pairing: fwb!dean winchester x fem!reader
synopsis: Dean Winchester is the worst. A week without touching you, and now he’s glued to his stupid case notes while you stand there naked and trembling. But if Dean’s going to ignore you, fine. You’ll make him pay for it. Except the only one paying is you, rutting helplessly against his thigh until you’re soaked through and begging for him to finally give you what you need.
disclaimer: english is not my first language!
warnings: porn with little plot, thigh riding, p in v, mean!dean, dirty talk, motel, friends with benefits trope, bratty/needy reader, dom!dean, sub!reader, praise kink (good girl) + degradation (pathetic, needy), overstimulation, mentions of masturbation, research interrupted, orgasm control, second person, no use of y/n, no explicit physical descriptions.
word count: 3.2k+
chye's corner: finally back from holiday! this is based on this ask, i was requested more thigh riding, less clothes with mr dean winchester... hell yeah. i hope this was close to what you envisioned!! i have five drafts that are begging to be posted as well, so keep your eyes peeled! pls consider a reblog, a like, or a comment! thank you for choosing to read my words (((:
chye's grimoire (masterlist)
requests are open!
It’s been a week.
Seven days without his hands on you. Seven nights without his weight pressing you down, without that filthy voice in your ear telling you to beg. A week of hunts and motel rooms and stolen glances, but no relief.
And now? You’re fresh out of the shower, still damp, still warm, practically buzzing under your skin, and Dean fucking Winchester won’t even look at you.
The motel smells like steam and cheap soap when you step out of the bathroom, towel clinging damp to your skin. Your hair drips in dark strands over your collarbone, rivulets sliding down to the swell of your breasts, beading at your stomach before soaking into the fabric wrapped around you. You're a damn vision.
Dean doesn’t notice. Or maybe he does and he’s just being an ass. Yeah, that must be it.
He’s spread out on the far bed, boots kicked off but jeans still on, shoulders propped against the headboard. Flannel hanging loose over that grey t-shirt you’ve been imagining him pulling over his head for days. A manila folder rests across his lap, notes scattered, pen twirling lazily in his fingers. His green eyes skim the page, jaw flexing faintly when he murmurs a line of Latin under his breath like he isn't doing it just to taunt you. The lamplight cuts shadows across the hard line of his jaw, the slope of his throat, the broad spread of his chest.
“Dean.” His name comes out harsher than you mean. Rough, needier.
He hums. That’s all. Doesn’t look up, doesn’t stop writing, doesn’t even twitch. Your mouth twists. Irritation coils hot and sharp in your chest, but underneath it... god, underneath it is want. Your thighs press together under the thin motel towel, trying to fight the ache.
You take a step closer to the bed, water dripping from your hair, running in trails down your shoulders and between your breasts. “It’s been a week,” you snap.
“Mm,” he flips a page. “Know how to count.”
Your grip on the towel thightens. It slides off your shoulders, falling in a damp heap on the carpet. You’re bare now, goosebumps racing down your arms in the stale motel air. “You really gonna keep ignoring me?”
Dean finally flicks his eyes up. Just once. Slow. They drag down the line of your body, heavy and sharp, linger for half a second too long at the wet shine between your thighs. His lips twitch into a smirk, quick, filthy, but his eyes drop right back to the page.
You want to scream.
“Case comes first.”
Your jaw clenches. “Fuck you.”
“Not yet.” His voice is smooth, unhurried. Cruel.
You stand there, dripping onto the ugly motel carpet, heat simmering in your belly until it feels unbearable. A whole week of nothing and now this. Dean, stretched out in front of you, deliberately acting like you’re not trembling for him.
You take another step closer, then another, until you’re standing at the edge of his bed, shadow spilling over his notes.
He finally stops writing. Looks up. Green eyes catch yours, dark and sharp, before flicking down your body and back up again. His smirk spreads slow and mean. “Pathetic,” he says. “Can’t even go a week without my cock, huh?”
You’re bare, goosebumps prickling across your skin, and still Dean doesn’t reach for you. Doesn’t even set the damn file aside.
“Dean” your voice cracks, shameful. You hate the sound of it, the edge of need that makes it obvious you’ve been aching for him.
He tilts his head, watching you squirm, watching your thighs press together like you can solve this on your own. His tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip, but his smirk stays cruel. “Say it.”
Your stomach twists. “Say what?”
“That you missed me. That you missed this.” He taps your thigh with the end of his pen, casual, taunting. “A whole week with your pretty pussy untouched, and now you’re dripping on the carpet. Go on. Tell me how bad it’s been.”
Heat floods your cheeks, but your clit throbs at his words, at the way his eyes track every twitch of your body like he’s cataloguing proof.
“Dean, please...”
“Mm.” He cuts you off, pen scratching another post scriptum on the page. “Not good enough.”
You swear under your breath and take another step forward until your knees bump the mattress. You lean in, trying to steal his attention with your body, your bare skin so close to his flannel you can feel the warmth radiating off him.
Dean finally tosses the pen aside, but only so he can sit back against the headboard and spread his thighs wider, casual, infuriating, like he’s letting you look but not touch. “You’ve been walking around tight and needy all week, haven’t you? Bet you touched yourself in the shower just now.”
Your breath stutters. You don’t answer.
His smirk sharpens. “Did you? Rub your little clit ‘til you were whining my name?”
You feel your face flame. “I-I didn’t...”
“Liar.” He leans forward slightly, voice dropping, velvet and smoke. “You came in there and it still wasn’t enough. That’s why you’re standing here dripping for me, acting like you’re in charge when you’re not. Not even close.”
Your knees wobble. You press them together, but his hand shoots out, broad and hot, gripping your thigh just above the knee. His thumb drags slowly up your skin, circling, teasing, stopping right before he’d brush against where you need him most. “You’re soaked already,” he says, almost in awe, but cruel. “A week without me, and your pussy’s begging through your skin.”
Your throat feels dry, tight. “Dean, c'mon, baby.”
“Still not good enough.” He leans back again, hand sliding away, leaving you trembling. “If you want me, you’ll have to beg like you mean it. On your knees. Or...” his eyes cut to the file scattered across his lap, “I can always get back to my notes.”
Your lip trembles. Your pride is already shredded, left in the bathroom steam with the towel, and you know if you let him go back to those files you’ll lose your mind.
So you do it. You sink to your knees in front of him, palms pressed to the ugly motel carpet, wet hair falling into your face. “Dean,” you whisper, voice thin, desperate. “I missed you. I need you. Please.”
The smirk that spreads across his face is devastating. He doesn’t even bother to hide it. His hand slips into your damp hair, tugging until you’re looking up at him from the floor, shame and lust painting your face in equal measure. “Knew you’d get there,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your lip. “Good girl.”
The praise hits you like a punch. You shudder.
“C’mere.” His hand slides down, gripping your arm, hauling you up like you weigh nothing. He drags you into his lap, straddling one of his thighs, your bare cunt pressed to rough denim. The heat of him seeps into you instantly, and when you shift, god, the seam of his jeans drags across your clit in a way that makes your breath stutter.
Dean sees it. Hears the tiny gasp. His grin turns sharp, mean. “Oh, you like that, huh? Been dripping for a week just to use my thigh?” He flexes under you, muscle tightening, denim catching perfectly against your swollen clit. “Fuckin’ pathetic.”
A whimper slips from you before you can bite it back.
“That’s it,” he rasps, gripping your hips in both hands, holding you tight. “You’re gonna rub that pretty pussy on me ‘til you come. You hear me? You’re not getting cock, not fingers, not even a taste of my tongue. You’re getting denim. That’s all. ‘Cause that’s all a needy slut like you deserves after making me wait a week.”
He guides you, dragging your hips forward across his thigh, then back, slow and rough, denim seam pressing against your clit with every pass. Your mouth falls open, a choked gasp escaping.
“Yeah, that’s it. Just like that.” He grinds you harder, faster, until you’re rutting against him helplessly, slick spreading over his jeans. “Fuck, I can feel you soaking me through. You’re so wet it’s obscene.”
The friction is maddening, coarse fabric dragging against swollen nerves, every movement sparking heat through your belly. Your hands clutch his shoulders for balance, nails digging in, but Dean doesn’t soften.
“Look at you,” he groans, watching your face twist with pleasure. “Making a fuckin’ mess of me. Can’t even last a week without dripping all over my lap.”
“Dean" your voice breaks on his name, desperate, breathless.
“Don’t you dare stop,” he snaps, shaking your hips against him harder. “You’re not getting off this thigh ‘til you’re screaming. Now grind, sweetheart. Come for me.”
Your hips move without thought now, rutting against him, chasing the rough drag of denim against your clit. Every shift sparks fire, every grind pushes you closer to that unbearable edge you’ve been craving all damn week.
Dean holds you down, strong hands bracketing your waist, forcing you to ride exactly the way he wants. “That’s it,” he growls, voice hot in your ear. “Use me. So desperate for cock you’re ready to come on my fuckin’ jeans.”
“Dean... please...”
“Please what?” He jerks you harder against him, the seam of his jeans catching perfectly against your swollen clit. You gasp, back arching, nails clawing his shoulders. “Say it. Say what you’re begging for.”
“I need to- fuck, holy shit... I need to come.”
His smirk is wicked. “Good girl.”
He flexes his thigh beneath you, muscle hard and unrelenting, grinding up into your cunt with brutal precision. The friction is maddening, coarse fabric dragging your clit raw in the best way, your slick soaking through his jeans, every movement loud and obscene in the tiny motel room.
“You hear that?” he rasps. “That wet little pussy squeaking all over me? You’re ruining my pants, sweetheart. Ruining me.”
You choke on a cry, hips jerking faster, desperate, chasing the burn. Heat coils tight in your belly, winding higher with every grind, every filthy word in your ear.
“Bet you need more,” Dean snarls, forcing you down harder, “humping my thigh like a needy slut.”
The shame twists sharp in your chest, but it only pushes you closer, your body trembling, thighs clenching around him. “Dean, fuuuuuuck.”
“That’s it,” he says, low and fierce. His hands grip you so tight you’ll bruise, holding you exactly where he wants you. “Come on me. Now.”
It hits like a tidal wave, your body jerks, vision sparking white as your orgasm tears through you, sharp and overwhelming. You cry out, choking on his name as your hips stutter against him, grinding through it, soaking his jeans with every pulse.
Dean doesn’t let up. He drags you over his thigh again and again, forcing you to ride the aftershocks, keeping you pressed tight to him while you shudder and shake in his grip.
“Fuck, look at you,” he groans, watching you fall apart. “Soaking me through. You were made for this, weren’t you? My filthy little girl.”
Your forehead drops to his shoulder, body trembling, breath stuttering as the last waves of pleasure roll through you. His hands finally loosen on your waist, though his thigh still flexes beneath you, hard and hot.
Dean tips your chin up, forces your dazed eyes to meet his. His lips curl into a smug, filthy grin. “You think you're done? Baby, I'm gonna fuck you stupid. You'll still feel me tomorrow."
Your orgasm is still buzzing hot and sharp through your body when Dean shifts beneath you, hands sliding down to your ass and squeezing hard. His jeans are wet, dark patches spreading where you’ve soaked through, and he looks down at it with a filthy grin.
“Made a fuckin’ mess of me,” he says, voice rough, breath hot against your temple. “Look at that. All over my thigh. You’re dripping, sweetheart.” His thumb drags through the wet spot at the seam of his jeans, then presses it to your lips. “Taste what you’ve done.”
You open for him without thinking, tongue swirling around the pad of his thumb, sucking him clean. His pupils blow wide, jaw flexing as he watches. “That’s my girl.”
You whimper, twisting in his lap. “Dean”
“Shut up.” His free hand grabs your jaw, forces you to meet his eyes. They’re dark now, sharp with hunger. “I told you, denim and thigh, that’s all you deserved. But you…” He presses his slick fingers to his lips, sucks them clean, groaning low. “You taste too fucking good to stop here.”
Then he’s shifting you, manhandling you onto your back against the ugly motel bedspread, spreading you open with his knee between yours. He doesn’t waste time, his belt clinks, zipper hisses, and he shoves his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his cock. Thick, flushed, already leaking, standing proud against his stomach.
Your mouth waters, your legs fall even more open without thought. You're too far gone to be shy.
Dean lines himself up, dragging the head through your soaked folds, smearing you wetter, coating himself in your slick. You arch up, desperate, but he holds you down with a palm flat against your belly. “Easy," he chuckles. "gonna give it to you, but I’m gonna make you feel every fucking inch.”
The stretch burns in the best way when he pushes in. Inch by inch, unhurried, his eyes locked on yours as he fills you. The blunt head of his cock drags through your folds, catching on your clit, sliding lower until he’s nudging your entrance. The stretch is immediate, sharp, overwhelming when he pushes in, burying himself inch by inch until your cunt is full, stretched around him.
“Jesus Christ,” Dean groans, head falling forward, lips curling into a snarl. “Been a week and you’re still so tight I can barely get in. Fuck, you were made for this cock.”
When he bottoms out, hips flush against yours, you choke on a moan. The fullness is overwhelming, the solid weight of him inside you, pressing against every nerve. “Feel that?” His hand slides down, circling your clit with two rough fingers. “That’s me splitting you open. That’s all mine.”
Your head tips back, mouth falling open, but his hand is on your jaw instantly, forcing you to look at him. “Eyes on me. Want to see you fall apart when I fuck you.”
Then he moves. Long, slow thrusts at first, dragging out the stretch, the sound of your slick loud in the quiet room. His cock grinds against that perfect spot with every roll of his hips, his fingers never leaving your clit.
You’re keening now, gasping, body trembling as he speeds up, fucking you deeper, harder. His hips snap forward, rough and relentless, driving deep with every thrust. The headboard slams the wall, your cries echoing in the tiny motel room, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer.
“That’s it,” he growls, sweat beading at his temples, muscles straining as he pistons into you. “Been waiting a whole damn week for this. My cock’s the only thing that gets you this wet, isn’t it? Say it.” The drag is brutal, his cock hitting deep, his pelvis grinding against your clit every time he slams home. You’re keening, body strung tight, every thrust shoving you closer to the edge again.
“Yes... fuck yes, Dean!”
His thrusts grow rougher, meaner, the slap of skin sharp in the air. He bends over you, chest pressed to yours, lips at your ear. “Good girl. Now come on this cock and show me you missed me.”
His hand slides down between your bodies, thumb finding your clit, circling hard and fast as he keeps pounding into you. The combined pressure is too much, your body tightening around him, slick gushing with every thrust.
“Come for me,” he growls. “Now.”
Your orgasm rips through you, violent and overwhelming, clenching hard around his cock as you cry out his name.
You’re still spasming around him, clenching so hard his rhythm falters. Dean snarls, teeth gritted, sweat dripping from his temple as he forces another few brutal thrusts into your soaked cunt.
“Fuck, look at you milking me,” he growls, voice breaking with strain. “Gonna make me fucking blow, sweetheart, Christ.”
His hips slam into yours, deep, punishing thrusts, cock twitching inside your fluttering walls. His hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back so he can watch your ruined face. His jaw tightens, lips curling into something feral.
“You hear that?” His voice is rough, broken as his thrusts grow erratic. “That’s my cock stuffing you full. You’re so wet, baby, fucking dripping down my balls, shit” His breath stutters, a guttural groan tearing out of him when your cunt clenches down again, sucking him deeper. His hips slam flush to yours, grinding, forcing every last inch of him inside. “Fuck, I’m, oh, fuck, ’m gonna fill this pussy...”
The words dissolve into a deep, ragged moan. His cock jerks hard, spilling hot and thick inside you. His eyes squeeze shut, head tipping back as his release floods you in heavy, pulsing spurts.
“Take it,” he snarls through gritted teeth, hips grinding to bury it deeper, like he can brand you with it. “Take my cum, you needy little slut. Been begging for this all week, huh? Now you’re fucking full of me.”
You whimper under him, feeling the heat spread, dripping, mixing with your slick.
Dean looks down, breath heaving, sweat-soaked and wild-eyed as his cock keeps twitching inside you. His hand cups your jaw, thumb pressing your lips open so he can see the mess he’s made of you. “That’s it. Fucking perfect. My girl, stuffed with me.”
He groans low, hips rolling lazily through the last aftershocks, his cock still buried, cum spilling with every grind.
His forehead presses to yours, breath hot and uneven, green eyes blown wide but soft now, almost reverent.
“Jesus, baby…” he rasps, voice rough with aftershocks. “You feel that? That’s me. All of me, right where you belong.”
His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing tenderly over your swollen lip. You can feel him twitching inside, the warmth of his release spilling deeper when he rolls his hips, gentle now. “Fuck, I missed this. Missed you. A whole damn week and I nearly lost my mind.”
Your body’s trembling under him, wrung out, but his touch steadies you. His palm slides down your side, squeezing your hip as if to remind himself you’re real, that you’re here. “Mine,” he murmurs, almost too soft for words, pressing a kiss to your damp temple. “Don't matter I don't call you my girlfriend, you’ll always be mine.”
You whimper, clinging to his shoulders, your body still clenching faintly around his softening cock. His smirk curves, but it’s different now, gentler, fonder. He rocks into you once more, lazy, possessive, like he’s staking a claim. “Look at you, holding me in. Pussy doesn’t even wanna let go.”
He brushes your hair back, presses his lips to your forehead, lingering. “That’s my good girl. Gonna keep you full all night. Tomorrow too, if I have to. Not letting you go empty again.”
Dean eases down on top of you, his weight comforting, his arms caging you in. His hips stay snug against yours, cock still buried, his cum seeping out slowly around him. He sighs into your neck, voice a low promise against your skin: “From now on, sweetheart, you don’t wait for me. You need me, you fucking tell me. ‘Cause I’ll give it to you. Every time.”
alec mcdowell & transgenic!user - a million kisses ㅤ ┊ ㅤ (18+!)
i want someone to promise me a million kisses and more . . . or, he's your first everything; first, and second, and fifth, and tenth.
includes, MDNI. ㅤ explicit sexual content ㅤ (light ) breeding kink ㅤ unprotected p in v ㅤ first times! ㅤ fluffy smut ㅤ like genuinely sickly sweet ㅤ soft dom!alec ㅤ best friend!reader ㅤ dirty talk ㅤ talks you through it creampie (hate this word sm sorrY)
req by @foxylady493 hehe thank u for giving me an excuse to write ab rawdoggin alec mcdowell HAHA
word count: 6.2k and for what like genuinely.
★ ˚⋆
somewhere, in one of the books that joshua had stolen for you, with a well worn cover and soft pages, with faded ink painting the front cardstock, you'd read something that stuck with you. i want someone to promise me a million kisses.
it was one of those passing thoughts that embeds itself into your psyche, a physical thing lodged between the folds of your brain, making itself evident every time you tried to forget it. a million kisses... and you'd never had one.
hell, you'd never even wanted to. you were everything manticore wanted you to be; loyal to the greatest extent, dedicated to your training, dominating the rest of the x5 series by a long shot — well, alongside your best friend alec.
alec, who really kept you motivated and on your toes, because he was so effortlessly good. he could sprint the entire forest on the grounds' base three times while you'd be on your second. he could pick you up with ease, and often did, urging you to work on your strength that little bit more so that you could do the same to him.
he was lifting you with one arm, actually, when you'd both been called back to your cells abruptly. it was awkward, in a way, moreso than it would have been for any normal human being, because of how unfamiliar you were with awkward situations. having to be sat down so you could properly address the guard in front of you, the same one who'd just been watching the both of you try and lift each other like barbells?
it only managed to get worse, somehow, when you were both ushered into your cell, followed by one of the directors, a woman with short blonde hair and a fierce stare.
something about this felt like a punishment, or a bad omen. how could you know, then, what a turning point this was going to be for you? the both of you?
"stand down, 494, 490." her lips are quirked with knowledge she isn't sharing, her hands folded neatly behind her back. "no need for formalities. not... for this."
you know better than to say a word out of turn, and so does alec, but you feel his confusion radiating off of him, a mirror image of your own, in the way his shoulders tense back.
her lips curl higher, a tight lipped smile that looks almost sinister in the dull lighting of your cell. "you are both aware of the situation with our labs, i imagine," she continues, slowly, like she's waiting for one of you to piece it together. "all of our genetic data, up in flames, and no way to continue creating soldiers to uphold the legacy the two of you are sure to bring."
directors do not ever come in with compliments, especially so strong, without something up their sleeves. "unless..."
it's one word, but it hits you and alec like a wave. him first, as he draws in a sharp breath, and then you, your stoic expression faltering at once. unless they use their current x5s to make those soldiers.
"it's only natural to pair you two off, what with how... close, you've gotten, over these years." there was a shared trauma that rooted the two of you to each other. him, being a clone of x5-493, and you, of 491.
something was off in their coding, a mixture of genetics and dna that didn't mesh. people were tightlipped about 493 and the seemingly endless amount of death he left in his wake, but they were sure to remind you about 491, the only one who, seemingly, kept his head screwed on straight the rare times that it was.
i want someone to promise me a million kisses... did she feel the same way? did he manage a million before his life was taken? you couldn't help but wonder it, especially with how many times the words killer kisser were thrown in your face. maybe that was why you were so attached to the idea of being kissed. you were stuck on the outside of a secret, wondering how kisses could render a troubled man's mind silent for a little while.
you had zoned out without realizing, stuck in a past that didn't belong to you. "are we clear?" the woman asks, her eyes lingering particularly long on you.
your face flushes with shame. shame for not listening, for missing the entire purpose of this conversation because you'd been daydreaming about an obscene amount of kisses for one person to receive.
alec speaks up for you, saving you from a potential reprimand or punishment, as he often did. "all clear."
"good." her eyes stay on yours for a beat too long, like she's daring you to break, before she nods once. "you've got one hour."
and with that, she stalks out of the room, the guards waiting on either side of your open door stepping out of line to trail behind her. the door hisses shut, and then it's just you and alec. you should know why. if you'd listened—
"you could have been less obvious, you know," alec says with a scoff of laughter, as he breaks his straight-backed stance and crosses to your bed in the corner. he sinks down on it, strong enough that his weight bounces on the springy mattress, legs spread open as he made himself right at home.
you blink once, twice. "less obvious with what?"
"oh, i don't know," his lips twist in mock thought, before they tilt into a dazzling smile, "starin' off like you don't even know where you are."
"i was just—"
"not listening. yeah, established, nelly." alec's eyebrows raise in his amusement, strong arms folded nearly over his chest. "you're gonna be confused as hell when i start taking my clothes off, then."
you splutter, wordless sounds falling out in a flustered heap. "what?"
his head falls back in a fit of laughter, loud enough that it echoes off of the walls. "god, you really weren't listening!"
"just spit it out! what are you talking about?"
slowly, the smile tapers away, his laughter trails off, and you're just looking at each other. "gonna have to copulate, you and i."
your expression drops. any trace of amusement dissipates, a cold, icy feeling of dread flooding your veins. no. no. you couldn't. not with him. not when it would ruin—
a million kisses, a million kisses, a million kisses.
it always came back to that, didn't it? "no," you say aloud firmly, like your rejection can somehow reverse the fact that it has to happen. has to, because you would never betray a direct order. this was something being entrusted to you. "alec..."
"relax," he says, his hands up in surrender. "i'm not gonna just... force you to, nelly, c'mon." his hands fall into his lap again, a sigh leaving his mouth. "s'not easy for me either, this. i mean, you're my best friend."
was he suggesting that things would change once this started? that thought made your blood feel cold in your veins, ice crystallizing in the sinew, making your bones feel heavy and stiff.
"nelly." alec snaps his fingers, drawing your attention back to him and not the dread in your stomach. it always works, when he calls you the name he'd not-so-affectionately given you during training, once. negative nelly & smart alec. "c'mon, it's not— it's not gonna be that bad. kinda bruisin' my ego that you're this torn up about it."
you choke on a laugh, your fingers lifting to run through your hair. "shut up, alec."
"'shut up, alec,'" he mimics back at you, one corner of his mouth lifting higher in a softer grin. "has that ever worked, nell?"
you shake your head, in exasperation and answer, finally crossing the small expanse of the room to drop down onto the edge of your bed next to him. his thigh is pressed up against yours, a warm, familiar comfort when everything feels uncertain.
it's loaded now, this silence that falls between you. heavy like a weight and thick like fog. his eyes are on you —you can feel them, too— and it's jarring, how one direct order can flip an entire world on its axis.
you turn to meet those green eyes of his, and then alec's leaning in, suddenly, and it takes a blink for you to realize it. you startle, feeling hot and icy and flustered all at once. "i’ve never done this,” you blurt out, and how fucking embarrassing is that, confessing it like a sin?
“in what world do you think i have?” alec shoots back, his eyebrows raising in punctuation to the question. “i’d rather it be with you than someone else.”
your heart is racing uncomfortably quick, an unfamiliar flutter against your ribcage. “okay.”
“yeah?” he asks, and his large hand lifts, too, to rest his warm palm on the side of your cheek. his fingertips graze behind your ear, tangling in your soft hair. “yeah, okay, nelly.”
his thumb grazes gently over your cheekbone, like a final reassurance before you’re no longer dipping your toes into this idea but diving fully into its depths. his fingers on the back of your neck guide you toward him, until your breaths are mingling and getting to know each other.
your lips meet. the world stops.
it makes sense, now, how 491 could leash 493 with nothing but the press of her lips. it also makes sense why she stayed, despite all of the warning signs he must have given off, if alec’s lips were any indicator of how ben’s were.
the kiss is tentative at best, at first. he’s not coming any closer, and you’re sat ramrod straight on the bouncy mattress, and the only thing connecting you besides your mouths is the hand he keeps on your cheek. you imagine that this is how first kisses always feel; awkward and uncertain, as this new kind of trust builds itself from the ground up.
one kiss out of a million. how were you supposed to kiss anyone else, now, when this one felt so special?
he pulls back first, but his hand stays on your face, the other sneaking its way across the space between you and landing on yours in lap.
“not so bad, was it?” alec asks, a reassuring smile gracing his face. his thumb returns the gentle strokes over your cheek, his eyes sweeping over the expression you wear.
no, it wasn’t that bad. but your mind isn’t on the kiss but what’s supposed to come next. “how long are we supposed to… um…”
you’d never been the shy type around alec, but suddenly now, it feels like every word is lodged tightly in your throat. suddenly, he feels like a stranger instead of your best friend, this territory unfamiliar and scary, in its own way.
“until you’re pregnant,” he says easily — and of course it’s easy for him, he’s not the one that has to carry a genetically enhanced baby to term. “but—”
“no,” you say, raising a hand to cut him off. “no, i heard you.”
“but, we don’t have to start now, nelly,” he slows his words down, like delivering the blow more gently will somehow lessen the sting. “we don’t. it’s… it’s an order, yes, but you’re still my best friend, and i want you comfortable.”
that did reassure you. you’d have to commit to the orders given eventually, but for now? this was just… a prolonged break in the courtyard, where you could hang out without precaution.
“kinda like this new development, though,” he adds, that wicked grin of his tugging up onto his mouth, as he wraps his arms around your waist and lifts you up. you barely manage to squeak out the noise of surprise caught in your throat, before you’re settled in his lap. alec’s always been strong, but it’s so different, having him use that strength with you. “could get used to it.”
“shut up,” you grumble half-heartedly.
he grasps the collar of his shirt to drag you in. “order received.” and his mouth closes around yours once again; your second kiss of a million.
★ ˚⋆
“stop it, that’s not—” you huff out a hard, frustrated breath, your fingers closing around alec’s wrist. “that’s not what where your hands are supposed to go.”
alec had you sat comfortably in his lap again, after the day prior, you both learned that, despite the circumstances, it was a nice place to be. you were close enough that you could smack him if you had to, and clearly, you did.
“s’not my fault that you’re being a tease,” he grumbles in your ear, his lips so close to the sensitive skin that shivers trail down your spine. “sittin’ all pretty in my lap, not letting me follow orders.”
“oh, bite me,” you shoot back at him, your grip on alec’s wrist tightening as you yank it away from your ass. you can feel the heat of his skin even through the thick fabric of your camo cargos, and it’s completely distracting.
his free hand’s finger comes up to jab you firmly in the sternum. “you won’t let me.”
“i thought this was hard for you, too,” you argue, reaching up to grab his other hand now, the former still tightly in between your fingers. you knew the second you let it go, he’d not-so-subtly slide it right back down to your ass all over again, and where would you be? a rock — you — a hard place.
alec snatches his hand back quickly before you can grab that one, his eyebrows bouncing once in his amusement. “trust me, nelly, it’s very hard.”
you stare at him, unblinking for a long few seconds, before it clicks in your mind — and the feel of what was very hard presses against the core of you. your hand releases his, and you smack him once with the left, twice with the right. “alec!”
alec cackles, head falling back with his laughter. his hand, always so much quicker than you, catches one wrist, and then the other, in his lithe fingers. his other arm snakes around your waist and there’s a blink before you’re suddenly flipped on your back.
on your back, and he’s hovered above you, your pinned wrist firmly above your head and pressed lightly into the mattress. “you’re getting soft on me,” he pants, settled in between your legs, knees nudging them further apart. “you used to beat my ass when we’d spar.”
“you’re playing dirty.”
“am not,” he huffs out like a petulant child, “you’re just not playing. too worried up in that head about all of the logistics here.”
“aren’t you?” you ask him, and it’s genuine; how had 24 hours passed, and suddenly this was something he could just accept? you and him, engaging in things that best friends didn’t do. did they? “aren’t you afraid of…” your face reddens, your turn now to feel like a little kid. “doing it?”
alec’s shoulders lift. “not when it’s with you.”
he says it so genuinely that you know it’s true, the confidence of the words enough to take your breath away.
you’d never thought of it like that. sure, it’s intimidating, breaching this gap of things you’d done and things you hadn’t, but… with him, surely it couldn’t be anywhere near as bad as you were thinking.
“plus,” he adds as an afterthought, “we already agreed it wasn’t going to change a thing, didn’t we? s’just work.”
just work. it didn’t feel like just work, but you were always reading too much into things, anyways. that’s why you and alec just worked. he was the laidback to your on edge.
you sigh. he’s getting to you. he’s unnaturally good at reading all of your fears written in your eyes and unpacking each of them, explaining them to you so they weren’t so scary anymore. “just tell me what to do. we can lie to the directors again, if we have to, if you just wanna… i dunno, chill out. could kiss again.”
“alec.”
“suggestion!” he raises his free hand in defense, before he lets it drop down to your thigh. “just a suggestion.”
it was a good suggestion, too. unfortunately for you, fortunately for him. you didn’t want to get too comfortable in these uncharted territories, out of fear it’d all get muddled and then where would you be? too uncomfortable to be friends, too familiar not to be.
“kiss me.” your mouth moves before you’ve even realized the words are out, floating between the two of you like a declaration.
he moves his hand from your wrists and lets it fall in the open expanse of your neck. his fingers are cold this time, even though your blood is hot. “yeah?” it feels achingly familiar to the gentle way he’d said it the day prior. “alright.”
“alright.”
is it supposed to be this awkward? firsts were always awkward. this had to be normal. if you started to think about how maybe it wasn’t normal, and you were embarrassing yourself, and he was embarrassing himself, and everything was about to be ruined, you’d—
alec leans in again, but he doesn’t kiss you on the lips, like you expected. instead, his mouth finds your jaw, teeth grazing the skin lightly, lips pressing reverently on the bone as he sucks the little mouthful of skin between them.
you gasp, your eyes fluttering closed, eyelashes as soft as butterfly wings on your cheekbone. “relax,” he breathes, hot breath on hot skin making you squirm beneath him, “i know what i’m doin’.”
“oh, do you?” you smile, a bit dazed as his tongue traces along the line of your jaw until he reaches the space beneath your ear.
“mhm.” he leaves a trail of wet, warm kisses down the side of your neck, then back up your throat. “thought about this all night. know what i’m doin’.”
oh. no wonder he’d been pretty accepting of their circumstances. alec spent all of night prior thinking about you, and how he’d pick you apart.
the thought makes another shiver run down your spine, a warm pool in your lower stomach. “alec—”
“here,” he interrupts, halting your train of thought before it delves again. “put your hand here,” he pants softly into your sensitive skin, his fingers finding yours and guiding them underneath the gray fabric of his shirt. you feel every muscle on his abdomen, feel each flex beneath the cold touch of your fingers. “yeah, that’s it.”
alec straightens up a little so that he can curl his own hands beneath his shirt, tugging it up and over his head. it falls in a heap at his feet, and he’s on you again a second later, his lips marking a wet trail of kisses up your throat. once he reaches your chin, he continues the onslaught, capturing your lips in a firm kiss.
this one is different than the one the night prior. it’s more confident, sure of himself. his tongue swipes at your bottom lip, and in your surprised gasp, he tucks it between your lips. that part of the kiss is tentative, like enacting the things he’d thought about was more nerve wracking than he’d let on.
you smile. he drags his teeth across your puffed bottom lip. “oh, you like that?” he asks against the soft skin of your mouth, arrogance coating every one of his words. “mm, okay.”
his hands run down your sides, hooking beneath your shirt and bunching it up in his fists. “this okay?” he asks, lifting his head enough to search your eyes.
you nod, taken aback, almost, by the flood of black overtaking his irises. “it’s okay.”
his grin is mesmerizing. had he always been so attractive? had he always looked like something sculpted and molded, just for you, and you’d only just noticed? “okay,” he echoes, and he nudges your extended arm with his elbow, “lift your arms for me.”
neither of you really know what you’re doing, but he has a little bit of an upperhand, what with the fantasies he’d created in his head.
“what all did you think about?” you ask him, tracing your eyes over his face to keep from thinking about how he was undressing you, and you were slowly being beared to him fully.
alec’s eyebrows twitch, his eyes lifting from your bare skin up to yours again. “last night?”
“yeah. i wanna know.”
he shakes his head. “no, nelly,” he laughs under his breath, his heavy-lidded eyes raking over your body again. “m’not lettin’ you know. you’re shakin’ in your boots already.”
“well, then what did you do? just lay in bed, thinkin’ about me?” you shoot back, your mouth dropping into a pout at the denial.
alec’s lips quirk. “something like that.”
“alec—” you’re cut off by his lips pressing to yours again. his fingers run reverently down your chest, his touch shuddery as they graze over your breasts. he groans, and the air in your lungs stutters hard in your chest. every thought is shattering to pieces before you can think them, focused instead on the feel of his hands on you in places that you didn’t think anyone would ever touch.
“i know you’re scared,” he mumbles in your mouth, his hand drifting lower, slowly but steadier than before. “so i want you in control. in case—” his touch comes to a stop at the buttons on your camo cargos. alec pauses like he’s dazed, clearing his throat. “in case you want to stop. at any point.”
he’s such an arrogant dickhead most of the time, one that you’ve come to adore in every possible way, but here? now? he’s the sweetest person you’ve ever met.
“here, lift your hips for me,” his nimble fingers have already undone the button, before you’d even blinked, “good girl — see? m’so proud of you, baby.”
baby. he’d never called you baby before. your smile is immediate, even as you feel like you’re being electrocuted with how your skin is buzzing. his knuckles light a fire down you as they brush lightly against your thighs, your calves.
your hand lifts to rest under his chin, tilting his head up to look at you again. how many kisses is this now? you can’t even think, now, not as you drag him in for another kiss. five? six? not enough, is the simple answer.
alec entertains the kiss for a few seconds before he’s pulling back, even taking a step away. your body chills at the loss of his heat, and the self awareness of how you must look to him. mostly naked, sprawled backwards on your bed, looking up at him with big, wide eyes. you open your mouth to say something snarky to him, anything to quell the heavy silence, when he whispers, “you’re so damn beautiful, nelly.”
he undoes the buttons on his pants quickly, shoving them down his muscular thighs and pooling at his ankles. it’s intimidating, staring into the eyes of someone who was your best friend through and through, while neither of you are wearing anything besides undergarments.
this was the guy who’d talked you out of making any rash decisions after you’d had the insult of killer kisser thrown in your face, all because of the girl your dna was cloned from. who squeezed your hands and told you to fuckin’ ignore them. what do they know? who’d been a cell apart from you in your psyops isolation, making sure he wasn’t infected with whatever rotted ben’s mind into darkness, and you weren’t susceptible to falling into hi
alec steps around you to sink onto the mattress beside you, shifting backwards until his back hits the concrete wall, turning so that he’s facing straight forward. his hands pat his thighs, nodding his head in gesture — or maybe to get you to stop ogling him like he was someone new and not your alec.
“lookin’ at me like you don’t know me,” he mumbles, reaching out to snatch your elbow when you don’t move. it’s intimidating. sitting in his lap with so little separating the two of you? of course you were hesitating! “don’t be ridiculous. m’still the guy you pushed down the stairs five years ago.”
“that,” you exhale shakily, as you sit down on his thighs, desperately trying to ignore the heat beneath you, and the heat between your legs, “was an accident.”
“bull.” he moves his hands to the clasps of your bra, undoing each hook individually, keeping his eyes locked on yours. “i saw how you looked at me before you did it.”
you bristle, shoving him back by the shoulder until his back presses against the cool concrete. “like i’m looking at you now?”
slowly, he tugs the straps of your bra down your arms, his grin faltering as his eyes drift downward at the same time. “yeah.” he clears his throat. clears it again. “yeah, like you’re lookin’ at me now.”
your eyes follow his, and you suck in a slow, deep breath. somehow, the fucker had talked his way into taking your bra off without you even noticing. kept you distracted long enough to not fuss over it.
how many kisses out of a million could one man give? you hoped all of them. you hoped more than a million.
the silence is heavy but it’s less awkward now. most of the hard parts were over, and you’d already established there was no reason to be nervous, not with alec. never with alec.
“here,” he says, his voice still coming out rasped even through his attempts otherwise to quell it. “hips up again f’me… yeah, just like that.” alec’s fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down until they’re caught where you’re straddling him. “left leg up… perfect, baby, right one… perfect, baby. absolutely perfect.”
the praise makes you feel hot. sure, he’d said things like this before, praising each of your actions when you’d done good at training, or came back from a mission successful. this is different. intimate.
"keep 'em up real quick, alright?" he murmurs, shifting beneath you enough to lift his own hips up, hands pulling down his boxers over his thighs. his hand slips, giving way to the nervousness he had buried deep, as it slaps against your bare thigh. "my bad," he chuckles lowly, kicking them off with the foot closest to the bed's edge. his fingers curl around your leg, kneading at the soft flesh. "you've got me all messed up in my head."
"enough to hit me?" you tease, your smile returning again to your lips. "that's cruel, alec. you said you weren't playing dirty."
"m'not," alec insists, his thumb catching your chin and dragging you down into a kiss, and then another.
you laugh on his lips, trying to shake free from his grip. "are too."
he sits up, chasing your mouth when you start to pull away, swallowing your lips in an onslaught of kisses. "i can show you 'playing dirty'." his hands slide down your sides, fingers brushing your ass as they firmly grasp your thighs, flipping the both of you so that your back is against the mattress.
you're strong enough to flip him back. to tackle him onto the mattress, to wrestle like you used to do when you were younger, and things were easier. you don't.
alec settles between your legs, using his hold on your thighs to lift your hips and align your entrance with the cock you have not looked at, nope, it feels too real to—
your eyes fall anyways when his do, watching him line himself up. all of his nervousness is gone again, like he teeters between it, only ever seeming to get nervous when it comes to addressing you. what you are. what this means.
“still okay?” at your nod, he nods too. “okay, sweet girl. let me just—” his hand comes between the both of you, grasping his cock between his fingers, as he pushes the thick head of it inside of you, his head falling back as your wetness coats it. “jeeeesus.”
“what?” you ask breathlessly, shifting to rest on your palms, glancing from his face to where he’s pulling out of you.
alec shakes his head, a grin spreading across his face. “nothing. nothing at all.” he pushes in again, slowly, deliberately, this time keeping his cock inside of your tight walls. “just thinking about you. always thinking about you.” his free hand goes to your shoulder, pushing you lightly back on the bed. “you just lay back and relax, alright? get out of that head.”
how were you supposed to get out of your head when now, the thing circling around in it is how he so casually declared that he was always—
it’s uncomfortable, as he fills you up. like something is wrong, doesn’t belong. you were definitely wet enough to take him, but it doesn’t stop the feeling of something being off that tingles up your spine.
“fuck, you’re so damn tight,” he groans, his voice as rough as gravel. alec rubs soothing circles into your skin with his thumb, before he lets his hand fall down to one of yours, grasping it in his. “squeeze if you wanna stop.”
even through the discomfort, you didn’t want to stop. not only had the gap already been bridged, but… you liked it. liked him. more than you ever would have realized on your own. the further he pushes into you, still in that achingly slow pace as he lets your pussy adjust to the feel of him inside of it, the easier that adjustment gets.
your fingers play with his, tracing over his knuckles, as your breaths tumble out in soft little pants. everything feels like its at a boiling point, like it’s seconds from spilling over.
“you asked why i wasn’t scared,” he says under his breath suddenly, eyes lifting to meet yours through the deep dark of his eyelashes, once he’s to the hilt deep inside of you, his pelvis pressed to yours in a sharing of blistering hot skin. “do you want to know why?”
he finishes the sentence, and slowly pulls back until his cock rests halfway inside of your throbbing pussy. the movement makes you whimper in your throat, the sound of it rough already. his fingers clamp around yours in reassurance. “i’ve thought about this a lot. that’s why.”
“liar,” you manage to rasp, a breathless moan of laughter punctuating the words, “y’don’t have to make me feel better anymore. i’m not scared.”
“i always,” alec thrusts into you again, quicker this time, already pulling back out, keeping that slow, leisurely pace until he’s absolutely certain you’re alright with the next part of it all, “always want to make you feel better.”
another thrust in, and something shifts this time. you can feel every inch, and suddenly, a tremor of ecstasy replaces the full discomfort. you gasp, and he surges forward to hover over you properly now, like that one little noise was enough reassurance for him.
“always want to take care of you, always want to make sure you’re happy,” alec continues, soft grunts slipping between his ramblings, “hell, i’ve thought about putting a baby in you before. just not… in this setting.”
the words shoot straight downwards, making your already aching pussy throb, clenching tightly around him. “i’m not gonna break, alec,” you say, forehead pressed to his. you dig your nails into the back of his hand, not squeezing it so he doesn’t stop, but urging him further. “stop acting like you’re gonna snap me in half. i’ve pushed you down the stairs before.”
alec laughs, but it works. he pulls out further with each thrust, slams into you harder, burying himself deeply inside of your wet pussy. “yeah, you have.” the sound of skin slapping together starts to echo around the room with the change in his pace, interrupted only by his throaty groans and your soft moans and, god, isn’t it awkward that there are guards outside? that this is what they’re subjected to hear every day, until you’re—
“you wanted— a baby with me,” you say, not as a question, and through the deep haze your mind is slipping into.
“wanted to do this. wanted to fuck a baby into you. see you full of me,” he answers, and it must get him going, the image he paints for the both of you, because he speeds up further, drives deeper, and you can feel the head of his cock pushing against your cervix, making you groan aloud into his skin. “only at night, when it was just me, and i wished you were there, keeping me company. any time else, i could pretend like it was fine.”
you laugh softly, shaking your head, and then he’s laughing too. “fucked up, schoolboy-manticore crush, huh?” his head falls further into the crook of your neck, pressing gentle kisses to your collarbone. “only this place could get me daydreaming about filling this pussy up with my cum. could get me - wanting to fuck up our whole friendship, just to hear those pretty sounds of yours.”
your face flushes at the filthy words, even as it only stirs your arousal further along. you can feel it in the base of your spine, and suddenly, by their own volition, your hips are pressing against his in tandem, meeting each of his thrusts inside of you. he groans, the sound hot and vibrating on the sensitive skin of your neck.
“look at me, will ya, pretty thing?” he asks, nose nudging your chin up to meet his eyes. blackened pupils swallow up the jade green of his eyes. your lips part as the pleasure builds and builds, each of your noises crescendoing in pace with alec’s relentless thrusts. “god, nelly—”
you tip your head up a little more, enough to catch his mouth in a warm kiss. “it’s okay,” you say against the soft pink of his lips; your turn to comfort him, even if that’s the last thing he probably needs.
“yeah,” he mumbles on your mouth, stealing a fervent amount of quick kisses. it might as well be a million right then, with the way you can’t clear your head enough to count.”s’all okay. more than okay. always okay with you.”
“you don’t even know—” you choke out, interrupted by the desperate moans falling from your lips, free hand coming to hold onto his side and keep him deep, deep, deep. “don’t even know what you’re saying,” you manage to laugh.
“no,” alec laughs too, letting go of your hand and moving it and his other one to hold onto your thighs again. “no i don’t. lift this one up for me, yeah?”
you uncurl your bent knee and rest it across the length of his body, and the new angle only makes it that much more intense. “m’not gonna last much longer.”
alec is a nervous laugher. he can’t seem to stop while he thrusts into you. your defense mechanism is panic, his is undiluted joy. you hope it never changes about him. “thank fuck.” he turns his head to press a soft kiss to your ankle. “‘ve been hanging on by a fuckin’ thread.”
“seriously?” you cackle. “alec.”
it’s sweet, really, how even when your entire dynamic flipped on its head, neither of you changed. just like you’d promised. you’re still laughing in the heat of the moment together, still teasing each other in every possible way you could. “told you ‘ve been thinkin’ about this,” he grumbles in his defense, the little pout on his flushed face only pulling you closer and closer into your release’s tight grips, “can’t even blame m—”
“oh, fuck—” you can’t blame him, because you never gave him the time to pitch his argument fully, cutting him off. each breath you draw in is strained, in time with the pounding he’s giving to your clenching pussy. “oh, fuck, alec—”
“hey, language, pretty thing, there’s—” one last thrust, harder than the others, his hips stuttering their movements as he pushes out a shaky exhale into your shoulder. your head falls back into the mattress, dug into the springs as you buck into him, his cock against your cervix as he spills his cum inside of you. the feel of him twitching inside of you, of the warmth seeping from your fluttering walls and warm down your spread legs, reducing you to a muddled mess of pleasure in his arms. unintelligible words on your tongue, pleads or his name or something, you don’t even know, don’t even know what you were trying to say.
alec brushes his fingers across your forehead, pushing the sweaty hairs off of your skin. “was gonna tell you to watch your mouth, but i’m pretty sure you just swore me up and down in three different languages at once.”
your limbs feel boneless, but you do manage to swat at his bare chest, heated skin on heated skin. “shut up.”
“nah.” he scoops you into his arms, not yet having pulled out of you, as he cradles you to his chest. “we’re just gettin’ started, aren’t we?”
the answer is that one man can give a million kisses, and it doesn't take a lifetime — just a director's order and a dream.
my lover boy !!!! here are some random sfw and (mostly) nsfw ones that just popped into my brain! so 18+ <3
✶ alec purrs. maybe it’s from his feline genes. maybe it’s not. but soft noises vibrate low in his throat, just like a cat, when he’s dozing off with his head in your lap.
✶ alec’s a marker. he loves leaving you covered in hickeys and bite marks. yeah, some say it’s childish and tacky to be covered in lovebites like you’re 14 again, but does alec care? no, you’re his girl and he’s reminding everyone of that fact !!
✶ alec likes being manhandled. i said what i said. not in the “i’m gonna throw you around the bed and break your back” way, but in the “i’m gonna pull you down for a kiss and push you against the wall” type of way. seeing his girl be assertive and use him however she wants makes him feral.
✶ alec whimpers. it’s loud and it’s pathetic, and normally he keeps relatively quiet during sex, but when he’s in love? lord, he’s letting all his whiny little noises out.
✶ alec would never confess to it, but he loves the silly pet names you give him. he’s always on the receiving end of compliments from random women who hit on him, but when they come from you? he melts. his favourites are “pretty boy” and “handsome.” they get him all giddy.
✶ alec always ends up on caregiving duty after nights out, taking care of your drunk ass and all your friends. he adores it though, cause he gets to receive slurred lovey dovey compliments and be covered in your drunken kisses.
✶ alec has stamina that could last for days… like genuinely. his vicious thrusts and brutal pace seem like they’d tire him out within minutes, but no. his perfect genes allow him to last hours, fucking you into the mattress and leaving you wrecked every single time. you allow him bragging rights, but only because the sex is mind-blowingly good.
✶ alec’s into bondage. his teachings from manticore gave him a wide knowledge of knots and all that, so tying you up and leaving you all pretty and bound for him is a common occurrence for you both.
typing this out made me wanna write more alec fics bc he’s literally the love of my life !!! alec mcdowell supremacy !!!!!!
I would love an imagine where Dean grows out his hair and beard like Jensen’s is irl now and reader is just absolutely obsessed with it
𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ dirty blond curls
pairing: purgatory!dean winchester x fem!reader
summary: you might have found a way to stop dean from cutting his hair
cw: 18+ smut.ᐟ unprotected p in v [wrap it up kids].ᐟ hair pulling.ᐟ pre-est relationship [dating].ᐟ nicknames [baby, sweetheart].ᐟ
word count: 705
julia yaps: the show had it wrong. dean would have longer hair after coming back from purgatory, this is simple hair growth logic! fight me on that!
ever since dean came back from purgatory, you just couldn’t stop staring at him with his completely new look – a curtain mullet and a beard which he nicely trimmed after a long shower – and by god you honestly felt like a feral animal trying to restrain themselves.
the way he looked now simply awakened something deeply primal inside you. funny how a little change can make you feel huh?
“sweetheart can you help me cut my hair?” dean asked casually, scissors in his hand as he walked into the library.
he earned a reaction from you as if he just admitted to murdering your entire family.
“what?” he raised a brow, highly confused.
“wha- why would you wanna cut it?!” you tried to speak quick but it ended up coming out in a panicked stutter.
“it’s just too long” he replied as he twirled a piece of his lock with his finger. “gonna look like sammy soon if i don’t get this under control” he chuckled, but stopped as soon as he noticed the sadness in your eyes and the upset little pout, which you weren’t aware you were doing.
“what is it baby? you really like it that much?” dean stepped closer to you, grabbing a hold of your hand in his big one, his thumb caressing the back of your palm.
you were slightly embarrassed at how upset you felt, it is his hair after all and you wanted him to feel good in his own skin. his body his choice.
you nodded slowly, avoiding his gaze. “i do like it… a lot. but i don’t want you to feel uncomfortable so.. i’ll help” you explained, voice soft and low.
“can i just..” you looked up into his eyes, “can i say goodbye to it?” you asked shyly, his brow raised slightly at your question.
oh and you gave his haircut the proper goodbye it needed.
⋆˙ ⋆⭒˚.⋆
“oh god.. oh my god” you moaned out in pure ecstasy, your fingers deep in his dirty blond curls, tugging and pulling on it as dean’s hips met yours with every wet thrust, his thick length splitting you open.
he couldn’t help but let out a string of moans himself, dean didn’t expect hair pulling to be this fun, on the receiving side, that was.
but how can he not when he had his woman fall apart beneath him, acting completely like a bitch in heat that didn’t plan on letting him go until he was milked empty.
“dean i-i’m so close” you warned him, your legs shaking on either sides of his waist. your fingers weakly tugging at his locks as you saw stars.
the obscene sounds that came from your room were nothing short of erotic, pornographic even.
moans – high and low bounced off your bedroom walls, meeting with the squelching wet sounds your pussy made each time dean pushed his veiny cock back inside you.
sex between you never happened to be this sinful. never this loud, never this messy, never this animalistic – until this very moment now.
was he going to complain? of course not. he fuckin loved this.
“come for me sweetheart” he growled in your ear, his beard softly scratching your neck as his thrusts became sloppier, his climax catching up to yours.
his hand made it’s way down, in between your bodies. his thumb circling your swollen clit with enough pressure to make you scream his name out.
your gummy walls tightened around his thick size before gushing all over him, throwing your head back and letting out a high pitched cry.
dean’s orgasm coming right after yours from the way your pussy clamped down on his dick, trying to milk him dry. thick ropes of white cum shooting inside you, mixing in with your creamy finish.
both of you trying to catch your breaths as your bodies shake. “well that is certainly one way to say goodbye..”
you looked into dean’s eyes with a smile, you pushed a strand of hair that stuck to his sweat-covered forehead, earning a tired chuckle from him.
“might have to rethink that haircut if this is the sex we are talkin about” he smirked.
thank you so so much for reading! feedback and reblogs are always deeply appreciated <3
aka husband!dean coming back to your city after leaving 10 months ago
finally!! a continuation of my mini timeline! first meeting and first date are here for some context!
10 months. thats how long it took until dean caved and he just had to see you again. he knew it was a bit silly- lying to sam about a possible hunt in the area- but he seriously couldnt wait any longer.
you had just fallen asleep when you heard a knock on the door, and you couldn't hold back a groan as you checked the time. 1:27 am. who the hell would even be awake at this time?
you dragged yourself out of bed, oversized plaid pj pants and all, determined to give whoever this was a piece of your mind for disturbing your sleep.
"do you know what time it is-" your voice was as hostile as you could manage for being half asleep, but your voice cut off as you saw dean. the dean. the dean who saved your life then made out with you like his life depended on it. that dean.
"yeah, babe. is late. mind if i crash?" that stupid cocky grin- you had half a mind to smack him just for looking like that- but you stepped aside regardless, rubbing your face in exhaustion as he walked in.
"go back to bed, sweetheart. i wont do nothin'" he said softly, kissing your temple before he sat himself down on your couch.
everything felt life a fever dream- at least thats what you told yourself. the only sound that filled your apartment was you shuffling back towards your room, and eventually the click of you locking your bedroom door before you went back to bed. you werent completely stupid.
"hey-!" dean yelled, his voice cracking after being just woken up by you pinching his nipple.
you had told yourself it was just a weird dream and dean wasnt actually in your house- so it was a big surprise when you walk out of your room the next morning to him sprawled across your couch, shirt off, and snoring.
"what the hell dude!" you pinched him again- being a bit more thoughtful and pinching his pec- but you werent being nice on him yet.
"what? thought you woulda missed me or something-" dean protested, swatting your hand away from him, but that smirk was already making its way onto his face as he caught sight of you properly, for the first time in what felt like forever.
"well yeah but that doesnt mean you show up out of nowhe-"
"so you did miss me." he interupted, his hands gently moving to hold your wrists together before you could hit or pinch him again. he might have been projecting a bit- he missed you more than he cared to admit.
"can you shut up." you countered, rolling your eyes at his words.
before you knew it, you were tugged ontop of him, straddling him on your couch. the same place he kissed you 10 months ago.
your mouths moved together like it was second nature, as if they had spent all this time chasing each other.
"was starting to think you died" you murmured against his lips, but you didnt dare pull away. you had too much time to make up for.
"i was starting to think you got a boyfriend." he smiled against you lips, pulling away just a bit to look at you, almost like he was taking in your face. he pretended like he wasnt trying to memorize it.
"and if i did?"
"you better call him and tell him your gonna be busy the next few days, sweetheart."
a/n - yet another cliffhanger before the smut! sorry not sorry lovies, but big thank you for reading this!!
taglist (comment to be added) - @nchye @sayras-blogg @castielsonlyangel @lori19 @sammyslittledoll @y0inked @midnightsync
warnings: explicit sexual content (mdni), mentions of flight anxiety, consensual and semi-public sex, oral (m receiving), unprotected p in v (don't you ever do that).
notes: it has been sooo long since i wrote something, this might not be very good but bear with me D: also, english is not my first language and i hope i didn't make any mistakes.
word count: 1336.
the airplane engines droned steadily, filling the cabin with a mechanical hum that only heightened the taut anticipation of takeoff. dean’s breath hitched, caught in a grip of fear as real and raw as any wound.
his aerophobia.
his knuckles whitened as he clenched the armrests, chest tightening with jagged breaths. the claustrophobic cabin, the reckless height suspended beneath them. it all clawed at his heart, sending it thundering.
you noticed immediately. you’d stood beside dean through countless dangers, but this, this was vulnerability laid bare, and it tore at your heart. reaching out, your hand covered his, warm and steady.
“hey,” you murmured, soft yet certain. “you okay?”
dean’s eyes flickered to you, wide and ashamed. “yeah, yeah... i’m fine,” he lied, voice tight and broken. his smile trembled and faltered, sweat beading along his brow. every slight lurch of the plane made his muscles bunch with dread.
you leaned closer, dropping your voice to a comforting whisper. “dean, it’s just a flight. three hours, and then we’re done. you can’t spend all that time like this.” your fingers squeezed his hand gently. “let’s talk about something else. distract yourself.”
he nodded, trying to focus on your words. “okay... um, what do you want to hear?"
"anything. everything. tell me about the last hunt. or that time you and sam got into trouble with that witch."
a dry chuckle escaped him, his voice steadier now. “that witch... yeah, that was something.” as he spoke, his tone grew stronger, but the tremor of anxiety never quite left him. his grip tightened again as the plane began to taxi down the runway.
you paused, sensing his rising panic. pressing your lips gently to his ear, your voice dropped low. “dean... i’ve got an idea. something to take your mind off the flight.”
his gaze locked on yours, a flicker of curiosity igniting through his fear. “what are you thinking?”
a sly smile curved your lips. “come with me.” standing, you took his hand and led him toward the back of the plane. the cramped bathroom offering no escape from the tightness but becoming a refuge of a different kind. you locked the door, turning to face him.
forced close by the small space, the heat of your bodies mingled. dean’s breath quickened, chest rising and falling erratically. your hands lifted, cupping his face, pulling him down into a fierce, demanding kiss.
raw. urgent. alive.
his hands slid to your waist, hauling you in, desperation bleeding into desire. the fear slipped behind an intoxicating wave of sensation, his heartbeat thudded against your palm as your fingers traced the ridges of muscle beneath his shirt.
you broke away, lips trailing a blistering path down his neck. his jeans were a barrier you tore through, slipping your hand inside to grasp him, slick and hard. dean groaned, a sound fracturing the panic inside him as you knelt in the tight space, taking him deep into your mouth with practiced skill, tasting every drop of his arousal.
as you looked up at him, your eyes locked on his as your tongue swirled around the head of his cock, licking the pre-cum that had already beaded at the tip.
his fingers tangled in your hair, a silent plea, as you worked, lips and tongue coaxing him to forget his fear if only for a moment. he could already feel his orgasm building, his cock throbbing in your mouth.
“you like that?” you purred, voice silky. “the way my mouth feels around your cock?”
this changed something inside him.
dean’s hips bucked fiercely, eyes blazing with need. “god, yes,” he growled. “but sweetheart... i need to feel you."
he lifted you up like you weighed nothing. his hands went under your shirt, hooking the waistband of your panties and sliding them down. you stepped free, sliding your hands up his chest, skin warm beneath your touch.
he pinned you between cold metal and burning desire, lips trailing fire down your neck. teeth grazed and bit softly, fingers roaming with urgent intent, cupping and teasing as heat pooled and spilled between you both.
you could feel his hardness grinding against your thigh, and you reached down to grip it through his boxers. "you're killing me", he groaned into your neck, his hips thrusting forward involuntarily. you stroke him slowly, feeling him pulse in your hand. he pulled back slightly, looking down at you with a hungry expression.
“turn around,” he commanded, rough and needing.
obedient, you turned and braced yourself against the sink. his boxers slid down, freeing him completely. thick, hot, heavy cock bobbing against your ass.
you felt him reach between your legs, rubbing your core in firm circles. you gasped, heat roaring through your veins as pleasure exploded between your legs.
dean slicked himself with your arousal, pushing the tip against your wet folds before driving inside slowly. you cried out, every fucking inch filled, trembling under the force of him.
his voice rumbled low, groaning your name like a sacred mantra. he pulled nearly free, then slammed back in, the collision of your bodies echoing in the cramped space.
his fingers found your clit, circling in tune with his thrusts, pushing you higher, closer, until your body convulsed around him in waves of burning release.
"dean" you panted, nails digging into the sink countertop. "don't stop." you begged for more, and he delivered, hard and fast, chasing his own desperate climax.
"i'm not stopping baby", his breath hitched, his movements becoming jerky and uncoordinated, "not until you come on my cock".
he drove into you even harder, faster, chasing his own release. you met his thrusts with abandon, wanting to feel him come undone. you screamed, you orgasm crashing over you in waves of ecstasy. your inner muscles clenched around him, milking his length as he continued to pound into you relentlessly.
dean came with a roar, his cock pulsing deep inside you. he held himself there, buried entirely as he emptied himself with jerking spasms. his arms wrapped around you, holding you tight against him as he shuddered through his climax.
he stayed inside you for a moment longer, his softening cock still twitching occasionally. you felt the empty ache of absense as he slowly pulled out.
you turned around to face him and he captured your mouth in a searing kiss. your tongues danced together as you explored each others mouths thoroughly.
when you broke apart, dean grinned wickedly and sank to his knees in front of you. “let me make you feel good, sweetheart”.
and then—
knock. knock. knock.
a sharp rap on the door shattered the intimacy. heartbeats spiked in adrenaline-fueled panic. eyes wide, you froze.
dean’s steady voice cut through the tension. “just a minute!”
he quickly grabbed your clothes from the floor and handed them to you. you dressed quickly, trembling fingers fumbling with buttons while his large frame composed itself. the knocking grew impatient.
“sir, everything okay in there?” a female voice called from outside.
dean cracked the door, cautiously peering out. the flight attendant’s eyes sharpened as they took in the scene.
“everything’s fine,” he assured with a casual smile, blocking her path. "we're just having a quick chat".
her gaze flicked to you, then back. “is everything alright, miss?”
“i’m fine,” you said, stepping forward, placing a steadying hand on his arm.
she narrowed her eyes, unconvinced. “this isn’t a chat room, gentlemen. we have rules about behavior onboard.”
dean’s grin deepened. “of course. just a sensitive conversation needing privacy.” he winked at you, you rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your smile.
“we’re experiencing turbulence, please return to your seats immediately,” the attendant ordered, cheeks flushed with mortification.
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back in your seats, flushed and breathless, you looked at dean, eyes meeting his, your voice low and still husky from the way his cock had throbbed agains your throat.
“better?”
dean’s gaze darkened with desire. “yeah. thanks.” his voice dropped to a rough growl.
“but i'm not done with you yet.”
feedbacks are always welcome!! as i said before, this is my first time writing in a long long time, so forgive me for any mistakes!
cw: smut.ᐟ russell shaw x reader.ᐟ oral [m.receiving].ᐟ heavy tension.ᐟ making out.ᐟ praise.ᐟ pet names [sweetheart, good girl].ᐟ 18+
wc: 3000
#notes: you were just doing colter a favour. you didn’t mean to get on your knees for his brother instead...
the knock at your door came just after midnight. you weren’t expecting company.
your phone still sat on the kitchen counter, screen dim but warm from the last call— colter, a long time friend of yours. his voice had came through tight, like he was pacing somewhere on the other end.
"you know i wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important," he’d said. "russ just needs a place to crash for the night, maybe two. c'mon i'd owe you big time."
you hadn’t asked too many questions. mostly because you weren’t sure if you wanted to hear the answers. all you got was a name— russell shaw whom you'd known was the eldest brother.
and a warning, though colter hadn't exactly called it that.
"he’s not dangerous, just been through some shit. little rough around the edges but he’s my brother, an honest guy, i trust him with my life."
colter didn’t mention what kind of 'shit' russell was in. he didn’t say why he needed to lay low. only that the cops were sniffing around for something they wouldn’t find. and that russell needed to be out of sight until things blew over.
so you said yes.
you didn’t even know why. maybe it was the way colter sounded so worried. you knew what they did for work wasn't exactly easy. something about russell joining the army and now working for some shady security group.
and now here you were, standing in your apartment in a baggy t-shirt and sleep shorts, clutching the hem like that’d somehow make this less weird, less real, less like you just agreed to shelter a fugitive on a random thursday night.
the knock came again. louder this time. three steady raps, no hesitation. you crossed your living room and unlocked the door, heart hammering somewhere in your throat.
you were met with a taller, broad, messy dark hair, jaw set hard and tense, man. there was a bruise under one eye, and the duffel slung over his shoulder looked like it had seen better years. he looked you over, quiet for a beat. conflicted between sizing you up, or deciding whether to speak first.
“you the friend?” he asked, head already peaking into your apartment.
you nodded, crossing your arms over your chest “i take it you’re russell?”
he tugged the hood back, hair falling in strands across his forehead. there was something smug about the way he answered with a little smirk. “mhm, that’s what they keep telling me.”
you hesitated almost rolling your eyes just for a second— but he caught it.
“so you gonna let me in?” it wasn’t rude, wasn’t impatient either.
you stepped aside, and he brushed past you, heavy boots thudding on the hardwood. he didn’t ask where to put his bag, didn’t wait for direction— just dropped it near the couch and took a slow glance around the place. looked like he was trying to figure your backstory out, based on your throw pillows and half-finished mug of tea on the table.
you cleared your throat, closing the door behind you. “colter didn’t exactly give me much of a heads-up,” you said, trying not to sound as stiff as you felt. “he told me his brother might show up and crash on my couch.”
he turned, arms folding across his chest as he leaned his weight into the back of it. “yea, sounds like him.”
you hovered awkwardly in the space between the couch and the kitchen, unsure what to do with your hands. or your voice. or the stranger now taking up half your living room. “do you want anything?” you asked. “water— food?”
he cocked a brow, just slightly. “you offering to feed a fugitive now?” a smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.
you huffed. “you said it, not me.”
“fair enough.” he shrugged out of his jacket, revealing the stretch of his t-shirt underneath— grey, snug, slightly damp around the collar. his arms looked like he could take down a wall if he had to. a white gauze bandage covering the stretch just below his bicep.
“but if you’re offering” he pointed lazily toward the kitchen. “got any beer?”
you blinked. “it’s midnight.”
“so that’s a no?”
you stared at him blankly. he met your gaze, unbothered, like this whole situation wasn’t weird at all. and for a second, you hated that he was kind of charming. in that frustrating, 'i’m only here for a night but i’m gonna make you think about me all weekend' kind of way.
you sighed, turning toward the fridge. “fine, just one.”
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one beer turned into three.
it was the way he leaned back into your couch like he owned the damn thing, legs spread wide, sipping from the rim as if the tension in the room didn’t even graze him. or maybe it was how quiet he got, just watching you talk, like he had nothing better to do than listen to you ramble about whatever came to mind.
you curled your legs up under yourself, knee knocking gently against his thigh as you shifted closer. “you and colter don’t really seem like brothers,” you said, lifting your bottle to your lips. “he’s— i don’t know, lighter.”
russell snorted, head tipping back against the cushion. “lighter’s one word for it.”
you grinned. “i mean not in a bad way, just— colter's the type to apologize when he bumps into a chair.”
“and i’m the type to kick it out of the way.” he shot back. russell's gaze cut toward you, amused. it made your stomach twist a little.
“you always ask this many questions when you’re tipsy?”
you shrugged, nudging his leg with your foot. “you always answer them?”
he gave a low hum, fingers drumming against the side of his bottle.
“depends who’s asking.”
the quick taunting replies had you off your usual game, trying not to let it show. “i mean, you are crashing on my couch. feels like i should at least get to know the criminal i’m harbouring.”
he tilted his head lazily toward you. “who said anything about criminal?”
you raised a brow. “well are you hiding out from the cops or not?”
“didn’t say i wasn’t,” he murmured. “just saying there’s more to a story than what people think they know.”
you bit your lip, hesitated, then asked “so what did you do?”
“let’s just say some asshole put his hands where they shouldn’t’ve been.”
you looked at him. “on someone, on you?”
“on the wrong man.” his jaw tensed slightly.
you didn’t press him anymore, the silence settled a bit heavier. you turned the beer bottle between your hands. “so you’re like the older, intense, violent version of your brother.”
“and you’re not as shy as you were an hour ago.” his mouth twitched again, barely holding back a smile.
it was creeping past 2 a.m when the oven dinged and the kitchen filled with the buttery scent of frozen cheese pizza. you were both parked on the couch still, slices in hand. half-empty bottles on the coffee table, some comedy playing low from the tv neither of you were watching.
you caught russell glancing down at his shirt before the words even left his mouth. fingers brushing at something on the hem of his band t-shirt, like you weren’t sure if it was dirt or old blood, but the second he looked up, there was something different etched in his face.
“hey,” he said after a pause. “look, i know i’m crashing your couch and bleeding on your hospitality and all that” he gestured vaguely down at himself. “just— mind if i use your shower? i feel like i’ve got half the blood of the dried fight on me, and this shirt smells like gas station soap.”
you blinked, then gave a small, surprised laugh. “yeah, of course. first door on your right, towels are in the cabinet under the sink.”
his shoulders relaxed slightly and when he pushed himself up from the couch, his shirt lifted for the first time all night, just enough to show a sliver of skin above his waistband. a faint trail of dark hair, the curve of a bruise curling around one side of his hip.
you tried not to look too long, really tried, but he noticed.
and when he looked back over his shoulder, already halfway down the hall, that same little smirk tugged at his mouth. “don’t go fallin’ in love with me while i’m gone, alright?”
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you’re bent low, and its almost fucking 4 a.m, fussing with the corner of the throw blanket, smoothing it over the cushion again even though it’s already neat. something to keep your hands busy, something to distract yourself from the way your mind keeps circling back—
russell shaw. colter’s brother, ex-military, bruised and bleeding when he showed up at your door.
“i been to jail a couple times.” “don’t stay in one place too long.” “did what i had to.”
there’s danger there. not the reckless kind— but the controlled, quiet type. the kind you only see when it’s already too late. but god, he’s also so beautiful. and you’re still trying to reconcile between the two.
you exhale, fingers tugging the blanket straight, and the soft thunk of a bathroom door opening barely registers before—
“oh shit—” your gasp comes out startled as you jolt upright and whirl around,
and he's right there.
fresh from the shower, hair dripping in dark, uneven strands that cling to his cheekbone and the cut near his brow. steam-warm skin kissed pink at the edges, water droplets trailing down from his collarbone, over the toned muscle, sticking to the dark line of hair disappearing underneath the towel.
he had it held together with one hand, his other dragging through his hair as he surveyed the room.
“forgot my bag,” he mutters, as if that explains everything. but you’re not hearing a damn thing he's saying.
because your hands, without meaning to, are already planted against his chest. braced there from when you’d turned so fast, steadying yourself with instinct more than thought. your palms burn where they touch him, skin on skin, your finger tips trace a faint scar across his chest.
when you look up his eyes are already on you— lips parted slightly, like he’s about to say something. but he doesn’t. neither do you.
your gaze flickers downward, slow, guilty and so obvious, taking in the way the towel hides little of the bulge underneath. riding the sharp cut of his v-line. scars, tattoos, years of god knows what, kind of combat.
russell’s watching your every move with heavy-lidded eyes, darker than before. your fingertips twitch against the curve of his pec, and his adams apple bobs.
you don’t know what to say, or maybe you do, but it’s lodged somewhere in your throat. “russ,” you murmur all breathy and soft.
“don’t— don't say my name like that.” his jaw clenches.
your lips part, but he cuts in again, warning himself more than you.
“makes me think you want something you shouldn’t, and i got a real bad habit of giving in to things i shouldn’t.”
“fuck sakes” he mutters, like he’s pissed at himself. his hand rises slow, rough fingertips brushing the side of your throat, then curling under your jaw. his thumb slides along your cheek.
“we shouldn’t,” he says studying your eyes, and it’s barely a whisper.
but you’re already leaning in, and his grip tightens just enough to tilt your face up. then his mouth is on yours.
it hits like heat— hot, urgent, and consuming. trying to act like he’s hadnt spent the last hour imagining how you’d taste, how you’d sound.
your lips part and he takes full advantage, tongue sweeping in. his towel shifts, loosens, drops a little lower.
“been tryin’ to behave—” he mutters against your lips. “but you keep lookin’ at me like that, sweetheart” he kisses you again, rougher this time.
“i’m not a good man.” his fingers are still holding your jaw like he can’t stand the thought of letting go. “you’re too good for this— too good for me,” he adds, quieter this time. “you don’t know half the shit i’ve done.”
you shake your head just slightly, barely enough to move from his grip, and your hands start to drift. slow and uncertain at first. fingertips dragging down over the lines of his stomach, teasing at the edge of the towel.
“maybe i don’t know” you whisper, eyes locked to his, “but you’re here, right now” your fingers hook into the hem, a tiny tug and he exhales sharply through his nose, chest rising under your touch.
"fuck," russell breathes when you lean forward, lips brushing across the top of his sternum, tasting salt and soap. your mouth traces lower, slow kisses dragging down the center of his chest.
your nails scrape lightly over his v-line as you sink to your knees, towel still fisted loosely in your hands. russell's voice catches, already unraveling and he can't keep his eyes off you. “you got no idea what you’re startin’, sweetheart.”
you look up at him, wide-eyed and sweet, still holding the towel low on his hips. “i’m a big girl,” you murmur, lips brushing the crease of his hip. “i can make my own decisions.”
russell huffs a sharp breath through his nose, jaw ticking. the hand drifts into your hair, gentle at first, fingertips curling just behind your ear .
you ease the towel open. he’s already thick and half-hard, heavy against his thigh. your mouth watered, even a tiny little gasp left your lips for the fun of it.
he’s big, flushed, veined just slightly. you take your time. let him see the way your lashes flutter, the way your lips part, just hovering.
you start with his thighs, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to the inner muscle, right where his cock twitches under your mouth. warm skin, rough stubble. you drag your lips downward, licking the dip where thigh meets pelvis, then back up again, slower.
“jesus christ,” he mutters, voice already strained. “you tryna kill me?” he teased, running his hands through your hair. brushing back stray strands out of your face. you thumbed his tip, collecting the pre-cum and then brought your thumb to your mouth.
then finally, your mouth finds him. tapping his heavy cock against the tip of your tongue, seeing his stomach muscles tense in anticipation.
your hand wraps around the base, thumb stroking just under the ridge. spit slicking your lips with every little lick you give to the underside of this cock.
“fuck, that’s it—” russell’s hand sinks into your hair, not pulling, just guiding. palm wide against your scalp, fingers curling tight every time you swirl your tongue or hollow your cheeks around him.“good girl, jesus, you got a mouth on you.”
out of no where's his phone buzzes against the coffee table. once, then again. and you feel his whole body tense, fucking up the rhythm you had going.
“god fuckin' damn it,” russell mutters, sounding wrecked, hand slipping from your hair to grab his phone. he leans slightly, and you don’t even hesitate to stop.
his cock slips deeper when he moves. full lips, sudsy with bubbles of spit as you take his length deeper into your throat.
his head tips back, like he’s silently cursing his younger brother for calling at this very moment.
you don’t let up, swallowing around the head, and his hips jerk while he swipes to answer.
“yeah colter” he says, voice tight with restraint as your lips press down to the base “yeah— everything’s fine here.”
you moan, the sound garbled around his cock, cheeks puffed out and mouth stuffed full. he looks down, eyes dark with disbelief and something feral burning underneath.
“told you i'm fine, plus y'got a real sweet friend here,” he adds, eyes challenging yours. rutting his hips up just slightly and shoving his cock further down your throat.
your nose presses to his skin, cheek smooshed into the wiry patch of hair at the base of his groin. your throat tightens, a wet gag as you choke on it. eyes wide, spit dripping down your chin. and he holds you there while you claw down his thighs.
“mmhm fuck,” he grits, biting down a groan as you struggle to breathe through your nose. his voice is smug, like he’s holding back a laugh and losing. “yeah, layin' low, don’t worry 'bout it, i’ll be good.” his cock twitches between your lips, and he knows you’re a mess for it.
his cock twitches again, and he's desperate now— so close it hurts. “shit— m'gonna fucking come.” his thumb brushes across your bottom lip, puffy from how hard you’ve worked for it. “where d’you want it, sweetheart?”
you look up, eyes glassy, spit clinging from your chin to the base of his cock. you nod, mouth open like it’s instinct.
“you gonna swallow f'me?” his head tips back on a rough groan.
your answer is a wet suck around the head of his cock, your hand pumping the base while you swirl your tongue again.
"course you would, fuck” he growls, deep and ragged. his release spills hot onto your tongue, his whole body jerking like the tension finally snapped clean. you swallow messily almost choking from the load he busted. thumb digging into his thigh as he watches every second of you.
“shit,” he pants, voice heavy with satisfaction, “you’re killin me.” he looks down at you with half-lidded eyes, still catching his breath. “colt shoulda told me you lived 'round here a long time ago.” he smiles, wiping off your bottom lip and feeding you the leftover remnants of his cum.
summary: you challenge russell, a handsome stranger that you met at the bar, which leads to the best cunnilingus in your life
cw: 18+ smut.ᐟ oral [f receiving].ᐟ cunnilingus.ᐟ softdom!russell.ᐟ overstimulation if you blink.ᐟ cursing.ᐟ nicknames [sweetheart, angel, sweet thing].ᐟ aftercare.ᐟ
word count: 1085
julia yaps: say thank you to ma gurl @mahi-wayy for reminding me there isn’t much russell shaw content which made me write this hehe ALSO HAPPY BIRTHDAY MAHIIII!
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it all started at the local dive bar. russell came up to the bars counter and casually sat beside you, getting himself a whiskey and offering to buy you a drink of your choice, which you agreed to, then he proceeded to chat you up.
as the alcohol started kicking in, you began exchanging more and more flirtatious looks and comments at each other – which lead to this question right here.
“what can that mouth do other than talk sweet, hm?” you asked with a subtle smirk thinking you were sly, stirring your drink with your straw before taking another sip. you used the triangular method on him which he didn’t mind at all.
russell chuckled, looking down at his nearly empty glass before meeting your eyes again. a knowing look on his face as he leaned in closer, “sweetheart i’ve been eating pudding cups with no spoon since i was eight. i’ll make you cry” he answered confidently, which made you slightly freeze in your tracks, trying to comprehend what you just heard.
his unique flirting oddly working on you, making you extremely curious as to if he was just talking nonsense or if he was legitimate. russell quickly glanced down at your slightly parted lips, your reaction amusing him.
you lean in closer, your arms resting against the bar counter, your eyes filled with challenge and mischief. “prove it”
oh and he sure did.
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you threw your head back onto the motel pillows as your lips parted, letting out a string of soft moans, your fingers weakly gripping at his dirty blonde locks and your eyes rolling to the back of your head, his mouth felt like heaven itself.
your panties were long gone, somewhere on the floor and russell was going down on you like no one ever has, this man ate you out like it was his last meal. your legs were shaking as his tongue danced around your slit and puffy clit, flicking, licking and sucking. his two fingers repeatedly curling up inside your dripping cunt.
“oh my.. god” you rolled your hips against his mouth every time his fingers pressed at that spongy spot of yours, you couldn’t keep your volume down at all, not when he was eating you out this good, but it’s not like russell minded, it for sure was music to his ears.
his eyes stayed on you as he worked at you, torturously slow and deliberate. as if trying to savour this moment right here, every sound he pulled from those pretty lips of yours, the way you clenched around his fingers, and that sweet taste of your pussy. it was absolutely addicting. “hmm you taste so sweet, baby” he hummed against you, sending vibrations throughout your whole body.
your trembling thighs closing in around his head, almost putting him in a headlock, but his big calloused hands easily spread your legs open and held them down, continuing to lick and suck at your swollen bud, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, probably leaving bruises for tomorrow’s day.
“p-please.. russell..” you let out pleading cries as tears strolled down your flushed cheeks, you were so close – and he knew it. your grip on his hair tightened, your body tensed up and your breathing became much heavier. “s-so close..please”
russell’s new aim was not to torture your poor weeping cunt until you cry but to make you fall apart on his tongue, and since he’s been working real hard between your thighs for a while now building the pressure up in the pit of your lower abdomen, it doesn’t take much for you to reach your climax, hard.
your lips fly open, letting out a high pitched moan as tears fell down your face. your back arching as your orgasm made your whole body tingle, your hole dripping and he happily lapped up your delicious juices as you came around nothing.
russell slowed down but kept going, helping you ride out the best orgasm you’ve yet had in your life, but the overstimulation quickly caught up to you, becoming too much to handle, you tugged on his hair trying to pull him away from between your legs, especially that he was holding your legs down so you couldn’t even close them.
“f-fuck..too much, too much~” you couldn’t help but sob softly from the overwhelming pleasure. chocking on your pleading, that was russell’s queue to stop, to let you breath and relax, that it might’ve been a bit too much for the first ‘date’.
he pulled away slowly, leaving you a panting, shaking, whimpering mess. he let go of your thighs, letting you close them, and he wiped the remainder of your juices off his beard.
russell climbed up from his knees and onto the bed beside you, pulling you onto his lap and gently petted your hair, letting you hide your face in the crook of his neck as you calmed down your soft sobs.
“shhh shh” he quietly hushed you, “it’s okay, you did so well for me angel”
“you did so well” he murmured softly into your hair before giving you a kiss on the top of your hair.
your hand weakly tugged on his sleeve, seeking anything to hold onto as you get your breathing and the rest of your senses back.
it took you a solid minute or two to actually get yourself back together, your mind still a bit foggy from the oxytocin bouncing around in your skull.
“you weren’t kidding…” you finally spoke, letting out a tired chuckle as you pulled away just the slightest so you could look up into his eyes, “..about the crying part” you wiped your remaining tears from your eyes.
russell hummed, his smile making the corners of his eyes crinkle lightly. his hand still gently caressing your back, “you alright, sweet thing?” he asked with a voice so soft no one would believe that this man just made you fucking cry with his tongue.
his eyes were on you, solely focused on you, like nothing else mattered to him right now but you. you gave him a slightly shy smile and a nod.
“guess i’ve earned the right for your number then?” russell asked, a grin growing across his face.
“oh yeah, totally” you answered with a nod and a giggle before moving in for a soft kiss on the lips that still tasted of you.
thank you so much for reading! feedback and reblogs are always deeply appreciated <3
pathetic sammy wet dream boo. surprise! warnings: doggy, praise from sam, size kink, finger stuff, idk fluff at the end. i love him. also tjis is straight up porn. this is a surprise for @sweeterthancandy i love you !!
༺☆༻
after a long day of smoke-thick motels, coffee that tasted like burnt air, and another grave dug somewhere off the highway, sam winchester didn’t know how he found himself here.
“you’re—fuck, being too loud, baby,” he murmured, voice soft against your ear. even with your face muffled in the pillow, the sounds you were making were way too loud for him to brush off as just him taking care of a hangover. if the people outside the motel paid enough attention, they would know exactly what was happening in here. “gotta… gotta keep it down a little.”
“m—m’trying,” you slurred into the pillow again, clamping your teeth into the fabric of the pillow, trying to bite back a soft cry at the sensation of him sitting idle inside you. he was stretching you out, due to his big size of 8 inches, and for a girl who was shorter than 6’4 and wasn’t 200 pounds of pure muscle? that was a lot to take.
sam’s hand came down to gently trace the arch of your back, pushing you further into the mattress for a better angle. “s’gotta be really... really hard for you,” he was blabbering now, still rocking into you. he was trying desperately not to let out any sounds of his own, which was very difficult when you were being so, good for him. “doing so... so good, baby.” he reminded.
slowly, his fingers that were curled around your hips tightened to an almost bruising grip, and he pushed himself—all eight inches inside. the sensation had you seeing stars, a loud gasp leaving your throat, eyes squeezing shut.
one of sam’s big hands quickly came to cover your mouth, desperate to keep you quiet now. his hips leaned back then thrusted forward, burying himself completely inside you as a soft, strained gasp left him. his fingers pressed against your lips, trying to contain the sounds that you tried to let out. “you... you’re gonna wake up the whole—fuck.” sam’s fingers pressed down more firmly, keeping you silent as he continued to move inside your tight heat.
“you gotta be... be so quiet,” he slurred, letting out a low groan at the feeling of you clenching around him. he started to speed up, just barely, still trying to keep you from being completely loud. you gasped as he sped up, biting his finger gently to keep yourself quiet—a sharp whine leaving him at the sensation.
“such a … fuck.. a good girl,” sam whispered, his fingers loosening a bit as your whimpers got higher. his hands moved to grab your ass, holding you to him as he began to thrust harder into you. his voice was becoming more strained. “takin’ it so well, yeah, that’s right, that’s—“
sam woke with a sharp hiss at the sound of your voice, startled out of an uneasy sleep that clung to him like sweat. his eyes fluttered open, unfocused and squinting against the dim motel light, and when he realized where he was—and that you were standing right there—he groaned softly and turned his face away, suddenly very invested in the peeling wallpaper beside the bed.
his fingers moved automatically to his chin, brushing over the tacky warmth that confirmed his embarrassment. a thin trail of drool. perfect.
“ugh, god,” he muttered, swiping it off quickly with the sleeve of his flannel. “i—I wasn’t even that tired.”
you raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “you were snoring.”
“was not,” he mumbled, still avoiding your eyes.
“you drooled, sam.”
“yeah, okay, i might’ve drooled,” he admitted, cheeks already starting to turn a light, bashful pink. “don’t act like it’s a crime.”
“it’s not,” you teased, fighting a grin. “it’s just gross. and weirdly… vulnerable of you.”
“glad to know my most humiliating moment brings you joy.”
he finally risked a glance at you, only to find you staring with that irritating mix of amusement and affection that made him want to both roll his eyes and hide under the covers.
“you were mumbling in your sleep, too,” you added. “sounded like a mix between an insane injury and a porno.”
sam groaned again, dragging a hand down his face. “please stop talking.”
cw: smut.ᐟ dbf!ben x reader.ᐟ au non-supe ben.ᐟ age gap [reader is in her 20s].ᐟ reader lives at home.ᐟ making out.ᐟ dry humping.ᐟ car sex.ᐟ manipulation.ᐟ praise.ᐟ corruption kink.ᐟ pervy!ben.ᐟ pet names [sweetheart, baby, baby girl].ᐟ 18+
#notes: if you didn't read part one it's here, part two is here
this part will take place as a continuation of part two. also this isn't my best work but i've been wanting to write so here we are.*not fully edited bc im lazy.
wc: 1830
the door shuts heavier than it needs to, the thunk echoing in the small cab before either of you say a word. the seatbelt digs cold into your shoulder when you pull it across, hands moving on instinct, brain still hazy from the feel of him under you.
ben’s already in the driver’s seat, one hand gripping the wheel, the other sliding the keys in. the engine comes alive, a steady growl that fills the silence. he doesn’t look at you right away— eyes fixed ahead— but the air feels stale, heavy with whatever just happened on his couch.
you turn toward the window, watching the dim pools of streetlight roll over the hood, your thighs pressed tight together under the hem of his hoodie. it smells like him.
the truck into gear, pulling away from the curb. the motion jostles you slightly, the seat warm where the heater’s kicked in. neither of you speak. the only sound is the low thrum of the tires on asphalt and the occasional click of his turn signal.
the red light you approach stretches out in a slow burn, and ben’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, knuckles pale where his fingers clutch the leather. he lets out a low curse, tangled with frustration. “what the fuck am i doing,” he mutters, head falling back against the wheel for a moment, eyes squeezed shut as if to block out the weight of the everything.
ben was a selfish bastard— no other way to put it. after all this time, finally having you all to himself had felt like a fucking drug. like tasting something he’d been starving for but shouldn’t want.
and even now, he could still feel the press of your clothed cunt grinding against him, slick and needy through the thin fabric of his sweats. that slow, maddening friction had him on edge, every nerve screaming for more. his tongue ran over his lips, wet and deliberate, savouring the faint, sweet taste of you still lingering there.
your fingers tremble as they reach up, hesitating before brushing a tentative touch along the seam of his sweatpants, tracing the outline of his cock pressed hard and leaking against the fabric. “ben” you whisper, small but desperate.
he doesn’t answer, the tension in his body palpable. then, his voice cuts through the stillness. “no, sweetheart. not like this.”
“but— you know my dad’s home,” you murmur, cheeks warm with a mix of shame and need.
the light shifts, but ben doesn’t move, caught in the tension, the impossibility of the moment. then, with a harsh exhale, he pulls back. “no. i’m not gonna do this like some quick fuck on the side of the road. your mouth’s too pretty to be doing this with an old man like me.” the hum of the engine filling the silence between you. but ben’s jaw tightens, his fingers twitching on the wheel like he’s fighting himself. “we gotta get you home,” he finally mutters, forced.
but you don’t stop. your hand slips over his sweatpants, palming him just enough to make his breath hitch. lips brush over the fabric, kissing small, teasing spots like a puppy desperate for attention.
ben’s hand shoots up, gentle but firm, tugging the hair away from your face. his eyes drop to yours, conflicted. “you’re ain't that little girl anymore,” he says— something like pride and something darker, possessive. “but you were always mine.”
“i am,” you whisper, eyes wide and honest. “and you— you just wanted to keep me safe. from anyone that would hurt me.” your voice wavers, the unspoken truth hanging heavy between you. “you threatened all my boyfriends.”
“so you think i’m the bad guy, that it?” he murmurs, "but, i’m the only one who’s ever cared enough to keep you safe. keep you from getting hurt by assholes who don’t deserve you.”
your fingers fumble at the waistband of his sweatpants, slow and deliberate, and ben’s breath hitches— his grip on the wheel faltering. and the truck veers gently, with a curse, ben pulls off onto the gravel shoulder of an empty lot.
“we can’t keep pretending this isn’t what it is,” he says, voice low but firm, eyes locked on yours. “you’re mine, and i’m the only one who gets to do this to you.”
“do what?” you whisper, breath catching as your fingers freeze on the waistband.
ben’s eyes darken, a dangerous glint sparking behind them. he undoes his seatbelt with a quick jerk, the metal clicking loose echoing in the quiet cab. “you really wanna play this game?” he growls. “you got no fuckin’ clue what you’re asking for.”
before you can react, his hands grip your waist, hauling you roughly onto his lap. the heat of his body presses against you, cock hard and straining beneath his pants.
“i’m the only one who gets to touch you,” he murmurs against your mouth before tilting his head to bite gently at your lower lip. a twisted kind of possessive pride threading through his words.
then, his mouth slides down to your jaw, then the sensitive skin of your neck, where he plants wet possessive kisses, each one punctuated by his low whisper: “only me.”
his hand slips to your ass, fingers curling tight, pulling you flush against him. “only i get to touch this,” he says, voice thick with need. he traces a slow path back up your side, fingers dragging under the hoodie, teasing the soft skin beneath.
“only my hands, my mouth,” ben breathes, pressing another sloppy rough kiss to your collarbone. his hand slides lower, fingers squirming under your pants. firmly against the wet heat soaking through your panties, letting the slick friction make your clit pulse against his finger tips.
“this is mine too,” ben growls, voice thick and filthy. “betting she's already all soakin' just thinking 'bout me."
ben’s fingers don’t stop their slow, deliberate rub against your soaked cunt.“tell me,” he hums. “you ever fucked yourself thinking about me? ever stuffed your fingers in that tight little cunt while imagining my hands on you?”
your fingers clutch the hem of his hoodie, nails digging into the fabric like you’re trying to hold yourself together. “mhm,” you whisper, “please ben.”
“licking your own fingers, trying to feel close to me when i’m not around.” ben's grip tightens, fingers digging into your hips just enough to remind you who’s in control.
“you think you’re ready for that, sweetheart?” ben hisses. "i ain't want it to be like this, you deserve better but— fuck."
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
before you knew it, the backseat of ben’s truck was heavy with the sweet scent of sex and sweat. the windows fogged over, catching the dim glow of the streetlights outside as your breath came in tiny little hiccups, gasping for air between every ragged movement.
it started slow— ben easing you, stretching you carefully to mold around the chub of his cock— but now he had you on your knees, gripping your hips with a strength that was equal parts need and desperation.
your clenching pussy tightened around him, slick and pulsing, pressed all the way up to the thick, ruddy tip of his cock. it was coated in the frothy white of your shared releases, sticky and warm, pearly streaks glistening along his length.
“haven’t—” he grunted, hips snapping harder, fingers gripping your hips with brutal leverage, “fucked a pussy this good, in a long fucking time.”
your head was tilted to the side, trying to kiss him back, but the way he was fucking you felt so good, so relentless, you could barely manage it— your lips barely brushing his before you gasped again. “it’s too much,” you whispered, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth.
ben’s eyes darkened as he grabbed your throat gently but firmly, pulling your face up so he could look into your hazy, desperate gaze.“i know, baby,” he murmured, thumb pressing down on your clit.
your eyes stung with tears of need, cheeks burning hot with the frantic rush of your pulse. he watched you like that for a sick, twisted moment— lips twitching into a sadistic smirk that made your heart pound.
“i’m gonna cum,” you whisper, voice shaky and raw. your hand slides down the foggy window beside you, fingertips tracing cool trails over the damp glass as the pleasure spirals tighter and tighter inside you.
ben’s grip on your hips tightens, teeth grazing the shell of your ear. just when the coil threatens to break, your phone buzzes sharply— your dad calling.
ben freezes for a heartbeat, then growls, “fuckin— answer it.”
your breath tightens as ben slows his thrusts, his hand dipping lower to rub your clit with slow, deliberate circles that keep you suspended just on the edge. your fingers shake as you fumble to answer the phone, voice soft and shaky.
“hey dad, yea, i’ll be home soon" you whisper, trying to sound innocent, even as his best friend's got a tightening grip around your throat, pulling you flush against his back. his breath is hot at your ear, muffling your words.
his thumb presses harder against your clit, teasing and demanding, dragging out every strained breath and quiet whimper you try to hold back. “don’t fuck this up for me,” ben whispers, his hips still moving just enough to keep your body on the knife’s edge between pleasure and need.
the contrast of your hushed, nervous voice on the phone and the raw heat of ben’s touch sends a jolt through you— a dirty secret held between the two of you in the confides of his fogged-up truck.
the call ends with a quick click, but the silence that follows is louder than any noise. ben’s hands slowly leave your hips, sliding up to rest gently on your shoulders. the rough edges of his touch soften, as if he’s trying to be careful— not just with your body, but with what’s left of his own twisted heart.
he takes a shaky breath, jaw clenched like he’s holding back words that want to tear him apart. “this is fucked up,” he finally admits, with the weight of everything you both know. “and i know that.”
your eyes search his, looking for the man beneath all the anger and need. “but it feels right,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “even if it shouldn’t.”
ben’s gaze falters, the walls around him cracking just enough to show something fragile underneath. “you don’t get to say that. not when i’m the one who’s supposed to be keeping you safe.”
“but you are,” you say, curling your fingers tighter in the fabric of his damp sweatshirt. “in your own way. it's just gotta be our little secret."
you rest your head against his shoulder, letting the tension slip away just a little— because even in the fucked up mess of it all, it feels like home.
cw: 18+ MDNI; p in v, dirty talk, sam has a "mrs. winchester" kink
a/n: @sammyslittledoll I KNOW I TOLD YOU I WAS GOING TO START THIS TOMORROW BUT THIS WAS LOWKEY MAKING ME GO FERAL AND I NEEDED TO GET IT OUT!!!
The door barely clicks shut behind you before he’s got you pinned to it. Still in your dress. Still breathless from the car ride. Veil askew. Lipstick a little smudged.
He doesn’t even give you a second to breathe. His hands are everywhere—cupping your ass through layers of satin, shoving your skirt up, mouth dragging down your neck.
“Sam,” you giggle, breathless, “at least let me hang the—”
“No.” His voice is gravel against your ear. “Had to sit through hours of speeches and polite smiles when all I could think about was getting you alone.”
He’s grinding against your thigh now, rock hard through his tux pants. You feel the buttons of his shirt under your hands, half-undone already. His bowtie’s hanging around his neck, loose and wild. His hair’s falling out of place. You love him like this. Hungry. Unhinged. Yours.
“You’re my wife now,” he growls, like the words still don’t feel real. “Mrs. Winchester. You have any idea what that does to me?”
You gasp when he lifts you, easy, strong, like you weigh nothing at all. He lays you down on the nearest surface—the entryway table, still covered in cards and leftover confetti. Your skirt pools around you. Legs open. Panties soaked through.
“I’ve never wanted anything this bad in my whole fuckin’ life,” he murmurs as he kisses down your chest. “Let me see you, sweetheart. Let me have you.”
He pushes the fabric up higher, and when he finally peels your underwear down and sees how wet you are, his pupils blow wide.
“Goddamn,” he whispers. “You ready to be mine, huh? That’s what this is?”
“Sam, baby, please—”
He lines up and thrusts in deep, all at once, no teasing. You cry out—shocked by the stretch, the weight, the way he fills you.
“That’s it. That’s my girl. Gonna fuck you full, Mrs. Winchester.”
His hands are gripping your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. Like if he doesn’t hold you tight enough, it’ll all have been a dream.
“Been thinkin’ about this since the second I saw you at the end of that aisle,” he groans into your neck. “Your pretty mouth saying I do—your ring on my hand—fuck—feels so good, baby.”
You clutch at his shirt as he fucks you into the table, the edge digging into the backs of your thighs. You don’t care. You’re gone.
“Say it again,” he growls.
“Say what?” you whimper.
“Your name. What’s your fuckin’ name now, sweetheart?”
You moan, body shaking, eyes fluttering shut.
“Mrs. Winchester—Sam—I’m yours—”
And that’s what finally pushes him over.He growls your name, grabs your hips, and pours into you—panting, shaking, cock twitching as he fills you up with everything he’s got. His wife. His girl. His everything.
cw: smut.ᐟ camgirl!reader x beau arlen part 3.ᐟ age gap [readers in college].ᐟ possessive!beau.ᐟ awkward / tensioned reveal.ᐟ hotel meetup.ᐟ thumb sucking.ᐟ sex [p in v].ᐟ partial condom usage.ᐟ video recording.ᐟ pet names [sweetheart, baby].ᐟ 18+
#notes: part one here — part two here. i don't love the ending of this, but i can't be bothered to add onto it lol. also not fully edited because im lazy.
wc: 4000
you said yes.
it was a few typed words on the chat box, agreeing to meet up with him, with cowboy_rangler85. you didn’t know what the hell you'd agreed to, but you did anyways.
and now beau's here.
the room’s too nice for what he was about to do in it. it’s one of those suites tucked in the back corner of a mid-tier hotel chain. one with a king bed, a love seat, and a view overlooking the highway— clean and respectable. the kind of place someone like him wouldn’t have to feel ashamed walking into.
no seedy carpet, no broken vending machines humming down the hall. beau had insisted on it. he wasn’t gonna take you to some shitty roadside spot just because he could get away with it.
he checked in under his own name. didn’t bother hiding, cause divorced men don’t need aliases. and it’s not like you’d recognize him, or so he thought. it's not like you'd paid much attention to him at the bakery, or when you slipped him a fresh pastry with that bubbly smile.
now here he is, sitting on the edge of the hotel bed, breathing harder than he should be, checking the time on his phone again and again.
you said you'd come. no promises, no heart emojis or flirty texts like usual. just an 'i’ll be there'. and he’s been replaying it in his head ever since.
you don't fucking know it’s him. and maybe it makes him the worst kind of man— but god, he hopes you still want him anyway. not cowboy_rangler85, not the man who’s spoiled you from behind a screen. him. with the wrinkles around his eyes, rough knuckles and the southern voice that tells you 'thanks' every morning at the bakery counter.
he’s halfway through a spiraling thought when the knock comes at the door.
you knock once, unsure, then check the number again. room 269 stamped just outside the door, the same one 'cowboy_wrangler85' told you he'd be at.
the door opens before you can second-guess it— cracks just enough for warm light to spill into the hallway, and there he was.
a taller, broad man. much older than you were expecting.
you blink and your brows crease together. “oh—” your voice comes out too fast “sorry, i think i have the wrong—”
“no,” he says swallowing sharply, brows lifting like he’s just been shot in the chest. “no, you're— you're in the right place.”
you hesitate, eyes flicking down the hallway like maybe you should double check. but that’s the number you were given. and he’s standing right there, hair slightly damp like he’s just showered. wearing a plain henley and jeans, nothing flashy. just a real hunk of masculine man.
a man you know of.
“wait,” you murmur, peering up at him again, softer this time. “beau?”
he rubs the back of his neck, almost embarrased. “yea sweetheart, it's me’.”
your stomach twists, the god damn sheriff. the one who buys coffee some mornings. the one who looks at you with that crooked smile, that soft gravel drawl. he was polite, harmless, and almost too normal to be the guy on the other side of the door.
“i— uh” his voice continues, and he clears his throat. “i wasn’t sure if you were really gonna show. you said you would, but i mean, i wasn’t expectin—’” his voice trails off but you’re still standing there like a deer in headlights.
beau shifts his weight, thumb hooking through a belt loop. “i booked it for the whole night, so— y'know no pressure. you can sit, or not. you don’t gotta stay, if it doesn’t feel right or anythin’.”
the words keep tumbling out of him, gentle but hesitant, trying not to scare you. trying so fucking hard to stay the gentleman he is. and somehow, that’s the part that makes your heart thump harder. so, he steps back slightly, giving you space to decide.
you walk in slow with a bag on your arm. silk dress swishing at your thighs, and perch lightly on the edge of the bed, legs crossed.
“wasn’t expecting it to be you,” you say, half a smile tugging at your lips. your tone’s light but there’s something tight behind it, your brain was a whirlwind.
his brows lift again, somewhat apologetic. “yeah, s’not exactly how i wanted to— i just wanted to meet you proper.”
your fingers find the necklace at your throat, tracing the cowboy charm. he sent it. the gifts, the money, the lingerie, the necklace, all those messages.
your eyes lift to his, and he’s already looking at you. “it’s been you,” you whisper. it wasn't a question, but more of a realization.
beau doesn’t deny it. instead, he steps forward just a bit. his hand lifts, the back of his fingers brush your jaw, angling your chin up.
his touch is barely there, more a suggestion than a command, but your breath still catches. he feels the way your jaw tightens faintly beneath his knuckles, the way your body goes a little tense.
“it's been you this whole time?” you murmur, like you’re trying to line it all up in your head. the countless private streams, those custom requests, the way he always knew just what to say. your heart's thudding against your ribs.
his gaze flicks to your mouth. “yeah,” he says quietly. “s'been me.”
his thumb shifts, dragging along the corner of your mouth— so damn reverent, like you’re something precious, something breakable.
“i couldn’t help it,” he adds. “you were— christ, you were right there. the bakery every mornin’, smilin’ at me with that sweet voice. then i saw you on my screen and it—” he stops himself, jaw ticking. “fuck, i know it ain’t right.” the air between you crackles. it wasn't anger, not even judgment. but the weight of it all .
“you watched, you paid, sent me things.” your voice stays calm, but your legs uncross slowly on the bed, thighs parting ever so slightly beneath that little slip of silk. “and even after everything, you still wanted to see me?”
his adam's apple bobs. “yeah.” he says it like a confession. a sin laid bare in a hotel room, after months of being guilt ridden.
your fingers curl against the mattress, watching the way he’s trying to stay still, trying not to lunge. his hands are clenched into fists at his sides now, his chest rising like it hurts to breathe.
you tilt your head. “tell me why? why me?”
his answer comes quick, as if he'd been practicing for it all week. “'cause i needed to see you, not the screen. you.” he steps in between your parted thighs. “i wanted you to know who it was, sweetheart. wanted to know if you'd still look at me the same way.”
your eyes drop. not all the way down— no, they stop at his thick leather strap with a dull brass buckle, probably worn from years of use. he’s so close now all you can smell is his cologne and see the faint bulge beneath his belt.
“listen,” he says, low enough it tickles the shell of your ear. “if you don’t want this— if any of it feels wrong now that you know it's me— i’ll walk right out that door. you can have the room to yourself for the night.”
you don’t answer at first. your bag slips from your shoulder to the bed, quiet against the duvet. then your fingers find the zipper, a slow hiss of metal teeth. “i brought my camera with me,” you murmur after a second of silence. “ i figured— you might want to make it real, y'know, as a keep sake.”
a beat passes. then his hands unclench. he exhales like he’s been holding his lungs hostage for days. “sweetheart,” he says, strained and so fucking full of want. his jaw tics. chest rising with the kind of breath you take when your patience is about to snap.
your knees brush the inside of his thighs now. his hand lifts— no hesitation this time, and he traces your glossed bottom lip with the pad of his thumb.
“you ever been with an older man before?” he asks.
your eyes flick up to meet his. beau's face is close now, the scent of clean cotton and aftershave sitting heavy between you. you don’t answer— only shake your head 'no'.
his thumb presses a little firmer and your lips part under the pressure. when your tongue flicks out— just the tip, enough to taste the salt of his skin— he watches it happen, cock visibly swelling under the restraint of his pants.
“so that's a no” he hums, almost to himself, and your lips close around the pad of his thumb. not shyly, you suck, tongue curling underneath cause you know what it's doing to him.
“jesus,” he mutters, more to himself than you. hollowing your cheeks, you pull a little tighter. his hips twitch forward, swearing under his breath.
beau's hand reach as if he’s about to stop you— but he doesn’t. not until you slip your tongue out again and lick around the joint of his knuckle.
his thumb slips free with a wet pop— and then his mouth the replacement. crashing down on yours like he needs to know if you taste the same as he imagined.
you do.
it's exactly how he pictured— lipgloss and sugar, something a little artificial, something he’s dreamt about for months with his cock in his fist and you moaning on his laptop.
your hands fly up, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. he groans when you pull him in deeper, when you angle your mouth open for more. it’s not slow anymore. it’s greedy, desperate, gasping between each kiss like you both can’t get enough air.
his hand finds the hem of your babydoll dress and works it up just enough to feel the smooth expanse of your thighs. the other slides up, knuckles brushing your ribs, finding the delicate strap on your shoulder and slipping it down.
“fuck me,” he groans. “you wore it. the one i sent.”
you nod against his shoulder, a little dazed. “i wanted you to see me in it,” you whisper.
his hand cups the underside of your breast, silk and lace dragging against his palm. “you look so fuckin’ pretty, baby,” he growls, voice breaking at the edges. “been picturin' this for so long.”
beau kisses you again, rougher this time, while he starts peeling the dress off your frame, unwrapping something fragile— he still can’t believe you’re here.
you tilt your head slightly, lashes batting up at him as you breathe, “you seem a little distracted, cowboy.” his whole body stills for a second processing it— then his hand splays wide across your stomach.
“you wanna talk about distracted?” he stammers. “i can’t form a fucking straight sentence watchin' you for months, actin' like it was nothin' when i seen you every mornin'.” then he dips his chin, breath catching yours in a half-kiss that doesn’t quite land, ghosting over your lips.
“and then you go and wear my necklace, and now i can’t think about anything but being buried inside you.”
every inch of your skin is buzzing, chest rising up to meet the weight of his words before he’s even touched you properly. but then— just before his mouth seals over yours again —your hand finds his chest.
“wait,” you whisper. “the camera.”
his expression was not from surprise— but from the fact that he’s waited for this exact moment. every night he’s ever watched you from his dark living room, palm wrapped around his shaft, this is what he imagined.
you, here, in front of him, not just performing for a faceless screen—but for him, all because of him.
you cross to the nightstand with bare feet, silk brushing your thighs. the babydoll rides high when you crouch to adjust the angle. you’ve done this a hundred times, but never like this— never with shaky hands, and never with a man’s gaze so heavy on your back that it pins you in place.
you can feel beau behind you, watching. the quiet shift of fabric, soft thump of his boots hitting the floor. when you glance over your shoulder, he’s already down to just his boxers— broad and golden in the lamplight, sprawled back against the pillows.
“you really wanna remember this, hm?” you ask, teasing as you press record.
he doesn’t answer, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip and nods.
you turn slowly, making a show of it. the silk straps fall off your shoulders. the little dress pools at your feet. you’re wearing his lingerie, the set he paid for, soft sheer cups and tiny bows he picked out with one hand in his lap and the other hovering over the checkout button.
when you climb onto the bed, you waist no time to straddle his crotch. taking your place like you’ve been waiting just as long, sinking into his lap with a satisfied sigh. his cock is thick beneath the cotton, straining toward the seam, and his hands are already on you— pawing your thighs, gripping the swell of your hips.
you lean in, lips brushing the shell of his ear, voice honey sweet. “should i look at the camera and say thank you to the sheriff?” you pause, just to feel the way his chest tightens beneath yours. “or should i say it to cowboy wrangler85?”
you bite your lip, watching the way he burns under you now, twitching under the lace he paid for.“ you're cute,” you murmur. “real old school of you. made me think you were some grumpy ranch hand, with a beer gut. didn’t think you’d be—” you trail off, letting your eyes do the speaking.
“didn’t think i’d be what?” he rasps.
“this desperate,” you whisper, shifting just enough to feel the throb of him beneath your cunt.
his hands grips your jaw, tilting your head just enough to glance over at the camera— red light blinking. his grip bruises at your waist now, the only thing keeping you from rocking forward and taking what you both came here for.
“go on, look into the camera and say it.” his eyes flick toward yours with something wild behind them, until they meet where the lens sits pointed at you both. “tell them what cowboy wrangler85 wants,” you breathe, watching the way he flushes all down his chest. “say it for me, for your good girl.”
his head falls back to the pillow, throat bobbing hard— he's panting, torn between shame and bordering on predatory. “fuck,” he groans, hand flying to your ass, squeezing hard. “you got no idea what you’re doin’ to me.”
you hum, lean in to kiss his jaw, tongue just barely tasting sweat and beard and heat. your fingers hook the band of his boxers, dragging them down slow—not even watching at first, just letting the elastic slide over the swell of his thighs, his hips, until they catch around his knees. only when he shifts do you glance down.
an exaggerated blink, then a gasp, awestruck— as his cock springs free, flushed and already smearing slick against his stomach.
“oh my god,” you whisper, one hand trailing up the inside of his thigh but not touching where he needs it, not yet. “is all this just from me settin’ up the camera?”
he laughs once as you run a nail lightly along the groove of his v-line.
“tell me how you do it,” you breathe. “when you’re watchin’ me on your computer. show me.”
beau's hand wraps around himself with a pump that’s instinctive. he strokes once, gentle at first. “like this,” he mumbles. “always just— fuck— tryin’ to match your pace.”
you watch him for a beat, then smile wickedly. your hand slides over his, coaxing his grip to stay, wrapping yours on top of his so you’re stroking together now. the creamy wet noise of you pumping his shaft as dribbles of pre cum leak from the tip.
he lowers the thick head between your pussy lips, dragging it through your slick with a strained grunt, his chest heaving.
“you’re gonna fucking kill me tonight,” he grumbles, voice thick with it, nearly trembling as he tries to line himself up.
but he pauses— pulls back just enough to look down at you. his cock bobs against your belly, flushed and twitching. that's when he sees the scale of it to your body.
beau's picturing exactly where he’ll fit, how far you’ll stretch around him. mapping out precisely how deep he’ll settle inside of you. dreaming of this moment for too long to fuck it up now.
you blink up at him, a little breathless, lips parting as you drag your nails along his forearm. “how do you want me, beau?”
it wrecks him. you don’t even realize how fast he moves until you’re on your stomach, the mattress dipping beneath you as he shifts into place.
as soon as your upper body goes down, your ass perched perfectly in the air, he’s there. looming behind you, hand reeled back, bottom lip pulled between his teeth.
his palm finds the curve of your ass, spreading you with his thumb until your swollen pussy’s on full display— dripping slick onto the sheets, begging to be filled. you can feel how empty and needy you are. by far the wettest you’ve ever been, even compared to all the toys in your drawer.
beau knew no toy you’ve ever used on camera, no silicone stand-in—nothing would compare to him. and he fucking loves it.
he spits once, lets it drip down your cunt before dragging his cockhead right through the mess, hissing low when your hips twitch back against him.
"you're too sweet for this” he mutters, more to himself than you, watching the way your pussy tries to suck him in. “gonna fuckin’ kill me.”
he fists the base of his cock, chest heaving behind you. one hand goes fumbling for the foil packet on the bed— torn open quick, shaky between his fingers. trying to do the right thing even with his brain short-circuiting at the sight of your soaked, trembling cunt.
“just— wanna be safe, sweetheart,” he mutters under his breath. rolling the condom down his shaft, stuffing it behind what felt like the only barrier between you both.
but then you’re backing up into him— rolling your hips, grinding the fat of your ass against his pelvis. and when he finally notches the head inside, a teasing press of pressure, your hand slips back between you.
the first few pumps are slow, shallow. he’s trying to stay calm, to pace himself, to deserve this somehow.
but you're soaking wet, clenching around him, begging for more. you drop your upper half even lower into the sheets, arching your back to give him a better angle, and you hear it— that low broken groan rippling up from his chest.
“beau—”
he grunts in response, eyes locked where his cock’s half-buried inside you, latex-wrapped and tight.
“take it off, please." you’re already reaching back before he can answer— fingers finding the rolled edge of the condom, dragging it up slow. and when he realizes what you’re doing, his voice breaks.
“you sure?” he whispers. “fuck— i just— i don’t wanna do nothin’ that—”
when you decide to start pushing backwards, fucking yourself onto his cock while he grabs your hips and tries not to cum. cursing under his breath about how much he's been wanting this, want you.
the sticky sound of his hips meeting your ass echo in the hotel room. and that’s when you see the camera— still running. red light blinking in the corner like it’s watching the whole thing unfold. and fuck, something changes in him.
“look at it,” he rasps, slowing his thrusts just enough to make you feel every drag of him inside you. “look right at the camera, baby. tell it who this pussy belongs to now.”
your lips part, breath trembling, brain fuzzy from the stretch. you don’t speak at first, just moan again when he hits deeper. he slapped your ass hard, burning his palm print into your flesh.
“say it.”
and when you don’t immediately— because your body’s fucking limp, your limbs barely holding you up— he folds his back over you, rasping right into your ear.
“please, baby,” he says, almost a whisper. “i’ll give you anything you want. anything. just tell me it’s mine.”
“it’s yours, beau— please don't stop.” the words fall from your lips with drool trailing from your mouth down to the duvet as your body takes him.
your thighs tremble, mouth hangs open, and the camera watches everything. how hard your nipples strain against the lace he never bothered to peel off. how your face twists up like you’re crying— so full, so fucked out.
and god, he lives for it.
beau fucks you like it’s the only proof he needs. hearing you say it cracked him wide open and now he’s got something to prove— grinding into you with ragged, punishing thrusts while he mutters filth into your skin.
and then it blurs.
after that moment, minutes blur into hours that you can’t count. a variety of camera angles and cries echoing off the walls. he had you in every position he could dream up, every one of them shot for him— his perfect, private collection.
on your back, tits bouncing, that dazed look in your eye as he held your thighs apart and told you to take it. on the floor, bent over the bed, your face pressed to the sheets while he made you say his name again and again. straddling his lap, while his hands guiding your hips.
by the time he finally let up—let you collapse against his chest, marked up and fully fucked out— you’d filmed enough for a whole fucking series. and he’d worshipped every second of it.
the camera’s long since stopped recording, but his eyes haven’t left you once. beau brushes your hair off your face, kisses the corner of your mouth. so fucking gentle, you almost forget how rough he'd gotten just an hour ago.
"you alright, sweetheart’?" he murmurs, voice heavy with exhaustion. he huffs a gruff laugh, but it’s more of a release than anything. “been waitin’ so long to touch you, i think i forgot how to slow down.”
you smile, eyes fluttering closed for a second. and then, softly ask “this isn’t just for the camera, was it?”
beau stiffens a little, but only for a moment. then he’s cupping your jaw, thumb grazing your cheek, “no, baby. god no. you think i could just walk away now?”
your fingers curl into the sheets. his thumb runs over your bottom lip. "we’re ain't done,” he whispers.
beau had spent months watching you through a screen— jerking off in the dark, whispering your name, thinking maybe that was all he’d ever get.
but now he knows better. he knows how you sound when you fall apart just for him. knows how you taste, how your thighs shake, how you beg when you're not being watched by anyone but him. and maybe it started with the money, or lust, or that fucking necklace you wore cluelessly.
clark "say thank you, baby" kent who ingrains the importance of manners into you. words of please and thanks go a long way with most, so what would make clark any different?
he's a man made of pure heart, valves and veins containing nothing but good — his kind nature all done without any need for acknowledgement or praise. everything he does, done simply just because. though after a while, he'd find himself chasing after approval, and so he'd turn to you.
but it would manifest differently.
when the head of his twitching cock rests on your tongue, he's muttering blissed, mumbled words of praise; talking sweetly of how beautiful you look with his dick in your mouth or how pretty your eyes look. and once he's finished emptying the contents of his balls on your flat and extended tongue, he's closing your mouth — a finger pressing up under your chin, as if he's asking you to swallow. he'd then come down to your level and meet you with a kiss, uttering a simple "say thank you, baby," against them.
or even when he's feeling particularly naughty, thick heavy cock resting on your cunt, he'd wait; teasing you with that he knew you wanted most — with what you needed more than everything else in the world right now. he'd grind himself through your pussy's lips, pushing his tip past the slick of your folds until he can surprise you with his dick. he'd grant your desperate pleas and begs, and would sink deep inside. pressing chaste, urgent little kisses across your cheek as he works them towards your ear. muttering softly into the shell of it, "say thank you, baby."
( synopsis ) — finally getting a break away from sam and away from all the hunting. he visits his favorite girls stream, yours. happy to spend all of his money on you if it meant he could relieve himself.
( warning ) — mdni, smut, camgirl, lingerie, sex toys, dean praising u thru chat, dirty talk, male masturbation, deepthroating, dacryphillia if you squint. this is a reupload from my old account.
Was Dean the type of man to indulge in something like this? Absolutely. More than anyone else he knew, Dean was aware, unapologetically so, that this was exactly his kind of thing.
He sat alone in a dimly lit motel room, the familiar creak of the mattress beneath him as he leaned back against the headboard. Sam was out, running errands or maybe chasing a lead on his own, and Dean knew he had time. Time to unwind in his own way. With one hand he began to unbutton his jeans, the other deftly maneuvering the mouse of his aging laptop until he landed on a site he knew far too well.
BecomeACamGirl.com
His preferred distraction. His favorite money sink. Hundreds of dollars funneled through fraudulent credit cards, all to indulge in moments of digital intimacy that felt far too real. He justified it easily.. if the money wasn't theirs to begin with, then why not spend it on something that made him feel something?
And then there was you.
Or rather, Sugar, your screen name, sweet and simple, but with a bite that matched your smile. You were his weakness. The way you spoke to him in chat, the way you said his name.. moaned his name.. it drove him to the brink every single time. It wasn't just lust. It was obsession, tangled with the illusion of connection.
He clicked through to your profile. You were live. Thank God.
It had been weeks since he'd had the chance. Sam had been glued to his side lately, and solo moments like these were becoming rare. But now, now he had you.
"Dean," your voice purred through the speakers, sultry and teasing. You sat on the floor of your softly lit bedroom, framed by plush carpet and shadows. Lingerie hugged your curves like a second skin. "Nice of you to join. Was starting to miss my favorite boy." You smiled, biting your bottom lip just enough to make his heart race.
Dean let out a breathless chuckle, jeans and boxers shoved down in one practiced motion. He typed with one hand, the other already gripping the base of his aching cock as he sent a $50 tip along with a message.
Dean: Missed you, sweet thing.
You glanced to the side to read it, your smile widening as you spoke. "You remember the last time you were here? Bought me something off my wishlist?" You leaned off camera for a moment.
Oh, he remembered. A white lace lingerie set.. soft, delicate, almost innocent. He'd imagined you in it for days. Then, he imagined it crumpled on his bedroom floor.
You returned, holding the set between two fingers like a promise. "Should I go put this on for you guys?" you asked, your voice light with a playful lilt. You giggled as you scrolled through the chat.
Dean didn't hesitate. His body moved on instinct, fingers flying over the keys as the tension in him built higher.
Dean: Fuck yeah.
After stepping off screen for a few moments, you return to view. Dean's white lingerie hugging your curves, your hair now loose around your shoulders. With a coy, knowing smile, you sit back down, settling gracefully as you flash a bashful grin to the camera.
"Do you like it?" you murmur, your voice soft and teasing.
Leaning back on your palms, you subtly adjust your posture, striking a few flattering poses to show off your body in all the right angles.
On the other side of the screen, Dean exhales sharply. Without hesitation, he spits into the palm of his hand and rewraps it around the base of his cock, slicking himself up slowly, his eyes never leaving the screen.
You reach off camera and return with a pastel pink dildo, bringing it into view with a lazy smile. You drizzle lube into your free hand, the bottle making a soft sound as you apply it, then start stroking the toy with practiced ease.
"God, baby... you're so big," you whisper breathlessly, eyes flicking up toward the camera, every word dipped in desire.
"Let me taste you. Please? Want you in my mouth," you plead softly, your lips forming a pout as you lean in, giving the silicone tip a slow, deliberate lick while holding eye contact with the lens.
Dean lets out a low groan, whispering as if you could actually hear him. "Yeah... you can," he mutters, nodding to himself, immersed entirely in the illusion that you're in the room with him.
His breath catches as he watches you take the toy fully into your mouth, lips stretched around the shaft until you reach the base, tears stinging your eyes. When you pull back, a glistening string of spit connects your lips to the toy, and his grip tightens reflexively as he watches the tears slowly drift down your cheeks.
Dean's imagination runs wild, wondering how your throat would feel around him. Could you handle all of him? Would you gag? Would you moan around him, would your eyes wet as you took every inch?
You moan softly, your free hand rising to cup your chest as you begin sucking on the toy once more, slow and sensual.
"Fuck, sugar," Dean groans, closing his eyes for a moment, hips jerking upward into his own hand as pleasure courses through him.
"Cum for me, baby," you whisper sweetly, pulling off the dildo and stroking it slowly, resting your cheek against it as you gaze into the camera with wide, glistening eyes.
"'m cumming, sugar... fuck," he gasps, his voice low and broken. With a series of quiet grunts, Dean finishes into his hand, his body tensing as he rides out the wave, breath stuttering in his chest.
You smile softly, reading through the flood of chat messages and generous tips rolling in. One by one, thank you notes and donations appear, until Dean's $300 tip pops up, rocketing him from second place to the coveted top spot: your highest tipper of the night.
Dean: Until next time, sweet girl.
"Thank you all for coming tonight. Thank you, Dean." you say gently, your voice dripping with satisfaction. "You were amazing. I'll see you next time, yeah? And don't forget, there's a new chat option if you ever want to talk."
Dean's eyes narrow with interest at that last line, watching as the camera clicks off and your profile reappears on screen. He grabs a towel from beside the bed, cleaning himself off as he scans the new feature you teased.
A direct message option.. private access to you, his favorite camgirl. For $20, he could talk to you directly, one on one.
( synopsis ) — after insecurely taking advice from jimmy and spending hours online, clark distances himself from you. scared he might’ve overwhelmed you with his clinginess. all for a crying clark to come back home to you.
( warnings ) — none! just an insecure, clingy clark.
( tags ) — @jordiemeow [to be added]
“Just leave them alone for a second, Clark!” Lois laughs, watching as Clark’s arms stay locked around your waist, his face practically buried in your shoulder like a big, needy golden retriever.
“Yeah, dude. Clinginess isn’t cute. I should know. I’m probably the best guy in the room when it comes to women,” Jimmy adds from beside Lois, nudging her playfully before he’s met with a sharp glare.
“Oh, shut up,” you say to Jimmy, leaning back into Clark’s hold. “Just give me a few minutes, baby. Lois and I are talking about the article.” You give his arm a quick pat before slipping out of his grip.
When you and Lois walk off toward the printing room, Clark stays behind. He frowns, glancing at Jimmy and leaning against the edge of the desk, his arms crossed.
“Do you think that’s true?” he mutters. “Do you think they get annoyed when I’m too… affectionate?”
Jimmy barely looks up. “Most definitely,” he says flatly. “I mean, come on, man. You’re like a big dog. Always all over them.. hugging, touching, laying your head on them. If I were dating you, I’d lose my mind.”
And that conversation sticks in Clark’s head longer than it should. Later that night, he’s alone in his cold, quiet room. The only light in the room comes from his computer screen. He’s slouched in front of it, arms crossed tightly over his chest as he stares at the headline on the screen:
“Are Clingy Boyfriends a Turn-Off?”
His eyes scan every word. Each line feels like a hit to the gut. And the comment section? Even worse.
voidsuites: “I dated someone like this once. It was suffocating. I couldn’t even stand next to them without their hands on me.”
jordiemeow: “Clingy partners are exhausting. So glad I got out of that relationship.”
hrtfilm: “Clingy usually means controlling. Red flag behavior, honestly. Be careful, guys.”
jclolz22: “It’s not bad at first.. but after a while, it gets annoying.”
Clark checks every box.
He was always touching you, his hands under your shirt, his chin on your shoulder, his arms around your waist, even in public. He’d pull you into his lap in front of anyone. You were a constant source of peace for him. A calm he never wanted to be without. But maybe that wasn’t how it felt to you. So he thought. So he stopped.
Over the next few weeks, he pulled back. He stopped bugging you at your desk. Stopped waiting outside the bathroom for you. Stopped finding excuses to pass by your apartment after work. No more arms slipping around your waist. No more hands brushing against yours. No more sudden, warm weight of him behind you while you were reading.
And of course, you noticed.
Clark might’ve thought he was giving you space, but you felt the shift immediately. He was always the one who made you feel grounded just when you got too lost in your own head, he’d appear out of nowhere and wrap you up in that warmth like a big blanket. Now, it felt like something important had been quietly taken away.
But being you, you didn’t say anything right away. You just kept thinking. Replaying things over and over.
Did you do something? Say something? Had you pushed him away without realizing? Why didn’t he want to hold you anymore? When was the last time he stayed over? It was driving you crazy. So you decided to fix it.
On your walk home one night, you nodded to yourself, already planning it out. You’d invite him over. Cook for him. Make his favorite, rhubarb pie, using Ma Kent’s recipe (which you were absolutely going to call her for).
But while you were lost in your head, something strange happened. A shadow passed over you. The sun was still high, the sky clear. No tall buildings around you. No trees. No reason for a shadow. So you looked up.
And there he was. Clark, flying overhead in full Superman gear, clearly trying to look casual. A blur in the sky, pretending he wasn’t watching you from above like some lovesick satellite.
You just smiled. Because you couldn’t exactly call him out in public. Superman was supposed to be busy saving people, not floating above his partner on their walk home like a weird, adorable stalker.
But the next day? That was different.
You had the day off. You were in your apartment, music playing quietly from the radio. You leaned against the counter, sliding a tray into the oven. Ma’s rhubarb pie. You were trying your absolute best to get it right before inviting Clark over for dinner.
And as you stood back and wiped your hands on your apron, your eyes drifted to the window. There it was again. That familiar blur of red and blue just outside.
You sighed, walked over to the window, and pushed it open.
“Clark,” you said dryly. “Get inside.”
He tried to pretend he hadn’t heard you at first, looking away dramatically. But eventually, he floated in, landing softly on your floor. He didn’t say much, just sat down on the couch, eyes glossy, face tight with emotion.
You stepped between his legs, placing your hands on his shoulders as he instinctively held your hips, his touch cautious.
“What happened?” you asked, gently.
“What do you mean?” he tried.
You raised your brows. Really?
“I just…” he started, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “Jimmy said I was being too clingy. And then I read this article online. And all these comments. And I thought… maybe I was making you uncomfortable. I thought giving you space was the right thing.”
You lowered yourself into his lap, taking his hand from his face and wiping his wet cheeks with your thumbs.
“And you listened to Jimmy Olsen?” you teased softly, trying not to smile too hard.
He sniffled, nodding. “He said girls hate guys like that. And everyone online agreed. I just wanted to do right by you, baby.”
Your hands moved to cradle his face, your thumbs brushing his cheekbones as he looked up at you, big eyes full of guilt.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“It’s okay, Clark,” you said, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips.
He kissed you back, slow and soft, holding onto you like he was afraid you’d disappear. When you pulled away, you stayed close, your foreheads pressed together, your breath mingling.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, barely loud enough to hear.
“I told you it’s okay,” you murmured. “I’m not mad. I just wish you would’ve talked to me first before disappearing like that, alright?”
He nodded, still holding you close. Then suddenly, his eyes widened, nose scrunching.
HE KNOWS WHEN I’M SLEEPING / / AND HE KNOWS WHEN I’M NOT
RUSSELL SHAW X FEM!READER
EXPLICIT CONTENT. MINORS DNI.
✩ BACK TO… NOURA’S CHRISTMAS SPECIAL
summary: russell welcomes himself home
warnings: somnophilia, dubious consent (russell and reader are consenting, but reader doesn’t verbally consent), smut
inspired by: buy me presents- sabrina carpenter
russell shaw didn’t have a ‘home’ by its orthodox standards. to him, ‘home’ was wherever you were. and right now, in the drivers seat of his car, on his way back from some small town in santa monica, you were snug in bed, draped in one of his shirts, drowning in your sheets.
russ loved it when you wore his clothes. especially so when he came home to find you in them. he’d called a few hours ago, telling you he was on his way, divulging in how much he loved you and missed you and wanted to feel you wrapped around him again.
and so, with that all-too-familiar fuzzy feeling inside, you dug out the shirt that smelled the most like him (also his favourite on you) and slipped it on.
you had no intention of going to sleep so early, but waiting all day had worn you out, to the point of you dozing off with your hand between your thighs and your head full of russell.
he’d eventually come home at around two-thirty, tired to no end but equally as eager to see you again and feel you again.
russell traipsed into the bedroom appreciating the smell of vanilla and cedarwood filling his senses before his eyes fell on your sleeping figure.
the sheets had shimmied down to lay on your waist and russell’s shirt had risen, not showing him your chest, but showing him that your hand had stayed between your thighs, despite your apparent moving around.
“oh, sweetheart.” he sighed, lightly clicking his tongue, noting how you’d forgone panties as he recalled the agreement that the two of you had shared- no panties was a bright green light for what he was about to do .
he wasn’t going to punish you, no that would be too mean. nah, he decided to wake you up with the warmest of surprises.
russell started with ridding himself of his pants, then his socks and finally his shirt. smiling and glad that his rustling around hadn’t woken you up just yet.
lifting the sheets on his side, he manoeuvred himself to be behind you, and carefully removed your hand away from yourself. you shifted slightly.
“shh, it’s okay, it’s okay. ‘m gonna make it all better.” you couldn’t even hear him but it was like your body had some subconscious response to his voice when your legs stretched out and apart, welcoming him.
your obvious need egged him on, pushing russell to cup your cunt and let him drive the heel of his palm into you. he worked you open, readying you for him while soft, barely audible sighs left your unconscious throat.
it wasn’t before long that you were wonderfully wet for him, the pitch and reverb of your sighs letting him know you were ready for him. ready for that ache to slowly dissipate as he slipped his dick into you, drawing out new sounds of slick into the room as he thrusted in and out, in and out.
as russell continued to bring you both to climax, he thought of how you might wake up tomorrow, all sticky and tangled up in him, undoubtedly glad that you wonderful boyfriend was home once again.
a/n: second installment! i know that this one is veryyyy loooooosley inspired but this is the one thing that came to mind😭 banner creds: @estrelinha-s
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