dropped a large fold of cash on the counter. “For your missed tips. This is your place, so you can stay and keep an eye on it. We’ll try not to get it too messy.”
You swallowed. “I’d appreciate that.” The last of the patrons filed out. You left the bar and went around collecting glasses. You cleaned them at the far end of the bar, straining your ears to hear what they were saying.
“I just want to talk. I heard about a little somethin’ you did on thirteenth street. Wanted to meet the mastermind.” He sighed and put his hands up as a goon patted him down. He bit down on his lip when the goon fumbled with the bottom of his shirt. “I can explain-“
“Officer Richard Grayson.”
Several guns clicked and cocked into place. Cináed pointed his ready piece at the officer’s head.
“What did you want to know, officer? ‘Cause you’re talkin’ to the wrong guy.”
“Am I? My apologies.” Grayson tried to stand up but was forced back down. “It was beautifully done. I thought perhaps it was your brother, but we found one of your prints at the scene. Unless he’s framing you.” He leaned back further as Cináed pushed his gun into his forehead.
“Is that so?”
“Boys,” you called out. “Don’t make a mess in my bar.”
Cináed nodded and stepped back. “My apologies, miss. Listen, Officer, even if my sweet kid brother was tryin’ to frame me… there wouldn’t be evidence. Try Okada. He keeps encroaching on my turf with his sales. If I’m out of the way, he gets twenty square blocks. Got it?”
Grayson nodded. “That’s what I needed to hear.” He licked his lips and looked around. “Do I get to pass this along to my superiors?”
The boss shared a look with the man to his right. He jutted his chin and the men started to leave, paying for their drinks on the way out. Cináed was the last out. “Get home safe, miss.” The bell over the door chimed on his way out.
The officer drew his hand across his face. He turned around to you. “Can I get a-“
“We’re closed.”
When you got home, your boyfriend was waiting for you.
“Did you really have to be so dramatic?” You dropped your purse and escaped your shoes. “And what’s with the tattoos? They look terrible.”
Dick was laying on the couch shirtless. He smiled brightly. “Welcome home to you too. I got what I needed.”
“Mmm. And you almost got shot for the trouble.”
You avoided his grasp on the way to the bedroom. He groaned and chased after you. He didn’t catch you until it was just the two of you and your skivvies. You helped make it even by pushing down his sweatpants. When he leaned in to kiss you, all he got was air.
“I’m mad at you. You almost got yourself killed.” You stopped him from saying more with a kiss of your own. “I could have lost you. Right in front of my eyes.” You covered up his excuses with more desperate kisses. He hissed as you dug your nails down his back. He was there. You could feel him. He was okay.
Dick pulled you down to sit in his lap on the bed. “Hey. I’m okay.” He nuzzled into your neck. “I won’t promise anything because I can’t, but nothing is going to happen to me. Or you. Okay?” He pulled you ask close as he could. “I’m here. Safe.”
You leaned back with a chuckle. “Safe? Honey, you are stuck in this room with me. A very scared and horny me.” You licked your lips as he tilted his head.
“Did… did me staring down that guy turn you on?”
“A bit. Yeah.” You straddled his hips.
It was a lovely night, though you made sure he understood that if he almost blew your cover again, there would be serious consequences. Drowsily you played with the ink across his chest.
“You gotta get rid of the tats, babe. They are so fake.”
“What, you don’t like them? I even got one inspired by you.” Dick turned onto his stomach so you could see the rose between his shoulder blades.
“Fine. If you do ever go for it, you can get something like that.” You laughed when he tried to crawl back over top of you. “Nuh-uh. We’re closed.” You pushed him off and curled your back into his chest. It wouldn’t be long before circling your hips would inspire him to convince you to stay open.
Note: I had half an idea… then Extreme Rules happened and people gif-ed the heck out the perfect moment. It’s my first Roman Reigns fic, so please let me know how what you thought of it with comments, reblogs, and likes. If you like my style, my requests are open, as well as my tag lists.
The group of people around the bar’s corner table erupted into laugher.
“Are you serious?” You asked.
“Yeah, we try each other’s moves all the time. It was just that one sparring session that went a little…” Dean whistled and circled a finger next to his head.
Jimmy gave him a gentle shove. “I wasn’t that bad. Anybody can superman-punch if you jump high enough.”
Naomi giggled. “Babe, I know you tried, but it was a little funny.” She giggled again when he frowned at her. It turned into a smile after she kissed his temple. He pulled her face up into a more serious kiss.
Dean poked Jimmy in the shoulder. “Oy, I thought we said no PDA. Nobody’s that drunk yet.”
“No, you said that.” Roman laughed at Dean’s sour face. “And I think it’s because your girl had to ditch you for the night.”
“Well,” you said with a grin, “someone has to work for a living around here, and it’s certainly not you boys.” You gave Naomi a high-five as the guys argued back. Even though she was on Smackdown and you were on Raw, being married to equally hot Samoans had its perks in the supportive women area.
“We work.” Dean crossed his arms, then grinned as a gleam lit his eyes. “Feisty Irish Finn is a job to take down, no matter what day of the week. Just ask Ro.” The group members groaned and begged him not to tell another embarrassing sparring story. But he was already off and it would be impossible to stop him. You considered paying the bartender to slip some tougher stuff into his drinks to knock him out faster.
Then you felt Roman’s hand slide up your thigh, warm and heavy.
Note: Needed to write this. Let me know what you thought and how ringing the new year went for you and your family. Enjoy!
It was time for another New Year’s party hosted by Maryse and Miz. They were fantastic hosts, but due to the schedule this year, the party was happening a little late since everyone had to perform. They had a beautiful house that was always stocked with every snack and beverage, virgin or alcoholic, that could ever be asked for.
You stepped in through their front door and took a deep breath. It always smelled good too. Homey. Elias took your jacket and hung it with the others. You surveyed the room, looking for a group to join. Elias caught your hand while you were looking.
“Let me know if you need anything, okay? Anything.” He waited for you to nod yes, then kissed your forehead. You melted into it and felt the weight of several weeks’ worth of stress ease off your shoulders. Satisfied with the energy he gave you, you split up to enjoy the evening.
As the night progressed, you found yourself drifting from group to group. Each conversation was shorter the more you drifted. You began to repeat questions between groups. Sometimes your doubled up and realized with a start what you’d done.
The table of sweets was set up to one side. You snagged a cookie and took a bite. The rest you left in one of the plethora of bins around the room. A shiver ran down your spine as you looked for more people to celebrate the new year with.
But you’d already talked to everyone. Well, everyone you wanted to talk too. In hindsight, that list was pretty short. But you had branched out more than you thought you would. Because those people were standing with the people you wanted to talk to.
Did you really have so few connections?
Your eyes darted around the room. Under your skin numbness and static electricity bubbled all at once. Somewhere someone laughed. High pitched. You thought it was Bayley. Maybe Maryse. Another shiver ran down your spine.
Elias looked at you from the group of guys he was chatting with. “Could you guys excuse me?” He didn’t wait for their reply before walking over to you and taking your hands in his. They were always so warm. “Y/N?” He tilted your face to look into his, capturing your gaze from wandering around.
“I’m fine, it’s just…. There’s not that many people. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Your chest felt tight. The tops of your cheeks under your eyes hurt with a building pressure.
“Do you want me to play? Impromptu concert? No one will object.”
“No. Everybody always looks at me when you play.” You sighed and closed your eyes. “I don’t mean… I’m sorry. I’m being irrational.”
“No. You’re not.” He gripped your shoulders as you shivered. Within seconds he had found your jacket. “Do you want to go out on the porch for some air?”
You looked for the porch, but it was on the other side of the room with everyone between you and there. “No. I-“ the words died on your lips. Your eyes darted around again. You dug your nails into your palms and tried to focus.
Elias took your hand and gently lead you into a quiet hallway. He hugged you close. Tight enough to ground you. Loose enough to give you room to breath or heave or choose between the two. His hands ran up and down your back. With time, your breathing evened out and your eyes closed in bliss. His even breathing rose up to meet your face, pushing his beard up to tickle your nose. Playfully you blew at it until he placed his head on top of yours with a chuckle. His grip didn’t falter. It wouldn’t until you moved first.
“Thank you,” you mumbled into his chest. You gripped the fabric of his shirt in your hands.
“Anytime.”
Elias slowly began to rock back and forth. It felt like something between a waltz and being lulled to sleep. The melody he began to hum into your hair did not help the query.
“What time is it?” you asked.
Elias shifted to look at his watch. “Eleven thirty.”
You nodded. “We should go back.”
“Are you ready?” When you didn’t move your feet, Elias gave you a gentle squeeze. “We’ve got time. All the time in the world.” He chuckled. “If Becky were here she would say ‘all the time in the year.’” His chest puffed with a bit of pride when you giggled.
Any other time you would have felt the seconds tick by in your chest.
Tonight, time stood still.
Eventually, finally, ultimately, you could hear the sounds of the party growing restless as midnight approached. Tomorrow may actually be the sixth of the month, but nobody cared. A Champaign bottle popped. Crystalline glasses clinked. Thank you’s were exchanged for the glasses.
“I’m ready,” you said, stepping back a little. Elias’s arms were still around you, one stayed on your waist as you rejoined the party. You both took the glass handed to you.
“Ten… nine… eight… seven…”
“Six… five… four,” you joined in.
“Three… two… one. Happy New Year!” People went around the room, toasting each other and taking sips of the bubbly beverage. It tickled your nose. When only the dregs remained, Elias took your glass and set it down.
“Happy new year, Y/N.”
“Happy new year, Elias. Thank you… for… yeah.”
“I’ll never let you go, Y/N. I promise.”
You melted into his embrace with a deep sigh as the sounds of celebration rose to a crescendo.
A drunken conversation turns into true curiosity, which continues into a wild night.
Pairing: Dean x Reader
Warnings/Promises: alcohol, SMUT, oral (female receiving), language
Word Count: ~1690
Note: It feels good to be writing again. I still left writing the smut till the night before… but it’s done. Please let me know your thoughts of the fic with comments, likes, and/or reblogs. Also, my tag lists are open and my requests. Please enjoy!
“Hey, so get…”
“I swear, Sam Winchester, if that is another case I might strangle you.” You passed Dean a beer and took a swig from yours. “We haven’t had a free weekend in three months. The British Men of Letters are doing their thing. Cas is still MIA and we don’t have any leads.”
“We’re fried, Sam,” Dean added. He kicked he legs up on the mahogany table, boots mere inches from the lore books. He continued as Sam glared at him. “Take a load off, even just for tonight.”
“Fine.” He sank into a chair a took the amber bottle you handed him.
A few rounds later, Sam stood on unsteady legs and started for his room. “I’m out. If I stay any longer I’ll have to help pick one of you off the floor.”
“Don’t you want to know which one will lose first?” you giggled. Dean chuckled next you as Sam waved you off and disappeared around the corner. The ‘real’ alcohol was in the cabinet only a few steps away, but it took you a few tries to get to your feet.
“Maybe you should take a breather, Y/L/N.” Dean’s voice was as slurred as you felt.
“Nope.” A small part of your brain, the last sober corner, screamed for you not to say another word. You silenced it with a sip of whiskey. “No. I’m not stopping till I’ve dug up enough liquid courage to kiss you, Dean.”
“Is that so, sweetheart?”
“Yep. And furthermore, I’m going to learn all your secrets.” You steadied yourself on the table and winked at him.
Dean laughed, amused at the drunken change in your view of him. “Secrets? What secrets?”
“Like, how do you get all those girls to scream like you do? They are either trying to escape all night, or you must have a slight idea that you know what you’re doing.”
“I keep pretending they’re you,” he mumbled.
The air was suddenly hotter than before. Thicker beyond the usual bunker stuffiness.
“What?” Your blood began to race to lower regions. The increased flow awakened that sober corner up enough to process what he was saying. Not that it made any sense sober or smashed. He’d barely even looked at you, right?
“Y/N? Are you okay?”
You blinked back into the moment and found that your mouth was hanging open. You shut it with a snap. “Yeah, I’m good. What did you say?”
Dean took a deep breath. Then another sip from his beer. “I kept pretending they were you.” You backed away from him as he stood. He followed you till you were pinned between him and a column. “Secrets? Ask away.”
Your mouth was dry and your ears rang with the sound of your quickened blood. The sober, awake corner gave safe suggestions. Suggestions you ignored. “What’s your favorite position, Dean?”
“Hmm,” Dean rumbled, pressing his chest against yours. “Such an answer should include a demonstration. Is… is that what you want?” He looked away and licked his lips. It was his ‘I’m nervous’ tell.
“Yes, please.”
Your mouths crashed against each other in a flurry of teeth and tongue. The world tilted as Dean lifted you into his arms to carry you bridal style down the hall. He kicked his door shut and dropped you onto the bed. Dean hovered over you with swollen lips that you couldn’t keep your eyes from.
“Are you sure you want this? We can still stop, no questions asked, no bad thoughts.”
“I want this Dean. I want you,” you moaned.
Dean growled and dipped his head to your neck and pulse point. His hands fumbled with the buttons on your flannel as yours fumbled with the buckle on his belt. Once most of your upper layers were gone, he shed his and sent them flying. He stopped to watch your chest heave, still clad in the simple black bra with just enough lace to, in your opinion, not be boring. The way his eyes gleamed you would think you were wearing expensive lingerie. Dean’s tongue ghosted out between his lips to run across your collarbone while he helped you shove his jeans down his legs. He kicked them off with a huff and leaned back to look down at your ruffled appearance.
“Where to start?” he purred. He tilted his head and grinned slowly. Within a few seconds, he had slid down the bed to between your legs. You shuddered as his breath warmed the insides of your thighs before he placed chaste kisses against them. Without further preamble, he licked a thick stripe up your lips to your clit and sucked gently. Dean’s arm flashed out to pin your hips as you arched off the bed with a gasp.
“Geeze, Dean… wh… why do you like this position?”
Dean hummed against your sex, shooting electricity through your veins. “Because women taste sweet. Better than pie.” His eyebrow shot up as you stifled a giggle. Your snarky-drunk comment evaporated as he began to savor you like it was his last meal. Between your skin heating up and your nipples hardening in the cool air, your mind was finding it hard to focus on anything besides the pleasure coursing through you. The muscles in your toes began to tense and tighten as your orgasm drew closer. Dean hummed into you and added a finger to stroke inside you. Your lungs fought to keep up with the rate your heart was pumping heated blood into your system. They gave out when Dean added another digit and used it to help scissor you open. Your breath caught in your throat as time seemed to still.
“I’ve got you, Y/N. Let go when you’re ready.” He continued to stoke and lap at you and suck on your clit till every muscle in your body tightened and then released, leaving you in a puddle on the bed. Dean chuckled and rubbed your thighs till your breathing evened out. If you had the energy, you would have moaned to see him suck your essence off his fingers.
Dean stood at the foot of the bed and tugged on your ankles till your feet touched the floor between his. “That’s one. Ready for favorite two?”
“Yes, please.”
Dean flipped you to your stomach, making you squeal. He continued, “My second favorite is fucking from behind.” You both hissed in unison as Dean eased his way into you, not stopping till he couldn’t go any deeper. Dean gave a test thrust after you pushed back against him. “I like the way your ass bounces. How you sound when I take control.” He ran a hand up your spine to pin you to the bed as he began a steady pace. Whimpers dropped from your lips as his other hand came to rest on your hip, pulling you back to him. You couldn’t reach him behind you, leaving your hands nothing to do but claw at the sheets. Your cries of pleasure grew louder as he moved both hands to your hips and pulled you back harder till the air was filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin.
Once again, everything continued to intensify inside you till you were sure you would explode into a million pieces. Dean’s grunting was heightening in pitch as well. You felt his cock twitch inside you as he twisted his hips. He didn’t stop trying new angles till you shrieked as he found your sweet spot. Then he continued to use pin-point accuracy till your throat was raw with screaming.
“Dean… please… so close.”
“Come for me, Y/N.”
Your legs quaked beneath you. Dean gave a few softer thrusts to ease you down and pushed you back up the bed. He spooned behind you and rubbed your arms till you could focus enough to turn your head back to kiss him. And to speak without your voice wavering too much.
“That’s two, Winchester. Any more?” With a tiny bit of effort, you wiggled your ass back into his swollen member.
Dean’s growl rumbled against your shoulder blades. “You are going to be the death of me woman.” He rolled you onto your back and caged you under him. His bottle-green eyes flickered. Someday you wanted to kiss every freckle dancing across his nose.
But tonight, you were busy.
Dean broke your train of thought by capturing your lips in his. His tongue played across your bottom lip till you granted him access. As his tongue slid into your mouth, he aligned himself with your entrance and sank in slowly, gentle around your sensitivity. He broke away to rest his forehead on yours as you clenched around him.
Again, you couldn’t help but get lost in the way his eyes glimmered as he thrust slowly. Dean continued to ease back and forth. No rush. No hurry to reach his release.
“Do you know why I like this position? This pace?” You could do nothing but hum back. “I get to watch you. Get to see you fall apart slowly. Fully. No blinding sensations, just the feel of you taking my cock so perfectly. How your eyes fight to stay open. The way your lips part just so when I hit the right spot.” Dean chuffed his finger under your chin where your head had collapsed to one side. “Open your eyes for me sweetheart.”
You did as he asked. It was hard not to let your lids flutter shut as Dean slightly increased his pace. The simmering that had been collecting under your stomach threatened to boil over. You gripped his bicep tightly.
“Come with me, Dean…” Your voice gave out as he twisted to rediscover your sweet spot. Dean pulled one of your thighs over his hip so he could push further into you as you both peaked. His hips thundered into you before he almost stilled completely, coating your walls in his warm release.
Dean collapsed next to you, panting in time to your gasps for air. He had a huge grin on his face.
“Hey, Y/N,” he puffed. “What’s your favorite position?”
Note: I had half an idea… then Extreme Rules happened and people gif-ed the heck out the perfect moment. It’s my first Roman Reigns fic, so please let me know how what you thought of it with comments, reblogs, and likes. If you like my style, my requests are open, as well as my tag lists.
The group of people around the bar’s corner table erupted into laugher.
“Are you serious?” You asked.
“Yeah, we try each other’s moves all the time. It was just that one sparring session that went a little…” Dean whistled and circled a finger next to his head.
Jimmy gave him a gentle shove. “I wasn’t that bad. Anybody can superman-punch if you jump high enough.”
Naomi giggled. “Babe, I know you tried, but it was a little funny.” She giggled again when he frowned at her. It turned into a smile after she kissed his temple. He pulled her face up into a more serious kiss.
Dean poked Jimmy in the shoulder. “Oy, I thought we said no PDA. Nobody’s that drunk yet.”
“No, you said that.” Roman laughed at Dean’s sour face. “And I think it’s because your girl had to ditch you for the night.”
“Well,” you said with a grin, “someone has to work for a living around here, and it’s certainly not you boys.” You gave Naomi a high-five as the guys argued back. Even though she was on Smackdown and you were on Raw, being married to equally hot Samoans had its perks in the supportive women area.
“We work.” Dean crossed his arms, then grinned as a gleam lit his eyes. “Feisty Irish Finn is a job to take down, no matter what day of the week. Just ask Ro.” The group members groaned and begged him not to tell another embarrassing sparring story. But he was already off and it would be impossible to stop him. You considered paying the bartender to slip some tougher stuff into his drinks to knock him out faster.
Then you felt Roman’s hand slide up your thigh, warm and heavy.
The amber bottle was cold and wet against your fingers as you lifted it for a drink. You let Roman slide his hand closer into the space between your legs, opening them wider. He began to rub over your zipper, pressing and moving till your heart was thundering in your ears.
When it became too much, you took a deep breath and set your face as if listening to Dean’s story.
Under the table, you laid your hand over Roman’s. He stopped moving, tossing you a smug side glance. You began to massage his middle finger. You swirled your thumb over the tip. Pressed gently on the knuckles. You grinned as Roman’s breathing became shallow. You lifted his hand off your heat and returned it to his own thigh. There may or may not have been a pause as you brushed against the bulge in his lap.
“Y/N? Are you okay?” Naomi broke through the haze settling in your head. “You look a little flush.”
“I’m fine,” you chuckled, “I never could drink more than one beer.” You finished the bottle with one more swallow then pushed back from the table. “So I’m going to call it a night. Could you call me a cab, Ro?”
“I’ll do you one better than that. I was your ride after all.”
“No, stay. You need a break with your family.”
“They can get drunk well enough without me. See you guys later.” He waved off your further feigned apologies and led you to the car.
You were halfway home before he said anything.
“So. What was with the teasing back there? Were you trying to start something, little girl?”
“Um, if I remember correctly, you’re the one who reached into my lap first. Were you trying to start something, Big Dog?”
He snorted. “Maybe I was. Maybe I wasn’t.” Roman’s voice dropped an octave, “maybe, I was trying to make you cum in front of everybody.”
You gulped in a shallow lung-full of air. “What about Dean’s ‘No PDA’ rule? Shouldn’t that include teasing?”
Roman took your hand and placed it on his thigh. “I believe I made it clear I didn’t agree with that rule.” Your skin prickled with cold as he removed his hand to place it back on the wheel.
He wanted teasing? Fine. Then you would give him teasing.
You took your hand back and pulled down the zipper of your jeans. With a sigh, you shoved them down your legs. Roman growled and shifted in his seat, but you kept working on yourself. The simple cotton panties were already soaked through. You dipped your fingers under the band and slid one in between your lips. A moan escaped you as the slick helped fuel the arousal growing between your legs. You continued stroking yourself as Roman pressed harder on the gas pedal.
The car squealed into the garage. The door wasn’t even all the way down before he snatched your hand out of your panties and held it in front of his face. He watched as your slick ran down your fingers into your palm. His eyes darted to yours then smiled. You clenched your thighs together at the warning face of the man who loved to eat you alive. Roman stroked your wrist with his thumb, then flattened his tongue against your palm to lap up your juices. Usually, that wasn’t your thing, but damn his tongue was so big. A few moments later he dragged you from the car and hoisted you over his shoulder.
Your feet didn’t touch the ground again till he slammed the door shut to the master bedroom and pinned you against it. He nipped his way across your collarbone all the while kneading your ass. Then your clothes began to disappear. First, he slid his hands up the curve of your ass and under your shirt till it flew across the room. He pushed the fabric of your panties over your hips so they could fall to the floor. Then, while you worked on unhooking his belt, he toyed with the clasp on your bra.
“Roman, please,” you gasped between kisses and pushing your chest forward. He finally popped it and slid the straps down your arms. You pushed both his jeans and his boxers down his legs; the sight of him made you lick your lips. Again, he hoisted you into the air but carried you bridal style. He dropped your legs before sitting on the bed and laying back, alone. Roman wiggled his hips till you took the hint.
You leaned over to run your hands up his thick thighs. Focus. You’d have to ride those another night. His length gave a jolt as you ran your tongue from his balls to the tip. His hips may have jumped too, but you were too focused on swirling your mouth around the tip to remember. Relaxing your throat, you began to bob your head up and down, taking him deeper into your mouth with each pass. Finally, you reached the point where he bumped the back of your throat. Roman let out a guttural cry and buried his fingers in your hair. He guided you up and down his length as you hungrily licked the underside on your way. He began shuddering when you used your hand to stroke the inside of his thigh.
“Y/N… you gotta back off… or I’m not gon… gonna last long.” You watched as he fell back from watching you. His eyes rolled under his fluttering eyelids. You took mercy on him, but just barely. You sucked hard on your way off his shaft. There was a satisfying pop, and then you crawled up to lay next to him. You rested your hand on his chest as it rose and fell with his gasps for air. Once he caught his breath, Roman wove his fingers with yours.
You squealed as he pushed you further up the bed into the pillows. He caged your body beneath his; a cage of pure muscle and tattoo. The memory of how you had gotten into this position bubbled up, making you giggle. You took the chance in Roman’s confused face to grip his length in your hand and twist it like you twisted his finger back at the bar.
“My turn,” he growled.
Anything leading up to this point suggested that Roman would have teased his cock at your entrance for a few moments, maybe thrust slowly a few times, and then pounded you into the mattress. Instead, you found yourself flipped over to sit on his stomach with his cock caught between your pussy and his chest. Your hips were trapped in his large warm hands; you were not going to be allowed to control the pace. He grinned at you, then began to slide you back and forth across his length, slicking it with your arousal. No matter how much you moaned and pleaded, Roman kept the pace steady till you were a quivering mess and droopingly supporting yourself on his shoulders.
He pushed you back towards his legs one more time, then helped you to your knees so he could guide his cock into you. You wanted to sink in one go, to feel the perfect burn of his girth, but he squeezed bruises into your skin as he controlled how quickly you sank onto him. Once he was balls deep, Roman held you tight, keeping you from raising back up. Everything felt more intense as your walls fluttered around him.
“Move, Roman, please,” you begged.
“Uh-uh. I thought you might want to sit here for a minute. Just feel me inside you, filling you up. You feel so good… so perfect like this, baby. So… gah.” He shuddered underneath you as you clamped around him. “Naughty,” he warned.
“Please, Ro, I won’t tease you again.” You brushed your hair out of your eyes to see his bemused expression. “Unless you want me to.”
“Maybe later. Now let’s get you filled up with something else, hmm?”
You screamed as he pulled you almost completely off him before impaling you once again. Over and over again he thrust and pulled you down onto him hard. Jumbled expletives mixed with his name fell from your lips as he brought you quickly to the edge of orgasm.
“You gonna come so quickly, baby? So good for me. Come on, cum for me.” Roman reached over and rubbed his thumb in narrow circles over your clit. You tumbled onto his chest as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through you. His guttural moan sounded far away as his cum filled you after one last faltering thrust.
He rubbed your back till the waves stopped hitting you so hard and started simmering down to pleasurable swells. He pulled you off and left you sprawled across the sheets. You heard the water running in the bathroom, then he came back with a warm towel and a glass of water. He helped you sit up after cleaning you off, taking the glass when it was empty. Once you had snuggled under the sheets, he curled you into his chest. You were both out like a light within a few content breaths.
Sometimes a hero doesn’t have to dodge bullets or round up a gang of thugs. Sometimes a hero is just a good listener.
Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader (Y/N)
Warnings: Drinking (alcohol, with minimal control)
Word Count: 800+
Note: I had the Lady Antebellum song stuck in my head, and this came out. It kinda inspired the fic, but it does not make an appearance. Please enjoy and let me know how you like it by commenting, liking, and/or reblogging. My requests and tag lists are open!
Alcohol gif below the cut:
The shot glass clattered and rolled until you were able to catch it and flip it over. Your vision wasn’t blurry yet, but there were still two to go.
A loud voice cut through the din of the crowded bar. “If you weren’t alone, I’d say you were having a party.” A man that you had never seen before in your life sat on the stool next to you. Tall blonde, with a smile too big for his small face. Asshole. “What are we celebrating?”
“Nothing,” you said, shooting back the second glass. “I’m not interested, I’m not going home with you, and you’re not going home with me. Douchebags who hit on women who obviously want to be alone are not my type. So back off.” You swallowed the third glass with a shudder as the man left. He muttered a list of profane nicknames for you till he was distracted by a bachelorette party. You flipped the glasses back over for a refill and waved down the bar. “Hey, bartender. Another trio, please.”
He hesitated with a worried look. “Do you want to try a stiffer drink? Something you can take slow?”
“I don’t want slow. Slow is not the way of the world, so I’ve finally learned. Thanks anyway.”
“There’s a story there. Why don’t you tell me?” He looked about as tired as you felt. It seemed he had his own restless night. Often, by the darkness of the shadows under his eyes.
“Why should I tell you? You probably hear a hundred sob stories a shift.”
He chuckled. “I do. But that doesn’t make them any less real or painful to the storyteller. How about we make a deal? I get off in ten. You tell me your story, and I ask my replacement to whip you up the drink you need to lay you out quick. Sound good?” When you hesitated, he added the perfect stipulation to push the deal over. “And the drink will be on the house.”
“Sure. See you in ten.”
He nodded and turned to walk away, but came back in a second. “My name’s Richard by the way. But my friends call me Dick.”
“Y/N.”
“Nice to meet you.”
You watched him work for this next ten minutes like he was a Nascar race. He moved quickly enough for it. He flirted his way up and down the bar with whomever he liked, and quickly served those he didn’t. If someone was being annoying about getting another round, he ignored them. One guy figured it out and waited patiently till Dick got to him. Other drunken deadbeats had to wait until his replacement showed up.
“Let’s sit in the corner booth,” he said after collecting his tips. “It’s quieter and we won’t be disturbed.” He grabbed a pitcher of water and two glasses, then led the way. He sat close enough to hear you, but far enough away to not intrude on your space.
“What about my drink?”
“You need to hydrate first,” he said, pouring you a glass. “Besides, I won’t know what you need till I hear your story.”
He was a good listener. He nodded and hummed in all the right places. His brow would furrow when he was supposed to be angry, and he would mirror your profanities. Other than that, he didn’t say a word as you poured out your life’s story. Maybe it was the booze or the late hour, but you told him things you never dared to say out loud. Even to yourself. Every dream shattered, every crack in your heart, every tearful fear for the future.
You hadn’t realized you were crying until he reached up and smoothed a tear away with his thumb. Next thing you knew, you were running your fingers over his lips, wondering what they would taste like. With a snap, you pulled them back.
“I’m sorry. The shots finally kicked in.”
“It’s alright, Y/N. Do you mind if I call you a cab?”
When it pulled up to the curb, Dick held the door open and waited for you to get in. The alcohol swirling in your blood gave you another kick of courage.
“Do you want to come with?”
Dick blushed. “Not this time. The next time you come in ready to drink away a rough time, we can skip the booze. Right now you need to sleep.”
“Thanks, Dick.” You moved to sit down, bur popped back up. “Hey, I didn’t get that special drink.”
“I’ll hold it on your tab as the Grayson special. I’ll make myself the next time you come in. Bad day or not. I promise.”
That man is a hero. And gorgeous to boot. As the cab pulled away, you saw him continue to watch the cab until it rounded a corner. Yeah. You would be back. After a bartender prescribed sleep.
Notes: I am describing Michael Mulligan more towards the way the archangel is depicted in art. Adam would not be in the same weight division as Dean, and I couldn’t find a good way to explain otherwise. Either way, I liked giving Michael Adam’s last name. Please enjoy and please like/comment/reblog. As always, my requests are open, and I’m going to need some as this series comes to a close. Bring me your obscure characters and receive a fic in any style (fluff, smut, angst) you like.
Bobby peaked his head out of the room. “Dean, he coming too.”
For a split second, Dean held back. Then he stepped forward, Y/N at his side.
Sam’s face was swollen from the repeated blows. His neck was in a brace. With the pillows wrapped around him, he looked smaller. No mean feat. Cas and Bobby stood to one side of the room, looking between the brothers. Y/N could feel Dean’s grip tighten, so she squeezed back. He blinked and looked down at their hands. He ran his thumb over her knuckles as he put on a smile.
“Heya, Sammy,’ he said softly.
Sam opened his eyes, which were thankfully not swollen shut.
“Hey, Dean. Y/N.” He tried to sit up further in the bed but Dean rushed forward to push him back down.
“You don’t need to move at all.”
Sam grunted in agreement. “How’d the after party go with Raphael?”
“I’m supposed to lose. Mulligan is one of theirs too.”
Bobby groaned. “Michael Mulligan?” He growled as Dean nodded. “I was afraid of that. Raphael’s got the northern canvas so tight I couldn’t get any information about the head of the ring. Style-wise, he’s good. He took out the Prince of Darkness in the south to win semifinals.”
“The finals aren’t for another week,” Sam said. “You’ll have plenty of time to…”
“To what, Sam? I’m supposed to lose.”
Sam looked at Dean with his nose wrinkled in confusion. Then he looked at Y/N, who focused her attention on the floor. “Oh.”
“And if it’s not Y/N, they’re going to come by the hospital for a visit. I can’t win.”
The hospital room swelled with silence as everyone tried to come up with a solution. No matter which way they turned it, an answer did not present itself.
All through the week, Cas left the Winchesters, Y/N, and Bobby at the hospital while he went back to the ring. His former injuries kept him from competing, but he still had his hearing. He talked to boxers from before the reign of Raphael, people who were still allies, but none of them knew any more information about Michael. He knew who he had to talk to, but it wasn’t going to be easy.
Uriel watched Balthazar like a hawk.
His only chance was to find him outside the ring. It was a weekend, and Balthazar wasn’t due to show for another hour, so Cas found a quiet corner and watched the others train. Even with a match that night, the guys were trying to keep loose. A while later, Cas knit his brow in confusion as a visitor came in followed closely by the boss’s satellite himself. Cas guessed the big man was Michael. He was broad shouldered and narrow waisted, strong but hard to hit. His knuckles were thick from breaking repeatedly, something Cas could see on several of the better boxers in the ring. He knew Michael was good, and Cas had never even seen him fight. If Uriel was with him, then Balthazar was without his traditional guard.
He left for Balthazar’s usual back entrance and waited outside. He grinned as the referee quickly rounded the corner and bumped into him.
“Castiel! Um, I’m going to be late for… something. Excuse me.” He tried to shoulder his way past, but Cas blocked his path.
“That something wouldn’t happen to be a meeting with Raphael’s northern progeny, would it?”
Balthazar was taken aback. He started to form an excuse but sighed instead. “What happened to this city, Cas?”
“Men with too much power and not enough chin took hold. What’s Raphael’s play?”
“You know I couldn’t tell you that, even if I did know.” Again, Balthazar tried to step by, and again Cas kept him from taking another step.
“Would you tell me if you knew? We used to be ring brothers.”
“I know that, but Raphael is different. I know I can trust you, but he’s got so many guys scared or in his pocket that I can’t trust my own shadow. If you make me late, I won’t even have that.”
Cas kept him from opening the door, drawing out a frustrated groan. “A hint. A guess. What do you think is going to be the plan?”
Balthazar sighed, kicking himself for not using another door. “I don’t think Dean is going to make it out of this fight. What nobody knows about the Prince of Darkness is that he’s tied up in his own hospital, practically in a coma. Michael fights for himself as much as he does for Raphael. If he knows Dean is public enemy number one, and that he’s going to get paid to make it look good… Dean better hope he’s got life insurance.” Balthazar took the moment of Cas’s shock to make his way inside, leaving Cas with a brain full of dark, swirling thoughts. Then he was off like a shot, only to lose consciousness as something hit him in the back of the head.
It was getting close to when Dean was supposed to show up to the ring, and they still had not heard from Cas. The final match was to be in the center of town, “neutral ground” between the rings. And it was in the middle for ease of fan access, meaning more money.
“Where is he? I told him hanging around the canvas all week wasn’t a good idea.” Dean was leaned against the wall, but Sam was counting down to when he would start pacing.
Y/N saw the look and stood to keep him from starting. “Maybe he’s found something out. You know we could use the information, and good information takes time. If you don’t think he’ll make it back in time…”
“No. If Castiel doesn’t show up, you are going to stay here with Sam.”
“Like hell, I am.” She poked him in the chest, smirking as he raised an eyebrow. “No more polite doormat, remember? And that goes for speaking to you too.”
“The plan is to not let them catch us together.” He took her hand from its position on his chest and held it in his, noting its delicateness. His voice fell, borderline to a breaking point. “I’m not going to let them force you to watch the match from the office. And I don’t trust Uriel not to…” Dean glanced at Sam, who nodded in agreement.
“I’ve convinced one of the nurses to bring in a radio,” Sam said. “You won’t miss a second of the match, and afterwards Bobby is going to sneak in some drink from his prohibition days,” he added with a grin.
Dean looked down at her, his eyes begging her to stay. She shook her head, punching out as much air from his chest as a blow from Cole.
“I am not staying here. Now, Dean Winchester, are you going to let me ride with you, or are you going to call me a cab?”
He sighed and walked over to the phone, dialing the number. “Hello, I would like to call a cab to Southern Indiana State Hospital.” He looked at Y/N one last time as the receiver asked how many passengers.
“Just two.”
Black faded into a bright white before fading once again into black. Castiel continued to blink slowly, bringing the world into focus. He found himself laying under the stars in the back alley. He launched to his feet instantly regretting moving too fast. He steadied himself against the wall while thinking over what Balthazar told him. As soon as he could see straight, he made his way to the street and hailed a cab.
“So, are we undercover, or…?” Jo whispered to Y/N. She took the bag of popcorn from the vendor and passed it to Claire.
“No. Dean didn’t want to leave me alone. He’s so sure the opposition will do anything to get to him, even if we haven’t been seeing each other long.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was enough when coupled with free tickets to the fight.
“Do you think we could continue to get tickets even if he loses? Ouch.” Claire rubbed her shoulder where Jo smacked it. Y/N grinned. The world could be ending and these two would never change.
From the corner of her eye, Y/N spotted a ruffled top of black hair towering over everyone else. “Castiel!” She waved at him till he located her, but took as step back as he stormed over to her.
“Y/N, where’s Dean?” He gripped her arms tight and pulled her to one side of the crowd. “Why are you alone?”
“He’s in his locker room getting ready. And I’m not alone, I’m with my roommates. Castiel, this is Jo and Claire.” She nodded to the girls as they caught up.
“Pleasure to meet you,” he rushed out. “We’ve got to get to Dean.”
“Why, what did you… hey girls?” Y/N turned to Jo and Claire as Cas let go of her. “Go ahead and claim our seats. They’re assigned for the night, but people might try to fight the system.”
“What about… sticking to you?” Claire asked, looking leerily at Castiel, who mirrored her expression.
“I’m with Cas. You had to hear some of that, he’s a friend of Dean’s. And he’s a boxer, so I’ll be well defended.” She laughed when they didn’t budge. “Just go.” Y/N waited till they were halfway to their seats before continuing. “Okay, so what did you hear?’
“Balthazar thinks Dean’s not going to make it out of the fight alive.”
“Balthazar Smith? The referee?”
“Yeah. He’s usually under Uriel’s thumb, but he’s been getting squirrely lately. He doesn’t like how the matches have turned in this last season.”
Y/N hummed in thought. Mostly to herself than to Cas she asked, “would he be squirrely enough to…?”
“No.”
“What?” She brought her attention back up to Cas. “I didn’t even finish my thought.”
“Dean told me about that face. He said you promised him…”
“I did. But he claimed nobody would talk. If Balthazar would talk, maybe he could inspire the rest of the guys too. Do you know which ones would be willing?”
Cas pursed his lips. “I can name several, but a greased palm could take this plan out before it got started.”
“And you? If you could help make sure no other boxers get hurt because of Raphael, would you do it?” Y/N watch his face as it contorted between ‘yes’ and ‘hell no.’ She grinned as he slid into a hesitant ‘yes.’ “Good. Now, where’s a phone?”
The door swung open as Bobby was helping Dean into his colors, John’s fighting coat. Uriel floated in. His smug mug made Dean want to punch it. Then again, it could be not smug and Dean would still want to punch it.
“So, tonight’s the night you retire. I’m sorry to see you go, Winchester.”
“I’m sure you are.” Dean turned to let Bobby check his gloves, counting the seconds till he would leave.
“Aren’t you going to ask what the script is? For old time’s sake.”
Dean groaned through gritted teeth. “What’s the script?”
“I’m going to miss that. And I’m going to miss seeing you bloodied in the ring. The fifth, Winchester. And stick to it this time. We’ve got all your aces.” He left before Dean could give a retort.
Bobby let go of his gloves and snapped in front of Dean’s eyes. “What did you decide?”
“Sam says I should fight to win. Y/N says I should fight to win. But I have this stone in my stomach telling me I should follow the plan one last time and maybe nobody gets hurt.” He paused for a moment, letting his next question float around a bit, hoping Bobby would answer it before he could ask.
Bobby knew that look. He’d seen it when John asked him to help him start the ring. He never could turn down a Winchester.
“Balls. I think you should fight to win too.” He stopped a grinning Dean from saying anything. “But don’t let that make you sloppy. Michael’s a hard hitter. Block your stomach and guard your face. You’re buying the first round tonight if you let him cut open your eye again.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Alright. They should call soon, so show me your shadow punches.”
Y/N slapped the side of the receiver. “Please, it’s urgent. I need to speak to the Captain.” Cas looked at her through the door to the phone box. She waved away his worried glance.
“I can’t just let you through ma’am. We have…”
“Oh, just put her through,” an accented voice said in the background. “Line two if you can manage it.” There was a buzz and a click before she heard the voice again. “Captain Crowley of Chicago PD. What can I do for you today miss…?”
“Y/N. You have to stop the match at LaMotta Arena tonight.”
“And why would I do that? Maybe I’ve got some money riding on one of them myself.”
The statement made her stop cold. She pushed through the idea that Uriel had gotten to him. “Because I know you would love a chance for some good publicity. I’ve got songbirds for you, Captain. Good ones. Break up the fight tonight and you’ll have a massive shot at something bigger than you’ve ever caught before.” A little Hollywood, maybe, but it was worth a shot. Y/N waited with baited breath as the line remained silent for a hot minute.
“Do you have a songbird nearby that I can talk to?”
She held the mouthpiece to her shoulder and exhaled. She motioned for Cas to come into the phone box. She handed him the phone and shut the door, taking her turn to stand guard. He came out a few minutes later looking pale and relieved at the same time.
“He’ll do it. He’s rounding up a squad and he’ll be here by the fifth round. He can’t make it any sooner.” Cas chuckled. “Considering the speed of the force in other incidents, this will be like lightning.”
As they walked to the seats, Y/N asked, “how do we get the news to Dean?” They looked up as the doormen gave the five-minute warning.
“We don’t. If this goes south, it will look better on the Uriel side if he doesn’t know. I’ll find a way to signal Bobby.”
Y/N shook her head to silence Jo and Claire’s questions as they found their seats. The buzz was quieting down before the announcer stepped towards the ring. Dean and Michael were still in their tunnels, awaiting the call.
“Remember what I said, keep your face blocked, and jab him before he can jab you.”
“You said that already. Any more times and I’ll hear it in my sleep. Ow.” Dean flinched as Bobby smacked him up the backside of his head.
“Don’t get smart. I was there when you were brought into the world, I don’t want to be here when they take you out. Don’t let it be tonight, Dean.”
They both looked towards the ring, glowing outside the comforting dark of the tunnel. The announcer was calling out the usual pleasantries and requesting that nobody smoked.
“Bobby?”
“Yeah.”
“No matter what happens, thank you for all you’ve done for me and Sam.”
Bobby nodded and patted Dean on the back. Then they walked out into the lights as Dean’s name was called.
“In this corner is Dean ‘Raisin’ Cain’ Winchester! Weighing one hundred and seventy-five pounds and wearing the black shorts with the white stripe. He wears his father’s, John Winchester, colors tonight as he makes his way to the ring.”
Y/N craned her neck to see him, but there were too many people. Even as he made his way under the ropes, people had their arms in the air cheering for them.
“In the other corner is our other semi-finalist for tonight, Michael “Feather Feet” Mulligan. Weighing one hundred seventy-two and a half pounds and wearing the white shorts with black stripes. He wears the red and gold colors on his way to the ring.”
Y/n could see him plain. He was like Cas described to her earlier. He didn’t bounce or shadow-box his way to the ring, just walked. Marched to it. Like this was the battle that he intended to win the war with. Y/N sent up a prayer to anyone who was listening that Dean could hold him off till Captain Crowley and the squad arrived.
Deana and Bobby met Michael and his trainer in the middle of the canvas.
Balthazar swallowed a throat-full of air and asked for a fair fight. He had them bump gloves, then sent them to their corners. The match hadn’t even started yet and he was already sweating. He jumped as the opening bell rang.
Dean bounced out to meet Michael. They jabbed out at each other, testing the range of their opponent. Michael landed the first hit, glancing off the side of Dean’s head. He followed with a quick series of one-twos to Dean’s ribs before Dean could catch him in a clinch. Michael continued to reach up to land blows to his head, which Dean returned till Balthazar separated them with difficulty.
Dean saw his opening as Michael reached in for his face. It glanced off his cheek, allowing Dean to dig in close and land several blows to Michael’s torso before ending with a sweeping uppercut. Michael staggered back. He nodded with a mouth-guard smile.
Y/N sat on the edge of her seat in silence as the crowd around her screamed for their favorite. She kept her eyes on Dean as he circled Michael, bobbing and looking for a way in. She cringed as Michael swooped in to get Dean in a clinch. He thundered hits into Dean’s ribs until Balthazar separated them again.
“Come on Dean,” she whispered. Dean’s reaching blows kept being warded off by Michael’s glove. He stayed just out of reach, circling to Dean’s outside.
The crowd spun behind Michael and Dean watched his gloves for the next blow. Dean reached out as Michael did, giving a glove to the face as he received one. Then he zoomed into Michael’s chest, firing them as fast as he could till the bell rang.
He backed away to meet Bobby.
“That was good. Keep wearing him down. Try to aim lower, more to the stomach.”
Dean nodded as he took his mouth guard back, standing with the bell.
Sam pumped a fist into the air as the commentator relayed the fight.
“The pace is fast as ever, and the fight is even-Steven. Raisin’ Cain trying to drive those hard jabs into the body and face. Mulligan trying to get in murderous body blows of his own.”
He listened to the exchange of hits wired down to him. It sounded like rain on a tin roof, but Sam knew from experience how hard those drops could be. He flinched at a particularly heavy one, only to happily crow as the commentator kicked back in, laughing as a frowning nurse walked by.
“Winchester landing a seriously solid blow to Mulligan, doubling him over. Mulligan retreating to catch his breath. He’s still got that smile, though, enjoying the match. If he turns it one like he did in his last bout, Winchester will have to pick up his step. Otherwise, Winchester’s got this in the bag.”
It was too easy. Dean kept his distance when he could. Michael was encroaching on his space, making himself easy to hit, while at the same time limiting Dean’s ability to pull back for a harder hit. Dean bounced back as Michael round housed a blow into his ear. Dean shook his head through the ringing. He looked over Michael’s shoulder at Bobby to see if the ringing was outside or inside his head. He bit down harder on his guard when Bobby stayed on the floor.
Michael chased Dean to the ropes, cinching him again and hammering blows into Dean’s torso. Dean kept his abs tight, minimalizing the impact. But he took a second to take his breath back as Balthazar pulled Michael away. The bell rang, ending round three.
Bobby continued his flow of advice, but Dean barely heard it. He kept his gaze level as Michael stared at him from his own corner.
As they came out for the next round Dean could feel a shift in the air. Michael twisted his hips, putting his other foot in front. Michael advanced towards Dean quickly, too fast for Dean to retreat. He pulled back then released a hard uppercut into Dean’s chin.
Dean fell back into the ropes. The lights above him swam in circles. He could see a blurred Balthazar racing forward to stop Michael, but the blows to his upper chest hit first. The lights gave way to the canvas rushing up to meet him. He gasped for air, though his lungs burned and sent magma towards his heart. He landed on his gloves and knees, shuddering with the fall. He realized he made a mistake as he looked up, taking Michael’s jab to his face, sending him collapsing onto his shoulder. The world was ringing and glowing and moving like molasses, but Dean fought to climb up the ropes.
Y/N sat down as Dean wobbled to his feet. She could feel three concerned faces to either side of her but kept her gaze on Dean. He stumbled out into the center, pulling up his gloves as Michael attacked him again. She clenched her hands in her lap as Dean sent out weak jabs.
The police will be here soon. The police will be here soon. Please, God, let the police be here soon.
Dean felt Bobby catch him as the bell rang, ending the fourth round. He spat out the guard into Bobby’s hand.
“This guy is incredible,” he slurred, sputtering bloody spittle into the bucket. “It’s gonna be a hell of six more rounds.” He grinned sideways at Bobby, who didn’t fully grin back. He gave Dean back his guard and pulled his gloves over his face. Bobby pushed Dean to his feet as the bell rang. If he wanted to end with any shred of dignity, he would dive this round.
To hell with dignity. Time to clip those Feather Feet.
Dean brought his gloves together to catch Michael’s jabs. He shot out one, landing it to Michael’s crown. Michael rushed in, cinching Dean’s arms to his side and towering over him. He backed off before the ref could intervene, but circled back around. He was able to keep an arm loose as Michael trapped him again. He jabbed at Michael’s upper ribs, but it made his arm shudder to hit him. He was forced back into a corner, his shoulder blades dug into the iron pins. His breath was coming out in pants. Dean could feel Michael grinning at the labored rise and fall of his chest, too punch-happy to see it himself.
Michael let Balthazar push him back and waited for Dean in the middle. He shared a look with Balthazar. Dean wasn’t going to make it out in one piece even if he did fall now, the exchange proved it.
Dean took a breath, then launched himself at Michael. He didn’t keep his hands up as Michael pummeled his face. He didn’t let the blows make him retreat. He didn’t reach to hit back. He just forced his way into the center of the ring and stared Michael down.
“Oh no.” Cas moaned.
“What? What does that mean?” Y/N asked, tugging on his sleeve.
“Please Dean, don’t,” was all she could get out of him.
Dean buckled as Michael rained down hits to his back. He shouldered his way into Michael’s chest, forcing him backwards. He didn’t stop till Michael’s arms flew back as his spine collided with the opposite corner pins. Dean pulled back, then sent in as many punches as he could into Michael’s stomach till Balthazar pushed him away.
Michael roared through his guard and chased after him. He was hunched over, but that didn’t stop him from repeatedly sending his glove into Dean’s face. Dean squared his stance, refusing to give any ground even as his head snapped back with each hit. Michael started using both gloves, the other going into Dean’s chest cavity. His torso rippled with pain till his heart’s thumping turning into one long throb. With a deep breath that burned through him harsher than cheap whiskey, Dean swung. Michael spun and fell.
He turned and walked away a few steps as Balthazar swooped in to count. Dean dropped into the canvas as the bell rang, ending round five and the match. He found Y/N’s face as he fell, missing the swarm of police officers that rushed in through every door and tunnel.
His vision bounced and faded to black as pandemonium erupted around the arena.
Raphael stood by his window drinking his hardest Scotch as someone knocked on his door.
“Enter,” he said, watching the police round up his officials and gamble men. Dean stayed where he fell, unswarmed as people tried to avoid being handcuffed. Michael rolled out of the ring and got caught by a tunnel.
“Raphael, it’s been too long.”
He turned and watched Crowley step into his office. “Evening, Captain. Have I not been paying you enough?”
Crowley shook his head. “Not on your payroll. Not one copper.”
“Shame. Would you like to be?”
He thought for a second, eyeing the liquor stand next to a silent Uriel. “No.” He helped himself to some ice and a drink as two sub-officers walked in. “Cuff ‘em tight, boys. They’re slippery.” His revolver was in Uriel’s chest before he could surge forward.
Y/N fought her way to the ring, sliding under the ropes to get to Dean. Bobby was fighting his through the cops, trying to explain whose trainer he was. Dean’s face was pale despite the beating, and his lips were purple.
“No. Don’t do this to me. Dean Winchester, you wake up right now or… or… or I’m going to slap you.”
She let out a shuddering breath as he continued to do nothing. With a screech, she slapped him across the face, instantly bringing her hands to cover her sob.
“I take it I didn’t win if you’re hitting me,” Dean mumbled with his eyes still closed.
Y/N fell over his chest, crying with an irritated smile. “Don’t you ever fall like that again.”
Dean leaned up with a groan. “Does that mean there’ll be a next time?” His eyes glowed like candle-light through a bottle, mischievous. “You’re not ordering me to stop boxing?”
She sighed. “Hell, no. It’s who you are. Besides, my roommates want free tickets for the rest of their lives. Can’t keep up unless I’m dating a boxer.”
They shared a grin before Y/N helped him over to the edge. They sat and watched the chaos around them. On other sides of the apron, Jo and Claire cheered the police, and Bobby and Castiel laughed.
“I’m sorry you won’t get the belt,” Y/N said. “They’ll probably have a whole ‘nother season to figure this out, won’t they?”
“I don’t need a belt,” Dean said, kissing the top of her head.
“I wouldn’t be so sure that you lost it,” Crowley butted in, fighting with a handcuffed, gagged, and fuming Uriel. “The way that several of the witnesses have been singing, you’ve been fighting for real for the whole season. If that story keeps floating around, you might get the belt by default. Congratulations, Winchester.” He nodded at Dean and winked at Y/N, then disappeared into the crowd.
They laughed and Dean wrapped his arm around Y/N’s shoulder.
“Are we still celebrating with Bobby’s booze and Sam?”
“Yeah. He’s gonna be frosted he missed all this.”
It took an hour or so, but they finally made it to the hospital where Sam was, indeed, incredibly angry that he missed the chaos. They had him calmed down to irritated within a few drinks.
The reader is celebrating New Year’s alone in a bar when she gets hit on. She’s not in the mood, but he won’t go away, till someone else shows up.
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader
Warnings: drinking, slight violence (not between the pair), SMUT, Captain kink, teasing
Word Count: 2080+
Note: Happy New Year guys. Don’t forget to hydrate…
He kept leering at you and making kissy faces. Anytime he said something to his friend it was slurred. As for each drink he ordered, half of it was wasted when he spilled it over his unsteady fingers. He waved at the bartender and held up two fingers. You readied yourself to get rid of another one.
This happened every year. You somehow found yourself single when it was time to kiss in the new year. Then there was getting rid of the unwanted drunken suitors. Every. Damn. Year. You didn’t even dress up this year.
“Heya, you lookin’ for some company?”
Here you go, and there was still an hour till midnight.
“Nope. Look someplace else.”
He sat on the bar stool and scooted it closer to you. “Come on, sweetie,” he put the shot glass in front of you, “just one drink.” There was barely a taste left, the rest having sloshed out on the way over.
“Not a whiskey type of girl. And I was, I wouldn’t be with you.”
He reeled back, incredulous. When he spun back around, he ended up closer to your face. You could get drunk on that breath just breathing it in. “Don’t be like that. You’re alone, I’m alone, we can be alone together.”
“Being together defeats the purpose of being alone. Now get lost.” Next year you were going to buy all your booze a week in advance and not leave till the third of January.
“Don’t like what you see? Have a few shots and I’ll get better.”
“Joe? Check please.” He waved you away; he knew you were good for it. You were just going to have to make a black Russian at home. You didn’t have any cream.
“You like moving fast? I can move fast. I’ve got great…ugh… stamina.”
“Whatever you say, pall, but I am going home by myself. You should go home too. Ask your friend down there for help if you must.” You stood and donned your coat, making sure to slap the scarf in his face before he could say anything else.
“What’s the idea, lady?” He grabbed your arm tightly enough to where you couldn’t get away.
“Let go of my arm, sir.”
“Why’d you come out tonight if you didn’t want to hook up with someone?”
“Maybe I did, or maybe I came out because I drank all I had yesterday. Now let go of me.”
“The lady said to let go.” The voice behind you was strong and came from several inches up. You turned to see a blond and blue-eyed Olympian. His brows were pulled together as he stared down at the man, who loosened his grip. You jerked your arm away and let the blonde man lead you away.
“Y/N, head’s up!” Joe called out.
You spun on your toes and punched the man square in the jaw on his way to do whatever his drunken mind told him. He fell like a rock.
“How was that?” You asked Joe with a wink.
“Worth several free rounds. See ya later, and Happy New Year!”
“Happy New Year!” You walked out into the snow and pulled your collar up higher. The blond man followed you out but stayed by the door. He looked confused.
“Not that I’m complaining about the romp, but what was that last bit?”
“Hmm? Oh. Joe and I go way back. He likes to watch how I disperse block-heads and pays me in booze.” You fished your mittens out of your pockets and put them on.
“I’d give a whole head of lettuce to see the rest of that.”
“Pardon?” Where was this guy from? A 20′s movie?
“Oh, um. Pay a wad of cash.” He slid his hands into his pockets, accentuating his waist. This man was built like a Dorito. Who the hell is actually built like a Dorito?
“You’re not from around here, are you?” You asked, trying to keep your voice pleasant, and not too prying.
“Well, I am.Brooklyn. It’s just been a while.”
You looked at him closer, them felt your eyes grow wide with recognition. “You’re… you’re Steve Rogers!”
“Yeah, uh,” he lifted an arm to rub the back of his neck, “I’ve been trying to stay on the down-low. Can’t wear the red, white, and blue all the time.”
“Why aren’t you in… Avenger’s Tower or something?”
“Tony throws crazy parties. I wanted something a little quieter tonight.” He thumbed back towards the bar. “Didn’t know I would almost end up in a bar fight, though.”
“Neither did I.” You two stood silently as the snow began to fall again.
Steve coughed and stepped closer to you. “Are you rationed? I mean… um… are you attached to anyone?”
“Would I be drinking alone in a bar on New Year’s Eve if I was?”
“I guess not.” He shifted from one foot to the other with a smile. “Would you like to join me in a drink or two? At a different bar?” His shoulders were hunched as if trying to make himself look smaller. Less imposing. His eyes flitted between your face and the falling precipitation. You’d had a lot worse.
“I’d like that. Lead the way, to as crazy or quiet a place as you’d like.” You took the hand he held out to you, relishing in the warmth you could feel through the mittens.
It was a brisk walk in the snow, but he kept slow enough so you didn’t have to trot to keep up. A car pulled up and Steve groaned mid-story. “It appears I’m being summoned. You still in?” He held the door open for you when you nodded. A few minutes later the Tower rose above you. Lights were flashing from the overhanging floor, and you were almost sure you could hear music pulsing from your place on the ground. It got louder as the elevator carried you both closer, and blasted in full force at you as the door opened. A few people cheered and waved at Steve as he walked in. You stayed a little behind till he took your coat and led you towards the bar.
“I thought you couldn’t get drunk, Cap?” The red-haired bartender smirked at him, “what’ll it be?”
“A White Russian for the lady.” He turned to you, “that’s what you were nursing, right?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you. I’m Y/N,” you said, holding out your hand to the woman.
“Natasha. Nice to meet you.” She started making the drink as Steve explained how you guys met. You said nothing when he embellished a few details, enjoying Natasha’s nod of appreciation. “Good job. I would have tased him, but that works too. I’ll leave you two alone.” She slid your drink and two fingers worth of bourbon over before walking down the bar.
The music coursed through you as the booze warmed you up. Before you fully knew what you were doing, you dragged Steve onto the dance floor. He pulled you close as you faced away from him. His fingers slid down your arms as you ground into him, swaying with the rhythm. When his hands found your hips, he gripped you tightly before spinning you around. Maybe it was the music or the alcohol, but his eyes were dark and his lips looked inviting. His thumb traced over your bottom lip before caressing your cheek.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said into your ear. You followed as he led you back to the elevator.
The doors weren’t even shut all the way before he descended on you. He tasted sweet like the bourbon, but the way his hands roamed your body was rushed. Like he couldn’t feel every inch of you fast enough. You broke away for breath as the doors opened again.
“Do you want to do this?” He asked. His lips were swollen; your mind swam with what he could do to you with those lips.
“Yes.”
Within moments you were both shrugging off the last articles of clothing. He gently pushed you onto the bed, caging you beneath his large frame. In your haste, you missed seeing what the Captain was packing, but you could feel it against your stomach as he nipped light marks into your collarbone.
“Condom?” he asked between ministrations.
“Pill,” you said.
Steve pulled away to watch your face as he dragged a finger over your folds. While his pupils nearly filled his eye, you could still see the brilliant blue shining through. Your hips bucked and you gasped as he curled his finger inside you. He listened to you, watched your face so he could know what spots made you more responsive. Once he knew where those spots were, he would leave them for a while before coming back at them to tease you again. He continued to pull and curl and thrust his finger into you until you could hardly breathe from the build. But at this rate, it was never going to be enough. Through your half-lidded sight, you could see his smirking face.
“Please, Steve…”
“Don’t worry, doll. I’ve got you.” He added another digit. Steve moved faster now, humming as you panted beneath him. By now your eyes were completely closed in pleasure. You came with a soft cry as it swept over you. Steve pumped his fingers as you shuddered, growling as you clawed your fingernails across his ribs.
The bed dipped around you as he shifted.
“Are you ready for me, sweetheart?”
You moaned and nodded, pulling him down to you. He sucked on your neck as he rubbed his head over your entrance. He was slow, pushing in and out an inch at a time, giving you time to adjust to him. It felt like ages before he pulled back and pushed in the rest of the way, bottoming out. He groaned into your neck as he collapsed onto his elbows. You pulled him closer to you, sighing as your nipples brushed against his chest. It was almost as hard there as he was below.
You bucked to get friction, any friction, going. He took his time, dragging out and pushing in slowly enough to where you didn’t know which direction was which. Then he snaked a hand down to your clit. His hips continued their torturous pace, but he rubbed quick circles into you.
“Do you trust me?” he whispered. His breath was short and labored. His jaw was clenched in concentration, but his hips stuttered against you, trying not to move faster.
“With my life… Captain.” You smirked at him as he moaned.
You thought that would make him change tactics; instead, it made him more determined to maintain his pace.
In the hall below, you could hear a cheer as everyone started to count down.
Steve caught your eye and leaned his forehead against yours.
10
He pulled nearly all the way out before slamming into you. You screamed his name.
9
Steve’s hips began to piston into you, using all the stamina he had been holding back.
8
There it was. The flame inside you. Even through the brutal pace, you could feel his length twitch within you.
7
You could hardly breathe, he was moving so fast. Above you his eyes were almost shut, even as he continued to watch you.
6
He moved both hands to your hips, pinning them from writhing away from him.
5
You could barely hear the countdown below over the sound of skin slapping on skin and Steve’s grunts.
4
You had broken into a sweat long ago, but now you could feel his sliding against you.
3
“Steve…”
“Almost there…”
2
Words escaped you as he tweaked one of your nipples, sending you over the edge.
1
You came with a flash of white light. Your walls tightened around Steve, milking him as he pulsed into you. When he was done, he pulled out and collapsed next to you.
The cheering continued downstairs as you started to fade into sleep. You felt Steve shift next to you before getting up. He came back with a glass of water and a warm towel. He handed you the water first, but held off on the towel.
“There are still more time zones that haven’t experienced New Year’s yet.”
“I’m game if you are, Captain.”
He grinned at you, then tossed the towel away. “We’ve got a little less than an hour till the next one. What do you want to try?”
Our Deepest Desires 