Hi there!! Can I request a soldier boy x reader smut? Basically reader was this too pin up girl who has been shown in famous magazines and videos in scandalous poses until she retired being a housewife for Ben. Even retired though Ben still takes her outs on vought galas and still shows her off until a guy tries to bag her into being with him not realizing she was still with Ben. In the end Ben makes a Sex tape of him getting her pregnant and mysteriously gets leaked to the public cause more men are now starting to thirst for her more so Ben had enough and wanted to show everyone that she’s his. 🧎♀️
omg this request is amazing! I hope I did it justice- sorry it took so long btw!/MDNI
every piece of media displayed your alluring beauty. camera flashes erupted from every corner as you got photographed in the most scandalous poses whilst wearing the skimpiest lingerie. you were the most sought after vixen. people often compared you to iconic pin up girls like bettie page and you lived for all the attention- until ben showed up.
from the moment you first laid eyes on him, you knew that you just wanted to get spoiled by him. he had this manly force that just made you want to be taken care of. it didn't take long for him to propose to you and you certainly did not require a lot of convincing to be his housewife. now your days consisted of being spoiled rotten and getting fucked to oblivion. of course retiring from your job only to settle down as a housewife resulted in a lot of critism from others but none of it mattered to you.
ben and you were still regular visitors at vought galas. he liked to show you off, rub into everyone's faces that you were his. his hand firmly grasping onto your waist, pulling you towards him. usually it was fun but the tension was palpable today. ben felt the gazes of lustful men trailing down your body "jesus are they all just fresh outta jail? they're starring down at you like you're meat" you placed your hand onto his chest "relax honey, that is just what tends to happen with a past like mine. thought you got used to it by now" ben let out a dissatisfied groan and rubbed his temples "I'm gonna go get a drink doll, christ knows I can't do this shit sober" his voice erupted with anger as he pushed your hands off of him. you rolled your eyes at his temper, fidgeting with your fingers nervously as you watched him walk away. your gaze intuitively shifted towards a guy who approached you. he was fairly handsome but of course nothing compared to ben. he stared at you up and down.
"what's a woman like you doing here alone? can I get you a drink, gorgeus?" just as you wanted to open up your mouth ben's voice cut you off "get the fuck off my girl before I beat your scrawny ass up" the guy mumbled a sorry and instantly staggered off. ben graped your wrist so tightly that it almost turned blue. "am fuckin' sick of it, every damn day a new guy tries to get in your panties like you're public service or somethin'. and they're such bitches too. that pathetic fuck didn't even look me in the eye like a real man" you whined "owww, where are we going?" he grumbled under his breath "home, to prove everyone that your mine"
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at home ben didn't even hesitate before throwing you on the bed and instantly climbing over you, trapping you completely under him. he pressed his lips against yours in a harsh kiss- that tasted like mellow bourbon and jealousy. his hands slid down your chest cuping your tits roughly "gonna get you fuckin' pregnant, doll. gonna fully belong to me then" you took in a sharp inhale "ben...are you sure?...just stop being impulsive for a sec please. let's talk it-" before your sentence ended he slid your panties down and began toying with your clit with his thumb, circling it around. his index and middle finger plunged in and out of your cunt.
his other hand pressed down on your stomach "gonna be so pretty with a bump. yeah then everyone can fucking see that I own you" you moaned and leaned your head back, grinding yourself against his fingers "god, ben. I don't know if I'm ready" he pinched your clit for a brief second "course you're ready, that's your fucking duty as my wife"
you let out a shaky moan "ugh god, I can't believe what you're saying saying sometimes. he curled up his fingers hitting your gspot as you felt yourself needing that sweet release "ughh fuck, I'm cumin daddy, please don't stop" your eyes rolled back as you came on his fingers. he took them out and reached out to stroke the base of his cock a few times "you're such an easy slut, no wonder considering your previous job was just you whoring around" you furrowed your eyebrows "hey it was a professional job! sort of like modeling" he scoffed "sure keep lyin' to yourself sweetheart now be quiet yeah? no one cares about your opinions"
you teared up at his words but agreed with him "I guess you're right..." he let out a dry chuckle and lined up his cock with your entrance, stretching your hole out. you moaned and leaned your head back-your nails reaching to scratch his back "ahh fuck- mhm I love you daddy" he began thrusting into you at a brutal force. his balls hitting your plump ass as he pumped in and out of you "yeah? if you love daddy you will do what he says won't you? gonna let me pump my cum into you like a good girl?" he reached out for a camera that laid on the nightstand while his cock was still planted inside you, your walls were dripping down with arousal at how much power he held over you "gonna get this on camera so that everyone can see me breedin' my pretty girl"
you whined and covered your face up in shame. he pushed away your hands from your face "since when so camera shy, doll? you used to be a pro at this" you whimpered "this is different, it's way more vulnerable" his thrusts picked up again after you said that "fuckin right it is, gonna be as personal as it can get. gonna let the whole world know that you're mine."
your cunt was fluttering around his cock "oh fuck" you shuddered "gonna cum again" you let out a soft cry as you came undone before him. "mhmm what a good whore f'me" his hips buckled in an untamed manner, raspy moans escaping his throat as he approached his climax. with a final thrust warm cum spilled inside your stomach, filling you up. you let out a shaky breath as he touched your stomach again "now I claimed you for eternity, doll. no one is gonna ever fuckin' flirt with you again. have you fully to myself"
the next day the video got mysteriously leaked- although it was clear as day that ben posted it and it got A LOT of attention from the public making you feel as exposed as ever.
Summary: Dex becomes obsessed with one of the waitresses at his local diner. (3.5k)
Tags/warnings: smut (mdni), dry humping, oral (f!receiving), face riding, cumming untouched, pathetic dex, mentions of violence, mentions of murder, stalking, obsessive/possessive behavior, reader is morally grey and kind of a freak (affectionately)
A/N: First time writing for Dex!!! Heavily inspired by the song "She" by Tyler, The Creator and Frank Ocean. English is not my first language and this was not proofread. Enjoy!
masterlist
A routine, that's all you craved for when you skipped town a couple of months ago. That's what you try to remind yourself as another day, identical to the previous, begins.
You wake up tangled in your cheep sheets, glistening with sweat as the first rays of sunshine filter through your open window.
You paddle to the small kitchen of your new home, the floorboards creaking under your bare feet, and make yourself a cup of coffee. Then, you start to get ready for another shift at the diner.
It's not your dream job — far from it, actually — but the pay is decent, and if you manage to flash a sweet smile convincingly enough to the right clients, the tips can be pretty consistent.
After a relatively long drive from the secluded ranch you managed to buy from a man who didn't ask many questions when you asked to pay upfront with cash, you park your beat-up sedan in front of the diner.
As you walk in you flash a smile to the few regulars you recognize, and you great your coworker behind the counter — a young girl too sweet for her own good.
"Morning!" she replies with a smile of her own, despite the fact that's way to early for someone to look this joyous.
After exchanging a few niceties, you tie your apron and officially begin your shift. It's the same routine as usual: go up to tables, take orders, and refill cups with coffee that you know for sure tastes like shit.
But then, just like clockwork, at exactly the same time as every day you work the morning shift, your favorite costumer walks in.
He's older and unfairly attractive, with his broad shoulders and graying blond hair. Like usual, he sits at a booth far from the windows and he picks up the menu, carefully studying it, despite always ordering the same thing.
"Good morning, Tony! What can I get you today?"
You take out your notepad from the pocket of your apron, and let the pen hover over the blank page, waiting for his answer.
"I'll have a banana milkshake," he replies, looking up at you with a controlled smile, making a shiver run down your spine.
There's nothing unusual about him. He's polite, always thanks you when you get him his order, and tips way too much considering he always gets the same banana milkshake.
But there's something in the way you feel his eyes following you whenever he's in the diner that makes you feel naked — like he knows what you're so desperately trying to hide.
Still, you keep on the facade you use whenever you're interacting with other people, especially costumers, and leave to make his banana milkshake.
His gaze burns on the back of your head, and your hands tremble slightly as you pour the milk in the blender. You try to sneak a glance in his general direction, but when your eyes land on his figure, he's already looking somewhere else.
After, the routine resumes as usual. He drinks his milkshake, you give him his check, and he leaves a generous tip before walking out of the diner.
In the past, you tried imagining what his life outside might look like. Where does he work? Does he live nearby? Does he have someone waiting for him at home?
Questions like this usually leave you feeling uneasy and unsatisfied when you realize that you'll probably never know the answer.
Later that night, desperately trying to push further away any thoughts about Tony, you decide to call Chris over.
He's a nice guy. Definitely not the love of your life, but a pleasant enough distraction from your previous life.
You met him a few weeks ago at the diner, and when he shyly asked for your number — after pushing the initial instinct to give him the wrong one — you left it written on his check.
After that first encounter, he brought you on many dates, but still, you never got past first base, and he, like a gentleman, never pushed further.
Tonight, though, things are going to change.
At 8 pm sharp, you hear the doorbell ring, and when you open your door, you find him still in uniform, holding a gorgeous bouquet of flowers.
"Sorry, I just got off work. I would have changed, but I didn't want to be late, and-" you press your lips against his, muffling the rest of his apology.
Truth be told, at first the fact that he's a cop made you nervous. You worried he would look into your past and find out what made you run away. Instead, he seemingly believed every word that came out of your mouth when you told him your made-up background story, and it made you more inclined to keep seeing him. At least, until he realizes that everything you told him, even your name, is a lie.
"Don't worry about it," you mumble against his lips. "I'm pretty sure I've got some clothes that could fit you. Now, come in."
You take his free hand in yours and drag him past the threshold, closing the door behind him.
Then, after putting the bouquet in a vase, you walk towards your bedroom, looking at him over your shoulder, silently inviting him to follow you. Like a siren luring in an unfortunate mariner.
He seems to take the bait, and gladly follows you. Men are so predictable.
"Here, let me see if I can find some sweats," you say, looking inside your closet.
In the meantime, Chris stands awkwardly near the door, looking so out of place in your bedroom.
As you rummage through the few clothes that you brought with you, he takes off his holster and places it on your nightstand, making it land on the wooden surface with a loud thud.
The cold night air enters the room through your open window, moving the blinds in an almost hypnotic way, catching Chris' attention.
Then, he freezes.
You turn around in that exact moment, holding a pair of oversized sweats in your hands, and furrow your brown when you see him looking attentively at a distant point outside your window.
"What is it?"
"I think I saw something."
You let out a giggle, taking a step closer to his unmoving body.
"I live near the woods. It was probably just an animal."
You can see it in his eyes that he's not convinced, so you lay the sweats on your bed and place your hands on his chest.
"Come on. Let's get you out of this uniform, officer," you whisper near his ear, before placing a languid kiss on his jaw.
It turns out to be a good enough distraction. His gaze shifts in your direction, and his hands immediately find your hips, pulling you closer to his body.
You push him on the bed, and then straddle him, before moving your hands on his shoulder and leaving a trail of kisses from his jaw down to his neck.
His back is pressed near the window, making it possible for you to see some movement near a couple of trees outside your house.
Before you can think about your next move, a knife slices the air, landing on the opposite wall. You let out a scream, as Chris moves your body and lunges towards the gun on your nightstand. He then fires two shoots in the general direction of the attacker. But it's too late. He's gone.
Your heart is beating so fast in your chest that you're pretty sure Chris can hear it as well. He has something more urgent to think about though.
Blood is running down his left arm, soaking his uniform. The wound is pretty close to the spot where your hand was just a few moments ago, and yet, you're unharmed.
Did the attacker miss, or were you never the target?
"Shit," Chris says, as he tries to apply some pressure on the cut.
"Wait, let me help you."
You raise from the bed and run to your bathroom, where you keep your first aid kit. Once you're back in the bedroom, you help him take off his uniform, and as you begin to disinfect the wound, Chris breaks the silence.
"Who the fuck was that? He had a fucking- A fucking mask, and he-" his tone is understandably panicked, and his mind was clearly running a hundred miles an hour.
"Was that one of your exes?"
The question sounds so absurd you almost laugh, but decide that now is probably not the right moment.
"If that's your ex you should probably own a pistol, you know that?"
You blame his rambling to the adrenaline that's probably running through his veins right now, and keep cleaning him up.
It doesn't take you long to stop the bleeding. The cut is actually not that deep, but it doesn't seem to ease his mind. On the contrary.
As soon as you finish securing the sterile gauze over the wound, he grabs his things and almost runs to the door, mumbling something about calling you tomorrow.
He does offer you to spend the night at his apartment, but when you decline he doesn't try too hard to change your mind, instead getting in his car and driving away as if someone were chasing him.
When you go back to your room, for some reason unknown to you, you don't feel scared or threatened.
Your eyes land on the knife, still plugged in the drywall. You walk closer and pull it out, the weight feeling oddly comforting in your hands.
There's some of Chris' blood on it, so you wipe it on your sleep shorts, before hiding it in your underwear drawer.
And in that moment you think: it was never meant for you. It was meant for him only.
The next morning, when you check your phone, you don't find any missed calls from Chris. You think that what happened last night must have scared him away for good, and, weirdly enough, it gives you a strange sense of relief.
Throughout the rest of the day you keep occasionally checking your phone, mostly because it feels like the right think to do, not because you're actually concerned.
You should be worried. Maybe you should try to reach out. Go to his apartment, even. But you never do.
Instead, you go back to your house and slip in the shower, trying to wash away the smell of fried bacon and burned coffee that always lingers on you after you leave the diner.
Once you're done, you realize you've forgotten your towel, leaving you no option but to walk completely naked to your bedroom, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the floorboards.
The blinds in your bedroom are open — as they usually are — but now, for the first time since you moved in this house, you feel a pair of eyes on you.
A shiver runs down your spine, but you do nothing to cover yourself or close the curtains, because there's something familiar about this feeling.
You brush it off, instead applying lotion over your damp body, before finally putting on your clean pj's and going to bed.
Next time you're at the diner, something strange happens.
Tony walks in at the same time as usual, he sits at his usual booth, and he orders the same banana milkshake.
Nothing is out of the ordinary. Except this time the way his gaze follows you feels warmer than usual, and just as you're about to pour the drink inside the glass, the realization suddenly dawns on you.
Tony's the one who has been looking at you through your window. And he's probably the one who threw that knife at Chris.
You remain frozen on your spot until another waitress squeezes past you, reminding you that you're still in a public place. And he's in the same room as you.
You swallow hard enough to make noise, before pouring some whipped cream over the milkshake, grabbing a straw and walking up to Tony's table.
"Here you go," you said placing the glass down on the table, praying he didn't notice the way your voice wavered.
"Thank you, ma'am," he replies, reaching for his milkshake and accidentally brushing your fingers with his.
You immediately move your hand as if you got burned, and without saying anything else you walk away, busying yourself with other costumers.
His gaze, though, weights heavier than it ever has today, and you can't breath properly until he leaves.
The drive home after your shift is silent — you don't even turn on the radio — but that's fine, because your thoughts make enough noise on their own.
The road that usually seems never ending, today feels uncharacteristically short. Even after turning off the engine, you remain seated inside your car.
Your skin is prickling with a feeling similar to anxiety, but not quite.
Excitement, that's what it it.
Despite the rational part of your brain telling you that you should feel scared, that you might be in danger, and that Chris' radio silence might have been caused by something quiet dark, you can't help but hope Tony will be outside your window, watching you.
So you walk inside your home.
Everything's silent. The only sound that can be heard is the low buzz of your fridge. Despite that, you have a feeling you're not alone.
"Tony? Is that you?" and after a moment. "Is that even your real name?"
Then, from a dark corner, a broad figure emerges. Despite the tactical gear and the mask covering everything beside his eyes, you know immediately that the figure that has been inhabiting the shadows near you for longer than you might expect is none other than your favorite costumer.
"Hi, Tony," you great him, your voice just above a whisper. "Or you wanna tell me your real name?"
For a moment you're met with silence, so long that you begin to wonder whether you got it all wrong and there's an actual stranger in your house. Your heartbeat begins to raise, until he speak.
"Benjamin."
"Hi, Benjamin."
You stand there, staring at each other, until you take a step forward in his direction.
"So it was you, uh? How long have you been watching me?" you ask, but there's no real malice, or anger in your voice. Just plain curiosity.
"Ever since I first met you."
It's weird, you would have expected him to be unwavering, sure of himself. Terrifying, even.
Instead, he sounds almost ashamed, making it difficult for you to believe that he's the same man that threw a knife at your date the other night.
You take another step forward, never moving your gaze from his masked face.
"Are you going to show me you pretty face or not?"
He lets out a sharp exhale, sounding like he just got punched. Experiencing first hand the power your words have over him makes you feel almost high.
When he doesn't make a move to take off his mask, you raise your hands to his neck and do it yourself.
The moonlight shines over his messy locks, and the scar on his cheek catches the light just right, making you want to lick it.
Instead, you let the mask drop on the floor, and begin lightly scratching his chest over his suit, your touch featherlight, almost imperceptible.
"So, you watched me for weeks. What was I doing?"
The way his expression shifts and the tips of his ears redden slightly make your lips curl into a smug smile.
You can see his gloves hands clenching at his sides, almost like he's making an active effort not to reach out. Like he's waiting for your permission.
"You were reading, mostly. Sometimes you would watch a movie, if you were not too tired. Most of the times you were too exhausted to do anything. Other times-" and he stops, his face burning.
You tilt your head, confused by what he might be referring to, until you realize.
"What? What was I doing?"
Silence.
"Touching yourself."
Your grin widens, and your hands shift from his chest to his hair.
"Hm, and how did that make you feel, uh? Did it turn you on? Did you wish you could replace my fingers with yours?"
As you ask him these filthy questions, you tug his hair. Hard.
In response, he lets out a low moan, and his hands fly to your hips, mostly trying to ground himself.
"P-Please..."
The word comes out almost uncertain from his mouth, making your lips curl in amusement.
How the tables have turned. How did he go from being your stalker to begging you to let him touch you?
"Please, what?"
"Let me make you feel good."
His voice is strained, almost as if he were in physical pain.
"You really think you can do that?" you ask mockingly.
He nods, looking so eager to please.
You don't offer him a response. Instead you start walking to your bedroom — the same bedroom he has been spying for weeks — and you don't have to look back to know he's following you.
The mattress sinks under your weight as your sit on it. Benjamin doesn't hesitate before falling on his knees, right in front of you.
He starts soft, gently kissing your knuckles. Then he starts traveling higher, his lips caressing the soft skin of your arms, making your eyes flutter closed.
He then places his hands on either side of your body, steadying himself as he kisses your neck. He keeps getting closer to his final destination, grazing your jaw, your cheeks, and finally your lips.
At first the kiss is soft and tender, until you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. This seems to be enough of an invitation for him.
The kiss turns hungry, almost desperate. You can feel the weight of his body over yours as he lays you down on the bed. But you don't stay in this position for long.
Taking him by surprise, you flip him over — but you have the suspicion he's right where he wants to be, underneath you.
His hands begin exploring your body, and your own move back to his hair, burying your fingers in his graying locks.
Underneath the layers of his tactical gear, you can feel him getting progressively harder. All it takes is you grinding your hips over his bulge to get another moan out of him.
You keep moving, chasing friction with his clothed cock, trying to ease the heath between your legs.
Surprisingly, he's the first one to break the kiss.
"Please, can I taste you?"
He sounds so desperate you can feel your panties getting even more wet than before.
In response, you take off your pants and your underwear in one go, but when you move to lay on the bed, he stops you. Instead, he moves your hips higher up, near his face.
Without a warning, he pushes you down on his face. Your hands immediately travel back to his hair, tugging them as you let out a high pitched moan.
At first, he drags his tongue from you needy hole to your clit, before laying a kiss on the bundle of nerves.
His movements are unsure at first, like he's trying to memorize the shape of you. Then, when you start grinding on his face, he seems to gain more confidence, and begins to eat you out like a man starved.
Even though you're completely lost in your pleasure, you can feel him moaning and whispering praises into your cunt.
Things like "you taste so good," and, "you're so perfect."
But the closer you get to your release, the darker his words get.
"Ain't no man allowed in your bedroom except for me," or, "he couldn't have made you feel this good," or simply, "you're mine."
The possessiveness in his voice is enough to make you reach your orgasm, holding onto him like an anchor.
The sound of your release paired with the way to keep pulling his hair — hard enough to sting — is enough make him cum untouched in his pants.
After catching your breath, you move from Benjamin's face and roll over, laying by his side.
He moves as well, resting his head in your lap and wrapping his arms around your waist, holding you so tight that you think he might be afraid that you're going to disappear at any moment.
A moment of silence passes between the two of you.
"Benjamin?"
"Mhm?"
"What happened to Chris?"
"I killed him."
A/N: This was the fic! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, even if it's criticism (as long as it's constructive). I love talking with you angels, so my dms and inbox are always open!
݈݇— pairings: nerdy!roommate AU dex poindexter x roommate!freader
݈݇— summary: Your friends keep laughing it off whenever you swear your shy, roommate Dex is secretly a total catch under the oversized clothing—they just can't see it like you do and you're finally determined to confirm it for yourself.
݈݇— [18+] themes: implied stalking, perverted roommate, dex acting pathetic, ooc dex, size kink, praise kink, teasing/seduction, body worship, msub, foreplay, oral (m & f receiving), dick slaps, face-riding, mating press, dirty talk, unprotected piv(pls use protection), creampie. Porn with plot. No use of y/n.
Author's Notes: Inspired by Need To Know by Doja Cat. Another fucking self indulgent fanfic. May or may not make a part 2 depending on how this goes lol.
Dex was right in the middle of staring at the same stubborn line of code for the third damn time when the loud clatter echoed from the living room, followed immediately by your very loud, very frustrated “Oh fuck!”
His hands froze on the keyboard. He was already half out of his chair before his brain caught up—because that’s what roommates did. They checked on each other. They didn’t just sit there spiraling through every worst-case scenario while their heart tried to punch its way out of their chest. Especially not when it was you.
He should’ve knocked. He knew the rule. But the door was already cracked open, and the only rule that actually mattered in his head (the one he’d invented the day you moved in) was simple: make sure you’re okay. Even if his palms were already clammy. Even if he’d spent the last six months pretending he didn’t notice you in anything less than full-coverage pajamas.
He pushed the door open a little wider with his shoulder, glasses sliding down his nose, and the sight hit him like a truck.
You were on the floor.
Legs splayed, one knee twisted at a weird angle, that thin white cover-up clinging to your skin thanks to the humidity and doing exactly zero to hide the tiny bikini underneath.
His gaze flicked down, then up, then anywhere that wasn’t you, but it was useless. The way the bikini bottoms sat low on your hips. The cover-up slipping off one shoulder. The sunscreen is still shiny on your thigh. He felt heat crawl up the back of his neck, felt his glasses fog slightly at the edges because apparently his body had decided this was the moment to overheat.
“Are—are you okay?” The words came out gravelly, like he’d just swallowed a handful of sand. He hovered in the doorway, one hand still gripping the frame.
You looked up at him, lips parted in that sheepish little smile. “Yeah,” you said with a soft, embarrassed laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I just slipped on sunscreen like an absolute genius.”
Dex swallowed hard. He should leave. He should turn around right now and go back to his room and pretend he hadn’t seen any of this. But his feet were glued. And you were still sitting there, looking up at him with those eyes, cover-up slipping further down your arm, and every single fantasy he’d ever tried to bury came roaring back in high definition.
He took one careful step closer, then another, until he was crouched beside you. His hand hovered for a second before his fingers brushed your elbow. The skin there was warm, still a little slick from lotion, and the contact sent a jolt straight through him.
“Here—let me…” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat, tried again. “C-can I help you up?”
You nodded, still wearing that small, knowing smile, and when you slipped your hand into his, Dex felt it in his ribs, his stomach, everywhere. He pulled you to your feet a little too quickly, until you were standing right there, inches away. The sheer fabric brushed against his hoodie. The smell of strawberries filled the space between you.
“You… you should probably lather up on the couch,” he managed, voice low and rough. “Sitting down to avoid…slipping.”
“That’s actually a really smart idea,” you said, laughing softly, that same knowing smile still in place as you let go of his hand. You stepped past him toward the hallway.
Dex inhaled sharply before he could stop himself. Your hair swung close and that strawberry scent hit him full force again. His eyes actually rolled back for half a second, lashes fluttering. God. He was pathetic. Completely, irreversibly pathetic.
He followed you down the hall at a careful distance, hands shoved deep in his hoodie pockets so you wouldn’t see them shaking, eyes locked on the floor.
“You heading to the beach today?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer. He’d watched you check the weather app three separate times during dinner. He knew your plans better than his own.
You glanced back over your shoulder with a little shrug. “Nah, just the rooftop pool.”
Dex rubbed the back of his neck, pretending to look surprised. “R-right. I forgot the apartment even had a pool…”
You dropped onto the couch and gave him that sweet little “Mm-hm.”
“Well,” he said, already taking a jerky step back toward the hallway, “I’ll be in my room if you need anyth—”
“Actually…”
Your voice stopped him cold. Dex turned halfway around. You were standing by the couch, sunscreen bottle in one hand, fingers playing with the tie of your cover-up.
“Can you help me put sunscreen on?” you asked, all soft and sweet. “My back’s impossible to reach and I really don’t want to burn…”
Dex’s mouth went completely dry. Every alarm in his head went off, but his feet were already carrying him toward you anyway.
“You… you want me to—?” His voice came out cracked and embarrassingly breathy.
You tilted your head, biting your lower lip in that soft, innocent way that wiped every rational thought clean out of his skull. “Only if you’re okay with it,” you said sweetly, eyes wide and guileless. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything.”
Uncomfortable. Right.
He was already half-hard in his sweatpants, cock twitching at the mere idea of his hands on you. His glasses slid another inch down his nose.
“No—no, I don’t mind,” he blurted, then winced at how desperate he sounded. “I mean… yeah. Sure. Definitely.”
Your whole face lit up. “Thank you!” you chirped, bright and happy, and before he could brace himself you reached up and tugged the tie of the cover-up. It slipped right off your shoulders and you held it
Dex’s brain flatlined.
Holy shit.
New material, his mind supplied instantly, already filing every detail away for later. For when he was alone in his room tonight, door locked, hand wrapped tight around his cock, biting down on his wrist so you wouldn’t hear him falling apart through the thin wall. He was so unbelievably fucked.
You dropped the cover-up over the arm of the couch and sat down, patting the cushion beside you. “C’mere then.”
Dex nodded like a bobble head and lowered himself onto the couch on shaky legs, the cushions sinking under his weight. His hands trembled as he took the sunscreen from you and squeezed way too much into his palm. A thick white pool sat there like evidence of how badly he was failing at playing it cool.
He rubbed his palms together slowly, the wet sound loud in the quiet room, warming the lotion between his fingers. Then he scooted closer and placed his hands at the top of your back, right below the delicate knot of your bikini strings.
Fuck.
His thumbs pressed into your warm skin and he started rubbing careful circles, spreading the lotion down the smooth line of your spine. He was trying so hard to stay respectful, but his brain was already ten steps ahead—imagining taking the string with his teeth, tugging it loose, watching the strings fall away so he could finally see everything he’d been fantasizing about for months.
Dex’s breath caught. He kept his hands moving anyway, trying like hell not to let you feel how badly they were shaking.
“Mmm… your hands feel really good, Ben,” you said, low and a little breathy. You even used his first name, and it hit him like you knew exactly what it would do to him.
His whole body jolted.
“S-Sorry?” The word came out too loud and cracked right in the middle. His hands froze on your skin, palms pressed flat against your back, heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his fingertips.
You let out a soft, knowing laugh and twisted on the couch. Before his brain could catch up, you swung one leg over his lap and straddled him. Your warm thighs settled around his hips, your ass pressing right down against the front of his sweatpants where he was already half-hard and completely hopeless.
Dex’s back hit the cushions hard, body stiff as a board. Every muscle locked up tight. His lotion-slick hands flew up in the air.
“Wh-what—you—I—What are you doing?”
You settled your full weight on his thighs, hands resting lightly on his shoulders, and smiled down at him with that sweet, wicked look that wiped every coherent thought from his head.
“You want to touch them, don’t you, Benjamin?” you asked softly, tilting your head. “I know you’ve wanted me for a long time. I see the way you look at me when I walk around in my sundresses. When I bend over to grab something. You think I don’t notice?”
Dex’s mouth opened, then closed. Words failed him for a second.
“I—I didn’t—fuck, okay I did, but I swear I wasn’t trying to be creepy— Jesus Christ you’re so pretty and I’m such a fucking loser but yes please—you can sit here forever—I’ll do anything—I’ll buy you all the sunscreen in the store—I’ll—fuck—”
His hands stayed hovering uselessly in the air, trembling, eyes wide and glassy behind his glasses as he stared up at you.
You giggled, clearly loving every second of his meltdown, and traced one finger slowly down his forehead, over the bridge of his nose, then across his bottom lip. Your fingertip caught on the way his mouth shook.
“It’s okay,” you whispered. “I don’t mind. I like it when you look at me like that.”
Dex’s breathing turned ragged, chest heaving under you. Every exhale fogged his glasses a little more. His cock was fully hard now, throbbing against your ass, and he was mortified and turned on beyond belief.
You slid your fingers into his brown hair, messing it up and tugged gently until his head tipped back with a shaky gasp. Then you plucked his glasses off his face and set them neatly on the couch cushion beside you.
“You’re already so hot with these on,” you murmured, brushing his hair back from his forehead, nails scraping lightly over his scalp, “but you shouldn’t hide that handsome face all the time.” You leaned in close, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Can you still see me?”
Dex blinked hard. The world went soft and blurry without the lenses, but you were right there—warm, soft, and practically naked on his lap, tits inches from his mouth. His hands finally settled on your hips, thumbs brushing the edge of your bikini bottoms.
“Y-yeah,” he breathed, still panting. “I can still see you.”
“Good,” you said with another soft laugh, palms sliding down his chest, over his shoulders, feeling every tense line of him like you were marking what was yours. “Then you won’t mind taking off your hoodie right now, will you?”
Dex’s brain blue-screened, “Y-You want me to do what?”
You rocked your hips once, slow and deliberate, grinding right against the obvious bulge in his sweats. He choked on air.
“Take off your clothes, Ben.”
“R-really?”
“Really.”
His voice cracked embarrassingly high. “This is a joke, right? You’re fucking with me—”
You didn’t bother answering with words. You just stood up, reached behind your neck, and pulled the bow. The knot came undone with one easy tug. The pink bikini top slipped down and you tossed it onto the couch.
Dex’s eyes went wide and inhaled sharply. “Oh my god…”
Your breasts were right there—bare, nipples already tight from the way he was staring. He couldn’t look away. His cock throbbed hard against his sweats. His hands fisted the couch cushions so tightly his knuckles went white.
You planted your hands on your hips, completely at ease. “Do you want to get off or not?”
That snapped him out of it. Dex yanked his hoodie up and over his head in one jerky motion, then stripped off the white t-shirt underneath. He sat there shirtless, and holy shit—he was ripped. Broad shoulders, defined chest, abs flexing with every shaky breath, that sharp V-line disappearing into his low-slung sweats.
You drank him in like you’d been waiting years for this exact reveal, eyes darkening, lips parting. A slow, hungry smile curved your mouth, like you’d always known the shy, glasses-wearing roommate was secretly built like that under the hoodies. Like you’d been imagining peeling him open just as much as he’d been imagining you.
“Fuck, Dex,” you breathed, stepping between his spread thighs. “I knew you were hiding all that.”
Dex swallowed hard, throat bobbing. A tiny, shy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He still couldn’t believe any of this was happening to him.
“What… what do you want me to do?”
You hummed, dragging your gaze over every cut line of his torso while you decided. “Why don’t you get on your knees and make me come? Then I’ll let you play with my breasts.”
His eyes blew wide, like a kid who just got told Christmas came early. “Really? You—you actually want me to—?”
You laughed, low and fond, cocking your hip. “Are you going to ask me that every single time? Yes, really. Taste me.”
Dex’s breath stuttered out in a shaky exhale. He slid off the couch in slow motion, knees hitting the floor with a soft thud. He knelt between your thighs, looking up at you with those big hazel eyes, glasses-less and wrecked.
“I’m just… surprised you want me to,” he mumbled, adorably earnest. “I mean… me?”
You combed your fingers through his messy hair, nails scraping his scalp, and his whole body jolted like you’d shocked him. A tinybwhimper slipped out before he could swallow it.
“Well, I really need to know what that mouth feels like,” you murmured, still petting him like he was yours.
He leaned in and caught the left tie of your bikini bottoms between his teeth (exactly the way he’d just fantasized) and tugged with a desperate little groan vibrating in his throat. The knot slipped free. He moved to the right side, teeth grazing your hip bone, pulling harder this time, eyes fluttering shut as a muffled “mmph” vibrated against your skin.
The pink bottoms fluttered to the floor.
He was inches from your bare pussy, that sweet strawberry-and-you scent flooding his lungs. He looked up at you one last time, cheeks flushed.
“Fuck… you’re so pretty,” he whispered. He looked up at you so intently, those beautiful hazel eyes blazing through the haze of his glasses-less blur.
For the second time this morning his brain is lagging—this gorgeous, confident woman gripping his hair, looking at him like he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. As if he wasn’t just some awkward, hoodie-wearing loser who’d jerked off to the image of you in his head for six straight months. It couldn’t be real, could it? He was going to wake up any second, cock in his fist, alone in his cold bed again—then he lowered his lips to your pussy and he knew it was real.
The first touch was so delicately gentle, just the soft press of his open mouth, a shaky, whimpery kiss right against your folds. A savouring hum caught in his throat the second your taste hit his tongue. The sensation tore through you like lightning, and you arched hard, knees buckling with a startled cry that made his cock twitch painfully in his sweats.
“Oh wow,” you moaned breathlessly, gripping his bare shoulder. “You’re… surprisingly really good at this.”
You tried to steady yourself on one foot as he brought your other leg up, easing it over his shoulder with trembling hands. His tongue dragged flat and worshipful from your entrance to your clit, then swirled lazy, needy circles, moaning into you the whole time that vibrated straight through your core.
“Mmmph—fuck, you taste so good,” he mumbled against you, voice muffled and desperate. “I don’t deserve this—mmh—so sweet, I’m sorry I’m so greedy but I can’t stop—”
He closed his mouth over your swollen clit and kissed it like it was the love of his life, lips sucking and smacking wetly, moving exactly like he was French-kissing your mouth. His tongue swirled in huge, sloppy circles, groaning loud and shameless right into you as he gripped your hips with those strong hands, yanking you harder against his face so he could grind his nose against your clit.
He pulled back just enough to stare up at you with those worshipful eyes before his tongue started flicking your clit in rapid, frantic little strokes. His gaze never left yours, drinking in every gasp and twitch like your pleasure was the only validation he’d ever need. His hips jerk pathetically against nothing, completely lost in the taste of you, groaning and begging between messy licks.
“Oh my, g-god. Dex—slide your tongue in again.”
You bucked hard towards his nose, a muffled cry slipping through your bitten lips as his tongue pushed deep inside you, thick and wet and pulsing like he was trying to fuck you with it. He groaned into your pussy, the vibration rolling straight to your clit, and your fingers twisted tighter in his messy hair. The second you yanked him closer, he let out the cutest, muffled little laugh against your soaked folds then drove his tongue even deeper, curling, licking, devouring like he’d die if he couldn’t taste every drop of you.
Dex pulled back just enough to drag in a shaky breath, lips glossy and swollen, spit and your slick shining down his chin.
“Please—fuck, please keep pulling my hair like that,” he begged. His hips still rolled helplessly against nothing, the fat outline of his cock straining obscenely against his sweats, a wet spot blooming darker where he was leaking for you. “I love it when you do—”
“Yeah?” You gave his hair a sharp tug, watching the way his whole body jolted like you’d electrocuted him. A wicked smile curved your lips. “You like it when I get a little rough?”
“Yes—yes, fuck, I love it,” he groaned, eyes fluttering.
“Oh, baby,” you cooed, nails scraping possessively over his scalp again. “You’re so fucking sweet when you beg. Almost makes me want to be nice to you…” You yanked harder, and his moan cracked into a needy whimper that made his thighs shake. “…but it’s way too sexy when you fall apart like this. I also like my men strong, Benjamin. Are you strong?”
“Oh fuck—”
He surged up from his knees without warning. Big hands grabbed your hips and spun you around with barely an effort. You barely had time to gasp before he lifted you and tossed you back onto the couch. Your back bounced against the cushions, and before you could even speak he was right there again, down on his knees between your spread legs.
His palms shoved your thighs up and back, folding you neatly in half until your knees pressed to your chest. Your pussy was completely open, glistening and dripping right in front of his face.
Dex dove back in like he’d lost his mind. His tongue dragged up to your clit, flicking and sucking with fresh, desperate hunger. Just when you started missing the stretch of him inside you, he pushed two thick fingers deep, thrusting slowly at first, then harder, curling them exactly where you needed them.
“Oh my god,” you moaned, head falling back. “You’re such a good boy—I don’t even have to tell you what to do.”
He was devouring you now. Every time he sucked your clit between his lips he made wet, filthy slurping sounds, humming deep and greedy in his throat.
“Mmmph—fuuuck,” he groaned right against your pussy, the vibration rolling straight through you. “You know this pussy owns me now, right? Owns my face. Owns my mouth.” His tongue lapped messily through your folds, slurping noisily at every drop, chin already shiny and dripping. “I could kneel here and lick you all fucking day. You’ve made such a mess out of me.”
He hummed louder, eyes squeezed shut in pure bliss, fingers pumping faster, curling hard against that spot that made your back arch clean off the couch and stars burst behind your eyelids.
Pleasure slammed through you hard enough to rip a loud cry from your throat. Dex’s tongue kept dragging those slow, filthy circles around your clit, savoring every twitch, while his fingers drove deep inside you in that steady, ruthless rhythm that had you trying to grind down on his face even though he had you folded in half.
And fuck, you thought with a dazed little smirk, it’s always the quiet ones who turn out to be absolute freaks.
“That’s it—own my face,” he whimpered desperately against your pussy, voice wrecked and needy. “Fucking own it. Come all over your good boy. Come all over your obedient little servant. That’s me. That’s all me.”
“Fuck—Dex, I’m coming,” you whispered urgently, as he rocked your hips against his face. “You’re going to make me come…”
Dex let out a groany laugh, eyes squeezing shut for a second like he couldn’t believe his luck. “Yes, give it to me,” he begged, lips trembling against your pussy. “Come in my mouth, flood my tongue, I’ll drink every fucking drop—”
His fingers drove deeper, faster, curling hard against that perfect spot while his tongue licked you quick and greedy, groaning low and filthy the whole time. He slurped and sucked like he was starving, humming desperately because you tasted so good he couldn’t get enough.
You cried out as the orgasm hit you, sharp and overwhelming. Your pussy clenched tight around his fingers, gushing all over his eager mouth and chin while he kept licking and sucking through every single pulse, moaning like he was coming right along with you.
“Oh fuck that’s it—that’s it, give me everything,” he mumbled between messy swallows, voice thick and grateful. “Fuck—thank you.”
When you finally started to come down, Dex pulled back just enough to press soft, reverent kisses to your inner thighs, lips trembling against your slick skin. He looked up and found you staring into the void, dazed and breathless, lips parted like you’d forgotten how to form words.
His hands itched. God, they fucking itched to slide up and cup those beautiful breasts but he didn’t dare move without permission. He was still your pathetic little servant, still on his knees, still terrified; this was all some cruel dream that would vanish if he got too greedy.
“Um… c-can I touch them now?” he asked, cheeks burning hot. “Please?”
That snapped you out of it. Your lips curved into a naughty little smile that made his cock twitch hard in his sweats. You sat up, cupped his chin, and tilted his flushed face up to you, thumb brushing the mess he’d made of his mouth.
“Of course you can, baby,” you said sweetly.
You pulled him up, swapped places, and pushed him back onto the couch. Then you opened his knees wide and swung a leg over to straddle his lap again. The heat of your bare pussy settled right over the massive bulge in his sweats and he whimpered, hips jerking up helplessly.
“How can I say no after you made me come like that?”
You took his shaking hands in yours and guided them slowly up your sides, over your ribs, until his palms were cupping your breasts. Dex gave them a tentative squeeze, thumbs brushing over your tight nipples.
You laughed softly, eyes sparkling. “You like them?”
He swallowed hard, throat working. “Yes,” he breathed, voice completely wrecked. “They’re… they’re perfect. Fuck, you’re perfect.”
His lips closed around one breast with a loud, wet, noisy suck. He moaned against your skin, eyes fluttering shut, tongue swirling as he pulled you deeper into his mouth.
You grinned, threading your fingers through his messy hair and holding him there while he made those shameless, hungry noises. Only then did you reach down between you and palm the thick, heavy outline of his cock through his sweats. Your eyes widened. A delighted little gasp slipped out as you felt exactly how big he was—rock-solid, fat, straining so hard the fabric was barely holding him in.
“Oh my word,” you murmured, giving him a slow, appreciative stroke that made his head fall back with a moan, your nipple still caught between his lips. “You just keep getting better and better, don’t you?”
Dex’s hips bucked hard into your hand, a pathetic little whine escaping around your breast because your touch was the first real one he’d felt in months.
You squeezed him again, loving the way his ripped abs flexed under your thighs. “No wonder you always walk like that…” Another stroke, thumb circling the wet spot at the tip until he gasped. “Poor baby’s been carrying this around the apartment every day and I never knew.”
Dex’s eyes locked on your hand, watching every lazy movement like it was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. “Oh God—oh my God—fuck,” he gasped, hips twitching up into your palm without any control left. “Yeah—your hand feels so good—”
You gave him a firmer squeeze and his whole body jerked, those perfect abs clenching hard.
“Holy shit—uh—oh God. Fuck, you squeezing me like that—oh God—oh—” His head tipped all the way back, eyes half-lidded behind the blur of pleasure.
You leaned in close, lips brushing his ear. “Poor baby… already leaking all over my hand and I’ve barely touched you. Bet this feels a hell of a lot better than fucking your own fist thinking about me every night, doesn’t it?”
Dex’s whole body jolted. His eyes flew open, wide and stunned. His breath hitched while a shy, embarrassed little laugh caught in his throat as he stared at you like you’d just punched him in the chest with pure affection.
“Oh, it’s just… no one’s ever, uh, talked to me like this before,” he stammered, flashing that sheepish little smile that made your chest do something stupid. “No one’s ever said stuff like that to me. I—I’m sorry, I sound so stupid, I just—fuck, keep talking to me like that, please? God, it’s so hot I don’t know what to do with myself—”
You smiled against his ear and gave the shell a soft, wicked nibble that made his hips jerk again. “Well then,” you whispered, “has no one ever played with this fat cock the way I’m gonna?”
Dex opened his mouth to answer, but the words died the second your hand slipped under the waistband of his sweats. Your fingers wrapped around his bare, throbbing length and gave one long, slow stroke from base to tip.
“You’re so… Mm—you’re so—fuck—” His sentence crumbled. He tried to keep going, tried to tell you how no one had ever touched him like this, how he’d jerked off in the shower every single morning just so he wouldn’t walk around the apartment hard for you, but every drag of your hand wiped his brain clean. “I was gonna say—I mean—no one’s—Jesus Christ your hand is so soft—I can’t—I can’t even think when you—mmph—”
His head fell back against the couch while he kept trying anyway, lips moving, desperate to finish a single coherent thought, but every slow pump of your fist stole another piece of him. His abs clenched, thighs shaking under you, cock twitching hard in your grip as you stroked him nice and luxurious, spreading all that pre-cum until the wet sounds filled the room.
“I’ve never—no one’s ever touched me like—fuck, like that—slow—oh my god, please don’t stop, I sound so pathetic but I— I’ve dreamed about your hand—every night—and it’s so much better—I can’t—I can’t even finish a—fuck—”
You watched him with adoration in your eyes, tilting your head and shut him up with your lips, kissing him so eagerly it stole the rest of his broken sentence right out of his mouth.
You swallowed it instantly, tongue sliding past his lips like you already owned every sound he made. He tried to kiss you back, clumsy and desperate, but you took control so completely that all he could do was whimper into your mouth while you explored him with strokes of your tongue that promised exactly what that same mouth could do somewhere much lower.
“Mm—fuck—mmph—” he tried again, the words vibrating against your lips, but you just kissed him deeper, twisting your wrist on the upstroke until his whole body jerked and another moan spilled straight into your mouth.
You pulled back just enough to reach for his glasses on the cushion beside you. With gentle fingers you slid them back onto his face.
“There,” you murmured, sweet as sugar. “I think you need to see me suck this dick in high definition.”
Dex blinked hard behind the lenses, the world snapping back into sharp, perfect focus around your wicked little smile. Before he could even try to form words, you slid off his lap, dropped to your knees between his spread thighs, and settled in.
He watched, completely helpless and shaking, as you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his sweats and boxers and dragged them down his hips in one smooth tug. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, and your fingers curled right around the base.
Dex’s hands flew up to cover his face, glasses knocked crooked. A muffled, delirious little laugh slipped out between his palms. “Fuck… I’m the luckiest man alive right now.”
You gave his cock a slow, appreciative stroke, then looked up at him with that firm, commanding glint in your eyes. “Look at me, Ben. Never take your eyes off me. Got it?”
Dex nodded so fast his glasses slipped down his nose again, eyes wide behind them, locked on your face like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to earth.
You leaned in and pressed the softest kiss to the flushed, leaking head of his cock. Then lower. And lower. Before you smacked the heavy length against your cheek with deliberate, filthy slaps.
“God, you’re so heavy,” you teased, rubbing the thick shaft along your cheek while your eyes stayed glued to his. “How the hell do you think this is supposed to fit anywhere, huh? You’re gonna have to split me open, aren’t you?”
Dex let out a long, wrecked groan, thighs trembling on either side of you. He couldn’t look away. Not when you stuck your tongue out flat, laid his cock across it, and started smacking the shaft against the warm, wet muscle in solid, teasing taps.
He was going to die. He was actually going to die right here on the couch with his glasses on and your pretty mouth teasing the absolute hell out of him, and he’d thank you for it with his last breath.
“G-go choke on it first,” he blurted in a sudden rush of bravery, then immediately looked mortified. “I-I mean… if you want to…”
Your eyebrow snapped up, a wicked little grin spreading across your face as you nodded like you were proud of him for saying that.
Dex’s heart slammed against his ribs so hard he felt dizzy.
You leaned in closer, lips brushing the leaking tip as you looked up at him through your lashes. “Is that what you fantasize about when you jerk off in your room at night?” you purred. “Me choking on this fat cock? Gagging all pretty for you while you watch?”
Dex’s mouth fell open, hips twitching helplessly toward your face. “Y-yes—fuck, yes. Every night. Every single night—”
You didn’t let him finish.
The second the words left his lips you took the head of his cock into your mouth, and Dex gasped so hard it felt like the air had been punched out of his lungs.
It was too much. Too good. Velvety and hot and so fucking lucious that his whole spine lit up like a live wire. A strangled groan left him as pleasure streaked through every nerve ending at once. His hands flew to the couch cushions, knuckles white, because if he didn’t hold on he’d probably float straight out of his body.
You sank down slowly, taking more of him, tongue pressed flat underneath as your lips stretched tight around his thickness. Dex’s glasses fogged at the edges. His abs clenched hard, thighs shaking on either side of you.
You licked your way back up to the head, suctioning hard, then swirled your tongue over it, dipping into the slit to taste the steady leak of pre-cum like you were savoring him. Dex’s head fell back for half a second before he remembered your order and forced his eyes back down to you, chest heaving.
God. How many times had he imagined you on your knees just like this; sucking him slow and deep while you looked up at him with those pretty eyes?
Every single one of those fantasies paled. They were pathetic little shadows compared to the reality of you. The intense, electrifying heat that scorched every nerve ending as you lowered yourself again, sliding your sweet, wet mouth further down his shaft until he felt the back of your throat flutter around him. His hips jerked involuntarily, a choked “f-fuck—” ripping out of him before he could stop it.
Pleasure surged through him and he arched back sharply, the feeling so intense he nearly yanked out of your mouth. But he rode those waves, blood pounding hot through his veins as his cock throbbed with incredible bliss. You sucked him hard and sensually, lips stretched tight around him and cheeks hollowing as you milked more ecstasy from him than he'd ever felt in his life.
When you came back up you let him go with a wet pop and smiled up at him, eyes sparkling like you were enjoying the hell out of wrecking him. Your smile made his cock throb and jerk, and you chased it with your tongue and laughed, taking it back in with that delicious, silky warmth.
“Just like that—” Dex moaned, voice tight with ecstasy. He slid one hand into your hair, caressing first, then gripping the back of your neck like he needed something solid to hold onto.
“It feels so good holy shit.” he breathed as you gradually increased your pace. You wrapped both hands around the base of his cock and started stroking in time with your mouth, faster now. Dex’s head dropped back against the couch again before dragging his gaze back down. He couldn’t miss this. Not for a single second.
His hand gently cradled and guided your head, fingers weaving through your hair as the overwhelming desire to lock you in place and thrust into your mouth consumed him.
His free hand joined the first, sinking in and tightening his hold as the raw sensuality left him dizzy and breathless. He started rocking his hips slowly, testing, mesmerized by the way your eyes fluttered as you took him deeper.
But then you smiled around his cock and sucked harder. That was all it took.
Dex drove in faster, deeper, his cock slick and shiny with your spit as he thrust up your throat. You took him beautifully—until he forced just a little too far. Your throat fluttered, then clenched like a fist as you choked, the sloppy, gagging buzz shooting down his entire cock.
He froze for a second, glasses slipping down his nose, panic and lust warring on his face.
“S-sorry—fuck, that’s so hot, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry but don’t stop—please don’t stop—” He was panting, glasses fogged, hips still rocking again and again, savoring the way your throat squeezed every time you gagged softly around him. He couldn’t help it even while apologizing.
You just hummed around him like you owned every inch, eyes watering but never breaking that locked-in stare, taking him even deeper on the next thrust, letting him fuck your throat raw.
He was going to come. God dammit, he was going to explode like a firework in your mouth any second now.
But nope. You pulled off with a wet, filthy pop, lips shiny and puffy, a shiny string of spit still linking you to his throbbing tip like a naughty little bridge.
“W-why’d you stop?” he blurted, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. “Did I—did I do something wrong? Fuck, I’m sorry, I got carried away, I just— I was so close.”
You shook your head, flashing that wicked little grin as you crawled straight up his body and swung a leg over, straddling his lap like you were claiming the throne. One hand cupped those full, heavy, aching balls, rolling them nice and slow while you dragged your soaked pussy along the underside of his cock, slicking him up marking your territory.
“I’m not wasting a single drop of this,” you whispered, all husky and low, thumb stroking that crazy-sensitive spot right behind his balls. “You’re spilling every bit inside me.”
Dex looked like his brain had officially powered off. “I-inside you? Holy shit—aren’t you scared you might—?”
You chuckled and ground down harder, sliding all over him like you owned the ride. “Got any condoms stashed somewhere, cutie?” you asked, all innocent and sweet while your hips kept rolling.
Dex just gaped, fish-mouthed and speechless. “....no.”
You let out a bright, delighted little laugh and climbed off his lap, “Guess we’re doing this raw then, huh?” You flopped onto your back on the couch, hair fanning out across the cushions, and hooked your knees up high, feet planted on the edge.
With zero shame, you reached down and spread yourself open for him, two fingers parting your slick, puffy folds so he could see everything. Your little hole clenched visibly under his stare, shiny and dripping from how much you’d enjoyed choking on him.
“Look at what you did to me, Benjamin,” you purred. “See how fucking wet I am? It’s because of you. My poor little pussy’s been clenching around nothing the whole time I was sucking you off, just thinking about how you’re finally gonna stuff me full.”
Dex made a strangled noise, eyes glued to the way your fingers teased your entrance, dipping just the tip of one inside before pulling back to circle your clit. You were so ready and glistening and open for him it hurt.
“Mmm, you like the view, don’t you?” you teased, tilting your hips up a little more so he could see even deeper. “Look how this little hole keeps fluttering. It’s so empty, Dex. Been waiting months for this fat cock to stretch it open. You gonna give it to me? Gonna give me all that cum you’ve been saving for me every night? Or are you just gonna sit there staring like a cute little pervert while I play with myself?”
Dex’s glasses slipped down his nose again, “No, I’m going to give you anything you want.”
You just grinned wider, “Then come here and take what’s yours, nerd.”
He scrambled between your spread thighs like a man on a mission and a panic attack at the same time, knees sinking into the couch cushions. His hands shook as he gripped the backs of your thighs, lining himself up. The fat head of his cock nudged against your slick entrance and he actually whimpered at how hot and wet you felt.
“Okay, okay. Look, I’ll just… m-maybe, maybe you should be on top, you know?” he blurted. “S-so you’re, um… yeah, so y-you can, like, control it? I don’t wanna hurt—”
You laughed softly, reaching up to tug him closer by the back of his neck. “It’s fine, Dex.”
“I don’t—I don’t wanna squish you—” he tried again, eyes wide behind his glasses, cock throbbing against your pussy like it had a mind of its own.
The head slipped inside you, stretching you open in one smooth glide. Dex’s eyes dropped to where your bodies met and he forgot how to breathe entirely. You threw your head back and moaned as your pussy parted for him, taking every thick inch until he was buried to the hilt, heavy balls pressed against your ass.
“Oh shit,” he groaned, voice wrecked. “I’m inside you—you feel so fucking good.”
He pulled back slowly, and your pussy clenched around him like it didn’t want to let him go. Then he drove back in until his tip met a dead end, stretching you open all over again. You grabbed his right wrist and slapped his big palm straight onto your breast. His fingers squeezed hard on instinct. At the same time you caught his left hand and pressed his thumb against your bottom lip.
The second he felt the wet heat of your mouth close around it, Dex’s eyes flew open wide behind his glasses. You sucked on his thumb like it was his cock, matching every thrust, moaning around it shamelessly.
“Jesus Christ,” he whimpered, voice cracking. “You’re—fuck, look at you. I’m not gonna last if you keep looking at me like that, baby. I swear I’m trying but you feel too good and you’re sucking on my thumb and I—oh my god—”
You just smiled around his thumb and sucked harder, never breaking eye contact, letting him feel exactly how much you wanted every desperate, awkward, perfect inch of him.
Dex couldn’t stop staring down between your bodies. His thick cock was sliding in and out of your pussy in these dragging strokes, shiny and glistening with how wet you were. Every time he pulled back he could see the way your folds stretched around him, clinging tight, and every time he pushed back in he watched himself disappear inside you until his hips met yours. He was completely obsessed with the sight, breathing hard through his mouth like he’d never seen anything so hot in his life.
Without thinking he slid his hand down from your breast and pressed the heel of his palm firmly against your lower stomach, right above where he was buried deep. The sudden pressure made everything feel impossibly tighter. You whined loud around his thumb, the sound vibrating against his skin as your pussy fluttered hard around his cock.
“Fuck—did that feel good?” he panted, eyes still glued to the spot where you were joined, pressing down a little harder as he thrusts.
As if guided by that lust alone, he began to thrust into a deep, forceful rhythm, his rigid cock stretching you each time. You moaned hummingly with each stroke, feeling the power of his hips as they slapped against you, imagining the strong muscles of his thighs flexing and straining to drive his cock into you deeper and harder every time. He crashed against you, his short breaths matching his pace, his moans of pleasure spiking as senseless words spilled from his lips.
You pulled his thumb from your mouth with a wet pop, grabbed his wrist again, and swapped it for the two fingers he'd buried inside you earlier, sucking it until your cheeks hollow.
Dex’s rhythm faltered for half a second, then slammed back in even harder.
“Holy shit I don't think I can’t take it,” he panted, voice cracking high and desperate. “I can’t take it. Ugh, you have to come soon. You have to come soon. Oh, fuck—”
He was panting and groaning as he thrust and bucked, hips snapping forward like he was chasing something he couldn’t quite catch. His eyes brightened with this wild, pleasure-pain look you’d never seen before; glassy, almost frantic, like he was right on the razor’s edge and hanging on by a thread. His glasses were crooked, hair sticking to his forehead, mouth open on every broken moan.
“I’m so close— I’m so fucking close but I need you to come first, please, I need to feel you coming on my cock before I fill you up, I can’t— I can’t hold it— fuck, please come for me—”
He was so close. You could feel it in the way his cock swelled even thicker inside you, the way his thrusts turned sloppy and urgent. He needed your release, your surrender, and he would detonate the second you gave it to him.
You reached up, grabbed his face with both hands, and pulled him down so your foreheads touched. “You can take it—keep going,” you gasped, voice shaky but firm. “Put your mouth on my neck, baby—right now.”
He obeyed instantly like the good, desperate boy he was. A quiet, “o-okay—yeah, fuck, okay” tumbled out of him as he dipped his head. You gasped and swallowed hard, tilting your chin back to give him more room, your whole body shaking with the force of every thrust. One of your hands slid between your bodies so you could rub tight, frantic circles over your clit, chasing that last spark.
Dex’s lips found your throat first, kissing the throbbing pulse there, then his tongue dragged up the side of your neck in one long, wet stripe. When it danced along the shell of your earlobe you shivered hard, a full-body tremble that made your pussy clench around him. And when he dipped the tip of his tongue right inside your ear you sobbed.
“F-fuck, I love it when you moan like that.” he whimpered against your ear.
You grabbed a fistful of his hair and tugged, forcing his mouth back to your neck while your fingers kept rubbing faster. “Say dirty things to me, Dex,” you panted, voice husky. “Tell me how good I feel. Tell me what you’re gonna do when you come inside me. Don’t stop talking.”
“Yeah—fuck, I’m trying,” Dex panted against your skin, hips snapping forward in these desperate little thrusts. “If I talk to you, you’ll come, right? Yeah? I want that. I want you to come so fucking bad—”
You nodded hard. “Yes—fuck, yes! Just say all the nasty shit you say to yourself when you jerk off thinking about me.”
“Fuck, listen to you,” he groaned, suddenly finding his rhythm. “Sucking my cock earlier like you wanted to steal my soul, choking on it like a greedy little whore, and now you’re begging me to pump you full?” He slammed into you hard. “You want this fat load in your pussy that bad?” Another brutal thrust. “After months of prancing around in those tiny dresses, bending over right in front of me just to watch me lose my goddamn mind?” Slam.
“God, you’re such a dirty fucking slut for your nerdy roommate’s cock, aren’t you?” He licked into your ear, hips pounding harder. “That’s it—rub that clit faster, baby. I’m gonna flood this sloppy little cunt until it’s dripping down your thighs. Come on my cock—come on, come on—”
“Oh fuck—Dex!” Your whole body seized in a convulsive orgasm, pussy clamping down around him, milking his cock as you screamed against his shoulder.
He cried out and flooded into you, bucking and thrusting as your pussy drained him. Slick with sweat you writhed together, your voices echoing through the room, your cries and moans mingling as you milked him, drained him, sucked every drop of cum from his pulsing cock as he emptied himself into you completely.
His rhythm finally gave out and he melted into you, still shuddering deep inside while the last of his cum spilled free. Every twitch was met with your walls hugging him tight, like they were determined to wring him dry and keep him forever—the same way you’d just been completely his. Both of you panting hard, bodies flushed and shiny with sweat, you lay there pressed together, still connected, floating in that beautiful, ageless after-sex haze.
You were heaving, chest rising and falling under him. “Holy shit…”
Dex lifted up on shaky arms, glasses crooked, hair a sweaty mess, and gazed down at you like you’d personally hung the moon. His hazel eyes were soft and dazed and so full of wonder it made your chest ache. He leaned in slowly, lips parting like he was about to kiss you for real this time—
—and then the unmistakable sound of a key sliding into the front door lock echoed through the apartment.
Both of you froze.
“Shit—shitshitshit—” Dex whisper-yelled, scrambling off you so fast he nearly fell off the couch. While you both snatched up whatever clothes you could reach.
“My room—now!” You hissed, dragging Dex who is clutching his sweats and hoodie like a lifeline as you yanked behind you as fast as your shaky legs would go. Your room was closest and didn’t face the front door—thank god.
You barely made it inside, slamming the door behind you just as the living room lights flicked on. Dex pressed himself flat against the wall right behind the door, stark naked, cock still half-hard and glistening, one hand clamped over his mouth so he wouldn’t breathe too loud.
You snatched your short silk robe off the chair and threw it on, barely tying it before—
Knock knock knock.
“Hey, what’s taking you so long?” your roommate called through the door, voice bright and clueless. “We’re all waiting for you at the pool!”
You cleared your throat, trying to sound normal and failing spectacularly. “Sorry! Couldn’t find my swimwear. I’ll be there in a sec!”
Dex’s eyes were huge behind his glasses. He looked like he was one second from passing out.
You heard her footsteps start to retreat...then stop, “Uh… your bikini top is literally on the couch out here.”
“Oh really?” you called back, somehow managing to sound breezy even though you were standing there in nothing but a barely-tied silk robe with your very naked, very well-fucked roommate hiding behind the door. “I must’ve dropped it. I’ll grab it soon! You should go ahead, I won’t be long!”
You heard your roommate laugh under her breath, something that sounded suspiciously like "okay weirdo.” before her footsteps finally padded away down the hall. The front door clicked shut behind her.
Dex let out a huge, shaky breath, shoulders sagging like the weight of the entire universe had just lifted off him.
“You… you should go,” he mumbled, voice all hoarse and uncertain as he rubbed the back of his neck. “They’re waiting for you at the pool and I— I don’t wanna get them suspicious of you or anything…”
You didn’t answer with words.
Instead, you walked straight up to him, rose onto your highest tiptoes, and pressed your body flush against his. The thin silk robe did almost nothing to separate your skin from his.
You cupped his face with both hands and kissed him once—soft and sweet, tasting the leftover desperation on his lips. Then again, a little slower. And a third time, lingering like you were promising more.
When you finally pulled back just enough to speak, your lips still brushed his.
“I won’t be long,” you whispered, smiling up at him with that same sweet, knowing look that always made his stomach flip.
Saw someone mention places where they’d like to get cracked and one of them was the staircase after an argument I want a dex fix so baddddd
missed calls (ben poindexter x reader)
warnings?: ddba dex, sad-ish argument, p in v.
it was in times like this where you wished your apartment complex would install an elevator.
your coffee date with an old roomate went longer than usual but you needed to go out and socialize, to get your mind off of the news and as you pulled out your phone and saw the 19+ missed calls, also from your boyfriend.
as you rounded the corner to head for the next set of stairs, your breathe hitched as you saw a large, intimidating figure on the steps that led to your apartment door.
dressed head to toe in black tactical gear, masked, silent, one knee on a stair and one hand braced against the wall. he’d been there awhile, waiting.
you shouldn’t be surprised anymore. most people got flowers left outside their door. you got bullseye lurking in stairwells.
“dex.”
“you ignored my calls.”
the sigh that left your lips made dex tilt his head in confusion, “what?”
grabbing the railing with your hand, you gripped it tight. kept your mouth shut and tried to hold in your temper.
the silence went for longer than necessary, you noticed dex’s weird tilt and slumped shoulder.
the news was right, he was injured.
usually, you would’ve been all over it. asked him if he was okay, asked him if he needed anything but tonight, it filled you with rage.
“you’re hurt.”
“i was- i am but i- i fixed it so-”
“fuck you.”
the world stills in that moment, only the sound of heavy breathing and the muffled traffic from the busy streets of newyork can be heard.
“what- what did i do” dex asked pulling off his mask.
his hair looks a mess, greying blonde hair sticking up in multiple directions, his cheeks are flushed with hues of pink and red with light sweat collecting near his hairline.
dex’s eyes were searching for answers in your eyes, his hands restless by his side.
“why…why the fuck do you keep getting yourself in to near death situations” you cry out, your hand gnaws at your chest while your eyes turn glassy.
“do you not care? is that what it is?” you ask.
dex stands there with his head hug between his shoulders, nodding as if being scolded at like a kid.
“you know who i am…what i have to do” he slowly lets out.
“…yes, i know,” you snap, the laugh dying as quickly as it came. “i know exactly who you are, dex.”
“you think I’m angry because you do your job?” you ask.
his jaw tightens, “lets go inside let-”
you shrug him off, you are done tip toeing over this problem. “you think I don’t understand that?”
“i didn’t say that.”
“you didn’t have to.”
the words come out harsher than you intended. you wipe at your eyes, frustrated when more tears immediately replace the ones you brushed away.
“dex, you disappear for hours,” you continue. “days sometimes. then I turn on the news and there you are.”
“someone’s shooting at you, or- or throwing something at you.” you yell out.
dex’s shoulders rise and fall with a heavy breathe.
“and every single time,” you whisper, “I have no idea if you’re coming back.”
dex’s gaze finally returns to yours. “I know exactly how dangerous it is,” he says in spite. “i know every time I walk out there there’s a chance I don’t come back.”
“then why?” you beg.
“i’m good at it.”
you scoff, “that’s a terrible reason.”
“I know, I don’t know how to be anything else.”
“Before you…” he swallows. “I never really had anyone waiting for me.”
your chest tightens, the anger slowly being replaced with sadness.
“dex-”
“no, let me finish.” he cries out softly, hands in surrender as he steps down close to you.
“i know I scare you and i’ll- i’ll try to want to live for you.”
you watch him take a hesitant step closer, “i’m sorry” he whispers.
he tilts his head, getting closer to you and the tears you’ve been fighting finally spill over.
his hands twitch at his sides, wanting to reach out but unsure if he can.
“you idiot,” you whisper.
a faint smile pulls at the corner of his mouth.
“yeah.”
“you absolute fucking idiot.”
you close the distance and kiss him, dex loses his footing but grabs on to you and the railing.
he smiles against your lips as he feels the tears against your cheek.
“live for yourself too” you whisper, softly caressing his face.
dex smiles and kisses you deeper.
you fall back against the railing, the realization hitting tha you haven’t seen this motherfucker in three days.
his hands are warm as they feel you all over, your mouth opens on a whine as his lips kiss down your throat, feeling his teeth lightly graze around your neck.
the urge to get in you wins over common sense and dex begins to pull down your pants. right there, on the stairs of your apartment floor.
somewhere between kissing your neck and softly caressing your inner thigh. dex pumps his dick in his hand.
he’s shaking, “sweetheart, i can’t wait” he cries out as you whimper in his arms.
“fuck you, we haven’t had sex in days i do not care about waiting” you pant out as you run your hands up and down dex’s biceps.
dex laughs into the air, nibbling at your earlobe and whispers, “when did you start saying ‘fuck you’ so much?”
your smirk falls into a moan when you feel the pressure of dex entering you pussy.
you moan into his shoulder, your hands clawing at his back, “well, only when you piss me off”
dex thrusts into you and whispers into your hair, “like now?”
another thrust
“maybe” you breathe.
suddenly, dex speeds up his pace and your grip tightens as you try to suppress your moans.
thankfully the walls and doors of your apartments were quite thick.
before you could warn dex, you come all around his dick and cry into his shoulder. the feeling not only gives you sexual pleasure but a sense of relief that dex was back in your arms.
meanwhile dex grunts your name with every thrust and comes all over his hand and between your legs.
“we should probably…go inside”
you giggle and nod while trying to fish out your keys from your pocket.
“also, please pick up my calls sweetheart.”
“you wish.”
———————————————————————————
ok this was supposed to be like a hate fuck but i honestly got a little angsty with it so sorry to anon 😓😓😓.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Ben might gloat otherwise, but he's a sucker for missionary. He’ll frame your face with his hands and kiss you between slow, deep thrusts. "That must feel fucking amazing," he’ll chuckle, his thumb wiping a stray tear of pleasure from your cheek. "Alright, lean into me, come on."
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He gets hot for a tight, face-to-face spooning position. He’ll pull you against his chest, wrapping his arm completely around you so you’re tucked perfectly under his chin. Your leg splays over his waist, and his hand gropes at the back of your thigh. It’s lazy, intimate, and allows for his sugar-talking in your ear while he pumps into you steadily.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ When you're feeling high energy, he loves when you straddle him while he’s propped up against the headboard. He keeps his hands at your waist, guiding the frantic roll of your hips and becomes intoxicated by your expressions. Push him down flat on the bed and reverse... he's a lucky man.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Afterward, he won't let you slide away. He pulls you against his chest and winds his legs around yours to keep you at his side. "Fucking masterful," he’ll mutter sleepily, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder.
"I felt as though I had known you for a long time."
— Fyodor Dostoevsky, White Nights
Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Original Female Character
Genre: angst, romance, emotional affair, tension, mature
Warnings: emotional infidelity, marriage issues, yearning, alcohol
— ❈ —
Slightly out of breath, still carrying the cold air from outside with her, one hand holding her phone, the other adjusting the strap of a leather bag that immediately got dropped onto the stool beside her.
She looked like she had come straight from war.
Long dark hair slightly messy now, makeup a little softer around the eyes after an entire day, sleeves rolled carelessly up her forearms beneath a white blouse tucked into tailored trousers. Tiredness lingered around her, but then she smiled—
And Jesus Christ.
It hit him like sunlight after drowning.
— “I am so, so sorry,” she sighed dramatically, climbing onto the bar stool beside him. “One meeting became three meetings, then someone decided diplomacy requires seventeen unnecessary handshakes—”
Jensen laughed before he could stop himself.
An actual laugh.
Warm. Real.
She finally breathed out deeply, shoulders relaxing for the first time since arriving, then turned fully toward him with that enormous smile.
— “Hi,” she repeated softer this time.
He looked at her for half a second too long.
— “Hey.”
The bartender approached.
— “What can I get you?”
Jensen opened his mouth, but she beat him immediately:
— “Old Fashioned.” Then she turned back to him casually, like that wasn’t the sexiest possible answer she could’ve given.
His eyebrows lifted.
— “Atta girl.”
She grinned instantly.
— “What? You thought diplomats only drank champagne?”
— “I thought diplomats poisoned people discreetly.”
— “Only on Thursdays.”
That pulled another laugh out of him.
The bartender returned with her drink quickly. She took the glass with both hands for a second like it contained life itself.
Then lifted it toward him.
Jensen clinked his whiskey gently against hers.
And for the first time that entire evening, the knot in his chest loosened.
- “So let me get this straight,” Jensen said, leaning back slightly with his whiskey in hand. “You speak, what, five languages, you’re a diplomat, and apparently you also know people who can hack electronic locks?”
Irina laughed softly into her glass.
- “In this line of work, you end up meeting all kinds of people.”
She took a slow sip of her old fashioned, eyes sparkling over the rim of the glass.
- “And now,” she added thoughtfully, “if I ever need to exorcise someone or kill a demon…”
She gestured vaguely toward him with complete fake arrogance.
- “…I can call you.”
Jensen laughed, shaking his head.
- “Oh, wow. So that’s what I am to you?”
- “A valuable international contact.”
- “Fantastic.”
They both laughed again, easier now, warmer. The kind of laughter that sneaks up on two people who already feel dangerously comfortable around each other.
God, she was fun.
- “So you actually watched the show?” he asked, genuinely curious.
- “Of course I did,” she said simply. “Since I was a teenager, and that ending destroyed me.”
That surprised him more than it should have.
Before he could answer, she leaned closer suddenly, like she was about to confess classified information.
The movement carried her perfume with it — warm, elegant, mixed with the cold night air still trapped in her hair and the whiskey on her breath.
Jensen felt his entire body tense instinctively.
Irina’s eyes flickered briefly toward his mouth before she murmured near his ear:
- “But honestly…”
Her voice dropped lower.
- “Sam was always my favorite.”
For half a second Jensen just stared at her in betrayed disbelief.
Irina leaned back again with a tiny apologetic pout, lips pressed together to hide her laugh.
- “Sorry.”
Jensen let out an incredulous laugh, dragging a hand through his hair.
- “Oh, that’s cold.”
- “I like emotionally available men,” she replied calmly before taking another sip of her drink.
He nearly choked on his whiskey.
The hours slipped by almost unnoticed.
At some point, the crowd at the hotel bar had thinned into only a few scattered guests speaking quietly over late drinks, the jazz softer now, the lights dimmer, warmer. Their empty glasses multiplied slowly across the polished wood between them.
And somewhere between the second whiskey and whatever story Irina was telling about a disastrous diplomatic dinner in Brussels, they had both stopped sitting like strangers.
She talked with her hands when she got excited, warm and expressive in that effortless Balkan/Mediterranean way. Every now and then her fingers wrapped around his forearm to emphasize a point, or she laughed and hit his knee lightly like she’d known him for years instead of hours.
None of it felt forced.
Which somehow made it worse.
Or better.
Jensen honestly wasn’t sure anymore.
He only knew he had become painfully aware of every point of contact between them.
The warmth of her hand over his sleeve.
Her perfume every time she leaned closer.
The way her laughter kept pulling laughter out of him too, deeper and louder than usual.
At one point he started imitating directors he’d worked with over the years, then actors, then eventually Jeffrey Dean Morgan.
Irina nearly folded over laughing.
Jensen lowered his voice into an exaggerated gravelly rumble.
— Listen here, kiddo…
Irina made an immediate wounded sound, fanning herself dramatically with one hand.
— Oh my God, don’t do that to me.
He grinned slowly.
— Do what?
And then, still half joking, he leaned closer.
His voice came out lower this time.
Rougher.
Too close.
Irina’s laughter faltered first.
Their eyes met.
And suddenly the air changed.
Not all at once.
Worse.
Slowly.
Jensen watched her expression soften into something quieter, her lips parting slightly as she looked at him. He could see the pulse moving in her throat now. Feel the warmth radiating from her body in the small space between their stools.
Her breathing shifted.
So did his.
His eyes dropped instinctively to her mouth.
Irina swallowed hard.
For one suspended second neither of them moved.
Then Jensen inhaled sharply, like waking up from something dangerous.
He leaned back again first.
Took a longer sip of his whiskey than necessary.
Ran a hand through his hair and looked away toward the nearly empty bar before glancing back at her with a crooked, quieter smile.
— “Man…”— he exhaled a soft laugh. — “I really needed this tonight. Especially tonight.”
Irina adjusted herself slightly on the stool, suddenly aware of how warm she felt.
A strand of hair had stuck to the damp skin at the back of her neck. She pushed it back slowly, clearing her throat once before taking another sip of her drink.
Then she looked at him again, softer now.
— “Why?”
And for the first time that night, the smile on Jensen’s face faded just enough for her to see the tiredness underneath it.
Jensen stayed quiet for a moment after her question.
Not uncomfortable quiet.
Just… thoughtful.
The ice clinked softly inside his glass while he turned it slowly between his fingers, eyes fixed somewhere far beyond the bar shelves and amber bottles glowing behind them.
Irina watched him carefully without interrupting.
For the first time that night, he looked tired in a way that had nothing to do with jet lag or long convention hours.
He exhaled through his nose, smiling faintly to himself.
— “I don’t know…” — he admitted quietly. — “I guess sometimes it just gets exhausting being… split in half all the time.”
His voice had lost most of its teasing warmth now. It turned lower, rougher around the edges.
— “You spend months away from home pretending everything’s balanced because technically you’re still showing up, y’know? You call every day, you FaceTime, you fly back whenever you can… but after a while it starts feeling like you live two completely different lives.”
Irina’s eyes softened immediately.
Jensen kept looking ahead, thumb rubbing absently against the condensation on his glass.
— “And the worst part is… nobody’s really wrong.” — He gave a small humorless laugh. — “That’s what makes it hard.”
The jazz hummed softly around them.
— “My kids need stability. My wife’s tired of carrying everything alone while I’m constantly somewhere else pretending I can somehow make everybody happy all the time. And I keep thinking if I just work harder or organize things better maybe I can fix it, but…”
He trailed off.
His jaw flexed slightly.
— “I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like no matter where I am, there’s always a part of me failing somebody else.”
The words stayed hanging between them.
Heavy.
Honest.
Jensen finally took a sip of whiskey, eyes distant now, somewhere far from the hotel bar and the low music and her perfume beside him.
And for the first time that night, Irina saw not the actor, not the charming man everybody gravitated toward naturally.
Just a lonely man.
Trying very hard.
Her chest tightened unexpectedly.
She inhaled slowly.
— “Tell me about it...”
Her voice came out softer than before.
Jensen looked at her then.
Irina took another sip of her drink, slower this time, before resting the glass carefully against her thigh. Then she lifted her left hand quietly between them.
The ring caught the warm amber light immediately.
Simple.
Elegant.
Painful.
Her eyes stayed lowered toward the glass for a second longer before she finally smiled.
A small sad thing.
Nothing like the bright laughter from earlier.
Jensen’s eyes dropped to the ring.
Something inside him shifted immediately.
Because suddenly this wasn’t flirting anymore.
This wasn’t just chemistry and whiskey and late-night tension.
It was recognition.
Irina looked away first.
Toward the empty end of the bar.
Toward nowhere.
Her thumb moved absently over the ring like muscle memory.
— “Turns out diplomacy is also a terrible profession for relationships.” — she murmured with a faint smile that didn’t quite survive. — “Who knew?”
Jensen stared at her for a second longer than he should have.
At the tiredness behind her composure.
At the loneliness hiding beneath all that elegance and wit.
And God help him, but that was the exact moment something truly dangerous began.
The bar was nearly empty by the time Jensen finally glanced down at his watch.
The realization seemed to hit both of them at the same time.
Irina let out a soft breath through her nose, almost laughing at herself.
— God… I have to be awake in like four hours.
— Yeah, same. — Jensen smiled tiredly, though neither of them moved. — We’re getting old.
— Speak for yourself, Ackles.
— Wow. Cold.
She laughed softly again, but there was something quieter underneath it now. Something reluctant.
Like neither of them wanted to be the first one to end the night.
Jensen paid the bill while Irina finished the last sip of her old fashioned, slow and thoughtful. The bartender wished them goodnight politely and suddenly they were walking through the enormous hotel lobby together, side by side beneath warm golden lights and marble reflections.
The hotel felt strangely empty compared to the chaos from earlier that day.
Their footsteps echoed softly against the polished floor.
Jensen shoved one hand into his pocket.
The elevator doors opened with a soft chime.
They stepped inside together.
And suddenly the space felt very small.
Very quiet.
Jensen leaned back lightly against the mirrored wall while Irina stood beside him, arms folded loosely, exhaustion softening the sharp elegance she carried all day.
She looked beautiful like this.
Real.
Her lipstick slightly faded.
Hair not as perfect anymore.
Eyes heavier now from alcohol and lack of sleep.
He couldn’t stop looking at her.
The elevator hummed quietly upward.
Something warmer.
The doors opened onto their floor.
They walked slowly down the hallway together.
Too slowly.
Almost like they both knew reaching their doors meant this would end.
Irina stopped first outside room 1480.
Jensen’s room waited only a few steps away.
For a second neither of them spoke.
Then Jensen rubbed the back of his neck lightly and stopped beside his own door.
— So… — he started casually, though his heartbeat suddenly wasn’t casual at all. — Do you wanna come in for one last drink?
He asked it without looking at her at first.
Like maybe that made it less real.
Then he finally turned his head.
And held his breath.
Irina froze slightly.
The hallway suddenly felt too warm.
She looked at him, really looked at him now — loosened collar, tired green eyes, whiskey-soft voice, that impossible face watching her carefully like he was already preparing himself for rejection.
Her pulse stumbled.
— I… — she inhaled softly. — I really need a shower.
The answer hit him immediately, even though he tried not to let it show.
— Yeah, of course. Sure.
He nodded once, forcing an easy smile.
But before the disappointment could fully settle over his features, she spoke again:
— Will you wait for me?
— ❈ —
Thank you for checking into our little hotel in Monaco.
Is there anything more old fashioned than a love affair? 🥃
“Why is it that the best people seem to hide themselves away?”
— Fyodor Dostoevsky, White Nights
Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Original Female Character
Genre: angst, romance, emotional affair, tension, mature
Warnings: emotional infidelity, marriage issues, yearning, alcohol
— ❈ —
The breakfast room was already crowded when Jensen walked in, baseball cap low over his eyes, sunglasses hanging from the collar of his Henley. The smell of coffee, butter and expensive hotel perfume filled the air, mixed with low conversations in different languages.
Karl Urban was the first one to notice him.
- “Oi oi, look who survived the great hotel tragedy of last night.”
Jack Quaid nearly choked on his coffee laughing.
- “Dude, I still can’t believe you got locked out of your room. That’s so embarrassingly old-man coded.”
- “Fuck off “- Jensen muttered, grabbing a coffee pot from a nearby table. - “It wasn’t my fault, the damn lock died.”
- “Sure grandpa” - Karl said, not even looking up from his plate. - “Did ya forget the password too?”
Jensen rolled his eyes, but a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as he sat down with them.
- “I’m serious. Nobody could open the damn thing. Hotel staff, technician, everybody looked completely clueless.”
- “So what happened?” - Erin asked, curious.
Jensen poured coffee into his mug, leaning back on the chair.
- “Woman next door. She came out because of the noise. Asked what was going on.”
- “Hot?” - Karl asked instantly.
The table burst out laughing.
Jensen tried to hide his smile behind the mug.
- “I mean… yeah.”
- “Ahhhhh there we go.” - Karl pointed at him dramatically. - “There’s the important detail.”
- “She somehow knew a guy who taught her how to override electronic locks.” - Jensen ignored them. - “Called someone speaking fucking russian in the middle of the night, crouched in front of my door and unlocked it in thirty seconds.”
- “That sounds incredibly sexy” - Karl corrected casually, cutting into his pancakes.
Jensen shook his head with a quiet laugh.
- “Apparently she’s a diplomat too.”
- “A diplomat?” - Erin repeated, surprised.
- “Yeah. That’s literally what she told me when I asked if she was KGB or something.”
The table burst out laughing.
- “See?” - Karl pointed his fork dramatically. - “That is objectively hot.”
Jensen looked down at his coffee for a second, smiling despite himself.
He could still see her crouched in front of the door in black silk pajamas, long hair, messy from sleep, completely calm while everyone else around her looked useless.
The memory pulled an involuntary smile from him.
Jack pointed immediately.
- “Oh no. You’re smiling. This is serious.”
- “Brother… “- Karl leaned back dramatically. - “A mysterious hot diplomat hacker and ya didn’t even ask her bloody name?”
- “It was past midnight! I was tired.”
- “Excuses. Weak excuses.”
Jensen laughed under his breath, but before he could answer, his eyes instinctively drifted across the breakfast room again.
Slowly. Casually.
Scanning.
Businessmen. Families. Convention guests. Hotel staff.
No black silk pajamas.
No deep brown eyes.
No amused little smirk.
Nothing.
Something in his chest sank in a stupidly irrational way.
- “You’re doing it again” - Karl said around a sip of coffee.
- “Doing what?”
- “Looking for spy mommy.”
Jack laughed so hard he almost spilled orange juice on himself.
- “Spy mommy is insane, Karl.”
- “Tell me I’m wrong.”
Jensen shook his head, fighting a smile.
- “You people are unbelievable.”
But even as the conversation moved on, he caught himself glancing one last time toward the restaurant entrance.
Still nothing.
❈
Outside the hotel, the morning air was cold and buzzing with energy. Fans crowded behind barriers, screaming the second the cast stepped out through the revolving doors. Cameras flashed nonstop, security trying to keep a path open toward the black SUVs waiting by the curb.
- Jensen! Over here! - Soldier Boy!! - We love you!!
He slipped easily into the familiar rhythm of it all. Smiling, signing posters, taking phones for selfies, touching hands stretched desperately toward him.
A girl nearly cried when he hugged her.
Another handed him a tiny plastic Dean Winchester keychain.
- “This is for luck!” - she said breathlessly.
- “Thank you sweetheart” - he smiled warmly. - “I think I might actually need it after last night.”
The fans laughed, not understanding the joke but loving it anyway.
Then, between flashes and voices and sharpie signatures, his attention drifted.
To the side entrance of the hotel.
A small group emerged first. Men and women in tailored coats, talking quietly among themselves. Security moved differently around them, more discreet but more alert. Two black official cars waited near the curb, small flags attached to the front.
And then she appeared.
Jensen forgot the autograph he was signing halfway through his own name.
Irina walked beside two older diplomats, dark sunglasses covering her eyes, long hair perfectly sleek over her shoulders. The white pinstriped suit fit her like it had been made exclusively for her body, sharp and elegant and devastatingly expensive. Gold jewelry glinted softly against her skin every time she moved her hands while speaking.
She was laughing politely at something one of the men said, confident and composed, one hand holding her phone and leather gloves.
Not the barefoot woman in silk pajamas anymore.
Not warm.
Not sleepy.
Not teasing him in a hotel corridor at midnight.
This woman looked untouchable.
Important.
Dangerous, even.
And somehow that made her even hotter. Across the street, Irina turned slightly while one of her colleagues spoke to her.
For one suspended second, Jensen thought she might look toward him.
Instead, one of the drivers opened the car door for her and she disappeared smoothly inside the black vehicle.
The door shut.
The convoy pulled away.
And Jensen stood there smiling automatically for photos while feeling strangely… off balance.
- “Jensen!”
He blinked, turning back to a fan waiting nervously for a selfie.
- “Sorry sweetheart” - he smiled automatically. - “Of course.”
A few more photos, a few more autographs, and finally security started guiding them toward the cars.
Jensen exhaled quietly as he climbed into the SUV, rubbing a hand over his beard.
Beside him, Karl adjusted his sunglasses and glanced sideways.
- “Hey… you good?” - he asked casually. - “Ya kinda zoomed out back there.”
- “Yeah, I just… “- Jensen looked out the window for a second before shaking his head lightly. - “Nothing.”
Karl followed his gaze toward the street where the official cars had disappeared moments ago.
A slow grin appeared on his face.
- “Ahhhh. Mystery woman?”
Jensen looked down, trying and failing not to smile a little.
- “Shut up.”
Karl laughed quietly, leaning back against the seat.
- “Mate, she looked expensive.”
That finally pulled a real laugh out of Jensen.
- “Yeah” - he muttered, glancing once more toward the street outside. - “She really did.”
The convention center was loud from the moment Jensen stepped inside.
Fans screaming, people in cosplay, cameras everywhere, handlers trying to keep everything on schedule while panels changed every hour. It was the kind of chaos he knew by heart after years of conventions, something almost automatic by now. Smile here. Hug there. Tell a funny story. Make the crowd laugh.
And apparently, now he had a new one.
- “So I’m standing there at, like, one in the morning - he told the audience during the panel, leaning back in his chair while the crowd laughed already in anticipation - exhausted, locked out of my own hotel room, and the hotel staff is looking at me like I’m supposed to know how electronic locks work.”
The audience laughed.
- “And then this woman opens the door next to mine wearing silk pajamas looking like she walked straight out of a Bond movie”—
More screams.
— “speaks russian on the phone with some mysterious guy and unlocks my door in thirty seconds.”
The crowd exploded.
Jack leaned toward his mic dramatically.
- “Jensen got rescued by a spy.”
- ”That’s exactly what I said! “- Jensen pointed at him laughing. - “I literally asked if she was KGB.”
- “Was she?” - someone screamed from the crowd.
Jensen made an exasperated clueless expression
- “I still don’t know!”
The audience made a collective ooooohhhh sound.
- “See?” - Jack spread his arms. - “Sexy spy.”
Jensen laughed and shook his head, moving on before anybody could notice the way the memory still sat warm somewhere in the middle of his chest.
But through the whole day, between photo ops and backstage breaks and panels, she kept slipping into his thoughts at random moments.
A flash of black silk.
Her laugh in the corridor.
“You owe me a drink. For real.”
And the worst part was that he still didn’t know her name.
❈
The ride back to the hotel was quieter.
Everyone looked exhausted, spread lazily across the SUV seats while the city lights passed outside the windows. Jack had headphones on already. Someone in the back was half asleep.
Jensen sat by the window with his phone in hand, frowning slightly at the screen.
Karl glanced sideways from behind his sunglasses.
- “What the hell are ya doing?” - “Nothing.”
Karl leaned slightly to peek at the screen.
Searches:
UN conference Monaco
Female diplomats Monaco event hotel
Karl blinked slowly.
- “Mate… why are ya googling geopolitics?”
Jensen snorted quietly.
- “I’m trying to figure out who that woman was.”
- “The spy one?”
- “She helped me last night. I wanna thank her properly.”
Karl stared at him for two full seconds before bursting into laughter.
- “You absolute idiot.”
- “What?”
- “Didn’t she tell ya her room number?”
Jensen paused.
Silence.
Then:
- “…fuck.”
Karl slapped the seat laughing.
- “Ya spent all day searching “hot european diplomats” instead of just asking the front desk?”
- “Shut up.”
- “Jesus Christ, you’re hopeless.”
Even Jensen laughed then, rubbing a hand over his beard.
- “Okay, yeah, maybe I’m tired.”
- “Maybe your brain stopped working after the silk pajamas.”
- “Karl.”
- “ I’m just saying.”
❈
The hotel lobby buzzed softly with elegant evening noise when they arrived back.
Rolling suitcases. Quiet piano music. Expensive perfume lingering in the air.
Jensen barely waited for the others before walking toward the reception desk.
The young receptionist smiled immediately in recognition.
- “Good evening, Mr Ackles.”
- “Hey. Uh… I actually wanted to ask you something.”
- “Of course.”
He rested his forearms casually against the marble counter.
- “The woman staying in room 1480… dark hair, european accent… she helped me last night with the door situation?”
Recognition flashed across her face instantly.
Then hesitation.
- “Ah… I’m not sure I can give personal information about guests, sir.”
- “Right, no, of course” - Jensen nodded quickly, charming smile appearing naturally. - “Totally understand. I just wanted to thank her properly. She kinda saved my night.”
The receptionist bit back a smile.
Jensen leaned a little closer conspiratorially.
- “And honestly? I think she might actually be some kind of international spy, so this may be my only chance.”
That made her laugh.
- “Her name is Ms. Irina Marković.”
There it was.
Irina.
Something about finally hearing her name made her suddenly feel more real.
Less like some strange fever dream from the middle of the night.
- “Marković” - he repeated softly.
The receptionist smiled knowingly now.
- “Would you like me to leave her a message?”
Jensen looked down for a second, thinking.
Then he grabbed one of the hotel pens.
❈
Ms. Diplomat,
Thank you again for saving me from committing a felony against my own bedroom door.
I’ll be at the hotel bar at 9PM if you’d like to let me repay my debt properly.
- Jensen
❈
- “Could you give this to her if she passes by?”
- “Of course.”
He thanked her and headed toward the elevators feeling significantly more pleased with himself than he should.
❈
An hour later, Jensen stood in front of the bathroom mirror fastening the last buttons of a dark charcoal shirt.
The shower steam still lingered through the room. His beard was trimmed, hair still slightly damp, expensive cologne warm against his skin.
On the bed beside him, his phone screen glowed softly.
IRINA MARKOVIĆ
Croatian diplomat.
Former advisor to the Croatian Ministry of Foreign Affairs.
Specialized in Eastern European relations and post-war negotiations.
There were photos too.
Irina standing beside presidents and ambassadors.
Irina speaking at conferences.
Irina in elegant coats and sharp suits, always composed, always untouchable.
And somehow none of those pictures looked as beautiful as she had looked barefoot in silk pajamas laughing in that hotel corridor.
Jensen locked the phone and exhaled quietly.
This was ridiculous.
He was a grown man getting nervous over drinks with a woman he met less than twenty-four hours ago.
Still, he sprayed a little more cologne on his neck.
Just in case.
❈
The hotel bar was quieter than Jensen expected for a Friday night. Low jazz drifted through the room, mixing with the soft clinking of glasses and the muted hum of expensive conversations happening in dark corners. Warm amber lights reflected against polished bottles behind the counter, making everything feel softer than it really was.
He sat alone at the bar, one elbow resting against the wood, fingers loosely wrapped around a glass of whiskey.
9:07 PM.
The bartender had already asked twice if he wanted another drink.
- “Not yet,” Jensen had said the second time, glancing toward the entrance again.
No sign of her.
He told himself he didn’t care that much. It was just a drink. A thank you. A funny story to tell later.
Still, every time the elevator doors opened, his eyes lifted automatically.
His phone buzzed against the counter.
Danneel
The little warmth he’d built inside himself cooled immediately.
Jensen exhaled quietly before answering.
— “Hey.”
— “Finally.” Her voice came tired first. Then sharp. “I’ve been trying to call you for over an hour.”
He closed his eyes briefly.
— “We were finishing the convention stuff.”
— “You’re always finishing something.”
There it was.
He leaned back slightly on the stool, staring at the rows of liquor bottles behind the bar.
— “Dee…”
— “No, seriously, Jensen. I’m exhausted.” He could hear movement on the other side, drawers opening and closing aggressively. “The kids barely saw you this month. JJ had a school thing yesterday, Arrow keeps asking when you’re coming home, and I’m here doing everything alone while you fly around the world pretending this schedule is normal.”
His jaw tightened.
Because she wasn’t wrong.
That was the worst part.
— “I know.”
— “Do you?” she snapped. “Because every time we have this conversation you say you know, but nothing changes.”
He rubbed his hand down his face slowly, exhaustion settling into his bones.
— “What do you want me to do, Dee? Quit working?”
A bitter laugh came through the line.
— “You always do that.”
— “Do what?”
— “Make it sound impossible so we stop talking about it.”
Silence.
Heavy. Familiar. Old.
The bartender silently placed another whiskey in front of him after one look at his face.
Jensen mouthed a tired thank you.
— “We need to have a serious conversation when you get back,” Danneel said finally, quieter now. More dangerous somehow. “Because I can’t keep pretending this marriage is functioning normally.”
The word marriage lingered between them like smoke.
Jensen stared down at the amber liquid in his glass.
— “Okay.”
Another silence.
Then:
— “Goodnight, Jensen.”
The line went dead.
He stayed still for a few seconds, phone still pressed against his ear before lowering it slowly.
- “God.”
He dragged a hand through his hair, then over his mouth, exhaling hard through his nose. The whiskey suddenly tasted sharper, heavier.
9:40 PM.
He glanced at the entrance one more time and let out a humorless little laugh to himself.
Of course.
The mysterious diplomat had probably come to her senses.
He took another sip of his drink, eyes fixed on the glass now, already preparing himself to go upstairs looking vaguely pathetic—
— “Oh hi.”
Her voice hit him before his brain could process the rest.
Jensen turned immediately.
And there she was.
Thank you for checking into our little hotel in Monaco. New chapters every Sunday and Wednesday eve. 🥃
“There are moments when one is ready to spend whole years in the hope of a single minute of happiness.”
— Fyodor Dostoevsky, White Nights
Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Original Female Character
Genre: angst, romance, emotional affair, tension, mature
Warnings: emotional infidelity, marriage issues, yearning, alcohol
— ❈ —
It was past midnight when Irina finally closed her laptop and leaned back against the pillows with a long, exhausted breath.
“Well,” she murmured to herself, rubbing tired eyes, “it can’t get any better than that.”
She tossed the laptop aside onto the large hotel bed, switched off the lights, and sank deeper into the soft mattress with relief. Pulling the silk sleep mask over her eyes, she finally allowed her body to relax.
“This is not possible, pal!”
A rough, frustrated male voice suddenly echoed through the corridor outside.
“Monsieur, there’s nothing we can do…” another voice replied softly, thick with a French accent and already exhausted.
Irina pulled the mask back up immediately.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake…”
She stayed still for a moment, hoping the situation outside would solve itself.
It didn’t.
“Sir, I just—” the rough voice broke off in disbelief. “I just wanna sleep in my room, that’s all. I don’t want another room. I want my stuff.”
A third voice joined in now, colder, noticeably less patient.
“It’s past midnight, sir. There is nothing else we can do tonight. Tomorrow the company will come fix it.”
Irina sighed heavily and sat up in bed.
Not because she cared about the situation itself.
But because she desperately needed sleep.
With another annoyed exhale, she climbed out of bed and crossed the room barefoot. She didn’t even bother putting on a robe — the black silk pajamas were decent enough — and cracked the door open slightly, peeking into the hallway.
“Bonsoir,” she asked carefully. “Tout va bien ici?”
One of the hotel employees immediately turned toward her with an apologetic smile, assuring her everything was under control.
The man standing beside them, however, looked anything but fine.
Tall.
Broad shoulders.
Baseball cap pulled low.
Beard.
And painfully familiar green eyes.
Irina blinked once in surprise before a small involuntary smile curled at her lips.
“Well,” she said, opening the door a little wider, “you definitely don’t look okay.”
The tension in his expression softened instantly at the sound of English.
“Not really,” he admitted with a tired sigh. “I’m locked out of my room and apparently nobody can do anything about it.”
Irina glanced toward the electronic lock.
“That’s deeply concerning for a five-star hotel.”
That finally earned a laugh from him.
She stepped a little farther into the corridor, crossing her arms against the cold air conditioning. The movement tightened the silk fabric slightly against her body, though she didn’t notice.
“Did they already call a technician?” she asked.
“Apparently.” He dragged a hand through his hair before scratching his beard tiredly. “Guy showed up, stared at the door for ten minutes like it personally offended him, then left.”
A laugh escaped her before she could stop it.
His eyes dropped briefly before lifting back to her face again.
They exchanged a quick smile.
Trying not to make it obvious that she absolutely knew who he was, Irina turned toward the hotel staff and started asking questions in French, translating pieces of the conversation back to him as calmly as possible.
Every time she turned back toward him, though, she found those tired green eyes already on her.
Watching hopefully.
Like maybe she might somehow magically fix the entire situation.
“Wait,” she said suddenly, lifting a finger slightly. “I think I know someone who can help.”
Without thinking much about it, she squeezed Jensen’s arm lightly before turning toward her room.
He blinked in surprise, glancing briefly at her hand before looking back up at her with a tired grin.
“Oh, thank God,” he laughed. “Because I was about two seconds away from kicking that door down.”
Irina turned back dramatically.
“Well, if that’s the case, be my guest.”
She gestured toward the locked door with exaggerated politeness.
“Since I was fourteen, I’ve dreamed of seeing Dean Winchester kick a door open in real life.”
That made him laugh properly.
For a second, Jensen actually looked shy.
He lowered his head with a crooked smile, slipping his hands into his pockets before looking back up at her.
“Well… if you insist.”
But the hotel employee immediately stepped between them in alarm.
“Sir, please don’t do that.”
Then he turned toward Irina with a deeply judgmental look that clearly said:
Do not encourage him.
She and Jensen exchanged the exact same guilty glance like two teenagers about to do something stupid.
“I’ll be right back,” she whispered.
A minute later, Irina returned with her phone pressed against her ear.
A man’s voice echoed rapidly through the speaker in Russian while she crouched in front of the electronic lock.
“Да, да, я знаю,” she muttered back. “Именно поэтому я звоню вам в час ночи.”
The man laughed loudly on the other end.
Irina rolled her eyes immediately.
“Да заткнись. Если это взорвётся, я буду винить лично тебя.”
Behind her, silence.
She could practically feel Jensen and the hotel employees staring while she examined the keypad carefully.
“Ждать,” the voice instructed.
Irina pressed a sequence of buttons.
Nothing.
She stared at the lock blankly.
“Большой,” she deadpanned into the phone. “Вот так я и умру. В коридоре французского отеля.”
That earned an actual laugh from Jensen.
“Okay, seriously,” he asked, folding his arms while watching her work. “Who are you? Some kind of KGB spy?”
Still focused on the keypad, she smirked faintly.
“Almost,” she replied. “Diplomat.”
Another beep echoed through the corridor.
Then—
Click.
The lock released.
“Voilà.”
Irina stood up slowly, brushing her hands together in triumph.
Behind her, the hotel employees looked both horrified and impressed.
She thanked her friend in Russian, promising him a drink the next time they crossed paths in Geneva, then ended the call.
For a second, nobody moved.
Jensen simply stared at her with raised eyebrows.
“Well,” he said slowly, glancing from her to the unlocked door. “That was incredibly hot.”
Irina looked up at him in surprise.
His own eyes widened slightly right after the words left his mouth, like he hadn’t actually meant to say them out loud.
A laugh escaped her immediately.
“You owe me a drink,” she said, already stepping backward toward her room. “A real one.”
Jensen opened his mouth — probably to thank her — but she was already walking barefoot down the corridor.
“Room 1458,” she called casually over her shoulder. “I’ll wait for the invitation at reception.”
Her tone was light.
Playful.
But not entirely joking.
Before he could answer, she slipped back inside her room and quietly closed the door behind her.
Silence settled over the corridor again.
The two hotel employees slowly turned toward Jensen.
“Sir…” one of them asked carefully. “Is there anything else we can help you with?”
For a moment, Jensen didn’t answer.
Still staring at the closed door across the hallway.
Still trying to process whatever the hell had just happened.
Finally, he shook his head slightly, letting out a disbelieving laugh.
“No,” he muttered. “I think I’m good.”
He thanked them distractedly before stepping inside his room and shutting the door behind him.
Then he just stood there for a moment.
Exhausted.
Confused.
His exhaustion was still there, heavy behind his eyes — but underneath it now lived something sharper.
Warmer.
Restless.
Who the hell was that woman?
Comments, screams and emotional damage are always appreciated. 🖤
✦Read on a03! - Masterlist - Dean Masterlist✦
✦summary: Dean's refusing any help to get over his sex curse, no matter how many women you find for him. If only he'd just tell you why✦
✦warnings/tags: Dean Winchester x female!reader, no use of y/n, sex pollen, angst, pining, Dean being a dummy (it's okay we love him), big emotions (sex pollen does that), just the nastiest smut (praise kink, soft!dom Dean, finger sucking, fingering, some car sex, dirty talk, oral f!receiving, sex pollen appropriate stamina, overstimulation, body worship, dumbification, creampie), love confessions during sex, light fluff at the end✦
✦wc: 10k✦
✦author's note: voted for my the people! this might be the horniest thing i've written ever like i got possessed plz enjoy✦
This room is going to suffocate you.
Outside, there’s a chilling breeze that bites at your ears, and you had to turn the heater off after an hour of Dean whining about it. You’re wearing a few layers and thick, fuzzy socks that slide on the floor. When you look at your fingers, they’re developing a purplish tint under the nails, and you’d think your nose was bleeding if you could feel it at all.
But you’re burning alive. Deep in your stomach with shame, and an arousal you’re not allowed to indulge. It’s wrong, right now, to have flushed cheeks and sweat gathering under your clothing. A tingling heat that’s hidden under the collar of your shirt, and restless fingers as you work, itching to touch something.
Yourself. Just a rub between your thighs for a little pressure of relief to help you focus.
Dean. Lying on the bed, moaning lewdly and humping the sheets like you’re not even in the room.
He’s apologized fifty times. He apologized when you left that old, moldy house and he started staring at you and palming himself in the car. Apologized when you’d been walking inside, and he’d doubled over in pain on the side walk. He’d grabbed your hip for support, and while you’d been trying to figure out if he was okay, his hand had slipped up to your inner thigh. Apologized when you went to get him some ice—he’d said he was warm, you’ d been worrying about a fever—and you had to come back to find him lying in your bed, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut and groans slipping from his lips.
At least he hadn’t been touching himself. He’s managed not to do that at all, which you’d be impressed by if you weren’t so worried.
Sam says it’s a pretty basic sex curse. Maybe a pollen, from that mold. Nothing you need to worry about finding a magical cure for.
“We’ve seen these before.” Sam had said. “It’s run-of-the-mill. Dean knows what to do.”
Run of the mill.
Simple.
Sam had said it like you’d be clear in an hour. Nothing fancy required.
Dean gets laid, the fever goes down, everyone’s good.
And it might’ve been simple. You might’ve been done an hour ago, if Dean just got it over with and left when he was clear. You would’ve sat in your bed, running the sheets between your fingers while you read. Trying desperately not to think about Dean only a door over, about the sounds creaking through the wall as he railed someone else into oblivion, about how he’d look.
Probably just like this. Wrecked and hungry, his eyes blown out and skin slick with sweat. Every muscle in his body straining, hair stuck to his brow, mouth hanging open as he’d hover over some lucky girl, showing her a heaven even angels didn’t get to experience.
Your heart would’ve silently ached, a wound you’ve been letting fester opening wider and wider. Your hands would’ve tugged nervously at the sheets, trying to gather whatever he’d left over like a twisted little souvenir for your perverse brain.
The brain that won’t stop being in love with him, no matter how much logic you offer to counter it. You’ve spent nights staring at the ceiling, acting like love was a debate. Like if you reasoned with yourself enough, all the blood in your body would simply stop flowing in a song of his name. Your heart would shift into a new rhythm, no longer a war drum trying to call for him. Your eyes would stop looking for tiny bits of evidence he loved you too, in just as much silence as you love him.
He’s about ten years older than you. He opens doors for you, and that can be a secret desire thing. He’s not emotionally available. He talks to you, about his dad and complicated fights with Sammy and his past, and that has to mean something. He’s got anger issues. He’s stubborn, he’s reserved. You have issues too, and you’re more stubborn. He’s fucked up- You’re fucked up, and he’s also sweet and loyal and handsome and the best kind of stupid a man can be, where he’s a dumbass that never pretends to be incompetent. He’d probably be possessive. You’d like to be possessed. There’s no future there. Yet.
You’ve always lost the debate. You stay in love with Dean, because your heart wasn’t even kind enough to give you a crush. A brief and intense high of adoration and lust would’ve been manageable. You would’ve recovered.
Instead, it’s love. Not even love with a half-life, weaning off with just a little time. Deep, long love.
The kind of love that has you looking at him now, and crudely thinking that he’s being a bit of a pussy. It’s not a fair thought. He’s cursed, has a fever of a hundred and two, and his body is probably trying to convince him to do things that he’s not on board with.
But you live like that every day, and you don’t whine about it. You’ve felt like if he didn’t touch you now you’d die, you’ve gone sick with your own perverse thoughts about what you’d let him do to you, you’ve been delirious with adoration until Sam clears his throat, and mutters that you’re staring again. Maybe the mold should’ve crawled into you, or however this works.
You wouldn’t have been such a massive bitch about it.
You would’ve had nasty motel sex with a stranger an hour ago.
You wouldn’t have made Dean sit in a room with you while you pillow humped, forcing him to look for a sex partner to break your back.
You would’ve been home by now.
But Dean wants to be a little fucking bitch.
“You’re being a bitch.” You say it plainly, because maybe it will snap him out of whatever the fuck this is.
Instead he just chuckles, twisting to give you an amused look. “Ouch, sweetheart- Shit-“
The movement looks like it made his dick brush against something, and now he’s back to cowering in the sheets. Jaw clenched and eyes squeezed shut, visibly pained, and what’s wrong with you that he’s never looked so hot-
“You’d be a bitch too.” He mutters, groaning as he rolls back onto his stomach. “I feel like I’m dying-“
“You’d stop feeling like that, if you’d just pick someone to fuck.”
“I’m tryin’-“
“Not hard enough.”
“Trust me, I’m plenty hard enough- Fuck-“
You throw one of his pillows at his face, and he makes a strangled noise like you hit him with a bullet.
“You’re gonna attack a dying man-“
“I can do whatever I want, when I’m helping you find a fuck buddy.” You stick your tongue out at his back, then return your attention to his phone. “How about Miranda? She’s thirty-six, she’s got really nice hair, and- Oo-“ You scroll a little further down the page. “She likes boats! Those are like water cars, you guys could bond over that.”
Dean laughs again, shaking his head. “Boats aren’t water cars.”
“They are. Think about it.“
“They don’t have a big engineering overlap, I don’t know shit about boats-“
“Then you can just fuck her stupid, you nerd.”
Dean’s silent for a long moment, and you hover your thumb over the screen, fully ready to subject yourself to the worst torture possible for Dean’s stupid, cursed sake.
“She looks nice.” You mumble, praying he doesn’t hear the exhausted, hopeless pain in your voice. “I think you’d like her.”
Dean grunts. “No. Next name.”
You sigh, and swipe left. Adding Miranda to the long, long pile of rejected applicants.
It’s been like this for two fucking hours. Dean lying in your bed, you cross-legged in his, absolutely no progress on curing the curse. He barely even looks at you anymore. He’s been facing the opposite wall since you sat down, burying his face in your pillow every time he moans, trying to hide the roll of his hips under the sheets and failing miserably.
The tingling pain between your legs is almost unbearable now. You’d call Sam and ask if the pollen was transferable, if you weren’t terrified of the answer being no. There’s no way it’s not just Dean anyway. His thick arms stretching up to grip the pillow, his broad, muscled shoulders and back bare, the fact that sometimes when he humps fast and rough, the sheets ride up and you swear you see the tip of his cock. It’s wrong. So fucking wrong, to be getting off to him like this.
But it’s your own personal hell, to have this responsibility. To have him right there, and not be allowed to touch him.
You’ll deal with your shame later in the shower, where you can wash it off and maybe cry from a few different places over your body.
Later. When he’s not dying, and doing absolutely nothing to help you save him.
“Hannah.” You read out the next profile, pulling your knees to your chest. “She’s got curly hair, really nice brown eyes. Looks like she’s a nail artist. That could be nice.”
Dean snorts. “What, you think I’m gonna have her get me a manicure after?”
“No, I just-“ You take a long breath. You’d rather have a living Dean that doesn’t love you, than a dead Dean, who also doesn’t love you.
Dean starts to twist—he’s going to try and look at you again—and you clear your throat.
“It might be nice to look at. Aesthetically. Or- arousing.”
He mutters your name, but you push on.
“For a handjob. Nice nails, going- Up and down your- Um- Your dick-“
Dean lets out the loudest moan yet, and your jaw snaps shut. That sounded like your name. He was probably just trying to warn you to shut up, but that still sounded like your name-
“Sorry-“
“Stop talking.” He snaps, and you nod.
Without him asking, you swipe left on Hannah. He seems to have forgotten about her, and you have no desire to let her and her perfect nails anywhere near his dick.
It takes a while for Dean to request the next candidate. Long minutes of him just panting and grunting, burying his face in the pillow and thrashing in the sheets like he’s having a nightmare.
You see the head of his cock again. It’s thick looking and red and shining with pre-cum. Angry and hard and Jesus fucking Christ-
“Emma!” You shout to the room. You need this to be done. “She’s a nurse, that can be a kink thing-“
“Stop.”
You sigh, turning down the phone screen. “Dean-“
“No. Don’t want Ella-“
“Emma-“
“Don’t fuckin’ care. We’re not doing more of this- Shit.”
“Are you just swearing, or is that an adjective-“
“Sweetheart.” He’s almost growling, a hand slipping out from the sheets to fist the mattress. “Stop. Talking.”
You close your mouth, bowing your head as shame floods your body. You’re trying to help. You’ve given your whole night just to help the man you’re hopelessly in love with have sex with someone else, and you’re tired. Tired of doing this to yourself, tired of him shooting everyone down like suddenly he’s got the highest sexual standard in the world, tired of acting like it’s not killing you and tired of watching him like this.
He’s in so much pain. You can hear it straining in every word, tensed in every movement. You’re not allowed to touch him, but the last time you made him check his own temperature, it had gone up again. With how he’s looking, how he’s muttering to himself under his breath, you’re willing to bet it’s gone up another handful of degrees.
Dean’s going to die, if he doesn’t deal with this. And if he dies, you’re not going to deal with it.
You don’t want to think about what you’ll become, if he goes. You might be the one that turns into a ghost, haunting this goddamn hotel room and growing up the walls like that mold. A shell of a person, caught in a million what-ifs, her heart ash in the wind with his body.
Dean wants to be done with this.
You’re not done with him.
You swipe right on Emma.
For an hour, you let him keep moping and groaning. You flirt with Emma for him, because you’re the best friend in the world, and pretend you can’t see him trying to move a pillow between his legs to offer extra pressure.
“Dean.” You say softly, and he grunts.
“Baby, I need you not to talk-“
“You can take it out.” You mutter, keeping your focus on Emma’s texts. “If you need that. I’m a big girl, I- I won’t mind.”
That’s a lie through more than just your teeth. If he starts touching himself in front of you, all the poetic fawning about how your love is killing you won’t be dramatic anymore. Your heart will beat right out of your ribs, your head will get so light you’ll float away, your need for him will become so consuming you’ll either fall to your knees and open your mouth for him to use, or simply just explode.
But if it helps him. You’ll do anything to help him, even if it’s searing the most sinful, impossible image into your head for the rest of your life.
Dean with his cock in his hand, head thrown back, beating himself right next to you. Maybe moaning under his breath, thrusting up into his fist, accidentally looking at you as he cums, mouth hanging open and eyes hooded as thick white ropes paint the sheets-
“No.” He grunts, and you blink.
“It’s okay-“
“No. I‘m not doin’ that to you.”
You swallow, heated shame rushing through you. “I- I could leave the room-“
“No, don’t-“ He almost shouts your name, flipping over suddenly.
Looking at you.
His eyes are almost black with lust, his face red and slack, expression desperate. He hisses—the movement likely too much—but still reaches out a shaking hand, like he’s going to try and grab you.
“Don’t go, just- Fuckin’-“ His words trail off, eyes locked on your face, and another moan escapes his lips.
You push up on your knees, fear clenching at your heart. “Dean-“
“’m fine-“
“You’re not fine-“
“I’m- Son of a bitch-“ His eyes widen on yours then slam shut. His hand curls into a taut fist, face pulling in pain, and that’s enough.
“Fine. Don’t masturbate, see if I care.”
He says your name, low and rough, and you shake your head.
“You’re not fine, you fucking idiot. You’re dying.” You push to your feet, grabbing his phone from the bed.
Emma’s very nice. Nice in the kind of way that’s going to make you hate her, and you feel sort of bad. She was doomed to your loathing from the moment she swiped right.
But she’s going to help. She’s going to save Dean, and you’ll offer her grace for that.
Dean’s eyes had opened, when he heard you moving. He’s looking at you like a lost street dog, opening his mouth to say something that only comes out in a panting groan of your name.
Whatever protests he has, you won’t hear them. He’s not allowed to die.
“Get up.” You snap, tossing his clothing onto his face. “Get dressed. I’m starting the car in ten minutes, and if you’re not there, I’m coming back and you’re having sex with me.”
You don’t look over your shoulder to see his reaction. The sounds of torment leaving his chest are bad enough.
It hurts. It cuts deeper than a blade, the idea that he detests the idea of sex with you that much. You’re good at sex. You’ve gotten raving reviews, you’re batting a hundred, flawless reports and a hundred percent customer satisfaction rate, even if you don’t really enjoy most of it yourself. Most people you have sex with don’t manage to make you cum, and when they do it’s a tiny little shudder through your body that you forget about in five minutes.
Dean witDean would be lucky to have sex with you. You’d worship him. You’d get on your knees and let him use you until he was leaking out of every hole. You’d let him fuck himself back into you, you’d let him throw you around, you’d do anything-
It’s probably a good thing your threat works. Dean stumbles out of the motel right at the nine-minute mark, pallid and flushed all at once, hunched in pain and wearing a massive raincoat over his jacket to hide the boner.
You never would’ve forgiven yourself, for taking advantage of him like that. It’s better like this, no matter how much it hurts.
You smile when he gets into the car. “Nice fashion statement-“
“Shut up.” He grumbles, glaring out at the road. “Where’re we goin’.”
“A bar.”
He makes a sour expression. “Why.”
“Because you have a date. With Emma the nurse.”
Dean goes dead quiet. He tenses next to you—your elbows brushing for a split second, before he recoils like your skin is coated in toxins—works his jaw, then shakes his head.
You sigh. ‘Dean-“
“No. I told you, I’m not doin’ that.“
“Yes, you are.”
“No-“
“Yes!” You slam the brakes harder than you mean to, as you approach a stop sign.
You expect Dean to snap about you being careful with his baby. Maybe try to make a joke about how maybe the frustration is rubbing off on you, or argue about how this is his dumb choice to make.
And it is. But he made the wrong choice, and you are not letting him die.
He mutters your name, and it’s the same way he said it earlier. Soft. Almost pleading.
You take a deep breath, and twist to look him in his pretty, glazed and dilated eyes.
“You’re going into that bar. You’re going to flirt with Emma. If she asks if you have a fever, you tell her you work construction or something, and you’d just been at a shift. You run hot. Nothing for her to worry about.” You drum your fingers on the wheel, forcing down the lump in your throat. “You’re going to tell her she’s pretty. You’re going to call a fake uber, and I’m going to drive you to the motel. You’re going to fuck Emma until you’re cured, and then we can go home. Understand?”
Dean’s throat bobs. He opens his mouth, a glint in his eyes like he’s going to argue. You don’t give him the chance.
“No. You’re doing this. If you don’t, you’ll-“ You cut yourself off, pressing your lips in a tight line. You won’t cry. You won’t.
Dean says your name, and he has to stop doing that. It’s too gentle. Too close to something real.
“You’re not allowed to- To go.” You look out at the empty road, praying the night is hiding the glossy tears, pricking at your eyes. “I can’t- I won’t- You’re not allowed to.”
You raise your chin, your breathing too shaky to speak for a moment. The silence hangs in the car, even the sound of Baby’s engine not enough to drown out your thoughts.
“Okay?” You snap, trying to sound stronger than you are.
Dean lets out a low sound, but nods. “Okay.” Then, under his breath. “For you.”
You pretend you don’t hear. There’s too much weight in those words, and you don’t have the time to pick them apart, don’t have the energy to ask him what the fuck that means.
Instead, you just give yourself the easiest out. Dean does love you as a friend. You’ve never doubted that for a second. He’s doing it for you because you’re the one demanding he go have sex.
What a horrible friend you are, making him get laid so he doesn’t die.
You huff a dry, pitiful, laugh to yourself. Your drink swirls in its glass, untouched and mocking. You ordered it when you got here, about thirty minutes ago. Made Dean take a possibly dangerous dose of Advil and Tylenol to make him lucid, then hidden yourself in a booth on the other side of the bar. Where you can see Dean and Emma, but only Dean can see you. He’s supposed to give you a thumbs up, when he’s about to call the ride. Right now, he seems so engrossed in her that you’re worried he’s going to forget.
Emma’s pretty. Just as pretty as her pictures. She lit up, when she spotted Dean, and you’d felt a sickening, loud hatred take root in your chest.
Everyone should be happy to see Dean, but none of them are happy like you’re happy. You know him. He’s the love of your life, and your joy is born of that, not just seeing a pretty man. You love seeing him because you know you’re going to be safe. Because he’s going to smile and the world is going to be alright, you’re going to talk and he’ll listen and look at you like there’s no one else in the world, he’s going to make jokes and you’re going to laugh.
But he’s making Emma laugh right now. She’s got one of those high, insufferable giggles, and you’re being needlessly mean but you hate her. You have a giggle like that. It comes out for Dean all the time, and it has a little snort on the end that you hated until Dean casually mentioned that he liked it, and you’ve felt like the most beautiful thing in the world.
It doesn’t really matter though, whose laugh Dean likes more.
Emma’s the one going home with him. You’re being left here.
You focus on ignoring their laughter and voices from the bar. You can’t drink, but you sulk and focus on the music floating through the bar. Your fingers drum on the table, pull at your sleeves, shred three napkins before gripping the cold of the glass like a lifeline. Your vision is going unfocused with envy. Every second you feel the wound in your heart tearing open, an infection of jealousy taking root, and you might actually be about to throw up-
Dean grunts your name, and your eyes shoot up.
He’s standing outside your both, hands in his pockets and a deep scowl on his face. Emma’s not with him. Or at the bar.
“Where-“
“She left.”
Your mouth falls open. “She left? I- What the fuck happened-“
“I told her to. Wasn’t gonna work out.”
“Dean, you-“ Your voice cracks, every thought in your head getting louder. He’s dying, he’s dying, he’s dying. “You promised-“
“Couldn’t what? Couldn’t fuck her? What the hell was wrong with her that somehow doesn’t meet Dean Winchester’s if it’s got a hole standards?”
Dean flinches, and it was a low blow, but right now you don’t care. He’s going to die. Why doesn’t he fucking care that he’s going to die and leave you.
“Come on.” You snap, slamming a few bills on the table and shooting up. “We’re chasing her. You’re apologizing.”
He frowns. “No, I’m not-“
“Then we’re going back on the dating app, and finding someone else.”
“I don’t want someone else.”
You roll your eyes, shoving the bar door open and marching to the car. You have Emma’s number. You’ll do the apology yourself if you have to.
Dean’s stumbling after you into the parking lot, and you can’t stop yourself from looking over your shoulder every few seconds. Just to be sure he hasn’t hurt himself. He calls your name, voice pained, and you freeze. Turn slowly, your arms crossed over your chest.
“I’m not doin’ this.” He snaps, stalking towards you in uneven steps. “You can bitch and whine about it all you want, sweetheart, I’m not fucking that girl.”
“I’m bitching and whining?” You laugh, the sound crude even to your ears. “I’m not the one who decided the best time to become a fucking celibate was when he got hit with a sex curse. You’re the one acting like a fucking child here-“
“I’m not acting like a child-“
“Then you’re acting like an idiot!” You scream, taking a large step forward.
Dean goes rigid. Takes a long step back, like you’re poisonous. It just fuels the burning, exhausted fire, kindled by every bit of fear, of love, of fury that he’s putting you through this with almost no remorse.
“It’s not like you have to marry her!” You shout, barbed wire tightening around your throat. “It’s just sex! Fuck, you don’t even have to look at her, it’s- I don’t understand why this is so fucking hard for you all of a sudden, it’s not like you’re some virgin fucking pussy-“
He mutters your name, a low warning, and you ignore it.
“I’ve spent all day trying to save you, Dean! I was going to be your- Your fucking sex chauffer, and I haven’t been complaining, but you can’t do me one fucking favor and have sex with a pretty girl?”
You take another step forward, and this time he isn’t fast enough. You jab his chest, and he stumbles back like you shot him, eyes panicked and wide on yours.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” You shriek, shoving him again. “Do you want to die? Are you trying to fucking kill me? Do you hate me, Dean? Is that what this is?”
He rasps your name, and you shake your head.
“I’ve been trying so- So hard to save you. I- I told you that I can’t- If you-“ Your words are getting choked, and the pain is too heavy to just shake off. “You’re not allowed to go! I told you, I won’t let you, but you- You fucking hate me-“
You try to shove him again, hot tears burning down your face, but this time Dean’s ready. He catches your wrist, and you try to pull back but he’s got more strength left than you thought.
He squeezes his hold on you, stalking forward. A fire lights in your core, at the intensity of his gaze. Unyielding and hot, searing into you as your back hits the Impala. He towers over you, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring as he takes in your open mouth and slack expression. You don’t know how you expected him to react, but it wasn’t this. This makes your knees weak, your heart hitting a dangerous pace at the top of your chest.
You can smell his cologne, smell his. A salt, deep musk that’s just Dean, that might as well be a drug for how it’s making you freeze. Your free hand moves to press flat against his chest, but you don’t push.
He grunts, his muscles rippling like you just threw a rock into water. He seizes up, head bowing, and there’s nowhere for you to hide from him.
Dean’s tongue darts over his lips, and your breath hitches.
“Don’t do that.” He grunts, and you just nod.
Lean a little closer, until the heat of your breath is fanning over your cheeks. Your eyes flutter, and when you risk meeting his gaze he looks almost predatory. The hunger in his eyes sends a pleasant shiver down your spine, your thighs pressing together, and it’s hot, so hot-
“I don’t hate you.”
You blink at him. You’d forgotten about that. “Dean-“
“I don’t.” He snaps. “Don’t fuckin’- Never think that, alright? I don’t hate you.”
“Then why are you doing this to me?” You whisper desperately. “Why couldn’t you just go have sex with Emma-“
He shakes his head. “I don’t want Emma.”
“Then let me find you someone you want, please-“
“No.”
“Why-“
“Cause I don’t want any of them.” He hisses, your foreheads bumping as he leans further down. “I don’t want some random fuckin’ chick you pull for me, I don’t want to fuck her, don’t wanna touch her, hell, I don’t even want to goddamn look at her.”
You take a shaking breath, a haze overtaking your head. “Dean, you need someone-“
“You think I don’t know that?” He pushes his hips forward, and you can feel it.
His cock, straining through his jeans, pressing against your thigh. You bite down a moan, completely still in his arms, trying to make him understand with just your eyes. It’s not fair for him to do this to you. He doesn’t understand, this is all you’ve ever wanted and he’s just taunting you with it-
“I can feel it, sweetheart.” He mutters, rolling slightly against you, making that fire in your core threaten to sweep you away. “I feel myself dyin’. My muscles are hurting like I ran a mile, I’m sweating through ten damn layers, think the fever is getting me so bad I might be about to go fucking crazy. But I didn’t even notice ‘till you started getting all worried. You know why?”
It takes you a second to realize you’re supposed to answer. You barely shake your head, before he’s squeezing your wrist, leaning down to whisper in your ear.
“’Cause of you.” He breathes, voice soft and dangerous. “I always feel like an animal when I see you. Spent the whole car ride back from that damn house wanting to hump your leg and didn’t think twice. You just do that to me, and you got no fuckin’ idea.”
You gasp slightly, turning your head to look him in the eyes. They’re hooded, almost feral on yours. You’re so dizzy, you’re worried you might be walking through a dream.
“De- Dean-“
“You can keep looking for some random girl for me, if it’s gonna make you feel better. But I won’t fuck ‘em. I can’t.” His lips ghost over yours, and you lean forward.
“Dean-“
“Sex barely even works for me anymore, baby.” He mutters, tongue flicking over his lips. “Nothin’ does. I get kicked out of bed ‘cause I call your name. So just fuckin’-“ He squeezes your wrist again, drawing slowly back. “Stop. If you wanna give me a dying wish, cut it out and let me go in some damn peace.”
You gape at him as he pulls away, his grip going slack on your wrist.
Dying wish.
He still thinks he’s allowed to die.
“What- What if you fuck me?” You say, so quiet you barely even hear yourself.
Dean’s head jerks up, and he says your name with a harsh, unforgiving snap. “No. I’m not askin’ you to do that just because I’m some perv who can’t get it up-“
“You’ve got it up.” You smile at up, pressing your knee up into his crotch.
He groans, doubling back down so you’re caged against the Impala again. “Baby, don’t fuckin’- I’m not bending on this shit, alright. I’m not gonna be some pity fuck-“
“It’s not a pity fuck, I’m saving your life-“
“I told you, no-“
“Do you not want to have sex with me?” You challenge, and Dean gives you a pleading, wrathfully frustrated look.
“Don’t ask stupid questions, course I wanna have- Fuck-“ He groans, eyes fluttering as his brow presses against yours. “Yeah. Yeah I want to. But- I won’t ask you to. So no.”
You swallow. It’s probably the fever making his tongue so loose. He’s so hot it almost burns to be this close, but that might just be Dean.
It’s always just Dean. And he has to know that.
“What if I want to have sex with you?”
Dean grunts, shaking his head. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it-“
“I mean it.” You fist your hand in his shirt, dragging him a little closer. “Do you?”
He stares at you again. Scans over your face like he’s looking for one clue that you’re just indulging him, that there’s a single doubt running through your head.
There isn’t. Your breathing is uneven, but your heart is going too fast for it to be anything else. You’re flushed with an unending, arduous hunger to just have him, however he needs you.
Slowly, testing the waters, Dean slides a hand onto your neck. You raise your chin, holding his gaze. He squeezes slightly, and you lean into him, tugging on his shirt for more.
His thumb moves up, dragging over your lower lip. You part your lips, and his nostrils flare.
Dean pushes his thumb slowly between your lips, and you close them obediently around him. Your eyes flutter as you suck, letting your tongue circle around the thick finger, tilting your head and letting your eyes flutter. He pushes a little deeper and you moan. Your hand flies up to grab his wrist, holding him against you, and Dean groans. His eyes are clearer than they’ve been all night, shining with something like awe.
You smile, grinding up into his torso and humming with pleasure.
Dean mouth hangs slack.
“Jesus fuckin’-“
He cuts himself off, pulling his thumb out with a pop and grabbing your jaw. You giggle happily for a second, and Dean swallows the sound, crashing his mouth against yours.
You’ve pictured this kiss a million times, a million ways, almost every night since you met him. Somehow, this is better than any slow, fairytale kiss with swelling music and sunlight hitting both your faces like a spotlight.
Dean’s not taking his time. He’s kissing you like you’re the last thing he knows, the only thing he’s ever wanted. Like a man who’s been starving himself, finally allowed a feast and wasting no precious seconds on manners. It’s urgent and forceful, words he can’t say being pushed down your throat with his tongue and spit. You kiss him back with everything you have, your fingers digging into his chest through his shirts, your head spinning as you neglect breath just to taste a little bit more whiskey and salt on his tongue. But nothing you throw at him Dean can’t seem to double.
You yank at his shirt, and he pulls your hair back. You try to grind up again, and he grabs your leg, hiking it over his hip. You grab his face, trying to kiss harsher, give more, and Dean slams down like a tidal wave, dominating your mouth with unforgiving need.
A moan escapes your throat, your body going limp in his arms, and he grunts. Ruts up into your core once, making your legs spread in a shameless invitation.
Dean grunts, yanking back like someone pulled him on a leash.
He stares at you for a long moment, his thumb finding its way back to your cheek. He smears a bit of spit over your cheek, and you tilt your head into the touch.
“You’re sure-“
“Yes.”
He nods tightly, takes a heavy breath, and leans away. “Get in the car.”
It’s a short, curt order. You don’t think twice before you obey.
You scramble into the driver’s seat, fumbling with the keys and slamming them into the port like you’re about to enter a car chase. Dean’s barely in the car before the engine is rumbling and you’re reversing out of the spot, gripping the wheel with white knuckles. It’s happening. It’s happening.
“Easy, baby.” He chuckles, the sound raspy and sending more shivers through your body. “You that eager-“
“Yes.” You snap, and Dean hums.
A light, almost taunting hand lands on your thigh. You glance over and find him palming at his crotch, his eyes wholly black and mouth hanging open. It’s an animalistic expression, his chest rising and falling at a rapid pace, and when you murmur his name he barely seems to hear.
His fingers dance up the inside of your leg, and you take an unsteady breath, spreading your legs wider. A deep, rumbling sound leaves Dean’s chest, those infernal fingers curling on the sensitive spot where your leg meets your core. Little electric shock rush through your body, and that’s just through the jeans.
“Dean.” You whisper, not even managing to make your voice firm. “I- I’m driving-“
“So look at the road.” He growls, knuckles brushing against your groin.
You bite your lower lip, and nod. It’s not worth arguing with him, and if you don’t think you can focus, you’ll just pull over. You told him you were sure. Told yourself that whatever he gave you, you’d be happy.
You just didn’t expect him to be borderline feral. The palming you could deal with. You expected.
This is different.
Dean scoots further, and you’re about to mumble something about a seatbelt when his lips brush the curve of your neck. You inhale sharply, gripping the wheel for dear life. Dean hums, his tongue flicking over a pulse point. His fingers start to crawl up to your abdomen, his mouth getting more insistent on your neck.
He nips at a pulse point before sucking on his, his tongue flat on your skin and a low sound leaving his chest when you lean back to grant him further access. He kisses a sloppy line up your throat as his fingers dance on your stomach, and you’re starting to get a little dizzy.
“De, be- Be careful-“
You cut yourself off with a breathy gasp, as his mouth latches behind your ear and he pulls down your zipper. He bites softly before sucking another bruise, popping the button open and slipping his hand into your pants.
“I- Fuck-” You tip your head back, hopelessly trying to keep your eyes on the road, and this is not a safe way to drive. You really should be shoving him away, but there’s no one on the road.
And with how he’s barely even speaking—just touching—you’re a little worried it might take extra effort to drag him out of the haze of the curse and push him away. He seems to be blinded to anything that isn’t you. His mouth drags back down your jaw as his fingers brush over your clothed pussy, and your whole body shakes.
He hums, leaving open kisses on your cheek and hairline. “Sensitive, sweetheart. Been a long time?”
You flush, and Dean starts to gather the fabric of your panties best he can through your pants. He drags it up, bunching it around your pussy, and another moan slips out from the pressure.
“Answer me-“
“Maybe.” You mumble, forcing yourself not to grind into his hand. “You- You know I don’t do that-“
“Do what?” He presses the fabric deeper between your pussy lips. “Don’t fuck?”
“Dean-“
“How long’s it been.” His words are hot against your neck, demanding and possessive. “Who touched you last, baby, who shoved their fingers in this pussy-“
“I- I don’t remember-“
“That’s fuckin’ right.” He pulls your panties tighter against your clit. “’Cause they don’t’ fuckin’ matter, sweet girl. No one else is ever gonna touch you like this. I’m gonna make you soak my fingers, my face, my cock, and it’s gonna feel so good in that smart, pretty mouth,” he kisses the corner of your lips, and only the wheel in your hands stops you from turning and claiming his mouth again. “That’s always fucking teasing me, it ain’t gonna remember a single word but my name. You want that, baby? Wanna be my perfect fuckin’ slut?”
Jesus Christ, this is worse than the not speaking. If this is a dream—because you’ve had them like this before—you never want to wake up.
He yanks his hand away, leaving your underwear bunched up in your cunt, and slaps your pussy over the jeans. Your mouth falls open and you lean forward, lightning surging through your whole body.
“Oh my- Dean-“
“I told you, answer-“
“Yes, I- Yes, please-“ Your words fall off into a moan, as Dean shoves his hand back against you, this time dragging the panties away and plunging two fingers deep into your pussy. “Dean-“
“That’s right.” He mutters, crooking them deep against a sensitive spot. “That’s my girl, you’re so fuckin’ wet- This all for me?”
“Mmm- Mhm-“
“Fuck yeah it is.” He starts his attack on your neck again, only speaking between kisses, his fingers scissoring inside your pussy. “So damn tight, know you’re gonna take my cock so good, bet you taste like heaven- Fuck, I wanna taste this pussy, wanted to taste it for years-“
His own words fall into a moan, and for a second you think he’s just out of dirty talk, but he’s still mumbling incoherently against your skin.
Then you risk another look at his body, and the hand that isn’t in your pants has pulled out his cock.
And fuck, if it isn’t the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Thick and long, but not painful looking. Throbbing and twitching as he jerks himself, the tip leaking and slick with pre-cum. It takes effort to look at the road and not just stare at the rock-hard, veiny marvel of a specimen between his legs.
You don’t know why you’re surprised. Dean’s a specimen himself.
He’s somehow already figured out how to finger you in such a confining position. His wrist has twisted, letting his thumb drag lazy circles around your clit, his fingers giving shallow, rough thrusts that make his fingers taunt your g-spot. Never really fully touching it, but sending shivers through your whole body.
“Oh- Oh-“ You have to take deep breaths to keep your head clear, your whole body winding tight with the arousal he’s pulling out of you, more and more every second. “Dean-“
“Shh.” He grunts, biting right under your jaw, and you squeak. “Just feel it. Sweet fuckin’ pussy, gushing around my fingers-“
You moan, loud and lewd, his deep voice not doing anything to help you keep it together.
It’s a miracle you make it to the motel. It’s a shit parking job—you’re definitely over the lines—but you’re both alive.
You barely shift the gears before Dean’s pouncing on you like an animal. Whatever the ride was, he still seemed to be showing restraint. Now that you’re safe, all bets are off.
A squeal leaves you, as he flips your body. Pressing your back to the window and prowling over your body, slamming his mouth over yours and kissing until you’re slumping against the glass. Your hand flies up to grab the back of his neck, your hips rolling up to where his knee is pressed between your thighs. Your eyes dart down when you pull apart for a single, ragged breath—Dean pulling your lip between his teeth, and kissing your nose and cheek like breathing is really no longer his concern—and you whimper at the sight of him, still erect and hanging out of his pants.
Dean drags your chin back up, searing his lips over yours, and you melt. He’s a good kisser. And you knew that, but it’s not like anything you’ve felt before. It’s like you’re trading souls, like he’s trying to brand you with wandering hands and lips.
When you pull away again, your dizzy from the pleasure and force of him. You whine at the loss as he leans away, but Dean just squeezes your waist and smirks.
You hear a rip, as he claws your pants and underwear down your legs. You don’t get a chance to adjust before he’s shoving your knee up against the bench, dragging the other one over his shoulder as he ducks between your legs.
“Dean- Shit-“ Your breathing gets shallow as his breath fans over your pussy. “We- We’re supposed to be doing things that are- Like blowjobs-“
It’s so hard to argue with him when he’s between your legs. The sight alone is almost enough to tip you into a frenzy. His shining eyes looking up at you, his full lips grazing your inner thigh, leaving teasing kisses everywhere but where you’re aching for him. You run your fingers through his short, soft hair, trying to get his attention. He just makes a low sound like a purr, and presses his mouth over your clit.
You almost fly out of your skin. He’s making out with the sensitive nerve like they’re your mouth, his tongue dragging and pressing, his hands on your thighs kneading with every suck and graze of his teeth. All you can do is cover your mouth and try to stifle your moan.
Dean withdraws, and you make a strangled sound of frustration. He can’t just do that, it’s not fair-
“No doin’ that.” He grunts, dragging your hand from your mouth. “Wanna hear it.”
You nod weakly, but still try one more time to remind him who this is about. “Dean, it- it’s supposed to be stuff that’s good for you-“
“This is good for me.” He mutters, letting go of your thigh over his shoulder to let his fingers drag back over your fluttering pussy. “Look at you.” He mutters with pure awe. “Responsive, wet little pussy. Bet you’d like it when I do this.”
He pushes one finger knuckle-deep inside you, and you yank on his hair with delight.
“Yeah, you do. How about,” he drags it out, then shoves it back in, and your head tips back against the window, eyes screwing shut.
“Dean, Dean, please-“
He groans, adding a second finger and repeating the slamming motion. Once, twice, a third time. His tongue flicks against your clit on that last one, and your eyes roll back in your head.
“Dean-“
Another deep sound, another flick, and you’re seconds from begging like a whore when he snaps.
Dean wraps his mouth back around your clit, resuming his ministrations from before with twice the fervor. His fingers pick up their pace, wet sounds filling the car as he finger-fucks you into oblivion.
The curse seems to have it’s full hold on him. He’s borderline feral. You’ve never had a man who eats pussy like he’s having a five-star meal, like it really is good for him. Sometimes he just pulls his fingers out and drags his tongue down your cunt, angling his head to press his tongue deep inside you and working his jaw until your toes are curling. His nose bumps your clit and his stubble scrapes your thighs, his free hand squeezing your thigh as he devours.
“Oh- Oh fuck-“ You let out a vulgar, lustful sound as he drags you further forward against his mouth, the pleasure rushing through your body. “Dean- God, just like that-“
He drags his mouth back up to your swollen, neglected clit, and those two fingers pump back into your hole. It’s somehow better and worse, and a shriek rips from your mouth as he spanks your pussy, then resumes his rhythm.
“Dean, please- Please, fuck- please-“
You’re already babbling, the tension in your lower abdomen so tight it’s almost painful. Your body is shaking with the stimulation, and Dean’s working you like an instrument. He finds every hyper-needy spot that makes you moan his name and playing it like a professional. You’re kept right on the edge for what feels like a million years, his fingers and mouth switching in and out, begging and begging as he turns you into an empty-headed, drooling wound-up mess.
Then he finally lets you over the edge.
Dean pushes his fingers right against your g-spot, and rubs. Your body seizes up, eyes crossing as his tongue flicks against your clit, and the heat built up in your gut explodes.
You shake as your orgasm rips through your pussy, your spine, every nerve in your body glowing with a deep, sex-addled bliss. Your clit is swollen between Dean’s lip as he drags you through it, your pussy gushing around his fingers and fingers yanking at his hair.
“Fuck, yes- Yes-“ You moan, legs locking around Dean’s head, and he groans against your pussy.
When it pulls another lewd sound from your chest, he does it again, slowly easing his fingers out and starting to clean up the mess between your thighs. He licks and hums, the sensation making your oversensitive body spasm every time he finds one of those spots.
It’s not certain you’re going to be able to walk to the motel room, when he finally pulls away.
But there’s a gleaming light in his eyes, that makes you think it’s really not going to matter.
Dean’s a wreck. His face is flushed, chest heaving, cock still hard but coated in a white stain that tells you he’s not close to working off the curse.
“Oh, you’re gonna be so mad about that when you’re better.” You mumble, seeing the stains on his precious bench, and Dean chuckles.
“I’ll get over it.”
You giggle, and Dean leans over you again, kissing you slow and deep. One orgasm seems to have cleared his head for a seconds, enough that he’s gently rubbing your bare, tender pussy, a soothing touch that’s really only working you up more.
“Love that sound.” He mutters, and you frown against his lips.
“Wha-“
“Your laugh.” He sucks on your upper lip, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Love it so much. Don’t think I’ve told you that before.”
He hasn’t. It somehow makes you flush more than any of the dirty things he’d been hissing in your ear before.
“You’re telling me a lot of new things.” You manage to mumble, and he huffs in amusement.
“Blame it on the curse.”
You giggle again, and his face shines like he won a prize.
“Son of a bitch,” his eyes are already darkening again, voice getting thick with the curse-driven hunger. “I love you, you know that?”
You can only gape at him. He must not have said what you thought he said. “What?”
“You heard me.” He presses his brow against yours, reaching up to cup your cheek. “I love you.”
He rasps your name, and you blink away tears.
“Dean, if it’s just the curse-“
“It’s not. It’s-“
He slides his mouth against yours and this is the romantic kiss you always pictured. Slow and devoted as he takes the time to memorize you, to bask in the glow of your heart as you shine with love beneath him.
“You know it, right?” His voice is gravelly, his body pressing firmer over yours. He’s going back under. He can probably feel it. “That I mean it?”
He’s still asking—almost begging—you to tell him that you know.
“I know.” You mumble. “I- I love you too.”
Dean goes rigid over your body, and you blink up at him, as nervous as a doe in headlights. Just like the kiss, you’ve dreamed of saying it. Pictured it somewhere romantic, your makeup perfect and the breeze running through your hair. Dean falling to his knees after, kissing your hands before sweeping you off your feet.
Instead you’re lying in the car, cum staining your tangled legs, everything in you ruined from being eaten out by the sinful mouth that haunts your dreams. Dean’s hovering over you, tongue darting over those same lips—shining with your arousal, making your thighs rub together under him—and your holding onto his flannel, both your clothing stuck to your skin from sweat.
He doesn’t fall to his knees. He just looks at you like he’s not sure it’s a dream either.
At least he still sweeps you off your feet.
Dean moves like a machine. You’re not even sure what’s happening until you’re being hit by the wind, dragged down the bench by your ankles and wrapped in one of his jackets to preserve your modesty. His dick has been hastily shoved back into his pants—the fly still fucking down—and you’re about to tell him you’d at least like your underwear before he’s picking it up and shoving it into his pocket.
“Dean!” You gasp, and he just grunts, sweeping you fully into his arms.
“Mine.” He mutters under his breath, looking around the parking lot like he’s still trying to orient himself. “I- I gotta, fuck-“
Gently, you reach up and turn his chin in the direction of your motel room. “Over there, De.” You mumble, and he nods tightly.
He’s fully back under. You don’t bother to struggle or try and convince him that you can walk, because you’re not even sure you could. It’s not worth distressing Dean over anyway.
Despite his fever soaring and gaze being fogged by the curse, he manages you gently. When you get into the room you’re tossed on the bed and pinned back down for his mouth to work you open again, but the brusing grip is full of care, his mouth worshipful on your pussy. After that he’s rising over your body, ripping clothing like it’s a personal offense on his sensibilities and descending over you with another feral growl.
Your legs are shoved apart, but he rubs a hand over your calves almost reverently. Staring at your glistening, abused pussy with a look of pride and affection, gaze slowly dragging up your flushed breasts and thoroughly marked neck to meet yours.
You give him a honeyed, coaxing smile. You’re his to take, if he wants it.
He makes a low sound from his chest, and starts to kiss up your body. You gasp when his lips wrap around one of your peaked nipples, sucking gently until your grinding up into him. His hand splays over your stomach, gently guiding you back down, and you whine desperately.
“Patience.” He hums, kissing over your breast before switching to the other nipple. “Gonna take care of you. Fuck- You’re so beautiful, so fuckin’-“
Dean moans to himself, and you whimper his name, yanking on his hair.
But there’s no rushing him. He plays with your tits until he’s had his fill—when they’re swollen and you’re arching into every touch—then works back down to your pussy. Tasting your arousal, soaked and messy and almost shamefully dripping down his hand when he touches you.
He doesn’t seem to mind it at all though.
“Messy girl.” He grunts, twisting one finger inside of you. “Think you’re ready for some cock, aren’t you. Gonna take me, princess? Show me how much you love me?”
You blink at him through tears, on the brink of screaming his he doesn’t let you cum again soon. When you nod it’s like a bobblehead, and you only remember his orders from before at the last second.
“Yes.” You gasp. “Yes, Dean, please-“
Again, he moves.
You’re almost a ragdoll in his arms. A ragdoll that he moves like you’re threaded from gold, tossing you around and gripping your hips so hard you’ll have a handprint in the morning, but kissing over every hickey on your neck and muttering words of low, tender praise every second.
“Good girl.” He mutters as he drags his cock between your pussy lips. “Good fuckin’ girl, already cockdrunk and stupid for me, aren’t you. Love taking you like this, looking at you all pretty and dumb-“
You whine, head lolling to the side. Dean slides two fingers into your mouth and you suck on them like candy, taking anything he’ll offer.
He growls, dick catching on your entrance, and you shiver, looking up at him under fluttering eyes.
Dean drags you up like you weigh nothing, slowly sitting you down on his massive cock, and every thought but his name is driven from your head.
He’s thick. So think you almost don’t think you can take it, but your whine of protest is only met by cooing, filthy praise in your ears and careful circles around your clit. You don’t know how he can still be so far into the curse and able to restrain himself from rutting you like a beast.
Probably because it’s Dean. That feels like explanation enough.
It takes a moment for him to bottom out, and when he does you’re sure you’ve never been this full. He’s hitting places inside of you that you hadn’t known existed, dropping you into a pool of pleasure that makes your breathing stuttered, your nails scratching over his shoulders as you try to keep yourself from floating away.
Dean kisses you, hot and deep. You moan against him and he grabs your hips, starting to roll you up and down on his cock. You can tell he’s experimenting again, trying to figure out where he hits the deepest, working you open until you’re riding his cock smoothly your head falling back as pants of his name leave your mouth.
It’s paradise. Your toes are curling with every twitch of his cock inside you, every rush of heat when he slams extra hard and hits your cervix. It takes him takes him some time to decide how he wants you , and you’d laugh at what he settles on if the air wasn’t being fucked from your lungs.
Dean cums while holding you in his lap, his thrusts getting short and a groan of your name falling from his mouth when he ruts up, his cock pumping hot release inside of you and your own orgasm rolling through your body like an electrical storm. But then you’re being picked up and flipped around so your back is pressed to his chest, his arm locking around your neck and his hand returning to your clit as his fucks up into you. Then you’re moved forward onto the mattress, Dean turning your face so he can hear your moans and keeping your ass into the air as he slams from behind, his balls slapping against your clit and bringing you back up to the edge.
You’re in his lap again, folded under him with your knees to your chest, rolled on top of him so he can play with your tits and watch you ride.
Every time he cums, you’re thrown into a new position and held there until you both fall back over the edge. You’ve never been wrecked like this before, your head empty, pussy drenching his cock as he spills and claims every spot on your body.
“Dirty fuckin’ girl,” he growls into your ear from below you, dragging his fingers down your inner thigh, gathering his release on his fingers. “So pretty, bouncing on this cock, my pretty fuckin’ baby-“
“Dean.” You whine, scraping at his chest. “Dean, feels so good, so fucking good-“
“I know.” He coos. “Made for me, getting so fucking stupid on my cock- Open.”
He slaps your cheek lightly, and your lips part. Dean feeds you his cum, other hand rubbing up and down your spine, and you grind down onto him with need.
“Good girl, fuckin’- Christ you’re so good-“ His thrusts get shorter, brutal and uneven. “You’re mine, this sweet pussy is mine, gonna- Gonna fuckin’ worship you, fuck-“
He drills up into you, taking his hand away to bounce you how he likes.
You both cum, Dean calling your name and throwing his head back, watching you under hooded, still hungry eyes.
There’s a second to catch your breath, as he palms your breast. Pinches a nipple, rolling it between his fingers, watching how you arch into his touch.
“You like that?” He grunts, and you hum.
“Feels good.”
“Damn right it does.” He grabs the other one, working them in tandem.
You whine his name, looking at him under pleading lashes.
Dean groans. “Fuck, baby…”
He’s hard again, and you’re being moved into another position.
By the time he finds one he wants to keep, you’re a disaster of a woman. Making sounds that are supposed to be his name, boneless below him and still trying to chase more, even as your body turns into a raw, live nerve.
Dean’s got you under him again, his body pressed over yours, cock plunging in and out of your pussy at a lazy, torturous pace. You’ve been like this for what must be an hour, maybe a day, maybe fifty years. Tears of pleasure are stained on your cheeks, there’s a wet sound with every thrust as his cum leaks out of your stuffed hole, and Dean’s praise is becoming more and more lucid.
“I love you.” He mutters, and you moan, turning your head to try and kiss him.
“Dean…”
“I know.” He mutters. “I know, baby, but you’re doin’ so good. Feeling better, almost done, just gotta-“
He kisses over your face, finally capturing your lips as he starts to rut, pounding into your swollen g-spot over and over.
You barely have the energy to arch up, when you cum. You breathe out his name, pussy clenching as you feel that last bit of his cum squirt into you, and a wet, hot feeling floods your pussy as your vision goes white.
“Love you.” Dean’s still muttering as you float through the haze, his lips pressed over yours. “Loved you forever, never- Never thought-“
His voice cracks, and you know the curse is over. He’s not getting hard again inside of you, not trying to chase more.
Just pressing his face into the crook of your neck and holding you tight, words muffled against your skin.
“Thank you.” He mutters. “Thank you for- For sayin’ it back, even if that wasn’t-“
“It was,” you breathe out. He needs to know. “I love you, Dean. Have for longer.”
He chuckles, squeezing your body, and you smile into the air.
You find the strength to thread your fingers through his hair, and he hums, pressing a sweet kiss to your sensitive skin. You shiver, whining softly, and he chuckles again. Both of you too fucked out to move. You’re not sure you’re going to be able to walk in a straight line for a month.
But it was worth it.
Holding Dean here, so peacefully, was more than worth it.
✦End note: please tell me if you enjoyed it i think i started my own ovulation so. oops.✦
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Hii can i request brat!tamer dex taking care of brat!reader who is on her period 😝
🫧 brat tamer!dex taking care of you on your period.
real bc i just started mine. if you have any brat tamer!dex x brat!reader requests send them my way, i love writing brat x brat tamer ! ! ! ! ! ! !
your periods were bad. terrible cramps, no energy, and your attitude was bordering intolerable. but dex knew it was because of the pain you were in, it made you grouchy and less playful. which meant he dialled down his brat taming. though he didn't turn it off.
you were stubborn with medication. he had to fight you whenever you had a cold, or had to take any sort of prescription. just as he was doing so right now.
"just take it, sweetheart." he stood on one side of the couch, you on the other with your arms folded. "it'll make you feel much better."
"no." you watched his foot step to the side of the couch, advancing toward you, but you had stepped further from him. it had been a game of cat and mouse, circling each other around the couch.
"come on, sweetheart." he sighed, holding the painkillers in his hand. "i'll even break it up for you, hm? you want that?"
you shook your head, still heavily frowning up at him. he paused, lunging for you as you tried to escape. but he was far bigger, and far taller than you were. he could catch you with ease, he only wanted to give you a chance to be willing.
he held you hostage in his lap, an arm locked around your waist as he broke the small pills in half for you to better swallow. he fought to open your jaw, placing the pills on your tongue before handing you a glass of water. and watched you uncomfortably swallow.
"show me." he instructed, watching you open your mouth and lift your tongue to prove you had in fact taken the pills.
he massaged your stomach gently with the arm that held you, his other hand rubbing your arm. "only doing this to help you, sweetheart. don't wanna see you in pain."
"thank you, dex." you murmured, laying your head back against his shoulder.
it was only when you had taken the painkillers, that your attitude had settled. and you had clung to the man who made you feel good, who had all your best interests at heart. and he had been on his feet all day for you, making sure you had everything you needed. and you watched him from the couch as he made you something to eat, massaged your stomach as you watched your favourite movie, refilled your mug of tea when it ran low.
but the pills had only taken effect for so long, before your frown settled in again. and your brattiness started back up. dex thought he was in the clear, thought you had fallen asleep against his chest as you laid atop him on the couch. with his fingers dragging gently over your back.
"ugh, dex. you keep going over the same spot." you whined, shoving his hand away.
he took firm hold of your hair, yet a gentle enough grip not to hurt you. and craned your head to look at him. he stared down at you with raised eyebrows, a stern look on his face.
"wanna try that again?" he spoke, his voice low against your lips. he watched you swallow thickly, gaze dropping from his to his lips.
"sorry." you whispered. "just hurts."
that was enough to have him weak for you once more, but he couldn't show you that. you were a brat, through and through. and you didn't need the knowledge of how weak he was for you.
"s'okay, baby." he let go of your hair, your chin resting against his chest with a pout. "want me to run you a bath?"
and he had done so. adding your favourite bath soak, and a new mug of tea at the side of the tub. he even carried you from the couch to the bathroom, taking your clothes off gently and leaving you to climb in.
not even a minute later, you called for him.
"dex!"
"yeah, sweetheart?" he poked his head round the door, seeing you submerged in the water surrounded by bubbles.
"will you stay with me?" you asked so sweetly, fluttering your lashes up at him. you knew he wouldn't say no.
so he sat on the side of the tub, staring down at you as you closed your eyes. his hands grazed over your hair, sliding down your face, until he massaged your breasts. the water warm against his skin, as he kneaded the soreness out of them. if you weren't so torn by your period, your moans would have him pulling you from the tub and taking you against the edge of it.
"how're you feeling, sweetheart?" he whispered after a moment of silence, when it looked as if you'd fallen asleep again.
"better." you smiled, eyes still closed as his hand kept working.
ben just sitting casually in our couch with his legs wide tf open watching tv, and reader can’t help but notice how hot he looks in GRAY SWEATPANTS etc etc
Spoiler: reader riding him and shutting his mouth with her pantiesssjsnshshsjs
PLS I CANT STOP THINKING ABOUT THUXUXIXUSUSJSJS
OH HELL YEAH. ALSO, SO SORRY FOR GETTING TO IT JUST NOW; I WAS VERY BUSY WITH EXAMS, AND RN I'M AT PRACTICAL TRAINING!! GONNA BE RARELY ACTIVE, LIKELY. BEAR WITH ME FOR LIKE A MONTH, BABES. SO SORRY!!
Ben, being the old fuck he is, sprawled out on the couch watching some old war movies. His legs are spread wide open, and he is wearing a blue jersey that he probably kept from Butcher, along with grey sweats. You can see the imprint of his huge cock even when he's soft, and god, that makes you hungry.
"Whathcu looking at, doll? Huh?" He says with a smirk and that cocky tone of his. "You're such a needy thing ain't ya?" … "C'mere."
You don't waste a second and straddle his lap, wearing nothing but one of his large tees and some panties, while reaching over to grab one of the joints he leaves on the table. "You're so fucking fine, Ben." You're acting like a bitch in heat, and he loves it. "''s my little slut ovulating, hmm?" He laughs and mocks. "Shut up, Ben." You lift your hips to slide your panties off, clutching them in your hand. "You're so slutty, you know?" He chuckles as he reaches to grab a nearby lighter.
"I mean, walking around like that, dressed like a fuck—" You cut him off by shoving your panties in his mouth, and that gets him instantly hard. You can feel and see the impring harden and rise; the tent in the grey sweats obvious.
"Of course I'm ovulating, Benny," you tease back at him. Surprisingly he doesn't make the effort to pull the panties out of his mouth to confront you and just watches what you do next. Ben is lazy, and whenever you're on top, you do all the work usually. You pull his pants down along with his boxers, just enough to free his cock.
You grab the base of his cock and rub it up and down your slit to collect the moisture before positioning him at your entrance. You slide down with a loud moan and throw your head back. Even though you've fucked multiple times, it's still hard getting used to the size of his dick.
"Ben, fuck!! You feel so damn good." He just lets you take the lead with your panties still shoved in his mouth. When your hips start rocking back and forth and up and down, he finally pulls them out, and surprisingly he doesn't say a word. He just smirks and finally lights the joint and takes a hit.
"That's it, doll; you fuck yourself on my cock while I get nice and high…" He watches you with a smirk, one hand eventually gripping your hip for support as he leans back with a grunt of pleasure. He throws his head back as he takes two more hits before discarding the joint in a nearby lighter.
Your moans get louder; you bite your lip as you slow down with each movement because doing all the work is exhausting. "You look like you need a little help here." He shifts his free hand to grab the other hips and moves you with ease, as if you weigh nothing. From there the pace is quick; he's controlling the movements, and soon enough you can feel him twitching inside of you. "Fuck, doll, you look so hot on top of me like that..."
"Gonna cum with me, hmm?" You nod as you both chase the release with heavy breathing, hisses and moans. You feel the knot building up as Ben can't hold back anymore. He spills thick ropes of cum inside of you. He grunts, and the grip on your hips gets even tighter, enough to leave bruises. You follow soon enough, letting out a high-pitched moan of pleasure and bliss. You both ride it out as a mixture of both of your juices spills down right on his lap.
"Fuck, baby. You're going to kill me one day, fucking an old man like me with so much enthusiasm." … "You know maybe we should start doing those homemade pornos; you'd be a real star of the internet." He winks and smirks.
summary: ben comes home with an unexpected “gift” and a decision about claiming his future with you
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The TV played softly in the background while you lounged on the couch, half paying attention to some random movie.
You’d been waiting for Ben to get back for almost an hour now. He’d gone out earlier saying he “had to pick something up”. He hadn't specified what, but you didn’t think much of it, assuming he’d be back with beer or a joint between his lips.
Finally, when the front door finally opened, you glanced up.
Ben stepped inside carrying a paper bag in one hand. He shut the door behind him, amd his eyes found you lounging on the couch.
"Hey" You say, a warm smile on your face as you sit up a bit on the couch. You nod at the bag in his hand "What do you have there?"
Ben doesn't answer right away. Instead, a familiar, satisfied smirk appears on his face. He extends his arm and hands the bag to you.
"It's for you, doll" He says lowly.
Your eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise as you took it from him, curiosity getting over you. Ben wasn’t exactly the spontaneous-gifts type.
Still, you smiled softly as you started to open it “Aw. Thank-”
Your voice stopped when you looked inside.
Inside the bag were a bunch of pregnancy test boxes.
Your eyes widened immediately as you looked back up at him “…Ben?”
Ben still looked completely smug.
“What?” He said casually “You’re gonna need ‘em”
You blinked at him.
"What’s- what's this for?" You stammer, a nervous laugh leaving your mouth as you hold the bag slightly away from you.
He looked at you like the answer should’ve been obvious.
”For you” He looks down at you, completely deadpan and entirely serious "It's time you give me a little rugrat running around this place" He says, the words coming out of his mouth like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
You just sit there, completely frozen, trying to process the fact that he just casually dropped a declaration of fatherhood on you like it was nothing.
Your mouth parted slightly.
“Ben, I—”
“What?” He growled, his expression shifting slightly sour when you didn’t immediately react the way he expected “You don’t want to?” He asked sharply.
“It’s not that” You said quickly “I do want to, I just wasn’t expecting you to just come home and—”
But the second you said you did want it, his entire expression changed again instantly. Like that was the only part he cared about hearing.
“Good. Then there’s nothing else to discuss” He grunted.
Before you could even react properly, Ben scooped you up effortlessly into his arms.
You let out a startled laugh “Ben!”
“C’mere, doll” He said lowly.
The paper bag was left abandoned on the couch as he carried you towards the bedroom. He shoved the door open with one foot before stepping in and dropping you on the mattress.
Ben doesn't waste any time. He reaches for you, stripping your clothes off with rough, impatient hands until you're lying completely naked on the bed.
”Look at you” He muttered roughly “Soon enough, you’re gonna be walking around this place completely full with my child”
The possessiveness in his voice sent heat through you.
His own clothes followed quickly after.
Then he paused, just for a second.
He stood there looking down at you sprawled on the bed while he slowly dragged a hand to wrap around his cock, his eyes dark and completely fixated on you as he slowly stroked himself right there in front of you. The promise of starting his legacy making him rock-hard and completely ready to claim you.
“Fuck” He muttered under his breath, his hand moving faster around his cock.
The thought alone was obviously getting to him.
You full with his baby. Round with his child.
Ben climbed over you then, his body looming over you as he settles between your thighs.
“Pretty little thing” He murmured roughly, teasing your entrance with the head of his cock, rubbing against you without slipping inside yet “Gonna look so damn good carrying my baby”
Your breath hitched instantly.
Ben looked almost intoxicated by the idea already.
Then, with one deliberate push, he enters you. The sudden fullness making you moan loudly.
Ben lets out a low, rough growl at the feeling “God, you feel so fucking tight around me”
He doesn't wait, he immediately starts moving inside you, his pace steady and completely relentless.
“I’m gonna put a baby in you” He muttered lowly against your mouth, slamming his hips against yours "Right inside here. I’m gonna fill you up so good you can’t even think straight”
You gasp, your legs wrapping around his waist to take him deeper as he continues to pound into you.
“Fucking perfect” He growled in your ear “You were made for me to take you like this”
Your desperate moans and whimpers fill the bedroom, and the sounds only seem to fuel him more. His pace quickens, his movements becoming harder and more demanding.
“I want everyone to know you’re mine” He continued darkly, thrusting into you “Gonna leave my mark inside you so you never foget who owns you”
Your fingers tightened against his shoulders instinctively.
“Fuck, doll” He groaned with satisfaction.
Ben only got rougher from there, completely lost in the fantasy now.
He shifts the angle, making you take him deeper. He fucks you relentlessly, his hips slamming against yours with a rhythm that makes the entire bed creak.
"Yeah, take it all" He growls down at you.
You let out a loud cry of pure satisfaction as the pleasure becomes overwhelming.
“That’s it” He growls, his thrusts getting harder and more urgent as he nears the edge “You’re gonna take every fucking bit of it. And you’re gonna hold it inside you for me”
With a final deep thrust and a low growl, he spills himself deep inside you. He doesn't pull back even a fraction, he pins you against the mattress, holding his weight over you as he makes sure every single drop goes exactly where he wants it.
After a beat, Ben slowly pulls out and rolls onto his side of the bed to look at you. You’re completely spent, trembling and full of him. The sight of you like that making him smug and satisfied as fuck, the absolute picture of a man who just got exactly what he wanted.
Slowly, he brings his large hand down and presses it against your stomach.
"Yeah" He rumbles, his deep voice carrying absolute confidence as he strokes your stomach "Right in there. That's where my boy's gonna grow"
He leans down, pressing a rough kiss to your lips.
"I can't fucking wait to see you start to grow so big and round for me, doll” He chuckles lowly "Just a matter of time now, and you’ll be walking around this house with your belly swollen round with my name on it”
He stares down at his hand on your belly, completely obsessed with the reality he just set in motion.
I need a soldier boy x reader girl where she works for playboy bunny and he was given a free trial of magazines and exclusive photos of her making him wanna meet her and decided to knock her up. Please
Ngl I’m going through a wheel system and see which requests I send out ≽^• ˕ •^≼
so I kinda went in a dark direction and got carried away in general lmao sorry hope thats okay and you enjoy anyways! xoxoxo
cw: Smut 18+. DEAD DOVE dark!soldier boy. non-con/dub-con. age gap. breeding kink. p in v sex. creampie. hair pulling. degradation. sexism. he makes you wear the ears. not proofread🫁
When Soldier Boy is freed from the chamber, he seeks out the luxuries he adored before. His collection of Playboy magazines immediately came to mind.
Except now this shit is so fucking expensive compared to before. He reluctantly buys the most exclusive membership possible. It's not fair he can't jerk off to the beauties with big smiles and pretty pink pussies for free, like a goddamn American Hero should. He should go and find wherever their limp dick CEO stays and wring his neck until the company is just offered to him. He'd make Hugh Hefner look like a choir boy.
He doesn't really like online porn, and not because technology isn't his strong suit yet. That shit is tasteless, a real man flips through a catalogue instead of "scrolling" or whatever. It's more dignified. At least to him anyways.
He's got the magazine in one hand and his cock in the other. It's long and thick, with a pretty rosy tip and a vein running along the base. The untrimmed mess of hair is already sticky with his cum after the first batch of pages. Then he reaches the glorious prize in the middle, you, the centerfold.
He carefully unfurls the page and feels the wind knocked out of him when he can make out your body. You're completely bare lounging back on a plush purple loveseat. You hold a lit cigarette between your lips and a lighter in your right hand. A seductive gaze in your eyes as you look right at the suckers with their dicks in their hands at home.
Ben cums the fastest with you. He imagines stuffing his cock past those perfectly lined lips of yours, and it reminds him of what else came with the magazine; exclusive photos of this issues centerfold. He wastes no time searching for the extra 5 photos ; they all feature you in various positions with different body parts being the main focus. An ice cream cone drips down your tits, or you're bent over the hood of a police car ass on full display, hands locked behind your back with cuffs. He falls deeper in love with with each photo, and he becomes hell-bent on how to reach you.
Within a few minuets he finds your full name and address. Besides modeling in this years shoot, you seem like you live a normal life here in the city. He finds that you and a few other Playmates will be attending some sleazy rich guy penthouse party tonight. Imagining you in that ridiculous outfit parading around the room serving drinks like some show pony makes him sick to his stomach. You're so beautiful, so sweet looking. Someone like you should be welcoming him home every night with dinner and a handy. Someone like you should be bred to have his super-babies. You'd do whatever he says because you love it, because you respect the honor of being with the Soldier Boy.
Strolling into the luxurious home was too easy, I mean he assumed there'd be a guest list and there was, but he gets what he wants and that's not his fault. He's immediately greeted by the blonde from pages 6-10, shocked from his presence. She goes on about how she wasn't expecting him and she's sooo glad because this party wouldn't be as fun without him. He does his normal sweet talking before asking where you are. She frowns before pointing you out in the crowd ; you're chatting up bald creep, a beaming smile across your face.
He gives a quick thank you to The Blonde before sauntering in your direction. You turn towards the bar when you notice his tall frame in your peripheral. He cuts in front of you and you gasp. "Soldier Boy?" you ask in disbelief "What the hell-"
He cuts you off quickly "Please, call me Ben- God you don't know how long I've been looking for you sweetheart." he confidently states as he holds his hand our for you to shake. Your brows raise at that, but you take his hand anyways. "A big fan I presume?" you cheekily question. He chuckles as he brings your hand to his lips for a soft kiss, "I'm your biggest fan honey."
Now you're pressed against the door of a random bedroom with his lips attacking yours and his hands glued to your hips. It only took a few more compliments before you became a blushing mess and lead him away from the crowd. So so easy, he thought. Any girl who poses naked must have this inherent slutty side that makes their brains just shut off for some dick.
"God you're fuckin perfect y'know that?" he chuckles into your neck. The sensation sends a chill throughout your body. "I must be dreaming hearing you say that" you smile. You're pulled back to reality when you hear the clink of his belt unbuckling.
Things got too carried away. You straighten up and slightly push him off you. "Hey um- I gotta get back to work" you nervously laugh. "But we can always finish this another time."
You turn to leave when he reaches for your shoulder. "You're gonna leave me here all by myself?" he pouts. You politely smile while your gut twists in dread. His voice is sweet but his eyes are cold, and his grip on you has only tightened. "Look this was really fun but I don't fuck fans." you laugh. "If I did I'd be too busy to do anything else". You tear your shoulder from his grasp and make your way towards the door again.
With heavy steps he reaches the door before you, blocking it with his tall body. "Sweetheart I paid good money to see that pussy of yours" he states plainly. "And you know what I thought of when I had my dick in my hand?" You stay frozen in place, trying to comprehend the situation you got yourself into. You quietly shake your head no.
"I thought to myself, why a beautiful girl like you would even be doing something like that in the first place? Back in my day you'd be married with a kid in that belly of yours." He points to your stomach that's far past being filled with butterflies. Those have shriveled up and turned to dust. Something else floats around, biting and stabbing at your insides.
"Well it's been a long time since you've graced us all with your presence, things have changed" you attempt to sound unafraid and in command, but your voice breaks. "I don't need a husband or a baby I'm super happy on my own now if you would just let me go-"
You're cut off by your hair being yanked back, forced to stare up at him. The grip he has on your scalp makes you yell in pain.
"Are you fucking deaf or just plain stupid?" he roars in your face. "You're lucky enough to get an opportunity like this and you're gonna waste it? huh?". The pain from your head and the anger in his voice trigger tears to well in your eyes. In any other circumstance you'd be overjoyed to sleep with Soldier Boy. It's like a fantasy you'd fall asleep to back in high school ; he's the knight and you're the locked away princess. This must be sick joke from the universe. Still, you try to ignore the blooming warmth between your thighs at his rough touch.
"I'll scream and you'll get locked up, you fucking psycho!" you sob as you attempt to escape his grasp.
"You do that I break this thick fuckin skull."
You drop your head to cry, the tears now streaming down your face without abandon. You look up at him pleadingly. "Okay well, w-what do you want?" you stutter as you try to wipe your cheeks.
He release your hair and steps away to finish undressing. "Well right now I want you to take that cute ass of yours and strip, but keep those ears on." You immediately obey, afraid his threat can be used against any act of defiance you try. He lays on the bed with his hands crossed behind his back, utterly relaxed, happy even.
"Now come here and bounce on my cock like a cute little bunny."
With wobbly legs you make your way towards him, fixing the crookedness of your bunny ears. You straddle his lap and his hand grabs your face smushing your cheeks together. "Be a big girl and put it in yourself".
Your mascara-stained face burns in shame as you reach for his cock and line it up with your embarrassingly wet pussy. He tuts mockingly at your arousal. "All that whinin and fightin' me for what? You fuckin love this" he emphasizes with a harsh slap to your tits. You ignore his taunting and began to slide down on his cock but the stretch of him is too much ; he's too big and too deep.
"It hurts, I- I cant". you plead. He looks at you with annoyance. "You can and you will, doll" he grabs your hips and slams you down on his cock. The intrusion makes you scream as more tears begin to fall down your face. You stay still for a second and with shaky breaths begin to slide all the way up and down.
It takes a few tries but soon enough you're bouncing with ease, the slick from your cunt making loud squelching noises that make you hate yourself. Ben groans in pleasure, eyes fixated on the way your tiny pussy swallows up his cock. "God this pussy is better than I imagined, can't wait to take you home with me."
You accidently let a moan slip at his words. Your bounces slow down and begin to falter. "I knew you'd want it baby" he coos as his hands travel down to grip your ass. "Gonna take you home and stuff this sweet cunt full of my cum all night." He takes control now and begins to violently thrust upwards.
Your pained moans turn into drawn out ones of euphoria. You tried so hard not to let the burning feeling of pleasure take over, but you just can't help it.
"F-fuck yes, breed me, please" you hiccup.
He groans at that. "Gonna make me a daddy? yeah?" His thrusts grow more frantic as he uses you like a limp fuck doll. You nod violently, too fucked out and dumb to think straight. "yes m'gonna give you a baby- oh my god." Your body starts to writhe in his grasp from your approaching orgasm. You felt like your body was betraying your mind. but now it feels wrong to deny yourself this pleasure. It makes you sick.
"All it took was some dick to make you wise up huh? gonna be my wife now?" he taunts, his tip hitting that sweet spot in your cunt. "Of course you are, you were made to do whatever the fuck I wanted."
His words make you cum hard ; you fall onto his chest and grip his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh. Your pussy convulses around his cock as you let out a cry. He keeps fucking you through it, the intensity becoming too painful.
"Ow, please- stop", you slur. He snickers at your request. "Sure doll, soon as I'm done." He flips you over and hikes your ass into the air, slamming you onto his dick again. You scream into the sheets at his brutality ; you can feel his cock deep inside your stomach, it's painful and humiliating.
You turn into a drooling, whining, cock-drunk mess beneath him. He pounds into mercilessly and soon his thrusts become sloppy as he chases his own high.
"Tell me you want daddy to breed you, fuck- say it baby" he grumbles. When you stutter on your words he slaps your ass violently. "Fucking say it you whore.
"Please, p-please breed me, fill me up- wanna be a mommy, gonna make you s-so happy daddy!" you mindlessly ramble. He yells a booming "fuck!" as he spills into you. You feel your inside become warm with his seed overflowing deep into your womb.
He yanks your bunny ears off and throws them on the floor before collapsing next to you. You let yourself fall onto the bed, the post orgasm haze that was numbing the pain is now gone. You slowly sit up and feel the ache inside. There's silence.
"Get your things honey. We gotta make sure it takes. Want you pregnant by tomorrow night."
SUMMARY : after a few rounds, soldier boy takes a blunt break and you discover a fetish you didn't know existed.
WARNINGS : strong language. lust. smut. unprotected p in v. under-the-influence sex. getting high during sex. creampies. cowgirling. cockwarming. shotgunning. weed consumption. second hand smoke. smoking kink. breeding kink (if you squint).
A/N : can't get soldier boy out of my mind 😩 also him offering his weed—what a generous daddy.
Soldier Boy grunts over your body violently, the tendons in his neck visible as he finishes in you yet again. You feel his condomless dick pulse against your gummy walls and spew hot cum onto your cervix. Not that he cared before with the guarantee of abortion, but now, with modernized medicine, with his hips flush against your ass, he could fill your cunt to the brim without the promise of having to father another kid. Round after round, Soldier Boy sprayed his heavy load into your abused pussy, using you like he was a teenage boy and you were his ‘special’ sock. You don’t mind, just hoping that one of his swimmers makes it through to crown you the mother of his unborn child.
The mattress is drenched in your mixed juices from hours of fucking, and though you’re swollen and deserving of a break, you don’t want one. He rolls off of you anyway, taking a beat as you catch your breath and come down from your high. You press your thighs together when his seed threatens to escape your spent hole. It doesn’t matter; gravity still pushes it out, down your crack, and onto his silky sheets. He reaches over and grabs the tools to enhance his pleasure. With your eyes closed, you hear the lighter ignite before the metal case shuts. And that's when you smell the cannabis.
His puff fills your nostrils, and when your eyes open after turning toward him, you watch as he takes a drag of the blunt. He holds it in his lungs, letting it circulate before releasing it into the sex-filled air. Fuck, he looks sexy. You aren’t sure if he makes smoking look sexy or if he looks sexier smoking. Whichever it is, you’re thankful for his addiction.
He catches your stare and holds out his joint, offering you a hit. You shake your head, imagining taking it a different way. He shrugs, then brings his fingers back to his lips. The end of the stick glows a bright red as he inhales the marijuana before it returns dull once he stops. You move the covers, and he watches with curiosity as you ignore your shaky legs and climb on top of him, straddling his hips.
“More already? Can’t get enough of my hog?” His deep voice cuts through the silence before taking another drag.
You don’t answer. Instead, you place your hands on his bearded, chiseled cheeks and kiss him. Your tongue swipes his bottom lip, begging for entry as you grind down on his lap. Without wasting a beat, he opens his mouth, and the smoke floods in yours. You shut your eyes and inhale it slowly, doing your best not to choke and make yourself look like a pussy. The cannabis swirls in your head, making you delightfully dizzy, but that, too, could’ve been the lack of oxygen. You lean away and exhale what remains. With a flutter, your eyes open to find a huge and amused smile plastered on his face.
“Fuck, doll, just when I thought you couldn’t get any hotter.”
He sets the mug on the nightstand and grabs the back of your neck, pulling you down and smashing his lips against yours. You’re a bit taken aback, but you kiss him just as feverishly. His lips taste like weed, and his beard painfully rubs against your smooth face, but you endure it all for him. Your fingers intertwine with his long hair, and you tug him closer, deepening the kiss. His tongue shoves past your lips and wrestles with yours, but it doesn't last long.
With a moan, you give in and submit to the infamous supe. The hand that was once wrapped around the back of your neck now shifts to your jaw. His thumb rests on your chin, holding your mouth open as he pushes you away, just enough to bring the tightly rolled grass to his lips. He takes a quick puff, aligns his mouth with yours, and blows a line of smoke into it. You feel the fast effects of the soul diesel take control.
Shotgunning wasn’t something you had done before; Now you can't help but question why you hadn’t tried it sooner. He takes another draw, his gaze unwavering from yours. You feel him grow beneath you, and your body responds. Wetness coats his awakening member, and if he didn’t have the blunt between his lips, he’d bite his lower. His hand leaves your face and travels between your bodies, clutching his thick and lengthy cock. He swipes at your folds like his dick was a card, and your lips were the reader. Just like his money, his sex was endless: everything a girl could ever want. His teasing elicits a whimper, and without warning, he sticks his (rather large) chip in your machine.
A heavy gasp falls from your mouth, and he takes the opportunity to blow into it. Your throat burns with delight as he slides further into your spent cunt. The stretch tosses your eyes to the back of your head, and just when you think the smoke nearly suffocates you, Soldier Boy connects his mouth to yours and shoots more fumes down your esophagus. You breathe in sharply through your nose, desperate for air, but it’s no use; The room is filled with hefty clouds of smoke.
Your body squirms, grinding your hips in a circle, needing the friction while also needing oxygen. He shows you mercy and unlatches his lips from yours. Your heart races and your chest heaves, lungs feeling like they’re on fire. It isn’t a resolution, it isn’t even a fix, but it sure is one hell of a distraction when his strong hand squeezes your hip as he begins to move underneath you. Your grip gets tighter, but the pull to his hair doesn’t faze him. His hips rock up into yours, causing your mouth to fall open wider.
Your body arches into him, your breasts smushing against his toned chest. He takes another drag of his spliff, and when he doesn’t share, your eyes land on him. You catch a glimpse of wariness, of vulnerability, of second-guessing. He saw your moment of weakness, when the reefer hit you a little too hard all at once. If it were any other girl, any other time, he wouldn’t have cared. Hell, he would’ve kept going, but not with you. So, to assure him that you’re fine, you place both hands back on his cheeks, inching your face closer to his before nodding gently. The second he parts his lips, the smoke floods out of the gates, and with a little push, he directs the vapor toward you.
Just like him, Mary Jane had you by the throat, making you bend at will. Man, oh man, was it fucking you as hard as Soldier Boy was. Your body moves with each thrust, his angle hitting your g-spot perfectly. Between his revitalizing blow and the invigorating effects of the soul diesel, you’re no longer tired. The blend sets you on a high you hadn’t felt before, and you want more—you crave more.
This specific ganja lifts you up, giving your energy a much-needed boost after the last few rounds, and you can’t be more grateful. You push yourself into the cowgirl position, your hands now behind you, resting on his knees for support. He retracts half his cock from your body as you lift yourself higher, his tip threatening to leave its domain. You slam down just as he bucks into you, both of you shouting from the immense pleasure of deeper. If you had any moisture left in your body that wasn’t designated between your thighs, you would’ve teared at how far in your guts he was buried. A rhythm was quickly set, screwing harder than you ever had before. You weren’t a supe; Both of you were aware there was always a limit you hit before breaking, but this time was different. This time, the cannabis numbed the pain you’ll surely feel tomorrow.
It isn't long after you begin that you cease to meet him halfway. No, it soon becomes out of your control. Your body thrashes, like you were riding a bull, and you try your best to stay on. He watches your breasts bounce with every thrust, your nipples so sharp they cut the puff of smoke he continues to blow your way. Your head spins, and your hands move to his abdomen, bracing to catch yourself if he bucks you off. Moans pour from your lungs and echo throughout his penthouse, accompanied by the pornographic sound your bodies so naturally created. Surely if he were any other supe, there would’ve been a knock at his door, urging him to keep it down.
You feel your orgasm approaching, and the weed seems to intensify your pleasure. The knot in your belly tightens, and you know it’ll be any second before the tension snaps. He sees the once white, now red, of your eyes, and he knows you’re on the cusp of euphoria. The fucking pro that he is, sets the blunt between his lips towards the corner of his mouth, leaving a gap big enough to in and exhale, before finally gripping your other hip. With his feet already horizontal with the mattress, he stabs himself deeper. One, two, and on the third jab, you’re convulsing on his dick like you were possessed. You cry out in both pain and overwhelming pleasure as you fly higher than you ever thought possible. He grunts out louder than all the times before, and he sprays your insides white.
His face twists as he empties his sack, almost forgetting to balance the bud between his lips as you shudder above him, milking him of every drop. The moment his hips touch the bed, you collapse on top of him, resting your head on his chest. Your heart races at a dangerous pace, but listening to his slower beat helps you find your way back. He tosses the nickel-sized joint into the cup he was using earlier, but not before taking the last hit. He lifts your chin, and your droopy eyelids barely open to see his handsome face. His thumb parts your lips, and you accept his final shotgun. One arm wraps around your body, and his opposite hand holds your jaw, pulling you closer once you exhale. His mouth devours yours, and though you do your best to kiss back just as eagerly, his power of stamina proves to be a lot stronger than the drug you took to enhance yours. Once it begins to wear off and it feels like you scooted across a rug floor long enough to get a harsh burn, he lets you break for air.
“Ever get fucked over the ledge of a 100-foot story building before?”
SOLDIER BOY MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | JOIN THE TAG LIST
wordcount: 2690
summary: you finally have a chance at freedom in an empty house, seems like a perfect opportunity– and Ben seems to think so too.
warnings: cursing, age gap (20’s reader, 40’s Ben), smut, unprotected piv, fingering, oral (m receiving), squirting, degradation/praise, manhandling, creampie, (kinda) taboo themes.
Your parents were out of town. ‘Romantic getaway’ they’ve said, something about keeping the spark alive– you kinda stopped listening as soon as they said you’d have the house all to yourself.
It’s not like you were planning to do anything wild, sure you were young and practically had the green light to do whatever you wanted… Personally? You preferred simply enjoying the freedom of a house all to yourself.
The first couple days were simple enough– pizza on the couch, TV up until ungodly hours, practically no clothes on dress code…– the dream of a young twenty-something year old with her own space. It was officially night three of your freedom, you’re sprawled out on the mattress, bare legs propping up your laptop as some rerun of a sitcom plays in the background. Too awake to keep still on the bed, you decide to make your way downstairs to the kitchen. You’re so immersed in your own thoughts, you don’t notice the dim glow of the game coming from the living room. Your feet have barely grazed the floor when a gruff voice makes you flinch.
“Kid, what’dya doin’ up, huh?”
Ben. Dad’s friend, Ben. The same Ben that’s been in every family event since you have memory, the same Ben who patched up your scraped knees with a ‘ain’t even that bad’ and a pat on the head, the same Ben who sneaked you your first beer… Same Ben who you’ve subconsciously started squirming around whenever he looks your way too long, thighs rubbing together whenever his green eyes lock on your with the kind of intensity that makes you fear he sees right through you.
“Uncle Ben!” You yelp in surprise, the term he’s insisted you call him escaping your lips without much thought. “What are you doing here?”
“What d’you think m’ doin’ here?” He scoffs, turning his back to you to face the TV once more– a silent invitation for you to join him on the couch. “Heard y’ were all alone this week, someone oughta keep n’ eye on you– wouldn’t want y’ sneakin’ one of those wimp ass pussies y’ hang round with all the time.”
It would sound normal– responsible even– in anyone else’s mouth, but from Ben, it sounded weird. More like he was focused on keeping guys your age away, rather than genuinely keeping an eye on you.
“I wouldn’t sneak anyone in…” You huff under your breath, walking around the couch to join him. He pats the spot next to him, watching out of the corner of his eye as you plop down beside him– folding your bare legs under yourself while pulling the (what you now realized is one of Ben’s) old T-shirts over your thighs.
“Atta girl.” He hums absentmindedly, taking a gulp from the beer he’s been nursing for the past hour, his big hand almost engulfing the bottle. That’s one of the things you’ve been finding yourself more and more focused on– his big, strong hands. God how many times you’ve thought about those hands when touching yourself, your thighs press together at the memory.
He must’ve noticed your ogling cause after placing the beer back on the coffee table– he leans back against the couch, manspreading without sparing a second thought towards your comfort when his thigh pushes against yours, hands rubbing over the denim of his jeans.
“Personal space much?” You hum with a hint of sarcasm, trying your best to focus on the TV. He scoffs at that, patting your thigh dismissively, squeezing it twice.
“Sorry sweetheart– had to get comfortable.” You both knew he wasn’t sorry at all, especially given the fact that neither his legs nor his hand had moved an inch. Despite trying to stay concentrated on the game, you couldn’t help but steal glances in his direction, wetting your lips at the images that cross your mind.
Get a grip. Jesus Christ woman, this man has watched you grow up and you’re getting horny from a hand on your leg. Yet again, lately, everything about Ben made you horny– much to your internal shame.
“Y’ gon keep squirmin’ all night?” The gruff, blunt voice cuts your inner turmoil, making you look up at him with wide eyes, heat creeping up your neck as he calls you out.
“Oh– uhm, sorry… I was just getting comfortable” Really? The same excuse he’d just given you five minutes ago? Originality much?
Ben didn’t seem to notice nor care about your shitty excuse, simply hoisting you up into his lap– the firm expanse of muscle welcoming you warmly.
“‘ere ya go– now quit squirmin’ doll” He hums simply, like that hadn’t made everything ten times worse. You try to focus on anything else other than the heat of his chest against your back, his rough jeans against your thighs or the hand that now rested dangerously high on your leg.
A couple minutes passed with y’all sat like that, the dim light of the TV and the occasional commercial break being the only interruptions in the otherwise silent room. You had to admit, his lap was way more comfortable than the couch, but it wasn’t helping the wet mess pooling in your panties ever since you walked down those stairs.
“So, any of those pussies from your school taken y’out yet?” His voice rumbles against your back, breath fanning the back of your neck with every word, his stubble scraping the skin there. You shake your head no, still leaning against his chest.
“Went out on a couple dates but nothing more than that– guys my age aren’t exactly poster boys for relationships…” It’s a poor attempt at humor, but right now it’s the best you’ve got.
“Good,” he grumbles, shifting under you, “those snivelin’ pussies only want to stick their shrimp sized dicks n’ ya– you’re better off here with me.” Once again– reasonable message, weird fucking way to put it– turning you on, much to your disdain. For fuck’s sake, if someone your age said some shit like that to you, you’d think they are a pervert or a bigot– why is it that when Ben says it, you feel like you want to crawl onto your knees and let him use you?
“Y’ ever had sex yet?”
Did you just hear that right? Did ‘Uncle Ben’ just ask about your sexual life– or lack of it, thereof. You must’ve taken too much time to answer for his liking, cause his big hands are turning you around to face him in his lap with concerning ease. “Hm?” He insists, green eyes tipping to find yours. God did your soft shake of the head ‘no’ make his chest puff out smugly a̶n̶d̶ c̶o̶c̶k̶ s̶t̶r̶a̶i̶n̶ p̶a̶i̶n̶f̶u̶l̶l̶y̶ at the same time that your cheeks reddened under his piercing gaze.
“Well that explains why y’re rubbin’ those thighs together like y’re startin’ a goddamn campfire when uncle Ben looks at ya.” If the lewd words weren’t enough to make you stutter, the way he shamelessly ogled at the plump skin of your thighs right below where his borrowed shirt was riding up– definitely was.
“Y’ gon get all shy n’ me now, kid?” He drawls, clearly enjoying your embarrassment, the term of endearment now sounding dirty in his mouth. “Actin’ all sweet n’ innocent when I bet you’re makin’ a mess of those scampy things y’ call underwear.” Ben scoffs, fingertips hiking the hem of your shirt higher– exposing the lace of your panties to the night air, a damp patch already obvious on the front of them. That earns a hearty groan from him, “would y’ look at that,” he hums with faux surprise, “all nice n’ ready for me…”
Before you could question what he meant by that, his hand is cupping your jaw, thumb tugging your lower lip (which you eagerly let him do) his green eyes focused on the way your mouth automatically took the finger in, warm tongue lapping around it greedily.
“Eager thing aren’t ya?” He rasps, free hand pulling you flush against him– groping your ass while shamelessly letting you feel his boner through the denim. “Good thing s’ me who’s here to take care of ya– one of those cum guzzlers from your school would’ve creamed their pants at a pretty thing like y’ sittin’ on his lap, all wet n’ needy like some cheap hooker.”
You should probably feel offended, but for some sick, messed up reason– it makes you moan around his thumb, hips greedily grinding down against him.
“Brat.” He scoffs, pulling his thumb away to spread the spit over your lips. “Y’ that horny y’ need to hump me like a dog?” God he was an asshole, but Hell if that wasn’t turning you on all the same– if not more. “Well then sweetheart, have at it” Ben scoffs, leaning back with his arms spread over the back of the couch, giving you full permission to use him like a humping pillow with a smug smirk.
You wanted to snark something in response– fight for your dignity– but his dick was rubbing deliciously against your core and God did that make all pride jump right out the window. Your hips start circling against him, needy little humps while your hands gripped uselessly at his broad shoulders. Maybe it was the lack of experience, maybe it was the mix of feelings bubbling inside you or maybe it was that Ben just had that effect on you because you’re already on the verge of an orgasm just from some grinding. You were close– so close– but Ben had to go and throw you off, a mocking chuckle escaping his lips.
“Sweetheart y’ better not come just from this.” He was so smug, proud of having you squirming on his lap just from his filthy words. You whine in protest, any sense of dignity completely gone and replaced by utter need. “Words doll” he drawls, enjoying your humiliation shamelessly.
“Ben– please” the protest is not as firm as it is a whiny breath.
“Look who remembers her please n’ thank you’s” Ben muses teasingly, hands trailing over your ass to hook at the waistband of your underwear– stubble scratching your face from the closeness before he finally closes the distance, lips hungrily mashing against yours.
Your panties are ripped off in seconds, not even bothering to pull your mouths apart when doing so. He chuckles condescendingly when you fumble with his belt, big hands diving in to unbuckle it for you with a mumbled ‘there ya go sweetheart’...
Ben pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes when his fingers start rubbing over your slick folds, teasing and probing at your entrance to watch your reactions. “Think she’ll be able to take my fingers?”
“Mhm” You nod– truly, you had no idea if you'd be able to– but right now Ben could ask you for anything and you’d say yes.
“Mhm?” Ben hums amused, so deeply proud of himself for getting you all pliable and docile for him. “Guess we better test that out then…” His index finger pushes into you in a slow, slick stretch, matching groans escaping your lips. “Christ n’ a cross, kid– if you’re suckin’ my finger in like this– imagine how y’ll stretch round my cock,” he scoffs bitterly.
He starts working you out, another finger quickly joining his index into the warmth of your cunt with surprising precision– his thumb starting to work tight circles over your clit at the same time. You’re a squirming mess, soft pants and moans escaping your parted lips.
“Y’ close, doll? She’s squeezin’ the Hell outta me” you nod, nose scrunched up sweetly as your orgasm crashes over you, thighs squeezing around his hips in a silent gasp.
When you come back to your senses, Ben’s cock is standing proudly against his bare stomach– long, thick (God it was thick) and glistening with precum.
“Y’ gon stare all day or y’ gon let me stick it n’ that pretty mouth of yours?”
Condescending, smug asshole.
That’s what you should say, instead, you find yourself on your knees in front of the couch fingertips grazing over his shaft, watching how it twitches under your touch. Licking your lips in anticipation you finally lean in, mouth wrapping around the weeping head of his cock. He barely gives you time to adjust– hips slamming up, hand pushing your head down until your nose grazed his happy trail– head thrown back with a low groan.
“Atta girl– knew y’ could take it” he rasps between ragged breaths, manhandling your mouth to his pleasure without any second thoughts– not caring about the tears rolling down your cheeks from the strain or the filthy gag around his length. The squelching, lewd noises of his dick sliding down your throat were almost enough to make him bust right then, a breathy chuckle escaping his lips at the thought. Before he could come– he pulls away, hand tangled on the back of your head to pull you back up onto the couch.
“Ain’t about to waste a perfectly good load when I have such a pretty pussy cryin’ for me” Ben hums condescendingly as he pats your slick pussy, pushing your face down onto the cushions while hiking your ass up for what he’d call ‘admiring the view’.
“Big stretch” he warns with an arrogant, proud groan against your back, pushing into you slowly– letting you feel all of him– every inch, bump and vein. The thrust pushes all the air out of your lungs, mouth open and drooling all over the couch.
“ ‘ve barely fucked you n’ you’re already all cock-drunk for uncle Ben” He’s so fucking gross, boldly calling you out while reminding you how messed up this was. “Lettin’ your daddy’s friend fuck y’ stupid the moment he leaves town? –such a needy, horny, pretty thing y’are” He’s rambling, grunts and groans spilled into your ear which you’re too out of it to even reply to.
“Y’ gon let me use you from now on? Y’ gon let uncle Ben fill this pussy up whenever he wants?” God he knows just how to play your strings, his hand snaking up to grip your neck– not squeezing (yet) –just anchoring, reminding you just how broken down he’s got you plus, using it as an extra grip to pull you back into his punishing thrusts.
“Yes– God, yes–” you babble in response, needy, embarrassingly lewd moans escaping your parted lips as he keeps his steady pace.
“Course y’are– you love this cock” Ben scoffs mockingly, free hand finding your clit and rubbing it mercilessly. “Y’ gonna come all over your parent’s couch with their friend’s cock stuffin’ your pretty pussy full?” You nod, his hand pressing firmer around your pulse point and beard scratching under your jaw as he kisses it in messy, sloppy, hunger. The multiple stimulation, plus the grossness of his words send you over the edge for the second time tonight– walls clamping around him and juices gushing out of you.
“Did y’ just squirt?” He scoffs mockingly, “can’t even handle a cock without pissin’ all over yourself? Such a dirty, fuckin’ thing you are, sweetheart.”
You can’t even focus on his degrading tirade because his hands are suddenly gripping your hips, fingers leaving deep imprints on your supple skin as he pounds into you, chasing his release. All but highpitched, pornographic sounds escape your mouth. His brows were furrowed tight, soft lips parted in a long groan as he spills into you– thrusts slowing, but not stopping as he works his cum into your womb. Ben stills, pushing all the way into you before slowly slipping out in a wet slide– thumbs spreading your asscheeks apart to admire his spend leak out.
He slowly pulls your panties back onto your hips, a gentleness surprising in his hands as he maneuvers you carefully back onto his lap. “Y’ did good sweetheart– real good…” He hums, big hand cradling the side of your face as he presses a lingering kiss to the top of your head.
this fic mainly comes from my obsession w @inadoves fics of Soldier Boy so please do check their blog out its amazing..........
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