ᥫ᭡.

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚Jensen Ackles 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚Shawn Hatosy 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

[sobadbad]

QUEER AS FOLK 3.11

[briansjustin]

[polinsated]

britin -> hollanov + goodnight/goodbye kisses

[kissthigh]

someone asked me if i liked jon bernthal and i’m not sure about him irl… but these gifs changed my life

[kissthigh]

Drunk Calls ୨ৎ

Summary: everything goes wrong when you’re at a party, including your boyfriend cheating on you. You decide to call up Beau Arlen, your dad’s best friend, and ask for some help; unfortunately for him, you’re drunker than you’d like to be. ♡ warnings: NSFW, MDNI, 18+, smut, unprotected sex, drunk sex, oral sex (f!receiving), kissing (neck + stomach), mentions of drug use, pet-names (kid, sweetheart, darling etc), teasing, sweet beau arlen, age-gap (user is 21+), taboo-ish subjects, dbf!beau arlen, no mentions of y/n, reader-insert. .ᐟ.ᐟ: here is... everyone's fav man on earth lol ENJOYYY <333

The phone vibrated against the bar table, one o’clock in the morning on the dot, a thread of unreadable texts from you.

Beau was seated in the dingy bar, his hand holding a glass of whisky, his hair a mess from a day's work–he was tired as hell, deciding to wind down at the local dive, only to be interrupted by you.

He glances at his phone, eyebrows furrowing at the notification; you were spam texting him, the contact name making him swallow hard; your dad’s name followed by ‘daughter’ in brackets, your number placed in his phone for mere emergencies, and clearly it was one.

The music was loud as hell, even when you were sitting on the porch, your mind in a drunken haze, your friends ditching you, your boyfriend cheating on you. It was a fucking mess, and there was no way in hell you could phone your parents–they’d kill you if they knew where you were: a party, drinking, doing drugs, doing everything they raised you not to do.

The last contact in your phone that made some sense was Beau Arlen, your dad’s best friend, somebody you grew up with, and you hope you can trust, because you’re currently phoning him.

“Beau,” you slur over the phone, sniffling, the soft noise evident over the line.

“Hey… hey… y’okay?” Beau quickly asks, holding the phone close to his ear, already leaving the bar in a hurry. “What’s goin’ on, kid? You hurt?” he presses, already climbing into his car.

“No…” You murmur, glancing over your shoulder at the front door of the house, your hand shaking. “Don’t feel good…” You add, whining softly, and Beau is shifting his car into reverse, dipping out of the parking lot.

“Where’re you? You in town, sweetheart?” he asks, hitting the empty roads, aimlessly driving down them with his phone to his ear. Despite being the town sheriff, he was breaking the law, all for you.

“Mmm… some party… a house,” you mumble, biting your lip, feeling that fuzziness only growing stronger. “I… I don’t know where, no… no idea,” you add, and he’s cursing, gripping the steering wheel with one hand.

“Can ya’ send me y’er location, darlin’? Do that f’me, stay on the phone,” Beau asks, and you nod despite him being unable to see the drunk gesture.

Your shaky hands pull the phone away from your ear, and your fingers fumble, hanging up on him, but still managing to send him the location anyway. He’s cursing again, tossing his phone in the passenger seat the minute the line goes dead, but the address soothes some part of him, and he’s going forty over.

Beau finds the address quickly, navigating the roads of the familiar town easily, and he pulls up in front of the house, his eyes widening at the sight of you. You were sitting–slumped–on the porch, wearing a tight-fitting dress, short and riding up, an oblivious look on your face as you hold your arms, shielding yourself from the bitter cold. His heart lurches, and he’s parking his Land Rover, immediately climbing out.

Other young adults spill from the front door and the backyard, giggling obnoxiously, drunkenly swearing, and he’s trying his best not to pull out his badge and bust the whole fukcing neighbourhood for drugs, and God knows what, mostly because they left you in this state.

“Darlin’, Jesus Christ,” Beau mumbles as he approaches the steps, eyes sharp and staring at you. “C’mon, need to get ya’ home, quick,” he insists, reaching for your hand.

“No… no, Beau… can’t go home,” you whine, looking up at him with those heavy, drunk eyes, and he clenches his jaw. “My parents… m’dad…” you add, shaking your head, and he nods.

“S’fine… can take you to my house, kid, c’mon,” he reassures, and you take his hand, legs wobbly when you stand, and you’re practically falling into him. He catches you.

“What the hell did ya’ drink?” Beau asks as you walk across the damp lawn, and he’s mostly dragging you; his arms holding you up, and you’re tugging down the tight dress, trying not to show off too much of your legs.

“Don’t know,” you shake your head again, your hair draping in front of your face, head drooping, and he’s sighing at the sight of you.

“Never do it again,” he mumbles, opening the car door for you and helping you inside.

You’re all dead-weight and limbless, and he’s pulling down your dress for you, his large hands moving over your thighs, buckling you in. He pauses, still ducking to peer in at you, and he turns his head to look at you; eyes half-lidded, and you’re biting your lip.

“Baby girl,” Beau says under his breath, his chest squeezing. You look terrible.

He pats your thigh, quickly shutting the door and running across to the driver’s side. When he slides in, he’s looking over at you again, his gaze lingering on the way your dress keeps riding up, the scoop of the neckline inviting unwanted eyes, and he wishes he could’ve been there to protect you from that hell.

“Beau,” you whine quietly when he begins driving, and you rest your head against the window.

“What, darlin’?” he asks, glancing over at you, holding the wheel.

“M’feel weird,” you tell him, shifting your hips against the leather seats, and he clears his throat.

“Y’er drunk, baby,” he tells you casually, looking away when he makes a right turn. “Supposed t’feel weird, that’s the point of drinkin’,” he states, clicking his tongue.

“Don’t like it,” you mumble, shifting in your seat like you can’t get comfortable.

“That’s why m’takin’ you home,” he nods, sighing quietly when he makes a left turn and he notices the grin that suddenly pulled into your lips just as he glanced away.

“Taking me home,” you repeat, laughing quietly to yourself, and he furrows his eyebrows.

“Takin’ you home,” he confirms, nodding, fingers tapping the wheel.

“Like… for sex?” you ask, turning your head to look at him, and his neck practically snaps to look at you.

He can’t blame you for the question–you’re fucking inebriated, all drowsy and your lips are pouting, practically drooling on yourself. He huffs a breath, lifting a hand to rub across his jaw.

“No, not to have sex with you,” Beau shakes his head, and he notices the smile drifting away from your lips. “Met y’er boyfriend, kid,” he mentions, like that’s the only reason he won't have sex with you.

“Yeah… mhm… ex-boyfriend,” you correct, looking out of the window at the streetlights.

Beau goes quiet, choosing not to pry when you’re vulnerable and probably on the verge of puking and crying. He taps the steering wheel, keeping an eye on you, blinking when he notices the way your hands move around, grabbing at the uncomfortable dress you just want off.

Minutes go by before his car starts pulling onto the gravel road, leading him to the trailer he lives in. It’s small, just enough for a man his age. And he’s parking it, mentally preparing himself to deal with you for the rest of the night. He glances at you, and you mumble something he can’t quite understand.

Beau is already on the other side, fishing you out of the passenger seat. He practically has you over his shoulder, but still lets your feet hit the ground. He’s using all of his strength to keep you up, and you’re whining quietly, and he closes his eyes, pushing open the front door of the trailer.

Your hazy eyes look around when he flips on a light; just a couch and a coffee table, a few stray beer cans in the kitchenette, and a tiny hallway that leads to where he sleeps. It’s a queen-size bed, and he’s dumping your drunk body on it, and you groan.

“Jesus Christ,” Beau groans too, peeling off his corduroy jacket, hanging it up on the door behind him, ignoring you for just a second.

“What…” you whine to him, gazing up at him as he moves around his bedroom.

“Y’er fuckin’ smashed,” he mumbles, looking back at you again; you’re half on the bed, your legs mostly dangling off the edge, heels still on your feet, dress back to riding up, and he rubs a hand over his mouth.

“Yeah… can feel it,” you agree, not even bothering to deny the dozens of shots you took, and maybe a line you snorted under the guise of ‘coping’ with your boyfriend cheating.

“Not tellin’ y’er daddy or nothin’ but… c’mon,” Beau scolds quietly, almost standing over you, and you look up at him, eyes almost closing.

“No–Beau, don’t… m’gonna be killed, please, please, Beau,” you plead, a burst of drunken begs, and he’s shaking his head.

“I ain’t gonna tell him a thing,” he promises, huffing once again. “I will if ya’ end up like this again, though,” he threatens, and he watches your head tip back against his messy sheets. 

He’s trying not to look at you differently right now; every instinct is fighting against him, but it’s hard not to when your head is tipped back, and you’re whining his name, and you’re begging for something, and you’re asking him things, and you’re all pretty and drunk. He sighs again.

“Promise me ya’ won’t,” Beau starts, groaning as he moves to stand before you, slightly between your legs, and you look up at him.

“Beau,” you whine to him, and he’s reaching down, carefully picking up your ankle; a tender touch, rough fingers working to take off the uncomfortable heel.

“What, sunshine?” he mumbles, carefully dropping one ankle, just to pick up another one, repeating the same gesture.

“I like you… so much,” you whisper to him, biting your lip.

Beau’s eyes flick up to you, and he pauses, unsure of your implications; it’s either a middle school crush confession, or you just thanking him for getting you out of this mess. He nods in acknowledgment, setting down your ankle.

“I like ya’ too,” he tells you, standing between your legs, looking down at you.

“Yeah? Like… girlfriend-boyfriend,” you babble, and his eyes widen, quickly shaking his head.

“No–no, sweetheart, ain’t no girlfriend-boyfriend thing goin’ on here,” he immediately denies, shaking his head again, and he watches your lips curl into a frown in real time.

“But,” you mumble, biting your lip in distress, and your hips shift. “I… I want you to be my boyfriend, please,” you softly beg, and Beau is staring down at you, his green eyes sharp, his hair still messy from his long shift.

“My girl,” he laughs in disbelief, looking up at the ceiling, asking God for some assistance. “Y’er a crazy thing, always, especially drunk n’ stupid,” he decides to tease you a little, and you grin, refusing to give up.

“Crazy… crazy for you,” you giggle, and Beau is just watching, his tongue swiping across his teeth.

“Lost y’er mind,” he tilts his head to the side, looking down at the uncomfortable fabric of your dress, and you notice, and you have no issue speaking up.

“Take it off… me,” you tell him, smiling stupidly, and he blinks.

“M’will,” he drawls, his southern accent thicker to your drunk mind. “Jus’ cause it’s uncomfrotable, that’s why,” he confirms, nodding.

You bite your lip when he inches further between your thighs, and you slowly lift your leg, practically hitching your thigh over his hip. He catches it–the position has him realizing what it looks like: him between your legs, holding your thigh up, and he can see your underwear completely. He looks away, at the window.

His best friend’s fucking daughter. Your dad’s best friend.

“What?” you mutter, noticing the pause, and he looks back, scoffing.

“C’mon,” he practically whispers, begging you to stop testing every restraint. “Don’t be like this, baby,” he shakes his head, swallowing hard.

“Not doing a thing,” you deny, and he’s rubbing your thigh gently, his large palm moving over the soft skin, squeezing gently. 

You’re all sensitive and pliant from the alcohol, and the light touch sends your head back in awe, and he’s itching to see what else little touch can get from you. He needs to snap out of it; you were a girl he used to have on his lap at get-togethers, hands braiding your hair, and now he was rubbing your legs, and feeling himself getting hard.

“Right… ain’t a thing,” Beau mutters, shaking his head, and he looks between your thighs.

“Mhm…” you slur, feeling his warm hand remaining on your thigh, just rubbing, squeezing again.

“You feelin’ okay?” he then asks, sliding his hand up your leg and to where the hem of your dress meets your leg, and he lightly puts a finger beneath.

“Feel so good,” you nod, biting your lip, that drowsiness from the alcohol making your eyes flutter.

“Yeah? Feelin’ good?” Beau repeats, carefully beginning to slide up the tight dress, and he sucks in a breath through his teeth, jaw ticking.

“Ah–cold in here,” you gasp, feeling the cool air of the trailer brushing your bare thighs, and he carefully drops your hitched thigh onto the bed again. 

“M’know, sweetheart,” he nods, leaning down to help your dress up past your hips, and he looks down; your underwear, just white and soft, cotton, and then the strip of your bare stomach above it. He looks up at you, eyes darker.

“Sure you don’t like me?” you grin, your teeth showing, and your hair fanned behind your head.

“M’sure,” Beau grits, using both hands to slide up your hips, and he’s gripping the bare skin now. “Known ya’s since you were a lil’ thing, kid’,” he tells you.

There’s a pause in the bedroom, and your mouth hangs open in awe, feeling his hands holding onto your warm skin, your dress halfway up your stomach, legs spread. You look at him, blinking slowly, and he is too.

He slowly runs his hands down your thighs again, and you naturally pull your legs up, resting your feet on the bed instead of letting them dangle off the end of the bed. He clenches his jaw, the muscles twitching, and he leans closer, dipping down slightly until his knees press the edge of the bed.

“Poor girl,” he murmurs, gently massaging your thighs, and your head tips back now, eyes falling closed fully.

“Beau,” you plead, the sound breathy and almost inaudible.

“Baby,” he mumbles back to you, and you spread your legs even further, and he notices.

“M’feel weird again,” you mutter to him, eyes gazing at the ceiling of his trailer. “All warm… fuzzy.”

“Where do ya’ feel warm n’ fuzzy?” he whispers, licking his lips.

“Between my thighs,” you mumble now, and his hands stop rubbing your legs, and his eyes narrow, swallowing hard.

“Between y’er thighs?” Beau asks for confirmation, looking between your thighs, at the front of your underwear; the wet spot, blooming right there, and he holds back a groan.

“Uh-huh… between them,” you whisper, lifting your hips off the bed, and he breathes out.

“Y’okay?” he murmurs, trying to deflect from how obviously wet you’ve gotten from him touching and undressing you.

“No…” you whimper, shaking your head, and he notices the switch in your demeanour; eyes filling with tears, and he instantly slaps himself for thinking anything else.

“Hey… hey, kid, what’s goin’ on?” Beau asks, moving further between your legs until they loosely wrap around his waist, and he’s practically on top of you.

“My… my boyfriend,” you start, sniffling, staring up at Beau. “Cheated on me,” you finish, nodding quickly, and his features settle.

“That why y’er all drunk n’ stupid, darlin’?” he asks quietly, a hand sliding from your hip to brush sweaty hair from your face, cupping it. “Boyfriend not treatin’ you well?”

“Never did, Beau,” you mumble, shaking your head, leaning into his warm palm. “Never… never, ever, was so… so mean, Beau; he didn’t do anything right,” you ramble on, and his thumb focuses on your cheekbone.

“Shh, y’er alright, baby,” he whispers, licking his lips again, and he leans down a little, closer to your face. “Wanna hear a secret?” he asks, and he watches your eyes light up.

“Yeah… mhm,” you mumble quickly, and Beau grins at your eagerness.

“Always thought that boyfriend of yours was a dick,” he mumbles, leaning a bit closer, bypassing your face and leaning towards your ear. “Didn’ deserve ya’, sweetheart,” he mumbles, kissing the side of your head. 

Beau pulls back and gazes down at you, using his thumb to rub the temple of your head instead. He focuses on you, eyes crinkling from the little smile pulling into his lips, and you look at his lips. Your drunk mind does it for you, and you kiss him.

He kisses back, lazily moving his mouth against yours, and he can taste the alcohol on your lips; sweet and bitter at the same time, and your noses brush and touch, pushing against your face, and he’s groaning, crawling further onto the bed.

His hand still holds your face, gently gripping it, and his other one is grasping at the flesh on your hip, and he pushes his own against yours. His denim is all rough against your bare thighs, the thick buckle of his belt leaving an indent, and your head tips back in the moment.

Beau doesn’t hesitate to start gently kissing your jawline, his scruff right against your soft skin, trailing down your neck and to your shoulder where your flimsy dress tips down your arms. He’s feverish and quick, all urgent and hungry, and your head is against his messy sheets, and you’re already moaning softly. You blame the alcohol. 

“Darlin’,” he groans, his strong nose running up the side of your neck. “What’re we doin’?” he asks, but he doesn't even buffer; he immediately licks a stripe, his tongue warm and wet. 

“Don’t care,” you shake your head, sliding a hand up to tangle into the back of his hair, leaving it even messier than it was before.

“Don’t care, huh?” he asks quickly, beginning to move further down your body, his nose suddenly nudging your navel, and your eyes widen.

“Beau,” you moan softly, and he’s mouthing at your lower stomach, leaving a trail of red marks from his stubble, and you whimper.

“Got you, baby,” Beau mumbles, his breath warm, and he dips his head, already pressing his lips against your underwear. He's wanted to ever since he saw them.

You gasp, and immediately moan louder, toes curling into his plaid sheets, and you tug his hair. He groans, nudging his nose into the wet spot, nuzzling, getting you off on just that; it has your back already arching, your head tipped back. 

“Smell… s’good,” he groans right into you, teeth nipping at the damp white fabric, his nose nudging into your clothed clit. “Sweetheart…” he drawls, that Texan accent unforgiving.

You’re limp against the sheets, all limp, and soft, and the alcohol is heightening every damn sense, and he’s already working your underwear down with hard, working hands, sliding them down your thighs and off your legs. He helps you, moving the dead weight around like it’s nothing, and he dives back in, groaning when his mouth meets your bare core.

Beau slides his hands to your hips, gripping them, holding them in place so you don’t writhe around too much. He holds you still, mouth moving against you; tongue lapping up the wetness, nose buried, and he sucks, and sucks, knowing every groove and spot, and you’re drunk–off pleasure and the dozens of shots.

“Fuck,” he curses against you, the sounds of your heavy breathing and moaning mixing with the sound of him devouring you. It’s obscene, and an endless stream of noises between the two of you. 

He’s running off the idea of this being so fucking wrong–going down on his best friend’s daughter after secretly picking her up, and she’s whining, pleading for him not to tell a soul. He’s groaning into you again.

“Mmm… please,” you whimper, the words sliding off your lips flawlessly, and he’s looking up from between your thighs, his green eyes finding you amidst the pleasure.

“M’got ya’... m’here,” Beau murmurs right into you, and the deepness of his voice runs vibrations through your abdomen, and you grip his hair tighter, tossing your head back again.

He’s relentless against you, sliding his tongue through your folds, focusing upwards and against your clit, lightly sucking, his eyes focusing on the faces you’re making. He even grinds into the mattress slightly, grunting, getting off just the look of you.

He’s losing his damn mind, and he slowly slides up, moving his mouth away from your core, and the whine you make has him dizzy. His hand is fumbling downwards, unbuckling his belt urgently, feeling how hard he is, straining right against the front of his jeans, and you’re helplessly squirming, dizzy as ever. 

“Gonna be s’good f’me,” Beau mutters, and you can hear his zipper faintly falling, his jeans loosely hanging on his hips in an urgent rush to get to you. You’re already wet; your own slick and his saliva. 

“Mhm… m’good for you,” you babble out, nodding, and he’s shifting up to you, your foreheads touching, and he’s panting heavily, pulling you back into a feverish kiss.

Beau goes back to making out with you, and you can taste your own sweetness on his lips, tongues tangling. You whimper into the kiss the minute his thick head rubs against your entrance, prodding, just reminding you of what’s to come. 

“Won’t tell y’er daddy about… you drinkin’,” he mumbles into the kiss, pulling back, saliva connecting your mouths. “If ya’ don’t… tell him bout’ me fuckin’ you, yeah?” he groans, and you’re nodding quickly, not even a second thought.

You’d still let him fuck you, even if he told the whole neighbourhood you got this drunk. 

Beau rocks his hips forward, burying himself into you, and your head tips back, both of you in awe of how it feels; he’s bigger than you expected, and you’re tighter than he expected, too.

“Oh, my gosh,” you whimper, grabbing hold of his shoulder, feeling his nose resting by your cheek. He’s panting, warm huffs on your skin.

“Darlin’,” he grunts, carefully beginning to thrust, prominent jolts of his hips right into you.

“Beau,” you moan again, and his eyes close, mouth hanging open, melting right on top of you. He’s always been an easy man. 

“Y’er… so fuckin’... tight, sweetheart,” he grunts out again, his hips fluid and slow, but quickening with each clench. “So… tight aroun’ me… God,” he huffs, burying his face in your shoulder.

“So… so deep,” you babble out, unbelievably not used to this; actually feeling whole, feeling each thrust, deep and intentional, completely unlike your ex-boyfriend.

“Yeah?” Beau mumbles, mouthing at your neck again. “Fuckin’ ya’ better than… any boyfriend you have, doll,” he groans, thrusting harder, quicker.

“Mhm…” you already agree, completely convinced nothing is better than this; your dad’s best friend.

“Ain’t gonna be… fucked like this again,” he mutters in your ear, his nose nudging at the shell of it. “You’ll be thinkin’ of me… every damn time,” his words spill out, his voice deeper, heavier. 

“Just you… mhm, just you,” you nod again, beyond drunk off his words and just how quickly he’s moving now, hitting deep inside of you. Too deep; you almost want to complain.

“So good f’me… perfect baby,” Beau nods again, and he can feel himself getting closer already, and you can too–it’ll be the first time in fucking forever, and he’s purposely keeping the pace and rhythm the same, noticing a look on your face.

“Gonna cum, huh? C’mon… darlin’, come on,” he mumbles, not changing a thing about the movement of his hips; he knows what to do well, clearly, knowing that what he’s giving you right now is enough. 

“M’close…” you whimper, eyes squeezing shut, and your stomach clenches, and that’s when he presses his hand against it, long fingers splayed across your abdomen.

“In y’er pretty stomach, mhm, ain’t I?” he groans out, and the words are only coaxing more sounds of you, more reasons to finish. “Deep in ya’... can feel me, everything, yeah, sweetheart?”

You’re not sure if it’s because you’re drunk or because it’s the greatest sex of your life, but you cum hard, harder than any man, or even your own fingers will do; you groan, body shuddering, toes curling, and you clench around Beau. He groans, almost louder than you, just at how good you feel, how pretty you look while you finish. 

“Look at ya…” he whispers out, watching your features contorting in ways he hasn’t seen before, and he quickens his thrusts, chasing his own high.

It comes fast, and you’re instantly whining the minute you feel it in you; a burst of warmth inside of you, a foreign feeling. You never let a man cum inside of you, not even your boyfriend, despite the times he begged and begged, and now here Beau was, stuffing you full, and your eyes are almost rolling back at just how relentless he is.

“Mmm… darlin’,” he drawls out, refusing to pull out, wanting to keep you full and warm, a constant reminder of what you two just did. He’s pressing at your stomach, almost fascinated with the connection between you two.

“Beau,” you breathe out, words still slurred, your mind a mess, and he’s panting, pulling back to look down at you. His mouth glistens; saliva and slick, still. 

“S’good, all f’me,” he mumbles, his hand leaving your hip, red marks imprinted on the skin, and he brushes back your sweaty hair. “Feel me, yeah? All in ya’?” he asks, and you nod quickly.

“Mhm,” you mumble, awkwardly shifting your hips, and you both groan at the feeling.

“All in y’er stomach,” Beau adds on, rubbing his thumb over your lower abdomen, right where he’s stuffed inside. “Ain’t let any man jus’ do that to ya’, huh?” he asks, cocking his head to the side, and you hate how he’s right.

“Never…” you breathe out, and his chest swells with some sick pride. 

“Jus’ me… fillin’ y’up,” he nods, placing a kiss on your forehead. “Only me.”

“Only you,” you swallow hard and nod, your eyes finding each other in the heat of the trailer.

The next time you see Beau is too casual, too casual after what happened; you walking down the street, your dog on a leash, and Beau’s just pulling into your driveway, coming over to help your dad with something.

“Darlin’,” Beau greets as he hops out of his car, and you’re frozen in the driveway, your dog tugging to see him. “Someone happy t’see me,” he laughs, dropping to his knee to rub at your dog’s head, who is used to him being affectionate.

“Hi…” you mumble, shaking your head, taking a few steps towards Beau, swallowing hard. 

“Y’okay?” Beau asks you, looking up at you, his green eyes hitting the sun perfectly, loose strands drifting in the wind. 

“Yeah… yeah, I’m fine,” you nod, your cheeks bright red, and the sun isn’t helping your case.

“M’glad,” he smiles up at you, standing to his full height, resting his thumbs in his belt. “Y’er daddy invited me f’lunch,” he nods, trying to act as normal as possible. You’re struggling. 

“Oh… nice,” you mumble, and he can tell what’s on your mind. He glances around the neighbourhood before stepping closer to you.

“Haven’t told y’er parents, kid,” he reassures you quietly, resting a hand on your shoulder, squeezing. “Y’er okay,” he whispers, briefly kissing your forehead before turning on his heel and heading to the front door.

This is just your life now. 

[kissthigh]

A Christmas Party ୨ৎ

Summary: It’s your first Christmas with your older boyfriend, and you decide to invite him to the family get-together, even if you aren’t the most loyal to faith anymore. Your attitude drives him crazy, and he has to deal with it. ♡ warnings: NSFW, MDNI, 18+, age-gap, smut, oral sex (m!receiving), public sex, hair pulling, light slapping, pet names (kid a few times, daddy, sweetheart, etc) mock sympathy/praise, degradation/praise, breeding kink, unprotected sex, creampie, humiliation, religious themes, reader-insert, no mentions of y/n, user is 21+. wc: 6k | : this request was so cute because i love christmas but then i went overboard and made it a freak show. im sorry i love u all its long

The December air chilled right through your plaid dress, your Mary Janes pressing into the crunchy snow on the doorstep, and your boyfriend stood beside you, gently holding your hand. You were both mentally preparing for the inevitable: meeting your entire family tree. 

December twenty-third, just two days before Christmas, and your strict Catholic parents did it every year: hosted a large get-together at your childhood home, inviting every damn family member, each branch, people you’re sure you haven’t met before, and this year you were bringing him, your boyfriend.

Every nerve of yours was on fire, knowing how taboo the situation you were in was. Dating a man who was either closer to your father’s age or even older wasn’t the most normal thing, especially in your family, who urged you to date a boy from your church, one of the ones who begged you to stay ‘pure’ before being married off, only to divorce in a few years because you two were truly incompatible.

You had left the church years ago. They barely knew that; you had run off with the man beside you.

“You nervous?” your boyfriend mumbles quietly to you, and your eyes are fixed on the obnoxious wreath hanging outside of the door. You hesitantly nod.

“Yeah… really nervous,” you tell him, turning your head to gaze at him, and you want to scold him for wearing such casual attire- just a canvas jacket and some jeans; meanwhile, you stood beside him like a church girl–it was more modest than anything you ever wore.

“You’ll be fine, baby,” he reassures, gently squeezing your cold hand, and the winter air nips at both of your necks.

You’re about to scold him for getting the whiff of cigarettes on him, but the door swings open and your eyes widen, staring at your parents before you. Their eyes widen too, and they immediately dart their eyes towards the man beside you; tall, shaggy hair. Disapproval is evident in their gaze.

“Honey,” your mom suddenly smiles, her neck decorated with pearls, a large cross beneath the other jewelry. “So glad you made it… so glad you made it!” she cheers, and you can smell the scent of food wafting in from the busy kitchen.

“Kiddo,” your dad chimes in, not even hesitating to pull you in by the shoulders, and your boyfriend awkwardly shuffles in behind you. “Missed you, a whole bunch.”

“Yeah… yeah, I missed you guys,” you nod, and you turn to look at your boyfriend, who is standing beside you, his hand on your lower back, his eyes elsewhere.

He’s mostly looking at the decor strung around your childhood home. The crucifixes hanging in the living room, the bright lights on the railings–it looks like Christmas threw up all over the place, and you shift on your feet, your mom helping you take off your jacket.

“And who is this handsome man?” your mom beams, and you recognize that fake smile from the grocery store, the similar one she uses when she’s trying to charm the cashier into letting her use an expired coupon.

“My boyfriend,” you smile, and he’s smiling too, and you recognize his fake smile–the one he uses when he’s about to knock the daylights out of the guy hitting on you at a bar. It’s just your fucking mother.

“It’s nice to meet ya’,” your dad joins in, holding out his hand, and your boyfriend looks at him next, taking his hand in his, giving him a firm shake and a nod.

“Very nice to meet the two of you.” Your boyfriend nods, and your mom finds her way to him in the small front foyer, taking off his jacket. It reeks like cigarettes, and you’re pretty sure a half-empty flask is weighing it down.

“Your aunts and uncles are gonna be here soon, sweetheart,” your mom explains, hanging up your jackets, and your dad is currently eyeing the man who could pass as his age, or maybe is his age. It would be rude to ask.

“I know,” you mumble nervously, and your mom glances down at your outfit, smiling at the modest choice: a long plaid dress and black tights, your boyfriend smirking at the thought of you trying to dress that way when he’s seen how you usually dress around him.

There’s an awkward pause at the front door, and you swallow hard, your boyfriend shuffling closer to you, and he’s placing his hand on your back again. The oven timer saves the day, and it begins beeping, signalling that more sugar cookies are ready to be taken out, and your mom grins.

“Well! You two… love-birds, make yourself at home,” she smiles, nudging your dad, who is still glaring at your boyfriend and his unshaven beard. “You know where we’ll be,” she nods.

“Thanks, mom…” You mumble, looking up at your boyfriend, who is still giving that fake smile, and you can see your dad clenching his fist as the two of them disappear around the corner, heading into the kitchen.

“Kid…” your boyfriend mumbles, and you immediately nudge his waist, and he’s laughing.

“Stop,” you whisper-yell through gritted teeth, looking over your shoulder after you turn to face him.

“I know you said your family is… weird, but Jesus Christ… literally,” he shoots, and you can't help but smile at his wit, and you nod, knowing exactly what he means.

“Wait until you meet the other seventy-five percent,” you tease, and he groans, tipping his head back. “My grandma… grandpa, the whole family tree,” you shrug, and he’s mentally preparing himself.

“Your outfit looks ridiculous,” he suddenly says through a laugh, glancing down at it. “Wanna take it off you,” he says casually, and your eyes widen, cheeks flushing red.

“Okay, you can’t… say anything like that at all,” you shake your head quickly and grab his hand, pulling him towards the staircase. You decide to take him up to your childhood bedroom.

His feet are heavy on the wooden staircase, and he trails behind you, glancing at the hung-up pictures and even more crucifixes nailed into the wallpaper. He scoffs under his breath, following your lead, but regretting ever saying ‘yes’ to you dragging him here.

Your bedroom door swings open, and he looks around, an immediate smile curling into his stoic look. It’s all bright pink and childish, completely frozen in time, and he’s stepping ahead of you, laughing at the sight of it.

“Haven’t changed at all, have you, baby?” he smiles, looking at the stuffed animals neatly lined on your bed, and he recalls the many you have tucked on your shared bed back home.

“Shut up,” you scowl, shutting the door and quickly locking it.

“No… no, it’s adorable,” he mumbles, his hands in his pockets as he approaches your desk, gazing down at the stacks of books and then to the bulletin board on your wall.

He squints; polaroids of you and your friends, dorky photographs of you in middle school, a few candids of you when you were just a girl, and he plucks one off of the board; you at fifteen, probably wearing the same dress you are right now.

“Huh,” he teases, his rough thumb rubbing over the picture, and looks back at you. “Just a little thing, still are,” he nods, and you’re quickly walking over, eyes narrowing at the photo.

“Hey! Don’t touch that!” you immediately whine, knowing how incredibly foolish you look in the picture, and he lifts his hand, completely making it unreachable. He smirks.

“Stand on your tiptoes, sweetheart,” he quips, already knowing you were, and you whine in frustration, tipping your head back to look up at the photograph above his head.

“I hate you,” you whimper, standing flat on your feet, still wearing your black shoes. You huff.

“Look at you,” he coos, lowering his hand and casually sliding the image into his back pocket, and then cupping your cheek. “Sweet girl.” he looks at your outfit again, smirking.

“Stop doing that,” you quietly protest, knowing his wandering eyes find your modest outfit quite amusing, and you can feel his eyes undressing you. He purposely picked out your bra and underwear today, for that exact reason.

“Admiring my girl?” he asks, his rough thumb rubbing over your cheekbone.

“Dad…” you whisper to him, looking away, and his eyebrows raise.

“We doin’ that here, kid?” he ticks his head at the name you just called him, dad, and he can’t help but find it entertaining that you’re saying it here, your biological father just below.

You just look up at him, pouting, and he slides his thumb down to your lip, pulling at the plush flesh. He licks his own lips, unable to pull his gaze away from your innocent eyes, and he leans forward, nudging his nose against the side of your jaw.

“Hey,” you whisper, feeling him gently mouthing at the side of your neck, and you press your hand to his chest. “Stop… my parents, come on.”

“Really feelin’ the Christmas spirit,” he teases, pulling back from you. “Getting all Virgin Mary on me,” he smiles, and he watches your cheeks flush in real time.

“No… it’s just… my parents would shoot me, and then you, if they walked in on this,” you explain, and he laughs at your explanation, slapping the side of your hip. Way too loud.

“Your daddy gonna come in and kill me?” he asks, grinning.

“Yeah, probably,” you nod, and he’s back at it; his stupid hand that was on your hip, now sliding up the plaid fabric, and your eyes widen.

“Five minutes,” he edges on, his warm palm already sliding to your tights, and you’re shaking your head. “Come on, for dad, baby,” he presses, and you’re whining quietly to him.

The doorbell rings, and immediately your name is called, and you look at your boyfriend, who looks like cold water was just dumped on his damn head. You bite your lip, and he slides his hand out from under your plaid dress, landing a harder slap onto your hip.

“Not my fault,” you quietly protest, and he’s looking down at you, nodding towards your bedroom door again, silently telling you to lead the way. You do.

You quickly slip out of your bedroom, and he’s walking closely behind, eyes focusing on the shapeless dress and the black tights he’ll be ripping and tearing later on, knowing the underwear beneath it, the ones he told you to put on. He swallows hard when you walk down the stairs.

You’re overwhelmed when you reach the bottom step; your relatives are packing into the foyer already, smiling and laughing, and you can hear the light Christmas music from the stereo system. The festive party is in full swing now, and you’re going to have to act as normal as possible.

You’re awkwardly hugging people you barely know, and your boyfriend watches from the sidelines, looking up at the ceiling, his jaw clenched whenever he receives a disapproving scowl.

“This is your boyfriend, sweetie?” your aunt grins, looking at your boyfriend, who’s gazing at the older woman, nodding along with you.

“Yeah… he is, my boyfriend,” you mutter nervously, and you can feel your other relatives pushing around you, trying to find the living room with refreshments and snacks.

“Well… I know your mom wouldn’t mind being a grandma soon,” she teases with a grin, and your cheeks suddenly flush pink, and your boyfriend subtly pinches your hip.

“I–yeah… maybe soon,” you nervously laugh, shrugging and looking up at your boyfriend.

“Definitely,” he speaks up, swiftly sliding his hand around your waist, squeezing. “Isn’t that right, little lady?” he grins sarcastically, and your aunt is the only person who seems to be a little forgiving.

“I’ll see you around.” Your aunt smiles and nods, turning around to join the others, and you immediately look up at your boyfriend, eyebrows furrowing in displeasure.

“Do you always have to be weird?” you ask him, and he shrugs, his hand sliding down to squeeze your ass next, and you shift.

“I’ll stop when your family stops askin’ if I’m gonna give you a baby,” he counters, and you’ve never rolled your eyes harder as you pull away from him, scoffing, and walking towards the others. 

Your boyfriend is right behind you, two hands on your hips, lightly guiding you towards the living room where fewer people sit. He’s tapping his thumbs against your body, giving small nods to your relatives who eye him.

“Can’t believe they’re wonderin’ when I’m gonna cum in you,” he mumbles just for you to hear, and you tense at his words, but he’s right. “Maybe I’ll do it here,” he offers, the irony making you squirm.

The two of you find an empty place on the couch in your living room– the family room, dining room, and kitchen mostly packed–it’s just you and him on the couch, the Christmas tree spinning around, ornaments glinting in the dim light. You sigh, and he parts his legs, hips lifting as he adjusts himself, a hand resting on his own thigh, the other around your shoulders.

“I wanna go home, dad,” you mumble to him, and he smiles at the complaint, turning his head to kiss your temple.

“I know, baby,” he mutters, kissing it again. “You’ll be fine… make you feel real good when we get home, yeah?” he promises, his hand rubbing over your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you nod and turn to face him, and he’s already looking at you, finding that sweet look to be absolutely heartbreaking.

“This dress is so uncomfortable,” you complain some more, awkwardly tugging down the fabric, and he looks down at the sheer tights, adding a dark tint to your legs. “And everything is too tight, and I wanna go home,” you whine, and he’s smiling, amused again.

“How about I get us some drinks?” he offers, nodding towards the refreshment table your mom had neatly set out, a few other little festive treats scattered throughout. “I’ll be back,” he tells you, nodding, and he’s already standing up.

You watch him navigate through the crowd; his frame broad, and he’s so damn tall, lightly moving through your family members who aren’t used to the strange man wandering around, and he disappears around the corner, into the abyss of your judgmental family.

He returns in just a few minutes; he holds a clear glass filled with a thick white liquid, and just a beer for himself. You squint at the drink, and he sits down with a heavy sigh.

“Here, kid,” he tells you, handing you the drink, and you take it. “Eggnog,” he confirms, and you sniff it–it doesn’t smell like normal eggnog.

“Are you sure?” you ask him hesitantly, staring down at the mysterious liquid, and you hold it to your nose again. “Smells… gross,” you mumble.

“Spiked eggnog,” he clarifies, already taking a pull of the cold beer. “Won't make you so anxious, and all squirmy,” he smiles, putting his arm around your shoulder once again,

You take a swig, and it almost makes you gag, but a buzz would definitely give you some relief. 

There’s something comedic about the fact that your family is fine with you drinking in their sacred house, while also disapproving of every damn thing you did–you take a longer sip at the thought that’s pissing you off.

“Feel better, sweetheart?” your boyfriend asks, nudging your knee with his own, and you nod, a little stain above your upper lip, and he’s instantly wiping it away from you.

“Tastes really bad,” you confess, looking down at the cup resting in your lap.

“Jus’ drink up,” he encourages, flashing you a grin, and he takes another sip of his beer.

The two of you sit alone in the living room, the soft sound of Christmas music still playing; a lighter chatter from your family members hums as well, and you’re dreading the second you actually have to get up and socialize, to explain that no, you’re not pregnant. No, it won't be happening anytime soon. 

You lean into your boyfriend a little more, nuzzling into the corner of his arm where it lifts to rest behind your shoulders, and he’s mindlessly rubbing your arm, and that’s until it’s called–yeah, it’s the festive dinner, and you immediately whine to him, shaking your head.

“Come on, baby,” he whispers to you, looking over at your family members who seem to be filing into the dining room, a long table awaiting you. “Gotta get some food in you,” he adds on, shifting to the edge of the couch. 

“I don’t wanna,” you complain, and he pats your upper back. “It’s gonna be awkward, and… I feel dizzy,” you add on, and he clenches his jaw at your childlike behaviour.

“Yeah? That’s from drinking on an empty tummy, c’mon,” he reassures you again, and you begrudgingly stand to your feet, flattening out your plaid dress. “Atta girl.”

Your boyfriend stands behind you as you hastily walk into the dining room, and there are far too many people for your liking; dishing out food onto their plates, laughing and cheering, drinks being poured, and he just has his hands on your hips from behind, squeezing. 

You somehow make it to your seats at the end of the table, and you nervously sit down in the wooden chair, glancing at the food–you don’t really have an appetite right now, although your boyfriend clearly does, and you scowl.

“Don’t feel good,” you whisper to him, and your relatives across the table smile at you, and you give one in return, and then you feel it; his hand finding your thigh beneath the table.

Comforting, and unfortunately, arousing. 

“You drunk, kid?” he asks you sarcastically, turning his head to stare at you, his plate half-loaded with food, and yours empty.

“What? No…” You mumble, and maybe you are, just a little bit. 

“Get some food in your stomach,” he directs, patting your thigh, rubbing it gently, and you shift awkwardly in the wooden chairs, aimlessly staring at him.

“Don't wanna,” you protest, shaking your head, and he shoots you a glare–it’s like you’re the needy one now, and he’s not sure if he can put up with it when every relative of yours surrounds you two. 

Your defiance has his fingers curling into the flesh of your thigh, almost right up and into your dress that was supposed to be modest, and you take it as a hint to reach forward, grabbing a stupid dinner roll. He notices and slowly moves his hand back, but keeps it on your thigh.

It's just as awkward as before; a silence stretches between the two of you; you picking at the food you don't want to eat, and he’s glancing at you, making sure you aren't throwing any more of a damn tantrum for some unknown reason. He’s rubbing your thigh still, a rough thumb grazing along the inseam of your black tights. 

Curious eyes glance between the two of you, and your thighs are squeezing together under the table, hidden from the family friends minding their business in front of you, and your boyfriend is too careless for your liking. You’re picking at some carrots, hesitantly eating them, and he finally lets his hand slide right up your dress.

“Have to go to the bathroom,” you mumble to him, placing your fork down already, and he’s chewing his food, shaking his head.

“You can hold it, kid,” he lightly scolds, squeezing your thigh again, his thumb pressing into your skin.

“I can’t,” you whisper, feeling your hips squirming in the chair.

“You will,” he mumbles, not looking at you anymore, and you pout, though he can’t see it. 

You lean back into the chair and away from the table, and you’re trying not to make a scene, but it’s a little hard when your boyfriend is aware of the fact that you just tried to sneak out of dinner so you could hide in the bathroom. He’s still rubbing your thigh.

“Really have to go,” you whisper to him, and his jaw stops, and he turns his head to look at you.

“Gonna piss yourself if you don’t?” he asks, an edge to his words that has you swallowing hard. You nod.

He puts his fork onto the table and stands up, and your eyes widen when he grabs your upper arm–it’s a little too aggressive for your family’s eyes, and you’re beyond embarrassed by the way he’s maltreating you. You look up at him, and he’s carefully pulling you away.

“Go to the bathroom,” he murmurs to you, pushing you ahead of him, forcing you to lead the way.

“I’m–I’m sorry,” you mumble, looking up and over your shoulder at him, and he’s clenching his jaw, and you’re quickly finding your way to the nearest bathroom.

The door shuts with a heavy click, and he discreetly locks it. You look up at him, feeling him crowd you against the sink, a familiar look in his eyes, and you whimper. He basks in it, the almost tinge of fear he can see in your innocent eyes.

“Turn around,” he says quietly, using his finger to gesture a spin. “Hands on the sink, baby,” he tells you, and you bite your lip, hesitantly turning around, looking in the mirror. 

He’s immediately behind you, pressing up against your dress, his one hand gripping your hip, the other reaching up to grab a fistful of your hair. He glances at the door, and then in the mirror at your reflection; cheeks all flushed, an anxious line knitting into your brows. He smirks, looking down at the way you’re subconsciously arching your back.

“Pissing me the fuck off out there,” he mumbles to you, grabbing your hair even harder, forcing your neck back uncomfortably. “Actin’ like a child, whining and complaining, when you dragged me here in the first place,” he hisses. 

“I-I’m sorry,” you whimper softly, and he tugs your hair even harder, causing a soft whine to leave your mouth again.

“Can’t behave one day, not even for your real fuckin’ daddy,” he shakes his head, watching the look in your eyes in the mirror. “Then lying about havin’ to piss? Real cute,” he scoffs, using his knee to press into the back of yours, forcing you to bend awkwardly.

You groan when you lean a bit more forward against the sink, struggling to keep yourself up–his hand is still tangled in your head, forcing your neck in a position that doesn’t feel the best. It’s not supposed to. 

“Should’ve made you do it at the dinner table, in front of your family,” he mumbles, and you can feel how hard he’s getting through his jeans. “Maybe it’d teach you something, yeah, baby? Making you clean it up yourself too.”

“No… no,” you shake your head, gasping when he yanks your head back, and your shoes slip on the tile floor. You hate that you like this. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he mumbles, digging his fingers into your hip. “Misbehave one more fuckin’ time,” he grints through his teeth, letting go of your hair and sliding his hand to your shoulder, forcing you to stand up straight.

“Okay… okay, sorry, I will… I will,” you mumble, staring at yourself in the mirror, and then at him. His eyes are darkened and heavy. 

“Gonna go out there and be a good girl,” he tells you, landing a harsh slap on your hip, and you cringe at the thought of your family hearing it from the dinner table.

“Mhm… good girl,” you repeat, nodding, standing up straight for him.

“There we go,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to your neck. “You’re a good girl, yeah?”

You nod some more, staring in the mirror at him.

“Mmm… on your knees then, kid,” he whispers, and he watches the flash of fear cover your face.

“What?” you ask in disbelief, turning around to face him, and he clicks his tongue.

“On your knees,” he nods, lifting a hand to ruffle your head. “Gonna be real quick,” he promises.

“Come on… my family, dinner…” You ramble, and he’s using the hand on your head to push down lightly, and you sink to your knees on the tile floor, whining in the process.

“Let’s use that mouth for somethin’ other than whining and complaining,” he says, his hand reaching to undo his belt. “Yeah? Good girls do that.”

You watch his long fingers undo the clasp of his belt, letting it open before popping his button out, and then his zipper quickly following. You swallow hard, his jeans lowering down his hips just enough–it’ll be easy to slide them up, and that’s how he wants this interaction; easy and quick. 

“Been a real bitch lately with that mouth,” he tells you, his hand sliding into the front of his boxers, denim jeans down just enough. “Especially today, with your whole fuckin’ family around us, baby.” he shakes his head, pulling himself out. 

“Wasn’t doing anything,” you mumble, shaking your head, and he grins at how stupid you look on your knees, wearing the most librarian clothing he’s seen in a second.

“Awww, you weren’t?” he mocks, waiting for your response.

The minute your mouth opens, he uses it as an opportunity–he pushes right in, and your eyes squeeze shut the minute he hits the back of your throat. No warnings, no licks beforehand, just an immediate thrust, and a strong hand on the top of your head.

You’re barely doing any of the sucking; he’s just using your mouth as a hole, both of his hands holding either side of your head, using your throat just like you always let him.

“See… good girl,” he groans, his head tipping back, and drool is dripping out of your mouth and down your chin, right onto your lap and on your dress. “Good baby, c’mon,” he mumbles, nodding.

Your noises are muffled–the whines and the chokes barely audible, but you’re gagging, and he’s realizing it’s a bit louder than he expected. It’s the empty bathroom that’s making the noise louder, and he can’t help but run off it, the thought of someone opening the door.

You grasp at his thighs, holding them tightly as he relentlessly thrusts, and you just want him to finish so you can go out there. It’s not that you don’t like it, but you know your family is going to be suspicious; the both of you in the bathroom for too long.

Tears pour down your flushed cheeks, eyes glassy and begging. He stares right into them, his mouth agape, panting, in awe of how well you’re taking him. In the bathroom.

“Gotta swallow for me, baby,” he tells you, and you feel him poking the back of your throat, twitching and throbbing, ribbed veins on the flat of your tongue. Your eyes are closing.

It’s cruel; he doesn’t tell you he’s close; he just cums, and your eyes shoot open in surprise, feeling the warmth at the back of your throat, filling your poor mouth, and he pulls back, and you practically slump back. You swallow.

“I know, sweetheart,” he coos, staring down at you, and he’s fixing his belt, zipping up his jeans, preparing to go back out there like it’s nothing. “Come on,” he encourages, reaching down to help you up.

You stand to your feet, all wobbly, and you glance in the mirror at yourself; red eyes and teary cheeks flush, and you move your jaw. It hurts. 

He doesn’t give you time to fix your messy hair or the way your dress is bunched up a little, not even time to fully wipe his cum off your fucking mouth; he’s just pushing you out of the bathroom, forcing you to walk ahead first to make it less obvious the two of you left together. You walk back to the table, breathing heavier, and you take a seat. 

“You’re doing well, honey?” your aunt asks as you pass by her seat, and she’s reaching out and holding your arm. You nod.

“Food… didn’t sit with me right; I’m okay,” you smile, realizing the distress on your face is more obvious than you wanted it to be. You swallow hard and sit back down in the seat, looking at the food that has gone cold. You have no appetite. 

Your boyfriend sits down beside you, and you tense up, sitting up a bit straighter, and you take a bite out of the dinner roll you hadn’t started yet. He looks at you from the corner of his eye, and his eyes narrow; the white splotch right on the corner of your mouth, crusting over, and he has to hold back from groaning. 

You stare at your plate as you slowly chew, trying to act like your boyfriend wasn’t using your mouth less than ten minutes ago, and there isn’t an ache at the back of your throat from the way he kept hitting the back of it. You clear your throat.

“You alright, baby?” he mutters to you, and you turn to look at him, nodding. You look like a mess; hair still ruined from the grip he had on it, and your eyes are red, glassy, pupils blown. He grinds his teeth.

“Uh-huh,” you tell him, and he slides his hand over to you, patting your stomach.

He lifts his hand and wipes away the mess on your mouth, his eyes gazing right into yours as he does it, slowly reaching over to the glass of water that was poured when the two of you were absent. He hands it to you, rubbing his thumb across your cheek when you take it from him. 

By the time dessert comes around, you’re slumped into the wooden chair, still a little blissed out and dizzy from what had happened in the bathroom, and your boyfriend’s hand is back on your thigh, gently rubbing. He peeks over at you when plates start being taken away.

“Kinda… wanna go to my room,” you speak up, slowly looking over at him, and he’s taking a final sip of his beer, setting it onto the table and crossing his arms.

“Your room?” he asks with a raise of his eyebrows.

“Mhm,” you mumble, nodding, and his lips pull into a thin line. 

“Lead the way,” he waves for you to stand up, and you do, still wobbly, and he has to catch your hands to help escort you through the decorated house. 

Relatives are too busy gathering in the living room, picking over presents, and laughing at stupid jokes to notice the two of you sneaking off to your bedroom. Your parents are both a little drunk anyway, and the Christmas tunes fade as you move up the stairs again.

“Gotta tell me what’s wrong, kid,” your boyfriend says to you as he follows behind, and you’re moving into your bedroom again, and he’s shutting the door, locking it once again. 

“You… got me all… you know…” You shrug, walking towards your old bed. “And then… then you made me go out there!” 

“Ah,” he nods in understanding, quietly stalking behind you. “All needy, yeah?”

“Yeah…” you admit, your knees hitting the edge of the bed, and you look down at the sheets. “You’re never fair,” you shake your head, and he’s creeping up, lifting a hand to gather your hair away from your neck. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispers, but it’s condescending and lacking any true care; he places a kiss to the side of your neck, hands finding your hips again. “All squirmy at the table, yeah? Mess in your underwear?”

You kneel a little on the bed, feeling that familiar weakness in your knees. You nod. 

“Poor thing,” he coos, sliding one hand down, slowly lifting your dress a bit. “Need daddy to take care of that ache? That tingle?” he mutters, and you whimper, nodding again. 

“Yes, please,” you whisper, and he’s smirking, slowly sliding up your dress a bit more.

“See? When you behave… and act like a big girl…” he starts smoothly, a hand guiding you down onto the bed, forcing you onto your hands and knees. “... you get treated like a big girl–a polite one, too,” he says.

You’re on your hands and knees now, your childhood bed low to the ground, making it easy for your boyfriend to stand right behind you–same position as in the bathroom; having you bent over. You look up, seeing your vanity right across from the two of you, a large mirror.

He has your dress fully bunched up now, and he smirks at the black pantyhose. Two hands rip them, and you gasp loudly at the gesture; he ruined them, and the thread is splitting even further, going down the back of your thighs, destroyed. 

You hear the familiar clink of his belt as it unclasps, and you whine, your head bowed, patiently waiting for him. He looks at the underwear he had picked out for you, wrapped around your hips and ass, and he hums at the sight.

“Gonna have to rip these off too, huh?” he asks, and you shake your head. He laughs. 

He’s already hard and throbbing in his hand, just looking at the back of you; back arching already, your hips wiggling for him, palms pressed into the floral sheets you had since you were a teen, and now you’re bent over them, waiting for him. He sucks in a breath.

His thumb pulls aside your underwear, and he doesn’t hesitate again; a firm thrust, quick and hard–it’s easy when you’re as wet as you are, and he slides in.

You moan way too loudly, and he immediately leans forward, wrapping a firm palm over your mouth, but he doesn’t stop thrusting. He’s always been rough, aggressive, and it slips out more when you’re in a risky situation, like this one. 

Your head is tipped back again as he fucks into you from behind, your stupid dress all bunched up, one hand on your hip, the other clasped over your mouth. He’s looking in front of him at the mirror, gawking over your facial expressions; heavy eyes almost rolling back into your head, and you’re already dropping onto your forearms.

“Taught my girl well,” he mumbles out, watching that curve of your spine, how effortlessly you slid into such a position. “See what a little punishing does, baby?” 

You mindlessly nod, your body rocking with each thrust, and he’s leaning over you a little more, still pressing his hand over your mouth. You can hear your family chattering downstairs, the loud laughs and hollers, and you’re getting your guts rearranged in your childhood bedroom. 

“Lookin’ so good… so fuckin’ good,” he groans, his hips never stalling, fingers curling into the fabric of your dress. “Trying to be all… modest. Just for me to fuck you like a whore,” he practically laughs, thinking of your poor attempt at conserving yourself. 

You whine into his hand louder, gripping the sheets, watching a teddy bear fall right onto the ground and hit the floor. He shuffles closer to the bed, moving deeper, and your eyes roll back, and he watches it. 

“Takin’ me perfectly, baby… for daddy,” he mumbles, pounding right into you, and you're feeling it more than ever; the angle is perfect, and he’s perfect, and your mind is absolutely melting.

“Gonna fill you up… aren’t I?” he mumbles, his hand sliding from your hip to your lower back, tracing the arch of it. “Seems like… whole world wants me to, kid,” he nods, and you can do nothing but take it all.

“Get you all pregnant… hmm, let everyone know… what we do together, baby,” he taunts, his thrusts more pronounced each time he speaks, edging you on. “Wouldn’t you like that? Everyone knowin’ I fill you up?”

Your heavy eyes gaze up at the vanity, the mirror, and you see the wolfish grin curled into his lips, clearly getting off on this sick idea. You look back down into the sheets, his palm leaving a red handprint right across your face, in the open. 

“C’mon… c’mon, doll, take it,” he grunts, moving somehow quicker, his jeans pooling at his ankles, and you can feel the way he hits deeper and deeper, no hesitation in any of his movements. It feels so good; you can feel yourself growing dizzier.

He cums before you do, and it’s obvious as ever; he groans, louder than he wanted to, and his hips stall, forcing himself to bury himself right inside of you, ensuring not a drop goes to waste. It’s all inside of you, stretching you, forcing you to adjust and accommodate his load and his size. It’s embarrassing how you cum even after he stops thrusting. Somehow his words made it easy; just his voice and the thoughts were enough for your body to give, and when it does, he lands a hard slap on your hip. You yelp and lurch forward, and he collapses right on top of you, pushing himself deeper. Jesus Christ. 

He’s panting into the side of your neck now, hunched over you, his chest to your back, his palm sliding from your mouth and going to gather your hair, to move it from your neck.

“Jus’ gonna stay like this,” he tells you, kissing lightly, soothing you. “Mmm… my sweet baby,” he mumbles, feeling him twitch.

Your name gets called again. Right, presents.

[inacatastrophicmind]

[buckys-lover]

P!LINKS | SHAWN HATOSY CHARACTERS <333

JACK ABBOT

med student!jack de-stressing after a rough shift

it’s 3am and jack is working, but you’re ovulating and can’t let this opportunity pass by

he may be old, but he can still put in the work

there are advantages to jack working nights, it means you can have mornings like this

he loves the way you squeeze and cum around his fingers

bonus!: you can be such a pain in their ass, so robby and abbot decide to do something about it

POPE CODY

he’s just a little sensitive…

pope loves it when you play with him

his favorite place to be is in between your thighs

tattoo artist!pope who just can’t resist your weeping pussy

after baz said pope would never have a child, you’re on a mission to prove him wrong

what can he say, he’s curious

SAMMY BRYANT

sammy is tired of all the guys teasing, he’s gonna get his precious housewife pregnant no matter what

DA won’t prosecute, perp got away, and sammy needs to take out his frustration on you

sammy shows you what can happen when you don’t lock your windows OR (see titus)

you’re giving attitude about living in castaic, sammy puts you in your place

he’s your husband, he shouldn’t be wearing a condom anyways

while on solo patrol, sammy finds you looking so lonely, he can fix that

BRETT RICHARDS

It’s tough being chief, all he wants to do is come home and sink into you

he loves the way you look so helpless under him, he can’t help but cum inside

he works hard and works up quite the appetite

CHARLIE REID

this is what you get for running, now he has to teach you a lesson

you wanna be brat? know your place

he knows you’re not on birth control, he cums inside anyways

why should he pull out?

TITUS DANFORTH

you’re too precious to kill, no, titus needs to breed you instead, he needs an heir after all

for all the fight you put up, you sure are greedy for him cum

a sweet girl like you living all by yourself? well he just had to stop by and make sure you’re well cared for OR (see sammy)

sometimes, he just wants to be your good boy

I genuinely cannot stop thinking about this old man

and mini self promo of my abbot smuts: ache & drool

nsfw masterlist

[lauraneedstochill]

SHAWN HATOSY as TITUS DANFORTH in “Ready or Not 2: Here I Come” (prev 🔪)

[got-cursed-like-eve-got-bitten]

i log on. i sexualise the old man. i log off

[sammy-bryant]

SHAWN HATOSY as TITUS DANFORTH Ready or Not 2: Here I Come (2026)

[grimgasm]

trenches, i’m in them 🩷

[dollislvt]

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ — DAD’S BEST FRIEND 18+

𝜗ৎ dad’s best friend!soldier boy!ben x reader

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

𝜗ৎ WARNINGS: MDNI 18+ rough sex / handing , dirty talk , possible possessive behavior , vulgar language , age gap .

𓏵 this is my first one-shot, smutty fanfic. extremely nervous and feel vulnerable. i’m open to feedback or possibly requests?!

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

your father had just left for a month-long work trip in boston, leaving you in charge of his dog, archer.

the house feels completely empty without the feeling of your dad’s presence and the sound of his outrageously loud laughter. all of a sudden, the doorbell rang. you peered through the peephole of the door; there stood a dark, handsome, and incredibly muscular man. it was ben, your father’s best friend, looking extremely impatient as he waited for you to open the door. you rolled your eyes as you slowly opened the door and welcomed ben in.

“my dad never told me you’d be coming by.” you said, turning around to close the door but keeping a keen eye on him.

ben didn’t wait to be invited further. he strolled right through into the living room, his heavy boots thudding against the hardwood floor. archer immediately trotted over, tail wagging and hard panting, completely betraying you. ben knelt down to scratch the dog behind its ears, but kept his head turned and kept his dark eyes locked on you.

“your old man’s getting forgetful in his old age, don’t blame em,” he rumbled, his voice a low, gravelly purr. “lucky for you, i’m a man of my word, sweetie.”

he stood up from where he was, still keeping his eyes on you. you annoyingly sighed, frustrated at the fact that he came to the house without my knowledge.

“well, what are you doing here anyway?” you retorted, arms still crossed. “i don’t need a babysitter anymore, i am perfectly capable of taking caring of myself and archer.” he let out a low, amused chuckle, slowing coming closer to you. “who said anything about babysitting? i offered to keep you company while you’re in town.”

i let out a small smile. “right, well, thank you for that then.” you relaxed and let your arm swing towards your side.

he was always thoughtful and kind; out of all my dad’s friends’, he was my favorite. until he stopped coming around. you never knew why, never bothered to ask why. just accepted it for what it was.

you looked up at him, the silence stretching between you as those old memories rushed back. "you know," you began, your voice softer now, "you could have called. or visited. you just completely disappeared." ben’s amused smirk faded, replaced by a serious, unreadable expression. he rubbed the back of his neck, his muscular frame suddenly looking tense. "thing got complicated," he rumbled, his voice dropping an octave. "but im here now,” he smiled and put his hands on his waist. “we could order something, it’s getting dark out and it don’t seem like you’ve prepared any dinner.” he pulled out his phone to see what we’d order. “what about pizza, hun?” you nodded in agreement for him to place an order.

the doorbell rang. ben went to fetch our pizza from the deliverer. “thank you, boy.” he said, handing him a tip.

your stomach rumbled loudly, you had gotten so hungry while waiting.

you ordered breadsticks, honey barbecue wings, and pepperoni pizza; thinking about it made you drool as you continued to prepare the plates and napkins.

the aroma of the food took over the kitchen; archer was drooling on the floor, begging for a piece of our food.

“you’re not getting anything, archer!” you yelled, letting out a small chuckle. “that’s not really nice is it though, right archer?” ben cooed in a mock-serious voice, kneeling down to give the dog a sympathetic pat. he looked up at you from the kitchen floor, a handsome smirk on his face. “you hear that, buddy? she’s a tyrant! don’t worry, i’ll sneak you a crust when she’s not looking.” you rolled your eyes, tossing a napkin at his chest, which he caught effortlessly with a laugh.

ben stood back up, dusting off his jeans with one hand while holding the pizza box flat with the other. With a smooth, practiced motion, he hooked his foot under the leg of a kitchen chair and pulled it out for me. "Sit down before you faint from hunger, kid," he said, offering a charming, lopsided grin. you sat down with a quiet thank you, watching as he piled three massive slices of pepperoni pizza and a handful of wings onto his own plate. the easy comfort of his presence made the kitchen feel warmer, and as you both reached for the breadsticks at the same time, your fingers brushed, sending a sudden, unexpected spark right up your arm.

you pulled your hand away quickly, snatching a breadstick from the top of the pile and hoping he hadn’t noticed the sudden blush creeping up your neck. ben paused, his hand hovering over the plate for just a second before he picked up his food. he looked up, his dark eyes locking into yours with a knowing, amused glint that told you he definitely noticed. "careful there," he rumbled, taking a large bite of his pizza and leaning back in his chair. "don’t want you choking before we even get to the wings." you bit into my breadstick, desperately trying to focus on the taste of the garlic and cheese instead of the lingering warmth where his fingers had just touched.

right on cue, a loud clatter shattered the awkward silence. archer finally seized his moment, standing on his hind legs with his paws firmly planted his paws on the kitchen table, his snout dangerously close to the remaining honey barbecue wings. “archer; no!” i gasped, nearly dropping my breadstick as i lunged forward to stop him. but ben was intimately faster. his large, muscular hand shot out and caught archer by the collar, gently but firmly pulling the massive dog back down to all four paws. "nice try, buddy," ben chuckled, using his free hand to wag a scolding finger at the dog, who just let out a disappointed whine. "you’ve got spirit, i’ll give you that, but nobody steals my wings."

you both laughed loudly, almost bringing you back to when things weren’t weird between you. you stopped laughing, just quietly stared at him as he gobbles down a pizza and wing. you cracked a small smile, watching him effortlessly eat everything, completely unfazed by the dog’s antics.

ben cleared his throat, wiping his mouth of pizza seasoning and tomato sauce. “anyway, how’ve you been, kid?” he questioned me.

“alright, i guess. focused on school and exams, haven’t had much time for myself lately until now.” you said. “what about you, ben?”

“constantly working, so same as you, kid. not much time for myself either.” he chuckled, continuing to eye his last slice of pizza on his plate.

by the time you both finished eating and cleaned up the kitchen, it was midnight. the rest of the meal you both were silent and clearly exhausted from the day.

you were washing the dishes when you felt a small pressure on the lower part of your back. “here, let me.” he murmured, letting his fingers brush yours as he took the soapy sponge from your hand. you felt your whole body tense up, heart racing as you felt his heavy body stand beside you. you leaned against the counter, letting him finish washing up the rest of the dishes. his shoulder brushed against yours with every movement, sending a sharp, electric chill down your spine. you looked down at his hands, slick with soap and glistening under the dim light, operating with a quiet, deliberate focus.

“go sit.” he demanded, his voice low and gravelly from the long day. he didn’t look up, but his hip nudged yours gently, urging you away.

though, instead of moving, you reached for a clean dish towel. your fingers trembling slightly as you took the rinsed plate from his hand, your hand catching the lingering heat of the water and the rough texture of his hand.

the scratch of the cotton towel against the ceramic plate was the only sound over the steady splash of running water. you kept your eyes down the remainder of the time, watching the way his large, dark knuckles flexed with every scrub of the sponge.

he didn’t speak again after your silent refusal to leave the kitchen. instead, the tension in the small kitchen shifted, thickening until it felt heavy in your chest. every time he passed a rinsed dish to you, his wet forearm grazed yours, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. he was standing so close you could feel the radiator-like heat radiating off of his chest, wrapping around like a physical weight.

“stubborn,” ben rumbled underneath his breath. the gravelly edge in his voice softening, almost fond.

you didn’t look up, focusing entirely on drying the same spot of the plate over and over. “just helping.” you smirked.

“is that what you call it?” he shut off the faucet with a sharp flick of his wrist. the sudden silence in the kitchen made your heart hammer even harder against your ribs.

ben turned his torso towards you, leaning his hip against the sink. he didn’t dry his hands, instead he let them rest on the marble counter, effectively trapping you between his muscular frame and the basin. archer was fast asleep by the refrigerator, leaving the two of you completely alone in the dim light.

he tilted his head down, forcing you to either stare at his chest or meet his gaze. when you looked up, his eyes were intense, fixed entirely on your face. the playful, older-brother smirk he used to wear around your father was wiped gone.

“you’re shaking, kid,” her murmured, his voice dropping to that low, dangerous purr that made your stomach flip. he reached out, his damp, warm thumb gently catching a stray drop of soapy water on your cheek, his calloused skin lingering against your jawline. “what are you so scared of?”

you froze under the slightest touch of his hand, your breath catching in your throat as the warmth of his thumb seeped into your skin. you didn't pull away. instead, you leaned a fraction of an inch into his palm, your heart racing so loud you were so certain he could hear it pounding.

ben’s gaze darkened at your subtle surrender. he didn't drop his hand. his thumb traced a slow, deliberate path down to your chin, tilting your face up just a little more.

"your dad didn't forget to tell you I was coming," ben confessed, his voice dropping to a rough whisper that vibrated through the small space between you. "he doesn't know i’m here. i saw his truck leave for the airport this morning, and i... i couldn’t stay away anymore. not after how things left off between us."

the heavy, sudden confession hung in the midnight air, making the kitchen feel entirely too small. before you could process his words, ben let out a low sigh, his chest brushing against yours as he finally pulled his hand back, though he didn't step away.

"come on," he murmured, his tone shifting into something softer, gentler, surrendering to you . "let’s get out of this kitchen. you look like you're about to collapse."

he took the dish towel from your trembling fingers and tossed it onto the counter. grabbing your hand, his large, warm palm completely engulfed yours as he led you out of the kitchen and into the dimly lit living room. archer didn't even lift his head from the kitchen floor, completely dead to the world.

ben guided you to the couch, sitting down first and pulling you down right next to him. the cushions sank under his massive weight, naturally tilting your body toward his. he draped one heavy, muscular arm over the back of the sofa behind you, his fingers lightly brushing against your shoulder.

"now," ben said, turning his dark eyes back to yours, the serious look still firmly in place. "talk to me. tell me what's really been going on with you."

you sighed loudly, embarrassed to admit that you still wonder why he disappeared randomly. “why did you leave, and not tell me?” you confessed, your cheeks turning into a reddish color.

ben’s eyes remained locked on yours, the heavy, unending silence stretching between you until the weight of it became entirely unbearable. he roughly rubbed the back of his neck, his jaw tight as he struggled to find the right words.

"the reason I stopped coming around a few years ago..." ben began, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. "it wasn't because of your dad or anybody else. it was because of you."

he took a slow, deep breath, his chest expanding against your shoulder. "the last time I was over here, right around your twenty-first birthday, i realized I wasn’t looking at you like my best friend's kid anymore. you were a grown, independent woman, and the way I felt when you smiled at me... it crossed a line in my head. you became all I could think about, and it terrified me. your dad trusts me with his life, and even though you were well into your twenties, i felt like a traitor every time I walked through that front door because he's my best friend. i did the only thing I knew how to do. i forced myself to stay away."

he turned his head to look at you, his dark eyes vulnerable and completely exposed. "but seeing his truck pull away this morning... it was like a dam broke. three whole years of trying to forget you went right out the window. you’re twenty-four now, finishing school, and i couldn't spend another night pretending you don't consume my every thought."

your jaw dropped slightly, letting out a small sigh of relief of finally knowing the real reason. for three years, you thought you did something wrong to ruin your connection with ben, or he grew bored of your family, but it wasn’t that at all. to hear that his disappearance was caused by an agonizing restraint by a desire for you that he couldn’t bare to contain, sent a relief and electric heat rushing through your veins.

you looked from his right jaw up to his dark, yearning eyes. “you’re so dumb,” you whispered, a breathy laugh escaping your lips.

ben blinked, his muscular frame tensing further, clearly expecting anger or rejection. “what?”

“i was twenty-one, ben. i wasn’t a child anymore,” you said, your voice growing stronger as you finally gathered the courage to say what you’ve been avoiding for years. “and you weren’t the only one crossing lines in your head. every time you came over, i was wishing you were looking at me the way you’re looking at me right now. when you vanished, it broke my heart.”

a sudden, intense stillness settled over ben. this unreadable expression on his face completely shattered, replaced by a raw, predatory hunger. the heavy arm he had resting on the back of the couch moved instantly. his large hand slid down to the nape of your neck, his fingers brushing through your hair slightly with a progressive grip that made your heart skip a beat.

“say that again,” he rumbled, his face dropping inches from yours, his warm breath panning across your lips.

you couldn’t believe this was happening. it felt so suffocating and terrifying at the same time, but it felt so right. you could hear him purring, intensely staring at you. he looked at your eyes, then back to your lips; a never ending cycle of whether he should kiss you or not. the tension so intense you let out a small groan from your lips, a warm feeling in your chest thickening as you continue to stare at one another. you reached up, your hands gripping the solid muscles of his biceps, and pressing your lips against his.

ben let out a low, gravelly, purring groan into the lips, any remaining restraint immediately snapping. he pulled your body against his massive chest, lifting you up so effortlessly so you were practically sitting in his lap. the kiss went from hesitant to desperate in a heartbeat, his lips moving against yours with a fierce, starved intensity that told you exactly how long he’s been waiting for this moment.

ben pulled back for a moment, mesmerizing every part of your face like he hasn’t seen it before. his breath was heavy from looking at you. the air between the both of you was thick with three years’ worth of unspoken feelings and anticipation. “we can’t do this, but i need you desperately.” you saw the guilt in his eyes from what you’re doing quickly fade away as you push your lips back onto his, grinding your ass on his lap. he held your head in his hands, gripping at your hair so hard that it feels so good. he pulled your face away to look at you again, and smirked deviously knowing what he wants to do with you. he leaned back in, the kiss growing more passionate, echoing the depth of their connection.

he grabs your ass roughly to guide you against his hard shaft, both of you letting out a loud moan into each others lips, feeling every vibration of each others’ moans on your lips that escape as you move your pussy slowly against his hard, clothed member.

he lifts you carefully and effortlessly, never breaking the kiss as he carries you down the hallway toward the bedroom. the world outside seemed to fade away, replaced only by the rhythm of your movements and the intensity of the moment.

as you reached the bedroom door, the tension that had built up between the both of you had finally began to find its release in the quiet of the room. it was a turning point for the both of you, a transition from a long period of uncertainty to a shared path forward.

he released you onto the bed, and as he let you go, he smirked as he scanned over the rest of your body. he slowly removed his white shirt, revealing his abs and big muscles that you so badly wanted to touch.

he slowly moved up your body to meet your face again, and when he did he kissed your face, your neck, your arms.

“take your clothes off, now,” he groaned roughly under his breath, still scanning every inch of your body as he watches you take off your clothes, still smirking as if he’s been imagining this exact moment for years. after you took off your clothes, he slowly moved up your body again, but blowing a cold breath as he moved slowly to your pink lips again. “are you sure you wanna do this with me?” he asked, staring at you with dark, yearning eyes. “because if we do this, i don’t think i’ll ever fucking stop.”

you nodded your head, “yes, i am so sure of this, ben.” he let out a small chuckle, immediately gripping your tits as he quickly moved his lips to yours. then he slowly made his way to your neck, making you tense up and moan with the slightest touch of his breath and lips. he slowly kissed down to your tits, circling his finger slightly by your nipple, teasing you. “how much do you want me to touch you?” he asked, practically drooling over your body. “i want it so bad, daddy.” he let out the loudest groan as you whispered, daddy, into the air. he quickly groped your tits and start sucking on your nipples, rubbing the other as he sucked the other one.

you could feel yourself dripping onto the bedsheets that were freshly cleaned for your arrival. your moans are like music to his ears, teasing your nipples slowly; circling it constantly as his watches you melt under the slightest bit of his touch. then he stopped, continued to moved down as he slowly kissed your chest, then your stomach, right down to your pussy.

he kissed the sides of your thighs, making you groan with each kiss and so soaked for him. “you’re so fucking wet, doll. i really make you this wet for me?” he teased, tracing circling onto the inners of your thighs and chuckling as you suffer under his touch. him asking you that made you even more wetter for him, your face grew redder the moment you both realized. “you don’t mind if i do taste you, right, sweetheart?” you nodded yes, waiting for his tongue to be touching your throbbing clit. you looked up to meet his dark eyes, but they were closed as he quickly went in to suck your wet pussy. you let out the loudest moan that made him shiver and moan, creating vibrations as he continued to lick and suck.

you gripped the bedsheets as he passionately ate you out, making you lose your head and breath. he laughed and let out a few more vibrations onto your clit that made you whimper and shake. you felt his fingers start to trace circles near your entrance, then he slipped one finger in so carefully. you can feel yourself getting closer and closer to climax as he slowly pulls his finger in and out of your entrance and licking your clit. you can feel how soaked you are and the climax you’re getting to is consuming your body; you can feel the heat and tension of it coming as he slowly inserts a second finger into your entrance while continuing to suck on your clit.

“oh my god, you’re making me feel so good,” you yelled, as you can feel yourself ascending from your body as you climax onto his fingers and into his mouth, still continuing to stimulate you as you’re coming.

“that’s my good girl,” he smirked, slowly pulling out his fingers and towering over your shivering body.

you heard his belt unbuckle and seen his pants, already bulging with intense desire and excitement from the way you came on him. i got up and immediately pulled off his pants to reveal his big shaft in your face. you gasped at the sight of it, quickly making you soaking wet again, dripping down onto the bedsheets.

he pulled his face up to his, “you gonna suck it for me, sweetheart? you gonna be a good girl for me?” you nodded and immediately went back down to tease his tip, already seeping with pre-come. it tasted sweet to you, like nectar from the gods. you continued to tease the tip as you ease it into your mouth, slowly widening up to fit it in your mouth. he groaned so loudly, practically purring like a cat, waiting for you to put his whole member inside that mouth. then, you quickly deep throated it, making him gasp out of pure pleasure and shock. you could tell he couldn’t control himself anymore; he grabbed a handful of your hair and gripped it so hard to carefully guide your mouth on his cock. groaning with every single up and down movement down his thick, hard shaft. he’s turning into a whimpering mess, then he pulls your head away from him, “lay back down, princess.” he immediately demands, waiting for you to obey his orders. you lay back down slowly, lifting your legs up to reveal your entrance to his member. “you want it badly, don’t you, sweetie?” you didn’t say anything further, just stared deeply into his eyes, signaling your desire for him to put it in already. he smiled, then started playing with your entrance and clit, warning you up for what you want. you moan, groan, cry, and beg, he just laughs in your face as he teases you entirely. then, you felt him insert it; immediately sending electricity down your spine and quickly letting out a loud moan as he slowly inserts it.

he groans so loudly as he slowly goes into your tight, wet, entrance. he can feel your walls slowly as he goes deeper and deeper, making you both groan loudly into the atmosphere. he stops to fully take in what he feels from you, closing his eyes and breathing in your scent. slowly, you can feel his hips move in and out of your entrance, making both of you moan uncontrollably already.

“it doesn’t hurt, daddy. i can take it, please.” you reassure him, knowing he’s trying to be as gentle to you as much as possible. he lets out a sigh of relief, turning his head to your gaze and lets his eyes tell you what he’s gonna do to you.

he slowly moves faster, harder, deeper, making you feel every inch of his shaft inside your entrance as he moves his hips in and out continuously, without hesitation or uncertainty. he’s going feral for you, every inch of him is inside of you, going deeper and deeper, faster and faster, creating a ripple of moaning waves that are being sent through the bedroom.

“fuck, you feel even better than i imagined,” he groaned into your lips as he continues to move inside of you. you just chuckled and moaned into his lips, wanting him to shut up and make you take him. you try to grab the side of his waist and he immediately grabs your arms and holds them against the bed, not wanting you to make a move or disrupt him. that turned you on even more, soaking his member as he continues to move inside of you.

again, your body starts to tense up, your body starts to feel fuzzy and warm inside. you’re coming to your climax again as he roughly moves constantly inside. he still holds your hands to the bed, so you move your hips up and down his shaft to make yourself feel better. he lets out a big groan and smiles as you do so, you both know it feels too fucking good. the fuzzy warm feeling getting fuzzier and warmer, your head starts to spin and you feel like your head is going to explode as you climax onto him, releasing all your fluids on his large, thick member.

he stops and takes it out of your entrance to lick every droplet of fluid that you let out from releasing. you can feel your legs shaking uncontrollably and the room starts to spin as he licks you viciously. he then inserts it again, making you gasp for more breath as he resumes what he was doing to you.

“you make me feel so good, ben.” you groan against his large bicep, gripping them harder and harder as he pounds you into the mattress. he pounds you recklessly, not letting you rest whatsoever, but you don’t mind and he knows that, he loves it. you’ve fallen deep for him, letting yourself be vulnerable with the only man you’ve admired and loved.

he looked deeply into your face as he continued to push inside you, resting his shaft inside. “you’re so beautiful, you know that right, doll? you’re perfect.” he smiles and lifts his hand to gently rub his fingers across your jawline and around your plump lips, then he kisses them, preparing to then pump faster into you as you let the vibrations of your moans release onto his lips. you can feel him peep a smile under your lips. your body starts to tense up, everything feels so fuzzy and warm again, so you continue to bite into his bicep and grip his back, drawing red lines onto his back and a bite mark on his right bicep. he groaned as you bit him and scratched him, it gave him utter relief and pleasure to feel the pain of it all. you released and both of you moaned into the air. you could feel his shaft start to throb inside, alerting you that’s he’s getting close.

“leave your come inside of me, i beg of you.” you ask him, teary eyed and begging for it. he groaned louder and louder as he reached his climax too, you can feel his warm fluids slowly fill your insides, continuing to pump in and out until he’s completely drained. both of you start to relax as he drains himself inside of you.

he plops himself beside you onto the bed, immediately tired and feeling relief. he brings you into his arms and chest, cuddling you and reassuring you afterwards. he rubs your head to comfort you and himself, embracing you with his big chest and strong arms. nothing felt more safer than being with him. he kisses all over your face, admiring the beauty of your face and tracing his fingers across your eyes, jawline, and lips. he brushed your hair away from your face, slowly falling asleep as you lay in each others’ arms for the rest of the night.

[justjensenanddean]

Eddie G | Blonde 

[natalyazwingz]

Soldier boy on his knees looking pathetic as shit I'm so wet

[godmadeaterribleerror]

good things

✦Read on aO3! - Masterlist - Soldier Boy Masterlist✦

✦summary: soldier boy never liked soft things, until he met you. suddenly, there's nothing more important in the world✦

✦warnings/tags: Soldier Boy x female!reader, no use of y/n, no description of reader, age gap (he's a hundred), angst, switching pov between ben and reader, softer!ben, canon divergance, pining, plot to earn the smut (dirty talk, posessiveness, teasing, praise and degredation kink, size kink, dry humping, body worship, dom!Ben, nipple play, finger sucking, begging, manhandling, oral f!reciving, pussy spanking, overstimulation, clit abuse, creampie, monster dick ben, rough sex, this man is a sex god fr fr, edging, dumbification, dacryphilia, hyperspermia, squirting), love confessions, fluff✦

✦wc: 11k✦

✦author's note: request! i love that old man✦

Butcher said he knew a librarian, and Soldier Boy snorted.

“You think some moldy, four-eyed broad is going to help us fix this? Some gal who’s never gotten her hands dirty in her life?”

“I think we’re runnin’ outta options,” Butcher said, shooting Soldier Boy a look of challenge. “You got better ideas, I’m all ears. ‘Till then, we’re goin’ to see my girl.”

Soldier Boy had opened his mouth, ready to suggest many better ideas—he was full of them, a real strategic genius—when Hughie cleared his throat from his side. He had a hand up, like he was going to touch Soldier Boy’s shoulder, but thought better at the last second.

“She’s- You’ll like her, I think,” Hughie twitched, struggling to hold Soldier Boy’s gaze, but still trying. He’d never say it, but Soldier Boy admired the weed, twitchy kid’s tiny balls, for not giving up and running to the hills. Bravery wasn’t exactly in the cocksucker’s favor. “You’ll like her a lot more than us.”

That almost made Soldier Boy laugh. “That ain’t gonna be hard, kid.”

But screw him north, south, and to Tinseltown, the cocksucker was right.

They walked into the library, and the first thing Soldier Boy noticed was that it was warm and cool all at once. Like stepping into a building made of springtime. Sunlight poured in, but there was a soft hum in the background from the fans. The furniture was cozy, but everything was perfectly clean. Butcher called out a name, lazily bouncing on his feet, and an angelic voice called back.

“Be right there!”

Butcher smirked. Hughie shifted nervously, shooting Soldier Boy looks like he’d explode in this little fairy book house. He wouldn’t. Place wasn’t worth wasting his bomb on anyways.

Then you floated into view, and Soldier Boy felt the ground under his feet shift. You weren’t a molding, self-important, four-eyed bitch. If this was a fairy book house, you were a fairy. If you had the voice of an angel, it was because you were an angle, and the world twisted itself to give you everything you needed. The sunlight bended, hitting you like some scene from those romance movies he’d always refused to shoot. You floated more than walked. You smiled like you knew everything, and it didn’t even piss him off. 

Soldier Boy hadn’t been a teenager in almost a hundred years, but suddenly he remembered. How it felt for his face to heat and his cock to twitch and his heart to race under his palms. He kicked himself silently, gritting his jaw and standing a little taller. He was a grown fucking man. An American icon. A hero. He wasn’t going to tip over his fucking feet like some kid, especially not for some pretty girl that probably looked down on him. On everyone. The smart ones always did.

They were also the most fun to get in bed. They got bratty, then stupid when he fucked them nice and slow. All the mocking and sass draining out of their pussy, onto Soldier Boy’s hands and cock. Sharp eyes go dazed and sneers fall into open, shocked lips.  

You’ve got those sharp eyes, as you take their little group in. They’re like a hawk, picking them apart with a single look. A hawk in a doll’s body. A sexy, smart little doll.

But there’s no sneer. Even as you glare at Butcher, you’re more pouting than anything else. Solider Boy wonders if you’d pout while begging for him, or just get defiant and bitchy. He’d love to find out.

“You’re getting blood on the carpet,” you tell Butcher, and he shrugs.

“Ain’t you worried about where I’m leakin’ the blood from, love-“

“No.” You cross your arms, lifting you chin. “You’re going to clean it up.”

Butcher’s shoulders curve slightly. Like a scolded fucking child. “C’mon, I got other shit to be workin’ on-“

“Then you shouldn’t have dragged blood on my carpet.”

“But- I got work I needed ya for-“

“Hughie can tell me about it.” You offer Hughie a small smile, and he waves in return.

Soldier Boy stands a little taller. Maybe you just haven’t noticed him yet.

“Clean,” you snap at Butcher, turning on your heels and marching back between the shelves.

Butcher looks at Hughie and Soldier Boy, like they’re supposed to save him from this shit. Hughie gives him an apologetic smile, and follows you into the back. Soldier Boy grins, clapping Butcher on the shoulder before following.

“You didn’t tell me she was a firecracker-“

“She ain’t a firecracker,” Butcher muttered, rolling up his sleeves and glaring around the entryway for whatever people use to clean things. “She’s a fuckin’ problem.”

Soldier Boy smirked, looking back to where you disappeared. “Even fuckin’ better.”

Butcher snorted, giving Soldier Boy a strange, half-amused look. “Good luck with that one, Gov. Don’t blow the fuckin’ job.”

Soldier Boy flipped him off. He’d never blown the job over a woman before—not even an ethereal, enchanting one—and he’s not about to start now. He stood in the corner of your little office, while Hughie asked you questions about books and chemicals and other, smartass shit that Soldier Boy’s never bothered with. He always had people like you on payroll, to give him those answers when he needed them, but usually he didn’t. You punch anything hard enough, it breaks. And he was pretty fucking good at punching.

He said that, at one point. Hughie sighed like he was in physical pain—kid was fucking dramatic—and you just gave him a curious tilt of your head.

“You’re good at punching?”

“I’ m the fuckin’ best.” Soldier Boy pushed off the wall, crossing over to the desk. “Could show you sometimes. Teach you how to defend yourself.”

“Hm.”

You looked him up and down, and Soldier Boy found himself puffing out his chest and flexing his arms. He’d dealt with hard to get girls before. They always cave, when he chases long enough. When he gives them a bit of a show, and promises them it’ll be worth their time.

“What would I be defending myself against?” You asked, soft and sweet. Your voice was like honey. Soldier Boy wanted to get trapped in it, like a fly.

“There are evil people out there,” he drawled, leaning over the desk.

You didn’t lean away, but you blink, and Soldier Boy hears your heartbeat skip. Any reaction is a good one. Meant he was doing something to your body, and that was the first step in getting his foot through the door.

“But I’m here to protect you,” Soldier Boy winked, and stuck out a hand. That was his favorite line. It always fucking worked. “Soldier Boy, doll. Pleasure to meet you.”

Usually, that line made women of all ages and makes swoon. They’d bat their lashes and giggle if they were easy, roll their eyes and flush if they were hard, get starry-eyed if they were innocent, or twirl their hair of they were just as sinful as Soldier Boy himself. But you looked him up and down, and your heartbeat was at a steady baseline. You watched him like you were trying to read him. Like he had thoughts written over his face, and you were  skimming through them. Through him.

“I know,” you said, taking his hand and shaking once. Your fingers weren’t trembling. Your smile was kind, but controlled. “Nice to meet you.”

Soldier Boy blinked, hand still hanging in the air as you turned back to your computer. He’d felt an unsteady heartbeat under his fingers, when you’d touched. But it wasn’t yours. It was his. He wasn’t fucking nervous. His mouth was oddly dry. He cleared his throat and stood back up, trying to strangle some fucking dignity into his body. He wasn’t about to fold in half like some fucking pussy. He just hadn’t gotten properly laid in too fucking long. You were pretty. That was fucking it.

You helped Butcher and Hughie with the job, tracking down books and flipping through them with nimble fingers. Soldier Boy imagined them wrapped around his cock, and forced himself not to rub himself through his pants. He wasn’t about to be that fucking pathetic, no matter how much it hurt. No matter how he couldn’t look away from you for a single second, in case you just turned into mist and turned out to be some kind of fucked up hallucination.

Soldier Boy watched you, as you read and spoke to Butcher. You were polite. Please and thank you and tiny fucking giggles that made his balls heavy. It would be fun to fuck all that out of you. All those sweet words pouring out of your lips, as you’d cry and sing for him.

Butcher seemed to respect you, which said something Soldier Boy wasn’t sure how to hear. Nothing and everything good. When Hughie told you what supes they were going after, you didn’t blink or crow uselessly about murder not being right. You’d just rolled up your sleeves and gotten to fucking work. Soldier Boy could appreciate that. No use in crying about shit that had to be done.

“How’d Butcher find someone like you,” Soldier Boy asked when it was just the two of you. You looked up with raised brows, he almost fucking balked.

 Pretty fucking doe-eyes that ripped right through him. Fucking dangerous.

“Someone like me?” You echoed, and he grunted.

“You’re too fucking gorgeous to be tangled up in this shit-“

“Am I?” Your lips twitched. “I wish someone would’ve told me that. I would’ve kicked you out.”

Soldier Boy opened his mouth, his tongue dragging over his lips. You kept fucking smiling and talking, and he was asking you to smile and talk, but it did something drug-like to his brain and he didn’t fucking like it.

“You know, I used to watch your movies as a kid,” you said casually.

Soldier Boy smirked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He could fucking work with that. “Yeah? You a groupie?”

That got another, breathy little laugh from your lips. Christ, the sound was addicting. “Not quite. I’m not- That’s not really something I do.”

“Somethin’ you do? The fuck does that mean.”

You shrugged. “Hero worship.”

Soldier Boy frowned. The fuck were heroes for, if not to be worshipped. “You think you’re too good for that shit? For getting wet from seein’ someone you want on a screen?”

That got a flush. It’s the best fucking color he’d seen, on your face. He wanted to kiss over it, make it bloom down your neck and over your tits.

“I bet you were a dirty fuckin’ girl, weren’t you,” he leaned further forward, and dared to reach over the desk. To brush his fingers against your arm, and revel in the way you shivered from his touch. “Had posters of me in your room, didn’t you. Used to touch yourself, thinkin’ about me breaking through the fucking wall and taking you right there.”

You blinked at him, with those pretty fucking eyes. They were glossy, now. Another step. He was closer, to what he wanted, and it was the best damn feeling in the world.

“Well, I’m here to make dreams come true, doll,” he traced down your arm, and your breath caught. “Just tell me how you want it, I’ll fuck you ‘till you’re too cross-eyed to read this shit.”

He jerked his head to the books, and waited. This was the part where you told him to bend you over the desk, to pin you to the wall, to pull you into his lap and let you ride him until you passed out.

But instead, you fucking laughed. You pulled your arm back and giggled, shaking your head like he’d said something funny. Soldier Boy’s mouth fell open, and he felt like a fucking idiot. You flipped through your little book, ignoring his dumbfounded expression. He opened and closed his mouth like a damn fish, trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

“My favorite was Ghosts of Hanai,” you told him, offering another one of those mind-numbing smiles. “Did you know it was a book first?”

Soldier Boy did not know that. He couldn’t remember how to speak, to tell you that.

“It’s a really good book. Obviously you’re not the main character- In the book- But I kind of liked the adaptation anyway. It wasn’t as- You know- Good. But it was more fun.”

“I’ll show you fun,” he muttered before he could stop himself, and you just giggled again.

If you did that shit one more time, he was going to have to go into the bathroom to beat himself off. Soldier Boy knew why Butcher called you a problem, now. You were perfect, and infuriating, and he should’ve wanted to put your head through a wall for fucking laughing at him, but he didn’t. He wanted to hear that songbird sound again. He wanted to fucking get under your skin, the way you’d seeped under his.

“Bye, Soldier Boy,” you waved to him like a sweet siren, when they were ready to go. He grunted, and waved back.

“You sure she ain’t some kind of supe,” he asked Butcher in the van, and Butcher snorted.

“I’ve wondered, but nah. Just a fuckin’ human.”

Butcher gave Hughie some kind of secret look that Soldier Boy didn’t concern himself with. He was too busy thinking about you. He’d have to go back to you see you. He’d make up a reason why. But he wasn’t used to not getting things he wanted, and he was worried he might want you so much his annoying fucking heart was going to give out about it. He couldn’t allow that.

You’d remember him. You’d laugh for him more. He’d figure out what made you like him, and he’d do it, and then this annoying buzz in his bloodstream could fuck off.

This annoying fucking feeling better fuck off.

It wouldn’t fuck off.

Soldier Boy found himself back at your library after a week. If anyone asked, he’d say he tried to stay away. It would be to preserve dignity. To pretend he hadn’t been hoping they’d need more stupid books so he could go back and see you.

You were clinging to the edge of his every thought. That laugh, that smile, the magnetic way you’d spoken and sat and been. Gentle but not weak. Kind but not stupid. A rare kind of thing to be, when you knew the dark kind of shit that grew in the corners of the world. Part of Soldier Boy prayed it was just an act. That he’d talk to you a little more, and you’d be no better than the rest of them. Then he could fuck you and forget after, like he’d done with almost every other person on his long, stained list of bodies.

But you were just fucking like that. And it was insufferable and enchanting and fucking amazing.

“Soldier Boy,” you said when he returned, blinking in surprise, and something else he couldn’t read. “You’re… back?”

He grunted. “Obviously.”

“Do you need help with another-“

“No.”

You frowned at him. Did that little head tilt, and Christ, what he wouldn’t give to just bury his fucking face in your neck and breathe you in. 

“I just here to get a book,” he heard himself say, and Jesus, you were doing something to him. He didn’t give a fuck about books. He certainly didn’t want one.

But you were here. And Soldier Boy had a feeling you wouldn’t be open to him just being here to see you.

And you lit up, when he said he wanted a book. Great. Now he was going to have to fucking read, just to get some pussy.

“What book?”

“A- Big one.” That had to be impressive. “Biggest you’ve got, doll.”

He winked, looping his thumbs through his belt. You made that face again, brow raising slightly. “Big as in long, or complicated?”

Soldier Boy shrugged. “Both.”

“Fiction or Nonfiction?”

Why were there so many kinds of fucking books. “Whichever one you like better. I trust you won’t give me something shit.”

That made your lips twitch, and it hit Soldier Boy like a rush of coke. His head got lighter and the world got sharper, and you smiled at him, and that heartbeat was his again. He really was worse than a fucking teenager.

“Wait here,” you told him, and he did. Like a fucking dog.

You came back with a massive heap of a book. There couldn’t be that many words in the world, let alone enough sentances to make something that long. Anything worth saying shouldn’t take more than a fucking page.

“Infinite Jest.” You passed him the book, and he stared at you. “Long and complicated.”

Soldier Boy grunted, not bothering to spare the book a glance. You were what he was here for, and if you just fucking walked away, he felt like he might explode.

“You like this thing?” He almost barked, and you paused, already a half-step back.

“It’s okay,” you said slowly. Actually fucking thinking about your answer. “I like his essays better.”

“Essays?” Soldier Boy frowned. “You like his fuckin’ book reports?”

You gave him one of those coy, honeyed half-smiles again. He was worried he was going to fucking drool. “Creative essays. Like- Book reports about your life.”

Soldier Boy nodded, glancing down to the book, then back to you. He didn’t want to read this shit. Book reports had, as far as he remembered, always been short. And he wanted to see what kind of shit you liked to read. What you considered good. “I want one of those. Instead of this.”

He’d meant it to be an order, but it came out without the usual edge he put in his tone. That edge was his best weapon. It had won him countless battles before they even fucking started.

But you just gave him that fucking look. The one where he felt flimsy and stupid and weak, his body all excited from your attention and his fingers itching to dig into your soft looking skin. You smiled, and he swallowed, drawing himself a little taller. He wouldn’t just fall into you. He refused to be that fucking weak.

“Read that first,” you told him. “Then we’ll talk about the essays.”

You turned and walked away. Soldier Boy let you go, because if he touched you, he was worried he was going to turn into more of a weak fucking lapdog than he already was. He wished he could read you—read that smile, those looks, the lacey tone you took with him and seemingly no one else—as well as you seemed to be able to peel him right apart. He looked back at the book, roughly flipping it to the first page. He tried to read the first sentence, but the words floated off the fucking page and didn’t even brush through his brain. He couldn’t read this shit.

Then we’ll talk, you’d said.

You’d talk to him, if he read this.

Christ on a Cross. He was going to try and read a book.

It took him a month. A month of staring at words in the dead of night, when he couldn’t sleep and no one was around to see. If Butcher caught him trying this shit, he’d never hear the end of it. Hell, he wasn’t hearing the end of it now, and no one even knew he was reading.

“Where you goin’, Gov?” Butcher barked as Soldier Boy moved to the door, and he scowled at the air.

“None of your fucking business.”

Then Butcher said your name, smiling knowingly, and Soldier Boy wanted to punch his teeth in. “You’re goin’ to see her again, ain’t you-“

“Said it was none of your fucking business,” Soldier Boy spat, raising a firm finger. “Not another word, or I punch your teeth into your asshole, you got that?”

Butcher just laughed to himself, and Soldier Boy ground his teeth. It wasn’t anything like your laugh, but then again, nothing was.

“Hi, Soldier Boy,” you greeted him without looking now. He wanted to think that meant something. That you were getting as obsessed with his presence as he was with yours. “Did the dictionary help?”

“Mhm,” he glanced at the sitting area, where a few old folks—younger than him, but wrinkled in a way he’d never be—were poking through the newspapers and chatting. There were some kids in the book section. Few teens giggling, somewhere deeper between the shelves.

No one paying him any mind. No one to look at him and wonder what the fuck Soldier Boy was doing in a library, why he’d needed a dictionary, like he was some dumbass who couldn’t speak or read or-

“I needed a dictionary,” you said, and Soldier Boy blinked. You were looking at him. Right at him. He felt it, in his heartbeat, and he never wanted it to fucking stop.

“What,” he said, stupid and drunk, and you smiled.

“I needed a dictionary. To get through Infinite Jest. The first time,” you amended, your eyes getting strangely softer the longer you watched him. “But- I still needed it.”

Soldier Boy’s hands curled into fists. “You read it multiple times?” This one time was feeling like it was going to fucking kill him.

“I read most things multiple times.”

He snorted. “Jesus.”

That made you blink. A faint flush creeped onto your face, and you looked back to your computer. Soldier Boy froze. Your heart was doing a little fucking stumble.

Interesting.

“You’re real fuckin’ smart, huh?” He tried, just to see what would happen.

Your heart did the little stumble again.

Jackpot.

“Maybe,” you mumbled, glaring at your screen. “I just- Like books.”

Soldier Boy snorted. “Yeah. Think I figured that one out myself.”

You hummed, not meeting his gaze anymore. You were getting quiet. He didn’t like it. Not like this. You’d be allowed to get quiet and shy when he was balls deep inside of you. Right now, he wanted to hear that pretty fucking voice, teasing and sassing and helping him, all at once.

“What kind of books do you like,” he asked, and it sounded lame to his own ears.

But you looked at him. And screw him up the ass and sideways, it was fucking worth it.

“What kind of books do I like?”

“That’s what I fucking said, isn’t it?”

You stared at him. He stared back, because there was one thing he wasn’t going to let himself do, and it was back off of this.

“Why?”

And Soldier Boy leaned back. Because you said it like that was a real question. Like he wouldn’t, obviously, naturally, want to know every fucking thing about you. Women liked it when someone listened, he’d learned over the years. He’d listen to whatever the fuck you wanted to say, if it got you closer to being in his arms.

“Because,” he said, and your lips tugged down into that pretty pout.

“Because why?”

“Can’t I just fuckin’ want know?” He snapped, and you leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms.

“No one ever just wants to know.”

Soldier Boy rolled his eyes. “Well, you’re looking at someone, doll. So get that through your pretty head.”

You blinked. Flushed. Wrapped your arms around yourself, like you were trying to stop that loud heartbeat from jumping right out of your chest.

“I like everything,” you said stiffly, and Soldier Boy smirked.

“Everything, huh.”

You shrugged, and he leaned over the desk. Your breath hitched, and he knew his features were turning wolfish, but he didn’t fucking care. You seemed into it anyways.

“Everything,” he breathed, and your lips pressed in a nervous little line. “Show me what everything is, then.”

And I’ll show you everything, gorgeous. He thought about saying it. Thought about how you’d melt and get nervous and he’d have his in.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t figure out why—what the fuck was wrong with him, what the fuck you were doing—but the words got caught, and he didn’t say them. He had you where he wanted you anyway, he rationalized. Talking to him. Smiling at him. Breaking you right now would be too fucking easy.

Since when had he not wanted easy.

Maybe since you pulled him through the bookshelves with light, delicate fingers on his wrist. Like you were afraid of breaking him. Since you talked and talked and talked, and he realized how fucked he was.

He wasn’t listening to you talk to fuck you. He just wanted to hear you talk, about books and ships and history and romance and any other fucking thing you wanted. He went home with a book he hadn’t gone there for, because you said it would help him keep trudging through Infinite Jest, and it did. He finished it that week, and marched back into your library with a prideful grin, slamming the monster of a book down on your desk.

“Done,” he declared, and you smiled at him like you were fucking happy, and it did something to his chest he didn’t want to name. Something fucking gooey and light. Something dangerous and strange.

“Did you like it?” You asked him, like it fucking mattered. 

Soldier Boy nodded, and you beamed.

“I have something for you, next.”

Of course you fucking did. You were just perfect like that. And the next thing was a damn picture book, but when he glared at you, you just giggled and pushed it further into his hands.

“Trust me,” you said, and fuck him, he did.

He took the damn book, because you were the one handing it to him, and he’d read it, because that smile was the best thing he’d ever damn seen.

“Bye, Soldier Boy,” you said when he walked away, and he paused.

Soldier Boy. The character, in the movie you hadn’t liked as much as the book. “Ben.”

You blinked, and he sighed.

“My name is Ben.”

“Oh- Okay,” you flushed, and there it was again. That little skip in your heart. “My name is-“

“I know your name, doll,” he drawled, and you bowed your head. Shy and adorable and he was so fucked.

“Right. I- I knew that.”

He chuckled, grinning down at you, and that hawk sharpness in your eyes was gone. You looked like a fucking bunny, and screw him, he wanted to bend you over right there. He brushed his fingers with yours, and you made the tiniest fucking sound.

“Bye, pretty girl,” he said, and you mumbled another bye of your own.

Soldier Boy took a deep breath through his nose, and smelled it. Heady and thick and purely fucking you.

You were turned on. It made his own cock twitch in response, throbbing and begging him to coat itself in that sweet slick between your legs. To feel the way it would stick and slide against him, to cover himself in you and make you his and-

He took a deep breath. He’d be back tomorrow. He’d keep testing it, until you snapped. You made him chase, he’d keep fucking chasing. He didn’t want to just take you anymore. He wanted to make you admit it. That you wanted him as much as he wanted you.

He was worried that wasn’t fucking possible. That no one had ever wanted anyone, as much as he wanted you.

Feelings were so fucking annoying. He still refused to name them. You’d do that for him, with all your smart words and pretty eyes. 

Soldier Boy looked over his shoulder before he walked out the door. You were watching him. He smirked, waving a hand in goodbye. You flushed and looked frantically back to your computer. 

He’d get you where he wanted you. Didn’t matter what he’d need to do. He looked at the book in his hands. Comic, you’d called it. He’d give it a shot. For you.

He was starting to worry, about the type of shit he’d do for you.  

“What’s your thing,” Ben grunted at you one day, and you frowned.

“My thing?”

“Everyone’s got something that gets them in this shitty game,” he said. “They kill someone you love? Help someone you hated. One of those soft little fuckin’ pussies try and do something to you?”

A small, angry part of him flared at that. Anything that had touched you would burn.

“I mean- It’s just the right thing to do,” you mumbled, looking back to your book, and Ben snorted.

Of course you’d do the right fucking thing. He knew you better now. He shouldn’t have bothered to be surprised.

You liked things too much. You were too soft and too hard in all the strangest places. You never looked at him like you were afraid, and you praised him for finishing comic book after comic book—you’d been right, he liked those things, more than he’d say aloud, but you knew—and then you’d flush when he gave you a little too much attention and get sassy when he tested you.

He knew about your past now. There were darker parts that made him angry. Happier shit that made you smile, and made him want you to smile about him one day.

You knew about his past. More than he’d ever told the tabloids. He’d found it slipping out of him, the longer he was around you. But you had that effect on him. Flowing over his like the fucking ocean and catching him in your tide. He didn’t fight it. Anything that made you look at him, that let him tease you, and made you all fucking soft and sugary.

Ben brought you dinner now, like some kind of delivery boy. But you always smiled at him, and asked him how his day had been, and damn him that kept making it worth it. You kept making it worth it. He was allowed in your place now, and he didn’t question why. He’d just been there, and you’d been going home, and he’d been allowed to walk you there. It wasn’t too far from the library, and pretty fucking small, but it smelled like you. Felt like you. So he liked it, and he found a reason to be there almost every fucking day, and that reason was food or your safety or another comic book. You’d talk and he’d listen, then he’d talk and you’d listen, and fuck him, he felt better than he had in longer than he wanted to admit. In maybe forever. And it was all fucking you.

“Wow.” Hughie had said to him, about a week ago. “You really don’t just want to like- You know. Bang her.”

Ben had grunted, not bothering to respond. All the shit he said just made them bigger asses. Butcher had taken to asking him to read every single piece of paper they came across. Frenchie had been making kissy faces behind his back, and asked him to make out with a book. The only reason Ben hadn’t crushed his skull with a single hand was that he’d be kicked out, and you’d probably frown upon that upon that.

“Heard you been reading,” MM had grunted to him. “Didn’t know you knew how.”

Ben had ignored that too, mostly because he hadn’t know he could read either. But he was getting better at it. Helpful to have a good motivator.

You.

He didn’t want to just fuck you anymore. He wasn’t sure what the fuck he wanted. You smiled and the world felt in order. You said his name and it sounded like being called home. Fucking you would be a benefit—you’d only gotten hotter, the longer he’d looked, and his shower and pillowcases knew your name as well as his dreams did by now—but he also liked just… sitting here. Talking. Like some cucked, pathetic little housewife-

“Why do you do it?” You asked, and Ben paused.

“Do what? Fight?”

You nodded, watching him with that judgement free curiosity. He frowned at his burrito, hoping it would give him the answer. He didn’t fucking know. He never thought about that kind of shit, unless you asked him to.

“Couldn’t you just… leave?” You asked softly, and he glanced up at you under heavier eyes.

“You want me to leave, doll?”

“No.”

You’d answered so quickly. It made him feel a million feet tall, and decide that maybe flying wasn’t that fucking bad, if this was what it felt like.

“But- Do you really want to do this forever?” Your voice was so quiet, Ben was worried you were trying to tread lightly around him. He never wanted you to do that. Not with him. If he was getting raw and weak, you had to fucking come down with him.

“Nah,” he took a large bite of his burrito, speaking through the mouthful. “Sick of it. All of it. Been lookin’ for something better-“

“Ben,” you chastise, holding out a napkin. “Chew.”

He rolled his eyes, but chewed. You smiled, waiting patiently for him to finish. He never fucking knew how you did that. Put up with him, when all the members of Butcher’s team looked like they wanted to throttle him every damn second. He used to like it like that. To be satisfied, with the way people would glare at him and not be able to do a fucking thing about it.

But you just… liked him. And that felt better than anything else.

“Looking for something better,” he said after he swallowed. “Y’know. Not this shit.”

“What does better look like?”

You asked it gently, and he doesn’t need to think about it.

Better looked like you.

“Still figuring that out, doll,” he muttered, and something taut flashed over your features. Ben frowned. Times like this, he really fucking wished he could read you.

“I hope you figure it out soon,” you mumbled, and Ben swallowed.

He did too.

You’re getting confused, but Ben is a confusing man.

Everything you’d heard about him—from Butcher, Annie, and the TV—said that he’d be a monster. An impossible, murderous asshole who’d snap you in half to get what he wanted. Over sexual and disrespectful. Arrogant and cold.

And he was arrogant. He was impossible, and a bit of an asshole. He’d flirted with you like he couldn’t help himself, and looked at you like he wanted to eat you alive.

But then he actually read the book. He smiled at you, and got soft around edges you hadn’t even noticed were so sharp. It had been like watching barbed wire unravel. Concerning and strange and… endearing.

Ben was surprisingly endearing.

It was like he’d never just had a friend before. He wandered after you in the library like a puppy, and leaned over your desk with squared shoulders like he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing himself.

“What’s that,” he’d ask you every day, about almost every thing, and you’d shove down a laugh. Under all the gruffness and anger, he mostly just seemed confused. About the world. About you.

So at least it was mutual. The uncertainty.

Because for everything you understood about Ben—his loneliness, his age, his strange puppy like demeanor—you didn’t get this. What he meant to you. What you meant to him.

You’re afraid you’re in love with him. That somewhere between take-out dinners and telling him you read romance books, he stopped being just Ben and became yours.

Not yours.

No one else’s. He says he hasn’t gotten laid in forever. Between visiting you and working, you’re sure he hasn’t had time to mess around in a bar or alleyway. That makes you smug, in a way that sits too brightly in your chest. You don’t want him to find that kind of feeling anywhere. You wish he’d ask for it from you.

He makes moves. He flirts and teases and smirks when it pools between your legs, nostrils flaring and eyes gleaming. Like he fucking knows. But he never does anything about it, and you’re going insane.

You mean something to him. You had to. He’s not the kind of man who would’ve stuck around this long, if he didn’t. But he’s also not the kind of man to deprive himself of things. If he wanted you, he should’ve fucking taken you by now.

Hughie turned red, and mumbled something about this not being his business, when you brought it up.

“Just- Talk to him,” he’d pleaded. “Not me. Never me- I- I like life.”

You’d frowned, but Hughie had frantically changed the subject. He seemed to know something you didn’t. They all did.

“He’s fuckin’ obsessed with you,” Butcher had drawled, when you’d asked him. “That’s what we know.”

Your face had burned. “It’s- No he’s- I mean- I know he- He likes women, and- I’m one- But- Just sex-“

“Love, he could find sex on the street or gutter if his dick needed a tug,” Butcher had rolled his eyes like you—pacing and wringing your hands—were the insane one. “He read for you. I’m real bloody sure he didn’t even know what the fuck a book was, ‘fore he laid eyes on your pretty fuckin’ face.”

You’d smacked Butcher. He’d laughed, and started asking more mission-related questions.

You’d obsessed over it all day. Obsessed with you. He wasn’t. He couldn’t be. You were you and Ben was Ben. He was Soldier Boy. The handsome face you’d grown up fawning over, the big man on the TV screen that seemed untouchable. You’d almost fainted when you saw him, something like a survival instinct locking over you and stopping you from becoming a downright pathetic schoolgirl. You tried to divorce him in your head, from the idealization of a childhood crush.

But you couldn’t. He was meaner and kinder and smarter and cruder than anything you’d managed to dream of. His praise made you dizzy and his mocking tone sent a pool of desire between your thighs, and then he did the dishes when he thought you weren’t looking—you think he might be under the impression you’ll believe they’re just doing themselves—and asked about your interests and didn’t fuck around.

He was supposed to fuck around. To make it easy on you, to get over the infatuation.

He hadn’t. And now you’re so far gone you spend every day gorging yourself on his attention.

Obsessed.

Pretty girl, he calls you. You’d like to be his pretty girl, if he’d just put a claim on you. You wish you could drink enough to be brave. You wish he’d be selfish again, and just fucking take you.

But you’re going to have to do this the hard way. The way that cleaves you in half, if there’s a single wrong serration. If he just carves your chest open, takes your heart, and doesn’t offer his in return.

You have to try. Because if you don’t, you’re going to be here forever.

He brings you your favorite food, tonight. He sits with his knee bumping yours, and it makes your head so clouded you almost forget your plan.

“Do you have… anything?” You ask, your voice barely more than a nervous breath. “That you want to do?”

Ben gives you a sideways, almost confused look. “The fuck does that mean?”

“I mean, just- What are you planning to do?”

“When.”

“In the future.”

“Ah,” he shrugs, raising his burger back to his mouth. “This.”

You swallow. That’s not helpful. “This?” You prompt weakly, and he nods. “You mean- This?” You wave a hand around the room, and Ben’s lips twitch. “Me?”

“You?”

He says it like he can’t believe what he’s hearing, and your heart shrinks.

That’s what you thought. You never should’ve listened to Butcher and Hughie, you knew that wasn’t what he meant, you fucking knew it and- God, you were so fucking stupid, to think he’d want you back.

“Nevermind,” you mumble, and Ben stiffens.

“Doll-“

“I’m getting a new shipment of books tomorrow.” You don’t want to talk about this anymore. “So- I might be too busy to eat lunch-“

Ben snaps your name, and you stare at your hands.

“I- Um- I don’t know how long it will take, so you don’t have to come over-“

Ben grabs your wrist, his touch almost searing into your skin, and when you look up, he’s staring at you. He’d moved to kneel over you. Your noses would brush if you twitched. His breath fans over your face, and you’re embarrassingly slack under his hand.

“Ben…” You whisper, because you don’t want to do this. You don’t want whatever fragile thing you had—even if it was just friendship—to break.

But he doesn’t move back. He never really has.

“You’re sulking,” he mutters, and you try to bow your head, but he catches your chin with two fingers. Tilts it slowly back up, forcing you to hold his gaze. “Why.”

Your voice is tiny. “Doesn’t matter-“

“The fuck it doesn’t matter. What’s wrong with you.”

“Nothing,” you try to avert your gaze. It’s impossible. “I just- You’re- I’m-“

You cut yourself off lamely. Ben leans in closer, jaw ticking as he scans over your features.

“You want it to be you?”

Your mouth falls open. “I- What?”

“My future.” He rasps. “You want it to be you?”

“Do you?”

Your mouth falls open. “I- What?”

“My future.” He rasps. “You want it to be you?”

“Do you?”

You expect him to laugh, but the lines on his face just deepen. He lets out a sharp breath through his lips, then smirks.

“Maybe I do,” he almost purrs, tipping your chin a little futher back. “What then, doll?”

You gape at him. So close. Saying words he won’t be able to take back, but not enough to make you melt. You’re still guarded. Still careful.

“Say it,” you whisper, because you have to be sure. “The- The whole thing.”

Ben frowns. “Doll-“

“Say it,” you almost plead. “If you mean it-“ Please fucking mean it. “If this isn’t just- If I’m not just some fixation, Ben, please say it-“

He crashes his mouth over yours, and your words turn into a long, hungry whimper. His lips are chapped and warm. Soft but firm, the kiss demanding but controlled. His hand slides into your hair, the other coming up to cup the back of your neck, and you melt into his strong body. His tongue traces over your lower lip, and you whine softly.

You get breathless embaressingly fast. Your thighs press together, but he’s not making it easy on you. His hand on your neck drags down your spine and splays possessively on your back. He pulls you closer, humming in satisfaction when you brace your fingers on his thighs. His knee pushes between your legs, and you grind down against it without a thought.

“Christ,” he kisses the corner of your mouth, smirking as you pant and cling to his jeans. “Needy little thing, ain’t you?”

“Ben,” you whimper, and he hums.

“’S alright. I’m gonna take care of you.” He hooks his arm under your knees, the other sliding under your arms. “C’mon.”

You wrap your arms around his neck as he pulls you into the air, pressing your face into his neck. He carries you steadily to the bedroom, setting you down with suprising gentleness on the bed. You blink hopelessly at him, as he draws back up. He still hasn’t said it.

And like he can read your mind, Ben smirks and flicks your nose with his thumb.

“Not a fixation,” he says. “Just my pretty fuckin’ girl.”

You flush, but refuse to cave that fast. “That’s not saying it.”

Ben snorts. “Jesus, woman-“

“Say it.” You snap, before—under the burn of his gaze—adding a mumbled, “Please.”

Ben chuckles. He peels off his shirt, and you almost forget to be stubborn. His big. Even bigged than he looks with his shirt on. His skin is tanned and soft, his boobs might be bigger than yours, and you can see the flex of thick, well built muscle with every breath. Your tongue flicks over your lips, and he smirks.

“You’re real fuckin’ demanding, you know that?”

“You- You’re supposed to- Ben-“ Your protests fall flat, as he trails a light touch up the underside of your leg. “Ben- That’s- You’re- Not playing fair-“

“I’m not tryin’ to play fair, doll,” he teases. “I’m tryin’ to get you ready.”

“Ready?” you squeak, and he hums, squeezing under your knee.

“Want you to be nice and relaxed for me,” he murmurs. “Gonna use this pretty fuckin’ body right. Make you wet, make you fuckin’ stupid.”

He pushes his fingers under the hem of your shorts, and your breathing is staggered and shallow. You lean back and push into his touch all at once, and Ben’s grin widens.

“Look at that. Already playin’ nice.”

You try to glare at him, but he lean back down, pressing you back into the mattress with a deep kiss. Your fingers shoot into his hair, as his weight settles between your legs. It forces them open, his budge pressing right against you clothed, aching pussy. You hadn’t even let yourself fully feel it—the vastness of your desire—because you’d been worried it would’ve just consumed you entirely. That you’d turn into some sex-crazed lunatic, imagining Ben above you and touching you and kissing you. You would’ve turned into a puddle that spent her days in bed with a vibrator, dreaming of what she couldn’t have.

But now you have it. You have him. Kissing you like he’s trying to let you consume him. He groans, with every whimper he draws from your lips. His hips roll against your core, and your breath catches. Your cunt feels like it’s almost in pain, from the neglect of intention. You scratch at Ben’s shoulders and belt, trying to drag him closer and tear every barrier between you apart with only your nails.

Ben catches your wrist, and pins it over your head. You thrash and strain, and he just chuckles, dragging his thumb over soft skin.

“Look at you,” he rolls his hips down again, and your back arches off the bed. “How the fuck could you think I wouldn’t want this?”

You blink at him, breathing through your mouth, and Ben leans down. His kiss brushes the very tip of your nose. You mewl, wired and desperate, and Ben laughs. The mockery of it only makes the heat between your legs stronger.

“You make me fuckin’ crazy,” he says, jaw clenched tight. “Make me… Feel things.”

“You make me feel things too,” you breathe out, and Ben stills.

“Yeah?”

You almost giggle at the slack, worshipful look on his face. Guarded but leaking with a hope you’re sure his old, old heart doesn’t know how to recognize. You don’t strain against his pull on you. You just lean up and brush a kiss over his jawline.

His whole body shudders. You sink back into the cushions, beaming as his wrecked expression. A low growl rolls through his chest, and his eyes go so dark it’s almost predatory.

“You,” his voice has dropped, so impossibly deep. “You…”

Words seem to fail him. You don’t mind. You don’t love Ben because he’s a man of words. You have enough of them as it is. You surround yourself with them, and there are only so many in the world that can express this. The electric, new and fragile and hungry thing between you. 

You love Ben because he’s a man of action. And you know he’s not going to be able to say he loves you.

So he crashes back down, and shows you instead.

It starts with open mouth kisses, over your collarbone and throat. You head tips back, your mouth going slack, and Ben moans against your skin.

“So fuckin’ responsive.” He snakes a hand under your body, giving you ass a firm squeeze. “Knew you would be. Sensitive fuckin’ doll, probably getting fuckin’ soaked from just a little touching.”

Humiliations burn with arousal in your gut, deep and hot and intoxicating. You are soaked. You can feel it every time you shift against him.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Ben coos, kissing a particularly soft part of your neck. “I know how bad you want this. I can fuckin’ smell it.”

Your eyes widen, your mouth falling open. “You- You what?”

“You heard me,” he pushes your shirt slowly up, thick fingers brushing over the soft skin of your stomach. “Every time you got needy, doll. I could almost taste it.”

“And you- You never-“

“You’re the one who said to be sure.”

His tone is mocking, but his touch is hot and his expression is shockingly soft. You flush under the attention, unsure what to do yourself. Just splayed on the bed for him to play with, dazed and confused. Ben grins like a wolf, and tears off your shirt without a warning. You almost protest, but he doesn’t give you the chance.

“No bra,” he takes on perked nipple, rolling it between his fingers with a dangerous smile. “Fuckin’ slut.”

You swallow, watching with wide eyes as he lean over your chest. Electricy shoots through your body, as he wraps his mouth around your neglected nipple, sucking lightly as he plays with the other one between those infernal fingers. You stare at the ceiling with fluttering lashes, lost in the warmth of his mouth. His tongue flicks, and you whimper. Ben’s teeth graze against you, and a weak noise of his name falls from your lips.

He smirks, dragging more kisses over the curve of your breast. He gives your nipple one last flick, then kisses over the hurt.

“Already bein’ so quiet,” he teases, toying with the band of your shorts. “Think I might need to make you scream, doll. Make you prove how bad you want this cock.”

“I- I want it-“ You stammer, pushing up on your elbows. “Don’t- I want it-“  

“Shh.” Ben presses his finger against your mouth, and your jaw snaps shut.

He blinks. You swallow, trying to drag up the strength to resist him again, but it’s too late. He’s seen it. How fucking desperate you are to please him.

“Jesus,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “You’re- Chirst.”

Your cheeks burn. You try to roll onto your stomach, but Ben catches you and rolls you back. You pout at him, silently pleading with him not to make this a fucking thing, but he just keeps examining you. His gaze burns over your skin. You think you’re going to fucking explode.

Slowly—almost carefully—Ben pushes his thumb into your mouth. You take it, batting your lashes and loosening your jaw. The pad of his fingers tickles the back of your throat, and you suck lightly, eyes fluttering shut. Ben massages your thigh, and your legs fall further open.

“This what you really fuckin’ wanted, huh,” Ben mutters, and you hum, swirling your tongue around him. “You’ll do anything I fuckin’ tell you.”

You hum, sucking harder. You eyes burn, and you squeeze them shut.

Ben taps your cheek with his free forefinger. “Open.”

You obey, blinking through the shame, not letting yourself slack on his thumb. You flick against it, the same way he’d played with your nipple, and his throat bobs.

“Fuckin’ dangerous,” he says, and you don’t understand why he thinks that. You’re the pathetic one here.

But Ben pulls his thumb back, and with a softness you didn’t know he had, he leans down and brushes his lips against yours. It’s a restrained, teasing kiss. You think you’re going to cry, but then he pushes his knee back against your core, and you can only gasp against his mouth.

“That’s it, doll,” he mutters. “Relax for me.”

“Be- Ben-“ You blubber, already fucking ruined. “Touch me, please-“

He deepens the kiss, his tongue pressing into your mouth with such demand you almost sob. He knee grinds itself against you, moving back only so he can rip your shorts and panties away. Your breath hitches, as two massive fingers drag their way through your cunt.

“What a fuckin’ mess,” Ben growls. “I’ve been neglecting you, haven’t I. Not fuckin’ my pretty girl like she needs.”

You whine, nodding like a bobblehead. Ben pulls slightly back, kissing a stray tear on your cheek.

“Fucking crybaby,” he hisses. “Barely even done anything yet, you’re going to be a fucking wreck when I’m done.”

God, you are. There’s no way around it. Those two fingers are curling right against your weeping pussy, and if he doesn’t do something soon, you’re going to fucking scream.

“I’ll give you something to really cry about.” Ben slams a quick, harsh kiss back on your lips before pulling away. “No cumming, ‘till I say. You got that?”

You stare at him, and the softness is gone. His jaw is set, his eyes sharp, and his voice a rough command. Usually, you’d laugh at his attempts to boss you around, but right now you’re barely more than putty in his arms. You nod, and Ben huffs in satisfaction.

“Good girl.”

Your cunt squeezes around nothing. Ben must smell the gush, because his nostrils flare and his fingers dig into your hips.

“Been waitin’ too fucking long for this,” he says, kissing his way down your body. “Going to take my fuckin’ time, doll. Think I’ve earned that much, keeping my cock in my pants long as I did.”

You mewl an agreement, and Ben laughs.

“Anything I say,” he mutters to himself, pulling your legs over his shoulders. “Too fuckin’ good to be true.”

You’d argue this wasn’t good, if it wasn’t the best feeling you’ve ever experienced. You’re completely at Ben’s mercy, one massive hand massaging your ass as the opposite parts your pussy folds, giving him a good look at the evidence of your desperation.

Ben hums in approval, and your pussy clenches again. He laughs, kissing the inside of your thigh, and blows a puff of cool air against your clit. Your hips fly off the bed as you cry out, and Ben slams them down with a single hand.

“Stay still.” He orders, and you whimper in acknowledgement.

You’re going to try. You’re really going to fucking try, to listen. To be good for him.

But he does’t make it fucking easy.

Ben dives headfirst into your pussy, and you almost fucking scream. You knew he was experienced, but this feels like someone’s mouth fucking you with a sex machine. A hot, messy sex machine that has rough lips and a thick tongue, plunging in and out of your gaping cunt. His nose drags against your clit, rubbing into it over and over like he’s trying to set you off, and you grab at the sheets to try and achnor yourself.

“Be- Ben- Fuck-“ He makes out with your clit, and your eyes roll back in your head. “Oh- Oh my god-“

He pulls back, smacks your pussy, and pushes his face back into your core. Your body doesn’t even seem to know how to process it, every nerve so lit up that it’s scrambled and dazed. You’re almost, literally, overloaded with pleasure.

Ben keeps eating you out with the fervor of a starved man. He uses his whole face, tonguing you like he’s trying to memorize the way you squeeze around him. Whenever you cry out for him, he spanks your pussy, and you can’t tell if it’s a punishment or reward. Maybe both, if the way your cunt pulses with every hit is an indication.

He hits your pussy again, right when you’re so close to the edge you can taste it, and you almost cum. The only thing that stops you it is physically yanking yourself back, trying to escape the intensity of his touch.

Ben grabs you and drags you back. You whine, looking up at him with glossy, tear stained eyes. He wipes them away with his thumb, glaring down at your open, wrecked expression.

“The fuck did I say about moving?”

“I- I didn’t-“

“You did.”

He plants one hand on your lower abdomen, spanking your pussy with the other. Once. Twice. Your eyes roll back and the tears roll down your cheeks, but Ben just sneers.

“You wanna cum, doll?”

“Yes- Yes, please-“

“Then be fuckin’ good.”

He spanks your pussy again, and pushes his face back in. Your cunt is so abused and raw it only takes a few seconds to work you back up to where you were before. You try not to move, but then Ben—like he wants you not to listen—flicks his clit back and forth over your clit, so fast it feels like a vibrator. Your thighs lock around his head, and your back arches off the mattress.

This time, Ben doesn’t pull back and spank you. This time is worse. He just… Keeps going. He’s strong enough to keep your hips steady against his face. He grabs your ankles, and forces them to stay around his head. You can’t get away from him, as he works your pussy. You thrash in the sheets, crying out and shoving his head as it becomes borderline impossible to hold your orgasm in, but he doesn’t fucking stop.

You’re crying, loud and pathetic, and Ben just moans against your cunt. You roll onto your stomach, trying to crawl away as your traitorous pussy grinds against his face, and Ben slaps your ass. One arm leaves your body—though it doesn’t help you at all—and you hear skin slapping behind you. You manage to twist over your shoulder, and almost cum just from the sight.

Ben, jerking himself off as he keeps you pinned to his face. His cock is thick and big, bigger than anything you’ve ever see. It’s almost pretty, and that’s not something a cock should be. He’s leaking with pre-cum. You want to lap it off of him.

He slams you further onto his face, and you mewl, collapsing back into the matteress. You might pass out, with the effort to keep your orgasm in. You can barely think, barely speak. You’re just sobbing into the sheets and lost in the pleasure.

Then it stops.

Ben pulls away, and the loss is worse than the torture. You cry out, babbling something like his name, and Ben’s lips slot gently over yours.

“Doin’ so fucking well, babydoll,” he mutters. “Just a little longer. It’ll feel good.”

You nod, trying to chase his lips when he pulls away. He hums in amusement, pressing a kiss to your neck, and drags your ass up into the air. Your knees are already wobbly. You wouldn’t be able to stay up, if Ben didn’t wrap an arm around your stomach and force you up.

“Never seen someone so fuckin’ gorgous when they cry,” he mutters, rubbing that thick cock between the lips of your pussy. “Think I just like you wet, honey. Wet and fuckin’ sweet.”

He gathers some arousal with his fingers, then reaches over to press them against your lips.

“Taste,” he orders, and you obey thoughtlessly.

You don’t taste bad. Just… Strange. You moan, but mostly because you like Ben’s fingers being back in your mouth.

“That’s it,” Ben coos, lining himself up against your entrance. “Keep suckin’, pretty girl. Know it helps.”

You hum, and you’re too gone to actually think about what he said. It helps.

Then Ben starts to push inside you, and it becomes obvious what he meant. You squeak around his fingers, and Ben shushes you, slowly. Pushing every inch in so slowly, letting you adjust before giving a little more. You’ve never been strenched this wide, had such deep an angle. You keep sucking on his thumb, trying to find something to do with your body but seize up and wiggle. Ben thumbs slowly at your clit, helping it get further and further in.

“Fuck,” he hisses when he bottoms out, his balls pressed against the curve of your ass. “Fit me like a fuckin’ glove, doll- Christ-“

Ben leans fully over you, his body blanketing yours and his hand splaying back over your stomach. His face presses into the crook of your neck, his thumb pulling out of your mouth so his hand can wrap around your throat. He grinds his hips down, and you mewl, fresh tears falling from your eyes.

Ben kisses them away, rolling his hips again. His cock hits so deep inside you, you think you see stars. Just having him in you is cruel. You’re so full, with so little friction, it’s a wonder you’re not sobbing.

But Ben takes mercy, squeezing your neck gently before whispering, “Sing for me, babydoll.”

He pulls almost fully out, slams back in, and you scream. It’s a broken, delighted sound of pleasure, and Ben groans against your skin. He lets go of your throat, letting your cheek press into the mattress, and grabs your hand. Your fingers tangle together, as you pant. There’s nothing you can really do but take it. The size of him along, it knocks the air clean from your lungs. Ben presses demanding kisses, over your face and neck. You try to kiss him back, but you mostly just writhe and cry out his name.

He’s like an animal, with all his grunts and growls of your name. Every thrust drags his cock over your g-spot, splitting you open over and over until you’re just a ball of tears and nerves in Ben’s arms. His thumb wanders back down to your clit, rubbing tight, harsh circles, and you scream. The Zpressure in your body feels seconds from exploding, and you really don’t think you can take much more.

“Be- Ben-“ Your eyes cross, as he keeps pounding into your gushing cunt. “Ooooh- Bennn-“

“I know,” he kisses your cheek, then the corner of your mouth, his hips snapping down like a drill. “Soak my cock, pretty girl. You can do it, come on-“

The permission is all you needed. Ben’s hips snap forward, the head of his cock angled to drive into that gooey spot, and you come undone. Your orgasm is blinding and powerful, sweeping through every inch of your body. It lasts, as Ben fucks and fingers you through it, unraveling you so completely you think you black out for a moment. All you remember is a heavenly, strangely pure kind of floating feeling, and Ben’s growled praise in your ear.

“Good girl,” he hisses, and you coo, pussy fluttering and weeping. “Fuckin’- Gonna fill you up, doll, fill you up real fuckin’ good- I’ll be leakin’ out of this pussy when I’m done, let everyone know who the fuck you belong to- My girl, my fuckin’ girl-“

Ben’s thrusts grow jagged, his hand moving back to your throat, and you make a blubbering sound of agreement. He chuckles, choked and rough.

“You’d fuckin’ love that. Bein’ full of me, bein’ mine, bein’- Fuck-“

Ben cums, thick ropes of cum spurting into your cunt. There’s so much of it, so much of him, you can almost feel it in your throat. Almost fucking taste it. He tries to fuck you through it, but soon his release is dripping down your thighs and spraying back to your calves, and he pulls out. A stream of it hits your back as he moans, and you only squeak when Ben rolls you over and paints your stomach and tits white as well.

It’s a glorious fucking sight. Ben in all his glory, his cock wrapped in his fist and coated in your juices, his chest heaving as he moans your name and cums all over your body. When he’s done he doubles over, crashing his lips against yours and kissing you with so much fervor, you could almost think no sex had happened at all.

He pulls back, and you giggle. You don’t know why. It just feels like the right fucking thing to do, with how softly he’s looking at you. How unbelievably fucking lucky you are. Ben raises his brows, rolls his eyes, and presses a softer kiss to your lips.

“You think this is funny?” He mutters, but there’s no venom in his voice.

You nod, smiling up at him, and he sighs.

“You’re lucky,” he mutters, and he has no idea.

You press a kiss to his lips, and they twitch up. His eyes soften again, as he takes you in. So fucked out you can’t even speak.

“Good?” He mutters, and you nod like a bobblehead.

So good. So fucking worth it, for the months of mind games of questions, with how fucking good it was.

Ben smiles. And you can read it all over his face.

How he really does feel the exact same way.

“Told you I’d take care of you,” he grunts. “My fuckin’ girl.”

And you are. And he really, really fucking does. He cleans you up and feeds you. Gets you water and crawls into bed, lighting up a joint but keeping you tucked tight into his chest. You look up at him with a dazed smile, and he looks down at like some adoring, devout follower of a secret religion.

“We should get married,” he says suddenly, and you laugh, finding enough of a voice to respond.

“Date me first, smart guy.”

He grunts, pulling you closer and kissing the top of your head. You both know there isn’t much dating that will need to be done, to get you on board. But Ben’s going to try anyway. And you love him for it. How willing he is, just for you, to really, always fucking try.  

✦End note: eric kripke WISHES he had my vision of soldier boy ✦

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THE BOYS | 2019 - 2026 S05E04 ("King of Hell")