su

protected, sexy, discerning with my time / 22

[favouritsm]

─ DIRTY LITTLE SECRET

summary: he knows it’s wrong, you are his brothers girlfriend after all. but he can’t help it when you want so badly to be punished.

tags/cw: dom!dean . cheating / homewrecking . p in v . begging . rough sex . degradation & derogatory names . choking . spitting in mouth . hair pulling / gripping . manhandling . light sadism / pain

notes: title from the all american rejects! i do not condone infidelity nor do i encourage it, this is a work of fiction /// sorry this is so short! also wrote this in one sitting so not proof read and definitely not my best work

“sammy not keepin’ it up?” he teased when you first asked. “maybe you need a real man,” he said with a wink. a light joke, nothing real. after all, he wouldn’t do that to his brother right?

he was so, so wrong for it. he knew how happy sam was when you first started dating; he was practically jumping for joy. you were his first everything: kiss, love, body.

but now, dean felt like the worst brother in the entire world. and yet, he seemed to revel in it. it wasn’t his fault, though. you wanted him—no, you begged him.

your back arched under him as he thrusted into you from behind harshly. he held your arms behind you, immobilizing you, leaving you with only the ability to scream and moan. “f-fuck, dean—“

he used his free hand to grip your hair, pulling it roughly. “such a fucking whore,” he scoffed. his thrusts slowed as he spoke, agonizingly teasing. he pulled your hair so far that your back was flush against his chest and your head on his shoulder. “you love this, don’t you? getting pounded by your boyfriends older brother, hm?” he snickered, releasing your hair and pushing you back down onto the bed.

he pulled out of you to turn you around. his hands felt rough against your bare skin, scarred and calloused. “i wanna hear you fuckin’ say it,” he demanded. his hand snuck around your throat, gripping it tightly. “say you’re a fuckin’ cheating slut. a cheap cockwhore.”

you let out a whimper, clit pulsing and head spinning. “i-i’m a cheating slut… a-a cheap cockwhore.” your face burned in shame, watching as dean laughed in your face like you were some joke. honestly, you kind of were.

“that’s right,” he growled. his thumb circled your puffy clit, causing you to squirm. “sammy’s too good for you; he won’t treat you like the dirty thing you really are.” you moaned under him, his weight fully put on you. his leaking cock rested between your thighs, warm and heavy. he pinched your bean a little too harshly, causing you to squeal and arch, trying to pull away. he simply scoffed, “what? that hurt, bitch? well, you fuckin’ deserve it.”

you whined at his words, guilt washing through you. “p-please, dean,” you begged. “just fuck me.” your arms flexed above your head as you gripped the pillow under you. he obliged, thrusting straight through your walls, pushing his cock so far into you.

your head lolled to the side as a silent scream overtook you. his hips slammed against yours in a fastened pace, all the while he whispered dirty words against your neck. his hand held your throat in a firm grip, letting it squeeze tighter occasionally. he was toying with you, reminding you who was in charge.

he pulled away from you, his thrusts slowing in an uneven pace. his fingers gripped your chin, forcing your eyes to his. deans pupils were blown wide and he held a wide grin. “open your mouth, slut.” and when you did, he spat onto your tongue. you swallowed it with your gaze still against his. he hummed and began to rub circles on your clit while he pounded into you.

you squirmed, legs trembling around him as you moaned. “dean. dean, i’m close,” you whined. “s-so close.”

his thumb practically vibrated against your bean, mixing deliciously with his abusive thrusts. he groaned, “me too. come on your boyfriends brother’s cock.” he chuckled, letting himself bottom out repeatedly.

you saw stars before squeezing your eyes shut. your back arched and head fell back as you came undone. you clenched around dean, making him groan.

“fuck, you want it that bad, huh?” he teased, before he twitched inside you. he moaned before he spilled his seed deep inside you, thrusts slowing. “fuckin’ milking me like a good whore.”

after pulling out, he didn’t even bother to tackle an ounce of aftercare. instead, he got dressed. he didn’t even look at you, instead picking up his phone to send a few texts. then, when his eyes finally met yours, he just scoffed.

masterlist | requests: open

[very-merry-birthday]

PLEASEEEEE thoughts on a boss!sam x reader now?? 🫦

okay this ones slightly easier for me because I think I get more of a vibe of what boss!Sam would be like...

✮ boss!Sam starts off with small touches, hand on the small of your back when he walks past, fingers brushing yours when you hand him his coffee

✮ boss!Sam offers you innocent smiles and polite words every time you're around, hoping you're naive enough not to realize he already has his sights set

✮ boss!Sam welcomes you into his office one day with a clear proposal- you're not gonna get fired if you say no to him, but saying yes would help your career a lot

✮ boss!Sam who looks so innocent no one suspects your new personal development meetings are actually just excuses to get you on your knees in his office every time he's feeling stressed

✮ boss!Sam gets off on fucking you on every surface in the office, he likes the images of you moaning and begging to follow him around

✮ boss!Sam doesn't punish you for getting things wrong, he rewards you for getting things right. Going down on you for good work with shareholders, fingering you every time you write up a report correctly, letting you cum only when you do something right for him

✮ boss!Sam who pretends he's doing it all for you but he's actually just a sick fuck who enjoys making you work for it

✮ boss!Sam who slowly trails his hand up your thigh under the table during meetings. By the time it finishes you have two of his long thin fingers slowly thrusting into you. Then he just pulls them out and leaves you needy for the rest of the day

✮ boss!Sam who doesn't let the sex get in the way of hard work, he makes you read out reports while he's got you bent over the desk, fucking you so deep you won't be able to sit down tomorrow

✮ boss!Sam who likes it slow- he rolls his hips into you just to make you feel every inch as you stretch around him. It doesn't last long, he always ends up fucking into you until you feel like you're going to break

[katcoquette]

I love you, baby, I promise

dean winchester x reader

3 of 6 from the honeybee drabbles

˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ 465 words of fluff, dean is IN LOVE

˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ a/n: don't even get me started on I love you baby being QUIET at the end of the song omg. see the rest of the honeybee drabbles for more soft moments!!

You had fit yourself into his life easily, and without fuss. One day you had been there at his side, and you’d never left. Somewhere between packing rock salt into bullets, and running through the woods, you’d woven yourself into his heart.

It hits him on this random day, at this random moment just how much of you is there, settled in his chest.

He’s on the other end of the table from you and Sam. Pieces of his gun are laid carefully in front of him, and he’s been picking them up one at a time and wiping them down, only half participating in the case conversation happening across from him.

As he’s clicking parts back together, he realizes that the conversation has drifted elsewhere. It’s a childish argument now, not dissimilar to ones he’s had with Sam himself. You’re laughing, insisting that he’s got it wrong, and you can prove it.

“What do you think, Dean?” You ask him, turning your body to give him your full attention, because when you always asked for his thoughts, you made sure to be listening.

He looks up from his gun to meet your smiling face, and his heart skips a beat. “Hmm? I agree with you.”

“But you didn’t even hear-” Sam starts, but you cut him off, “He agrees with me.” You glance back at Dean and wink as Sam protests from your side.

Dean grins, “Doesn’t matter, Sammy. I know who’s right more often.”

You look triumphant, sticking your tongue out.

“Unbelievable.” Sam grumbles and goes back to his laptop, prompting you to scoot your chair closer to Dean. You prop your head up on your hand, and in a softer voice reserved for him, you ask, “How’s it going over here?”

“Better now.” He smirks.

Sam looks over the top of his screen, barely noticing the moment evolving in front of him. “Do you still have that file from the Sheriff’s office?”

“Yeah, it’s in my bag.” You point in its general direction, and Sam gets up to retrieve it, “Thanks.”

“…Welcome.” You mumble, not looking away from Dean.

Dean is in love with you. This is the moment he recognizes the feeling in his chest. He realizes that he wants to keep having moments like this with you, forever.

There’s a subtle shift between the two of you, and he thinks you might be able to tell. You’d always had a way of knowing what he was thinking.

“Hey, Sam?” You call over your shoulder.

“Huh?”

“Would you mind picking up some food?”

He groans, but slams his laptop shut anyway. “Yeah, whatever. But don’t lock me out again!” You smirk at Dean, “Promise. Thanks, Sammy.”

You know he loves you, but he makes sure to tell you over, and over, and over, anyway.

masterlist

dean taglist: @robynn9436-blog

[eu-nicola]

you see your father’s friend for the first time after he spent ten years in prison, and you can’t help but feel attracted to him [part 2]

smut, age-gap, cheating, unprotected sex, mention of suicide, pregnancy, childbirth, (this is long 12,2k)

The next morning you woke up late, almost close to noon. Strong light streamed through the window and your body felt deliciously sore in all the right places. Between your legs there was still a warm, wet sensation, the physical memory of what had happened the night before. You smiled into the pillow for a second before getting up.

You went straight to the shower. You let the hot water fall over your skin, washing away the remnants of him, but not the memory. Once you got out, you changed into comfortable clothes: jean shorts and a loose t-shirt, and then you energetically cleaned your room. You made the bed, put away clothes, swept the floor… as if tidying the space could also organize the whirlwind inside you.

When everything was finally decent, you took a deep breath and went out to the living room, where everyone was.

Your father was sitting on the sofa checking something on his phone. Laura, with a cup of tea in her hand, was chatting animatedly from the armchair. And him… he was standing by the window, arms crossed over his chest, listening. He wore a tight black t-shirt and dark jeans. The moment you entered, his green eyes locked onto you.

You felt a strong flip in your stomach, a mix of nerves, desire, and something sweeter. You swallowed hard and tried to act normal.

“Good morning… or afternoon,” you murmured, heading to the kitchen.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” your father greeted you with a smile.

You poured yourself a strong coffee and sat on the kitchen counter, legs dangling. From there you could see the living room perfectly. Every now and then, your eyes met his. Short, loaded, secret glances. At one point he ran his tongue over his lower lip and you felt heat rise up your neck.

Minutes later, he approached the kitchen as if nothing, opened the fridge, took out a bottle of water and, instead of returning to the living room, sat on the counter right next to you, so close that his thigh pressed against yours.

Without anyone being able to see from the living room, he placed his large, warm hand on your bare leg, just below the edge of your shorts, and his thumb began to slowly caress your skin.

You smiled at him discreetly and continued drinking your coffee as if nothing was happening, but your heart was racing.

Laura raised her voice from the living room.

“Guys, it would be nice to do something this afternoon like we did yesterday at the beach. I want to make the most of these days before going back home.”

Your father nodded.

“We could go fishing at the lake. It’s a bit far, but it’s beautiful. We’d have to camp one night, set up tents and everything.”

You frowned immediately.

“I hate camping,” you said without thinking twice. “The mosquitoes, sleeping on the ground, the dirt… no thanks.”

He gently squeezed your leg under the counter. When you spoke, he looked directly at you.

“It would be good,” he said in a calm but firm voice. “A change of air. It would do us all good.”

Your father agreed.

“Come on, daughter. We haven’t gone in years, it’s going to be fun, you’ll see.”

You sighed, knowing you were in the minority. His hand remained on your leg, now moving a little higher up the inside of your thigh, caressing with his thumb almost imperceptibly.

“It’s going to be good,” he told you in a low voice, just for you, even though Laura and your father kept talking. “We’re going to have fun. Trust me.”

The double meaning of his words made you bite the inside of your cheek. You nodded reluctantly.

“Fine…” you finally accepted.

Your father got up from the sofa, excited.

“Perfect. Then let’s start preparing everything. We need to check the tents, the sleeping bags, the portable cooler… we’re leaving early tomorrow.”

Laura smiled, clearly happy with the idea. You finished your coffee in silence, very aware of the large hand that still rested possessively on your leg, caressing you slowly under everyone’s gaze… without anyone else knowing.

After your father and Laura went out to the garage to check the camping gear, you two were left alone in the kitchen for a few minutes.

He didn’t remove his hand from your leg. On the contrary, he squeezed it more firmly, sliding his fingers a little higher up the inside of your thigh.

“It’s going to be good,” he repeated in a low voice, looking at you with that intensity that disarmed you. “Trust me.”

You shook your head, still frowning.

“I don’t agree. I hate camping. It’s always cold, even in summer. I end up freezing all night and covered in mosquito bites. I don’t understand why I have to go.”

He smiled sideways, that dangerous smile that sharpened his jaw more. He leaned a little closer to you, speaking almost against your ear.

“Because I’m going to find a way to keep you warm.”

The double meaning of his words, combined with the heat of his hand still on your skin, sent a shiver straight down between your legs. You looked at him with narrowed eyes, but you couldn’t help smiling.

At that precise moment, Laura’s voice came from the garage.

“Honey! Can you come here for a second?”

He sighed, clearly annoyed by the interruption. Before getting up, he quickly took your chin with one hand, pulled you close and gave you a fleeting but intense kiss, gently biting your lower lip.

“Be good,” he murmured against your mouth.

He got up and walked toward the garage as if nothing had happened, leaving you with your heart racing and a silly smile on your lips.

You stayed sitting on the counter a moment longer, processing everything. Then you jumped down and went to your room to prepare your things. You had never really camped before, so you had no idea what to bring. You opted for the most comfortable and practical: black thermal leggings and an oversized gray sweatshirt, a couple of short shorts and basic t-shirts for the day, your toiletry bag with the basics, toothbrush, sunscreen, mosquito repellent and your moisturizer.

You didn’t want to bring too much. You packed everything in a medium backpack and left it ready by the door of your room.

While closing the backpack, you couldn’t stop thinking about his words. The idea of spending the night in a tent, close to him but without being able to touch him freely… and at the same time the possibility that he would find a way to do it anyway, gave you a mix of nerves and excitement.

You smiled to yourself as you looked in the mirror because you knew it was going to be interesting.

The rest of the day was complete chaos. Your father and he spent the afternoon going in and out of the house, checking the car, loading the truck with tents, portable coolers, sleeping bags, flashlights, food and everything necessary for camping. Laura also helped actively: she organized the food, folded clothes and talked non-stop about how excited she was to “do something as a family.”

You, on the other hand, didn’t lift a finger. You spent most of the time in the living room or in your room, pretending to be busy with your phone or reading.

Every time you passed near the truck, you saw him loading heavy things, with the muscles in his arms and back marked by the effort. On more than one occasion your eyes met, but they never managed to talk alone.

Night came and with it your hope of seeing him alone for a while. You stayed awake longer than usual, sitting on the bed with the dim light, attentive to any noise in the hallway. But nothing happened. You heard Laura laughing softly in their room, his deep voice answering something, and then everything fell silent. You went to bed frustrated, with a feeling of emptiness and jealousy churning in your stomach.

The next morning they left early for the lake.

The trip was long and hot. You sat in the back with Laura, answering in monosyllables. He drove and your father rode shotgun. Every now and then you felt his gaze searching for you in the rearview mirror, but it barely lasted a second.

They arrived at the lake around noon. The place was beautiful: a large lake surrounded by trees, with camping areas. While the others set up the tents, three in total: one for your father, one for you, and a larger one for him and Laura, you sat in a folding chair in the shade, with sunglasses and a book you barely read.

When everything was ready and the sun was already setting, they sat around the bonfire your father had lit to prepare dinner: grilled meat, potatoes and some beers.

You were quiet, poking at your food with your fork. He was sitting across from you, next to Laura. You tried not to look at him too much, but it was difficult. At one point, Laura moved closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder naturally and said with a complicit smile, without lowering her voice much:

“Babe, tonight you’re going to have to warm me up… you know how I get when it’s cold. Last night I barely slept because of you,” she laughed softly, clearly referring to the night before at home when they had sex.

It was a completely normal comment between a married couple… but to you it felt like a bucket of cold water. You felt a strong knot in your stomach and a pang of rage mixed with sadness. The image of him fucking her the other night came back to your mind with force. That she said it in front of you, as if nothing, seemed in very bad taste. You felt invisible, out of place, and above all… replaced.

Your expression changed completely, your brow furrowed, your jaw tense, and the silence you kept for the rest of dinner was heavy. You barely answered when they spoke to you and ate mechanically, without appetite.

He noticed. He looked at you several times with a slightly furrowed brow, as if trying to read you. Your father also noticed.

“Are you okay, daughter?” he asked at one point.

“Perfect,” you answered dryly, without looking up from your plate.

Laura seemed not to notice the tension or simply ignored it, and continued talking animatedly about how beautiful the place was. You, on the other hand, didn’t hide your bad mood at all. You got up before dinner was over, muttering that you were cold and that you were going to get into your father’s tent to read for a while.

Later inside the tent you couldn’t sleep. You tossed and turned inside the sleeping bag. Every time you closed your eyes, you felt a pang of jealousy burning in your chest.

Around two in the morning, you left your tent and went to your father’s, whispering so as not to scare him.

“Dad… I can’t sleep. I’m going to go for a walk for a while to clear my head.”

He opened his eyes halfway, sleepy.

“Now? You can’t go alone, it’s dangerous.”

“I’m not going alone,” you lied naturally. “I’m going with him, don’t worry.”

Your father looked at you for a second, still half asleep, and nodded.

“Okay… but don’t go too far. And take a flashlight.”

“Sure.”

You put on a thick sweatshirt over your t-shirt, leggings and your sneakers. You left your cell phone in your tent and took only a small flashlight. You left without making noise.

The campsite was silent. Some dim lights from lanterns and almost extinguished bonfires illuminated the main paths. You walked aimlessly, gradually moving away from the tent area. The air was cool and smelled of pine and damp earth. Despite there being some light, you started to doubt if it was a good idea to go so far, but you kept going anyway.

After about fifteen minutes of walking, you found a nice and quiet place: a small elevation next to the lake, with a large flat rock where you could sit. The water reflected the moon and everything was calm. You sat down, hugged your knees to your chest and sighed deeply, trying to sort out your emotions.

You hadn’t been there ten minutes when you heard a crack of branches behind you. You turned around scared, quickly turning on the flashlight.

“Who’s there?” you asked in a tense voice.

He came out of the darkness, with his hands in the pockets of his jacket. The light from your flashlight illuminated his face. He looked serious, but there was a slight gleam of relief in his eyes.

“It’s me,” he said in a low voice.

You jumped and stood up immediately, your heart beating hard from the fright.

“You scared me!” you exclaimed, clearly angry. “What the fuck are you doing? You almost killed me from fright.”

He took a couple more steps closer, with that calm of his that sometimes drove you crazy.

“I saw you leave the tent. I wasn’t going to let you walk alone out here at night,” he replied in a deep, low voice. “Are you okay?”

You looked at him with a furrowed brow, still upset by the fright and by everything you had felt during dinner.

“No, I’m not okay,” you answered curtly. “And you didn’t have to follow me. I can be alone if I want.”

He didn’t flinch. He stood in front of you, watching you with that intensity that disarmed you even when you were angry, and took his time before speaking again.

You, on the other hand, crossed your arms over your chest, more to protect yourself from the cold than anything else.

“Why did you follow me?” you asked, still angry. “I said I wanted to be alone.”

“Because I don’t like you walking alone at night around here. And because I saw your face during dinner,” he replied bluntly, taking another step closer. “You were upset, very upset.”

You shrugged, trying to look indifferent.

“It’s nothing. I was just cold and sleepy.”

He let out a low laugh, almost a snort, as if he didn’t believe a word.

“Don’t lie to me. Talk to me, love. I love listening to you. It was because of what Laura said, right?”

You bit the inside of your cheek and tried to contain yourself, reminding yourself that what you two had was very recent, that you had no right to demand anything from him.

You took a deep breath before answering.

“It’s not my problem what you say to each other,” you murmured, looking toward the lake instead of at him. “You’re a couple, it’s normal that… you do those things and talk about it.”

There was a silence. He moved closer until he was right in front of you. His presence was imposing and warm.

“But it bothered you,” he stated, not as a question.

“I’m not jealous,” you said quickly, too quickly. “It’s not that. It’s just… it seemed in bad taste that she said it in front of me. As if I wasn’t there, as if it didn’t matter.”

He looked at you in silence for a few seconds. Then he raised a hand and caressed your cheek with the back of his fingers, slowly lowering it to your chin. He gently made you look at him.

“Say it,” he asked in a low voice. “Say what you really feel.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, fighting with yourself. You didn’t want to sound jealous, you didn’t want to seem immature. But the words escaped you anyway.

“It upset me,” you finally admitted, in a lower voice. “A lot. Hearing her say that last night she barely slept because of you… knowing what you did… turned my stomach. I felt… out of place. Invisible.”

When you opened your eyes, he was looking at you with an expression you didn’t expect. There was no guilt. There was something darker, more satisfied. A slow, dangerous smile formed on his lips.

“So you are jealous…” he murmured, almost with delight.

“It’s not funny,” you protested, trying to pull away, but he held you by the waist with his other hand, pulling you against his body.

“I’m not laughing at you,” he said, lowering his voice even more. “I like it. I like that you get jealous. I like knowing you don’t want to share me.”

He pulled you tighter against him. You could feel the heat of his chest through the sweatshirt.

“This is very recent,” you continued, with a trembling voice. “I shouldn’t feel this way. I have no right to…”

“You have every right,” he interrupted, firm but gentle. “Because since I fucked you, you’re no longer just my best friend’s daughter. You’re mine. And I’m yours. Even if I can’t shout it yet.”

His words hit you hard. You felt your knees weaken. He took advantage of your silence to kiss you: first on the forehead, then on the cheek, and finally on the lips. It was a slow, deep, almost comforting kiss. You melted against his mouth, letting him hug you tighter.

When you separated, you rested your forehead against his chest.

“I hate feeling this way,” you whispered.

“I know,” he replied, caressing your back under the sweatshirt. “But you don’t have to hide it from me. I prefer you tell me when something bothers you. Understood?”

You nodded against his chest. He hugged you tighter, completely surrounding you with his large, warm arms.

“Are you calmer now?” he asked, kissing the top of your head.

“A little,” you admitted. “But I still hate camping.”

He let out a low laugh.

“I promised I’d keep you warm, didn’t I?” he whispered against your ear, with that husky tone that gave you goosebumps. “And I intend to keep it.”

You stayed hugged to him for a while longer, listening to the beats of his heart, while the lake continued to shine silently in front of you.

You stayed hugged for a while longer by the lake. Then he spread his jacket over the flat rock and you lay down together to look at the stars. The sky was incredibly clear, full of bright dots. You curled up against his chest, with one leg over his, while he caressed your back under the sweatshirt.

For a few minutes only the soft sound of the water and your breathing could be heard, but the closeness, the heat of his body and the memory of the night before began to take effect. You lifted your head, looked at him for a second and climbed on top of him, straddling his hips.

He raised an eyebrow, surprised but clearly pleased.

“So now you’re the one taking the initiative?” he murmured in a husky voice.

You didn’t answer with words. You leaned in and kissed him hungrily, slowly moving your hips over him. You could feel him hardening under the fabric of his jeans. His large hands ran up your thighs to squeeze your waist, helping you move against him.

The kiss became deeper, more desperate. You took off your sweatshirt yourself and he helped you remove the t-shirt you were wearing underneath, leaving you only in your bra. His warm hands roamed your bare back while you continued moving over his erection, rubbing against him with more insistence.

“Fuck, you’re more addictive than anything,” he growled against your mouth, squeezing your ass with both hands.

You lowered your trembling hands to his belt and began to unbuckle it. He chuckled softly against your lips, a deep, sexy laugh that vibrated in your chest.

“Eager, huh?” he whispered.

You managed to open his pants and slipped your hand inside, wrapping your fingers around his thick, hot cock. It was completely hard. You stroked him slowly, feeling it throb in your palm while you continued kissing him.

He let out a grunt and helped you remove the rest of your clothes. He skillfully took off your bra and then lifted you enough to pull down your leggings and panties in one go. You were completely naked on top of him, the cool night air raising goosebumps on your skin.

“Come here,” he murmured, pulling you close again.

He positioned you better on top of him, aligning his thick cock with your already wet entrance.

You lowered yourself slowly, feeling him open you inch by inch. He was big, and the position made him feel even deeper.

“I know it’s a big stretch. Breathe for me,” he whispered against your ear, holding your hips firmly as he entered you completely.

You moaned softly when you had him all inside. You felt full, stretched, perfect. You began to move, rising and falling on him with a slow rhythm at first.

“Fuck, you’re still so tight for me, baby,” he growled, digging his fingers into your hips.

You increased the rhythm, riding him with more enthusiasm. He looked at you from below, his eyes dark with desire, enjoying every movement of your breasts and the way you bit your lip to not make too much noise.

“No… mhm, ride slower, baby,” he ordered in a husky voice, stopping your hips for a moment. “I want to feel you properly. Like that… yes.”

You obeyed, moving slower but deeper, circling your hips. He raised one hand and pinched a nipple, then lowered it to your clit and began rubbing it with his thumb.

The pleasure was intense. You moaned louder, unable to contain yourself completely.

“Come on, make noise for me… Let me hear you…” he asked, speeding up the movement of his thumb.

You leaned forward, resting your hands on his chest, and began to move faster again. He held you tightly, thrusting up from below, meeting each of your movements.

“Fuck…” you gasped, feeling the orgasm approaching quickly. “I’m going to cum…”

“Do it,” he growled. “Cum on my cock, princess.”

The orgasm hit you hard. You contracted around him, trembling as you moaned his name against his neck. He followed shortly after, thrusting deep and cumming inside you with a low, husky grunt, filling you completely.

You collapsed on his chest, both breathing heavily, sweaty despite the cold of the night. He hugged you tightly, caressing your back and kissing your hair.

“You’re dangerous…” he whispered with a smile in his voice. “You’ve got me completely crazy.”

You stayed on top of him for a while longer, enjoying his heat, his scent, and the feeling of still having him inside you.

Then, with a fluid and possessive movement, he turned you over on the flat rock, positioning himself on top of you.

His large, heavy body completely covered you, pinning you against the cold surface of the rock. He kissed you with intensity, devouring your mouth while his cock, still semi-hard inside you, began to harden again.

“Just one more round,” he murmured against your lips, his voice husky and full of desire. “You can take it, right, princess?”

You could only nod, biting your lip. The words had escaped you and you were sensitive, full of his previous cum, but the idea of him fucking you again turned you on in a dangerous way.

He smiled against your mouth, satisfied with your silent response.

“Good girl.”

He positioned himself better between your legs, spreading them wider with his hips. He pulled out almost completely only to enter you again with one deep, slow thrust. You moaned loudly, digging your nails into his back.

“Like that… take it all,” he growled, beginning to move with a steady, deep rhythm. “I want you to feel every inch.”

His thrusts were strong but controlled, hitting that spot inside you that made you see stars. He kissed your neck, your breasts, gently biting your nipples while he fucked you.

At one point, he looked you directly in the eyes, his gaze dark and filled with something primal.

“I want to fill you again…” he whispered, accelerating the rhythm. “I want you to carry my cum deep inside. Imagine I get you pregnant right here, in the middle of the forest… with my child growing inside you.”

A louder moan escaped your throat. The idea hit you hard: his cum filling you, the possibility of getting pregnant by him. Something inside you ignited brutally. You lifted your hips to meet his thrusts, desperate.

“Yes…” you gasped, unable to contain yourself. “I want you to fill me… I want your baby.”

He grunted, excited by your words. His thrusts became more brutal, deeper.

“Fuck, that’s it…” he muttered, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand while he fucked you harder. “You’re such a slut for me… so desperate to carry my cum.”

He kissed you violently while penetrating you mercilessly. The wet sound of his cock entering and leaving your soaked pussy filled the silence of the forest. You were sensitive from the previous orgasm, but that only made everything feel more intense.

“You’re going to take everything I give you,” he growled against your ear. “And you’re going to stay with my baby inside, do you understand?”

You nodded frantically, moaning uncontrollably. The combination of his words, his weight on you and how deep he reached with each thrust was pushing you to the limit again.

“Say it,” he demanded, fucking you faster. “Tell me you want my baby.”

“I want your baby…” you moaned, almost sobbing with pleasure. “Please… fill me…”

That seemed to break something inside him. He fucked you with brute force, holding you tight while he penetrated you to the bottom again and again. When he reached orgasm, he pushed deep and came with a husky grunt, filling you with hot, abundant streams of cum.

You came almost at the same time, contracting violently around his cock, milking him while you trembled beneath him.

He stayed inside you for a long time, making sure not a drop escaped. He kissed you softly on the lips, on the forehead, on the cheeks, while you both came down from the high.

“Good girl…” he whispered, still buried deep inside you. “Now you’re nicely full of me.”

He hugged you tightly, protecting you from the cold of the night with his hot body, while his cum stayed inside you, exactly where he wanted it.

You stayed a while longer on the rock, with him still inside you, hugging you protectively against his body to give you warmth. He kissed your forehead, your temples and your lips with a tenderness that contrasted with how wildly he had just fucked you.

When he finally pulled out of you, you felt his hot cum dripping between your thighs. He took his t-shirt and cleaned you carefully, then helped you get dressed with patience: first the panties, then the leggings, the t-shirt and finally the sweatshirt. He hugged you again when you were dressed, rubbing your back.

“Better?” he asked in a low voice.

“Yes,” you replied, smiling against his chest. “Much better.”

“We can go back whenever you want.”

You nodded happily, still with slightly shaky legs.

“Let’s go.”

The way back was shorter than you expected. You walked in silence, but he took your hand every time the terrain got complicated. When you arrived at the campsite, you separated near the tents. He gave you one last quick kiss on the forehead before disappearing toward his.

The next morning, everyone went down to the lake to swim.

Laura was especially affectionate with him: she hugged him around the waist, kissed his shoulder, whispered in his ear and laughed at everything he said. You tried not to look, concentrating on the cold lake water and your own body.

In the afternoon, your father suggested a hike along the forest trails. You accepted reluctantly. You had been walking for a little over half an hour when you started complaining.

“This is so boring… How much longer until we go back?”

Your father and Laura were ahead, chatting animatedly. At one point, the path narrowed and you were left behind with him.

As soon as you were far enough from the others, he grabbed your arm and pulled you to the side of the trail, behind a large, thick tree.

“Come here,” he growled, pushing you against the trunk.

He didn’t give you time to protest. He yanked down your shorts and panties, opened his pants and penetrated you with one deep thrust from behind.

You moaned loudly, holding onto the tree.

“Are you still bored?” he asked in a husky voice as he started fucking you hard, holding your hips.

You couldn’t answer. Only broken moans came out of your mouth as he thrust into you mercilessly, deep and fast. The wet sound of his cock entering you again and again filled the air.

“Tell me,” he insisted, giving you a hard spank. “Are you still bored, princess?”

“No… fuck… no…” you managed to babble, almost without voice.

He chuckled softly and fucked you harder, one hand going down to rub your clit while the other held your hair.

You came quickly, trembling against the tree. He followed shortly after, cumming inside you with a low grunt, filling you once more.

He helped you get dressed again, kissing your neck.

“Now you’re properly entertained, aren’t you?” he murmured with a satisfied smile.

When you returned to the campsite, you announced casually:

“I’m going to bathe in the lake. I want to be alone for a while.”

Your father nodded without problem. Laura too. He, on the other hand, looked at you with intensity, but didn’t say anything at that moment.

You went down to the lake with a towel and your bikini on. You got into the water and started swimming a little. Not even ten minutes had passed when you heard footsteps among the trees.

He appeared through the vegetation, already shirtless, with that dark look you knew so well.

“You said you wanted to be alone…” he commented, approaching the edge of the water.

You smiled, floating in the water.

“And you decided not to listen to me.”

He took off his shorts and got into the water, swimming directly toward you with powerful movements.

“I’m never going to leave you alone…” he murmured when he reached you, pulling you against his naked body in the water. “Not when I can have you like this.”

He trapped you against a large, smooth rock that protruded into the lake, where the water reached your waist. The sunset sun tinted everything in golden and orange tones.

He gently pressed you against the stone, his large body covering yours, and kissed you with deliberate, almost reverent slowness.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he whispered against your lips, while his large hands roamed your body under the water. “I need you all the time. Every damn second.”

His words filled you with a deep, warm happiness. You smiled against his mouth and wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer.

He removed your bikini with smooth but sure movements. First the top, leaving your breasts in the air, then the bottom. He lifted you a little, positioning you against the rock so the water helped you float slightly. His cock, already completely hard, brushed against your entrance.

He entered you slowly, inch by inch, looking into your eyes the whole time.

“I want to feel all of you,” he murmured, his voice husky but tender. “Every part of you…”

You moaned softly when he was completely inside. This time it wasn’t hard or wild. It was slow, deep and sensual. He moved with long, controlled thrusts, pulling out almost completely only to sink back to the bottom, circling his hips to brush every sensitive spot inside you.

His hands explored your body with devotion: he caressed your breasts, gently pinched your nipples, ran down your waist, squeezed your hips and came back up to hold your face while he kissed you.

“You’re so perfect…” he whispered against your neck, gently biting the skin. “So tight, so hot… so mine.”

You felt like you were floating, both from the water and the pleasure. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. Each slow, deep thrust drew soft moans from you that were lost in the sound of the lake.

He rested his forehead against yours, breathing heavily.

“I never want to stop,” he confessed, accelerating just a little. “I want to fuck you every day, fill you every night… I want you to always carry something of mine inside you.”

His words excited you as much as his movements. You kissed with more urgency, while he continued penetrating you with that delicious slowness that allowed you to feel every vein, every pulse of his thick cock inside you.

He lowered one hand between you and began rubbing your clit with soft but firm circular movements, synchronized with his thrusts.

“Cum for me, princess,” he whispered against your mouth. “I want to feel you squeeze me.”

The orgasm came like a slow but powerful wave. You contracted around him, trembling in his arms as you moaned his name. He followed shortly after, thrusting deep and cumming inside you with a low, long grunt, filling you once more with his hot cum.

He stayed inside you, hugging you tightly against the rock, kissing your neck, shoulders and lips with tenderness.

“I need you always,” he repeated in a low voice, like a vow. “You have no idea how much.”

You stayed hugged to him for a long time, with the cool water caressing your joined bodies, feeling full, desired and happy in a way you had never experienced.

You left the water holding hands. As soon as you reached the shore, on a soft grass area somewhat protected by some bushes, he carefully laid you down on the ground. The towel you had brought was underneath you, protecting you a little from the dirt.

He positioned himself between your legs, still naked and with his cock hard again. He looked at you with that intensity that melted you and lifted one of your legs, resting it on his shoulder. The new position opened you completely for him and he began rubbing the thick head of his cock against your soaked entrance.

He entered you with one deep thrust. The position made him reach much deeper, brushing points that made you moan loudly from the first moment.

“Fuck…” you gasped, holding onto his arms.

He began to move with a firm, steady rhythm, holding your leg against his shoulder. Each thrust was deep, strong and precise. The angle was perfect and made you feel him in an overwhelming way.

Tears began to escape from your eyes from pure pleasure. It wasn’t pain, it was too good. You sobbed between moans while he fucked you mercilessly.

“I want to be your woman…” you managed to say between gasps, your voice broken. “The only one… I don’t want you to be with anyone else. Only with me.”

He grunted, accelerating the rhythm, fucking you harder upon hearing your words.

“You’re mine,” he replied in a husky voice, looking you straight in the eyes. “Only mine. I don’t want anyone else. Not Laura, not anyone. Only you, princess.”

His words filled you with such great emotion that the tears continued to fall. He leaned a little more, almost folding you in half, and kissed you while he continued penetrating you deeply.

“I’m going to leave her, princess…” he growled against your mouth. “I’m going to separate and I’m going to stay with you. I want you to be the mother of my children. Only you.”

You came hard, almost screaming, contracting violently around his cock. He followed seconds later, pushing to the bottom and cumming inside you with a guttural grunt, filling you once more.

He collapsed carefully on top of you, still inside, and hugged you tightly. He kissed the tears from your cheeks with tenderness.

“I want you,” he repeated in a low voice, like a vow. “Only you.”

You stayed hugged to him, trembling with pleasure and emotion, with his cum dripping between your legs and your heart full.

That afternoon at the lake was the last time you two were together. When they returned to the campsite, they pretended normality. He returned to his role as attentive husband with Laura and you returned to being his best friend’s daughter.

That night they barely exchanged glances and the next day they packed everything and returned home in an uncomfortable silence, and then everything changed.

As soon as they arrived, he made his decision. That same night he told your father that he needed to sort things out with Laura and the next day, he left with her back to Texas. He didn’t tell you directly, he just looked at you one last time before getting in the car, with an expression full of guilt, unspoken promises and something like pain.

But there were no words. There was no “I’ll call you,” or “this isn’t over.” Just a brief hug in front of your father and Laura, and then… nothing.

Your heart broke into a thousand pieces. The first days were the worst. You spent them locked in your room, looking at your phone every five minutes, waiting for a message, a call, anything, but the phone never rang.

You knew, deep down, that he was right to leave with her first. He had to resolve his marriage, talk, separate formally if he really wanted to be with you. It was the responsible, logical thing, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Every night you cried silently against the pillow, remembering his words at the lake and wondering if they had been just words of the moment? Heat of passion? The doubt ate away at you inside.

Your father noticed you were acting strange, but he attributed it to university stress or problems with Tony. You didn’t tell him anything. How were you going to explain that you had fallen in love with his best friend? That he had fucked you in the forest promising you a future and now had disappeared?

The following weeks were a silent hell.

At first you tried to convince yourself that it was just stress, that the delay in your period was due to anxiety, constant crying and sleepless nights, but then the symptoms started.

Morning nausea that forced you to run to the bathroom as soon as you woke up. Sensitive and swollen breasts. A deep fatigue that made you want to sleep all day and the smell of coffee that you used to love now made you retch.

You were terrified. A small, secret part of you felt strangely happy at the possibility. It was a part of him, a living little piece of everything you had shared in secret. A baby that would carry his blood. But the other part, the bigger and more rational one, was scared to death.

How were you going to be a mother now? You were too young, you were alone, you had no stable job, you lived with your father and the man who had gotten you pregnant had disappeared without saying a word.

You felt useless. Stupid. Naive.

How could you have believed him? How did you fall so easily for the words of a man who was twice your age? Your father’s best friend. A married man who had just gotten out of prison. You repeated over and over how stupid you had been.

Some nights you stayed looking at the ceiling with silent tears rolling down your cheeks, thinking that it would be easier to simply not exist. Wanting to die was a thought that appeared more and more frequently, although you never said it out loud.

One afternoon, after vomiting for the third time that day, you went to the pharmacy alone and bought three pregnancy tests.

You got home, locked yourself in the bathroom and waited. All three tests came back positive. You sat on the bathroom floor for almost twenty minutes, staring at the two pink lines as if they were a death sentence. When you finally reacted, you stumbled to your room, locked the door and threw yourself on the bed.

You buried your face in the pillow and cried like never before in your life. The sobs were so strong they choked you. You bit the pillow so your father wouldn’t hear you from the living room. Your whole body trembled. You felt small, broken, completely alone.

“Idiot… idiot…” you repeated between sobs, hitting the bed with your fist. “How could you be so stupid?”

The images invaded you uncontrollably: his large hands holding you against the tree, his husky voice promising that he only wanted you, that he wanted you to have his babies, his deep thrusts while he told you he was going to fill you…

And now you were alone. Pregnant. With a baby growing inside you that he didn’t even know existed.

You cried until your throat hurt and you had no more tears left. You stayed curled up in the fetal position, hugging your belly with both hands, trembling.

You didn’t know what you were going to do. You didn’t know how to tell your father. And, above all, you didn’t know if you would ever see the man who had destroyed you and, at the same time, given you the most important thing in your life again.

You stayed locked in your room for days, as if the outside world no longer existed. The curtains always closed, the dim light of the night lamp barely illuminating the mess that was your bed: used tissues everywhere, the silent phone on the nightstand, and you curled up in the fetal position, hugging your knees to your chest.

Every morning the nausea woke you before dawn, forcing you to run to the bathroom with your hand over your mouth. Vomiting left you exhausted, trembling, with a bitter taste in your throat and fresh tears running down your cheeks.

You thought about him constantly. About his promises, about his husky voice saying he only wanted you, that he was going to leave Laura, that he wanted you to be the mother of his children.

Lies. It had all been lies born of the heat of the moment. Now you were alone with a baby growing inside you, and he had left as if nothing, as if the days in the forest had meant absolutely nothing.

Some nights the pain was so great that you sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the bottle of sleeping pills you had stolen from your father’s medicine cabinet.

You counted them over and over in the palm of your hand. It would be so easy, you thought. Swallow them all, close your eyes and stop feeling this emptiness. You imagined how your father would find you cold in the morning, and that made you cry harder, but the thought returned. No one really loves me. No one is going to love me with this inside. You felt broken, dirty, stupid. A silly girl who spread her legs for her father’s best friend, an ex-convict who had used her and discarded her.

Your father noticed the change almost immediately.

At first he respected your space, thinking it was sadness over the guests’ departure or university stress. But the days passed and you barely left your room. You ate little, almost nothing. You had deep dark circles, a pale face and swollen eyes from crying so much in silence.

One afternoon, after you tried to eat something in the kitchen and ended up vomiting in the bathroom again, he gently knocked on your door.

“Daughter… can I come in?”

You didn’t answer at first. You stayed curled up in bed, your face buried in the wet pillow.

He opened the door slowly. The light from the hallway made you squint. He sat on the edge of the bed carefully, as if afraid of breaking you.

“You’ve been like this for days. You barely eat, you don’t go out, you don’t talk… You’re worrying me a lot, my life. What’s wrong? You can tell me anything.”

You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut tightly. The tears were already starting to come again.

“No… I can’t, Dad. Please, leave me.”

He sighed, but didn’t move. He caressed your hair tenderly, like when you were a child.

“I’m your father. I’ve known you since you were born. I know when something is destroying you inside. I’m not going to pressure you if you don’t want to, but… look at you. You’re suffering alone and I can’t stand it. Let me help you. Whatever it is, I’m going to protect you. I’ve always done that. Nothing is going to change that.”

His voice was so soft, so full of unconditional love, that something inside you broke. You started sobbing hard, your body shaking. He immediately hugged you, surrounding you with his strong arms, and you clung to his shirt as if you were going to drown.

“Dad… I’m pregnant,” you finally whispered, with a broken, almost inaudible voice.

The silence that followed was heavy, eternal. You felt his body tense against yours. His hand stopped caressing your back for a second.

“What…?” he murmured, stunned.

You pulled away a little to look at him. His face was pale, his eyes wide open, as if he couldn’t process the words. He remained frozen, searching your face for some sign that it was a cruel joke. But he only saw tears, shame and pure terror.

“I’m pregnant,” you repeated, crying harder. “I don’t know what to do… I’m scared, Dad. So scared.”

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He ran a hand over his face, breathing heavily. The shock was visible: the wrinkles on his forehead became more pronounced, his eyes watered.

“My God…” he finally whispered.

You shrank, waiting for rejection, anger, disgust.

“Please… don’t stop loving me,” you begged between sobs, your voice broken. “I know I’m an idiot, that I ruined everything, but don’t leave me alone. Don’t hate me… please.”

He reacted then. He hugged you tightly, almost desperately, burying your face against his chest. You felt his tears fall on your hair.

“Never, my girl. I’m never going to stop loving you. I love you more than anything in this world. You’re my daughter, my everything. None of this is going to change that,” his voice broke. “But… fuck, I’m disappointed. Very disappointed. Not because of the baby… but because you didn’t come to me sooner. Because you’ve been suffering all this alone.”

“I know,” you cried against his shirt. “I know, Dad. I was terrified. I felt alone, stupid… I thought… I wanted to die. Some nights… I thought about ending it all.”

He hugged you tighter, as if he wanted to merge with you to protect you from the world.

“Don’t say that. Never. We’re going to get through this together. I’m here. You’re not alone.”

You stayed hugged to him for a long time, crying until your lungs hurt.

He rocked you gently, kissing your head, his own silent tears. The weight of disappointment was there, heavy between the two of you, but love was greater.

When your sobs calmed a little, he pulled away enough to look you in the eyes, with his hands on your shoulders.

“Who is the father?” he asked in a hoarse voice, trying to stay calm. “Is it Tony? Did that idiot do this to you?”

You shook your head, lowering it.

“No… it’s not Tony.”

He frowned, confused and increasingly tense.

“Then who? Tell me his name.”

You didn’t answer. The words got stuck in your throat. You looked toward the window, with your eyes full of tears again.

“Daughter… who is it?” he insisted, softer but firm.

Silence.

His expression changed. Something seemed to click in his mind. His eyes darkened with pain and contained rage.

“Is it his?” he asked in a low voice, almost fearing the answer.

You just nodded, biting your lip hard until it bled a little. The tears fell silently again.

He let out a choked sound, between surprise and deep fury. He got up from the bed and walked a few steps around the room, running his hands through his hair.

“Son of a bitch…” he murmured. “How…? How could you…?”

“Dad…” you whispered. “How did you know?”

He stopped and looked at you, with red eyes.

“I’m not an idiot. I saw how you looked at him in the house, at the lake… the glances, how you got nervous when he was around. I thought it was just a silly girl’s thing, an innocent attraction. I never imagined…” his voice broke again. “I’m very disappointed. In both of you. He was like a brother to me. I trusted him. And you… my girl. He took advantage of you. He got you pregnant and left like a coward.”

He approached again and sat down, but this time with slumped shoulders.

“If I see him… I’ll kill him. I swear I’ll make him pay for every tear you’ve shed.”

“No!” you exclaimed, grabbing his arm desperately. “Dad, please… no. I love him. I know it sounds stupid, but I love him. It was real for me. Don’t hurt him. Please.”

He looked at you for a long time, with his broken heart visible on his face. Rage, disappointment, protective love… all mixed together.

Finally he hugged you again, tightly, as if he wanted to absorb all your pain.

“I don’t know what we’re going to do,” he whispered against your hair. “But you’re going to be okay, I promise.”

You stayed there, in his arms, crying silently while he held you.

You kept the baby. There was no other real option in your heart, even though fear accompanied you every day. With your father’s silent but firm support, you started going to the doctor. The first appointments were terrible: your hands trembled while you had the tests done, you felt shame when the doctor asked about the father and you could only look down. You heard your baby’s heartbeat for the first time and cried on the examination table, a mix of terror and overwhelming tenderness you didn’t expect.

Little by little you faced reality.

You bought vitamins, looser clothes, and began to notice how your belly was gently rounding. Some nights you still cried silently, but you no longer thought about the pills. You had a reason to keep going. Your father was there: he accompanied you to appointments, prepared meals that didn’t make you nauseous, and although disappointment still floated between you like a shadow, he never let go of your hand.

One night, while you were having dinner at the kitchen table, there was a knock at the door. It was late, almost nine o’clock. You got up carefully, placing a hand on your already visible belly under the loose t-shirt.

“I’ll get it,” you said softly.

You opened the door… and the world stopped.

There he was, and when he saw you, a tentative smile formed on his lips.

“Princess…” he murmured.

Your knees weakened. You felt everything spinning. You grabbed the door frame to keep from falling, your heart beating so hard you thought you were going to faint. The air left your lungs. You couldn’t speak, you just looked at him, with your eyes full of tears that began to fall uncontrollably.

His smile lasted barely two seconds.

Your father appeared behind you like lightning. He didn’t say a word, he just closed his fist and threw a punch straight to his face. The dry sound of the impact echoed in the hallway. He staggered back, but your father didn’t stop. He gave him another punch to the jaw, and another to the stomach that doubled him over.

“Dad! Stop!” you screamed, horrified.

You ran toward them. He was on the porch floor, bleeding from the mouth. You tried to intervene, pushing your father with all your strength.

“Enough, please! You’re going to kill him!”

Your father was breathing like a wounded animal, with bloody knuckles and eyes full of fury. You managed to separate them enough. He spat blood on the ground and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looking at your father with confusion and pain.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he growled, trying to get up.

Your father approached again and, before you could stop him, spat in his face.

“You trampled on our friendship. I trusted you like a brother and you… you fucked my daughter. You’re a disgusting person. You broke her heart and the worst of all… you got her pregnant, you son of a bitch. You disappeared and left her alone with this.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

He slowly raised his gaze toward you. His green eyes widened in horror when he saw the tears running down your cheeks, your protective hand on your rounded belly, the way you were trembling. The color left his face.

“What…?” he whispered, almost without voice.

He got up with difficulty, staggering, and tried to approach you.

“Princess… please…”

Your father pushed him hard against the wall.

“Don’t get close to her.”

“Please…” he begged, his voice broken, looking only at you. “I need to talk to her. I left Laura. I did everything… for her.”

Your father let out a bitter, rage-filled laugh.

“Shameless. You show up now, after months, and you expect…”

“Dad,” you intervened, with a trembling but firm voice. “Let us talk. Please. Just… a moment.”

Your father looked at you, torn between fierce protection and love for you.

Finally, with his jaw clenched, he nodded.

“I’ll be in the kitchen.”

He left, but left the door ajar. The atmosphere remained charged, heavy.

He took a step toward you, but you instinctively moved away, crossing your arms over your chest. The tears wouldn’t stop.

“No… don’t come near me,” you said in a broken voice. “You have no right.”

“Love, let me explain…”

“No!” you exclaimed, and all the accumulated sadness came out like a torrent. “Explain what? That you used me? I spent weeks thinking you only wanted my body. That all those promises at the lake, in the forest, were just words to fuck me. You left me alone. You disappeared. I thought you were going to come back. I waited for your call like an idiot… and nothing. I found out about the pregnancy vomiting every morning, crying until I had no tears left. I thought about dying, you know? About swallowing pills because I felt dirty, used, broken. Because the man who said he loved me, who wanted me to be the mother of his children, abandoned me like I was garbage.”

Your voice broke into sobs. You brought a hand to your mouth, trying to contain yourself, but you couldn’t.

“Every medical appointment I went to alone at first. Every night I felt this baby move and thought you would never know him. That I had ruined everything by believing you. I hated you. I hated you so much… and at the same time I still loved you and that destroyed me even more.”

He was devastated. Tears ran down his face. He ran his hands through his hair, desperate.

“Forgive me… Please, forgive me. You have no idea how sorry I am.”

You stayed silent, trembling. Finally, in a thread of voice, you told him:

“Talk. Explain. But I don’t know if I want to hear it.”

He approached slowly, until he was a meter away from you. His voice was hoarse, broken by emotion.

“I was a coward. When we returned from the lake, guilt ate me alive. Laura suspected something, your father was there… I thought I had to fix my marriage first, do things right, separate like a man before coming for you. But every day without you was hell. I called you mentally, wrote messages that I deleted. I wanted to give you stability, not drag you into my mess. When I finally left Laura a few weeks ago, I came as fast as I could. I didn’t know… I didn’t know about the baby.”

His voice broke. He knelt in front of you, right there in the entrance, with his knees on the cold floor.

“I love you. I love you like I’ve never loved anyone. It wasn’t just your body. It was your laugh, the way you looked at me, your strength. I want to be with you. I want to be the father of that baby. I want to wake up every day by your side and make up for every tear. Please… don’t shut me out. Don’t push me away. I need you. I need both of you.”

He was crying openly, kneeling like a broken man, with his face swollen from the blows and dried blood at the corner of his lips. He extended a trembling hand toward you, without touching you, waiting.

“Forgive me, princess. Give me a chance to prove to you that this time I’m not going to leave. Please…”

The air was charged with pain, wounded love, broken promises and new pleas. You stayed there, with one hand on your belly and your heart in pieces, not knowing if you could forgive or if the damage was already irreparable. The tears continued to fall, silently, while you looked at him kneeling in front of you.

“Why…?” you whispered between sobs, with a broken and trembling voice. “Why do I have to love you so much? Tell me… why can’t I hate you like I should? You left. You left me alone with all this… and still, every night I dreamed of you. Every time I felt the baby move, I thought of you. Why do I have to love you in this stupid and painful way?”

He raised his gaze toward you, with his reddened green eyes full of tears. His beaten face was swollen, but the real pain was in his expression. He extended a trembling hand, not daring to touch you yet.

“Cause’ I love you the same way,” he answered in a hoarse, broken voice. “Because what we have is bigger than fear, than my mistakes, than everything. I made the worst mistake of my life by walking away. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I only destroyed you. Forgive me… please, princess. Give me another chance. Let me prove to you that this time I’m going to stay. I’m going to be there for you and for our baby. I’m not going to fail you again.”

The tears prevented you from seeing clearly.

You wiped your face with the back of your hand, breathing unevenly. The weight of everything you had lived through was still there, oppressing your chest.

“Get up…” you finally whispered, with a weak voice. “Please, get up. I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

He stood up slowly, with difficulty, grimacing in pain from your father’s blows. As soon as he was in front of you, you took a step and kissed him. It was a desperate kiss, salty with tears, full of rage and love at the same time. Your hands clung tightly to his shirt, as if you feared he would disappear again. He reciprocated with the same intensity, surrounding you with his large, warm arms, careful not to press too hard on your belly.

When you separated, you rested your forehead against his, still crying.

“I hate you…” you murmured against his lips. “I hate you for what you put me through. For every night I thought I didn’t matter to you. But I love you more. I love you so much it hurts to breathe. I don’t know how I’m going to forgive you completely… but I can’t let you go.”

He closed his eyes, pressing you gently against his chest. One of his hands lowered to your belly and caressed it with reverence, feeling for the first time the curve where his son was growing.

“I love you,” he said in a deep, trembling voice. “I love you like I never thought I could love someone. These months away were hell. I realized I missed your laugh, the way you laugh when something really amuses you. I missed your whims, how you got angry about everything and furrowed your brow in that adorable way. I missed the way you looked at me when you thought no one was watching… that mix of desire and shyness that drove me crazy. I missed your scent, your voice, the way you gave yourself to me without reservations. Everything about you. Every damn thing. There’s no one else for me. Only you.”

He hugged you tighter, kissing your hair, your forehead, your wet cheeks. You continued crying against his chest, but now it was a different cry: softer, more liberating.

The pain was still there, deep and slowly healing, but for the first time in months you felt a glimmer of hope.

“I don’t know if I can trust you again…” you whispered. “But I want to try. For me. For the baby. For us.”

He nodded, without letting you go.

“I’m going to earn that trust every day. I’m not going anywhere. I’m here. Forever, princess.”

You stayed hugged in the entrance, under the dim light of the porch, while your father waited in the kitchen, probably listening to everything. The world outside kept turning, but at that moment only the two of you existed, trying to rebuild what you had almost destroyed forever.

The following months were not easy. For your father, accepting the relationship was a slow and painful process. At first he barely tolerated his presence in the house. Dinners were tense, conversations short and full of awkward silences. Your father looked at him with a mix of contained rage and deep disappointment every time he saw him touch your belly or kiss you on the forehead. More than once you heard arguments between them in the living room: harsh words, reproaches about the betrayed friendship and about the responsibility he now had.

But time, as always, did its work. Your father saw how he was there every day. He saw him accompany you to all the medical appointments, hold your hand during the ultrasounds, paint the baby’s room with patience and carry the boxes of diapers without complaining. He saw how he took care of you. And, above all, he saw how you started smiling again little by little. One day, after a dinner in which he helped wash the dishes without anyone asking, your father just sighed deeply and told him:

“I don’t forgive you for what you did. But if you’re going to be with my daughter and my grandson… you’d better do it right. If you hurt her again, I won’t settle for a few punches.”

It was the closest thing to a blessing you were going to get.

He kept his word. He quickly sold the house in Texas, closed that chapter of his life with Laura and used the money to buy a large and beautiful house just two streets from your father’s. He wanted you to be close to your family, to have support. Together you started organizing the baby’s room: you painted the walls a soft gray and yellow, assembled the crib, placed furniture and hung small glowing stars on the ceiling. He spent hours there with you, placing everything carefully, kissing your belly every time he bent down.

He accompanied you everywhere. To childbirth preparation classes, for afternoon walks so you could move, even to buy maternity clothes. Things weren’t perfect: there were moments of insecurity, arguments due to fatigue and fear of the future, nights when you woke up crying remembering the abandonment. But you tried. A little more every day.

You only heard about Laura once. One afternoon, while he was talking on the phone in the garden, you heard his raised voice through the half-open window.

“…yes, the house is already sold. No, I’m not going to give you more than what we agreed. And stop insulting her, Laura. She has nothing to do with this. This was my decision.”

You heard her call you “young whore” and other hurtful things before he hung up. You didn’t care. You already had enough with your own world.

He made sure to make you feel loved every day. Small details: flowers for no reason, massages for your swollen feet, slow kisses in the mornings, his hands always seeking to touch you as if he needed to remind himself that you were real. He constantly repeated that you were beautiful, even when you felt huge and tired.

One night, when you were already nine months pregnant, you went out to dinner at a quiet restaurant. You felt especially pretty in a black maternity dress that gently hugged your figure. The dinner was pleasant, full of laughter and plans for the future. At one point you went to the bathroom and, when you returned, you saw the scene: an attractive woman, more or less his age, was leaning over the table openly flirting with him.

“…and tell me, what is a man like you doing here alone?” she was saying.

He looked up, and with a firm and cold voice he replied:

“Go away. I have a wife.”

The woman laughed, unaware of your presence.

“I don’t see her anywhere…”

You appeared right behind her, placing a possessive hand on his shoulder.

“Here I am,” you said in a clear and calm voice. “I’m his wife.”

The woman looked you up and down, noticing your prominent belly, and left muttering something between her teeth. You sat down again, with a small smile on your lips. It had been a long time since you had felt jealous. That night, that small pang of possessiveness reminded you how much you loved him.

You arrived home charged with that energy. As soon as you closed the door to the bedroom, he kissed you with contained hunger. It had been weeks since you had had sex; the advanced pregnancy and fatigue had put it on pause. But that night was different.

He undressed you with reverent slowness, kissing every inch of skin he discovered. He knelt in front of you and kissed your swollen belly, whispering words of love against your skin. He helped you lie on your side, the most comfortable position at that moment, and positioned himself behind you. His large hands caressed your more sensitive breasts, gently pinching the nipples while he kissed your neck.

“You’re so beautiful…” he murmured against your ear, his voice husky with desire. “So mine.”

When he entered you, he did it slowly, inch by inch, careful with every movement. You moaned loudly, because after so long without feeling him, the sensation was exquisite. You were more sensitive, tighter, and each slow, deep thrust made you tremble. He held you with one arm around your waist, the other hand caressing your clit with perfect circles.

“Fuck…” he growled against your neck. “You’re so hot, so wet for me…”

You moved against him as best you could, seeking more depth. The pleasure was different now: more intense, more emotional. Every time he entered to the bottom you moaned his name, and he responded with kisses and words of love.

“Cum for me, princess… let me feel you,” he whispered, accelerating just a little, always careful.

The orgasm hit you like a slow and powerful wave. You contracted around him, trembling in his arms as you moaned. He followed shortly after, cumming inside you with a long, husky grunt, hugging you tightly against his chest.

You stayed joined for a long time, breathing heavily. He didn’t pull out of you immediately. He kissed your nape, your cheek, and caressed your belly with tenderness.

“I love you,” he repeated over and over. “This is just the beginning. We’re going to be okay.”

That night you slept glued to him, with his protective hand on your belly and your heart calmer than it had been in a long time. The wounds were still there, but little by little they were turning into scars. And for the first time in months, you felt that the future could be good. Together.

A few days later, in the early morning, while you were sleeping glued to his chest, you felt the first strong contraction. It was like a bolt of pain that ran through your back and belly. You complained and he woke up immediately.

“Is it time?” he asked, alert in seconds.

You nodded, biting your lip. Labor had begun.

The following hours were intense. You arrived at the hospital quickly. Your father followed in his car, nervous but present. The birth was natural, as you wanted, but it wasn’t easy. You were a first-time mother and the baby was big. The contractions became stronger and closer together.

You sweated, moaned in pain, squeezing his hand so hard you thought you were going to break his fingers.

“Breathe, princess… I’m here,” he repeated non-stop, wiping your forehead with a cold cloth, kissing your sweat-soaked hair. “You’re doing incredible. You’re the strongest woman I know.”

You screamed with every push. The pain was tearing, as if your body was opening in two. At one point, between contraction and contraction, you cried exhausted.

“I can’t… it hurts so much…”

“Yes you can,” he told you in a firm but loving voice, looking you in the eyes. “It’s almost over. Our son is about to arrive. Hold on a little longer.”

Your father waited outside, pacing back and forth. The nurses came in and out. After almost twelve hours of labor, the doctor told you it was time.

“Push! Hard!”

You screamed with all your strength. You felt your body opening, the intense burning, the overwhelming pressure. And then… the cry. A strong, healthy, vigorous cry filled the room.

“It’s a boy,” the doctor announced with a smile. “He’s perfect!”

They placed the baby on your chest almost immediately, still connected by the cord. He was wet, wrinkled, with a red face and clenched little fists, but to you he was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen in your life.

He was chubby, with full cheeks and a bit of dark hair on his head. You hugged him against your skin, crying uncontrollably.

“My baby…” you whispered, kissing his little head. “Hello, my love… you’re here.”

You never imagined you could love someone so much so quickly. That love was instant, fierce, overwhelming. It was as if all the pain, fear and tears of the previous months were worth it just to have him there, breathing against your chest.

He was by your side, with his eyes full of tears he didn’t bother to hide. He let them run freely while he caressed the baby’s back with a trembling hand and kissed your forehead over and over.

“Thank you…” he murmured with a broken voice. “Thank you for our son. You’re incredible. I love you so much…”

He cried without shame, with silent sobs, looking at his son as if he couldn’t believe he was real. That big, strong man, who had been in prison, was completely undone with emotion in front of his little one.

After they sutured you and cleaned you up, they moved you to a private room.

You were exhausted but happy, with the baby already clean and wrapped in a blanket, sleeping peacefully in your arms. Your father came in for a while, excited, and held his grandson with trembling hands. There were tears from him too. Then he left you alone.

When things calmed down, you looked at him, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, unable to stop touching the baby.

“It didn’t seem like you’d been in prison for so long,” you said with a tired but teasing smile. “You cried like a child when you saw him.”

He let out a low, husky laugh, wiping his still wet eyes. He leaned in and kissed you softly on the lips.

“How could I not cry?” he replied, looking at you with so much love that you felt your heart swell. “I was watching my woman, the person I love most in the world, give birth to our son. It was the most beautiful and strongest thing I’ve seen in my life. I cried with pride, with gratitude… with love. All together.”

He caressed the chubby cheek of the baby, who slept deeply, with his thumb.

“He looks like you,” he murmured. “He has your nose.”

“And your eyes, I hope,” you replied, resting your head on his shoulder.

You stayed like that for a long time: you resting in bed, him by your side, with one hand on your shoulder and the other near the baby. The room was silent, only interrupted by the soft breathing of the newborn. For the first time in a long time, everything seemed to be in its place.

You and him had gone through hell, but there both were: a family.

And of course a few months later he proposed to you.

[zepskies]

Mutual Engagement

Pairing: CEO!Dean Winchester x Assistant!Reader

Summary: Let’s take it back to Day 1. Here's how you got the job at HunterCorp as Dean Winchester’s Executive Assistant, how you kept it, and the day your professionalism with him finally broke.

AN: Ready for more Boss Man Dean? insert Chandler Bing gif (Friends fans will know lol) This of course is in the same world as Pratt Fall, but it spans the year building up to that moment.

Posted on Patreon: June 19, 2026 | Word Count: 9.6K

Tags & Warnings: 18+ | Single mother!reader, ft. a deadbeat dad, mutual pining, Dean’s dirty thoughts, office shenanigans and smut (v. fingering, penetrative sex – yes, on the desk)

Series Masterlist ➤ Dean Winchester Masterlist

“No,” Sam says, snatching the resume out of his brother’s hand.

“Aw, come on,” Dean says. He swivels in his leather chair but doesn’t bother getting out of it.

Sam levees him with an exasperated look. “This girl spelled ‘assistant’ with three Cs and a Y.”

“She’s funny,” Dean shrugs, once again taking a look at the applicant’s profile on his computer. In his opinion, her pouty lips and dewy young face speak for themselves. “And smokin’ fucking hot.”

“She’s illiterate,” Sam deadpans. He sorts through the resumes he printed off and hands his brother three strong candidates that he picked himself.

Dean glances down at each packet. He snorts and tosses the first one into the metal garbage bin beside his desk. Sam frowns.

“What was wrong with that one?”

“He’s a dude. Don’t you think we’ve got enough of a sausage fest going on around here?” Dean says, gesturing wide at the multi-floor building that makes up HunterCorp. His father’s enterprise, distilled down to two sons who, on their best day, have very different opinions on what makes for a good executive assistant.

Sam utters a longsuffering sigh.

“Man or woman, you need a real assistant, Dean. Someone competent enough to deal with your demanding schedule and…personality.”

“What’s wrong with my personality?”

“And I need you to have an assistant so I can focus on my real job. You know, running the entire Legal department.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “I know how to do my job, okay? I think I’ve picked up the slack pretty damn well since Dad died.”

Sam pauses, acknowledging that with a nod, and a heavier note.

“Yeah. You have.”

“So while I’m throwing money away hiring for a wholly unnecessary assistant, who I’m gonna have to tolerate looking at every day, I might as well be looking at somebody hot,” Dean says.

Another exhale leaves Sam’s body, along with the brief buoyant feeling of admiration for his brother.

And now we’re back where the neanderthals live. 

Sam gets a text from Reception that has his pocket buzzing. After he checks the message, he nods to himself. Here we go.

“All right. The first one is on her way up now, so do me a favor and get yourself together,” he says. “For example, it’s a little early for the booze, don’t you think? It’s 10:00 a.m.”

Dean pauses. The crystal decanter in his hand is halfway to pouring his first fifth of whiskey.

Second breakfast, if you will.

He gives his brother a flat look, one that’s accusing him of being an eternal wet blanket. But he begrudgingly concedes the point and puts both the decanter and the tumbler in a cabinet under his desk.

Classy. Sam rolls his eyes.

A knock at the door stops him from commenting out loud.

Clearing his throat, he walks over to let you in.

“Hi, Sam…and Mr. Winchester,” you say, shaking hands with the slightly taller brother. Then you turn to Dean Winchester, CEO of HunterCorp. He stands and leaves his desk to greet you.

In the time it takes him to cross the room, he takes you in within the breadth of a few seconds. More than the professional pantsuit and your pretty face, he notices your bright smile, the slight bout of nerves in the way you shake his hand. He finds himself smiling back.

“Uh, hi,” he says eloquently. “Call me Dean. Can we get ya some water, coffee, iced tea…”

He doesn’t even think they have iced tea, but he’s willing to make Sam go and find some.

“No, thank you. I’m fine,” you reply.

“Okay, then. Just, uh, take a seat.” He gestures to the open seat in front of his desk before he returns to his own plush leather chair. It squeaks as he swivels back in place. He shares a nod with Sam, who heads out of the office. The door closes behind him.

Dean glances down at the list of questions Sam prepared for him to ask each candidate, a sheet of paper that lies over your resume. He brushes the questions aside and focuses on the information printed under your name.

His brows raise in interest. “You graduated from Stanford University like my brainiac brother?”

The sound of your light laugh draws his gaze from the page, up to your face.

“Yeah, we were actually friends. It’s just been…a while,” you say, clearing your throat a little.

Dean inclines his head. His understanding grows along with his suspicion as he reads.

“Look at that, a Marketing major. Looks like you had a couple of promising internships too.”

“In college, yes.”

“And you were a Communications Specialist at Ashland for…eight months in 2021?”

“Yes, that’s right.” Again, you nod, smoothing a non-existent wrinkle in your pants. Your gaze falls away from his.

This time, Dean thinks you know full well what he’s getting at when he sets down your resume.

“That was five years ago,” he says. “You haven’t worked in five years since getting out of college?”

“It’s a bit complicated,” you admit, though you sit a little straighter. “I gave birth to my daughter, Emma, in November of 2021. My ex…was not supportive. My mother was also having some heath issues, so I moved back home to help my father take care of her. They took care of me too.”

Your fingers flex and interlace together in your lap. Dean notices the subtle fidget, but otherwise you’re calm and professional as you admit to something so personal. He can respect that you didn’t try to bullshit him.

“Hmm. Complicated,” he nods, then hesitates. “How’s your mom doing now?”

Your lips tug, but not at a smile. “She passed away a few weeks ago.”

Dean dims further as he inhales deeply. “I’m sorry.”

You give a tight nod, your throat swallowing.

“Look, since you’ve been honest with me, I’m gonna be real with you,” he says. “I run a company of 300 employees, 20 departments, 10 floors. I work 60-hour weeks minimum. I meet with department heads, shareholders, business partners and prospective clients on the daily—the kind of schedule that would make your head spin. I know you’ve done what you had to do, but I’m not sure you’re ready for a job like this. And that’s besides the fact that I’m not convinced I even need an assistant who’s probably just going to slow me down by sticking her nose into my process and asking questions I don’t have the damn time to answer.”

You tighten up at that, understandably taken aback. Your lips purse, but instead of tossing him a fuck you then and walking out, like he half expects, you sit with his words. You think it through, and you give him exactly what he doesn’t expect. 

“I may not have been clocking into an office for the past few years, but I haven’t been a stranger to hard work, Mr. Winchester. I’ve done nothing but fulfill the role of an assistant,” you say, and your gaze never leaves his when you say it. “Appointments, calls, messages, emails, paperwork, finances, data reports, coffee, power lunches, drycleaning—whatever you need, however quickly you need it, I can get it and I can make it happen. If there’s someone you can rely on, it’s a single mother who knows how to get shit done.”

Dean understands now. He understands the pain hidden in your eyes, and the too-tight set of your shoulders that hold the weight of responsibility. Urgency. A hint of desperation.

You need this job, maybe a little too much.

He should let you down gently. You’re not the kind of girl he’s looking for.

But whenever his mind and his gut are in conflict, he usually heeds his gut. That’s worked out well for him so far.

So he shrugs, and he stands up, holding out his hand to you across the desk.

“Like I said, call me Dean.”

Two Weeks

He groans into the ceramic mug at the first sip. Jesus Christ, you make a good fucking cup of coffee. That’s not even in the top five of the talents you possess, as it pertains to his business and your ability to learn quickly, talk minimally, and begin to anticipate his needs.

You dress nice, you’re always on time, and hell, you smell good too. Like body lotion and just the right amount of perfume. Obviously he can’t comment on any of these things, unless he wants a visit from Meg in HR. But it doesn’t stop him from noticing you, his heart thumping whenever you come in close to show him a document or ask him a question about a report.

Instead of rolling his eyes or snapping that you should have someone who’s not running this entire company explain it to you—like he did the last assistant who didn’t even survive three days—Dean finds an ounce of patience to spare for you.

He sits there and explains the difference between an M1911 handgun and a shotgun, and why the background checks take two months for one model and a few weeks for the other one is just a difference of state law, not HunterCorp’s manufacturing techniques.

Sam is rather fucking gloaty about it too—mainly at the fact that his top candidate made it through Dean’s initial hiring plans.

“Admit it, she’s good,” Sam says later in the day, while the two of them eat lunch together in his office. You just had it delivered ten minutes ago, still piping hot.

“She’s all right, for being your little college friend.” Dean slurps his lo mien and casts his brother some side-eye. “Is that all she was, or did you two occasionally sneak off for a little rec room break on the side?”

Sam gives him a flat look. “No, I was with Jess by then.”

“Just asking.” Dean shrugs. Secretly, he’s pleased. “You know anything about the ex-boyfriend, Father of the Year?”

Sam snorts in derision. “Some asshole in Sales while she was at Ashland. From what I heard, they were dating for six months or so, and she got pregnant. He, uh, tried to get her to end it.”

Dean frowns, and actually pauses eating to raise his head.

“She told you that?” he asks.

Sam holds back on answering for a suspicious moment, his eyes shifting down at his food.

“Made a couple calls to some contacts I have over there,” he says.

Spies, in other words. Dean nods in understanding. His brother’s always been the smart one. That’s what everyone used to say, including their father.

Two Months

You’re not sure if you should do it.

You have a sensitive report in your hand, fresh off the printer. You really think Dean should see it before he gets any deeper into his negotiations with Roman Enterprises, but he’s meeting with them right now in the big conference room, with Dick Roman himself, as well as the rest of his sales and legal representatives.

This isn’t the first meeting Sam and Dean have undergone with the company; Roman Enterprises been courting HunterCorp into a partnership on a new product, but this could be the day that makes the big swinging dicks in the room shake hands (even if that little visual almost makes you snort).

Dean’s never expressly warned you about entering a meeting uninvited, but it’s still nerve wracking as you stand outside the door. You can hear familiar voices, including the nasally tone of Alastair, the one who gives you the creeps whenever he slithers through the office and gives you a “charming” once-over.

But you also hear Dean. His voice is deep and smooth and confident. It gives you the little confidence boost you need to twist the knob and push the door open.

Just as you predicted, with a sinking feeling, all eyes turn to you when you enter the conference room. Sam and Dean and their lead sales manager, Cas, look over at you in varying degrees of surprise (Cas with disapproval). Dick Roman remains impassive, if slightly amused when you squeak out an, “I’m sorry.”

It’s Alastair’s gaze you feel on your profile when you quickly make your way around the large conference room table and over to Dean. You lean over to hand him the paperwork.

His lips purse when he notices the line of Alistair’s gaze—on your ass.

Dean then frowns at you, and your express delivery.

“What’s this? You think it could’ve waited?” he asks in a low whisper.

“Look,” you whisper back, pointing to the section you starred. It’s a report that Roman Enterprises failed to disclose about their product, a double-chambered gun that can store silver rounds and witch-killing bullets as well as salt rounds: the perfect gun for a hunter.

The problem is the safety and performance report. The one Dean has up on his laptop doesn’t match the one now physically in his hands—the one that says two out of three units of this gun fail to chamber correctly on reloading, resulting in a backfire on the user.

Dean’s brows furrow. “Where did you get this?”

“Is something wrong?” Dick asks. He straightens in his seat, his demeanor a fraction sharper.

Dean glances up at him, then at Sam and Cas, who wear similar looks of confusion. Sam raises his brows expectantly.

“Sorry, one moment,” Dean says to the room, before redirecting his attention to you.

You’re all too aware of being the rabbit caught in the proverbial trap in this room of nearly all men, but you rest a hand on the table and lean in near his ear.

“Their weapons analyst sent this to me,” you explain. “He almost got his hand blown off. Said they didn’t want to go back to the drawing board and waste time when they had us as a prospective distributor.”

Dean blinks in surprise. A fucking whistleblower just outed his own company, but he supposes he can’t blame the guy. If he had half a hand, he’d sue everybody.

“Okay, thank you,” Dean tells you.

It sounds like a dismissal, and truth be told, you’re ready to get the hell of this room. You make a quick escape and shut the door carefully behind you.

Dean watches you leave, but then he collects the report you gave him and passes it along to Sam, with a pointed look that says read it now. Sam doesn’t need the prompting. He shares it with Cas, and they both eventually come to the same frowning conclusions as Dean.

“You gonna fill us in on what that little skirt just gave you that has all of you so fucking sour?” Alastair remarks.

It makes Dean bristle. “That’s my assistant. Have some fucking respect.”

Dick shoots his associate a warning look, as well as a placating hand before he folds both of his on the table.

“Apologies. I’d like to move forward here. How about we discuss oversees shipping—”

“No, I don’t think that’s necessary,” Dean says. He shares a look with Sam. He’s disappointed, but he nods in agreement all the same.

Dick’s head tilts. His fake-ass smile twitches at the corners. “Excuse me?” 

Dean closes his laptop and slides your report across the table.

“We deal with all kinds, but there’s nothing I hate more than a liar,” he says. “Cas will see you guys out to your line of Teslas out front.”

You’re sitting at your desk, stress-eating with a snack bag of popcorn while you answer emails, even though your mind is racing as you imagine what might be going on in that conference room.

You perk up in your seat when the door swings open, and the entire team of Roman Enterprises files out with steam practically coming out of Dick’s ears. You’re more than happy to see the back of Alastair. Cas follows them closely, while Sam and Dean are the last ones lingering outside the door.

They speak for a moment there in the hall, though you’re too far to hear what they’re saying. Dean eventually rubs a hand over his stubble-covered cheeks and jawline as he heads toward his office, and toward you. He gives you a wry look when he steps through the glass doors of the reception area, squeezing your shoulder as he passes by.

“Good job, sweetheart.”

That’s all he says as he disappears back into his office. You can’t help the warm blush blooming across your cheeks, but you do get up to follow him.

“Um, Dean…”

He turns to you as the door of his office closes behind you. You fold your hands in front of you, an almost contrite expression across your face.

“I’m sorry. That just cost you a lot of money, didn’t it?” you ask.

Dean shakes his head. “Don’t be sorry. What you saved me is one bitch of a headache, and probably millions in legal fees. So thank you.”

You smile, making him smile in return.

“Okay, um, would you mind if I leave just a few minutes early today?” you ask. “My father usually picks up my daughter after school, but he has a doctor’s appointment. I can come back after she’s settled.”

Dean frowns. “What time does she usually get out of school?”

“Three. She’s in kindergarten.”

He considers it for a moment. “You know, we have a daycare. Cas brings his kids here too.”

You do know that, all too well. Cas is married to Meg in HR, and they have two, very odd twin daughters. You think they’re stealing ink from the printer and using it for “ink blot tests.” You didn’t know that eight-year-olds knew what those were.

“We do. But I, uh…I can’t afford it,” you admit, with some embarrassment. You’re still helping your dad pay off your mom’s medical bills, and even her funeral. It’s not easy to afford to live and provide for a child, but it seems like it’s almost as expensive to die.

Dean taps his fingers on his desk. He shrugs and rounds his desk to sit down in his comfortable chair.

“How much does it cost?” he asks.

“$500 a month. I’m already trying to get her into a private school…”

Dean does the math in his head, easy. Then he sends a quick text to Meg in HR.

“Well, now you can afford it. I’m gonna raise your annual salary by $10K,” he says. “That should cover the tax deductions and extra gas mileage.”

Your mouth falls open in shock. It closes, then opens again before you’re able to make words pass through them.

“Um, w…what?” you ask.

Dean leans back in his chair and smiles. It isn’t often he gets you flustered.

“Consider it an early Christmas bonus,” he says.

You laugh, slightly breathless still in wonder. “It’s the middle of July.”

Again, Dean shrugs. “Just say thank you.”

You bite your lip in amusement, but you nod. Your gaze on him is sincere, and a little shiny with emotion. Your daughter’s definitely getting into private school now.

“Thank you,” you say.

Dean watches you walk out of his office, along with that brief look over your shoulder before you close the door. His smile fades.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

He sits up in his chair and goes for that stash of whiskey under his desk. If he wasn’t already an alcoholic, you sure were on your way to making him one.

Three Months

Dean blows out a sigh, then rubs his eyes at the strain of just how long he’s stared at a screen and tried to make these goddamn numbers work.

The building is probably empty by now. Even his brother left two hours ago to go home and have dinner with Jess. Dean’s reluctant to go home to his empty apartment. So here he sits, the workaholic that he is, as the sun fades behind other buildings and casts his apartment into darker shades. He switches on the desk lamp.

A knock on the door kicks his thoughts out of alignment, like an old engine sparking out, into crispy defeat.

“Yeah,” he calls out without looking up. He does though, when you come into view.

“Hey, I’m heading out,” you say.

He can see you’re ready to go, packed up and on your way downstairs to pick Emma up from daycare. He still hasn’t met the kid. He’s surprised himself with the idea that he wants to, though he’s never asked. Never wanted to intrude on your life outside of work. Never wanted to get too close to it.

You’re a single mother living with your father, and that’s complicated enough. You don’t need a man like Dean upsetting the delicate balance. And he doesn’t think he can give a woman like you what you need…besides the fact that you’re his employee.

“All right. Make sure Benny keeps an eye on you heading to your car. It’s getting late,” he says.

“Not that late,” you say with a smile. Though you’re a bit concerned when you step further into his office. “When do you typically head home?”

“Uh, around eight or nine, usually.”

“That’s pretty late. You don’t have anyone waiting on you?”

“Not unless you count the beers in the fridge,” he remarks, sending off another email to a sales rep to get his ass in gear if they’re going to make quota for Quarter 3.

By the time Dean looks up, he sees your small frown. Concern.

It rubs him the wrong way (or maybe the right one), so he clears his throat and waves you over to his computer, opening up a tab he was looking at earlier.

“Hey, do me a favor. Tell me what you think of these. I have to go to some tech expo this weekend with Sam,” he says.

You look over his shoulder at the rows of ties on the screen.

“Well, first of all, don’t get them off Amazon. Go to a men’s store,” you say with a short laugh. “Second, what color is the suit?”

“Uh, just black,” he says in amusement.

You hum in contemplation. The man does look good in his usual slacks and nice buttoned-down shirts, but picturing him in a full suit and tie is an enticing image.

“This burgundy one looks nice. Or the blue one with the pattern,” you suggest.

“You don’t think it’s too loud?”

“No, I think it would look nice with a black dress shirt. Or hey, a black vest with a white dress shirt underneath.” 

“A vest?” Dean intones.

“Yeah, with your shoulders, you’ll look really sharp when you pair it with the suit jacket,” you say.

“My shoulders, huh? What about ‘em?” he asks in amusement, verging on the edge of flirtatious, before he realizes what he’s doing.

You both pause then.

You eventually find something approaching a respectable response, if not really a professional one.

“Just…you have a strong frame for a suit. I’m sure whatever you pick will look good,” you say. Though you turn away to grab your purse from where you left it leaning against his desk on the floor. Your face is blushing hot all the while. “Um, have a good night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, you too,” he nods, clearing his throat. He tries not to watch you leave, but he can’t help himself. The natural sway of your hips is too hard to ignore, as is the way you walk away from him on those heels.

Once the door is firmly shut, he tips his head back against his chair and groans. He hates himself for hoping, even fantasizing, that one day you’ll come back and straddle him on this goddamn chair and fuck him with those heels still on.

He bangs the back of his head repeatedly against the chair, as if that could rid him of his pig-like thoughts.

Fuck. Me.

Four Months

Dean steps into his office after four hours of solid back-to-back meetings. If he had to sit through even five more minutes of Crowley’s condescending ass explain 15 subsections of a contract, as if Dean didn’t know how to fucking read, then he was going to throw his laptop into the nearest window.

He expects to find the quiet refuge of his office, and very quickly his stash of Angel’s Envy. What he gets is a kid sitting in his chair, eating his Doritos. She doesn’t look older than five or six, swinging her little legs as she swivels in his nice leather chair.

The sight is so dumbfounding that Dean stops not two steps through the doorway, his hand still lingering on the doorknob. He frowns.

“Hey,” he says. Not in a nice way. In a who the hell are you way.

“Hi!” The kid smiles and waves at him with fingers coated in Cool Ranch Dorito dust.

Dean’s head tilts. “Uh, hi.”

“You said that,” she says.

His lips twitch upward. He points at her, and the chair she’s sitting in.

“That’s my seat,” he says, with some censure in his voice. “You wanna get down?”

She blinks and pauses, realizing she might be in trouble.

“Sorry.” She slides down carefully without letting go of her snack. She wears a private school uniform: a plaid skirt, navy polo, and a matching headband. Her pink Peppa Pig sneakers give away her personality though. It matches her backpack, which boasts a Minnie Mouse keychain and a princess sticker of Belle in her yellow ballgown.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

“Emma,” she replies.

Dean’s brows raise high in recognition, then they furrow.

“Interesting. Where’s your mom?”

“She had to talk to Miss Nancy, so she told me to stay here.”

Miss Nancy. Gotta be the daycare lady, Dean thinks.

“Here? As in, my office?” he asks in suspicion. “Or did your mom tell you to hang out at her desk?”

Emma guiltily glances down at her feet instead of at him, like Sammy did when he was four, and didn’t want to admit he broke their dad’s watch.

Here, it looks like Emma got bored and wanted to go into the big mysterious room. She continues eating her Doritos.

Dean can’t help but smile. “Did you find those in my desk drawer?”

She blinks up at him with the face. Like when Sam got caught looking through their dad’s old collection of baseball cards with peanut butter and jelly stains on his hands. That puppy dog look had Dean taking the fall—and the week-long grounding.

Emma tentatively offers him her snack. “Want one?”

The look on her face tells him that she’d rather not share, but it’s a clever little manipulation with those big doe eyes. Girls learn quick, don’t they?

Dean shakes his head and pulls out a nearby guest chair after setting down his laptop on the desk.

“It’s okay. You can sit here if you want,” he says.

The chair is a little high, so she reaches for the edge of his desk to help her. Dean offers her his hand instead. She’s happy to settle her little Dorito grime-covered hand in his and have him help her into the chair.

“Thank you,” she says, with that cute little voice. He almost laughs.

“You’re welcome,” he says. You’re definitely going to owe him for this one.

Dean sits at his desk and contemplates just what the hell he’s going to do with this kid for the next few minutes. At least, he hopes it’s just a few minutes. Does he need reinforcements? Should he call Sam up here? Cas?

“Are you and Mommy friends?” Emma asks.

Dean considers her question with a quirk of his head.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. I work with your mom.”

“She said you’re her boss.”

“You know who I am?”

“Yeah. Your face is on her phone when you call,” Emma says. When she finishes the chips, he can tell she’s looking for a garbage can. He takes the empty bag from her and tosses it in the small bin under his desk. He wishes he could pour himself a much needed adult drink, but he thinks you’d have something to say about that later.

He settles on the bottles of water you keep putting in his other drawer. He grabs one for the kid, and even opens the cap for her, like he used to do for Sam when they were little.

“Uh, how was school?” Dean asks. Because what else do you ask a kindergartner?

She shrugs. “Okay.”

Fair enough, he thinks. He never liked school much, but he has to keep this conversation going somehow.

“Just okay?” he asks.

“Yeah. I don’t like math, but Music was fun. We’re learning how to play the recorder. Oh! And I drew Peppa after school. Wanna see?” she says, pointing at her backpack.

Dean raises a brow, but he grabs her backpack off the floor and hands it to her. She unzips it and rifles through her notebooks and her modest collection of crayons. She then pulls out her prized drawing to show him. It looks more like a ball of pink squiggles to him. But he looks harder, and he can see the eyes and the mouth and the nose are close enough to the character on her sneakers.

“Hey, that’s pretty good,” he indulges her, earning her shy smile.

“Thank you,” she says. But her face soon falls. “I wanted to draw her yellow crown, but a boy took my crayon and broke it.”

“Aw, that sucks,” Dean says. Though a smile threatens his lips at the little angry pout on her face. “What did you do when he wouldn’t give it back?”

“I just pushed his arm and he fell and cried,” she says.

Dean blinks in surprise. “Oh.”

Yikes. No wonder you had to go back and talk to Miss Nancy.

“But I didn’t mean to! He was mean to me first,” Emma argues.

Dean shakes his head in amusement, once again tempted to laugh.

“Well, you know, you should never put your hands on somebody. You wouldn’t want him to hit you, right?” he reasons.

The girl considers it, still with that little pout, but she nods begrudgingly.

“See? But if that kid messes with you again, you come tell me, okay? I’ll set him straight, man to man,” Dean says.

She starts to smile again. “Promise?”

“I promise. Let’s shake on it,” he says, giving her his hand. She puts her much smaller one in his, and they shake on it like adults.

“Emma?” your voice calls from outside the office in worry. The door is still open, so you catch sight of your daughter just as Dean tells you to come over. Your eyes grow wide with embarrassment as you realize where Emma ended up. You hasten inside his office.

“What are you doing in here?” you ask her sternly, taking her hand and leading her off the chair. “You were supposed to be doing your homework at my desk. Dean, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think it would take so long.”

“It’s all right,” he says.

You still look a bit mortified and apologetic.

“Seriously, it’s okay. She’s a good kid,” Dean says. You smile, if a bit wryly as you caress her head.

“Well, she wasn’t on her best behavior today, so we’re going to sort that out tonight. But thank you for watching her.”

Dean sends you off with a raised hand, though it turns into a small wave when Emma looks back at him with a sneaking smile.

He chuckles and shakes his head. Kids. Jesus.

She looks just like you.

Five Months

The insistent ring and vibration of your cell phone disturbs your deeply rooted slumber. You slap at the device charging on your nightstand and nearly yank out the cord in attempt to bring the screen to your eyeballs.

Once your bleary vision adjusts to the brightness, you growl in annoyance.

Still, you answer the call.

“Dean. Jesus Christ, it’s three in the morning.”

“I just need your opinion on the new crossbow flame throwers.”

Your sigh can probably be heard across the Atlantic Ocean.

“It’s fine, but it would make more sense on a gun, right? Half gun, half flame thrower.”

“That’s what I said! But Cas says we need to diversify—”

“Dean. Three. In the morning. Go to sleep and let me get back to dreaming about Pedro Pascal as a gladiator, feeding me grapes as his queen.”

“…You like Latin guys, huh?”

You groan and turn your face fully into your pillow.

“Sleeping now. I’ll see you in five hours.”

Six Months

“Look! Emma got first place in the Spelling Bee.”

You pass Dean your phone while he scrapes the pickled onions off his burger and onto your plate. In turn, you give him the pickle wedge off your plate. By now you know that he’s a veritable bottomless pit when it comes to food in general, except for the fact that he doesn’t like pickled onions, and doesn’t trust sushi.

He smiles as he scrolls through the pictures of your daughter’s kindergarten class.

“Clearly taking after her mom in the smarts department. Though you didn’t have to do her like that with those Pippi Longstocking braids,” he remarks.

You scoff in amusement. “Oh, come on, they’re not that bad. It’s not like she’s got a wire hanger in there. She’s just going through a frizzy phase. No matter what products I use, I can’t seem to tame that hair.”

Dean chomps his burger. You’ve reminded him at least 30 times, but he still talks with his mouth full.

“Looks like she’s trying to land a plane,” he says.

You snort, shaking your head. You shove his arm lightly and go back to eating, while Dean takes another look at the pictures.

He sees a lot of you in that little girl. She’s got your eyes, your smile, but she probably has her dad’s hair, his chin. Dean hopes that’s all the girl’s going to get from that fucking deadbeat, biologically speaking. From what you’ve told Dean, all that guy is good for is sending monthly wire payments. After you got your raise, he even tried taking you to court to get his child support reduced.

“Did you want kids—you know, before? Was that even on your radar?” Dean asks.

He doesn’t know what possesses him, but he asks.

You hum in contemplation. “Honestly, it wasn’t. I was focused on my career.”

You wipe your mouth as the thought settles in.

“I thought I’d do it right, you know? Work hard, achieve my goals, find a husband who wanted the same things I did, then build a life, and a family. I always thought I was smarter than a broken condom in the back of his goddamn Lexus,” you say, your tone bordering on disgust at the end. You shake your head and sip your iced tea.

Dean quirks his head. “Well, we’ve all been thrown a few curveballs in life. What matters is how you take it. And I’d say you’ve got the better end of the deal. You get Emma, a good job, the best boss in the world…”

You shoot him a knowing smile.

Dean smirks, but he’s still serious.

“And that guy, all he gets is a life without his kid, and without the woman who could’ve given him a family,” he says. “Sounds like a fucking chump to me.”

He continues eating, but you’re not sure if he realizes how that just tilted your entire axis. It makes you look at him differently, the warmth of admiration in your chest, and something deeper coiling in your belly, stirring up something unexpected.

You stare at him long enough that his brows furrow.

“What? Got something in my teeth?” he asks. 

Your face relaxes, your lips tugging at a smile.

“Yeah, ground beef. Can you please swallow before you talk?”

“This is how I am, sweetheart. Don’t try to change me,” Dean says, taking another massive bite. Oily ketchup dangles from the bun and threatens to stain one of his nicer buttoned-down shirts.

You roll your eyes. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You stick a napkin in his collar, just in time for the ketchup drip.

Seven Months

You and Sam have lunch together every Wednesday. It started out as a way to reconnect with your old friend, but it’s often devolved into an hourly venting session about his brother’s many idiosyncrasies, how he’s driving you both fucking crazy, and how to best manage the man’s schedule, as well as steer him away from any half-cocked decisions that could cause a PR disaster.

Like the time he accidentally asked a reporter at a charity benefit why albacore tuna was becoming an endangered species.

“I mean, come on. They’ve literally got fish on the menu tonight. Maybe if you people stopped eating so much damn sushi with your avocado toast, we wouldn’t need this bougie dinner party. $5,000 a plate? Give me a fucking break.”

The fact that he slept with her that night still didn’t save him from the article she published later that week, complete with direct quotes. She had a good goddamn memory.

Today though, your weekly lunch with Sam is less about quasi-therapy, and more about celebrating the fact that Jess is pregnant. You’re even helping her and her sister plan the baby shower.

“Any advice? Just, you know, about parenting in general,” Sam asks. For once, he seems less his normal confident self, and a little more sheepish. It’s sweet, even endearing.

You smile. “God, I don’t know. I’ve been winging it from the beginning. Just…be present, as much as you can. Jess is going to need you to show the hell up, without being asked, without being nagged. You’re the rock she’ll need to lean on, even when she thinks she can do it all while you’re here trying to show up for the job. Especially when the baby’s born. If you’re not covered in three layers of bodily fluids, then you’re not doing it right.”

He laughs a little. “Noted.”

Your mind veers into other directions as you finish up your sandwich and crumple up the foil wrapper. Most predictably, along the road that leads back to Dean.

“Dean doesn’t seem to be the family man type,” you remark. “More married to his work, but…he’s been really good with Emma every time I’ve brought her up to visit the office.”

“Doesn’t surprise me. He basically half raised me after Mom died. More than half, actually. Dad was always working,” Sam says.

“What about relationships?” you ask.

It earns you a certain look from Sam. You’ve come to learn that both Winchester brothers are incredibly sharp, just in different ways. Dean knows how to read people. He’s a good judge of character, and it makes him a shark in the board room, the kind of man that can take in the information his department heads serve him and make swift decisions that often pan out well for HunterCorp.

Sam is perceptive in an almost clinical way, analytical and methodical. He’s the one who can read the data and find the one thing that’s missing. He can anticipate problems before they start, and when it comes to people, Sam often catches the little things, tells and underlying motivations. It gives you away before you’ve even realized it.

“Well, Dean’s been pretty predictable when it comes to women, even before Dad passed,” Sam says.

And it’s true. Dean’s never seen the same woman more than a week at a time. You know this, because you’ve seen the “consolation gifts” he sends them. A Tiffany bracelet. An Apple Watch. Gucci sunglasses. The perfect gift that tells a girl she won’t need to stick around for breakfast.

“But to his credit, he’s up front with them,” Sam says, drawing your gaze. “They know what not to expect.”

Your lips quirk. “Sounds so transactional…and lonely.”

“Yeah,” Sam nods, “but I get it. He took a lot onto his shoulders when Dad died. Right now, Dean’s more focused on making sure we survive than on what he might want. To be honest, I doubt he’s even thought about what that is.”

For some reason, that hits you behind the ribs in a quiet, sharp strike. In your mind, you can’t help but see the familiar tense set of Dean’s shoulders hunched at his desk, eyes glued to his computer while an evening sun sets behind his head.

Even in that big office overlooking the entire city scape, he never has time to admire the view.

Eight Months

It’s your mistake.

Your fingers brush Dean’s for half a second too long when you give him a stack of purchase orders to sign. His eyes meet yours. You point out the new way you’ve color-coded the departments for each PO.

Your heel wobbles on your pivot, an uneven floorboard. Suddenly it’s his hand closing around your wrist and the other wrapping around your waist, giving you stability. Your eyes meet his, heated breaths in between.

A thank you falls from your lips, drawing Dean’s attention there.

But he lets you go.

You walk away, pretending you don’t know his eyes are following you.

You bite your lip against a smile.

One Year

“Seriously, which one?”

“Jesus, Dean. Green! I already told you.”

“No need to get snippy. I just want your opinion.”

“You always want my opinion. That’s why I already laid out the green one for you.”

“But I like the black one.”

“You always wear the black one. The black one says politician. The green one says you’re the boss, but you’re approachable.”

“I don’t want to be approachable. That’s how I get stuck in a 45-minute fucking conversation in the break room with Garth about his side hustle YouTube sock puppet show. That shit was deeply uncomfortable. I just wanted my damn coffee.”

“You know, you could also cut back on the caffeine and the booze while we’re on the subject.”

“Oh, what are you, my mother?”

“You tell me. I’m the one dressing you right now.”

You work the collar dark green suit jacket over his shoulder and smooth down the wrinkles. You firmly ignore how his gaze roams your face, and lower still. You want to pretend you haven’t noticed these signs, all while you try to stop yourself from giving any yourself.

“There, looks good,” you say. Though you make the mistake of meeting his eyes.

He grins. One of those grins that makes you want to grab his face, either mushing it into his seventeen mugs of coffee, or kissing him fucking stupid. You’ve been restraining the latter urge by a tenuous thread for several months now, mostly because you sicken yourself.

He’s your fucking boss. It’s unprofessional. You’ve already been down this road once in your life, and—

“You okay?” he asks.

Suddenly you realize how close he is. You can feel the warmth of his body, you can smell his cologne, and he sounds so sincere in his concern, briefly touching your arm.

You nod, knowing you should create some distance between you and him. Somehow you can’t force yourself to take that one small step back.

Instead, you reach for his tie. “Remember, you’re meeting Frank Devereau and his wife tonight, and Charlie Bradbury. She’s the brains behind the project, so you’ll want to talk to her about the details, how the program works, and how we can incorporate it into our existing tech.”

Dean hums in agreement, but in truth, his attention is on your nimble hands as you work on his tie. You slide the knot up to settle snugly, but not too tight against his throat. You allow your hands to slide down his chest while you admire your handiwork with satisfaction, but your small smile fades. Your mouth goes dry as your gaze travels back up to his, lingering on his parted mouth.

His hands slowly come to hold you by your arms, making your heart tap a syncopated beat.

“Does that look mean you want me to kiss you, or am I just seeing things?” he says at last.

Your eyes widen. You bite the inside of your lip, nervous energy fluttering through you, even as everything within you would like to scream a resounding yes.

“We can’t…shouldn’t,” you say, in a quieter voice. His office door is closed, but it’s not locked. There are far better reasons than that though, and you struggle to remind yourself of each and every one of them.

Dean steals your focus, however. His eyes seem greener than usual, probably because of the jacket. You picked it with that in mind.

“In this case, shouldn’t isn’t a moral argument,” he says. “It’s society’s rules. I don’t know about you, sweetheart, but I’ve never much cared about what people who don’t matter think about me.”

Your brows begin to knit together. “Who matters to you? Because my daughter and my father. They matter to me.”

“Being with me doesn’t hurt them,” he argues, a little peeved at the implication that it would; that he would hurt them, or you.

“Being with you?” you ask in shock.

Dean’s mouth opens, but he hesitates, like what he just said surprises even himself. His lips quirk at a smile.

“I know you, uh, probably think I’m not capable of something like that,” he asks.

“I mean, it is surprising,” you admit airily. Your cheeks warm in a blush. “You could have anyone, Dean…and you have.”

He chuckles dryly. “All right, fair enough. But other than Sam, who gets me better than you? Who else is gonna handle this, the pressure of my life and everything that goes with it…better than you?”

Your eyes widen. A softer smile threatens your lips, because you realize then that he’s actually serious.

About you?

Of course, that’s when your very real, rational doubt creeps in.

“People are going to talk,” you point out. “That’s why shouldn’t always matters. And you and me? Jesus, Dean, this is the oldest cliché in the fucking book.”

His hands move down to your waist, squeezing gently. Enticingly.

“Then we’ll be discreet,” he says, with one of his crooked grins. You shake your head, but you start to smile too. You allow him to pull you back in, figuratively and literally as he bows his head closer to yours.

“You really think you can pull that off?” you ask.

“Sweetheart, with the right motivation, we can pull off anything,” he says, half whispering them on your lips as he captures them with his own.

It’s slow and laced with a curling heat that licks tingles down your spine, just like his hand moving to the small of your back, pressing you into him. Your body betrays you then, with a moan in your throat and your own hands traveling up his arms, over his shoulders, cupping the back of his neck.

The graze of your nails at his nape makes him shiver and groan as he licks into your mouth, holds you tighter. You feel the press of his growing arousal against your belly.

Your good sense knocks at the door of lust and yearning, reminding you that you’re making all the same mistakes again. This isn’t a man you can trust—not with this. But Dean’s lips are hard to ignore, covered in the remnants of your lipstick as he kisses his way along your jaw and down your neck, where he sucks and nips just hard enough to make you gasp his name and writhe against him. He squeezes your ass and smiles against your skin.

“So fucking beautiful, you know that? Even the little sounds you make when I touch you. I wanna find out what that pretty voice sounds like when you come,” he says, in a voice dripped in whiskey and wicked promises.

Jesus. Your heart flutters. You haven’t been touched like this in so very long. You haven’t felt desired like this in…

“How long have you been thinking about that?” you ask, a little breathlessly. He continues his exploration, his lips blazing a sensuous trail down the column of your throat, along the line of your collar bone, and between the rise and fall your breasts. He slides open the buttons of your blouse with a practiced hand, his eyes drinking in the sight of your lace bra.

“Since the day you started wearing these sexy fucking heels,” he says, dragging his hand up your thigh, over your skirt, in a way that raises goosebumps on your arms. But he hesitates. His eyes ask a question as they meet yours.

“You need to tell me what you want though,” Dean says, more seriously than you expected. “You want me to touch you?”

Your heart feels like it’s beating in your throat, but you nod, biting your lip.

“Kiss me, touch me, make me fucking come,” you say. “But first, you need to lock that door.”

A crooked grin spreads across Dean’s face. He steals another kiss before he does exactly that—he crosses the room and locks that fucking door. You lean against his desk for a breather, but you realize that half this shit needs to go. You move stacks of files to the side, the coasters you put for his mugs of coffee along with the empty cups themselves. You push his double-screen monitors forward, giving Dean just the angle he needs to hold you from behind and start laying more tantalizing kisses along your neck.

You sigh and help him with the zipper of your skirt while he works on the bra clasp. The straps loosen down your arms, and he flings the bra away so he can get a handful each of your breasts. You moan and rest your head against his as he begins to squeeze and tease, gently twisting your nipples between his fingers. He leaves open-mouthed kisses against your jaw, sucking at your pulse point.

When his hand moves further down and slips behind the waistband of your skirt and panties, he feels your pulse flutter and trip along with your gasp. His fingers dip between your folds and find the slick mess of your arousal.

“Goddamn, baby. Soaked for me already,” he teases.

You don’t need to see his face to know that smug smirk is plastered across it. You reach back and tug sharply on his hair.

“You can gloat, or you can fuck me,” you retort.

He chuckles and kisses your temple. “Don’t you worry. You’re gonna have to bite down on my belt to keep from screaming in a minute.”

His hand that never left your breast begins to strum the hardened, sensitive nub, at the same time his other hand finds your clit. You shudder against him at that first touch, that perfect moment when you realize he knows exactly what he’s doing as he learns your body. He circles your clit slowly, but with a delicious pressure until it swells under his fingertips.

Then his long fingers dip down into your needy channel, making you whimper as you hold onto him and the desk for stability. His fingers pump smooth strokes inside you, almost as deep as he plans to fuck you with his cock.

He knows he has you when his fingers curl and brush deliberately against that perfect spot inside your inner walls. Your thighs begin to shake, your breaths labored, your hips bucking against his hand in a quiet plea.

Your orgasm rolls swift and steady against his fingers. Your pussy flutters around his hand, and he groans along with you.

“Good girl. Can’t wait to feel that squeeze around my cock,” he says, a filthy whisper in your ear.

You laugh a little, nodding in agreement. You turn around to help him with his belt.

“Yeah, right now. Want you inside me before we run out of time. You have to meet Sam downstairs soon.”

It’s another work event Dean can’t get himself out of, even if the networking opportunities are good for the company.

“You should come with me,” he says, grinning at the way you slide his jacket off his shoulders, but you toss it as carefully as you can across the nearest chair. You just had it drycleaned this morning.

“What?” you laugh. “Dean, you don’t need me there. I’m just an assistant—”

“No,” Dean says, stilling your movements when his hand cups your cheek. Your lashes raise as you look up at him, finding him serious again. His gaze roams your face, his thumb brushing your lower lip. “If it ain’t fucking obvious, you’re more.”

Your mouth falls open, but you’re not sure what’s going to spill out. Dean doesn’t give you time to figure it out, or even let himself settle into his own admission.

He just kisses you, hard and thorough, knocking any more doubts out of your mind, and any deeper thoughts out of his.

He grabs you up by your hips and seats you on his desk, rattling the surface. Your arms wrap around his shoulders on reflex. You feel the muscles flexing under his dress shirt—a crisp black. You help him yank up your skirt and kick off your panties, though they get tangled around your ankle. His slacks and boxer briefs end up coiled around his knees, just far enough to give him room and leverage to slide into your heat.

You both moan at the feeling of him settling snug inside, bottoming out, his almost bruising grip on your ass. Your thighs are wrapped almost as tightly around his waist as he lays you out more fully on the desk. It’s probably harder to do it this way, instead of him just bending you over the hard mahogany. But you’re glad you get to see his face, get to run your fingers through his hair and share his breaths while he fucks you in a slow-rolling rhythm.

It’s more intimate. It feels like it means something, especially when he once again cradles your cheek and brushes wild strands of hair away from your face. Especially when he kisses you deep enough to taste the Almond Joy you snacked on earlier.

You kiss him back just as fervently, as if this will be the first and the last time. You have no idea what happens after today, and you know that probably makes you a fucking idiot. It could lead to the end of your second chance at a career, but you want to trust this. You want to trust the steadiness in Dean’s hands and the look in his eyes.

So you give into what you want, sitting up to lay nipping kissing along his prickly cheek and neck, sucking your own marks against his skin. The way he groans and shudders and fucks you harder—it makes you feel powerful.

“Lean back, sweetheart,” he grits out. “Touch yourself for me.”

You manage to follow his lead, shakily laying back down and letting your hand drift back down your body, finding your clit. Dean watches you play with yourself, his fingers flexing against your hip. You feel him so deep, so good, that the coil of pleasure in your lower belly begins to tighten in earnest.

He’s only satisfied when you have to smother your own mouth against a cry, your hips snapping up to meet his as your release finally hits. Another few ragged strokes, and he spills into you as well.

“Fuck,” he groans into your neck, catching his breath. That was awesome.

But then, his eyes widen. “Christ, forgot a condom.”

“I’m on birth control.” You breathe out a laugh as you soothe him, caressing his shoulders.

He blinks, then he relaxes, chuckling faintly.

“Guess you just make me lose my head,” he says.

“It’s okay. I’ve gotten used to doing the thinking for you,” you tease, biting your lip.

Dean stares down at you, brows raised, yet amused at your cheek.

“Hmm, I’m gonna remember that one. Might have to punish you tomorrow,” he remarks.

You smirk, though a blush burns down your neck at the idea, and the depths of his voice.

He withdraws from you with a quiet moan, then helps you up with a steading grip on your arms when he feels that you’re still a bit shaky. After pulling up his pants, he finds the paper towels you keep handy in one of his desk drawers for the cleanup.

“Seriously, come with me tonight. I’m sure you’ve got a nice dress. If not, I’ll buy you one on the way,” he says, as you two start to pull your clothes back on. And in your case, find your bra.

“Dean, I need to take Emma home,” you say.

You pause with your fingers poised on his dark green jacket, ready to smooth down any wrinkles. The color matches his slacks perfectly. His hair is a bit messy, but overall, he looks edible and professional at the same time. He’s ready to shmooze with the heads of conglomerates and Silicon Valley tycoons and the politicians they own.

But you know you’re not a part of that world.

“Maybe next time,” you say, though you don’t really mean it. Your hand falls.

Dean nods, but he catches your hand before you walk away from him. He slowly winds you back in and kisses you thoroughly enough to make your knees buckle, just a little.

You’re still not sure if he meant what he said about wanting to be with you, or if this is just something he’ll change his mind about in the morning after a few glasses of whiskey.

You definitely think about more than just the road ahead while on your way home, Emma’s chatter filling the car. For once, you can’t say you’re fully paying attention.

Your fingers keep touching the memory lingering on your lips.

AN: 😘❤️‍🔥 How'd you like the slow build? lol Did Dean's earnest appeal surprise you there at the end? He's been a pretty successful play boy up until now, but he's really going to prove himself in Part 3 of our adventure, set shortly after Pratt Fall.

Next Time in Nothing by Halves:

Dean finds a guest spot in front of the school. The old Impala rumbles to a stop there, and he climbs out, grabbing the bouquet resting in his passenger seat.

His keys jangle in his other hand as he makes his way to the front office to check in, just like you told him to in your texted instructions. The nice ladies there give him a guest badge that he slaps on his chest, over his dress shirt, and they tell him how to get to the theater. He feels awkward and out of place walking down the halls of this school alone, but you had to take Emma over there early before the show. 

The hell am I doing here?

He has to fucking wonder.

But he promised you. He promised the kid. So he’s here.

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[spnbabe67]

Take a Bite of My Heart Tonight

Pairing: Demon!Dean x Fugitive!Reader

Tags/Warnings: Smut, choking, rough sex, threat/talk of a gangbang, sex in a public bathroom, no aftercare, face fucking, deepthroating, cunnilingus, fingering, dry humping/thigh humping, hair pulling, degradation, dirty talk, spanking, slapping, unprotected sex, cream pie, squirting, pussy slapping, finger sucking, edging, orgasm denial, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, Sir kink if you squint, masochistic reader, brat reader, no use of Y/N, reader has no descriptors other than being slightly shorter than Dean and has enough hair to pull.

Summary: It's been six months since you struck the deal with Dean, and true to his word, he comes back like clockwork—even when you're not at home.

Word Count: 7.7k

Author's Note: Title from the song Animal by Chase Holfelder

A part two to this post from 2025 Kinktober was requested, so here it is!!

This counts for the Mirror Sex square for @j3bingo

Thank you to @gappyswife for beta-reading this for me!

Dividers: Line Divider 1 by @olenvasynyt Line Divider 2 by @omi-resources SPN Divider by @talesmaniac89

Tag List: @copperboom82 @sleepycues @xpurdyglambertx @flanneledfae

Neon paints your body in hues of red and blue as you cross the dance floor. The dive bar has little by way of illumination beyond the signs on the wall depicting beer and food, half-naked cowgirls, and the name of the joint. A few yellowed lights hang from the ceiling, joining the bright colors to shine down on the crowd below.

You wind your way through the throng of sweaty bodies, their boisterous conversations meld with the thrum of music soaking into the atmosphere. Cold glass bites into your palm as you carry your fresh beer back to the edge of the dance floor. 

It’s standing room only— a regular occurrence on Thursday nights where ladies drink free— and since your friends have long since returned home, you don’t see the point in trying to snag a high-top for yourself. 

No, half drunk on the music and the cheap beer, you don’t want to sit–you want to dance.

Between line dances, you down long-necks and tall glasses of water alike, feeling like you’re sweating it out faster than you can consume; the last thing you want is to wake up in the morning with a splitting headache, even if your freelance job awarded you a day off. 

After being contained to your apartment by the threat of being ripped to shreds at the razor-sharp claws of a pack of supernatural beasts, you want to spend your new lease on life as you pleased, and right now, you are doing just that. 

You’ve lost count of how many dances you’ve finished by the time your bladder begs you to vacate the floor and empty it. Reluctantly, you shuffle off the dance floor, having to only wait behind three other girls before you snag an open stall. 

The bathroom itself leaves something to be desired. Dingy tile line the floors; you aren’t sure if the patterns were actually design choices or were poorly cleaned stains. Raunchy love notes cozy up to random phone numbers with instructions to ‘call for a good time’ with crude pictures of dicks on the cheap stall walls and door. 

Noting the bathroom was empty, you finish up and wash your hands, smiling at the additional graffiti etched into the edges of the dirty mirrors. Most of it is hazy anyway, the blanket of alcohol warming you at the edges. You pull your tube of lipstick from the pocket of your miniskirt, the denim barely covering you enough to avoid a public indecency charge.

You don’t think much of it when the music grows louder, too busy shoving the lipstick back into your pocket. The door to the bathroom creaks open before it shuts hard with a thud, muting the sounds once more.

It isn’t until you hear the snick of the lock sliding into place that you look up to see a figure standing behind you in the reflection of the mirror. Your heart drops to your stomach in the same second your pussy throbs violently when you whirl around to familiar green eyes that blink black before returning to their alluring jade. 

“Hiya, Sweetheart,” Dean purrs, stepping closer so that there’s less than a foot of space between your bodies. “Forget what day it is?”

Your boots have a bit of a heel, so there’s less of a height difference than the first time he visited you. Usually, you’re at home. Most of the time you’re already in bed when he arrives, sometimes in the shower, sometimes making food.

“No. Just lost track of time.” Somewhere between the dancing and the drinks and your phone being tucked away in the purse you’d brought, the time had slipped away.

His head cocks to the side, the move more animalistic than human. “That so?”

“I wanted a night out with my friends. Sue me.”

His eyebrows raise but he says nothing. 

Not right away at least. 

Instead his attention drifts from your face, slipping down your body. 

You can see his eyes catch on your strappy tank top where the halter neckline plunges to near obscene levels, showing off the scalloped lace of your bra. The green in his gaze goes dark in a different way than you are used to the further down it travels, down all the way to the bare expanse of your legs and where your boots sit upon your feet.

“Must’a had every guy in here tonight drooling over you,” Dean says appreciatively, eyes flicking back up to yours. 

You brace your hands on the sink behind you and lean back with a shrug, trying to act casual and not like your pussy isn’t growing wetter by the second. The heat that rises to your cheeks is in humiliation. He hasn’t even touched you yet and here you are like a bitch in heat.

You’d noticed the heated stares, the way some of the men in the bar’s eyes would pop out of their skull like some cartoon, and you’d be lying to him and to yourself if you said you didn’t revel in it. 

He leans in, and you’re not sure when he got this close to you but you’re assaulted with the intoxicating smell of him. Something masculine and dark that makes you want to bury your face in the crook of his neck. 

You jump a little when the warmth of his palm spreads along the inside of your thigh, too entranced by his gaze, heavy and focused, to notice his arm slipping between your bodies until it’s there. His fingers tease along the soft skin, the tips just inches from the throbbing need between your thighs. 

“Too bad your pussy’s already got someone takin’ care a’her, right?” He croons, slipping his hand up. 

Words escape you as he slides your panties to the side, not that the lacy scrap of fabric was covering much to begin with. 

Your mouth gapes open at the first teasing touch, the calloused tips of his fingers sliding through your slick, bumping against your clit. Hands gripping the edge of the sink so hard you’re sure the porcelain will crack any second, your hips buck up against his hand, seeking the stimulation.

The sense of euphoria is short lived when his other hand shoots out, wrapping around your neck. A gasp gets stuck in your throat and your eyes flare wide. His fingerprints dent your skin.

“Right?” He asks again with a darker edge this time. 

The bathroom around you narrows to the tightness of his grip on your neck and the pleasure derived from his fingers still working over your soaking core. Every inch of your body erupts in tingles, and you would have nodded if his hold allowed it. 

“Yes,” is all you manage to choke out. 

It is a funny feeling. Dean quite literally has your life in his hand. By all accounts you should be pissing-yourself-terrified. But you’re not. Instead, all you can focus on is the dark whorls of lust eddying in the depths of his eyes, the green heightened with his enjoyment, and how his middle finger is circling your clit with precision. 

That was, until it retreats and you nearly whine at the loss of contact. 

You sense where his hand is going milliseconds before his open palm makes contact with the side of your face. It’s not hard enough to do any damage beyond a buzzing beneath your skin that will last probably as long as this encounter, but it’s hard enough for tears to sting at your eyes. 

“Yes,” you wheeze, his grip on your throat just loose enough for the words to squeeze out. “My pussy’s yours.”

Another slap, this one no less gentle than the first. “Say it again.”

Your hand slips up, wrapping around his wrist. “My pussy’s yours.”

His pulse is even under your frantic grip. If it weren’t for the desire written in his gaze and the sizable bulge straining against the front of his jeans, you wouldn’t have guessed he was enjoying this. You’re painfully aware of arousal dripping down your inner thigh, your core clenching around nothing.

Dean’s hand connects with the side of your face one last time then returns between your thighs. The edges of your vision start to go fuzzy, and the moan he pulls from your lips when his fingers press harshly against your clit comes out more like a high pitched keen.

He leans in, keeping steady pressure on your neck. “You’re gonna cum for me before I let you go. Can you do that for me, whore? Not like you need to breathe, anyway.”

“Yes,” you choke out, voice a little louder than a whisper.

“Yes what?” Dean asks teasingly, his fingers moving across your core in a way that makes it really hard to formulate words. 

“Yes, sir.” Your words are slurred, but they seem to suffice anyway as his hand picks up the pace. 

Your hips grind against his palm, matching the rhythm he’d created. You feel dazed when his hand slips lower, two fingers shoving inside you while the heel of his palm acts as the perfect surface to grind your clit on. 

He doesn’t seem to notice or care when your nails dig into the inside of his wrist, your other clawing at his shoulder to brace yourself against the rapidly growing wave of pleasure stemming from between your thighs. 

His muscles shift under your grip as he angles his arm better so he can send his middle and ring finger even deeper into you, curling them up towards your belly. Your hips grind down against his hand, the rough surface providing the most divine friction against your needy clit.

An amused chuckle from Dean vibrates through your body. “I can feel your pussy clenching around my fingers. Fuck, I can’t wait to feel ‘er around my cock.”

A strangled whine is all you can muster as he curls his fingers inside you, stroking that soft spot within you that darkens your vision even further. Arching your back, you press your chest into Dean’s, his preternatural warmth soaking into you. 

You’re sure he can feel the way your nipples are hardened, even through both your shirts. The bralette underneath is little more than decorative lace with a paper thin backing there to not irritate your skin. 

His blood-red button down is immaculate, tucked into a pair of dark wash jeans; it’s similar to the outfit he wore the first time you met him.

Well, he’s nothing if not consistent, you think before stars burst behind your eyes, which you squeeze shut as the tightness in your belly gives way. 

You cum harder than the first time he fucked you. Harder than you ever have in your life. 

Your body goes rigid, trembling from head to toe as electric shocks spark through you all down your spine. The ache of pleasure pulses through your body as he works you through the throes of your climax. 

Head lolling to the side as Dean’s grip on your neck lessens, you gasp in air. The room around you spins as you gulp down oxygen the best you can through your unabashed moans.

Dean’s lips slot over yours, drowning out your sounds of ecstasy and you can taste the whiskey on his tongue when it sweeps into your mouth. Your hand slides up his shoulder to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in the shaggy ends as you kiss him back with matching intensity. A low rumble of satisfaction emanates from his chest.

As you slowly come back into your body, Dean’s hand slows, his fingers leisurely dragging out of you and stroking your oversensitive clit on their way out from between your trembling legs. He grips your chin none too gently, breaking the kiss. 

There isn’t enough time for you to miss the feeling of his lips on yours, to savor the tingling he left behind, before his fingers are in your mouth. 

The calloused tips press down your tongue and instinctively you wrap your lips around the second knuckle. You can taste yourself as you work them over with your tongue, your whimper turning into a gag when Dean shoves his fingers deeper into your mouth.

“That’s right,” Dean all but purrs, looking on with a lust-drunk expression. “How are you gonna take my cock if you can’t take two little fingers?”

He’s right, you think, but I wouldn’t call his fingers small, either.

His grip on your chin relaxes just enough for you to work your jaw open more. Viscous saliva floods your mouth as Dean moves his fingers in and out of your mouth. Every time he bottoms them out, you cough and gag as the tips wiggle against the back of your throat. 

Tears sting your eyes, spilling down your cheeks in fat droplets when you blink up at him. There’s a hungry edge to the way he gazes down at you, obsession bleeding in as he fixates on how your spit collects on his knuckles and rolls down his hand. 

Another rush of want crashes over you at the way he’s looking at you and in response, your thighs clench together unconsciously. The miniscule movement isn’t missed by Dean, not that you were really trying to hide your insatiable need anyway. 

“God, you’re such a greedy slut,” he groans. “I just got you off and you’re already wanting more, aren’t ‘cha, Sweetheart?”

With his fingers shoved into your mouth, all you can do is hum in agreement. 

Dean hums his approval, and with the slightest nod his fingers slip from your mouth, the hand on your jaw following suit. You suck air in greedily, the strings of drool starting to cool on your chin. 

With eyes half-lidded out of pure lust, you watch him raise the hand pulled from your mouth up to his own. A particularly strong pulse of arousal nearly sends you to the floor as his tongue darts out from between his lips. The sounds that come from him slurping your spit from his hand are purely pornographic, all while he keeps his eyes locked on yours.

“Knees. Now,” he commands, wiping the mix of your spit on his jeans.

With how shaky your knees have become in the aftermath of his display— as well as the leg-shaking orgasm he gave you— you’re tempted to comply. A glance down to the bulge in his pants is enough for saliva to pool under your tongue, but the alcohol in your system has made you bold. 

“And if I don’t want to?”

His head cocks to the side, eyebrows quirked up. “No?”

A shake of your head as you look up at him through your lashes. “No.”

“You don’t want me?” He asks, his hand curling around your wrist, bringing your palm to rest on the evidence of his arousal. “You don’t want my cock?”

His grip disappears, but you press the heel of your palm against him, dragging your hand along the length of him. “No, I don’t.”

Dean gives you a knowing smirk, and the moment stretches wide between you before he finally speaks. 

“Liar.”

His hand moves too fast for you to react, fingers tangling painfully in your hair as he grabs a fistful. 

You cry out softly, half from the pain and half out of shock. He leans forward and the sound dies out into a quiet gasp. Your eyes dart from the depths of his gaze to his lips, which are still tugged upwards in a satisfied grin, and back again. 

“You want me. I’ve been inside you. Tasted you.” His thumb traces the plush of your bottom lip, smearing your lipstick even further. “I know just how desperate you are for my cock, whore. You can’t ever pretend otherwise.”

Your knees make contact with the grimy bathroom floor and you can feel yourself tremble with anticipation as Dean angles your head to look up at him. 

“Keep your eyes on me,” he says, undoing his belt with his free hand.

“And if I don’t?” You ask before you can think better of it. 

Dean doesn’t even bother to shove his jeans and boxers down his muscular thighs. They barely make it down past his balls before he’s languidly stroking himself, the tip red and already leaking. 

Your throat bobs and you barely flinch when he grips himself at the base and slaps his heavy cock against your cheek. 

“Oh, Sweetheart. Don’t make me ask twice,” he says.

Heart beating a million miles a minute, you barely feel the small sting of contact nor the dull ache of the tight grip he has on your hair. Your world is narrowed to the throbbing need in your pussy and Dean’s hard cock bobbing in front of you. 

“Now don’t be difficult and open your fucking mouth,” he growls, shoving his cock towards your mouth. 

You have the good sense this time to obey, your lips parting without hesitation. Tongue lolling out, you barely have enough time to situate yourself before his cock is halfway down your throat. 

Instantly, your throat is on fire and you gag at the sudden intrusion. Hands flying up to brace against his denim clad thighs, you brace yourself as Dean holds your head in place.

“Fuuuck,” he rasps, dragging his hips back and briefly allowing you to breathe. “I missed this. Had a lotta girls, but none of their mouths feel half as good as yours does.”

It takes a second for you to adjust to how he’s stuffed into your mouth. Drool has already started to leak out of the sides of your mouth with every thrust of his hips. The stretch of your lips, the taste of him is just right. He smells warm, like sweat and skin and some clean, masculine soap.

And it’s pathetic the way you silently enjoy him pressing your face further onto his cock until your nose is buried in the thick, curly hair at his pubic bone. Your throat spasms as he holds you there, unable to breathe and frozen with sensory overload. 

Hot tears crawl down your cheeks, blending with your drool on your chin. Just when the edges of your vision start to blur, Dean yanks you off his cock by your hair. You cough and sputter, replenishing the void of oxygen in your lungs. 

Thick strings of drool stick to your chin and neck, and you just know your mascara is running down your cheeks, half-dried to your skin with your tears.

“Such a messy girl,” he coos, honey-laced words dripping with condescension. “See, all you needed was a good dick in that brat mouth.”

You welcome the sting as his hand leaves another hot print on your cheek and you have to resist from leaning into his palm when it caresses the hurt. It slips away just as quickly, and in turn you wrap a hand around the spick-slick shaft of him. 

“Gonna keep fucking my face, or do you want me to make it actually feel good?” You ask, locked on his eyes as your mouth closes around the head of him. 

The groan Dean utters when your cheeks cave around him, when your tongue slides along the sensitive underside of his cock, is all the answer you really need. 

You’d learned early enough on that you really had to squeeze your hand around his cock when stroking him. “Harder, bitch,” he’d growled. “Don’t be fucking scared. You’re not gonna break it.” 

His fingers still threaded themselves in your hair, the tips gliding across your scalp as you descended back down upon him. His head falls back, and the red ambient lighting in the bathroom gleams along the column of his throat, skin dewy with sweat.

You’d like nothing more than to stand and lick the salt from his skin. 

Tongue pressed to the underside and cheeks hollowed, you slide his cock all the way to the back of your throat. Your gag reflex balks, but you ignore it, pulling back barely half way before bobbing your head back down. The small whimpers and moans that you make no attempt to stifle travel along his cock. 

Dean’s hand curls further into your hair, leaving your head littered with sharp pinpricks. All it does is add to the slickness between your thighs. Thighs that you press together seeking any kind of friction; you can feel your arousal roll down the insides. Your skirt is still hiked up around your hips, leaving your dripping pussy exposed to the cool air. 

A dull ache makes itself known in your knees, the bathroom tile extremely unforgiving on the joints. You do your best to ignore it, hand sticky with spit abandoning his shaft in favor of cupping his balls. 

Dean’s hips buck into your mouth at the additional touch, seeking the wet heat. 

“Oh fuck,” he grunts. “Keep doing that.”

So you do, fondling him there while maintaining your rhythm; push your head down on him until you can feel him in your throat— until you gag harshly— then pull back enough to breathe through the spasm. Rinse and repeat all the while your free hand inches closer to your throbbing pussy. The wet, sloppy sounds from your mouth meld with his decadent grunts and groans, filling the bathroom. 

The system works, up until the point it doesn’t.

You come up for air only for Dean’s hand to press against the back of your head, pushing you back down onto his cock. Your eyes screw shut as your nose is mashed into the mess of curls at his pubic bone. 

A sound of displeasure vibrates from your lips up the length of him, and after a second you try and pull your head back. It ends fruitlessly, though, as Dean only presses harder. 

“Shut up. Just a little longer,” he growls. “Fucking take this cock. Fucking choke on it like the whore you are.”

Your tear-filled eyes screw shut as your throat spasms hard. Bracing a hand on his muscular thigh, your fingernails dig into the denim. Dean’s cock moves, barely pulling out an inch before it’s back, harshly slamming into your throat. A soreness grows in your jaw for how long you’ve kept it open.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he moans, his chest heaving. “Gonna fucking cum, baby.”

That fuzzy, floaty feeling returns as you struggle against the need to breathe, against the intrusion of cock in your throat. He starts to twitch against your tongue, and the pistoning of his hips grows sloppy and uneven. Pushing through the haze, you swallow around him, earning yourself a string of curses from above you. 

The crass words are cut off by a garbled moan. You hear your name somewhere in there, but you’re too busy swallowing down Dean’s cum to pay much attention to what he’s saying. He holds you there, cock pumping his seed down your throat until he stops twitching and his length softens a bit. 

Lines of spit connect your lips to his cock once he finally wrenches himself from your mouth, and they snap back against your chin when he takes a step back. Your body is wracked with wet coughs as you gasp for air. Heart beating what seems like a million beats a second, you lean back on your heels and wipe the spit from your face.

Out of the corner of your eye you see Dean tuck his half-flaccid cock back into his boxers, leaving the jeans unbuttoned. 

“Up,” he rasps, still breathing hard from his climax. 

On shaky legs, you rise up, wincing at the stiffness in your knees. You brace a hand on the sink behind you as the feeling returns to your lower extremities. 

Dean’s hand slips around to the nape of your neck, drawing you in. His lips capture yours before your brain can catch up. He licks into your mouth and you whimper when his leg slots between yours. The top of his thigh bumps against your neglected core and you nearly cry at the sensation. 

“I can fucking feel you soaking through my jeans, baby,” he says, sliding both hands to your hips. “Soaked just from sucking cock, just like a proper whore.”

Your brain buffers, overloaded with the repeated deprivation of oxygen and the way the roughness of denim feels against your needy clit, your panties still pulled to the side. All that leaks out of you is a pathetic whimper that’s mostly intelligible.

Dean laughs cruelly, kissing a line of fire down your jawline. “So dumb, baby, and you haven’t even had my cock yet.”

He bounces his thigh against you and you cry out, hands scrambling to find purchase on his broad shoulders. 

“Please,” you manage to whine. 

“Please what?” His teeth graze the line where your jaw meets your neck. 

“Need’a cum. Please.”

“You think you deserve it?”

“Mhmm,” you nod vigorously. “Please, Dean.”

You can feel the wet spot your soaked pussy has made, now. The dampness of the fabric allows you to slide easier along the rigidness, your movements barely a fraction of what you need. 

“You think you can make yourself cum on just my thigh?” He pulls back from your neck, an amused tilt to his lips. “Gonna hump my leg like the dog you are?”

“Please,” you say barely above a whisper, legs trembling again.

“I’m not gonna help you. Gonna have to be a big girl and do it all yourself.”

“That’s okay, it’s okay. I can do it. Please, please,” you babble nonsensically now, much to his sadistic satisfaction.

“Better get on with it then,” he says. 

No sooner are the words spoken into existence are your hips grinding down against his thigh. You feel him flex his quad beneath you, creating a ridge that feels mind-numbingly good against your clit. 

You cling to his shoulders for stability, wanton moans spilling from your lips unimpeded. It takes less than a minute for a tightness to grow low in your belly. The heat from his body, the smell of him, it all wraps around you and soaks into your veins like an aphrodisiac. 

There’s no sane part of you left to care how humiliating this is, how desperate you are to dry hump his thigh just from having a dick down your throat. Everything in you is narrowed down to how good dragging your pussy along his thigh feels. How with every shift of your hips, sparks of pleasure threaten to set you alight. 

“Such a dirty girl,” Dean croons in your ear as you puff out breathy moans. “So goddamn pathetic it’s almost sad.”

Your pussy clenches on nothing at the words, at the names he’s calling you. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, hiding the way your cheeks warm. The scent of him is stronger here, and you inhale deeply. 

Dean’s hands have moved to the sink directly behind you, his body effectively caging you between the solidness of his torso and the cool porcelain. It’s that fact alone that keeps you mostly upright, your legs shaking. It grows worse with each drag of your pussy along his thigh, pressure building between your legs. 

“I can feel you shaking, you close?” Dean’s words rumble through you. 

You nod against his neck, moaning into his skin like you can imbue your need to cum into his system. You squirm and hump against him, mouth falling open as you rapidly approach the edge of your orgasm. It’s so close, the final build up making your movements erratic as you push yourself just that little bit further. 

But just as you are about to tip over the edge, Dean pulls his thigh from between your legs and steps back enough you have to reach behind you to keep yourself from collapsing to the ground. 

“No!” You cry out, very nearly at the verge of tears. “Wha—what the fuck?!”

Dean chuckles darkly, meeting your frustrated gaze. “Did you really think it was going to be that easy? God, you’re dumb.”

“Fuck you,” you spit at him. 

“All in good time, baby. Now turn around, put your hands on the sink.”

You scowl and instead you reach down, tugging your skirt back over what little it covers before crossing your arms over your chest. “No.”

Dean’s head tilts and he pouts his lip mockingly. “No? Gonna throw a little tantrum now?”

“Fuck. You.” You say again. 

“You’re really gonna try this with me?”

He’s stepped closer again, so if you really did want to go anywhere, you’d have to push past him. 

But you don’t, and he knows it. 

It’s all part of the game. You play it up, act like you don’t want him, just so that he’ll snap and manhandle you into whatever way he wants you. The best part about it is, he wants to fuck you just as much, so no matter how much you brat, how much you pretend, you’ll end up with his cock shoved into you anyway. 

It’s a welcome change to all the hook-ups you’d had before. Men— boys, really— who would give up at the slightest bit of pushback, who’d pussy out at the level of roughness you so desperately craved. 

And that’s why, even though Dean popped up once a month to rock your world and leave you sated, you never felt the need to indulge the men like the ones who’d been at the bar tonight. They could never satisfy you in the same way. 

“Turn around, and put your hands on the sink,” he instructs again, both of you knowing you won’t before the words even leave his mouth. 

You stand taller, looking him straight on. “Make me.”

You can see the instant his resolve snaps. Something in his face twitches and his expression darks the millisecond before his hands grasp onto your hips roughly. A gasp makes its way out of you when you’re spun around and shoved roughly into the sink. 

The edge digs into your stomach, but that’s the last thing you’re paying attention to when Dean kicks your legs apart with his boot. His hand presses into the middle of your spine, pressing your upper half forward so you are half laying across the sink. 

Looking up, you are met with your reflection for the first time since Dean walked into the bathroom. 

You were right to assume you looked absolutely wrecked. Mascara is streaked down your face, your red lipstick smeared across your kiss-swollen lips. Then your eyes cant up and you catch Dean staring, but not at your face. His eyes, pupils blown so wide you can barely see his green irises, are trained lower. 

Bent over like this, your skirt rides up an obscene amount, baring your panty-clad pussy to him. His lower lip is caught in between his teeth, and he almost looks contemplative in his admiration. 

“Gonna keep staring or are you gonna do something?” You snark, watching his eyes snap up to yours in the mirror. 

“And what are you gonna do if I don’t?” He asks in turn. “What if I just make you stand like this and let all those guys out there who were eye-fucking you come in here and take their turn?”

Your pussy clenches at the thought, and even though Dean no doubt caught the motion, he makes no comment. 

“You wouldn’t. You’re too fucking possessive,” you respond, calling his bluff with not a bit of confidence in your statement. 

Dean smiles, and it’s not a kind expression.

Warm skin against the backs of your thighs makes you flinch a bit, even though you can see him take a step forward. His hands slide your skirt back over the swell of your ass, bunching the fabric around your waist. 

“Maybe, maybe not,” he muses, slipping his fingers beneath the waistband of your panties. “Maybe when I’m all done with you here they can fuck you while my cum’s still leaking out of you.”

Cool air meets your soaked core as Dean drags your panties down your thighs, down your legs. His fingertips skate your skin as he lifts your feet, removing the scrap of fabric completely. Your mouth twists in a fleeting moment of disappointment when he shoves them into his back pocket. 

Those were my favorite pair. 

“Either way, I still get to cum,” you finally say. 

You yelp as his hand comes down hard on your ass. Once, twice, three times in rapid succession. It stings, leaving your skin tingling. The sensation shoots right between your thighs, reinvigorating the swelling need inside you. 

“You really wanna cum that bad you’d let strangers fuck you?” He says with a condescending incredulousness. “God, you’re more pathetic than I thought.”

Another slap, this time to your other asscheek. Your fingers grip the edge of the sink as you resist the urge to rock back towards him. Your cheeks burn from the sting of his words, but he’s not finished. 

“Do you think of me when you fuck yourself?”

You didn’t think your cheeks could grow any hotter in embarrassment, but he never fails to surprise you. 

“What the fuck kind of question is that?” You squeak.

“The kind I expect answered,” he says with another slap to your ass. 

His hand smooths over the warm skin and you nearly moan when it slides inward, his thumb ghosting across your pussy. 

“Why does it matter?”

“Because I wanna know if I make you scream my name even when I’m not here to fuck you senseless.”

Your mouth opens and closes as you try to formulate a sentence, but it’s hard to focus with his thumb stroking the slickness of your core. It’s teasing, not enough for the sensations to build, just enough to keep you on edge. 

You cry out, flinching forward only to be stopped by the sink, when Dean’s hand makes contact with your exposed pussy this time. It hurts more than your ass, but the pleasure that it turns into isn’t diminished. 

“Answer me, slut.”

His hand comes down on your core again and you can’t contain the moan that comes with it. 

“Yes, I think of you,” you relent, gripping tighter to the sink. 

His thumb presses against your clit and your breath catches in your lungs. The pad rubs circles around the nub and you could cry from the direct stimulation. 

“Good.” Is all he says before you lose sight of him in the mirror when he sinks to his knees behind you. 

Your head drops forward at the first puff of his hot breath against your core. His tongue follows, licking a hot stripe up your pussy. A soft moan leaves your lips as he does it again, the tip of his tongue swirling around your clit as he uses both hands to grope your asscheeks. 

His stubble scrapes against your inner thighs, the combination of sensations making your head spin. You rock back against his face, and surprisingly he lets you. His tongue and lips lick and suck at your core, and nothing about the way he’s eating you out is quiet.

Your hips buck when his teeth close around your clit, not ready for the sudden second of pain. His tongue is right there following, licking away the immediate hurt. His thumb takes over, his tongue dipping inside you. 

“Don’t stop, please,” you moan, grinding back on his face. 

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he says, pulling away from your pussy just long enough to say as such before going right back. 

The pressure of your climax rushes up and you barely have enough strength in your legs to keep yourself upright. The orgasm roars through you in one giant wave. Your mouth falls open as his mouth works you over through it. 

In the mirror, you see him stand, and then you’re being flipped around so that you're leaning back against the sink again. 

His lips connect with yours and you can taste yourself on his mouth as he kisses you. It’s not gentle, his teeth clash with yours, your tongues dancing and somewhere in the way he licks into your mouth you feel his hand slide between your bodies to your pussy. 

You’ve barely recovered from the orgasm he just brought you to, and now his middle and ring finger are slipping inside you. 

Carding your fingers through his hair, you kiss Dean hard, letting his mouth swallow your desperate moans. Stars spark behind your eyes as he curls his fingers up towards your belly. Quickly, he finds that soft spot that makes your legs feel like jelly, threatening to send you to the floor. 

“De-Dean! Oh fuck,” you cry out. 

His mouth has migrated to your neck, sucking hard on your pulse point. You clench hard around his fingers, a different kind of pressure building low in your belly. Another orgasm builds slowly, especially as the heel of his palm presses against your clit. 

“That's right, bitch. Scream my name. Scream it loud so everybody out there knows who you belong to.” 

He shoves his fingers further into your sloppy pussy, wet and obscene sounds reaching your ears. Your head lolls to the side, allowing him better access to kiss and nibble on your neck. You’ll have to wear make up to cover up the hickies that he’s undoubtedly placing along your skin like a sign to say you’re his. He punches his digits in and out of you, petting that fucking spot. 

Your thighs are trembling so hard now— so is the entirety of your body. The pressure just keeps building and building. He’s everywhere, between your legs, other hand groping your body, his mouth on your neck. Nowhere is left unattended and it is so much.

“Feel you clenching so fucking tight on my fingers, baby. Gonna cum again for me?” Dean says against your neck, leaning up to nip at your ear. 

All you can do is nod. Words don’t feel real to you right now and no amount of anything could change that. 

Your nonverbal confirmation seems to satisfy him well enough. Then, he does something, something so good and he keeps doing it. Everything around you fades to just his ministrations and the feel of his body caging yours, and you feel the pressure snap. 

Everything goes white and your body seizes up with the intensity of which your orgasm slams into you. But Dean’s fingers don’t stop. They continue to pump into you, curling into you. You don’t even feel in control of your body as you feel yourself gush all over his hand. 

Dean curses under his breath and you just barely acknowledge it as you gasp for air, clinging to his shoulders with all your might. 

Dean draws his fingers from you and a perverted sense of deja vu hits you as he licks you from his fingers. He keeps you upright with his other arm snaked around your waist, and for that you are grateful. 

“Did— did I just…?” You pant, slowly realizing what’d happened. 

“You just squirted all over my fucking hand,” Dean affirms, wiping his hand on his jeans. “Wish I would’a just stayed down there. Drank it right from the source.”

You groan at his obscene words, unable to stand the way his verbal filth immediately makes your overstimulated body respond in kind. 

He taps your cheek none too gently. “Don’t go tapping out on me now. We’re not done yet.”

You’re putty in his hands as he spins you around, bracing your hands on the edge of the sink. He let’s go, and on shaky legs you stand there watching him shove his jeans and boxers back down his thighs. 

“You’re so wet, not gonna have any issue getting in,” Dean mutters quietly. 

You moan softly at the drag of his cock through your arousal. The spongy head of him bumps against your clit and you whimper, the overstimulation becoming borderline painful. 

“What’s a’matter?” Dean asks. “Too much?”

“Uh huh,” you nod. 

“Too fucking bad.”

You moan weakly as Dean presses forward, shoving the blunt tip of his cock inside you. Involuntarily, your hips sway forward, away from the stretch. With how wet you are, there’s not much pain, but his fingers can only prepare you for the girth of his cock so far. 

Dean’s hands grab fast to your hips, pulling you back to him, the motion sinking you down onto him almost to the hilt. You gasp a moan, feeling unbelievably full to the point it knocks the air from your lungs. 

“Where you goin’?” he grunts, working his hips forward and back. “I know you’re not running from my cock after crying for it.”

“So big,” you gasp, inner walls clenching around him as you try to adjust to the sudden stretch. 

Dean leans forward, rutting his cock into you. “Stop your fucking whining and take it, pathetic slut. I can feel you dripping down my balls.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as his words hit their mark. It’s all so much; you can practically feel every vein and contour of him inside you. As he drags himself out, the bulge of his head catches on that sensitive spot, immediately making your legs shake. 

“Oh, baby, cry all you fucking want,” Dean lays a sloppy kiss to your bare shoulder. “All it’s gonna do is make me harder.”

As if in emphasis, he snaps his hips into yours. You are thrust forward, the unforgiving edge of the sink digging into your lower stomach. Blinking, the tears leak down your cheeks, rewetting the paths from the ones that had fallen earlier. 

His arm snakes around to your front, pulling you back against his chest. A big hand pulls your shirt and bra to the side, enveloping a breast. He rolls the hardened nipple between his fingers, every movement made with expert precision. 

You swear you can feel his cock in your stomach with every grinding thrust into you. His hips barely break contact with your ass like he can’t be bothered to pull out for even a second. The outcome is his cock stimulating that sensitive spot; the pressure is helped by the way the sink edge ensures he slides along it with each and every movement. 

“So fucking tight, baby,” Dean moans in your ear, still fondling your breast. “Always a perfect fuckin’ cumslut for me.”

Your hand reaches behind you both, sinking your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. His balls slap against your skin as his thrusts grow longer, his hand sliding up from your tit to your neck. He doesn’t squeeze this time, but just the feel of his calloused palm and fingers circling your throat makes you clench around his cock. 

“Fucking me…so good,” you moan out, holding a hand to his wrist. 

“Say my name, bitch. Who’s fucking you so good?” He growls, nipping at your shoulder. 

“You are, Dean,” you babble. 

The hand not on your throat dips between your legs, finding your thoroughly abused clit. A whine crawls its way up your throat and you feel his hand tighten almost imperceptibly around your neck.

“Shut up. I don’t wanna hear it,” he snaps. “Just take it. Fucking take it.”

“But—”

“I don’t care. Not my fucking problem.”

And he doesn’t, his fingers speeding up their motions on your clit. Sharp pangs stab at you with each brush of his callouses over your swollen nub. It all melts into pleasure and all you can do is push your ass back against him, meeting his thrusts. 

Dean moans his approval. “See, that’s a good whore. Feels fucking good, don’t it.”

“Yes,” you keen, slamming yourself back on his cock.

His thrusts don’t let up. Instead, they become more forceful, sending you into the sink hard enough you’re sure you are gonna have bruises on your hips tomorrow morning. His cock throbbing against your inner walls, and his panting moans in your ear have become ragged. His fingers on your clit are unrelenting, pushing you towards the brink of yet another orgasm. 

He’s all but draped over your back at this point, snapping his hips into yours erratically. Just when you think you can’t take any more, Dean groans into your ear. 

“Gonna fucking paint this pussy white, and you’re gonna take it all. Y’hear me?”

Your pussy pulses in response. “Yes, please cum in me.”

Dean moans and it’s one of the sexiest things you’ve ever heard. “That’s fucking right. Beg for my cum, bitch.”

His hand slides from your neck to your shoulder, bracing you and himself as he thrusts harder, balls slapping harshly against you. The grip is bruising, but you’re too far gone to care. 

“Please, cum in me, Dean. Need’a feel you fill me,” you whimper.

“Oh fuck, baby.”

You feel hips stutter then, his cock throbs as his orgasm hits him. He’s not quiet, moaning your name loudly.  

You can feel his cum filling you, thick ropes spurting into your pussy, and that alone sends you over the edge, yet another orgasm crashing into you. This time, your violently shaking legs give out. 

Instantly, Dean's arm wraps around your waist, holding you there as he gives a few more rutting thrusts into your pussy, milking his cock. You both stay there for a second, heavy breathing filling the room as you gasp for air. 

He breaks the silence first. “Can you stand?”

You take a second, assessing your still trembling body. Finally, you nod. 

Taking you at your word, Dean relinquishes his hold on you, leaving you to brace yourself on the sink as he walks over to the paper towel dispenser. He snags a few, using them to clean his cock off before tucking himself away. 

He doesn’t offer you any, instead he turns and unlocks the door. 

Sparing a glance over his shoulder, he gives you that sharp grin. “So, same time next month?”

You tug your clothes back into place. “Fuck you.”

“Darlin’, you just did,” is all he says before he disappears out the door. 

Please like, reblog, and/or comment if you enjoyed. Feedback is appreciated and encouraged!

[sammysgirl1997]

Boogie shoes

Okay so this is my very first fic, so if there’s any criticism at all please message me and tell me what you guys think Jesse saint James x reader

Your POV You were nervous, more nervous than you’d ever been before when it was for performing which was strange because you loved the stage. ‘why am I this nervous’ you thought to yourself, ‘ it could maybe have to do with the fact that Jesse would be watching’ Jesse is your glee coach, oh and you have a MAJOR crush on him, you didn’t act on it because firstly he’s your teacher and he would never like you back, not like that at least. “Hey Y/N” Mercedes greeted as she and Kurt saw you “Hey guys, what are you doing here?” You asked them. “we just came by to give you these” as Mercedes was talking she handed you a bouquet of y/f/f “and to wish you luck” “thanks’ guys, but I don’t think I can go on.” You explained to them “What, why not?” Kurt asked with an alarmed look on his face “I’m too nervous, what if I forget the lyrics or fall over?” you explained panicking “You won’t, your amazing, don’t think about it, just get up there and have fun!” Mercedes encouraging face reassured your fears and you found a new confidence and bravery “Your right, I can do this, thank you, both of you.” As you talked you stood up and hugged them both setting the roses down so you didn’t hit them. As they hugged you back Kurt said” don’t worry about it, you just go up there and show em what you got!” As they left they turned back around and you sat down. When they were gone Jesse came up to you “Hey Y/n, look I know you’re probably nervous –“ you cut him off “i was, not so much anymore” “Really? How come?” “lets just say, I have someone looking down on me” you chuckled “Okay, are you almost ready? “almost, I just need to get dressed.” “right, I’ll leave you to it then As you stood up Jesse said ”hey, break a leg” “Thanks Jesse” you replied with a beaming smile. As you walked to wardrobe you didn’t notice the longing gaze in Jesse’s eyes “that girl will be the death of me.” He sighed

Jesse’s POV ‘She’s amazing! The way she moves could make anyone fall in love with her, imagine what it could do to me. Stop thinking like that! She’s your student for God’s sake, well not technically but she’d still never see me like that, she’d never fall for an asshole like me.” As Jesse watched you sing and dance without a care in the world he couldn’t help but fall more in love with you. ‘you know what, fuck it, I’m gonna do it, I’m gonna ask her.’ Your POV ‘that was amazing’ you took Mercedes advice and just let the music take over and you’d never felt better in your whole life. As you headed off the stage you saw Jesse, Mercedes and Kurt all beaming at you. “Y/n that was amazing!” Jesse beamed “Really?” you shyly asked “Yeah, I uh, I actually need to ask you something.” He shyly replied “What is it?” “look, I’ve liked you for a really long time now and seeing you there, performing like that without a care in the world made me realise I love you, so will you go on a date with me tomorrow? As he spoke you stood there with wide eyes and a slack jaw, not really believing what was happening so when Jesse was finished talking you beamed at him, stepped forward and slowly leant in, Jesse stepped forward and claimed your lips with his. The kiss was slow, perfect for your first kiss together, it was magic like fireworks in your head and then it was over but you knew you would get to kiss him again and again and again “Does that answer your question?” Jesse seemed to be in a daze but snapped out of it when you spoke “what?” he asked in a trance like state “I said, does that answer your question?” you chuckled “Hell yes” “erm, what just happened?” Mercedes asked “I just found the love of my life” you replied “right…..You better not hurt her Jesse!” Mercedes threatened “I won’t I love her” Jesse declared “And I love him” you replied

[sammysgirl1997]

Oh my god guy’s, my very first fic 😮

[cherrysfanfics-ily]

hi would you maybe write a jesse st. james reader fanfic where the reader is finn's sister and she's a really good singer, like better than rachel!

Here is your request! I hope you enjoy it, I had lots of fun writing it! It may be a more friendly type one-shot with some romantic aspects here and there, but if people want one I can do a part 2 with a more romantic take!! Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Jesse St. James x Fem! Reader

Word Count: 1825

(___’s POV)

I was sat in the choir room with the rest of the glee club the day after Rachel showed her ‘Run Joey Run’ film, with Finn on my left and, surprisingly, Jesse on my right and Rachel looking at the two of them with sad eyes on the opposite side of the room. “ Mom says she’s making alfredo with chicken tonight for dinner,” Finn spoke looking over at me, with a small smile. “ That is the best news to hear, I love her alfredo and chicken.” I smile back. “ Alright glee clubbers, does anyone else have a bad reputation song to share after Rachel’s yesterday?” Mr.Shue asked with a clap of his hands looking around at the rest of us hopefully. I quickly look around, seeing no one else wanting to go, so I raise my hand with a proud smile, “___! Come on up!” Mr.Shue said with a smile waving me up.

I stood from my chair and headed to the front, when I got there I turned to look at everyone seeing everyone watching me, and Rachel glaring at me crossing her arms. “ I’ll be honest I think a bad reputation does not equal a good reputation, I think it just means you’ll never truly have fans but haters,” I spoke looking around at everyone matching Rachel’s glare when I met her eyes, “ But I chose a song that may have a bad reputation but you just can’t help but get up and dance and sing along to.” I finished before I nodded at the band to start the music, and they started playing the instrumental to ‘Girlfriend’ by Avril Lavinge.

“ Hey, hey, you, you, I don't like your girlfriend. No way, no way, I think you need a new one. Hey, hey, you, you, I could be your girlfriend,” I sang starting to rock out to the drums and guitar, ” Hey, hey, you, you, I know that you like me. No way, no way, you know it's not a secret. Hey, hey, you, you, I want to be your girlfriend.” I sang a smirk on my face started to dance a bit, and watched as a few others recognized the song and started to dance in their seats a bit. 

“ You're so fine, I want you mine, you're so delicious, I think about you all the time, you're so addictive. Don't you know what I can do to make you feel alright?” I sang as I started to walk through everyone’s chairs circling Santana’s chair and doing a small shimmy back and forth with her before moving on. “ Don't pretend, I think you know I'm damn precious, and hell yeah, I'm the motherfuckin' princess. I can tell you like me too and you know I'm right.” I continued playfully leaning onto Kurt as he smiled at my antics. 

“ She's like so whatever, you could do so much better. I think we should get together now, and that's what everyone's talkin' about.” I sang standing back up properly before heading and playfully sitting on Mercedes's lap acting as if I was talking about someone with her, before heading back to the front and repeating the chorus. 

“ I can see the way, I see the way you look at me. and even when you look away, I know you think of me.  I know you talk about me all the time again and again.” I sang going and messing with Brittany’s head as if she might have thought of me, “ So come over here and tell me what I wanna hear. Better yet, make your girlfriend disappear, I don't wanna hear you say her name ever again.” I skipped over to Jesse and sat in his lap with a smile on my face, with him smiling back, just having lots of fun before getting up and heading back to the front again to sing the pre-chorus and chorus again. 

“ In a second, you'll be wrapped around my finger. 'Cause I can, 'cause I can do it better. There's no other, so when's it gonna sink in? She's so stupid, what the hell were you thinkin'?” I sang clapping to the beat, with the girls, excluding Rachel, joining me, standing to come to dance with me. “ In a second, you'll be wrapped around my finger. 'Cause I can, 'cause I can do it better. There's no other, so when's it gonna sink in? She's so stupid, what the hell were you thinkin'?” I continued with the guys joining the girls and me up at the front.

I went on to sing the rest of the song dancing with a few different people until Jesse and I started dancing with each other for the rest of the song. “ Hey, hey!” I finish with a huge smile on my face, as the others erupt into cheers having had lots of fun dancing and singing along. 

“ Great job ___! You gave a great example of the assignment, and got everyone up and moving along with you!” Mr.Shue said excitedly giving me a high five as we all returned to our seats, “ Alright. We have a couple of days left of the week, so if you have a song with a bad reputation then you are welcome to share it. I will see you all tomorrow.” Mr.Shue smiled at us heading to wipe off the whiteboard, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Rachel pop up and head over to Mr.Shue. I start to gather my things, putting them in my backpack. “ You ready to go?” I hear Finn ask as I grab my keys out of my bag. “ You go without me, I’m planning on heading into town for a while,” I told him hugging him, while he nodded and waved goodbye as he left. 

I finally finished putting my things in my bag and headed out of the room to my locker to drop off the books I didn’t need tonight and grab the ones I did need. I hear footsteps coming up to me before they stop and clear their throat causing me to turn to look who it is, only to see Jesse. “ Hey ___, that was a great song choice in there.” He complimented me with a smirk, causing me to smile and let out a small laugh turning back to my locker to finish what I was doing. “ Thank you, It’s a song I have on my playlist so it was an easy pick,” I told him, with a smile putting the last book away shutting my locker door, and turning back to look at him.

“ Well either way your voice was perfect for the song, and I enjoyed dancing with you.” Jesse smiled at me starting to lean on a nearby locker. “ I enjoyed dancing with you as well.” I smile back before I notice Rachel down the hallway watching Jesse and me, and I just roll my eyes and lean on my locker, “ Are you and Rachel still together? Or what happened after yesterday?” I ask him curiously. He turned his head to see Rachel watching us as well making her turn away from us and go, before turning back to look at me. “ No, I told her last night that what she did hurt me, with how she lied and used me.” He spoke shaking her head. 

“ I’m sorry you had to deal with that, should’ve warned you that she’s kind of selfish when it comes to glee club. She’s at least lucky that I haven’t talked to her about it yet.” I spoke leaning back against my locker a bit with a cross of my arms glaring at where Rachel just was. “ Yeah?” He questions raising one of his eyebrows. “ Yeah. She does these things to get her way, and not only did she use you and Puck, she used my brother.” I ranted a bit rolling my eyes. “ Well, you don’t have to worry about that since everyone has called her out for it,” Jesse stated with a small laugh.

I watched as he smiled and laughed, which brought a smile to my face, “ I’m heading into town to get some coffee and do a bit of shopping. Just have a fun time after the last few days, do you want to join me?” I ask standing straight again and adjusting my backpack. “ I’d love that honestly, it would be good to take a break.” He spoke, which made me smile a bit more. We both head to the front of the school and head towards my car. I unlock the doors as we get closer and head over to the driver seat, as Jess goes over to the passenger side. We both hop in and put our bags in the back seat so we have enough room up front before buckling in. I put the key in the ignition starting it up as I grabbed a CD case I had in the back, put it into the CD player, and started to play it. As I pull out the song I was left on last time starts to play, “ Great CD choice, and such a great song.” Jesse spoke looking over at me. 

“ I mean you can never go wrong with Gaga, and Judas is an amazing song of hers,” I responded looking over at him quickly before I looked back at the road stopping at a red light. I hear him laugh as I glance over at him to see his head thrown back against the seat before watching the lights. As the light turns green I continue down the road before I’m able to pull into the parking lot of Lima Bean, quickly finding a parking space to park in. After parking I turn the car off, Jesse and I both unbuckle and get out. I make sure to lock the door as we go to head in, with Jesse opening the door for me as I smile at him in thanks. We were quick to the counter ordering our drinks and paying before moving over out of the pay of other people. 

“ Listen ___, I want to thank you for being kind to me even if I didn’t truly deserve it. I also really appreciate you inviting me to hang out with you today. It means a lot more than you know.” Jesse spoke looking down at me with a smile. “ Of course, even if you were on the opposing team that doesn’t warrant being rude to you, and I can’t imagine how it felt for your girlfriend to triple-cast you for her wants and desires,” I told him with a smile, softly putting my hand on his shoulder. He smiles as he wraps an arm around my shoulder as our drinks are called. We go and grab them before heading out to continue with what we planned for the rest of the day.

[amnexsiia]

you respond to everyone’s request… but- mine. I beg of you to write the fan fiction amy. please jesse st james x reader..

back to me ── .✦

⋆˚࿔ summary: when someone knocks on your bedroom door, you’d never expect it to be your ex boyfriend

⋆˚࿔ pairing: exbf!vocaladreneline!jesse st. james x newdirections!fem!reader

⋆˚࿔ warnings/content: cursing (jesse says fuck), manipulative jesse (or he can be genuine, whatever you want!)

⋆˚࿔ credits: @kodaswrld (dividers), @lilysgiddyseizures (request) (ur welcome lily.)

⋆˚࿔ a/n: hi guys!! sorry i haven’t had a lot of posts lately. i’ve been busy and lowk had a block. my friend has been begging me to write this for weeks so i’m deciding to write it now and then answer the rest of my requests!!

Your heart was truly broken on the day that Jesse, your boyfriend and the love of your life, betrayed not only you, but your choir.

He came out of nowhere, meeting you in the school library. Sparks immediately flew as soon as his soft blue eyes landed on yours.

He proudly introduced himself as Jesse St. James, a new transfer for the schools Glee Club. You were shy while first meeting him, but as he found his seat in the choir room, you began to warm up to him.

After musical duets and dirty looks of the other kids, you two officially became boyfriend and girlfriend.

And everyone couldn’t stand it.

As you would lay on his shoulder and kiss his cheek while Mr. Shuester would explain this week's theme, everyone cringed and grossed.

Rachel and Finn, a couple who was major PDA, gave you weird passing looks. Whispers around you, judging eyes lingering onto the two of you, but you two just couldn’t care.

The others opinions didn’t matter when Jesse was there. He was the only one that mattered to you. His opinion, his words, everything.

And then one day, it all changed. He wasn’t at Glee club? You stood outside of the classroom, phone up to your ear and worried expression on your face. He didn’t answer the first time. Or the second time. Or the third time. By the fourth time you heard his voicemail, your heart sunk.

jesse, babe. where r u?? glee club is starting!! you texted him, but to no response.

He stopped showing up to school as well. He wasn’t waiting for you at your locker anymore. His seat was empty at your lunch table. You had to start driving yourself to school again. He wouldn’t answer your calls. He wouldn’t answer your texts. He completely vanished.

Until you saw him again.

He was at his car in the parking lot, leaning against it. You gasped, immediately starting to run at him. “Jesse!” you cried.

His gaze met yours, expression twisting into a disgusted one. As you went to jump onto him, he pushed you, and you slammed onto the hard concrete. You hissed as the pavement scraped up your skin, tears springing to your eyes.

“W-What..” you gasped, your eyes meeting his cold, icy blue ones. “Jes—“

“Shut it, Y/N,” he growled, pulling his gaze away. “I’m not going to your stupid school anymore. I’m not singing in your stupid choir. I’m not being your fucking boyfriend anymore,” he confidently declared, opening the door to his car and getting in.

In tears, you scattered to your feet and ran out of the parking lot. You ran into the school and into the bathroom, locking yourself in a stall and not letting yourself out.

You eventually had to call your mom and get picked up early. You couldn’t take the pain and heartbreak. You immediately got in your pajamas and laid under the covers for the rest of the day, sobbing hysterically.

You haven’t seen him in months.

Now, you lay in the same bed, mentally recovered. You were listening to your vinyls and reading a magazine, humming along to the sweet melody filling the atmosphere of the room.

A knock on your door snapped you out of your trance. You bookmarked the page and looked at your door.

“Come in,” you sweetly called, expecting your mom to have made you food.

Your smile quickly fell upon the door’s opening. There he stood.

Jesse.

Your lips parted, and your brows twisted. “What the hell are you doing here?!”

“Y/N, I need to explain myself,” he said, his eyes soft. He walked into your room and shut the door behind him. You sat up and he took a seat next to you on the edge of the bed.

He looked at you, a small smile tugging on his lips. “You look so beautiful.”

“What do you want?” You growled, a pout on your face.

“I want to explain myself. Why I left you like that,” Jesse frowned, taking your hand in his and squeezing it tightly. You scowled, but let him continue. “Vocal Adrenaline’s coach saw my performance and really liked it. They contacted me and offered me a scholarship to the school. 100% free. I couldn’t refuse, Y/N, but I had to leave in a way that would make you hate and forget about me. I didn’t want you to be sad. So I ghosted you, and then pushed you away and left completely.

At Vocal Adrenaline.. they treated me awfully. Just awful. All I wanted to do was come back to McKinley. Come back to New Directions. Come back to you. I couldn’t build up the courage to leave but I did. And I regret everything I’ve ever done to you.”

You looked up at him, hating the tears threatening to spring in your eyes. You sniffled, wiping your eyes.

He chuckled, cupping your face in his large hands and wiping away the fallen tears gently with his thumb.

“God, I missed you so much,” Jesse whispered, making your heart swell. He scooted closer, pressing his forehead against yours. “Please forgive me, Y/N. I’ll do anything, love. Please..”

“Jesse..” you whispered, looking up at him. “I forgive. I do. I love you.”

He smiled widely, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. “Y/N. I love you. So much.”

He pulled away, pressing his lips gently on yours, grip tight on your hips. “Don’t leave me again,” you said into the kiss. He pulled away, laughing softly.

“Never. I love you so much, I’m not going anywhere ever again,” he promised, pressing a kiss to you forehead.

You smiled, relieved that you had Jesse back. That you had your Jesse back. And he’s not leaving you again.

out of my writing slump #watchthefrickout.

[cherrywineisawaltz]

jesse …. jesse… i need to brush up

HES THE WORSSTTTT

Sneaking around with him cause all your friends despise him, he’s such a little shit when he’s with you. Friends call you while he’s over, smothering you all over your pretty neat bed, lips nipping up the slope of your neck. “Jesse—it’s just a second,” you try, fingers fumbling to reach your phone on the nightstand, his fingers twining with yours to tug them away, press them to your soft pillows. His nose drags down your sternum, nipping the bare skin while you writhe against him, “A second that can wait,” he murmurs, tongue peeking to drag against your naval, fingers dipping under the elastic band of your panties. A wicked grin pulling up the corners of his lips while your hips jump up into his palm, “Nothing they could say on the phone could be as good as this.”

[simplyefficient]

𝒲𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝐻𝑒𝓁𝓅 𝑀𝑒, 𝐵𝒶𝒷𝓎? ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Summary𓏲ּ𝄢 Dean Winchester needs your help with Baby

Pairing𓏲ּ𝄢 Dean Winchester X Fem!Reader (No use of Y/N)

Wordcount𓏲ּ𝄢 759 Genre𓏲ּ𝄢 Smutty Fluff.

Warnings𓏲ּ𝄢 Brief Suggestive Content/Language.

Note𓏲ּ𝄢 I am in no way shape or form good at writing, I only write for fun and because I am passionate about it. This is also just a short little drabble/headcannon I have on, Dean Winchester!

In my head all I can imagine when Dean is working on his car, is him cussing to himself and his car under his breath, "Come the fuck on.", "Goddamnit!", "Sonuvabitch.", "Stupid mother'fuckin'cock'suckin bolt!", through gritted teeth while he fights to unscrew a nut with his hand that's too big to fit into the space to reach it.

And when he finally gives up and just accepts that he can't reach that particular bolt, he'll rush inside Bobby's house and retrieve you from whatever it is that you're doing, to get it out for him.

It doesn't matter if you were helping Sam with research, if you were chatting idly with Bobby over monster lore. You're his girl, and he needs his girl's smaller hand to help him out.

Out in the hot scrap yard, he's got you bent over the underside of Baby's hood. Arm pushed deep into the guts of the Impala, smaller hand reaching for what he couldn't get. You're almost tempted to question if he had some kind of ulterior motive.

"Feel it, Baby?" He grumbles out still a little agitated as he pressed close to your side, his body is partially leaned over top of yours.

"Yeah, I feel it." You nod soft and eager. He softens when he sees your pretty smile and calm eyes that are staring at him through your lashes.

"Alright, just uh- unscrew it for me, Sweetheart. Can'ya do that for me?" He gestures at you with his hand. But goddamnit if he isn't turned on seeing you play, Little Miss Mechanic.

For him.

He can feel his cock straining to get out of his fly, just at the sight of you bent over the underside of his favorite car's shiny black hood. Pert ass up, tits nearly spilling out of your old black tank top. You reach your pretty hand down into his Baby and retrieve the bolt for him after a few turns with your fingers.

All while he smokes a Marlboro cigarette with an oil covered hand to 'cool off', or as he drinks the fresh cold one catching condensation that you brought out to him, like the Sweetheart you were.

She's too good for me. He thought when he cracked the tab off the beer. He was going to have to show you his thanks later, maybe by having you bent over Baby once she was up and running.

He'd drive you out to stargaze on some open, field cornered, backroad. He'd have your bare tits pressed to the hood warmed up by the summer heat, he'd get your ass turned up again, this time towards him and the star sprinkled sky, and he'd eagerly stuff his cock into your puffy cunt.

Just to hear you squeal and moan for only him and the crickets to hear. Yeah, the more he thought about it. The more excited he was to be thanking his pretty lady after this little unintentional display.

"Atta' girl." He purred out to you with a cheesy smile when you handed him the bolt, all while you're feeling a little proud of yourself and tingly from his sincere praise.

He's now pressing a quick tender kiss to your sun-warmed temple while he palms your ass through your jeans and holds onto the greasy bolt you passed off to him.

You wipe off your hands with the same stained shop rag he's been using for the past couple of hours, "Knew you could do it f'me, Darlin'. I think I should keep you around. Maybe I should make you my little helper more often, Hm?"

He's groping you, grinning like a man that has it all, praising you, and giving you feather light kisses to your neck and jaw, all while you laugh and sigh beautifully at his antics. You liked this side of Dean the most. The loving and sweet side of him.

"Now get your pretty ass back inside the house before you burn up out here surrounded by Bobby's junk."

He says it through a chuckle and that signature Winchester smirk. He lets you walk away after giving a slap that lands perfect on your denim clad ass.

He hates to see you go, but he loves watching you scurry away, and up Bobby's porch, laughing, out of your head, and feeling like you're on cloud nine.

He makes you feel like he needs you around. Because in all reality, after meeting you, getting you to be his, he does.

You're his girl. And there's nothing in the world that means more than that. Just don't tell his car.

Taglist: @mortluvr

(If you'd like to join my taglist, you can just comment that you would, and I'll add you! <3)

[technicallyawritersblog]

dating Jesse St. James Drabble or headcanons??? 😁

Ofc lovely, here you go!

Drama is his middle name (as he tells you constantly, and you're not sure whether he's joking or not at this point)

His growth was a tad stunted by the parenting he received so he's really used to being the center of attention and gets pouty when he isn't

This means quite a bit of jealousy at the early stages of the relationship and even into the later stages. He'll work on it but it'll never go away completely

He definitely wants you to be loyal. Like, he can respect open relationships but he'll never agree to one unless there's a rule that you can only be in love with one person at once and that person is him.

He is also an attention whore in that if he doesn't feel he's been praised enough lately he will straight up ask for compliments

It's less toxic than what a lot of people will do but it's kinda hilarious bc he'll just walk right up like 'hey babe what do you think of me' and sit there with his head in your lap until his ego is properly reinflated

But hey he's never shy with praising you either. Literally everything about you is cool to him.

Dates are pretty traditional. Nice restaurants, presentable outfits, all that. Sometimes he'll pick out your outfit for you so you match the aesthetic he had in mind.

If you plan something feep free to pick out his outfit, he'll be even more excited

The first time you said 'I love you' was in the morning while getting ready. He just sorta said it. It wasn't a big moment to him because he was already pretty sure you loved him

Singing is his love language

He would get together the entirety of Vocal Adrenaline to sing to you and the occasion would be Tuesday istg

He really wants you to do nice things for him with something you can do too

If you're a writer or artist or whatever that's easy enough but it gets tricky when you're not something like that.

Hell, you could be a paleontologist and dedicate a dinosaur to him and he'd think it's awesome though

He is very much a 'surprise' kind of boyfriend. For anniversaries he will blindfold you all the way up to wherever you're going and take the blindfold off when you get to the place. He'll appreciate the same but he'll see the surprise coming and try to make you tell him what it is

He is the leader of the relationship so to speak

He likes to have most of the control, which is great if you're indecisive because he'll learn what you like and tailor his plans accordingly.

He'll let you do the work on certain special occasions though

The drama makes for super difficult fights because he spends the whole time looking for opportunities to storm out or say dumb ass shit like 'well I thought you cared enough to know better but I guess we were both wrong'

He will calm down and realize how stupid that is though and then you'll really talk

And then he will sing to resolve whatever emotions are left

Marriage is 100% in the cards if you've been dating for a while

Like, two-three years in and he's considering proposing

The wedding will ofc be musical in nature, and the Jesse will have nothing less than the most theatrical affair complete with a best man, groomsmen, the fanciest clothes and a truly insane budget that would never make sense unless his family paid (which they would)

You will be expected to be surrounded by adoring and supportive people at the wedding too and if you don't know enough people he will round some of his friends up for you and they will just be your spousal party

Speaking of 'supportive people' your friends better like him or else it brings out People Pleaser Jesse which is hilarious to see but deeply annoying also

Like. This is some Leslie Knope-level 'I will make them like me' shit. He cannot function without adoration and if he doesn't know why???

Like, with Finn he could easily accept that it's just because he's talented and also jealousy over Rachel. With most other people it's been competition or envy of his talent.

But your friends and family *should* love him because he loves you and treats you well, and they're not his competition so he can't fathom why they wouldn't

He'd easily spend hours social-media-stalking them to find a way to make them like him. Boy is ready to bring out the damn binders and a conspiracy-theorist red string wall

The type to call you his better half. Other nicknames include darling, my muse, and my love.

Super supportive of your dreams, believes you're the best at the things you love (unless it's singing and then you're second best because he's the best), thinks you're all of the positive things in the world, you hang the damn moon to him

Overall 9.5/10 he's great

Half point deduction for stalking your sister until he finds out they have a fandom in common and using that to make her his friend

Sorry if this isn't great, I'm up late and this is just what I thought of. Reqs are still open! I only did romantic headcanons here but feel free to ask for nsfw if you want!

[deanwinchesterkiss]

https://www.tumblr.com/deanwinchesterkiss/820136782435909632/hear-me-out-please-ben-is-a-family-friend-and-he

+ while his in charge of you his the “man of the house” and he forces you to call him dad :( but he takes such good care of you so it’s worth it

yes that's so hot hshsjkasgs

MDNI

while he stays over ben only allows you to wear his shirts and a pair of panties. he squeezes your hip every time you walk past him. "c'mon now, be a good girl and make breakfast for your dad,sweetheart."

"you aren't my dad." you huffed, crossing your arms. of course you didn't look serious to him, standing there in his shirt that looked oversized on you.

"sweet thing, you gotta be nicer to the man of the house. I make the rules around here." he gave you a light spank before squeezing your hip again. "now go make my breakfast, sweets."

a yelp left your throat as you jumped up. "alright but I'll just make what I usually make which is just toast with honey."

"no wonder you're so damn weak, kid." he teased and hugged your from behind as you began toasting the bread. you couldn't focus on anything besides his muscular arms wrapped tightly around your waist, basically engulfing you.

"okay done!" you said proudly showing off the two pieces of bread with honey and he couldn't help but chuckle, his frown lines becoming less prominent.

he sat himself down at the table. "come sit on dad's lap, sweets." you did exactly as he said and set down the plates on the table as well. ben leaned closer to you, his beard scratched you slightly as he whispered in your ear. "don't tell your actual dad about this, okay?"

you just nodded and took a bite of your toast to distract yourself and felt him squeeze your thigh. "good girl." he praised you. "goin' to reward you real good, doll."

[winterstar67]

anywhere for you

Soldier Boy x F!Reader

Summary: After Homelander is defeated, the world is scrambling to move on, but Soldier Boy is locked away in Vought Tower. That is until you free him.

Content Warning: 18+. MDNI. Soldier boy is one horny mf and only thinks about sex. Even if he should be worried about getting out of the tower. And who are you to deny him anything. Couch sex. Vaginal fingering. PIV sex. Slight cockwarming. Spanking. Squint for the breeding kink.

Word Count: 3k

A/N: I took the title from the Backstreet Boys song. Backstreet Boys > NSYNC. I said what I said and I stand by it.

@shroomshop This is for you! 🩷 I hope it is semi what you were hoping for. Sorry it took so long!

Divider credit: @cursed-carmine; Pictures from Pinterest.

AO3 Link

Sneaking into Vought Tower was fairly easy. After Butcher killed Homelander on national television, you had hoped the aftermath of the fallout would be enough of a distraction that no one would be concerned about one singular women on her own mission.

You had begged Ben to leave without talking to Homelander, but the motherfucker was just too damn stubborn. And when he didn't show at your place that night ready to leave, you knew something had happened. You just prayed it didn't cost him his life in the process. Either way, you were going to find answers.

Your first instinct was to go down to the basement, thinking Vought would want to hide the supe away. But as you entered the stairwell, you remembered Ben telling you that when Homelander had woken him up from cryo, the chamber was in his bedroom. You were operating on the hope that Ben was just in stasis rather than dead, and what were the odds that he would have had the chamber removed?

When you finally broke into Homelander's apartment, you still glanced around the space like he might show up and kill you on sight. Despite showing his true colors after losing his power, old habits died hard. Moving silently through the rooms, you entered his bedroom and your jaw dropped.

In the corner, Soldier Boy was there, eyes closed like he was just asleep. Which you supposed he was, in a way. Rushing over, you look at the controls to the chamber, hoping to figure out how to get him out. It was surprisingly user friendly, and you managed to get the door open without much difficulty.

The next part would be much harder. The man was built like a tank, and he was heavy. There was no physical way you were going to be able to move him. The restraints holding him in place would have to do until he woke up.

Your eyes traced over his body, his skin a map of scars showing everything he has survived over thick corded muscles that you knew initimately. Your fingertips graze his biceps and across his chest, unable to help yourself from touching him. You were so caught up that when he cleared his throat, it startled you, jumping back as your heart pounded against your chest.

His voice was rough from disuse. "The fuck happened?"

"Do you always wake up from cryo this angry?" You ask, stepping closer to him again. "Or do you plan on thanking the woman that just saved your life from sleeping the years away?"

Your hands cup his face as you lean up and kiss along his jaw, his beard tickling your skin as your lips finally meet his. His eyebrows raise in surprise as he kisses you back for a moment, letting your presence surround him before he mutters against your lips, "Are you going to let me out or…"

"If you are as big and strong as you say, shouldn't you be able to get out yourself?" You counter, unable to resist the urge to tease him.

His emerald green eyes flash with amusement or irritation, but knowing him, it was probably irritation. You wish he didn't look so damn attractive when he was annoyed, but when his eyes shot to yours with a promise of punishment, you couldn't be held liable for pushing his buttons further. You might be a brat, but you were a well satisfied one.

Without wasting another moment, the restraints around his wrists snap, no longer connected to the board behind him. You take a step back, undoing the straps across his body to free him as he tears the leather restraints from his wrists, shredding them like paper.

"That was the last time I'm ever going back in that damn box." He grumbles.

"You know what they say about famous last words, Ben."

His hands finally come up to your face, thumbs brushing against your jaw as he tilts your head back. He ducks his head down to fully look into your eyes, like he really wants you to hear him.

"I'm never leaving you again." He whispers, his tone soft, but the words unyielding. A promise he intended to keep until he was nothing more than dust and bones.

You grab his wrists, keeping him close as you swallow past the lump forming in your throat, nodding. "I was so scared. You didn't come home, and I thought…"

"Homelander caught me by surprise. I didn't think the bastard would stab me in the back like that. Where is he by the way? I think I need to return the favor."

"He's dead. Butcher killed him. On national tv. It was…gruesome."

Ben's brow raises in surprise. "The bastard actually did it. I'll be damned."

Then he kisses you. It is desperate, hungry, and laced with something close to relief. Your hands run up over his chest to twist around the back of his neck as you pull yourself closer. He groans in response, his hands tracing down your sides to wrap around your back. Despite your anger at him for leaving you that day, seeing him now, having him back in your arms completely assuages the anxiety and worry you had been feeling.

You melt against his body, solid and firm against your own. He starts slowly walking you backwards, murmuring against your lips. "You are wearing way too many clothes."

When your legs hit the edge of the bed, you nearly fall back. "I don't think now is the best time, Ben. We probaly should get out of Vought Tower. And it's not like I want to do it in your dead son's bed."

Ben grumbles under his breath, like he doesn't understand how you aren't ready to jump into the first bed with him like he clearly is. His hands slide down your body grabbing your ass and squeezing. The action pulls you further into him, and you wrap your arms around his neck.

"Is there anywhere in this god's damned tower you would be okay with fucking me before we leave?" He demands, clearly exasperated.

You chuckle at his annoyance. "Anywhere but this bed."

Hands sliding behind your thighs, the supe lifts you up as your legs wrap around his waist and he carries you straight to the couch before sitting down with you straddling his lap. His erection is pressing against the fabric of the white boxer briefs he has on, straining to get out and sink into you.

His lips travel across your jaw to whisper in your ear. "This better, princess?" He asks facetiously, nipping at your earlobe.

"Much better." You giggle. He starts pulling at your clothes and they threathen to tear under his impatience and strength. "Ben, unless you want me walking out of this building half naked, do you mind?"

He huffs, lips pulling off your neck where he was sucking a deep mark into your sensitive skin. He throws his hands up. "Fine. You do it then."

"With pleasure." You say, winking as you strip off your shirt and bra. You push up to your knees to pull your pants and underwear down, the motion shoving your breasts in his face. Unable to resist the temptation, he licks a strip right up the valley before his lips latch around one nipple, suckling at you. You gasp at the sensation, electricity running straight through your veins to your core.

You kick off your pants, hands flying into his hair as your nails scratch against his scalp and he groans at the feel of your fingers in his hair, the vibrations ricocheting through your body in a tidalwave of pure desire. You pull him closer as one of his hands plays with your other breast, his other hand on your hip, fingers splayed wide. Your head falls back as you moan his name, your tone a desperate whine, and he smiles against you.

"That's right, say my name. Been missin' me something fierce, haven't you?" He goads, pulling your body back down so your core is pressed against his aching cock, his underwear the only thing separating him from entering your sweet tight pussy. Using your hips, he moves your body, sliding you along the ridge of him, each pass dampening the fabric with your arousal until it is nearly translucent.

You gasp and moan as he drags you up and down his length, every movement rubbing just perfectly against your clit, and you start rocking your hips. "More. Fuck, Ben. I need more."

"How much more?" He taunts, his strength keeping you moving at the pace he wants, designed to drag out your pleasure, almost like he wants you to remember how good he makes you feel and only him. Like you could ever want anyone else, the man had ruined you long ago.

"Everything." You gasp out. "I need you."

Your nails dig into the thick muscles of his shoulders as you head drops forward, forehead pressed against his cheek, his beard softly scratching your skin, only reminding you of the feeling of his beard other, more intimate places.

"Tell me how bad you need my cock. I need to hear it. Need to know how much you missed me." He growls in your ear.

"Ben, baby, please." You whimper, knowing you are completely at his mercy. "I need to feel you inside me. I was going crazy without you."

He stills your rocking hips, one hand sliding to your core as his thick calloused fingers quickly find your clit, circling the bundle of nerves as you gasp. Pleasure rushes through you as he plays your body like he knows it better than the back of his hand, fingers dipping into your entrance to gather more of your arousal before moving back.

You kiss him fiercely, your hands running to the back of his neck, holding him still as your lips attack his. You can feel his grin as he lets you control the kiss as he drives you mad with his fingers. You nip his bottom lip with your teeth, and you can feel the change in him as his eyes flash with barely contained desire. This time when two of his fingers slide into you, your mouth drops open with a moan that he swallows, his tongue dipping inside to taste you.

"Ride 'em, doll. Show me how desperate you are for my cock."

You lift your hips, letting his fingers pull almost completely out of you before your hips roll back down, impaling yourself on his thick digits. As much as you wanted feel him inside you, you would gladly take his fingers. You would take any part of him he was willing to give you.

Clenching around his fingers you grind down, your clit rubs deliciously against the heel of his hand before lifting again to repeat the motion. His eyes greedily run over your body, your tits bouncing with each movement. The only thing that could make this better was if he was buried deep in your pussy, but he wanted you good and stretched out before then.

His fingers scissor apart, pressing against your gummy walls, feeling each and every clench of your muscles. You were getting close, panting against his neck between kisses, his name coming out in breathless whispers. But he wanted you screaming his name for anyone in this goddamned tower to hear and know who you belonged to. Who you would always belong to.

"Gonna have you screaming around my cock by the end of the night, doll." He murmured in your ear, pulling the lobe with his teeth.

"So close, Ben." You whimper.

"Come for me, sweetheart. Wanna feel you drench me."

With his permission, you combust in his arms, pleasure running through your veins that you can feel from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. Your skin buzzes, everything feeling more sensitive from the coolness in the air against your skin to the way your breasts rub against his chest. He keeps working you, his fingers rubbing against the sensitive spot inside you until you are trembling in his arms.

When he removes his fingers, you groan at the loss, but are quickly sated as he pulls his underwear down enough to release himself and impales you on his thick, veiny, reddened cock. You gasp, feeling oversensitive after your release and your nails claw down his chest, leaving red lines in their wake. You wish they would still be there tomorrow, a reminder of you on his skin, but you will just have to leave new marks tomorrow since he heals too quickly.

"God fucking damn." He groans. "Always so fucking tight for me."

"Oh my god. Oh my god. So fucking big." You babble, as you adjust to him.

"You aren't sitting on god's cock, doll."

You nod your head in agreement, feeling too blissed out to understand what he is saying.

"Who's cock is inside you?"

You whimper, acting purely on instinct as you lean forward to press your lips against his, barely hearing his question. His hand comes down, slapping your ass.

"Fuck!" You cry out, lifting up an inch before falling back down on him as his dick rubs against your g-spot perfectly. "Oh god."

His hand lands on your ass again, the sting blending together in perfect harmony with the fullness of him inside you. "Wrong answer."

"Fuck! Ben! Yours. It's yours. Your cock." You gasp.

He grins down at you, his hips bucking up, the tip kissing your cervix just perfectly. "That's much better."

You start to roll your hips, enjoying just how much the supe fills you up, your clit pressed against his groin. You swear you could spend the rest of your life perched on him just like this and die a happy woman. But when his hands return to your hips, he urges you to lift up, watching his cock glistening with your slick before he slams you back down.

You take the hint, starting to ride him, as he helps you keep a steady rhythm. He leans forward, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth and sucking down on you, his tongue circling the pebbled bud with a groan that echoes throughout your body. Your hands find their way to his hair, yanking on the soft strands to pull him impossibly closer to your body.

The heat between you builds to an inferno as you move, his fingers gripping your hips tight enough to leave marks that will turn to bruises by morning. He pulls off your breast with a pop, leaning back to watch you.

"Look so fucking good as you take my cock. My perfect little slut. Riding me like you can't get enough. Bet you would let me knock you up, wouldn't you? Do you want to full and round with my kid?"

You moan desperately, your rhythm stuttering at his words as you clench around him hard. You would. You would let him get you pregnant if he really wanted that. A physical reminder of the desperate need you have for each other.

"Fuck, doll. You like the sound of that, don't you? Letting me fill you so deep, there would be no way you weren't pregnant by the time I was done with you. Want me to come inside your pretty pussy?"

You nod, moving faster against him, chasing your orgasm as the echoes of skin slapping against skin and your panting breath is all you can hear over his words. He reaches between you, playing with your clit to try and push you over the edge faster.

"So close…so close Ben."

"Good. I want to feel you milk my cock dry as I fill you up." He growls.

His hips thrust up in time with your downward strokes before he releases inside you, painting your walls and cervix with rops of his cum with a groan of your name falling from his lips. His orgasm sets off your own as your muscles seize. He keeps thrusting up into you as you clench around him, trying to pull him deeper inside your core, like you want to have his cock imprinted inside you. You scream his name loud enough that if there were anyone on the floor, you were sure they would be aware that Soldier Boy was awake and out of cryo again.

When you both finally come down from your combined pleasure, you smile down at him, satisfied bliss clearly written across your features. He returns your smile, soft and sated, his fingers brushing a strand of hair back from your face.

"You are so fucking breathtaking. You know that?"

"Are you just saying that because I let you out of the box and let you come inside me?"

He huffs at your question. "I'm being serious."

"I'm sorry." You murmur, kissing the tip of his nose. "Please keep singing my praises."

"Too late. It's done. You ruined it." He laid back against the couch, keeping you sprawled over him, cock still buried deep inside your cunt, each residual spasm of your muscles reminding both you and him how good you are together. His fingers trail up your spine, much gentler than you expect, and you wonder if he knows the lengths you would go for him. That anywhere he wanted to go, you would follow. That he owned you, body, mind and soul so completely that you didn't feel like yourself without his presence, he was quinessential to your mental health.

He sighed, drawing your attention away from counting every freckle on his tanned chest as your cheek rested over his heart, listening to each steady beat. "Now that Homelander is gone, I suppose we don't need to go to Bogotá. Is there anywhere you want to go, doll?"

You smile, lifting your head to look him in his eyes. "As long as it is with you, we can go anywhere."

Thanks for reading! 😊🩷

[diorgirl444]

thinking about how dean winchester manhandles you… 🤤

he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it mostly. we’ve all seen how he’s always having to do something with his hands, tapping the steering wheel and the like so it’s only natural he does it with you!

he’s just very tactile and it’s his responsibility to take care of you. you’re drunk and he needs to get you home? he’s slinging you over his shoulder. there’s an attack of something? he’s immediately roughly grabbing you by the waist and pushing you behind him. but even little things too.

if he wants you attention and your back is to him he’s tugging on whatever style your hair is in. he needs to get past you he’s gonna rest his hands on your hips to move you out of the way. if he wants to kiss you he’s pushing your cheeks together with his hand till your lips are pursed in an exaggerated pout.

sometimes you bemoan it! you’ve got finger marks all over your body because your boyfriend apparently never grew out of the pull the plaits of the girl he likes phase but he just shrugs and says “what you can’t handle a little lovetap sweetheart?”

maybe i’ll turn this into a proper fic someday idk

[jays-bonnie-on-the-side]

just imagining jensen being dominant in bed.

“fuck, sweetheart, you gonna let me in willingly or do i gotta crack you open like a piñata?” he groans a few thrusts in.

you moan in response, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as he attempts to pry you open. whenever you two have sex, it’s like shoving a cucumber through the hole of a sliced pineapple; didn’t quite fit, but if you keep at it, it will eventually. so, he puts in the work, forcing your walls to conform around his girthy length, long enough to last a few rounds before he has to do it all over again. his pelvis grinds against your clit, causing you to squirm beneath him. he pins you down, holding your hands above your head with one hand and choking your throat with the other. his thrusts are harsh, pounding hard and fast to get you to open up. little by little, you accept him, and he buries himself deeper.

“that’s it, princess. just like that. ‘letting me in so nicely.”

his praise goes straight to your core, eating up every word. your eyes roll to the back of your head once he bottoms out, his hips slapping against your ass as he beats you into the mattress. strangled moans fall from your lips as his fingers dig into your skin, leaving marks for tomorrow. unable to hold on to anything, your nails cut crescent-shaped indents into your palm. you’re close, and the way you clench around him, he knows it too, but he isn’t going to let you off so easily. with all his willpower, he pushes himself off of you, leaving you feeling confused and empty.

“flip over,” he commands, voice as deep as he once was inside of you.

you listen, and without having to be told, your face smushes against the sheets as your ass waits, poised in the air. without a second to waste, he slips past your folds and into your widened walls. he slides in with ease, and you let out a satisfied and breathy sigh. his first thrust is a warning, but his second promises damnation. you knew that the orgasms he brought you felt like heaven, but how dirty you two were for each other was enough for God to cast you straight into hell.

you try your best to hold your position, but the sharp snaps of his hips make it harder and harder. high-pitched moans turned into screams as he fucks you like it’s your last night on earth. after he finishes with you, it might be. if you died right now, you’d die happy, covered in both of your cums. somehow the thought brings you comfort, and you don’t want to go out any other way.

“j-jay…” you can’t finish your sentence, but he knows that you’re asking to finish.

“you better not cum until i tell you to, you hear me?”

you whine in response, but you’re unsure of how much longer you can last. his tip drives into your cervix, and though it creates some pain, you’ve never felt more pleasure. you love when j gets dominant because not only does it turn you on even more, but you know your body will feel it longer than it normally would. his fingertips dig into your hips as he brings you back to meet his lap, making the room echo with sharp slaps. drool pours out of your mouth, creating a pool on the sheets, the first of your liquids. his rhythm begins to falter, and hope is in sight.

“fuck, baby, cum. cum for daddy.”

and with a scream of rapture, you release the floodgates, squirting on his dick like he commanded. your orgasm washes over you as powerful and forceful as you gushed on him. he fucks you through it, and your second overlaps the first, your body trembling like it had been tossed in a tub of freezing ice water. he aligns his hips with yours, and with a strangled moan, he shoots his thick load into your womb. with what little willpower you have left, you glance over your shoulder and see jensen shudder, and the sight alone sends you into orgasm number three.

[favouritsm]

── HUMAN NATURE

summary: you’re forced to share a room with your best friends dad.

tags/cw: bfd!ben . father figure!ben . noncon / dubcon . fauxcest if you ponder on it . very inexperienced!reader . praise . manipulation . grooming . dad(dy) kink . age gap (legal) . light breeding kink . multiple orgasms . fingering . praise . edging . choking . handjob . thigh riding . grinding / humping . dead dove:do not eat . don’t like?don’t read!

notes: title from madonna /// cross posted onto ao3

wc: 2.8k

you and ben sat beside each other on the creaky bed, just barely touching under the covers you are forced to share. you’re sat up with your arms around your knees, while ben is sprawled out with his arm beneath his head.

going on vacations and trips with your friend, emma, and her dad was not uncommon. you two were glued at the hip ever since first becoming friends. you’d share rooms, beds, sometimes even showers. it wasn’t weird to you or her, so there stood no problem. every trip, you and emma would end up rooming while her father would get himself a single, but this time was different.

emma got herself a boyfriend. and with said boyfriend, she had to room with him. it was the most logical. so unfortunately you were stuck rooming with her father, ben.

ben was always good to you, making sure you felt like his real daughter. he loved you like his own, and certainly treated you as such. luckily for him, your father was a deadbeat, so ben quickly filled himself into a fatherly role.

here you were now, years later, formed as a proper woman—your body was enough evidence for that. he was infatuated with you, which made him decide that it was finally time to mark you as his.

letting out a yawn, you leaned over to grab the remote as the movie had ended. you don’t realize that your ass was up in bens view, with your back arched as you reached for the remote. you let out a struggled sound, your arms just not long enough to reach.

ben chuckled behind you, and swiftly pressed against you to grab the remote. him being much bigger than you, he pulled it with ease. you let out a gasp, feeling your ass flush against his crotch. you quickly recoil, slamming yourself back onto the mattress away from him.

after turning off the tv, ben placed himself on top of you, and glided his hand down your cheek. it tickles you ever-so slightly, until it reached your neck, which he firmly gripped.

“ben…” you whispered, “what are you doing?” your voice was ignored as ben stared down at you. he licked his bottom lip, his eyes still on your plush lips. “just trust me, sweetheart,” he whispers.

you weren’t blind; you knew from the day you met him how good looking he was. although being much older, he looked amazing. he had a full head of hair, beautiful doe eyes, and a god-sculpted body. but you avoided thinking about him like that, he was your best friend's father after all. you couldn’t let whatever it is he wanted to happen. it was wrong, disgusting, maybe even unlawful. because no matter what, you started to see ben as a father, someone you had grown to trust and love.

“no, please. stop,” you breathed. you were scared, terrified. you wanted to believe he wasn’t in his right mind, that he was in a state of delusion—that he didn’t know what he was doing. but he knew, alright.

bringing his face closer to yours, he gripped your throat harder. “don’t make this hard… unless you like it that way.” he smirked wickedly before bringing his lips to your neck. you let out a whimper as he kissed and sucked on your neck, being sure to leave traces of himself. you tried to push him away, but he was too strong. he growled on top of you, pulling away from your neck. “stop fucking moving,” he demanded. you let out a sob, accepting your defeat.

with a victorious smile on his face, ben began to pull your shirt off. he tossed it behind him and began to lick and kiss all over your chest. despite still wearing a bralette, it was sheer and thin so it served no barrier. you'd never felt this before-such intimate actions. his tongue darted to circle around your covered nipple, his saliva soaking the fabric. your jaw slacked and back arched against his mouth. chuckling, ben lightly bit at your nipple before letting his tongue graze over it. you whimpered, unintentionally grinding yourself against his hard body.

"look at you, sweetheart. look at how much you want this," he whispered. his hands kneaded your breasts while he studied you with lustful eyes. your eyes were squeezed shut, lips parted, and hands still slightly pushing his chest. you began to shake your head furiously, lips forming a pout before you start to sob.

"no, stop. i don't want this. p-please.."

"you want it. you want it real bad, princess. look at you, grinding against me so hard," he whispered into your ear sensually. his hand left your breast, and moved to cup your clothed cunt. granted, your pyjama shorts are as thin as your bralette, and of course, you're not wearing panties.

“let me show you what a real man feels like, yeah? you need this, baby.” your hips bucked at his words, receiving the smallest amount of friction against his hand. you moaned lowly, head pressing hard against the pillow beneath you.

ben bit his lip and slowly started to circle his fingers against your clothed clit. he admired how your lips parted, lewd moans and whimpers slipping out. he knew how much you needed this, how much you’ll thank him when he’s done. he knows you’ve never had sex, never even had a boyfriend before. how? the walls are thin, obviously.

ben’s fingers suddenly stopped, causing you to finally open your eyes. “please,” you whined. he simply chuckled. he swiftly switched their positions, having you straddle his one thigh with her chest against his. he reveled in the innocent, teary-eyed look you gave him—unsure, embarrassed, utterly aroused. as much as he wanted to rush it and use you dry, he decided to let you feel something to get you started. “have you ever touched yourself, sweetheart?”

your face immediately glowed red, eyes darting everywhere but to his. of course, you knew what touching yourself meant, how it would work, why people did it. but you had always been too academically focussed, shielded by family, or even too oblivious to have done such things. and by the time you were finally exposed to everything, it had felt too late, so you didn’t bother. but hearing the question come from ben felt shameful, you were unsure what the right answer would be. whether to lie or not.

ben waited a moment, two moments, before grabbing your throat. “i asked you a question, sweetheart.” you let out a struggled sigh and shook your head slowly. he grinned, and pulled your neck to lay a kiss on your forehead. of course, he was so glad you hadn’t. that you hasn’t been spoiled and was all for him to teach.

pulling off his shirt, he propped you on the middle of his thigh. he slightly moved your hips back and forth, showing you what it feels like. you let out a sigh, clearly liking the feeling. even without your noises, ben could feel your slick through the clothes that separate you both. “that feel good, huh? keep going,” he ordered.

you gave a hesitant nod before slowly grinding against his thigh. you let out a low groan, realizing how good it felt. you began to pick up the pace, humping on him like a dog in heat. your hands find their place on his chest to keep balance, and ben’s hands find their way to your breasts once again. he discards your bra, letting it join the discarded clothes on the ground. he snaked one hand around your back, pushing you harder on his thigh in an act of guidance. he slouched his back to bring your nipple in his mouth, circling his tongue against the now bare skin.

you let out a whimper, back arching into him, letting your hands tug at his hair. your hips roll on him desperately, feeling a knot in your stomach. “fuck! fuck! please, please daddy,” you moan. ben let out a growl at the name you’d given him, applying his thumb to press against your clit. “let it out, sweetheart, c’mon.” and that you do with eyes rolling back and mouth slacked open. your hips stutter but ben helps by stimulating your clit to help ride out your orgasm.

he doesn’t stop circling your clit, however, causing you to twitch and whimper. “p-please, s’t-too much!” your body curled up and try to push his hand away, but ben doesn’t let up. he bites your nipple, causing you to scream. your sobs make ben let out a laugh.

“please! p-please, stop, it h-hurts… i-i can’t take it!” your arms snaked around his neck in a hug, your cries loud in his ear. he revelled in it.

he leaves your cunt, and wraps his arms around your waist, attempting to soothe you. “you’re beautiful, so beautiful.”

you sniffle and pull back, staring into his eyes, faces mere inches apart. your doe-like eyes are tearful, with snot starting to leak down her nose, it was gross, but ben loved it.

“did I do good?” you whispered hesitantly.

he smiled, “so good, doll.” you mirrored his smile, “really?”

he breathed a laugh, taking your hand in his and guiding it to his clothed erection. he held your hand there as his other pushed the back of your head close. with his mouth to your ear, he whispered, “look what you do to me, sweetheart.” you gasped.

ben guided your hand up and down his girthy member, applying pressure to the fingers, letting you squeeze him. stifling a groan, he let go of your hand. he undressed himself entirely, allowing his throbbing erection free to slap against his lower stomach.

you studied his cock, mouth watering at the sight. it was huge, thick with veins bulging across it. his pubes were trimmed elegantly, making you wonder what he was preparing for? your stomach fluttered at the thought of you being the one he was expecting.

“touch it,” he murmured, slightly adjusting his hips into a more comfortable position. you whimpered as he moved, still sensitive clit gaining a small amount of friction. your legs tightly wrapped around his bare thigh, trying hardest not to move. you gave him a worried look, which he immediately understood. “it’s okay, just touch it, i’ll guide you,” he reassured.

you let out a shaky breath and nodded, smaller hands wrapping around his cock. not knowing what you were doing, you started twisting the skin, causing an uncomfortable groan to leave ben’s lips. he quickly grabbed your hands, causing you to panic. “i’m sorry, i’m sorry!”

ben was starting to lose his patience, but he tried his best to mask it. “it’s alright, sweetheart. just let me show you, yeah?” he held your hand in his as he wrapped them around his dick. slowly gathering his leaking pre-cum, he started to pump himself with your hand.

“like this, okay, doll? up and down. you understand?” he toyed. he squeezed your hand around him, pumping faster, more erratic. you nodded furiously, “yes, i understand. i want to make you feel good,” you said, eyes glued to his bright red tip that emerged every time your hand slid down. ben groaned, his head falling back, and his hand leaving yours. “go on then, help your dad out. you want to be my good girl, don’t you, sweetheart?”

you let out a moan, and began to pump his cock as he had taught you. “yes-yeah. i wanna be your good girl.” you grew determined to make him feel good, so you added another hand to pump him. ben smirked, snaking his free hand to squeeze your breasts. “yeah, doll. you’re so good, look how good you make me feel. such a good girl.”

your head spun from the constant praise and his hands kneading your perked tits. your hands slowed on his cock, before picking up the pace, going faster than ever.

“i want to cum in you, doll. so let’s save me for a bit, okay?” he cooed, pulling your hands off his shaft. you nodded. your mind has been nothing but hazy for the night, arousal clouding over your better judgement. the fact that this was her best friend’s father, lingered in the back of your mind. but you were too far gone, too drunk on the pleasures he brought.

ben swiftly sat up and pushed you against the bed on your back. he pulled apart your legs, though you had to stretch out more as he was so much more larger than you. you let out a whine as he pressed against your sensitive core.

he struggled to control himself as he saw your swollen, puffy cunt. it looked perfect, smelled perfect, too. your arousal leaked down between your cheeks, coated in a shiny gloss.

he decided to tease you, needing to break you fully. to ruin you. he sensually massaged your inner thigh, gliding his thumb so close to your needy cunt. “look at you, so dirty,” he whispered, “you need me so bad, say it. beg me to fuck you dry.” he blew a breath to your cunt, making you shiver and moan.

“p-please, i need you so bad. i need you in me so bad. please, i need this.” you begged.

without further warning, ben slammed into you, not being able to contain himself any longer. you let out a scream, back instinctively arching, chest pressing against his. you felt so full, so warm. it hurt, but you pushed through.

he let out a grunt, feeling your virgin cunt tight around him. he grabbed onto your throat, pulling you to meet his lips.

you roughly kissed—you mostly not knowing what you’re doing, but ben didn’t care. his tongue entered your mouth, assaulting yours. his hand around your throat made it hard to breathe, and you let out exasperated pants and whimpers.

leaving your mouth, he travelled down your neck to your perked nipples; he enveloped one with his mouth, and used his hand to play with the other. all while his thrusts continued to meet your hips, his cock basically abusing your cervix. you moaned wildly, back arching and legs squirming.

“so fucking good. you’re just a good fucking girl, aren’t you? You’re dad’s good girl, say it.”

your eyes rolled back, mouth dropping open as he began to rub his thumb over your throbbing clit. you began to buck your hips into him, the pleasure overwhelming. you needed release, to feel how you felt when you rode his thigh, but something told you this would be a much better orgasm.

ben’s teeth around your nipple snaps you back into reality. “t-that hurts!” he doesn’t give up, waiting for your words. he applied more pressure, revelling in the way you squirmed.

“please! im daddy’s good girl, i am!” you moan as the pain started to turn into pleasure. ben took note of it, chuckling against you. “look at you, so dirty. you’re so desperate for daddy, arent you? you close, doll? you wanna cum around your dad’s thick cock?”

you shut your eyes tight, drool leaking down the side of your mouth, snot dripping down your nose. “yes, please. i need to cum so bad. i’m so, so close!”

ben’s thrusts become animalistic, fucking you raw, so hard that he thinks there may be blood. his heavy balls slap against your ass, “you gonna milk me dry, sweetheart? milk me with that tight, virgin pussy? well… it’s not anymore,” he laughed.

you moaned, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him close. your bare chests flush against each other. “oh—fuck. it’s too much!”

your head fell back as your body jerked violently. you exploded around him with a scream. “fuck! oh, my god.”

your desperate cries and pulsing core pushed ben over the edge, his cock twitching in you before releasing ropes of hot seed. he pushed himself into you as far as he could go, wanting—no—needing to fill your womb. “fuck, sweetheart. you’re such a good fucking girl, sucking my cock in so hard, so greedy.”

he thrusted in a few more times, pushing his seed deeper in you, before pulling out. he watched your gaping hole as it clenched around nothing, some of his cum spilling out. he admired his work, watching your bruised cunt spasm.

he let out a chuckle, and leaned down to press his lips against your forehead. “you did so well, doll. such a good girl,” he whispered. he moved down and began to place kisses over your face. cheeks, nose, lips. he realized how tired and worn out you looked, eyes half-lidded as you fell in and out of consciousness. “rest up, little one, tomorrow i want to teach you something more exciting.”

masterlist | requests: open ⋆.˚