( library · guidelines · about me ) eighteen plus. dead dove.
simon riley’s spoiled brat & captain price’s princess. ˓ ࿐ the type of girl you bury in your backyard. † dean winchester & alec mcdowell lovergirl. soldier boy’s babygirl. messy earth child. 𓏲𓏲
this is overly freaked out but. thinking about forced intox with soldier boy and him continuing to tell you that this is the last hit he’ll make you take. but like he’s holding ur jaw and kissing you and giving you no other choice but to take the hits that way as he exhales them into your mouth 😵💫😵💫😵💫 i’m feeling insane
this is unjustifiably hot. he’s literally the definition of “just one more, baby, do it for me.” 𖧁୧ drug use, forced intox, allusion to drugged sex, dub/noncon, daddy kink ( 18+ )
You’ve always been easy to manipulate, Ben swears. All it takes is a few soft-spoken words, paired with those stern eyes that make your insides flutter in obedience. You’re sweet, and unsurprisingly, even more pliable when your head is all floaty, buzzing up in the clouds with your body practically fusing into the couch below you—all your inhibitions gone, along with any sliver of fight hidden beneath that affably soft exterior of yours.
Your skull vibrates from the THC quietly surging through your veins as you sit beside him, and every breath you inhale feels like a thousand kisses against the inside walls of your lungs.
You’re high, way too high. And unfortunately for you, that’s exactly how Ben likes it. His own little lamb—so easy and docile.
The scent of burning flower hits your nostrils the second Ben holds the joint to your lips for the umpteenth time, his other hand wrapped under your jawbone, holding you still. His own eyes are red, the capillaries sinfully swollen, glossed over with a sheen that makes the green of his irises more striking than usual, and his stare far more lethal. He murmurs through the smoke he exhales, his voice low and silky, “C’mon, puppy. Just one more, hm? Daddy’ll finish it off after this, I promise.”
A petulant groan leaves your lips in protest, but you know his hand won’t leave your jaw until you give in to his demand. Hazily, you wrap your lips around the butt of the joint and inhale, feeling the thick smoke blanket the inside of your lungs.
“Oh, attagirl,” Ben coos, watching you. “Taught you well, huh?”
You exhale with a slight cough, your eyes watering and flicking up to meet his in your deepened daze. Ben offers a triumphant smile, leering at your compliance, and boops your nose with his thumb before finally removing his grip from your face. He leans back into the sofa beside you with a contented grunt.
“Perfect. You’re so perfect,” he muses and lifts the joint to his own lips, taking a long slow drag for himself.
The head rush is instant as Ben pulls back. Every atom of your being mellows out into a calm puddle of warmth against the fabric of the couch. You’re unable to stop your head from lolling to the side, resting haphazardly on Ben’s sturdy shoulder. The weight of it makes Ben snicker—a smug breathy laugh. “Oh, babydoll. Can’t even keep that little head up straight? Gonna need Daddy to look after you again, huh? Poor little girl.”
Despite your heavy lids, you blink at his words, barely registering them amidst your whirring mind as he takes another puff. Not even a second later, Ben leans over you again, his hand returning to your jaw. His warm lips press against yours in a flash, his tongue forcing its way into your dry sticky mouth. Another whiny groan escapes you, and Ben takes the opportunity to exhale.
You have no choice but to swallow it down, letting the murky secondhand smoke invade your lungs. Your hands grab weakly at his arm—a silent plea to stop, to pull back. But he doesn’t, not until every last whisper of his drag enters your system.
It all happens too quickly beyond that point. A hazy blur from the weed. Far too many hits for a silly little thing like you.
His hands are quick after he stubs out the joint—his thick unforgiving fingers pressing into your flesh, manoeuvring your body to lay back on the length of the couch beneath him.
“Mm, just like that. Don’t fight me, bunny. Just give Daddy what he wants and it’ll all be over before you know it,” he mutters, tugging down your pants, already spreading your legs. “Lord knows how much better your pussy feels when you’re out of it. Soft and gooey, huh? Just like you, pathetic little thing.”
i’m so sorry anyone would send that. that’s so awful and presumptuous. i really appreciate you explaining your reasoning for the stuff you write cause i kept going “EXACTLY!!!”
i’ve spoken to a therapist after i had some…unfortunate encounters with men and have had some of these intrusive thoughts with my ocd. they explained to me that this is normal and it’s okay to indulge in the fantasy with smut, because it’s not REAL.
i hope that someone else chiming in will help anon realize how rude that was.
i hope you have a good rest of your day, fig 🫶
thank you angel. i’m glad we’re able to have safe spaces to indulge in our sexuality without judgement. i think that’s very important for women in our current world. we deal with enough shame for just existing. sending you my love <33
hey, I know you have been getting some anon hate recently so I wanted to offer another perspective. I really appreciate your work. it has legitimately helped me work through my own daddy issues and accept some kinks I was too ashamed of to engage with for a long time. I don’t read it as misogynistic. In fact, it has proven a wonderful means by which I can make sense of the irl misogynistic abuse I’ve experienced. Thanks for doing what you do, seriously. I know I’m not the only one who feels this way 💗
thank u so much. this genuinely means a lot. i’m so glad my silly little smut pieces help you find comfort. they defs help me understand myself too 😭 sending you lots of love anon <3
malewife dean winchester lubing himself up before u get home so as soon as u kick off ur shoes and toss ur keys on the motel counter he's all over u, begging to be fucked