Summary: Your first-ever solo hunt with Dean doesn’t go as planned when the ‘creature’ you’re hunting is actually Soldier Boy. The plan changes and goes wrong quickly.
♡ warnings: NSFW, MDNI, 18+, smut, solider boy x dean x user, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie, u pee urself, dean cucking (?) + slightly submissive (?), pussy + face slapping, spit, intox, strip club, drugs, swearing, pet names (sweeheart, doll, whore, bitch), consent mentioned, threats, no mentions of y/n, reader-insert.
wc: 6.1k | no idea what possessed me to do this. enjoy……. Posting older!bf oneshot later tooooo yay!!
“So, why… are we drivin’ this far away?” Dean asks, his hands gripping the steering wheel.
“Reports say… there’s some… man, tormenting people, ruining neighbourhoods, disturbing residents at their homes…” You ramble on, flipping through the small pages of your notebook, squinting in the dark Impala.
“Sounds like the son of a bitch is just havin’ a bad day,” Dean responds, glancing over at your notes. “Doesn’t seem like our type of… deal,” he shrugs, using one hand to rub his jaw.
“Well, reports say… he might have superpowers, or some sort,” you shake your head, flipping through more pages. “Super strength, doing damage to things you shouldn’t be doing damage to,” you explain, glancing over at Dean.
He sighs and keeps his eyes on the road, carefully steering Baby through the winding roads in the night. He glances over at you again, reaching over to lightly tap a page, his ring glinting in the moonlight.
“What’s that about?” Dean asks, glancing over and then back at the road.
You scoff. “It says if we were to find him… he’d be at a strip club, probably.”
“Now we’re talking,” he smiles, tapping the steering wheel excitedly. “Super strength, watchin’ ladies strip… doesn’t sound like he’s doin’ much wrong,” Dean shrugs, and he leans on the gas a bit more.
“Yeah… except he’s tormenting people, and being a complete dick, Dean,” you shoot back, but he still has a shit-eating grin on his face, suddenly eager to get to small town. “It says he’s dangerous, calls himself ‘Soldier Boy’.”
“The song?” he asks, looking over at you, and you immediately roll your eyes.
“No… no, ‘Soldier Boy’, like… a soldier?” you glare at Dean, and he’s smirking, purposely making you frustrated with him. What’s new.
“I say we hit the strip clubs,” Dean declares.
The black Impala winds down the long roads, taking the two of you deeper into the small town, and Dean takes those damn glances at you; constant eyes finding your thighs, and he’s glad Sam is off somewhere, probably doing something with Ruby, and doesn’t have him in his ear, telling him how wrong it is to find you attractive.
You had joined in the little trio when you were old enough to—Bobby’s your father, and trusts you with the Winchester boys more than he’d like to admit. And with your passion for hunting, and how damn well you do it, it would almost be blasphemy for them to ignore your skills.
It left you in an odd place: between Sam and Dean. Dean was always flirting with you, even when he’d bring home some blonde bimbo from the bar, shooing you and Sam out of the motel until he was finished. And Sam was Ruby now, occupied beyond belief, doing suspicious things behind the scenes that broke some brotherly bond you couldn’t understand.
And now here you are, doing a case alone, with Dean Winchester. The first one ever.
Baby rolls to a stop, parking along a curb, bright neon lights casting a constant glow onto the car. The sign is bright and loud, and Dean smirks at the name: Lustful Lounge.
Dean is out of the Impala before you, and you’re scrambling behind him, quickly joining his side. His hands are stuffed in his pockets, only to flash the fake FBI badge at the bouncers, and he nudges you to do the same.
Mister and Misses Smith for tonight, completely unrelated. Very, very believable, Dean.
“This is a job, I hope you remember that,” you mumble to him as you walk down the long hallway, with a red tinge to the lighting, and you hear the loud music growing louder.
“Yeah… a job with strippers,” he nudges you again, smiling and fake-smoothing out his hair, before dipping into the small entrance.
There are several stages scattered around; women on poles move, swaying their hips and shaking their breasts, skimpy outfits bejewelled in rhinestones, and it reeks of marijuana, the smell coming from the back, away from the regular customers. Dean looks like a kid in a candy store, and so does Soldier Boy.
He’s lounging in one of the chairs in the VIP section, a blonde woman doing a solo dance for him, and he’s smoking a joint, nodding. Her hips twist, and her long legs bend, and he’s not even bothering to throw cash, merely observing and taking it in for himself.
“Dean,” you nudge him with your elbow when you notice his eyes straying away, focusing on the exotic dancers instead of the task at hand: operation find Soldier Boy, and get him out of there.
You lightly take hold of his hand and groan in frustration, taking him deeper into the strip club, and a VIP sign flashes. Bingo.
Another two flashes of your badges grant you access into the room, and two bouncers hold the odd beaded drapes that hide it, and your eyes widen the minute you see him: Soldier Boy.
You look at Dean and then Soldier Boy: sharp green eyes, the same sculpted nose, soft lips, a smirk that they both have on while looking at the same woman—Soldier Boy’s hair is longer than Dean's, and he’s bigger than him too, and your lips part in awe. Maybe it’s the light playing tricks on you, morphing Soldier Boy’s face. It can’t be.
Dean hasn’t even noticed.
“Who ordered this whore?” Soldier Boy suddenly calls out, his finger pointing directly towards you. “And… her fuckin’ cuck of a boyfriend, too,” he laughs, barely noticing the stark similarities the two have. But Dean does.
“Jesus Christ,” Dean curses the minute his eyes find Soldier Boy, and it’s like he’s staring in a damn mirror, if the mirror ages you about twenty years. “This son of a bitch stole my face!”
You’re too in shock to notice Dean taking steps towards the man lounging on the couch, and he glares at Dean, eyes narrowing at the younger version of himself. He blows a plume of smoke out of his mouth, but purposely towards his twin's face.
“You stole my face, kid,” Soldier Boy retorts, tilting his head to the side. “Been here for hundreds of fuckin’ years, America’s greatest. Ain’t copying some washed-up pussy, and his slut that’s too much of a bitch to come over here.”
Soldier Boy makes that sound that sounds like nails on a chalkboard–it’s like he’s calling a cat over, a gross kissy noise with his lips, and he’s calling you over with a wave of his hand, and you slowly begin to walk over. You feel like you’re more surprised than Dean is.
“No… no, I have been here for just as long as you have,” Dean retorts, pointing at the man lounging, and Soldier Boy laughs. “You’re just some old shapeshifting fucker.”
“Shapeshifting?” Soldier Boy howls, shaking his head. “Is this some fantasy, role-play kinky shit between the two of you?” he uses his blunt to gesture between your bodies. “It’s fuckin’ disgustin’, and you’re not even strippin’ for me,” he calls directly to you.
“What? I’m not a stripper–” you quickly say and shake your head, but Soldier Boy interrupts.
“With that fuckin’ body? A god damn shame you’re not,” he scoffs, and Dean, well, agrees.
“I’ve told her this,” Dean chimes in, nudging you a little and Soldier Boy narrows his eyes.
“How much you payin’ her?” Soldier Boy suddenly asks, gazing between the two of you. “Prostitutes around here don’t usually look that fuckable.”
Soldier Boy eyes you more closely, and it’s weird—not even because of how filthy he’s being, but because of how closely he resembles Dean, who is currently red in the face from anger, or embarrassment.
“I’m not a prostitute, I’m…” you mumble, fishing out your fake FBI card, and he immediately snatches it.
“Ah, a liar and a whore, Miss… Smith,” Soldier Boy mumbles, his eyes raking over the fake name and shitty photo. “Lookin’ like a real doll in the photo though,” he grins, handing back the ID with two fingers, and you snatch it and shove it in the pocket of your jacket.
“Listen,” Dean mumbles, leaning a bit closer to his doppelganger. “We just wanna know what the fuck is goin’ on, okay? If this is some trickster shit, or whatever the hell,” he murmurs, and Soldier Boy is staring at Dean like he’s speaking another language.
“Jesus Christ, this really is some kinky shit,” Soldier Boy barks, reaching over to grab you by the hip. “He payin’ you? He a cuck?” he asks, eyebrows raised, and he casually hooks his arm around your thigh, drawing you to the edge of the leather chair.
“Yes,” you say softly, nodding and gazing down at the man, and you can feel the look on Dean’s face without looking. “We…are… we are looking for a third,” you grin, and Soldier Boy looks at Dean. You’re trying not to laugh.
“She fuckin’ with me?” he asks, and Dean looks at you–you shoot him a death glare, and he does that face, that stupid shit-eating grin, though it’s mixed with dread.
“No,” Dean says through the forced smile. “She’s my girlfriend.”
Soldier Boy keeps his arm hooked around your thigh, and you mentally curse for deciding to wear a short skirt instead of the usual jeans you stick with. He taps his thumb against your bare leg and looks up at you, his jaw clenching.
“Your fantasy is to fuck a guy that looks like your… boyfriend, in front of your boyfriend?” Soldier Boy drawls, bringing his joint to his lips. “That’s fucked… some real slut shit you’re on,” he shakes his head, looking at Dean.
You roll your eyes, and Dean looks like he wants to kill himself; he’s just staring at Soldier Boy and the firm grip he has on your thigh, the awkward position that puts him eye-level with your stomach. He grits his teeth and sighs.
“So, are you gonna… have sex with my girlfriend or what?” Dean speaks up, his words coming out harsh, like he’s forcing them out of his mouth–he is; he wants no part of this.
“‘Course I am,” Soldier Boy shrugs, sliding his hand out from your thigh to firmly pat your ass. “Would’ve fucked her even if she really was just an FBI agent anyway,” he mumbles, gripping the back of your thigh.
You awkwardly squirm on your feet, trying to ignore the woman who is still half-naked, dancing on the pole before the three of you, the bright, neon lights in your eyes, and Soldier Boy is standing on his feet, sighing heavily.
“We’re parked just outside,” you chime in, and Soldier Boy casually wraps his arm around your waist, looking down at you.
“You got some fuckin’ nerve, doin’ this to a fool like him,” he drawls, nodding towards Dean, who is glaring at you and the overly large version of himself. “Can’t blame you though… looks like he wouldn’t know how to fuck a woman if she came with a manual.”
“We look the same,” Dean immediately shoots, his eyebrows furrowed.
You bite your lip, trying your hardest not to laugh at this interaction–Dean is oddly less concerned than you thought. He’s more so convinced that this is some trickster bullshit, and this entire situation has been planned perfectly, just to get the three of you alone, and then he can finally strike and kill the juiced-up man. He doesn’t believe for a second this is a hundred-year-old superhero who just so happened to steal his face, and slap on some facial hair, and maybe fifty pounds of muscle.
The three of you slowly leave the club, and Soldier Boy nods to the few bouncers who seem to have let the criminal off the hook–probably paid them off with the wads of cash he took from the fucking bank. You had read it in the report: rabid man running through the streets, shouting profanities and threatening to do worse. And now his arm is hooked around your waist, heading towards the impala.
Soldier Boy nudges his broad shoulders into the back of Baby, and you sit in the passenger’s seat, your eyes on the road. Dean looks in the rearview mirror, still trying to shake the feeling of having his long-lost twin in the back, who is around twenty years older than he is. He sighs and turns the key to the ignition.
“We doin’ this at a motel? Or do one of you sick fucks wanna do this in your bed?” Soldier Boy chimes, leaning forward, his eyes gazing at the curve of your neck. “Wouldn’t mind either, just wanna make your girlfriend know what it’s like to be fucked by a real man, you know?”
“Motel,” you say softly, nodding, and Soldier Boy clicks his tongue.
“Thought you’d be more of a degenerate,” he shrugs, looking out of the car windows. “Almost feel bad for this kid–he’s gonna watch me defile you,” he says it so plainly, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
“You’re not gonna–” Dean grits his teeth, and he has to stop himself from blowing up the entire plan.
“Oh, yes I am,” Soldier Boy taunts, nodding. “Gonna force you to watch me fuck her brains out–-doll, what’s your favourite position?” he then switches his attention to you, and you blank.
“She likes missionary, all the romance shit,” Dean plays into it, and you furrow your eyebrows, glaring at him.
“I ain’t do the romance shit, but I can put your legs behind your head,” Soldier Boy shrugs, his head tilting to the side slightly. “You flexible?”
“She is,” Dean speaks up for you, glancing in the rearview mirror, and Soldier Boy is smiling, nodding.
“Is some other kinky shit?” he asks, looking at the side of your face. “He does all the talkin’, and you sit here like a sex doll?”
“No,” you cut in, shooting the criminal a glare, and he lifts his hands in defence.
Silence fills the Impala, a brief break, and you swallow hard, trying to act like this scenario is normal. Somehow, fighting vampires and ghouls makes more sense than having a hundred-year-old soldier in the back, with the face of Dean Winchester, with the sex drive of an animal in heat.
“So, Soldier Boy,” Dean starts, swiping his tongue over his lips. “Where did you come from?”
“Why does that matter?” he asks, leaning back into the seats. “Never gonna see me again after this; you don’t need to know lick about me, or whatever else the fuck you two freaks need to know,” he shoots, his eyes noticing the flickering red motel sign.
You glance at Dean, who is already looking at you, realizing this was a lot harder than you initially had thought. Most vampires and demons, whatever the hell you stumble upon, have thousands of years of lore written down in books and on the internet, and you’ve never come across a gem like this, one that seems to be aware of the fact he’s being hunted, but still taking offers to fuck random women. You swallow hard when Baby rolls into the parking lot.
The three of you head into the motel room, and Soldier Boy makes it a point to slap your ass the second all of you are in the small room, and Dean is seething at the constant remarks–if only Dean knew that he sounds the same sometimes, but usually a bit less… filthy.
Soldier Boy sits on the bed, while you and Dean sit on the two small chairs. His brows are forever furrowed, and his arms are crossed, head cocked to the side, realizing this might not be exactly what he expected: a hookup with a girl, while his twin watches. He clenches his jaw.
“We’re just… gonna set some… boundaries first,” you lightly explain and nod, and Dean lifts his hand, half-covering his mouth, trying not to laugh. “To… make it safe.”
“Safe? Is there some fuckin’ waiver I gotta sign before fuckin’ you?” he asks, those green eyes looking into yours, and you swallow hard, shaking your head. “Usually I pay for the slut, and she shuts the fuck up. Nothin’ about a god damn waiver or rules, or safety.”
Dean rolls his eyes and leans back in the chair, his legs parting, and Soldier Boy turns his head, gazing at him. He narrows his eyes at the young version of himself, all while he lifts his hand, waving for you to come over. You look to Dean, who is reciprocating the stare-off, and you stand to your feet, walking towards the Supe.
“Isn’t this better?” Soldier Boy asks, and it’s only after he’s pulled you onto his thigh, forcing you to sit on the thick muscle. “Easier to listen when I have a plaything just waitin’ on my lap, you know? You wouldn't,” he grins and looks at Dean.
The sight has Dean’s fists clenching; you’re sitting on this grown man’s lap, his hand wrapped around your waist, a hand against your stomach, holding you up straight, the other hand slyly sliding down to inch up your skirt. It’s barely noticeable, but Dean notices, and he can’t say a word. This is a part of the plan, yeah?
“Soldier Boy…” Dean mumbles through that fake smile, but he’s interrupted.
“Ben, you can call me that too,” he shrugs lazily, keeping you on his thigh, and you oddly adjust your hips, looking up at the motel ceiling. You swallow hard, trying to ignore the firm limb between your legs, and how it doesn’t feel… like the worst thing in the world.
“Okay, Ben,” Dean starts again sarcastically, hastily rolling his eyes, looking at you and then the larger version of himself. “Can’t be beatin’ around the bush, you have to tell us some stuff before I let you… you know,” he mumbles, gesturing with his hands.
“You sure?” Ben asks, raising his eyebrows. “This bitch is already drippin’ all over my fuckin’ thigh; it doesn’t seem like she needs to know anythin’ else,” he shoots, shaking his head.
Your eyes widen, and you shake your head too. “What? No—”
Dean grimaces and looks down at Ben’s thigh and then up your body; the way your chest is heaving, the flush creeping up your neck, the sweat brimming at your hairline. His forehead wrinkles in disgust, and he realizes this man might not be entirely lying.
It’s not computing properly, the arousal you’re currently feeling; the odd ache between your thighs, the way your back is arching lightly, your thighs squeezing around Ben’s, and Dean is disgusted, completely caught off guard by the interaction, and the turn it’s taking.
“What are you doing to her?” Dean asks, his head tilting to the side, and his sharp eyes are looking at you. “Stop whatever the hell you’re doing!”
“Calm down, kid,” Ben shakes his head, licking his lips. “Not doin’ a thing, she’s just a whore,” he hisses, and you don’t even defend yourself–it’s overwhelming, the sudden lust clouding your head, and your eyes are growing heavy.
“You’re clearly doing something to her!” Dean says, standing on his feet, and Ben lifts his hand, shaking his head.
“Wasn’t this the deal? I fuck her guts, and you watch?” he drawls, raising his eyebrows, his large hand gliding down your waist and to your thigh. “Can even teach you a few things; you probably need it, don’t you?”
“I do not need some son of a bitch to teach me how to fuck women–I do it plenty, and the last thing I need is to watch her get fucked,” he groans out, his hand rubbing over his jaw. “We will leave you alone, never come back–just give her back,” he commands, like it’s an exchange, and not your body.
Ben stares at Dean, thinking. “No.”
“No?” Dean asks, a stitch forming between his brows.
“No,” he says smoothly, adjusting you on his thigh. “What do you think, doll?” He then adds, turning to glance at you.
“No…” You mumble and shake your head, and Dean’s eyes widen at your response, and he turns his head to look at the motel door and then you.
“What the fuck do you mean no!?” he practically shouts, huffing and sitting down in the seat. “This was not the plan–this is not a part of any god damn plan,” Dean rambles on, scratching his neck.
“A plan?” Ben asks, his hand sliding up your thigh casually, sliding right between them, lightly cupping your core. “What plan did you and… him have, huh?” he murmurs, turning to press his nose against your cheek.
Your head lazily tips back on Ben’s shoulder, and Dean furrows his eyebrows, quickly putting two and two together; his hand is up your skirt, and out of his eyesight. There’s only one thing that could be happening right now, and he’s in disbelief.
“Just watch,” Ben tells Dean, and you feel that large, warm palm lightly curl, and you whimper. “See? This how you touch a lady, none of that bullshit I know you do,” he curses, eyes narrowed.
Dean swallows hard and watches, unaware of what to do right now; you’re clearly enjoying yourself, and Ben is too, and he’s not sure what the tank of a man would do if he tried to leave, or better yet, intervene. He looks away.
“You ever make a girl nut?” Ben asks Dean, and he’s lightly rubbing two fingers right through your underwear, focused on your clit. “Or you jus’ leave her the second you do?” he asks, that cocky grin curled into his lips.
“What?” Dean asks, trying to ignore the soft noises slipping out of your mouth and how utterly good you feel right now.
“Look at her,” Ben says, nodding towards you. “Absolutely fucked right now, and I’m just rubbin’ her through her fuckin’ panties. Women are sluts in that way, and you wouldn’t have a fuckin’ clue about it,” he shoots.
Dean’s eyes drift towards you; the way you’re panting softly, squirming against Ben’s thigh, quietly whining and biting your lip, helpless hands trying to pull down your skirt. He clenches his jaw and looks back to Ben–the whole twin thing is still throwing him the fuck off.
“She’s not even in her right mind,” Dean says, pointing to how out of it you are; practically drooling, your head slumped back, lightly grinding into Ben’s hand now.
“Yeah, cause of me,” he rolls his eyes, snorting.
It is cause of him, and there are two reasons behind it; one of them being the sick and twisted Soldier Boy he is; telling you to take a sip of a drink back at the strip club, and you, trying to be the compliant and obedient thing you are, took it, and didn’t know what he had slipped in it. And the second reason being him; charming and good with his hands. The combination is making a filthy situation, and you’re unfortunately basking in the attention.
“Now,” Ben starts, lightly slapping your core. “You’re gonna watch me pound her from the chair,” he grins, and Dean listens to you whimper, your eyes fluttering at the light sting between your thighs.
The room is quiet, and Dean sits there, watching the way Ben manipulates your body; carefully lifting you, placing you down onto the motel bed and onto your back. The reports were definitely right; super strength, easily moving you around, like you’re the plaything and doll he speaks about.
“Actually,” Ben starts, gazing down at you. “Better look over here, c’mere, son,” he taunts, and Dean shakes his head.
“Nope,” he refuses, shaking his head again, looking up at the ceiling.
Ben rolls his eyes and sighs, gazing down at your body; your dress hiked up your thighs, your hair fanned out against the bed, your eyes heavy and your lips parted. There’s an unfortunate part about this whole thing, and it’s that you don’t… hate it.
You’ve always had that silly crush on Dean, and it made you seethe when he’d bring back bimbos from bars and hunts, and you had to sit and listen, sometimes watch when he’d try to stealthily fuck the girls while you slept on the bed over. It’s his turn, and it’s with his damn twin.
Ben carefully slides his hands up your bare thighs, watching you squirm and writhe against the mattress, and Dean can hear the light fuss from you; the whimpers, the tiny whines.
“Missin’ out,” Ben drawls, his large hands parting your legs instead. “Real fuckin’ beauty right here, and I doubt you even fuck her properly,” he calls out.
Dean rolls his eyes, and Ben is cupping you again, watching your head tip back. He clicks his tongue in disappointment, glancing over his shoulder at the awkward male in the room.
“C’mon, what do you do to the poor thing?” Ben asks, lightly slapping your core again. “Gonna probably fuckin’ cum from just this shit—you neglectin’ her?”
“Nobody is being neglected, idiot,” Dean shoots, gazing at the scene before him. “She’s not even my girlfriend!”
Ben howls at the confession, and he looks back down at you, his free hand sliding down to grab your face, aggressively pinching your cheeks.
“So, you’re a lyin’ bitch?” He asks, eyes narrowing. “Could’ve just waited on the corner, probably would’ve taken you home regardless. Instead you gotta make up some bullshit lies—the fuck is wrong with you?”
You whine and shake your head, and he shuts you up by spitting onto your face. The saliva is warm as it drips down between your eyebrows, gliding down the slope of your nose. He grins at the look on your face, looking back over at Dean.
“What is she then, huh?” Ben asks, still holding your cheeks, listening to you whine. “A sister? Oh, you’re real fucked if this is your sister,” he laughs, snorting.
Ben looks back to you and lets go of your cheeks, his hand lightly slapping your face, and you moan at the feeling, your hips lifting. He smirks at how needy you are, but he’s more concerned with the lack of care you’ve apparently received. You’re the neediest thing he’s seen.
A strong hand slides down your body, and his fingers don’t pull down your underwear; no, they rip it off, a loud sound in the motel room and Dean’s eyes widen. There’s the strength of a supe, and it’s being used to rip off your underwear.
“What the fuck—“ Dean says, standing on his feet, and he walks over, and Ben doesn’t seem to have an issue.
“Real man you are, only comin’ over here when you know you get a look at her pussy,” Ben laughs, a hand sliding down to part your legs more, his thick fingers lightly spreading your folds. “C’mon, take a look.”
Dean’s eyes bulge out of his head at the sight; you flopped on the bed, underwear on the floor, your eyes closed, lips parted, looking like you’re in ecstasy, and now, he’s seeing you bare—completely bare. Not just when he accidentally walked in on you changing, but spread open.
“See? Fuckin’ wetter than hell,” Ben laughs, examining between your thighs, licking his lips. “Look at it… leakin’, never seen anythin’ like this,” he shakes his head, turning to Dean.
Dean hesitantly looks, and he swallows hard. Despite his demeanour and the filthy remarks he makes, he’s gentle; you’ve seen the sex before, watched how soft he was with the women, the tender caresses, the sweetness that overtakes the dirty words that he says when he’s just trying to seduce the women. This is completely out of his ballpark, and he’s not sure how to process it.
“Dean,” you mumble, your eyes finding his, and his lips part the words that leave your mouth. His name, not Ben’s.
“Dumb bitch is callin’ for the guy who isn’t fuckin’ her,” Ben scoffs, and he slaps the side of your face again, and you whimper, biting your lip.
Ben reaches down, and he’s unbuckling his leather belt, the soft noise clinking in the motel, and Dean’s eyebrow furrows when he notices what’s happening. He looks to Dean, ticking his head.
“What? That much of a pussy? Can’t look at another man’s cock without gettin’ shy?” Ben asks, working on his own pants, his eyes looking back to you. “Ain’t gay, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he grins, and Dean is taken aback by the guts on this guy.
Ben’s hands slowly pull down his pants, and he’s resting his knee on the bed, his two hands now finding your thighs, spreading you open more, getting a better angle while he nudges his between your legs. He groans the second he runs his cock through your folds, and he looks at Dean out of the corner of his eye.
“Jesus Christ, she’s fuckin’ wet,” Ben hisses, his head tipping back a little, and Dean can feel his body growing warm the longer he stares at you. “She a virgin?”
Dean doesn’t respond; he merely watches, and Ben isn’t bothering with waiting for an answer. He pushes in and watches your eyes immediately squeeze shut, your back arching off the bed, and he laughs, shaking his head.
“Fuckin’ Hell,” Ben groans, burying himself as deep as he can go, breathing out. “Clenchin’ around me like a god damn dream, and you never fuckin’ hit this? God,” he laughs in disbelief, speaking to Dean, who is in disbelief.
Ben stares down at you, watching your body rock with each thrust; your eyes fluttering and your mouth agape, drool trickling down the side of it, spit finding its way out of your lips. He curses, holding your hips as he ruts into you, listening to the mewls.
“Put your fingers in her mouth,” Ben commands Dean, nodding towards you. “Shut her up, don’t gotta be hearin’ that shit the whole time,” he mutters.
Dean hesitates, but he does it, as if he’s being held at gumpoint. He shifts closer to the edge of the bed, trying to ignore the sound of skin on skin, the slapping of Ben’s hips snapping against yours, and the way your body moves with each thrust, the way you’re so blissed out.
Dean slides his two fingers past your lips, and your eyes roll back the second you realize that it’s his, and not Ben’s. You can feel the silver ring by your lips, the rough digits on your tongue, the way he’s lightly gagging you, and his eyes darken the minute he realizes how good this actually feels.
“See? Just an obedient whore,” Ben hums, confusing the relentless movement of his hips, a rough movement. “Can’t believe you had this thing walkin’ around, didn’t even try to do anythin’.”
Dean grits his teeth and deepens his fingers down your throat, listening to the soft of you gagging, the soft choking on his fingers. His lips twitch, and he can feel himself hardening in his jeans, and he glances down, ashamed of himself.
It’s a dream for you; eyes opening to see the same faces looming over you; those familiar green eyes, soft lips parted, and you close your eyes, basking in the feeling instead of resisting it. Whatever drug he has in you has you on cloud nine, and all you can do is suck on Dean’s fingers and take Ben’s cock
“Press on her stomach,” Ben then nods to Dean, and Dean glances down at the way your shirt rides up, that sliver of skin showing. “They love that shit—force her to feel my cock,” he continues, his one hand holding beneath your knee, the other one lightly slapping your other thigh.
Dean’s getting off on it now, too, and he slowly pulls his fingers out of your mouth, pressing his palm to your lower stomach, applying the pressure that Ben asks, and he nods.
“Push hard,” Ben commands, and Dean is taking orders like it’s his job. “Make her piss herself,” he mumbles, and Dean’s eyes widen, hesitantly looking down at you.
You squirm around, moaning now that your mouth is free; the sounds slip out, and Dean can feel himself getting harder at how drawn out there, how much you’re enjoying this. His eyes glance to you, and he lightly presses harder, awkwardly leaning over. Ben doesn’t seem to care.
“Atta girl,” Ben mumbles, his head tipping back when he feels you clenching harder, focusing on taking him, and holding in your piss now. “Keep pressin’, kid,” he tells Dean, and his eyebrows furrow at the awkward submissive position he’s put in.
Dean rubs the heel of his palm lightly against your lower abdomen, pushing down harder, and he can oddly feel himself enjoying this too; the way you wince and whine, how hard you’re trying to keep yourself composed, all while being focused on too many things at once.
“Gonna piss on my cock, doll?” Ben taunts, cocking his head to the side. “How’s this poor son of a bitch ever gonna see you the same again, huh? Hold it for him, not for me,” he shakes his head, and your head tips back instead, shaking it.
Dean won’t see you the same again, especially because you are pissing yourself, softly crying as you feel it streaming down, onto the bed and right in the midst of it all. Ben chuckles and doesn’t even bother stopping, just landing a cold slap against your face. Dean’s eyes widen.
“Dumb bitch,” Ben grunts, his hand lightly swatting away Dean’s, and he pushes his fist down instead, and you groan, eyes squeezing shut. “Really embarrassin’ yourself, yeah? Pissin’ all over yourself, and now you gotta sit in the car with him afterwards.”
Dean breathes heavier, his hand sliding down to press against the front of his jeans, subtly adjusting himself. And Ben finishes, a loud groan in the motel room, and he watches the way your body tenses up, your toes curling, fingers grasping at the bed sheets, and he’s filling you up, not even bothering to pull out.
“Never pull out,” Ben tells Dean like it’s casual advice. “Make ‘em take your seed, wastin’ it is for boys, not men, bet you use a condom,” he teases, still groaning and hunched over your body, holding your hips now, pressing his fingers into you.
Dean is silent and just watching, feeling him awkwardly leak into his boxers at the sight of you; your body all limp and flush, panting heavily, your eyes closed, absolutely drunk and dumbed out. Ben isn’t thrusting anymore, just keeping himself pressed between your thighs, keeping himself stuffed in there.
“She’s feelin’ it all right now,” Ben groans out, staring down at your blissed-out face. “Girls ever tell you that? That you make ‘em feel full, or do they just ask if you’ve finished yet?” he presses, and Dean is wondering why Ben is so set on humiliating him, too.
“She looks…” Dean mumbles, hovering over you, his hand lightly finding your forehead.
“Fuckin’ hot,” Ben cuts in and nods, licking his lips again. “Feels fuckin’ hot too, tightest pussy I’ve felt in a while–you sure she’s not a virgin?” he asks, and Dean shakes his head.
You whine quietly as the boys bicker over top of you, discussing whether or not your virginity was just taken in front of Dean by his god damn twin. You whine and tip your head back again, your chest puffing out.
“Poor thing, she's never been fucked by a real man,” Ben clicks his tongue, and Dean registers the word: supe. “Really irresponsible of you, you know that? Jus’ filled her guts with more cum than you’ll ever produce in your life,” he laughs, referencing the odd amount of semen this man can produce–it’s for reproduction to carry on these godly genes, and it’s inside of you, stretching and filling you out.
Dean is slightly realizing the gravity of the situation; you, being fucked by the thing they were hunting. If it were a vampire, or any other god damn creature, he would’ve shot and killed the thing by now, and burned its bones, but Ben’s human-like similarities, and… well, the charm, made him forget that you were being plowed by some superhuman, with superhuman abilities.
Neither are sure how you’ll explain this to Sam, not at all. And Dean gulps when Ben looks at him, gesturing to your limp body.
“Now show me what I taught you,” Ben grins. “Or I’ll snap your fuckin’ neck.”
Dean makes tapes and sells them to creepy guys, and stoner reader is unknowingly becoming a big star
-🌺
18+
dean’s a huge creep. this is a well documented fact. he watches degenerate porn and goes after girls a bit too young for him, textbook weirdo. throughout his tenure hunting he’s become a serial predator of sorts. he’d stop outside bars and take home the weakest stumbling girl who had the misfortune of being within deans peripheral.
like all good freaks, he started keeping tokens to remember each girl by. a tape. he had about 17, his favorite number. seventeen tapes of young college aged girls getting absolutely destroyed by him on camera! it was a winchesters wet dream. dean had a little secret however, he wasn’t the only person who had these tapes.
to make some extra money on the road he’d sell these almost snuff films online to men equally as sick and perverted as he was. sam never questioned how he always had spare cash on him until tonight. tonight dean got cocky.
dean had left the motel a few hours earlier, mumbling something about going out for a drink. he did go out for a drink originally, that wasn’t a lie, but that wasn’t his only intention. when he pulled up to the bar he spotted you immediately. you were out front smoking what he assumed was a joint and knew then that you were coming home with him tonight. dean walked up to you from his car very suave. you giggled a bit at his confidence. “hi there,” he started hovering over you. “hi,” you smiled back. as you looked up to make eye contact you found hungry eyes already staring back at you. the friendly shell you had put on was starting to crumble as the two of you stared at one another.
“mind if i take a hit?” he asked eyes still looking into yours. “sure go ahead.” you weren’t sure where this was gonna go. he slowly inhaled, making sure not to break eye contact the entire time. “that’s good shit,” he laughed handing the joint back to you. “yeah…” you trailed off with a giggle. you were decently high by this point, having smoked down to about the half way point. dean took note of this.
he developed a strategy; first he would distract you by rambling on and on about bullshit.
“so yeah my mom died in a fire when i was younger and you know i really think that messed me up…”
next, he would segway.
“y’know you look alot like her..” “i doubt that,” you giggled clearly intoxicated.
then he’d trap you.
“well i have a few pictures of her at my place if you wanna see?” he smirked. “sure.”
you got in his car and rode with him to an unknown location. you would never have done this sober but he was cute enough to sway you in your current headspace. you arrived at a shitty motel which confused you a bit but you stayed silent. inside the room, sam heard deans car pull into the parking lot. he watched from the window as his brother sat inside. he looked closer realizing there was a girl in the passenger seat. it was you.
inside you had slowly gotten more incapacitated by the minute. you could register that dean was talking to you but not what he was saying. he stops talking for a second before pulling out a small camera and setting it on the dash. when he slapped ur cheek lightly and was met with no reaction he knew you were ready.
dean turned the camera on putting his face in frame. “look at what we got here guys! stupid little thing can’t even keep her eyes open,” he smiled, grabbing the camera and panning it over your body. his strong arms came to grab your body positioning you towards him. he split ur thighs open with his forearm and moved the camera closer. your skirt was pulled up around your hips, giving a clear shot of your soaked panties. “aww look how wet she gets, its like fucking a virgin.”
from the window sam watched as his brother filmed and fucked a heavily intoxicated girl in his car. ignoring the tightness in his pants at the scene, he couldn’t believe his brother would do something so sick. he couldn’t believe that the person he loved was a monster who took advantage of girls like this. he couldn’t keep watching instead choosing to ignore the sick behavior happening outside. that was until he heard the door open. “hey can i borrow your laptop real quick.” it was dean. “for what?” sam sighed averting his gaze. “um… i found some old pictures of mom, just wanted to download em,” he lied. “yeah whatever.”
from that day forward anytime his brother randomly offered to pay for things or said he had extra cash, sam threw up in his mouth just a little.
sam winchester the type of guy to submit fully to a girl. hes such a cryer and pouter like he needs attention at all times. and yes hes nasty but he wants his (probably older) girl to do those things to him
SAM LOVES OLDER WOMEN!! in my own personal fanon i fully believe that sam was taken advantage of by an older woman when he was younger and dean hyped him up about it so he thought he was the man. ever since then he’s liked em older. i think if he has an older gf theres no doubt he’s her bitch. thats his mommy, seriously.
he’d have such a hard time being away from her. you’re going to get groceries without him? he’s hysterical, crying on the phone asking where you are. he’s such a crybaby. if you dare to deny your sweet boy sex, he’s crying on the bathroom floor wondering why you don’t want him. you honestly think he does it on purpose. you can tell because of how much he enjoys when you hold him after. he’s just a big 6’5 baby at his core and he sure does love his mommy.
in your recent post about Sam being gross but not as gross as his brother you mentioned him imagining “how good it’d feel to cut a girls stomach open and fuck the wound”
Care to elaborate on thatttttt?
Either like him actually doing it or just get into his gross little brain and tell us his thoughts while he jerks off
Does he jerk off to actual rape and snuff?
yes ofc!!! 18+
i think during his time with ruby would probably be the only time he acts on something like this. i haven’t gotten to that plot-line yet (so apologies if its mischaracterization) so i’m gonna keep this part short but i could see him finally fighting back and stabbing her then instantly get turned on and try to fuck the wound. he would see it as an act of revenge and also love. watching her writhe in pain and him having to hold her still while he thrusts into a growing gash on her stomach would make him feel a type of power he’s never felt before and will likely never feel again. its sort of a one off thing that he does once and never talks about or does again.
now when it comes to his masturbation habits i think it develops young. it starts when he’s about 12 or 13 and watching an episode of dateline on some murder case. hearing the way they talk about the crime scene and how the victim was found awakens something within him and he doesn’t really understand it but he likes how it made him feel. for about a year after that he’d sit on the edge of the couch and watch dateline fully hard but wouldn’t jerk off. he didn’t really know what masturbation even was until he went through the family computer. there he found deans search history, just full of the raunchiest sites imaginable. this was the late 90s so obviously he wasn’t watching super crazy stuff yet but it was enough to open the floodgates. from then on he’d spend an hour every week watching increasingly violent pornography; still, completely rock solid but not touching. i do think there’d be some loli hentai stuff sprinkled in that he got from deans search history, but thats typical for boys his age. he sorta does this for a few years until he enters his last few years of highschool. as the internet becomes more accessible he discovers websites akin to that of liveleak and bestgore. there he finds what he’s really into. it starts light with real rape videos and the occasional suicide video but eventually progresses to full on beheadings and snuff films. he finally starts actually jerking off when dean walks in and catches him at the computer staring at a video of a dead woman— neck slashed and everything— strung from a bannister getting raped, just insanely hard.
“dude what the fuck are you doing.” sam quickly scrambled to pause and cover the screen. “uh! nothing get out!” he lowered his head in embarrassment but his brother let out a huffed laugh. “why are you watching porn with your pants on?” dean laughed. he found the entire situation confusing and extremely funny. “what?” sam looked at him puzzled. he wanted nothing more than to be the woman in the video right now. he felt so humiliated. “oh sammy, please don’t tell me you’ve spent all your time watching this weird shit without jerking off,” dean sighed and shook his head. “i mean its already odd enough what you’re watching and you don’t even get off to it? dude you are seriously weird.” “i uh don’t know how…” sam’s demeanor slowly changed he had just lured his older brother into his game. sammy’s such a manipulator. “are you serious?” deans face fell flat. just when he thought his pervert brother couldn’t get any weirder. “can you show me?” sam asked softly. he gazed up at his older brother with soft pleading eyes, how could dean resist? “ugh fine but don’t make it gay.” sam couldn’t believe “making it gay” was the thing he was worried about, it was almost laughable. “here take your pants off and your underwear,” dean whispered grabbing the waistband of his brother’s jeans. sam slowly pulled them down, his erection springing from the confines of his boxers. deans eyes widened; sure he had seen sam naked when they were kids but it was different now. now, he was bigger in every way and dean couldn’t help but notice. dean quickly snapped back to the scene in front of him when he heard the sound of the video resume playing. “now what?” “wrap your hand around it like this and slowly go up and down,” dean responded while softly wrapping his large hands around his little brothers cock. sam was already sticky with precum so it made deans job a bit easier. he slowly stroked sam starting from his cute pink head and ending with his plump balls. dean couldn’t believe what he was doing, he couldn’t believe that his brother was bigger than him either. sam stared at the hand moving against his shaft in awe. “mnmfph dee stop! stop!” he cried. “what why? what’s wrong?” his brother looked at him in fear worrying that he hurt him in some way. “dean i’m gonna pee!” dean laughed at the words. “oh my god! dude you’re not gonna pee, that’s an orgasm. you’re gonna cum sam,” he said matter-of-factly. the older boy giggled a bit and continued stroking. sam bucked his hips into the fist. he didn’t mean to it just happened but dean thought it was the hottest sight he’s ever had the pleasure of seeing firsthand. he could tell sam was getting close based on his sporadic movements. “fuck! dean it’s gonna come out!” right as he said that dean removed his hand. he was instantly met with a whine and string of complaints. “hey! hey! listen i just came in here to teach you. now you know the basics so you can go ahead and finish yourself off.” “but dee-” “just do it like i did and you’ll be fine. i gotta go.” with that he quickly rushed off but not before sam noticed the tent in his pants.
sam grabbed his cock and attempted to replicate the feeling on his own. he stared at whatever video had autoplayed on the computer and gripped himself. he found himself watching yet another necrophilia video. as he watched he wished he was that girl; dead and lifeless getting filled by some sick fuck who likes when their victim can’t fight back. “fuck! fucking use me! please dean! please!” he cried into his palm as he stroked himself faster. it didn’t take long before he finally came. long ropes of cum shot from his tip as his pelvis and thighs spasmed. he slumped back in his chair and quickly shut off his computer.
niggas when they harass and take away the safe spaces for victims of pedophilia, grooming, rape, and incest, because they write about their experiences and their defense is that ur harming victims:
this gets me rlly mad actually because the whole “ur harming victims” argument is stupid because i am a victim it gives “well u cope in a way that makes me uncomfortable so youre not really a victim.” like stop this perfect victim shit because i have every justification to write the way i do since im writing about my real life experiences
niggas when they harass and take away the safe spaces for victims of pedophilia, grooming, rape, and incest, because they write about their experiences and their defense is that ur harming victims:
Summary: You are stuck at your dad’s pool party after cleaning all day, Soldier boy - your dad’s hot best friend can’t keep his eyes off you in your white bikini.
৻ꪆ Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, 18+, smut, large age gap, virginity loss, rough sex, finger sucking, forbidden sex, alcohol mentioned, risk of getting caught.
wc: 3.5k
The backyard pavement was warm against your thighs as you sat at the edge of the pool, toes lazily dragging through the water. The late afternoon sun still burned hot overhead, but it did nothing to improve your mood.
“Hey, go tell your aunt and uncle hi,” your dad called, nodding toward the group clustered near the grill.
You sighed heavily, pushing yourself up. You’d been in a bad mood all evening, your dad had made you clean the entire house top to bottom because his “friends” were coming over. Every bathroom, every countertop, every damn floor. All for a stupid pool party. But at least Ben would be there.
Ben. Your dad’s closest friend for as long as you could remember. You’d grown up around him, trailing after the two of them like a shadow. He was practically an uncle to you.
But God, was he cute.
Once you’d said your polite hellos to your aunts and uncles (smiling through the small talk while your mood simmered), your dad waved you over again. “Go check the mail, will you? Should be here by now.”
You slipped on your sandals and skipped toward the front yard, grateful for any excuse to get away from the noise for a minute. You adjusted your white babydoll top, tugging it into place, then rolled the waistband of your jean shorts once more so they sat even higher on your thighs. The second you reached the front yard, a familiar truck rumbled up the driveway.
Your stomach flipped.
Soldier Boy hopped out of the driver’s side, all broad shoulders and cocky posture. He looked unfairly good, black t-shirt stretched tight across his chest, jeans slung low.
You gulped, heart picking up speed, and lifted a hand to shield your eyes from the sun.
“Hey, Ben,” you called, trying to sound casual.
He slammed the truck door with a grunt, the sound sharp in the quiet front yard. His eyes flicked up and immediately dragged down your body, taking in the tiny white top and the shortened jean shorts, before settling on your face.
“Hey, kid.” His voice was rough, low, the same gruff tone you’d heard since you were little. But this time it felt different. He didn’t move right away, just stood there staring a beat too long. “The fuck you wearing?”
Heat rushed to your cheeks. “It’s a pool party,” you shot back, crossing your arms.
Ben huffed a laugh, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. He stepped closer, boots crunching on the gravel, until he was towering over you. Up close he smelled like leather seats, faint cigar smoke, and something warm and masculine that made your pulse stutter.
He reached out and tugged lightly at the hem of your babydoll top, straightening it with a gentleness that didn’t match the asshole smirk on his face. His knuckles brushed just below your ribs. “You’ve been cleaning all day, right? Your dad mentioned it. Poor thing.”
The same man who could level buildings without blinking still noticed when you were in a shit mood.
“Yeah, well, I’m over it,” you muttered, glancing up at him.
Then Ben straightened up, clearing his throat. “C’mon, kid. Before your daddy starts to worry,”
He started walking toward the backyard, but not before his hand brushed the small of your back, light, lingering, and definitely not uncle-like.
You followed Ben toward the backyard, cheeks still burning from that lingering touch on your lower back. The party noise hit you again, laughter, music, the splash of water.
“Oh hey Ben!” your dad called out, waving him over with a big grin.
Ben nodded, he walked over to clap hands with your dad like they’d just seen each other yesterday instead of months ago. You hung back, sighing as you scanned the yard. Your cousins were running around screaming, way too young to talk to. Your aunts and uncles were clustered in lawn chairs, gossiping about things you couldn’t care less about. No one here was your age. It sucked.
You wanted nothing more than to disappear upstairs, crawl into bed, and doomscroll on your phone until your eyes hurt. But no, your stupid dad had taken it earlier “so you’d be social.”
“Kid, go swim with your cousins,” your dad suddenly yelled across the yard, giving you a pointed glare before taking a long sip of his beer.
You groaned loudly. “I don’t wanna change, and my swimsuit’s in the house,” you argued, giving him your best sad-puppy look.
Your dad wasn’t having it. “Go. Now.” He pointed firmly toward the house.
You let out a frustrated huff, spinning on your heels and storming off across the grass. You could feel eyes on you, probably half the party, but the only gaze that actually made your skin prickle was Ben’s. You didn’t turn around to check, but you swore you felt it burning into your back.
The cool air inside the house was a relief after the sticky heat. You slammed the back door a little harder than necessary and headed upstairs toward your room, muttering under your breath the whole way. Stupid party. Stupid chores. Stupid–
“You throw that door any harder and it’s gonna come off the hinges.”
You froze halfway up the stairs. Ben’s voice stopped you cold. He’d followed you inside. Of course he had.
He leaned against the wall at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you. But his eyes weren’t mocking. Not entirely.
“Bad mood still going strong, huh?” he asked, tilting his head. “Your dad’s just trying to get you out there.”
You turned to face him fully, “I don’t want to swim with a bunch of little kids. I just wanted to stay on my phone and be left alone. But apparently that’s a crime.”
Ben pushed off the wall and slowly climbed a couple steps, stopping just below you so you were almost eye-level. He was close again. Too close. The scent of him filled the narrow stairwell.
“Poor little princess,” he murmured, voice dripping with a teasing tone. “You’ve been running around cleaning this place all day for your old man. Least he could do is cut you some slack.” His gaze dropped to your legs for a second before flicking back up.
You swallowed, heart hammering. He was right there, practically an uncle, your dad’s best friend, and yet the way he was looking at you right now felt anything but familial.
“You gonna rat me out if I hide up here for a while?” you asked, half-joking.
He reached up and lightly flicked the strap of your babydoll top back into place, his fingers brushing your shoulder.
“Nah. I’ll cover for you… for a minute.” His voice dropped, “But you keep giving me that attitude? Might change my mind, sweetheart. I’ll have to drag you back out there myself.”
He lingered on the stairs, eyes locked on yours, the tension thick enough to taste. The distant sound of the party filtered through the walls, but right now it felt like the two of you were the only ones in the house.
You nodded quickly, heart still racing from the way Ben had been looking at you on the stairs. You turned and rushed back up the rest of the steps, gulping as you practically sprinted to your room.
Inside, you stripped fast and slipped into your white bikini, the one that matched your freshly painted nails. The top tied neatly behind your neck and the bottoms sat high on your hips. You threw your hair up into a messy ponytail, gave yourself one quick look in the mirror, and ran back downstairs before you could overthink it.
Thank God Ben was already back outside when you stepped into the yard again.
You sighed in relief, kicked off your sandals, and dipped your feet into the cool water at the edge of the pool. The chill felt good against your heated skin.
“Good, thank you,” your dad said, walking over and patting your back. “Sorry for being hard on you, hun.”
You smiled up at him, surprised by the apology. Then your eyes flicked over to Ben.
He was sitting in a lawn chair a few feet away, beer in hand, staring daggers at your dad. His jaw was tight, shoulders tense. When he caught you looking, his expression shifted, just slightly, but that intense gaze stayed on you now, slowly dragging down the white bikini and back up again.
You raised a brow. Your dad let out a long sigh and took another swig of his beer, relaxing back into his chair.
“Ben told me to be easier on you. He’s right,” your dad admitted with a small chuckle, completely oblivious to the way his best friend was still watching you. “Guess I’ve been riding you too hard today.”
You smiled softly and looked away, warmth blooming in your chest. Ben had actually said something to your dad for you?
Before you could think too much about it, your little cousins came running up, giggling as they tugged at your messy ponytail and tried to climb onto your back.
“You’re so pretty!” one of them squealed, playing with the ends of your hair like you were their personal doll. “Come play with us!”
You laughed despite yourself, letting them pull you a little further into the shallow end. The water lapped around your thighs as you crouched down to their level, trying to entertain them. But you could still feel it, his stare.
Ben hadn’t stopped watching you.
Every time you bent over to pick one of the kids up or when the water made your bikini cling tighter, you caught him. He was leaned back in his chair pretending to listen to whatever your dad was saying, but his eyes kept cutting back to you. Dark. Hungry. A little pissed off, like he hated how much he was staring.
At one point your dad got up to grab more drinks, leaving Ben alone for a moment. He didn’t waste it.
He stood up slowly and strolled over to the edge of the pool, towering above you. The afternoon sun glowed behind him, making him look even bigger.
“White bikini, huh?” he muttered, voice low enough that only you could hear. “Matching the nails and everything. You trying to kill me today, kid?”
You glanced up at him, still holding one of your cousins on your hip. “Thought you said I should swim.”
“I said you should listen to your dad. Didn’t say you should come out here looking like a fucking dream and torture the rest of us.” He crouched down, closer to your level, eyes flicking to the cousins before returning to you. “You good now? Or still pissed?”
One of your cousins tried to splash him. Ben just raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, which made the kid giggle harder.
You bit your lip to hide a smile. “I’m… better. Thanks for talking to my dad.”
Ben grunted, looking away like it was nothing. “Yeah, well. Somebody had to. Can’t have you sulking around all night in that outfit.” He paused, then added quieter, almost reluctantly, “You look good, sweetheart. Real good.”
He straightened up before your dad could come back, but not before his fingers brushed the top of your messy ponytail, quick, almost gentle, like he couldn’t stop himself from touching you.
The tension between you two was getting harder to ignore with every passing minute.
As the sun began to dip lower, painting the sky in soft oranges and pinks, your cousins started getting sleepy and cranky. One by one, everyone began saying their goodbyes and heading out. The backyard slowly emptied until it was just the fading music, scattered cups, and some family left.
You sat on the edge of the pool again, towel wrapped low around your waist, eating a slice of cold watermelon while you watched the sunset. The juice dripped down your fingers as you tried to enjoy the quiet.
Ben had been sitting across the yard, pretending to listen while your dad chatted with your aunts and uncles. The second they headed toward the gate, he got up and walked over to you. Without a word, he dropped down beside you and draped a heavy arm around your shoulders, pulling you in against his side like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Hey, kid,” he said with a long sigh, leaning back on his other hand.
“Hi,” you answered softly, taking another bite of watermelon.
“You have fun today?” He tilted his head, looking at you.
You nodded, still staring at the sunset instead of meeting his eyes. Your heart was beating too fast with him this close, his warm skin against your bare shoulder.
“Good,” he murmured, voice dropping low as he leaned in until his lips brushed the shell of your ear. “I had fun lookin’ at you.”
You blushed hard, finally turning to face him. “Good view?” you giggled, setting the watermelon rind down and reaching up to wipe the sticky juice off your cheek.
Ben beat you to it.
His thumb brushed across your bottom lip and the corner of your mouth, slow and deliberate, wiping the juice away. His touch lingered a second longer than it needed to, the rough pad of his thumb dragging lightly over your soft skin. The way he was looking at you made heat pool low in your stomach.
You blushed even deeper and turned away, suddenly very interested in the sunset again.
Ben chuckled under his breath, but didn’t pull his arm off your shoulders. “I’m too drunk to drive home,” he grunted after a moment. “Gonna crash on your couch.”
You looked up at him and nodded. “Oh, okay.”
“Say bye to your family, then I’ll give you your phone,” your dad called out from across the yard.
You stood up with a sigh, letting the towel drop to the ground. The white bikini felt even smaller now with the way Ben’s eyes followed the movement. You gave quick hugs to the last of your family, smiling politely as they complimented how grown up you looked.
Your dad handed your phone back with a tired sigh. “Go to bed at a reasonable time. I’m gonna hit the hay, Ben.”
Ben nodded, cracking open another beer. “I’ll be in right behind ya. Gonna help clean up.”
Your dad clapped him on the shoulder gratefully and headed inside, the back door clicking shut behind him.
Now it was just you and Ben.
The backyard was quiet except for the low hum of the pool filter and the distant sound of crickets. Ben stood up slowly, towering over you again. His gaze traveled down your body, bikini still damp, skin glowing in the sunset, before flicking back to your face.
“Help me clean, huh?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.
He smirked, stepping closer until there was barely any space between you. “That’s what I told him.” His voice was lower now, rougher. “But we both know I’ve got other plans tonight, sweetheart.”
His hand came up, fingers lightly tugging on your messy ponytail, tilting your head back just enough so you had to look at him. The tension that had been building all day was finally starting to snap.
“Still think I’m just your dad’s asshole friend?” he asked, thumb brushing your jaw. “Or are you finally catching up?”
“Kinda both,” you giggled, the words barely out before you leaned up and kissed him.
Ben froze for half a second like he hadn’t expected you to actually do it. Then a low, hungry sound rumbled in his chest and he kissed you back hard, his big hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck, holding you in place. His mouth was hot, demanding, tasting like beer and the sunset. The kiss quickly turned filthy, his tongue sliding against yours, claiming, while his other arm wrapped around your waist and pulled your barely-covered body flush against him.
“Fuck, kid,” he growled against your lips when you finally broke for air. “You sure you know what you’re starting?”
You nodded, breathing fast, lips already swollen. “I want it… I want you.”
That was all it took.
Ben kissed you again, deeper this time, walking you backward across the yard until your back hit the side of the house. One of his thick thighs pressed between your legs, and you whimpered into his mouth at the sudden pressure. His hand slid down, squeezing your ass possessively over the wet bikini bottoms.
“Inside. Now,” he muttered, nipping at your bottom lip. “Before I bend you over right here where your dad could walk out.”
He barely gave you time to think before he was guiding you through the back door, one arm still locked around your waist like he couldn’t stop touching you. The house was dark and quiet, your dad already upstairs and snoring. Ben didn’t bother turning on any lights. He pushed you into the downstairs bathroom, locking the door behind him with a click that sounded way too loud in the silence.
The second the lock turned he was on you again.
He lifted you onto the counter like you weighed nothing, stepping between your spread thighs. His mouth crashed back into yours while his hands roamed, squeezing your tits through the thin white bikini top, thumbs brushing over your hardening nipples until you moaned.
“Been thinking about this all fucking day,” he rasped, kissing down your neck, sucking lightly on your pulse point. “Watching you prance around in that tiny bikini, acting all innocent. You have any idea what you do to me?”
His hand slipped between your legs, rubbing you over the bikini bottoms. You were already soaked, and not just from the pool. Ben groaned when he felt it.
“Shit… you’re dripping for me, sweetheart.”
You whimpered, suddenly shy despite how badly you wanted this. “Ben… I’ve never… I’m still a virgin.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark but surprisingly soft for a second. “Yeah? You sure you want your first time to be with an old asshole like me?”
You nodded quickly, pulling him back in by his shirt. “I want you.”
“Fuck.” He kissed you slower this time, almost tender, then got that cocky smirk back. “I’ll take care of you. But I’m still gonna ruin you for anyone else.”
He tugged your bikini top down, freeing your breasts, and latched his mouth onto one nipple while his hand worked the other. You gasped, fingers threading through his hair. Then he pulled back, bringing two thick fingers to your lips.
“Open.”
You obeyed, taking them into your mouth. Ben’s eyes darkened as you sucked on them, tongue swirling around the digits the way you thought he might like. He groaned low.
“That’s it… good girl. Get them nice and wet.”
When he finally pulled them out, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his fingers, he pushed your bikini bottoms to the side and slowly slid one finger into you. You tensed at the stretch, but he kissed you through it, murmuring against your mouth.
“Relax, baby. Just breathe. I got you.”
He worked you open carefully, adding a second finger after a minute, curling them just right until your hips started rocking against his hand. The wet sounds echoed obscenely in the small bathroom. His thumb found your clit and rubbed tight circles, and you cried out, thighs shaking.
“Ben, fuck,”
“Yeah? Feel good?” He pumped his fingers faster, scissoring them gently. “Gonna make you come on my fingers first. Then I’m fucking you properly.”
You came hard a minute later, clenching around his fingers, moaning into his neck as he kissed your temple and whispered filthy praise.
He didn’t give you much time to recover. He shoved his shorts down, his thick, heavy cock springing free. You stared, a little nervous at the size, but so turned on it hurt.
Ben noticed. He stroked himself slowly, then lifted your chin.
“You can take it. I’ll go slow at first.”
He lined up and pushed in inch by inch, stretching you open. It burned, but the burn felt good mixed with the overwhelming fullness. Ben groaned deeply, forehead pressed to yours, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise.
“Fuck… so tight. Such a good little virgin for me.”
Once he bottomed out he stayed still, kissing you softly until you started squirming, needing more. Then he started moving, deep, steady thrusts that gradually got rougher. Not too rough, but enough that the counter creaked beneath you and your moans filled the bathroom.
He fucked you like he’d been dying to all day: one hand in your messy ponytail, the other gripping your thigh, spreading you wider. Every thrust hit that perfect spot inside you until you were clawing at his back.
“Look at me while I fuck you,” he growled, voice strained.
You did, eyes locked on his as another orgasm crashed over you. Ben followed right after, burying himself deep and coming with a low, broken groan of your name.
He stayed inside you for a long moment after, both of you breathing hard. Then he kissed you again, slow and surprisingly sweet, before gently pulling out.
“Shit, kid…” He rested his forehead against yours, thumb stroking your cheek. “You okay?”
You nodded, dazed and glowing. “Yeah… really okay.”
if you dont fuck them until the only words they can say are deleriously babbling “dad dad daddy dad” in between strokes you’re not fucking them hard enough
Summary: Your dad leaves to go on a business trip, leaving you with Beau Arlen, your dad's best friend. He was supposed to keep you safe, instead he ruined you for anyone else.
ᢉ𐭩 Warnings: MDNI, 18+, NSFW, large age gap, drunk sex, lots of praise and pet names, finger sucking, unprotected sex
wc: 3.6k
Your dad had mentioned he’d be gone for a week. That was fine, you’d handled a few days on your own before.
But this time was different.
“Beau’s gonna stay over for a bit, alright?” he said, eyes glued to the football game on the TV, barely glancing your way.
You stopped in the middle of the living room. “Wait—what? Are you serious?”
“Dead serious, hun.” He took a long swig of his beer. “No arguments.”
“Come on, Dad, I’m eighteen. I’m perfectly fine by myself,” you argued, stepping right in front of the screen to block his view.
He leaned sideways with a sigh. “No arguments. And you’re lucky it’s Beau. Could’ve been your grandma.” He waved you out of the way, muttering, “At least he won’t knit and lecture you about your love life.”
You groaned, but the conversation was clearly over. He was already focused back on the game.
Later that evening, the doorbell rang.
You opened it and there he was, Beau Arlen, in the flesh. Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a worn flannel over a dark t-shirt, and jeans. His stubble was a little thicker than usual.
“Hey, kiddo,” Beau said as he dropped his duffel bag just inside the door. “Heard I’m on babysitting duty for the week.” He grinned and reached out to ruffle your hair.
You dodged his hand quickly. “No, you’re not.”
“Oh yes, he is,” your dad cut in, giving you a pointed look from the couch. “And don’t give him a hard time, alright? It wasn’t his choice, it was mine.”
“I know, Dad,” you mumbled, crossing your arms.
Your dad sighed and pushed himself up. “I better hit the road.” He pulled you into a quick hug and kissed your forehead. “Love you, even if you hate me right now.”
You frowned but hugged him back. “Bye, Dad. Love you.”
He gave Beau a nod and a wave on his way out. The front door clicked shut, leaving the two of you alone in the sudden quiet of the house.
“Aww, bunny, don’t pout,” Beau said softly, patting the top of your head. He’d called you that since you were little, it was impossible to stay annoyed when he said it. “He’ll be back in a week.”
He smiled down at you, then grabbed his duffel bag again. You reached for the smaller one before he could.
“I can show you the guest room,” you offered.
Amusement flickered across his face as he followed you down the hallway. “Lead the way, hun.”
You led him down the hallway and pushed open the door to the guest room. It was simple but comfortable, fresh sheets, a big window, and the faint scent of laundry detergent.
“Here you go. There’s an extra blanket in the laundry room if you need it,” you said, nodding toward the end of the hall.
“Thanks, sweetheart.” Beau gave your back a gentle, appreciative pat that lingered just a second longer than expected.
You swallowed hard at the warmth of his hand, then nodded quickly.
“Mhm. I’m gonna go make myself some food,” you mumbled, suddenly feeling awkward. You hadn’t exactly planned on having company.
“No worries, I won’t bother ya,” he replied easily. He tossed his duffel bag onto the bed and headed back toward the living room.
In the kitchen, you filled a pot with water and set it on the stove for ramen. A couple minutes later, a low voice rumbled behind you.
“Whatcha making?”
You startled slightly and pulled out one of your airpods. “Just some ramen,” you said, fidgeting with the strap of your tank top.
Beau’s eyes dropped to your hands. Without a word, he stepped closer and gently adjusted the strap for you, his fingers brushing your shoulder. Your breath caught.
“I can order us some pizza,” he offered, voice warm.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that…” You felt weird accepting. He was being so nice.
“Let me, hun. It’s been a while since it’s just been the two of us.” He leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his broad chest. “You used to crash at my place all the time when you were younger.”
You smiled despite yourself, memories flooding back. He really had been like an uncle to you growing up.
“Okay, fine,” you said with a small giggle, sliding onto one of the island counter stools.
Beau glanced up from his phone, thumbs hovering over the screen. “Cheese or pepperoni?”
“Whatever you want is fine.”
You started spinning slowly in the chair, feeling a little restless. Beau’s hand landed on the back of the stool, gently stopping your rotation.
“Careful now, bunny. You’re gonna make yourself dizzy,” he said, voice low and amused.
You looked up at him, suddenly aware of how close he was standing. The way he towered over you, green eyes crinkled with that familiar teasing smile.
“Sorry,” you mumbled.
“It’s alright,” he chuckled, ruffling your hair lightly. “You’re always moving, aren’t ya?”
He tapped a few more times on his phone, finishing the order. “Pizza should be here in about thirty. You still like cheesy breadsticks?”
“Okay, cool. Thank you,” you said with a smile, hopping off the barstool. “And yeah, I still like them.”
Beau nodded toward the hallway. “Go on, I’ll let you know when it’s here.”
“Thanks again!” You grabbed your phone and hurried to your room, relieved to have a few minutes to yourself.
You flopped onto your stomach on the bed, legs kicking lazily in the air as you scrolled through TikTok. A few minutes later, a soft knock sounded on your door before it cracked open.
“Hey, hun. Pizza’s here,” Beau said, leaning against the doorframe. His eyes flicked over you for a brief second.
“Oh, okay. Thanks.” You quickly pushed yourself up and adjusted your pajama pants before following him out.
On the kitchen counter sat a plate with two slices of your favorite pizza, already waiting for you. A small smile tugged at your lips.
“This looks really good, Beau. Thank you again.”
“Stop sayin’ thank you,” he chuckled, reaching over to pat the top of your head. “But you’re welcome. Now go eat.”
You carried your plate to the couch where he was already settled, a few slices in front of him as he watched some random game on TV. You sat down pretty close, closer than you probably needed to.
Without hesitation, Beau draped his arm along the back of the couch, his hand resting lightly behind your shoulders. He kept eating with his other hand.
You gulped at the warm weight of his arm, heat creeping up your neck. He’s just being friendly, you told yourself, trying to focus on your pizza instead of how good he smelled or how solid he felt beside you.
Once you finished your pizza, you grabbed Beau’s plate too and carried everything to the sink.
“Aww, thanks bunny,” he said, smiling as he watched you. “You used to hate doing the damn dishes as a kid. Look at you now… all matured.”
You felt the weight of his gaze on your back but kept your focus on the plates, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “I still hate it,” you admitted with a soft giggle, opening the dishwasher and sliding the plates inside.
Beau leaned back against the counter. “Your dad got any beer in this place?”
“Uh, yeah, probably in the garage fridge. I can grab you one.”
“Yeah, please. Thanks, hun.”
He headed back to the couch while you padded to the garage, the cold concrete making you shiver as it touched your bare feet. You pulled a cold beer from the fridge and hurried back inside.
“Here,” you said, handing it to him a little awkwardly.
Beau chuckled, taking the bottle from your hand. With an easy twist of his wrist, he popped the cap off. “Thanks, sweetheart.”
You nodded quickly, suddenly feeling flushed, and retreated to your room with a quiet sigh, closing the door behind you.
The next couple of days in a strange, surprisingly comfortable rhythm. Beau had settled in easily, he made coffee in the mornings, fixed the loose handle on the kitchen cabinet your dad had been ignoring for months, and teased you every chance he got. You tried to keep your distance, but it was hard when he was always around, filling the house with his low laughter and that warm, steady presence.
By the second evening, you were curled up on the couch again, this time in an oversized hoodie and shorts, while Beau sat beside you. The TV played some action movie neither of you were really paying attention to.
His arm was draped comfortably around your shoulders, your legs pressed against his as you sat tucked close to his side.
You played nervously with the strings of your oversized hoodie, eyes glued to the action movie on the TV even though you weren’t really into it.
“You okay, sweetheart?” Beau asked, turning his head to look at you.
“Yeah… just bored,” you admitted quietly.
“Aww, you wanna watch somethin’ else, hun?” He reached for the remote, already willing to change it.
“No, it’s okay. I know you like it,” you shrugged.
Beau shook his head with a soft chuckle. “I’m fine with somethin’ else. I’m not gonna make you sit through this if you’re not enjoying it.” He gently squeezed your shoulder, his thumb brushing back and forth in a slow, absentminded motion. “What do you feel like watching, bunny?”
You hesitated, suddenly very aware of how warm he was and how nice his arm felt around you. Your heart picked up speed as you glanced up at him. For a moment, the movie was completely forgotten.
“Uhm, this is really fine, I swear,” you said, suddenly feeling shy and awkward under his attention.
Beau sighed softly, turning more toward you. He reached out and gently caught your chin between his thumb and fingers, tilting your face up to meet his eyes.
“I told you to pick, hun,” he said, his voice low and warm. His thumb slowly brushed across your cheek in a gentle caress. “So pick.”
Your breath caught. His touch was so casual, yet it sent warmth rushing through you. You nodded quickly, eyes wide as you looked up at him. After a second, you mumbled, “Okay… maybe that new horror movie?”
Beau’s mouth curved into a small smirk, but he didn’t pull his hand away right away. His thumb gave one last soft stroke against your cheek before he finally let go and switched the movie.
As the horror film started, the lights in the living room already low, he settled back against the couch and tugged you closer with the arm still around your shoulders. Your side pressed against his chest, and you could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
“You scared of horror movies, bunny?” he teased quietly, glancing down at you.
“A little,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. You pulled your knees up slightly, subconsciously leaning more into his warmth.
He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” His hand slid down from your shoulder to rest on your upper arm, rubbing slow, soothing circles.
The movie played on, but it was getting harder and harder to focus on anything except how close he was, the scent of his cologne, the heat of his body, and the way his fingers kept lazily tracing patterns on your arm.
The next day passed in a warm, hazy blur.
In the morning, Beau made breakfast, scrambled eggs and bacon, while nursing a cup of coffee and teasing you about how you looked half-asleep. He was still his usual charming self, but there was a new kind of tension simmering between you two. Every time he brushed past you in the kitchen, his hand would linger on your lower back. Every shared glance felt heavier.
The rest of the day was relaxed. He worked on his truck in the driveway for a while, and you kept him company, sitting on the hood and talking about nothing important. He took you out for lunch, then the two of you spent the afternoon watching movies and bickering over which ones were actually good. The touches kept coming, his arm around you on the couch, his fingers playing with your hair, the way he’d pull you into his side.
By evening, he’d spent it all on the couch with a six-pack, slowly working his way through it while the two of you watched movies. He wasn’t blackout drunk, but he was definitely feeling it.
You were still on the couch, the living room dark except for the glow of the TV. The movie had ended long ago, but neither of you had moved to turn it off. Beau’s arm was heavy around your shoulders, his fingers idly playing with your tank top.
“C’mere, bunny,” he murmured, voice thick with whiskey and want.
He gently pulled you closer until you were practically straddling his lap. His hands settled on your hips, thumbs slowly rubbing circles over the fabric of your shorts. For a while, he just looked at you, eyes half-lidded, breathing deep.
“You’re so damn pretty,” he said quietly, almost to himself. One hand came up to tuck your hair behind your ear, then lingered, cupping your cheek. His thumb brushed slowly across your bottom lip.
Your heart pounded. You leaned in first this time.
The kiss started slow, soft and tentative. Beau tasted like beer and something warmer. He let you set the pace for a few moments before he took control, tilting his head and deepening the kiss with a low groan. His tongue slid against yours lazily, unhurried, like he wanted to savor every second.
His hands slid under your tank top, palms hot against your bare skin as he explored your waist and lower back. He didn’t rush. He just kept kissing you, slow and deep, while his fingers traced lazy patterns up your spine and back down again.
You shivered when his hand drifted to your thigh, squeezing gently and pulling you tighter against him. You could feel how hard he was through his jeans.
“Been wanting this…” he breathed against your lips between kisses, voice rough. “Been good for four whole days, bunny. Tryin’ so hard not to touch you like this.”
He kissed you again, slower this time, one hand moving up to cradle the back of your neck while the other stayed on your thigh, inching higher. His mouth moved to your jaw, then down to your neck, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses that made your breath hitch.
You rocked against him instinctively. Beau let out a quiet, strained sound and gripped your hips tighter, guiding your movement just a little.
“Easy, sweetheart,” he whispered against your throat, even as he kissed you again, deeper. “We got all night…”
Beau pulled back just enough to look at you. His breathing was heavier now, chest rising and falling under you.
“Been thinkin’ about this since I got here,” he confessed, voice low and rough. His hands slid higher under your tank top, palms warm and calloused against your skin as he slowly mapped out your waist, your ribs, the curve of your sides.
You shivered at the touch. He smiled, slow and lazy, then leaned in again, kissing you deeper this time. The kiss was wet and unhurried, his tongue stroking yours in slow, deliberate movements that made your head spin. You could taste the beer on him, feel the slight stubble on his jaw brushing your skin.
One of his hands moved down to your ass, squeezing firmly and pulling you harder against him. You gasped into his mouth as you felt how hard he was beneath you. Beau groaned at the sound, the vibration traveling through your body.
“That’s it, bunny…” he murmured against your lips. “Keep makin’ those pretty little noises for me.”
You rocked your hips again, slower this time, grinding down against the bulge in his jeans. Beau’s grip on you tightened, guiding your movements with one hand while the other slipped further up your back, fingertips tracing your spine.
He broke the kiss to trail his mouth down your neck, sucking and licking at the sensitive skin just below your ear. When he found a spot that made you whimper, he stayed there, lavishing it with attention until you were trembling in his lap.
His hand under your shirt moved higher, thumb brushing just under the swell of your breast. He didn’t go further yet, just teased, slow and torturous, while his mouth continued its lazy exploration of your neck and collarbone.
“You’re so soft,” he whispered, almost reverently. “So fuckin’ sweet.”
The slow grind of your hips becoming more needy. Beau’s breathing was ragged now, his hands gripping you tighter as he kissed you again, deeper, filthier, like he was losing the last bit of restraint he had left.
But even drunk, he was still gentle with you, never rushing, like he wanted to draw this out as long as possible.
“Fuck it,” he growled softly, voice wrecked. “I need you, bunny.”
He lifted you like you weighed nothing and carried you to his room, kicking the door shut behind him. The second he laid you on the bed, he was on top of you, kissing you hard and deep while his hands tugged your tank top off. He groaned at the sight of your bare chest, leaning down to kiss and suck on your breasts, praising you the whole time.
“So perfect, look at you, sweetheart. So goddamn beautiful.”
You whimpered as he worked his way lower, pulling your shorts and panties down in one slow drag. Once you were completely naked beneath him, Beau sat back on his knees and just stared, eyes dark with lust.
He brought two fingers to your mouth. “Open.”
You obeyed, taking them between your lips and sucking gently. Beau’s eyes rolled back slightly as he watched, groaning deeply.
“That’s my good girl, just like that. Suck on them nice and slow for me.”
You swirled your tongue around his thick fingers, sucking harder while he watched, mesmerized. When they were slick enough, he pulled them out with a wet pop and moved them between your legs.
He teased your entrance first, rubbing slow circles around your clit before pushing one finger inside you, then two. You moaned loudly as he curled them, stroking that perfect spot while his thumb rubbed your clit.
“Fuck, you’re so wet for me already,” he praised, voice husky. “Such a good little bunny, taking my fingers so well.”
He kept pumping them in and out, slow and deep, until you were writhing and moaning beneath him. Only then did he pull them out, quickly stripping off his own clothes.
Beau was big, thick and hard, the sight of him making your mouth water. He stroked himself once as he settled between your thighs.
“You ready for me, sweetheart?” he asked, leaning down to kiss you softly.
“Yes, please, Beau.”
He groaned at the sound of his name and slowly pushed inside you, stretching you open inch by inch. “Ohhh fuck, bunny, so tight. So fucking perfect.”
Once he was fully buried inside you, he paused, letting you adjust while he kissed you deeply, whispering praises against your lips.
“That’s it, taking my cock so well. Such a good girl for me.”
Then he started moving, slow, deep thrusts that made your toes curl. Every stroke was deliberate, his drunk haze making him savor every second. His hands gripped your hips as he fucked you, pace gradually picking up while he kept praising you.
“Look at you, taking every inch like you were made for me. So pretty when you moan like that.”
You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. Beau cursed, burying his face in your neck as his thrusts grew harder and faster, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room.
He reached between you and rubbed your clit in tight circles, determined to make you come first.
“Come on, sweetheart, let me feel you cum on my cock. Be a good girl and cum for me.”
You came hard around him, crying out his name as pleasure crashed through you. Beau groaned loudly, the feeling of you tightening around his cock pushing him over the edge right after you.
“Fuck, bunny,” he rasped, burying himself deep as he came, hips stuttering with each pulse.
For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were your heavy breathing. Beau stayed inside you, forehead pressed against yours, both of you catching your breath. Then he slowly pulled out and collapsed beside you, immediately pulling you into his arms.
“C’mere,” he mumbled, voice hoarse and sleepy from the alcohol and orgasm. He wrapped his strong arms around you, tucking you against his chest. One hand gently stroked up and down your back while the other played with your hair.
“You did so good,” he whispered, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, your temple, your lips. “Such a perfect girl for me. Made me feel so fucking good.”
You nestled closer, still trembling slightly. Beau pulled the blanket over both of you and held you tight, his body warm and solid. Even drunk, he was gentle, kissing you lazily between soft praises and little murmurs.
“Stay right here with me tonight, bunny. Don’t want you goin’ anywhere.”
You nodded against his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow down. His hand kept rubbing slow circles on your back until you both drifted off, tangled together under the sheets.
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