I also love to write about a majority of Jensen Ackles characters, romance, smvt, and angst (angst being my favorite)
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Iāve always wanted to share my stories so now i finally get share them with yall !! I hope yall enjoy them and please please PLEASEE give me ideas and any help on writing better, iām not really a beginner since iāve been writing for a few years but sometimes im a little iffy with it..
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you see your fatherās friend for the first time after he spent ten years in prison, and you canāt help but feel attracted to him
smut, age-gap, cheating, unprotected sex, slow burn (this is long 12,4k)
The last time you had seen him, you were barely nine years old. You still remembered the cold wooden floor under your bare feet as you descended the stairs that night. The red and blue lights from the patrol cars swirled against the living room walls, tinting everything with a sickly hue. Loud voices, crackling radios, and the metallic sound of handcuffs closing.
He was on his knees in the middle of the room, hands behind his back. The black t-shirt clung to his body with sweat, marking the tense muscles of his arms and shoulders. His dark brown hair was disheveled and that strong jaw remained firm, not pleading.
When he lifted his gaze and saw you standing on the stairs, something changed in his green eyes.
For a second, the man who had always carried you on his shoulders and taught you to shoot with a bow in the backyard disappeared. Only that dark, heavy gaze remained, almost guilty.
"Stay upstairs," he told you with a hoarse, low voice, as if he could still protect you from all of this.
Your father stood beside him, his face drawn, saying nothing as the officers lifted him up. He didn't resist. He only looked at you one last time before they led him out the door, his head slightly inclined, but his back straight.
Ten years had passed since that night.
Your father's car drove along the secondary road that led to the state prison. The sky was gray, heavy with low clouds, and the silence inside the vehicle was uncomfortable. You sat in the passenger seat with your arms crossed, looking out the window without really paying attention to the landscape. You were not happy to be there.
"Why do I have to come with you?" you finally asked, breaking the silence. "You could have come alone."
Your father sighed long, not taking his eyes off the road.
"Because he was important to this family for many years. And because I'm asking you, just this once."
You crossed your legs and rested your head against the glass. You had accepted reluctantly. You knew your father felt indebted to him, but that didn't mean you had to be part of this reunion.
After a while, curiosity got the better of your irritation.
"And why isn't his wife coming to pick him up? That's what wives are supposed to do, right?"
Your father took a few seconds to answer.
"They're going through a rough patch. He preferred she wouldn't come."
You frowned. You didn't even know he had gotten married. The idea seemed strange to you: how was it possible to get married while in prison? Apparently it was, because he had done it. With a woman you and your father knew practically nothing about. Only that her name was something like Lisa or Laura... you weren't sure. A stranger who had entered his life while he served his sentence.
It took about ten more minutes to reach the exit area. The access road to the prison was long and flanked by barbed wire and guard towers. Your father drove in silence, hands gripping the wheel, and just a few meters before coming to a complete stop, you saw him.
He was standing outside, next to the curb, with a dark canvas bag at his feet.
He had changed a lot. He was no longer the man you remembered. His figure had broadened, his shoulders wider and his arms stronger, as if the years in prison had hardened him rather than broken him. He wore a worn beige jacket over a denim shirt, his brown hair a bit longer and disheveled, and a thick, well-groomed beard that covered his strong jaw. His green eyes were still intense.
A strange sensation ran through your body at seeing him: a mix of nerves, curiosity, and something you didn't want to identify. Your heart beat faster and you felt uncomfortable warmth rise up your neck.
Your father stopped the car. Barely turning off the engine, he got out quickly and walked toward him. The two men met halfway and embraced with force, patting each other's backs.
"I missed you, brother," your father said, his voice hoarse with emotion. "It's been too many years."
He returned the embrace with the same intensity, though his expression remained more contained. When they separated, he took a step back and looked toward the car. His eyes landed directly on you.
"Is that her?" he asked with a half-smile, that deep, hoarse voice that seemed to have matured with time. "Damn... you've grown so much."
Your father let out a low laugh and waved you over with his hand.
"Come on, come here."
You hesitated for a second, but finally got out of the car. You closed the door and walked toward them with slow steps. When you were close enough, he looked you up and down with that disarming intensity. You leaned forward slightly and kissed him on the cheek.
In that instant, you felt the brush of his thick beard against your skin. It was rougher than you imagined, but warm at the same time. A shiver ran down your spine and, for a moment, you liked it more than you were willing to admit. He smelled of soap, fresh air, and something masculine that felt unsettlingly familiar.
He went still for a second, as if he had felt something too from that brief contact, and then gave you a small, almost private smile.
Your father patted his friend's shoulder and nodded toward the car with his head.
"Come on, get in the car. No point in staying here any longer."
You moved first and got into the back seat without saying anything, leaving the front seat for him. It was the most logical thing to do, but you still felt a slight tension as you settled in. He took his bag, left it in the trunk, and sat up front. The aroma of his jacket and his skin filled the interior of the car subtly but inevitably.
When your father started the engine and began driving away from the prison, he broke the silence:
"We have a room ready for you at home. She helped me get it ready these past few days," he said, looking at you in the rearview mirror with a grateful smile.
He turned his head slightly back, observing you for a moment.
"Thank you," he murmured with that deep voice. "It wasn't necessary, but I appreciate it."
Your father nodded, visibly happy to have him back.
"We have a lot to talk about, friend..."
You couldn't help but ask the question that had been nagging at you.
"And why don't you go with your wife?" you asked, looking at his neck. "I also wanted to know... where does she live?"
The silence that followed was uncomfortable. Your father gripped the steering wheel tighter.
"That's enough," he cut you off with a firm tone. "You shouldn't ask those questions."
He, however, raised a hand in a calm gesture.
"It's fine," he said calmly, turning slightly to look at you over his shoulder. His green eyes met yours through the rearview mirror. "I'm not going with her because we're going through a rough patch. And she lives in Texas."
You nodded, feeling heat rise to your cheeks.
"I'm sorry," you murmured. "I didn't mean to be nosy."
You settled better in the back seat and stayed quiet for the rest of the trip, looking out the window as the fields sped by. However, you couldn't help but be aware of his presence. Every time he spoke with your father, his hoarse voice reached you and, from time to time, you felt his gaze shift toward the mirror to watch you.
They arrived at the house as the sun began to set. Your father parked at the entrance and everyone got out. He took his canvas bag from the trunk and slung it over his shoulder with ease, as if it weighed nothing.
"Come on, I'll show you your room," you said, trying to sound natural.
You guided him down the first-floor hallway to the guest room that you had helped prepare. You opened the door and stepped aside to let him pass. The room was clean, with fresh sheets, folded towels on the dresser, and a window overlooking the back patio.
"Thank you," he said in a low voice, setting the bag on a chair. His green eyes scanned the space before resting on you. "I really appreciate this."
"It's nothing," you responded, shrugging your shoulders. "Make yourself comfortable. If you need anything, let me know."
You left the room somewhat nervously, your pulse a bit quickened. You closed the door behind you and headed straight to the kitchen. You opened the refrigerator, took out a bottle of water, and poured yourself a glass. You drank a long sip, trying to calm that strange unease you'd felt since seeing him outside the prison.
Less than two minutes had passed when you heard footsteps. Both he and your father appeared in the kitchen entrance.
"Your boyfriend's at the door," your father announced with a half-smile, gesturing toward the front entrance.
You let out a sigh of annoyance and set the glass on the counter with more force than necessary.
"He's not my boyfriend," you protested, irritated. "I've told you that several times."
Without waiting for a response, you left the kitchen and headed toward the front door, feeling the gaze of both men on your back. Especially his.
That night you came home quite late. You had spent the rest of the day with your "boyfriend," trying to distract yourself and get away from the strange tension that had settled in the house since his arrival. Your father didn't scold you for the hour; you were always late coming home.
You walked down the hallway in silence, shoes in hand so you wouldn't make noise. Your room was at the end, just after the one he now occupied. As you passed his door, you noticed it was slightly ajar. A warm light came from inside, along with the clear sound of his deep voice.
You couldn't help but stop.
He was standing in the middle of the room, shirtless. The lamp light highlighted every line of his torso: the broad shoulders, the chest and abdomen muscles marked by years of hard exercise, even in prison. A thin layer of hair ran down from his chest and disappeared below the waistband of his pants. He was speaking on the phone in a low but clearly angry tone.
"...don't start with that again. You know perfectly well why I'm here," he said, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "No, I'm not going to discuss this now."
He turned and dropped into the chair next to the window. As he sat, his pants tightened against his strong thighs, and for a second your gaze dropped without you being able to help it. Everything was clearly visible on him. He was large. The word appeared in your mind before you could stop it, accompanied by sudden warmth that rose through your stomach.
You shook your head quickly, trying to erase that thought. What the hell is wrong with you? you reproached yourself silently. He was your father's best friend. He had just gotten out of prison. He was married.
You took a careful step back, your heart beating hard. Before he could turn around and see you, you moved away down the hallway and entered your room, closing the door softly behind you. You leaned against the wood, breathing heavily.
You went to sleep with your head in a mess, but sleep took a long time to come. You tossed and turned in bed for hours, with the image of his bare torso and that deep voice arguing on the phone repeating in your mind. When you finally fell asleep, it was restless sleep.
The next morning you woke up in a bad mood. You had dark circles under your eyes and a slight headache. All you wanted was a strong coffee. You walked barefoot to the kitchen, still in your pajamas, expecting to find the coffee pot full like every morning, but the pot was empty.
That finished making you furious.
You entered the living room with a frown.
"Why is there no coffee?" you asked grumpily.
Your father, who was sitting on the couch reviewing some papers, looked up.
"Sorry, honey. He finished it," he said, nodding his head toward the other side of the room.
There he was, sitting in one of the armchairs with a cup in his hand, already dressed in a tight black t-shirt and jeans. He looked at you calmly, but you gave him a sharp look in return and went back to the kitchen furious, opening and closing doors with more force than necessary.
Not even ten seconds passed when you heard his footsteps behind you.
"Hey, I'm sorry," he said, coming into the kitchen. "I didn't know it was your coffee. Let me make another one, no problem."
"I don't want anything," you responded without looking at him, opening the refrigerator just to do something. "I just want you to leave."
He stayed silent for a moment. Then he spoke with a lower but firm voice.
"You're being very rude. I was just trying to help you."
"I don't need your help," you replied, closing the refrigerator with a bang.
He sighed and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. The movement made the t-shirt tense across his shoulders.
"You weren't like this when you were little," he commented, looking at you with a mix of surprise and something like disappointment. "You were a sweet girl who was always smiling."
You turned to him with fire in your eyes.
"A lot of years have passed," you answered curtly. "I've changed. And so have you."
Without waiting for a response, you left the kitchen angrily, brushing his arm as you passed. The brief contact sent a shiver through you that you preferred to ignore as you headed back to your room.
You sat on the edge of your bed with a heavy sigh and picked up your phone, scrolling through messages without much interest. You were still angry, but the anger was beginning to mix with a feeling of guilt. About ten minutes had passed when you heard two soft knocks on the door.
"Come in," you said.
The door opened and there he was, holding a steaming cup of coffee. He had changed t-shirts and his presence filled the doorway. He entered carefully, as if he didn't want to invade your space.
"I brought this," he said, extending the cup. "And I wanted to apologize again for drinking your coffee. I didn't know you were so territorial about it."
You accepted the cup with a small embarrassed smile. The aroma was perfect.
"Thank you..." you murmured before taking the first sip. The coffee was exactly how you liked it. "I'm sorry for how I treated you earlier. I slept terribly last night and waking up without coffee was awful. I got in a really bad mood."
He nodded, accepting your apologies. Then, without asking permission, he sat down next to you on the bed. The mattress sank noticeably under his weight, tilting you slightly toward him. Being this close made you very aware of his size, his body heat, and the slight smell of soap and clean skin that he gave off.
You looked at him sideways.
"Can I ask you something?" you said.
He raised an eyebrow and gave a half-smile.
"You're already asking," he replied with a teasing tone.
You laughed softly, feeling some of the tension ease.
"Another question," you clarified. "Why did you go to prison?"
He was silent for a few seconds, looking at the cup in your hands. Finally, he spoke in a calm voice.
"I was involved in illegal business. Mainly weapon trafficking and stolen goods. They caught me in a big operation. It wasn't something planned to hurt innocent people, but it was still serious."
You frowned.
"I thought it had been something much worse... given how many years you served."
He let out a low, dry laugh.
"They gave me more years than I deserved because during the trial, I lost control and beat up the judge. It wasn't my best moment."
You looked at him surprised, your eyes wide.
"Really?"
"Yes," he confirmed, looking directly into your eyes. "Really."
The silence stretched between you for a moment. Then he stood up.
"I have to go, your father is waiting for me to talk about some things."
As he stood, he placed his large, strong hand on your thigh to push himself up. The contact lasted just a few seconds, but it was enough. You felt the weight, the heat, and the firmness of his palm through the thin pajama fabric. A shiver ran across your skin and all the hair on your arm stood on end. It was a big hand, calloused, powerful.
He withdrew his hand and left through the door, closing it softly behind him, leaving you alone in the room with your heart beating hard and the coffee still warm in your hands.
The rest of the week passed in a strange but growing routine of cohabitation. Little by little you learned to share the same space without the atmosphere becoming too tense. You arrived home late almost every night, after spending time with your friend or simply trying to distract yourself.
Every time you came into the house, he was usually awake. Sometimes he was sitting in the living room watching television with the volume low, and he would greet you with a simple "you're home" or a slight nod of his head. Other nights, you would pass his half-open door and hear him arguing in a low voice with his wife. His tone was always grave and tired, and you forced yourself to keep walking toward your room without stopping.
During the day, he helped your father with everything he needed: fixing things in the garage, moving furniture, mowing the lawn, or simply accompanying him on errands. You tried to keep your distance, but you couldn't help noticing how, from time to time, his gaze landed on you with more intensity than necessary.
When you cooked, when you read on the couch, or simply passed through the hallway. And you... also looked at him. More than you wanted to admit.
By the end of the second week, the tension between you had become more palpable, though neither of you said anything.
That afternoon you were in the kitchen preparing dinner while you waited for your father to come home from work. You were cutting vegetables with precise movements when you felt his presence. He came in and leaned against the counter, observing you with his arms crossed over his chest. He was wearing a gray t-shirt that fit his shoulders and arms, and he looked at you with that calm half-smile that was starting to seem dangerous to you.
"Are you just going to stand there watching?" you asked without looking up from the knife.
He let out a low, hoarse laugh.
"I can't help much, I don't know how to cook."
You rolled your eyes but smiled a little.
"Help me anyway. Hand me that pan behind you and the oil from the top shelf."
He obeyed, stepping closer than necessary to hand you the things. As he handed you the pan, his fingers brushed yours for a second.
"Of course, princess," he said softly, using the old nickname he used to call you when you were a child.
You went still for a moment and looked at him. He raised an eyebrow.
"Does it bother you that I call you that?"
"No," you answered, turning back to the pan. "I like it."
The atmosphere became warmer. He handed you the ingredients you asked for, moving around the kitchen with that imposing presence that filled the entire space. From time to time you felt his gaze on your neck, on your hips, or on the movement of your hands as you cooked.
At one point, his phone rang. He looked at the screen, frowned, and moved a few steps toward the living room to answer. He returned several minutes later with a tense jaw.
You didn't want to ask, but the words came out on their own.
"Who was it?"
"My wife," he answered curtly, putting his phone in his pocket.
"Oh," was all you said, and you continued stirring the food in the pan.
He approached slowly from behind, stopping at a distance that was too short. You could feel the heat of his body.
"She wants to come visit me this weekend," he commented in a low voice.
"That's not my problem," you responded in a neutral tone, though you felt a knot in your stomach. "Tell my father. This is his house, not mine."
He didn't move. Instead, he took another step closer. The smell of his skin and the slight brush of his arm against yours made your breathing accelerate. You moved to the side, pretending you needed something from the other end of the counter.
Just then, the front door opened.
"I'm home!" your father announced from the entrance.
The two of you separated immediately. You continued focused on the kitchen as if nothing had happened, while he turned toward the living room to greet your father.
Neither of you said another word about the subject.
The three of you sat down to dinner at the dining table. The conversation flowed relatively normally: your father asked how his day had been, and he answered calmly, commenting on the things they had fixed together. Toward the end of dinner, he mentioned casually.
"My wife wants to come visit me this weekend. If there's no problem, of course."
Your father nodded without hesitation.
"No problem at all, brother. This is also your home. She can stay as long as she needs."
You remained silent, poking at your food with your fork. You didn't say anything, but you felt an uncomfortable pang in your chest that you preferred to ignore.
After dinner, you began to gather the plates and utensils and he got up too.
"Can I help?" he asked.
"You don't need to," you responded without looking at him. "You can go to sleep if you want. I'll take care of it."
He observed you for a moment, but finally nodded and withdrew down the hallway. Your father went to his room shortly after, leaving the house in complete silence.
You stayed alone in the kitchen, tidying everything with methodical movements. You washed the dishes, cleaned the counters, and put away what you could. However, when you tried to place a heavy glass container on the highest shelf of the cupboard, you realized you couldn't reach it. Even standing on a chair, you couldn't reach it well, and besides, it had to go in a specific position to fit with the other things.
You sighed, annoyed. You didn't want to leave it sitting on the counter. After hesitating for a few seconds, you walked down the hallway and knocked softly on his door.
He opened almost immediately. He was shirtless, his wide, marked torso completely exposed under the dim light of the room. The muscles of his chest and abdomen tensed slightly when he saw you, and that line of dark hair running down toward the waistband of his sweatpants distracted you more than you would have liked.
You swallowed and tried to maintain a neutral expression.
"Can you help me for a second?" you asked, gesturing toward the kitchen. "There's something I can't put away up high."
"Of course," he answered without hesitation.
He followed you down the hallway. Once in the kitchen, you grabbed the heavy container with both hands.
"Put it there," you instructed him, pointing to the upper shelf. "It has to be pushed toward the back so it closes properly."
He approached from behind. When he stretched his arms to take the container, his body pressed against yours. His broad chest brushed against your back, and you could clearly feel the heat of his bare skin through the thin fabric of your t-shirt. His height and build made you feel completely surrounded.
For a moment, your traitorous mind imagined what it would be like to lean back, arch against him, and let him touch you right there, just for him. To feel those large, strong hands holding you. The idea hit you with force and heat.
No. This is wrong, you mentally scolded yourself. He's older. He's married. He's dad's best friend. There's nothing good in this.
As soon as he finished adjusting the container, he lowered his arms, but didn't move away immediately. His body remained pressed against yours for a few more seconds, firm and warm. Then he took a step back.
"Done," he murmured, his voice rougher than usual.
"Thanks," you said, not meeting his eyes.
He gave you a long last look before heading toward the hallway.
"Good night, princess," he said in a low voice.
"Good night," you responded, almost in a whisper.
When you heard his door close, you released the breath you didn't know you were holding and leaned against the counter, your heart racing and uncomfortable heat coursing through your entire body.
That night you had planned to go to bed early. You were tired after a long day and the heat wasn't helping, but your phone vibrated on your bed.
It was Tony, asking you to go out for a bit. You hesitated for only a few seconds before responding that you would.
You changed quickly in your room, opting for something cooler: a thin sleeveless t-shirt and a short cotton skirt that felt light against your skin. It was too hot that night. You fixed your hair a bit, grabbed your keys and phone, and left down the hallway, trying not to make noise. You wanted to avoid your father knowing you were going out so late, but as you passed the door of your father's best friend, it suddenly opened.
He was there, shirtless again, only with sweatpants low on his hips. He looked you up and down with a frown.
"Where are you going?" he asked in a low but firm voice.
You quickly put a finger to your lips, silencing him.
"To see Tony," you whispered. "I don't want my dad to know, it's already late."
He crossed his arms over his chest, marking his muscles even more.
"What you're doing is wrong. Going out at this hour without your father knowing..."
"You're not the one to tell me what's right or wrong," you answered curtly, meeting his eyes. "You're the last person to give lessons."
At that precise moment, the sound of your father's bedroom door opening at the end of the hallway was heard.
Without giving you time to react, he grabbed your arm and dragged you inside his room with a quick but controlled movement. He closed the door carefully, almost without sound. Suddenly you found yourself pressed against his body. Your back was against his bare chest, and one of his large hands firmly positioned itself on your stomach, pulling you against him to keep you from moving. You could feel the heat of his skin, the firmness of his muscles, and the strong beat of his heart against your back.
You stayed completely still, nervous, with your pulse racing. The smell of his skin surrounded you and you felt every inch of his body pressed against yours.
Neither of you moved.
You heard your father walk down the hallway, open the bathroom door, and after some eternal minutes, return to his room and close the door. Only then did he loosen his hand on your stomach and slowly open his door.
He took a step back, creating distance between you.
"Sorry," he murmured, looking at you with intensity. "I didn't want him to see you."
You said nothing. You had rapid breathing and flushed cheeks. You just looked at him for a second longer before leaving his room without a word and walking quickly toward the front door.
You felt his gaze fixed on your back until you left the house.
You left the house without looking back and got into Tony's car. The night didn't go well. Things between you had been tense for weeks, and that outing ended in a strong argument. You got home around 4 in the morning, with eyes swollen from crying. You tried to come in as quietly as possible, wiping your tears with the back of your hand.
But as soon as you closed the front door, you saw him.
He was sitting on the living room couch in the dim light, with his elbows resting on his knees. He looked up as soon as he heard the door and stood immediately, his expression changing when he saw you.
You tried to hurry past toward your room, but he was faster. He caught you gently by the arm before you could escape.
"Wait..." he said in a low voice. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," you murmured, trying to free yourself and without meeting his eyes. "Let me go."
He didn't let you go. Instead, he turned you toward him carefully, and seeing your red eyes and tears still fresh on your cheeks, his expression hardened.
"Tell me what happened," he insisted, more gently this time.
As you didn't respond, he raised a hand and gently took your face, forcing you to look at him. His palm was large and warm against your cheek. His green eyes observed you with an intensity that disarmed you.
"Talk to me," he asked in a low voice.
You ended up telling him everything between contained sobs: the argument, how Tony had made you feel, how frustrated you were. He listened without interrupting, with a frown and tense jaw.
"You're not going to see him again," he said when you finished, with a firm and protective voice. "He doesn't deserve you. You deserve something much better than that."
You stayed silent for a moment, processing his words. Then, with a trembling voice, you asked.
"Can I hug you?"
He nodded without hesitation.
You moved closer and hugged him tightly, burying your face in his bare chest. His arms wrapped around you immediately, completely enveloping you. One of his large hands slowly caressed your back, while the other rested on the back of your neck. You felt small and protected against his warm, strong body. He smelled like him, something deeply masculine. You stayed like that for several seconds, letting him comfort you.
"Why are you awake?" you asked without separating.
"I couldn't sleep until I made sure you got home safely," he answered with a hoarse voice, still holding you.
You slowly separated from him, though part of you didn't want to. You stood on your tiptoes and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek, very close to the corner of his lips.
"Thank you," you whispered. "I'm going to sleep. Good night."
"Good night," he responded, looking at you with an expression you couldn't quite decipher.
You walked toward your room feeling his gaze fixed on your back. You closed the door and leaned against it, your heart beating hard and a mix of emotions you didn't know how to handle.
You spent two days avoiding him as much as possible. You barely exchanged words with him, left early and came home late, or locked yourself in your room with some excuse. He seemed to notice, but didn't pressure you. He just watched you from afar with that intense gaze that made you nervous.
The weekend arrived and you woke up around 10 in the morning in a very bad mood. You didn't know exactly why, but you felt strange, irritable, and with a heavy sensation in your chest. You got up, put on an oversized t-shirt and some shorts, and headed to the kitchen. Your father was alone, drinking matelot at the table, a drink just to start the day.
"Where is he?" you asked while making your coffee.
"He went to pick up his wife at the airport," your father answered naturally. "They should be arriving soon."
You felt an uncomfortable pang in your stomach. Jealousy? Maybe. You didn't want to analyze it too much. You just nodded in silence and continued making your coffee, trying to make sure your expression didn't give anything away.
Around 11:30 you heard the sound of a car parking in front of the house. Your heart jumped. You didn't want to go out to greet them, so you quietly approached the living room window and peeked through the curtains.
He got out of the car first. He looked imposing as always, with dark jeans and a black rolled-up shirt. He walked around the vehicle and opened the passenger door.
Then you saw her.
His wife was an attractive woman in her early thirties. She had long, dark, wavy hair and a voluptuous body: pronounced curves, wide hips, and generous breasts. She dressed casually but elegantly, with fitted pants and a blouse that marked her forms. She was beautiful, with a confident smile and a presence that filled the space.
She looked nothing like you.
That bothered you more than you were willing to admit. You felt a knot in your throat and an unpleasant heat in your chest. You moved away from the window before they could see you, with your heart beating hard and a discomfort you couldn't explain.
You heard the voices outside: your father coming out to greet them, the introductions, the polite laughs. You stayed in the kitchen, pretending to wash your coffee cup, though really you were just trying to calm yourself.
After a few minutes, you managed to calm down enough. You took a deep breath, fixed your hair a bit, and went out to the front of the house with a forced smile.
"Hi," you said as you approached.
He looked at you immediately. His expression was unreadable, but you clearly felt his eyes landing on you.
The woman turned toward you with a friendly smile and extended her hand.
"Hi, I'm Laura," she introduced herself with a warm, confident voice.
"Nice to meet you," you responded, shaking her hand. You tried to smile as best you could, though you felt like it wasn't quite natural.
You moved instinctively closer to your father, almost seeking protection, while you felt his gaze fixed on you. Laura started talking animatedly with your father about the trip and how grateful she was to be received. You barely heard her. Your attention was on something else: his large hand resting possessively on Laura's waist, not letting go at any moment. His fingers looked firm against the fabric of her blouse.
That image stirred something inside you. When everyone came into the house, Laura looked around with interest and smiled.
"If you don't mind, I can cook something," she offered enthusiastically. "I'm pretty good in the kitchen and I want to make a good impression."
Your father accepted immediately, clearly pleased.
"Of course! That would be great."
You didn't open your mouth. You knew that if you spoke at that moment, you would probably say something sharp or out of place. It bothered you deeply that someone else would invade "your" kitchen, the space that felt like your own. You'd never been good at hiding that kind of emotion: your expression became more serious and your body visibly tensed.
Laura seemed to notice, but said nothing. She continued talking with your father as they headed to the kitchen. He, on the other hand, stayed a few seconds longer and looked at you intensely, as if measuring your reaction.
You avoided his gaze and followed them in silence, with an uncomfortable knot in your stomach and a mix of jealousy and anger that you didn't want to feel.
You stayed in the kitchen watching her.
Laura moved around with confidence, as if she already knew the place. She cut vegetables, seasoned the meat, and talked animatedly with him, touching his arm or back from time to time. She acted as if he hadn't spent more than ten years in prison, as if she hadn't practically abandoned him as soon as he got out. Every laugh, every touch, irritated you more.
You couldn't take it anymore.
"I won't be able to have lunch," you announced suddenly, interrupting the conversation. "I have things to do."
Your father frowned, visibly annoyed.
"That's very disrespectful, honey. We have a visitor."
"I'm not hungry," you answered curtly. "I'm going to see Tony. I'll be back later."
You took the keys from the table and left through the front door without waiting for a response, ignoring the heavy gaze fixed on your back.
You came home near midnight. You had spent all day with Tony, though being with him felt increasingly like torture. The conversations were forced and his goodbye kiss in front of the house tasted empty. Still, you reciprocated, letting him kiss you with more intensity than you really wanted.
What you didn't know was that from the living room window, he was watching you.
You came into the house trying not to make noise. Everything was silent and dark. For a second you hoped to find him awake, like the other nights, but there was no one there. That disappointment fell on your chest like a weight. You went straight to your room, changed clothes, and got into bed with your phone.
An hour later, when you were already half asleep, you heard it.
At first you thought it was your imagination. Muffled moans, the rhythmic sound of the bed against the wall. But no, they were real and they came from his room. That made your blood run cold.
You got out of bed with your heart racing and opened your room door. You walked barefoot down the hallway, attracted to the sound as if you couldn't help it. His door was barely ajar, letting out a hazy beam of dim light.
You approached and looked.
He was on top of Laura. Completely naked, his back and arm muscles tense as he moved forcefully against her. His thrusts were deep and forceful. Laura moaned without shame, with her nails dug into his back and her legs wrapped around his waist, clearly enjoying every movement.
His large hand gripped one of her hips with possession.
It churned your stomach. A knot of nausea, jealousy, and something much darker tightened your chest. At that moment, he turned his head toward the door.
His green eyes met yours directly, and for one eternal second, neither of you reacted. His gaze was dark, intense, almost animal, as he continued moving inside Laura. You stayed paralyzed, mouth dry and pulse pounding in your ears.
Finally, you managed to react. You stepped away from the door and walked quickly down the hallway back to your room, with burning cheeks and a whirlwind of emotions you couldn't control.
That night you barely slept at all. Every time you closed your eyes, the images came back: his muscular back moving forcefully, his large hands gripping Laura's hips, her moans.
You remembered too clearly how big he looked, how deep and powerful every thrust was. And the worst part was that part of you couldn't stop imagining what it would be like to be in Laura's place... to be the woman underneath him.
You were so embarrassed.
The next day you didn't leave your room all morning. The mere idea of seeing him made you feel a knot of anxiety and humiliation in your stomach. You couldn't look him in the face knowing what you had seen, knowing what you had wanted.
Around midday, your father knocked softly on your door.
"Are you okay?" he asked from outside.
"I don't feel well," you answered with a dull voice. "I think I'm going to stay in my room today. I have a really bad headache and body aches."
Your father sighed, but eventually accepted.
"That's fine, rest. If you need anything, let me know."
You were alone again, curled up in bed. The shame wouldn't go away, and with it came a much more painful feeling: the certainty that you weren't enough.
Laura was a woman his age, mature, with a voluptuous body, pronounced curves, and generous breasts, and a confidence you still didn't have. You were very young compared to him. You had a good body, slender, firm, attractive, but it was nothing like hers. You didn't have those wide hips, or that generous bust, or that presence that seemed to fill a room. What could you possibly offer him that could really call his attention? He was an experienced man with a wife who, despite their problems, shared his world.
You were just the daughter of his best friend.
Too young. Too... insufficient. That idea ate away at you inside as you covered your face with the pillow, wishing all those thoughts would disappear from your body before you had to face him again.
You spent the afternoon locked in your room, but around five in the afternoon your father knocked on the door.
"We're going to the beach. Laura wants to cool off a bit. Do you want to come?"
You jumped out of bed.
"Yes, I feel better," you said quickly. "I'll be ready in ten minutes."
You hurried to get everything: a towel, sunscreen, sunglasses, and your best bikini. You chose a black one, high-waisted with a pronounced neckline that made you feel confident in your body. You changed quickly, put on a light dress over it, and went out with your things, acting as if nothing had happened.
You got into the back seat of the car next to Laura. During the entire drive, you barely spoke. You answered with one-word responses when they asked you something and kept your gaze fixed on the window.
When you arrived at the beach, you all got out and settled in a good spot near the water. Laura was the first to want to go into the water.
"I'm going to cool off," she said with a smile, taking off her summer dress and revealing a red bikini that highlighted her voluptuous curves. She headed toward the water, swaying as she walked.
You desperately hoped he wouldn't follow her immediately. And he didn't. He stayed sitting on the towel, with his legs stretched out and his gaze fixed on the horizon.
That put you in a better mood.
You slowly took off your dress and left it to the side. You stretched out on the towel face down. You could feel his eyes scanning you, even though he said nothing.
Your father got up a little later.
"I'm going to buy something to drink. Do you want anything?"
Both of you shook your heads, and your father walked away across the sand. You stayed alone, and after a few minutes of silence, you decided to break it.
"Can you put sunscreen on my back?" you asked in a casual tone, handing him the bottle.
He looked at you for a moment, tensing his jaw.
"That's not a good idea," he answered in a low voice. "It can be misinterpreted."
You felt offended, turned your face to the other side, and rested your cheek on your arms.
"Never mind then," you murmured.
Not even two minutes passed when you felt his presence closer. You heard the bottle opening and, shortly after, his large, warm hands rested on your back.
You smiled to yourself, hidden against your arms.
His hands were firm but careful. He started with your shoulders, spreading the sunscreen with slow, circular motions. He moved down your spine, pressing lightly with his thumbs. He reached your waist, and then his fingers brushed the edges of your bikini, going a bit further than necessary.
"You're very tense," he commented in a hoarse voice, almost a murmur. "Are you sure you're feeling better?"
"Now I am," you responded softly, without turning around. "Thanks."
His hands continued, spreading the sunscreen with slower and more deliberate movements. The warmth of his palms and the pressure of his fingers caused you pleasurable shivers.
"Is that okay?" he asked, his voice deeper than usual.
"Mm... yes," you whispered. "You can go lower if you want."
He hesitated for a second, but his hands continued, extending the sunscreen with movements that were slower and more deliberate. The atmosphere between you became dense, charged with something neither of you named.
He removed his hands from your back just as he saw your father returning in the distance with drinks in his hand. He moved away a bit and sat on his towel as if nothing had happened. You remained there, face down, enjoying the warmth of the sun on your skin and the pleasant tingle you still felt where he had touched you.
A little later, Laura returned from the water, shaking out her wet hair and smiling. She sat down near your father and started talking enthusiastically.
"This is delicious. Now that I'm here, my husband can come back with me to Texas whenever he wants. It's time we got our lives back together."
Your father nodded, though his expression became nostalgic.
"It's a shame. He's just back and already leaving. I'll see him very little."
Laura smiled with understanding.
"They can visit us whenever they want, or he can come back to visit. Our house is big and there's always room."
Those words hit you like a bucket of cold water. The idea that he would leave, that he would go back to Texas with her, caused a deep discomfort in your chest. You didn't want him to leave, you didn't want him to abandon you, but you couldn't say anything. You just tightened your jaw and kept your gaze fixed on the sand.
He noticed the change in your expression. He watched you in silence for a few seconds before speaking with a calm but firm voice.
"I'd really like to stay a bit longer," he said, looking at your father. "I've missed so many years away from you, brother. If you don't mind, I'd like to stay a few more weeks."
Your father's face lit up.
"Of course it doesn't bother me! In fact, I love the idea. Stay as long as you need."
Laura seemed a bit surprised, but maintained her smile.
"As you wish, honey," she said, though her tone had a slight undertone of discomfort.
You, on the other hand, felt an immense relief that you tried to hide. You lowered your head and smiled slightly against your arm, without anyone seeing you.
The rest of the afternoon turned out to be more fun than you expected. After a while taking in the sun, everyone got into the water. The waves were perfect, and between laughs, splashing, and light conversations, the atmosphere became more relaxed. Laura seemed to be in good spirits, your father was happy to have his friend nearby, and you managed to enjoy the moment despite everything.
At one point, while you were near the shore, a boy approached you. He was tall, with light-colored hair and blue eyes, probably a few years older than you. You started talking and didn't take long to laugh at his comments. He was fun and knew how to keep a light conversation. You felt flattered, and for a few minutes you forgot about everything else.
Suddenly, he appeared at your side.
"Your father is calling you," he said in a neutral tone, but with a look that didn't allow for discussion.
You looked toward where your father was and didn't see him particularly rushed, but the boy politely excused himself and you moved away with him.
You walked together across the sand, away from the water.
"I don't like that boy," he commented in a low voice, not looking at you.
"Why?" you asked, still with a small smile on your lips.
"He looks too old for you."
You shrugged.
"I don't mind age."
He stopped for a second and looked at you with intensity.
"You need to stay away from that type of boy."
You suddenly stopped on the sand, forcing him to stop too.
"Why?" you asked directly, looking him in the eyes.
He took a few seconds to respond. His jaw was tense.
"Keep walking," he said finally, with a deep voice.
You obeyed, but the question hung between you for the rest of the afternoon.
When it was time to leave, you gathered everything and headed to the parking lot. There you ran into some family friends who had also gone to the beach. After exchanging greetings warmly, the friends asked if you could give them a ride to a certain point because their car had broken down.
Your father accepted without problem.
"Of course, but we'll be a bit crowded."
Everyone managed to fit the bags and towels in the trunk. Your father organized the seats:
"You sit up front with him," he told you, since you were smaller, they would fit better. "Laura, do you mind sitting in the back with them?"
Laura shook her head, though her smile seemed a bit forced.
"Not at all."
Your father sat behind the wheel and Laura sat in the back with the two family friends. You stayed standing next to the passenger door, nervous.
He had already settled into the passenger seat. He looked at you and opened his legs a bit to give you space.
"There's no other option," he murmured just for you.
You took a deep breath and got in. You sat carefully on his lap, trying not to lean too much. But it was impossible. His body was large and solid, and you ended up completely settled on his thighs. His chest was pressed against your back, and one of his hands naturally positioned itself on your waist to stabilize you.
The trip became a slow, silent torture.
Every bump in the road made your body move against his inevitably. At first you tried to keep yourself as rigid as possible, but it was useless. With each jolt you clearly felt his strong thigh under you, the heat emanating from his body, and slowly, something more. It seemed to grow under your weight, pressing against you in increasingly obvious ways.
He tensed. His hand on your waist tightened slightly and his breathing became deeper near your neck. You knew it was making him uncomfortable. It wasn't the right time, place, or person. Laura was sitting right behind, talking with the family friends, and your father was driving concentrated on the road.
You didn't know how to feel either. A mix of shame, excitement, and nervousness ran through your entire body.
At one point, you took his right hand, the one on the side of the door, where no one could see, and simply squeezed it. You didn't say anything. You just interlaced your fingers with his and held them tightly, seeking an anchor as you felt every small movement of the car.
He didn't pull his hand away. On the contrary, he returned the squeeze, his large, warm palm wrapping around yours.
The rest of the journey was spent in silence, only the conversations from those in the back and the engine noise could be heard. You kept your gaze forward, with your cheeks burning and your heart beating hard.
When they finally arrived at the house, everyone started getting out of the car. You stayed a moment longer inside, pretending to arrange something in your bag to give the others time to get out first. You needed Laura and your father to move away a bit.
He didn't move immediately either. He waited until the others started taking things out of the trunk. Only then did he release your hand that he still held and speak in a very low voice, almost against your ear.
"You can get out now."
You got up carefully, clearly feeling his body react to the movement. You got out of the car without looking directly at him and helped unload the things, trying to act normally.
You helped carry some things inside the house, but as soon as you set the bags down in the living room, you murmured that you were tired and went straight to your room.
You closed the door and leaned against it for a moment, breathing heavily.
You'd had too many sleepless nights, too much tension built up. Your body was desperately asking for release. You felt both embarrassed and excited. You took off your still-damp bikini and lay in bed wearing only a thin t-shirt. With shame and excitement mixed together, you closed your eyes and let your hand slowly move down your body.
You thought of him. Of his large hands spreading sunscreen on your back, of how they felt against your skin, of his body pressed against yours in the car, of that growing hardness you had clearly felt under you. Of the image you had seen that night through the half-open door: him moving with force, powerful, dominant.
Your breathing became faster as you touched yourself, imagining that it was his hands that were exploring you, that it was his hoarse voice whispering in your ear. You felt guilty and ashamed, but that only increased the intensity. You came with his name muffled in your throat, biting the pillow to avoid making noise.
When you finished, you stayed for a few minutes staring at the ceiling, chest heaving and deep shame invading you. What am I doing? you thought. He's my father's best friend... he's married...
You got out of bed on shaky legs and went straight to shower. You let the hot water fall hard on your body. His presence seemed to have gotten under your skin, and it wouldn't wash away easily. Some time later you came out of the shower wrapped in a towel, with wet hair and your mind still in a mess.
You left the bathroom wrapped in a soft towel, wet hair dripping over your shoulders. You changed in your room with slow movements: you chose a loose cotton t-shirt that barely reached the middle of your thigh and simple black lace panties. You didn't put anything else on. The afternoon heat was still clinging to your skin, and the excitement of what you had done in bed was still pulsing between your legs.
You walked barefoot to the living room. The house was silent. You heard your father's shower running in the main bathroom and, from down the hallway, the distant sound of Laura moving in the guest room, probably changing clothes.
You dropped yourself onto the big couch, stretching your legs across the cushions. You rested your head back and closed your eyes for a moment, trying to calm the whirlwind that was still spinning inside you. The cool leather of the couch against the back of your thighs made you sigh.
Not even two minutes passed when you felt his presence.
He entered the living room without making a sound. He stopped for a second when he saw you, as if deciding whether to approach or not. Finally he sat down next to you, leaving barely a palm's width between your bodies. The couch sank under his weight, tilting you slightly toward him.
Neither of you spoke at first. The silence was dense, charged. You could hear his slow, deep breathing. You felt the heat coming from his bare leg so close to yours. Your heart started beating faster, but you stayed still, pretending you were just resting.
After a long while, he spoke. His deep, hoarse voice was barely a murmur, just for you.
"Sorry for what happened in the car. That shouldn't have happened."
You slowly turned your head toward him. His green eyes looked at you with a mix of guilt and something much darker. You were so close that you could see the slight shadow of stubble on his jaw and the pulse beating in his neck.
"Don't be sorry," you whispered, holding his gaze. "I liked it."
He closed his eyes for a second, exhaling sharply through his nose. His large hand rested on his own thigh, his fingers tense.
"You shouldn't say those things," he murmured, with an even lower voice. "You're my best friend's daughter. This... is wrong."
You bit your lower lip and turned a bit more toward him, letting your knee gently brush against his thigh.
"I would do it again," you said without hesitation, almost defiantly.
He turned his head to look at you. His gaze had darkened. For a moment he only observed you: your parted lips, your damp hair falling over your shoulders, the way your t-shirt slipped slightly off one shoulder, revealing the curve of your collarbone.
"You're perfect," he said finally, almost painfully. "And very foolish for wanting me."
A slow, soft smile appeared on your lips. You felt powerful and vulnerable at the same time. Without saying anything, you slid your hand across the couch until your fingers brushed the edge of his thigh. You moved upward slowly, feeling the hardness of the muscle under the thin fabric of his shorts. He tensed visibly, but didn't stop you immediately.
"I can be whatever you want," you whispered, moving your face a little closer to his. "Just tell me."
Your hand continued moving up until your fingers brushed the bulge that was starting to form under the fabric. He let out a very low growl, almost inaudible.
Suddenly, his large, strong hand caught yours, stopping it just above his groin. His fingers wrapped around yours with firmness, but without pushing you completely away.
"No," he said with a hoarse voice, almost pleading. "There are people in the house. Your father... Laura..."
"I don't care," you responded in a trembling but determined whisper. You moved your fingers under his hand, gently caressing the hard shape that was growing against your palm. "I want to feel you. Just a little. Please..."
He swallowed hard. His jaw was so tense you could see the muscle flexing. For one eternal second, only the breathing of both of you could be heard, each breath heavier than the last.
Finally he released your hand... but only to move his up to your face. His large, warm palm gently cupped your cheek. His thumb slowly brushed your lower lip, parting it slightly.
"You're so beautiful when you ask for something," he murmured, his voice so deep you felt it vibrate in your own chest. "Too beautiful."
You leaned slightly into his touch, kissing the base of his thumb softly. Your fingers, now free, resumed their movement over him with slowness, exploring the long, hot, hard length that was hardening more under the fabric. You stroked him from top to bottom with your fingertips, feeling how it pulsed and grew with each touch.
He didn't stop you this time.
His breathing became deeper, and his eyes closed to half-mast as he let you touch him. The hand on your cheek moved slowly down your neck, stopping at the curve where your pulse raced. His fingers spread across your skin, possessive but controlled.
The sound of your father's shower continued running in the background. Laura hummed something softly in the distant room. And in the living room, the air was so charged that it seemed like everything could break at any moment.
The tension in the living room was so thick you could almost touch it. Your fingers continued moving slowly over him, feeling his erection growing and pulsing under the thin fabric of his shorts. He had his eyes half-closed, his breathing heavy, and his large hand still held your face like he was afraid you would disappear.
Suddenly, you heard soft footsteps down the hallway.
Laura.
He reacted with speed. In one smooth movement, he grabbed one of the large cushions from the couch and placed it over his lap, covering himself. You pulled your hand away just in time and settled back into your place, pretending you were just checking your phone. Your heart was beating so hard you thought Laura would hear it.
She appeared in the living room entrance, already in pajamas: a soft camisole and short shorts that marked her curves. She looked at both of you with a tired smile.
"I'm exhausted," she said with a yawn. "I'm going to sleep. Are you coming, honey?"
He cleared his throat, keeping his voice calm.
"I'll be right there. I want to shower first, I'm full of sand."
Laura nodded, barely paying attention, and headed to the bedroom. When she disappeared down the hallway, he looked at you. His green eyes were burning.
You got up from the couch on shaky legs with a secret smile on your lips. You walked toward your room without looking back, feeling his gaze fixed on your back.
Once inside, you closed the door and leaned against it. A low, happy laugh escaped your throat. You brought your hands to your hot cheeks. He had confirmed it. He wanted you. As much as you wanted him.
You smiled like a fool against the door, with your stomach full of butterflies and a dangerous warmth between your legs.
That night no one had dinner. Everyone was exhausted from the beach day. Your father went to bed early, Laura also. The house fell silent before ten.
You heard the shower turn on in the main bathroom. You thought he was actually going to shower... until, a few minutes later, your door opened carefully.
You jumped slightly in bed, scared. You were lying down with just a black lace underwear set, the light sheet covering you up to your waist. When you saw it was him, fear turned into a slow, bright smile.
He closed the door behind him with great care and turned the key. The sound of water still running in the shower was perfect cover.
He approached the bed without saying anything at first. You sat on the edge, watching him. He stopped in front of you, observing you from head to toe: your damp hair, your smooth skin, the black lace contrasting against your younger, more delicate body.
"You look like an angel," he murmured in a hoarse voice, almost reverent.
You stood up and wrapped your arms around his neck naturally, pressing your semi-naked body against his. You could feel the heat of his skin through the thin t-shirt.
He took your face in his large hands, his thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. His green eyes dropped to your lips. He leaned down slowly, giving you the chance to pull back.
You didn't.
His lips brushed yours with surprising softness. First it was a light touch, almost tentative. Then, with more pressure, more hunger. He kissed you slowly, deeply, savoring you. His tongue gently caressed yours with slowness, exploring, while one of his hands moved down your bare back to rest on the low curve of your waist, pulling you more against him.
You melted into his body. The kiss became more intense but still controlled, as if he were holding himself back with all his strength. When you finally separated, both of you were breathing hard.
"Do you really like me?" you asked in a vulnerable whisper. "I look nothing like your wife... I don't have her curves, or her experience, or anything to really offer you."
He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. His expression was serious, intense.
"You're more than perfect," he said in a deep, low voice, almost a vow. "The most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my life. It's not just your body... it's the way you look at me, the way you tremble when I touch you, how you dare to ask me for what you want."
His hand slowly moved down your back, tracing your spine with his fingertips, stopping just above the fabric of your panties.
"I don't need you to be like her. I want you exactly as you are."
He kissed you again, this time with more urgency, while pressing you against his body. You could feel his hard erection pressing against your belly through his pants. His large hands explored your back, your waist, moving downward with slow possession until gently gripping your ass, lifting you slightly against him.
A soft moan escaped you against his mouth and he smiled against your lips.
"Shhh..." he whispered. "You have to be quiet, princess."
He gently pushed you toward the bed. You lay down on your back, looking at him with shining eyes full of desire. He undressed with a single movement, revealing his broad, marked torso covered by that fine layer of dark hair. He climbed on top of you, resting his weight on his forearms to avoid crushing you.
He kissed you again while one of his hands moved slowly down your body. He slid his fingers under the fabric of your lace bra, touching your already hardened nipple. He squeezed it gently, then with more force, drawing a gasp from you. He moved his mouth down to your chest, pulling the lace aside with his teeth. He sucked on one of your nipples hard while his free hand moved between your legs.
His thick fingers brushed the wet fabric of your panties.
"Damn, you're so needy..." he growled against your skin, feeling how soaked you were.
He moved the fabric to the side and slid two thick fingers between your folds, caressing your swollen clit with slow, circular motions. Then he lowered them and pushed one inside you, deep and slow. You moaned, biting your lip to keep quiet.
"So tight..." he murmured, adding a second finger. He started moving them in and out with a torturous rhythm, curving them to touch that spot that made you tremble.
Your hand moved down to his pants, seeking his erection. You felt it huge, hot, and pulsing. You stroked it over the fabric at first, then put your hand inside and wrapped your fingers around it. It was thick, heavy, much bigger than you had imagined. You masturbated him slowly, feeling how it swelled even more in your hand.
He growled against your neck.
"Fuck, you're doing it so well..."
He pulled off your panties with an impatient movement and lowered his pants just enough to free his cock. It was large, veined, with a thick head glistening with pre-cum. He rubbed it against your entrance, sliding it between your wet lips, hitting your clit with each stroke.
He looked into your eyes as he positioned himself.
"Fuck, it won't fit..." he murmured in a hoarse voice, almost concerned, seeing the difference in size.
"I want to try... please," you pleaded, opening your legs more for him.
He pushed the thick head against your entrance. It was slow, very slow. You felt how he opened you, stretching you in an almost painful but delicious way. Inch by inch, he entered you. Your insides squeezed him tightly, pulsing around his thickness.
"Go ahead, take it like a good girl," he whispered against your ear when he was already more than halfway in. "Breathe... that's it."
You moaned softly when he was finally completely buried inside you. You felt completely full, completely filled by him. He stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust, kissing your neck and breasts while his large hands gripped your hips.
He started moving. First with slow, deep thrusts, coming out almost completely to re-enter all the way to the bottom. Each time he reached the bottom, a muffled moan escaped from your throat.
The rhythm gradually increased. His hips collided with yours with more force, but controlled. The wet sound of his cock entering and leaving your pussy filled the room.
You clung to his broad shoulders, digging your nails into his skin. He looked directly into your eyes as he fucked you harder.
"You belong to me. Just me. Say it. Just me."
"Just you..." you gasped, barely able to speak. "Just you... please..."
"Again," he demanded, accelerating the rhythm, hitting that spot inside you with each deep thrust.
"Just you... Damn, just you!"
He kissed you hard to muffle your moans while he fucked you faster. One of his hands moved between you and he rubbed your swollen clit with his thumb, pushing you to the edge.
"Come for me, princess," he growled against your mouth. "I want to feel how you squeeze me."
The orgasm hit you hard. Your insides contracted violently around his thick cock, trembling and squeezing him while waves of pleasure ran through your entire body. You bit his shoulder to keep from screaming.
He kept fucking you through your orgasm, deeper, wilder, until with a low, hoarse growl, he came inside you. You felt the hot bursts filling you, his cock pulsing hard while he filled you completely.
He stayed inside you for a long time, both of you breathing heavily, sweating, and trembling. He kissed you softly on the lips, on your forehead, on your cheeks, as if he couldn't stop touching you.
"You're mine now," he whispered against your skin, still buried deep inside you.
You remained connected for several more minutes, with him still buried deeply inside you. You felt his cock pulsing gently inside, his warm cum filling you completely. Neither of you wanted to move. He stroked your hair with one hand while the other moved slowly down your back with gentle caresses.
"I could fuck you all night..." he murmured against your neck, with a hoarse and satisfied voice. "I wouldn't get tired of this."
You smiled, still trembling from the orgasm, and tightened your internal walls around him.
"You could let me..." you whispered, kissing his jaw. "You could do whatever you want to me, all night."
He let out a low, deep laugh that vibrated against your chest. He lifted his head to look at you, with that dangerous half-smile you loved so much, and kissed you deeply, slowly, and affectionately this time.
When he separated, he rested his forehead against yours.
"I have to go, princess," he said softly.
"No..." you protested in a low voice, wrapping your legs around him more tightly. "Stay a bit longer. I feel so full... I like having you inside."
He closed his eyes for a second, as if struggling with himself.
"I need to go back with Laura," he said gently. "If I don't, she'll suspect."
Those words felt like a blow to your chest. Suddenly you felt a knot in your throat and, without being able to help it, tears started falling down your cheeks. You tried to turn your face away so he wouldn't see them, but he didn't let you.
"Hey..." he whispered tenderly. He carefully pulled out of you, causing a moan of emptiness to escape your lips. He lay down beside you and pulled you against his bare chest. "Don't cry, please."
He cleaned your tears with his thumbs, kissing each one of them. His lips brushed your eyelids, your cheeks, the corner of your mouth.
"Everything will be okay," he murmured against your skin. "This is complicated right now, but I'll fix it. I'll see you later, yes? I promise."
You nodded in silence, though the knot in your chest didn't fully disappear. He kissed you again, this time softer, longer, as if he wanted to carry your taste with him.
Then he got out of bed reluctantly. You stayed lying there, watching him as he got dressed: first his pants, then his t-shirt. Each movement of his muscles reminded you of what had just happened.
When he was ready, he bent over you one last time. He took your face in both hands and gave you a kiss so deep, so long, so desperate that it seemed like goodbye.
"Go to sleep," he whispered against your lips.
He dedicated one last look, charged with desire and something softer, and left your room with the same care he had entered. He closed the door softly.
You were left there, naked on the rumpled sheets, with your legs still open and his cum slowly running between your thighs. You felt full of him, marked, used in the best way possible.
A silly smile appeared on your lips as you brought a hand to your belly, still feeling the echo of his thickness inside you. You were happy. Very happy. But at the same time, a deep sadness settled in your chest when you heard his footsteps moving away down the hallway toward the room he shared with Laura.
You turned to your side, hugging the pillow, and closed your eyes. Happiness and sadness mixed strangely inside you.
You had crossed a line that had no turning back... and part of you didn't want it to.
Your dad's best friend laughs at you for flirting with him until he sees you with another man
age gap (1.3k) idea from mazzy___star on tiktok
The bar was livelier than usual. Warm lights hung from the dark wooden ceiling, the smell of beer, hamburgers, and a faint aroma of cigarette smoke floated in the air. It was your dadās birthday, and he had insisted on celebrating there, like every year.Ā
The place was full of friends, neighbors, and people from the town who cared about him.
You were sitting at a high table near the bar, wearing a black dress that hugged your body gently and made you feel braver than usual, but your attention wasnāt really on your dad or the toasts. It was on Beau, your dadās best friend since they were teenagers. The tall man with broad shoulders and an intense gaze who had always been part of your life. Thirty-eight years old. Well-groomed beard, slightly messy brown hair, green eyes that seemed to see too much.Ā
That night he was wearing a dark flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows and his favorite brown leather jacket, the one that smelled exactly like him.
Your dad was at a large table, laughing loudly with a group of friends, telling old stories from when they were young. At one point, he got up to greet someone on the other side of the bar, leaving you alone with your beer.
Beau approached unhurriedly, taking the stool next to you. He rested an arm on the table, naturally invading your space.
āEverything okay over here, little one?ā,
he asked with that deep, husky voice that always quickened your pulse. The nickname he had used for you your whole life now sounded different, more intimate.
You looked him straight in the eyes and decided to be brave.
āMore than okay now that youāre closeā, you replied with a soft smile but full of intention. āThe truth is, Beauā¦ you look really handsome tonight. That jacket looks too good on you and the beardā¦ I like how it looks on youā.
For a second, you saw his pupils dilate. He let out a low, almost dangerous laugh and shook his head.
āYouāre too young to say those things to meā, he murmured, leaning a little closer to you. āDonāt start something you canāt finish, sweetheartā.
The āsweetheartā ran across your skin like a caress. You felt heat in your cheeks and a knot of desire in your stomach. Before you could answer, your dad returned laughing and Beau stepped back a few paces, returning to his relaxed best friend role.
The night went on, your dad got distracted again when several neighbors came over to congratulate him and ended up in a round of drinks at the other end of the bar.Ā
Suddenly you found yourself alone again and you were annoyed.
Annoyed because Beau always treated you like the little girl you no longer were. Annoyed because you wanted him to see you as a woman. So when a dark-haired guy, more or less your age, approached the bar and started talking to you with a flirty smile, you decided to play along.
You laughed louder than necessary. You leaned toward him while he told you something about his job, lightly touching his arm. You knew Beau was watching, you could feel his gaze burning you from a few meters away and the guy got encouraged quickly, moved closer, invading your space, and offered to buy you another drink.
You accepted, smiling at him with intention, when suddenly a large, warm presence appeared behind you. A strong, possessive arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you against a firm, solid chest. The familiar scent of leather, wood, and Beau enveloped you completely.
āThere you are, sweetheartā, his deep, low voice said right next to your ear, clear enough for the other guy to hear perfectly.
You felt his lips pressing against your cheek in a slow, deliberate, and markedly territorial kiss. It wasnāt an innocent kiss. He let his beard graze your skin, his mouth linger, his hand squeeze your hip possessively.
The guy at the bar stiffened, muttered a clumsy excuse and disappeared into the crowd in less than ten seconds.
Beau didnāt let you go. On the contrary, he turned you in his arms until you were face to face. His hand remained firmly on your waist, his thumb slowly caressing the fabric of your dress, his green eyes were dark, filled with desire and contained frustration.
āBeauā¦ā, you whispered, your breathing agitated.
āDonāt play with meā, he growled in a low voice, almost against your lips. āIāve been trying to behave all night. Trying to remember that youāre my best friendās daughter and that this is wrongā¦ā.
You swallowed hard as your heart beat so strongly it felt like it was going to jump out of your chest.
āBut youā¦ā, he continued, lowering his voice even more. āyou come in with that dress, tell me Iām handsome, and then flirt with the first idiot who comes along just to provoke me. Do you think it doesnāt drive me crazy?ā.
His other hand moved up to your chin, lifting your face so you would look at him.
āIām tired of pretendingā, he confessed. āTired of acting like I donāt desire you every time I see you. Every time you come home, every time you smile at meā¦ I hold back so much it hurtsā.
The noise of the bar seemed to disappear, only his eyes, his hand on your waist, and the electric tension between the two of you existed.
āAnd what are you going to do about it?ā, you asked in a defiant whisper.
Beau let out a ragged sigh. He rested his forehead against yours, breathing the same air.
āIām going to kiss you like Iāve wanted to kiss you for way too longā, he murmured. āAnd then weāre going to talk very seriously, because if we cross this line, sweetheart, Iām not going to settle for hidden kisses. I want all of you. And Iām not going to share you with anyoneā.
His lips brushed against yours, tempting, he waited a second, giving you the opportunity to stop him.
Instead, you stood on your tiptoes and kissed him first.
Beau growled against your mouth and responded with hunger. The kiss was deep, intense, full of months of repressed desire, his hand slid down your back, pulling you closer against him, while the other held your nape.
When they separated, both were breathing heavily. Beau rested his forehead against yours again, with his eyes closed.
āBe a good girlā¦ excuse yourself with your dad right now. Tell him youāre tired and youāre going home, then go out and wait for me in my carā.
You swallowed hard, excited by the dominant tone of his voice.
āParked in the back, at the far end of the parking lotā, he continued, squeezing your hip lightly. āDonāt take long and donāt make me come get youā.
He released you slowly, but not without brushing his lips against your temple in a gesture that felt like a promise.
āGoā, he ordered softly. āBe goodā.
With your legs trembling, you approached your dad, gave him a hug and told him you were tired and going home. He, already quite cheerful from the drinks, kissed your forehead and told you to rest.
You left the bar with your heart in your throat, the night was cool and you walked to the far end of the parking lot, finding Beauās truck, half hidden.
You got into the passenger seat and closed the door. Just a few minutes later, you saw Beau come out of the bar walking with a determined step, he opened the driverās door, got in and closed it forcefully.
For a second he just looked at you. Then he extended his hand, took your chin and pulled you toward him.
āGood girlā, he murmured against your lips before kissing you with contained hunger, deep and possessive.
His hands moved down to your waist, pulling you over the console toward him.
āNow yesā, he whispered against your mouth, his voice hoarse.
Summary: One night, you decide to call up Beau Arlen, your dadās best friend, because you miss him while youāre at college. The conversation quickly turns different.Ā
ā” warnings: NSFW, MDNI, 18+, smut, phone-sex, dbf!beau arlen, age gap, descriptions of sex, virgin!user, teasing, beau has a thing for uniforms ahaha, guided masturbation (f + m), talking you through it, user is 23, no mentions of y/n, reader-insert.
wc: 2.4k | i miss writing for him. So much.
āWhyāre you callinā me, sweetheart?ā
The voice is quiet over the line, just a smooth Southern accent that rings in your ears. You grin to yourself, biting your lip, shifting your hips against your dorm room bed, and you gaze at the ceiling of the empty room.
Your roommate was gone for the weekend, finally, leaving you alone to do whatever you wanted, and your mind had drifted to one idea only: calling Beau Arlen, your dadās best friend, who was only a couple hundred miles away because youāre currently shipped off to college.Ā
āI donāt knowā¦ I miss you,ā you admit quietly to him, listening to him sigh to himself. āItās been weeks since I last saw youā¦ wonāt see you until the holidays,ā you mumble, holding your phone close to your ear.
Beauās sitting at the desk in his office, rubbing his hand over his scruff, his green eyes scanning over unfinished paperwork. He was working a late shift and stopped the minute your name appeared on his phone, your fatherās name in brackets beside it. He sighed and answered, knowing you were probably up to no good.Ā
āMiss me, huh?ā he asks, leaning back in the leather chair, glancing out of the glass windows, and out at the rest of the station; empty, all of the employees had already gone home.
āYeahā¦ā you nod despite the fact he canāt see it, and you shift against your bed again. āWhy? You donāt miss me?ā you ask, and he can hear the smile curled into your lips.Ā
āāCourse I miss you, sweetheart,ā Beau sighs, resting his free hand on his thigh. āJusā donāt know why youāre callinā me so late,ā he shakes his head, his tongue poking into his cheek.
āI just told you, I miss you,ā you laugh softly, and you lift one leg out of boredom, gazing at your black tights. āItās weird being away from home,ā you explain further, listening to the silence.
āI know,ā he drawls quietly, shifting his hips. āWhatāre you doinā over there?ā
āJustā¦ in my bed,ā you shrug, groaning when you adjust against the blankets. āMy roommate left for the weekend; itās all boring,ā you mumble, and heās tipping his head back.
Beau is trying to act like he canāt hear the soft ruffling of the bedsheets and blankets, or the way you breathe heavier, the soft grunts and groans when you roll around slightly. He sighs.
āWhy aināt you call your daddy? Friends?ā Beau questions, his lips drawling into a thin line, waiting for your excuse.
āWanted to talk to you instead,ā you admit, biting your lip, and he goes quiet.
āOver your friends, huh?ā Beau asks, and you can hear the smile in his voice now. āReal sweet of you, darlinā,ā he grins, gazing down at his lap, blinking at the zipper of his jeans.
āMhm, real sweet,ā you reply softly, turning your head to gaze at the dorm door, then back up at the ceiling. āMy uniform isnāt comfy,ā you tell him, shifting your hips against the bed, sighing.
Beau swallows hard.
Your uniform? His head drifts to an area he doesnāt want to think about right now: the skirt youāre probably wearing, the white button-up, the black tights. He reaches down, pressing his hand down against the front of his jeans, his palm lightly brushing his denim.
āWearinā a uniform?ā he chuckles, shaking his head. āWhat? You goinā to some private school?ā
āI am,ā you mumble, biting your lip. āYou know my daddyā¦ wants the best for me, even if thatās spending a couple grand at some private school where Iām forced into a uniform at almost twenty-four,ā you giggle, and he laughs along, nodding.
āWhatās it look like?ā Beau asks quietly, his free hand sliding up to scratch his beard instead. āCanāt be too bad, sweetheart,ā he drawls, brushing off the perverted curiosity as a genuine concern about how your body feels wrapped up in nylon and cotton.
āOh, itās bad,ā you laugh, gazing down at the silly uniform youāre still in. āPlaid skirt, white button-up, tights, a tieā¦ā You drawl out, and you hear him sigh, and you smile.
āHuh,ā he mumbles across the line, looking at his lap again. āAnd youāre still in it?ā he asks, his eyes focused on his zipper, feeling how hard he is getting behind it.
āYeah,ā you whisper, like itās a secret. āFinished my last lecture like forty minutes agoā¦ just crashed when I got back to my room,ā you explain, nodding.
Beau is experiencing every emotion right now: guilt, confusion, and arousal. Heās trying his hardest not to picture you right now; sprawled out on your bed, your skirt riding up, your legs covered in the sheer tights, and how exhausted you must be, how he should be there, relieving all of that stress from exams and studying.
āMust be an exhausted girl,ā he drawls out, tipping his head back when he realizes that unfortunate sexual tone slipping through. āWorkinā your ass off all day,ā he adds, his hand sliding back down to the front of his jeans.
āMhm, I am,ā you agree, and you look down at the pleats on your skirt. āI know youāre working hard tooā¦ being a sheriff and all,ā you add, knowing how much that stupid man loved praise.
Beau chuckles. āYeah, workinā real hard, sweetheart.ā
Thereās a pause, and you shift again, and he hears it over the static line; the shuffling, the brushing, the soft breaths and sighs when you adjust your body. And heās hard. He hates himself a lot right now.
āMaybe you could come here, at some point,ā you offer, breathing in. āLikeā¦ you know, could show you my campus,ā you explain, and he squints.
āWhere am I gonna stay, darlinā?ā Beau asks, swinging the leather office chair back and forth. āCanāt be stayinā with you in your room,ā he adds, and god, you wish he could.
āMotel,ā you mumble, looking at the clock. āI could stay there, too,ā you add, holding your breath.
Thereās another pause at the thought; you and Beau staying at a motel together, doing god knows whatāmaybe indulging in the fantasies youāve both been having about each other since you last saw each other.Ā
āWhy maybe?ā You ask quietly, lifting your hips. āI want to see you,ā you whisper, like someone else is listening over the line.
āCāmon, sweetheart,ā he whispers and shakes his head, clicking his tongue. āWhatāre we gonna do in that motel room, huh? Talk?ā He asks, and you giggle.
āYeah,ā you say innocently, crossing your legs. āWe can talk,ā you agree, and he rubs his hand over his beard again.
āWe aināt gonna be talkinā in that motel,ā Beau shakes his head, sighing heavily.Ā
āWhat will we be doing then?ā You ask, shifting your hips, feeling that dull ache growing between your thighs, and heās already lightly palming himself through his jeans.
āFuckinā,ā he says plainly, that Texan drawl suddenly coming out thicker, and your eyes widen, your lips parting in surprise. He was always so blunt, but right now it hit harder.
āReally?ā You ask quietly, biting your lip. āYou wanna take my virginity?ā You question, swallowing hard.Ā
You hear Beau curse under his breath, clearly reacting to the thought of taking your virginity in some seedy motel; your soft body beneath him, the soft whines and cries that heād hear from you. He looks at the office door again.Ā
āYeah, baby,ā he mumbles, blinking slowly, trying not to groan over the line as he palms himself. āIāll take your virginity,ā he agrees, licking his lips.
You go quiet now and squeeze your thighs together, your eyes shutting at the thought; his strong body, all of those thick muscles on top of you, sweaty and warm, his longer, shaggy hair, those green eyes. God, youāve never wanted a man this bad, not in your life.
āPlease,ā is all you whisper over the line, and it hits him in the gut, and he presses down harder, the heel of his palm driving into the front of his jeans.
āIāll fuck you, sweetheart,ā Beau groans out, his hand lightly working now, focusing on soothing that ache. āYouāll like it too; moaninā and whininā, trustinā me,ā he tells you, and you almost whine.Ā
Your eyes stay shut as you slide your hand down your stomach, bypassing the waistband of your skirt and sliding down. If only he knew what yoy were up to.
āYou aināt even on birth control, or nothinā,ā he shakes his head, that risk and thrill making his own eyes close. āWould be such... a risk, sweetheart, Jesus Christ,ā he mumbles, shaking his head again.
āI donāt care,ā you whisper, sliding your hand down, gently cupping yourself through your cotton underwear. āBeauā¦ Beau, I donāt care,ā you whine into the line, and he already knows what youāre doing.
āYou touchinā yourself, aināt you?ā Beau suddenly asks, and all you can do is whine in responseāhis body goes still, and he groans, his own thick thighs squeezing together.Ā
He listens to your soft breaths as you rub the heel of your palm against your clit through your underwear, and heās doing the same action, just through his denim jeans. Itās the hottest thing ever, and you both barely know what youāre doing right now.Ā
āTouchinā yourself to my voice, aināt that the sweetest thing ever,ā he lightly teases, and you tip your head back, not moaning, just letting out a heavy breath. āThink about what I can really do to you.ā
You are; thatās all your mind can think about: his body against yours, his thrusts, his relentless hips, all of it wrapped up in the heat of a motel room on a weekend. Youāre getting off more than youād like to, and you rut in your hand, lightly grinding.
āBendinā you overā¦ holdinā that pretty hair, maybe makinā you look in the mirrorāheard the way you were talkinā about yourself, how you donāt think youāre pretty or nothinā. Iād show you how pretty you are,ā Beau rambles on, and you whimper, swallowing back hard.
You donāt know how itās possible, but youāre already closeāitās a feeling thatās so foreign; feeling good, because of your hand and Beauās voice. Youāre used to trying to think of him, trying to picture hands and fingers, and the way heād speak to you, and heās doing it right, over the fucking phone.Ā
āYouād look so fuckinā pretty; exhausted and sweatinā, that soft skin, glisteninā, your hair a messā¦ you aināt know how much I think about you, baby,ā he continues, feeling himself just getting close to you. āCan feel youā¦ hear you, sweetheart; that voice, those whines, Iād make you feel so good,ā he promises, and you feel dizzy.
Beau just hearing your soft whines and gasps over the line is enough to get him going, the thought of you in your uniform, squirming around, lightly begging him to keep going without asking. Heād do everything for you.
Itās his best friendās daughter heās speaking to with that sharp voice, all deep and drawn out, and the fact he knows youāre doing yourself too. Itās all too much for the both of you.
āTell me how youāre touchinā yourself,ā Beau lightly commands, his eyes closing, and he pants. āCāmon, darlinā,ā he encourages, his hips pathetically bucking into his palm.
āJustā¦ throughā¦ through my underwear,ā you whisper and nod, trying to hold the phone to your ear still. āWithā¦ with my palm, just my palm,ā you babble, and the thought makes him curse.
āTwo fingers, baby,ā he tells you, trying to picture it in his head. āSlide āem in that underwear, against your clit, sweetheartā¦ slow circles, baby, nothinā too quick,ā he directs, and you groan, nodding, head tipped back.
You do exactly what he says; your fingers slide beyond the waistband of your underwear, right into the front of them, placing the pads of your fingers against your bare clit, no friction or restraint from the fabric. You moan softly, moving in the slow circles, just like he asked.
āYeah? Feelinā good, aināt you? Movinā those little fingers against your body, good girl,ā Beau mumbles, listening to the soft sound of your breaths picking up, along with the moans. āAll wet, too? Bet you are, thinkinā about me stuffinā you with my cock.ā
āMhmā¦ mhm, reallyā¦ wet,ā you admit, nodding quickly, your back curling and arching off the bed. āPlease, Beau,ā you plead, and he knows what you want; you wanna hear his thoughts, what heās thinking, what he wants, what heād do to you.
āOh, darlinā,ā he groans, still palming himself through his jeans, his eyes closed. āJusā wish I was there to fuck you right nowā¦ against that bed of yours,ā he tells you, imagining how obscene it would be to do in a god damn dorm room.Ā
Your fingers are moving quickly, using his words to help strengthen your imagination, and youāre basking in it more than youād like to; itās all much for you, and youāre shifting your hips around, helplessly grinding into the tips of your fingers.
āIād cum in you too,ā Beau adds on, grunting when he realizes his words were syncing up with what was going on his jeans right now. āFill up that stomachā¦ stretchinā you out, forcinā it all in you, god,ā he moans, feeling himself spill into his boxers, right in the middle of his fucking office.
āPleaseā¦ please cum in me,ā is all you plead, right before you feel it. You finish, just as quickly as he does.
Itās in your underwear too, all over the soft fabric, and right into your skirt and glistening on your fingertips. Youāre both panting over the line, breaths in sync like youāre actually together, touching and talking to each other. You donāt speak; neither of you do. Itās just a silent acknowledgement of how both of you are just as pathetic for each other.
That silence hangs, both of you staring up at the ceiling in the empty rooms, wondering what the fuck happened.
Summary: You start to think too much during sex and start crying. Your boyfriend comforts you.
ā” warnings: NSFW, MDNI, 18+, smut, slow sex, gentle sex, crying during sex, pet names (sweetheart, baby, darling) lots of praise + reassurance, mentions of insecurities, age-gap, older!bf, no mentions of y/n, reader insert, user is 21+
wc: 1k | found this all the way back in my docs n remembered when I posted when I was writing it... only to realize it never saw the light of day </3 little drabble but I wrote it when I was sad LMAO. next few fics will be mean bf so i'm just trying to soothe the inevitable (+ a sfw fan fic for u guys too <3)
That raw ache was always there, in your chest, nestled behind your ribs, a vacant, dull feeling that managed to nudge its strong head out, even in the silliest situations.
The sun drools in through the sheer curtains, a warm glow on the man between your thighs, buried deep inside of you, his soft eyes finding you in the moment. Heās warm to the touch, muscles taught in his back, a large hand holding yours, pinning it beside your head, the other hand gripping the soft flesh of your hip.
He had rolled over that morning, needy as ever, a desperate man who gave in to his desires whenever they were thereāthose pleading eyes, filled with only devotion, and it showed in the slow, measured thrusts. Murmurs left his mouth: praises and whispers, reminders that had your heart soaring, though there it was āthat acheāthat stupid feeling.
āPretty baby,ā he whispers to you, a low sound amid heavy breaths and grunts. āLook at my girl,ā he adds, his head bowing, a gentle kiss finding its way between your eyebrowsāsuch an innocent gesture despite the relentless roll of hips.
You nod, biting your lip, eyes squeezing shut at the pleasure; a consistent thrum, that feeling of him pouring everything into you, sweat dripping down his forehead, trailing down his strained neck, and broad shoulders. But itās still there, that feeling.
Itās not your fault when the tears begin to pour down your flushed cheeks, warm streaks bleeding into the pillow beside your head, and he notices, lips parting at the look across your face; eyes closed but crying, and he slows his movements.Ā
āHeyā¦ hey, Iāve got you,ā he whispers to you, eyebrows knitting together in concern, sliding the hand from yours to cup your cheek. āWhatās wrong, baby? Talk to me,ā he mumbles, a calloused thumb collecting the gathering tears.
āSorryāsorry,ā you stutter out in the moment, and he immediately shakes his head, stilling the thrusts, and you whine at the lack of motion despite the look on your face.Ā
āSweetheart, whatās going on?ā he whispers, desperate eyes searching you, glancing down between your bodies. āYou okay? Did I hurt you, baby?ā he asks quietly, a comforting hand rubbing your hip, fingers lightly currently into the flesh.
āNot youā¦ not you,ā you mumble out, shaking your head when your eyes flicker open, and you see the concern on his face, his expression reading worried more than anything else.
āNot me?ā he asks, raising his eyebrows and blinking slowly. āDarling, tell me whatās happening,ā he whispers, using the hand closest to your face to brush away your sweaty hair and stray pieces.Ā
Itās much too hard to tell him how god-awful insecure you feel right now. Itās hard not to; heās everything, all wrapped into one being, caring and gentle, all rough-edged though soft when he touches you, the most patient man, willing to give and give, and all you do is take and take. It feels impossible to be in such a position, where someone like him is with you, pouring himself into you, and all you can do is lie there.Ā
It's unfair, and it shows in your glossy eyes and frown, even when heās on top of you.Ā
āLook at me,ā he tells you, sliding gentle fingers down the side of your face, before cupping your cheek. āIām right here, baby,ā he reassures, squeezing your hip.
Thatās the glaring issue: heās right here, with you, when he could be elsewhere, doing anything elseādoing women with something to offer; ones with longer hair, ones with shorter hair, ones with eyes that donāt look away nervously, or ones with proportions that triumph yours, and teeth they donāt hide when they smile, but heās here with you.
āMāsorry,ā you mumble again, not even apologizing for the tears, though for yourself.
āShhh, youāre okay,ā he whispers, leaning down again to kiss your lips before pulling back. āIām with you, see? Right here, sweetheart,ā he tells you again, nodding, letting his hips pick up just a bit more, and you whine in response.
Heās moving again, panting in the crook of your neck, his lips pressing gentle kisses against the soft skin. He kisses up and up, lightly to your jawline, and then to your cheeks. He collects the warm tears, your head still tipped back, and his eyes gaze at you.
āPrecious girl, youāre okay,ā he whispers again, his hand rubbing and massaging your hip. āTaking me so pretty, so good for me,ā he praises, his thumb focused on your hipbone.
You sniffle and moan, shaking your head, and he furrows his eyebrows again; he knows something is wrong, and itās not just the fact that heās agonizingly slow this morning; itās a deep-seated thought thatās making its way out of you.
āSweetheart,ā he whispers, kissing away the tears, his eyes blinking slowly, his hips still slowly rolling. āRight here, babyā¦ tell me,ā he coos, nodding.
āJustāā you groan out, whining as more tears fall out of your eyes, and heās kissing them away, nudging his nose against your face. āFeelā¦ I donāt know,ā you shake your head, your words fizzing into whines instead.
āThatāsā¦ thatās okay,ā he tells you, nodding. āWant me to stop, baby?ā He asks, still rubbing your body.
āNoā¦ no,ā you shake your head, moaning again when he hits that soft spot, and your head tips back. āJustā¦ please,ā you whine.
āIām hereā¦ā he whispers, nodding again.
He brushes his lips against yours and takes them in, kissing you slowly and gently. Youāre kissing back, each thrust heavy and meaningful, and he grips your hip, keeping you still against the soft sheets of the bed.
Your moans spill into his mouth, and your lips tangle around each other, swiping. He nods, tilting his head, smiling when he hears your whines growing louder, and louder.
āMy darling baby,ā he whispers when he pulls back, brushing nose to yours. āGot youā¦ always,ā he says.
Youāre trying to ignore that feeling, the one settled deep into your chest, almost feeling unworthy of sharing this moment with him; all soft and slow, his eyes raking over your body, taking you all in while you take him. Heās in awe of you, everything you are to him.Ā
āI love you,ā he whispers to you, your foreheads resting against each other, his hips settling, focusing on keeping himself buried. āLove all of you,ā he adds.
Hello, hello! Found out about your work a few days ago and I really love everything!
This is my second time doing an ask (ever) so I'm kind of shaking in my boots. I definitely made sure to read all ur rules first, though!
I was just wondering if you could do something about Sam finding out the reader has vitiligo? Like, she'd probably have it hidden under clothes or something? It's very self indulgent since I have it, so I'd really appreciate it. Feel free to do fluff or smut! Let your imagination do the work! Please and thank you.
okay.. seeing this is self-indulgent, i hope i have done justice for you!! enjoy my thoughts xo
right. sam winchester finding out reader has vitiligo. like, he and you are just taking it slow for nowā given what he does for a living, and that he might "disappear" any dayā so obviously it's easier to hide it from him. but one day, the simple, albeit heated, making out evolves into getting naked and.. well. you're hesitant, naturally, because you haven't been this intimate with anyone in a while. you're worried about what he'll say; what he'll do.
however. this is obviously sam we're talking aboutā deadass, i cannot think of anything else to describe him as other than empathetic. that's the first thing i've got. there's no way in hell that this man is going to say anything negative about you, or walk out, or do any of the things that your anxious brain tells you he will. he kisses you all over, all tender and loving and kind, asks you, "why would you think i wouldn't like you? we've all got things we're ashamed of, baby. but i don't careā you're still going to be perfect to me."
synopsis Ł ą£Ŗā Dean Winchester with a girlfriend thatās so gentle with him, he doesnāt know what to do with himself
contents Ł ą£Ŗā Dean Winchester x reader (f), non-explicit, softhearted!reader, yearner!dean, dean winchesters in love, dean getting the treatment he deserves, 1.5k word count
notes Ł ą£Ŗā Every time I see this man I have the strongest urge to take care of him, so I wrote a little about it
Dean doesnāt know what he did right in the his life to get a girl like you. Your gentle touches and sweet smiles werenāt meant for a guy like him. He was a broken, bruised, used, angry manā there was no world where heād ever deserve the privilege and responsibility of holding your heart in his rough hands.
Dean felt a smile pull at the corners of his mouth before heād even opened his eyes. The warm morning sun filtering through the ratty old sheers, lighting up the outdated motel room with a soft glow that almost makes it look cozy.
Your lips were soft and warm as they pressed gentle kisses onto his skin. He was barely conscious, and you were hardly awake yourself, your frame curled into his side, practically draped over him.
He can feel your soft hand at his jaw as you litter affection across his features. Kissing every freckle, every scar, every curve that made up his pretty face.
āWādya doin?ā His gravely morning voice murmured, a small sleepy smile on his lips, and his hand moving to settle on your waist, fingers flexing against your skin.
āGāmorning, handsomeā is all you reply with, your own features mirroring his smile, leaning in again to press a soft kiss to his lips, then another, and another. Not caring about morning breath one bit.
His smile softened, almost shyly, at the nickname and finally his eyes start to flutter open. Your hairās a mess and youāre wearing one of his old band shirts, the stretched out collar practically hanging off your shoulder, flashing that sweet smile that makes his heart skip a beat.
His smile widens and he chases your lips, softly pulling you closer and kissing you back, sleepily but so lovingly.
He sighs in contentment, his hand moving from your waist to pull you even closer, your body comfortably settling over his. A sound leaving your lips, a sound that signifies you feel safe and happy in his armsā his arms. He still canāt believe it.
It was moments like this that Dean never wanted to see end, because if he thinks about it too long heāll start to wonder why you choose to be here.
A frustrated sigh leaves Deanās lips, hands scrubbing over his face as he sits back. An array of research, books, papers and Samās laptop scattered in front of him. Heād been at this for hours.
The door to the motel room creaked open, the key jingling in your hand. Sam was following a lead while you and Dean stayed behind to research, much to his dismay. You headed out a little bit ago to grab some brain fuel from a cafe close by.
You walked in and set down the takeout bag, the one with thank you printed repeatedly on the thin plastic, and the coffees. Pushing one towards Dean before he could even say āhiāā a black coffee with a sugar packet, and some cinnamon for a little extra pizazz, an order youād memorized so easily.
Youād always thought he was just one of those gruff guys who drank black coffee and thought it was pansy to have anything else, until one day you stole a sip in a desperate need for caffeine, and you were shocked, but the cinnamon was all you.
A little smirk pulled at his lips, despite his brain being fried, at the sight of the pie and it widened when he took a sip of his coffee.
āYou remembered,ā he murmured, letting the warmth of the drink take over.
āOf courseā itās what you always get,ā you shrugged, ābut I did add the cinnamonā you said with one of your sweet smiles, walking closer, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pressing a kiss to his hair. He somehow already begins to soften at that alone.
āFigured a little pick me up was in orderā you muttered, hands drifting to massage his shoulders a little, pressing a kiss to his cheek, "yāworking too hard.ā
Dean's shoulders relaxed, his eyes closing for a moment, hand coming up to briefly squeeze yours. Humming a soft sound of agreement.
He played it off well but something as small as you knowing his coffee order and telling him to take a break, pulled at his chest. Just the fact youād cared enough about minuscule details enough to memorize them, for him, and taking time to take care of him did something to his insides.
Another day, another night coming back to a motel room after killing something awful. You, Sam, and Dean walk into the motel room, everyone banged up and exhausted. Sam practically beelines it to shower first, leaving you and Dean to finish peeling off your dirty bloody layers.
āSit,ā your gentle voice broke the silence, tone syrupy sweet even now, your arms reaching for the homemade first aid kit thatās saved all of you so many times.
āmāfine, sweetheartā Dean mumbled, waving you off, his tone dripping with fatigue. He winced just a little as he pulled off his jacketā definitely not helping his case.
āDeanāā you warned, meaning it even though the kindness in your voice hadnāt wavered. You sat the, now opened, kit on the bed, motioning for him to sit again.
He complied with a little sigh of defeat, he couldnāt resist those soft pleading eyes of yours even if he tried. You got a rag damp with the spare water bottle on the nightstand, walking back over to Dean, standing between his legs and tilting up his face. His hands automatically settling themselves on your hips, like it was an inevitable gravitational pull.
The damp rag glided across his jaw, cleaning the half-dried monster blood off his face while your other hand cradled his head, your thumb absentmindedly caressing, just a little, where it rested on his skin.
The concentration on your face was so unnecessarily adorable, Dean just couldnāt look away. The tiny crease in your brow, the focus in your eyes, it made something warm grow in his chest.
āThere he is,ā you half-whispered under your breath once youād finished, pressing a kiss to his cheek. His heart fluttered and a smile teased his lips at the endearment, hands flexing where they rested over your jeans.
He was quiet, suspiciously quiet, as you finished patching him upā he didnāt even make a slightly suggestive joke when you told him to take off his shirt, in order to get to his shoulder.
Unbeknownst to you, he was having a mini mental breakdown every time you touched him, every time you whispered a little āsorryā with a kiss when heād tensed or winced, every glance or smile you threw his way.
Nobody ever took care of him, he took care of him along with everyone else. But you take care of him like itās as easy as breathing, like itās somehow automatic. He couldnāt let you slip away. You were the soft to his hard, the gentle to his jagged, the warmth to his emptiness, heās never felt so affected by one person.
Heād thanked you when you were done, with the softest voice he could muster up. The smile it brought to your face made him want to speak like that forever.
āYou donāt gotta thank me, Dee.ā You replied with a kiss, ācanāt have my guy hurt and bleeding all over the place, now can we?ā
He just pulled you in again as a response, arms circling your waist, kissing you deeper than the little peck you gave him. You melted into it anyway, dropping the roll of bandage in your hands and your fingers moving to his hair.
When he pulled away you were a little breathless, cheeks dusted pink and there was a smile plastered on your face. Before you could say anything or remind him that Sam would be done showering any minute, he breaks the silence.
āI love youā
You freeze, genuinely pauseā still looking in his eyes, wondering if you heard him wrong or if Dean Winchester actually just said I love you.
Before you could ask for clarification he kissed you again, and of course you followed despite your state of shock. It was a shorter kiss but nonetheless heartfelt. You blinked when he pulled away again.
Yepā that was definitely an I love you.
It wasnāt a youāre sweet, or a thanks, angel, or even a love ya, like usual. It wasnāt casual, it was a real āI love youā and he said it with the softest expression youāve ever seen him wear. He didnāt stutter, didnāt hesitate, didnāt take it back, and wasn't drunk. He was stone cold sober.
You didnāt think youād ever hear him actually say itā sure, you knew he cares about you, he likes having you around, and he kisses you like itās his birthright, butā youāve always loved or cared about people more than they loved you. Not to mention, Dean's reputation didnāt really scream commitment.
āI mean itā¦ā he practically whispered, no doubt sensing your shock. You snapped out of it, a big shy smile growing bright on your lips despite how hard you tried to contain it.
āYeah?ā¦ā you murmured, your smile audible. You ran your hands through his short strands, suddenly a little nervous.
He just nodded, the most lovesick expression taking over his face, your stunned state wasnāt lost on him. It felt like a physical pain to his chest that him saying I love you was so unbelievable that it would render you speechless, but the thought was interrupted by a little squeal escaping from behind your lips and many excited kisses.
omg more sam, dean, and ben p!links please i need this ill do anything!!!!!
supernatural // the boys p!links (part two)
disclaimer :: you need to be logged into twitter to access these!! pls do ignore the captions on most posts, they're pretty nasty..
a/n :: lmk if any of the links stop working and ill do my best to find replacements! part one can be found here! i didnt find any more for dean or ben but ill make a part three when i do!!
š£²āSam W. Ė.āÖ¹
those big hands work wonders.
dean finally left to drink at some bar again, giving you two some time alone.
size kink with sammy.
big ol' sam.
š£²āDean W. Ė.āÖ¹
you'd teased dean all day, and he had to drive home alone after a long day of interrogating..
with all the porn dean watches, he wanted to see you in his lap with a cute little tail.
ą§ą okay so, clingy!dean, patching up trope, friends to lovers, morning sex...uh yeah i'm crazy and i hope you all like it. the sex moves fast toward the end sorrrry, i was too excited to finish so if it sucks i apologize. i have also been in a mind-fuck since my dog's death so this might not be my best work but i sure as fuck hope it hits since i got turned on while writing. count how many times i use ābabyā as a pet name ffs. love ya. requests open :)
rated r, 18+ smut, blood mentioned a lotĀ āā“ļøĖā 5k words āā“ļøĖā fem!reader (no y/n)
His knuckles were bathed in blood and tight around the wheel. He tore down an empty road as the moon sat high in the sky with you beside him, clenching your side while your head rested on his thigh. Every whine, every tiny cough, every shaky breath made his heart stop. Bad hunt. Very bad hunt.Ā
āIām sorry, baby,ā he choked out. āFuck.ā
āJustā¦get meā¦back.ā
āIām trying, sweetheart. Iām trying.āĀ
His name fell out of your mouth like a begāa tiny, fragile cry for him. His heart practically dropped to the floor of the Impala. He couldnāt stop picturing you dying in his lap. Guilt began building inside him. Why did he leave you alone? Why didnāt he protect you? Every possibility tore through him until only one remained, crueler than the rest.Ā
What if you die before he can tell you he loves you?Ā
By the time the glowing sign of the motel came into view, you were barely conscious. Before the engine had even died, he was already lifting you as gently and quickly as he could.Ā
The mattress softened beneath you as he laid you down, his hands cradling your bruised and bloodstained face. The look in his eyesāthat worry, that loveāwas enough to pull you back. He hesitated for only a second before rushing around the motel room, grabbing whatever he could. He yanked open the first-aid kit, gauze spilling onto the floor.
He crouched down and peeled your blood-soaked shirt up, exposing the wound on the side of your stomach. A tiny whimper left you when the cool air hit the wound. It was a deep slash that could barely be seen through all the blood.Ā
āSorry, sorry,ā he mumbled.Ā
You opened your eyes to look at him. He was damp. Sweat and blood caked in his hair and smeared on his face. His gaze was tender, but so much worry sat behind it. His hand moved to your wound, gently pressing a towel against it. You held back the scream your throat wanted to let out.Ā
āGet ready,ā he murmured, giving you a moment before pressing harder against your stomach. A broken cry left your lips, followed by a ragged breath.Ā
āIām sorry, baby,ā he panted, eyes darting to your face immediately. Slow blinks. Tiny breaths. āTalk to me,ā he pleaded through his teeth.
āIā¦likeā¦your shirt.āĀ
A broken laugh left him. āYeah?ā He leaned over you, looking at your frail face. āYou pick now to flirt with me?āĀ
āYeahā¦ā you sighed, eyes fluttering shut.Ā
āNo.āĀ
His voice cracked as his hand left your side to cup your face. āKeep talking, baby. Cāmon.ā You hummed, forcing your heavy eyes open and gathering the strength to speak.Ā
āI donātā¦ā You drew in a shaky breath. āI donāt have insurance.āĀ
Another broken laugh escaped him. āOn the house.āĀ
Your face twisted with pain, and every part of him was screaming to pull you into his arms and apologize until his throat gave out. But instead, his trembling hands returned to your wound, carefully pressing fresh gauze against itādoing everything he could to stop the blood and keep you alive.Ā
After the gauze was soaked in blood, he knelt to assess the wound, trying to see how deep it was. His breath caught. It was still deep, but not nearly as bad as heād imagined. He let out a slow breath before hurrying to the sink, grabbing water to clean the area. He was back at your side almost instantly, carefully washing away the blood until the wound came into view. His big hands worked slowly, as tenderly as they could, so he wouldnāt cause you more pain.
He tore through the med-kit again until he found the wound closures. The slash definitely needed stitches, but these would have to do. He peeled a few from the package before looking back up at you.Ā
āAlright, baby.ā He held one up between his fingers. āI gotta pull the cut together.āĀ
You nodded weakly as he pressed the adhesive strips into place.Ā
āThis is gonna hurt.ā His fingers settled on the first strip. āBreathe for me.ā
A choked cry tore from your throat, back arching off the mattress before you could stop it. His eyes pinched shut, and his jaw tightened, like he felt it too. āI know,ā he said immediately. āI know, baby.āĀ
He hesitated, fingers refusing to move to the next strip. When he looked at you, you were still trying to catch your breath.Ā
āDo it, Dean,ā you whispered.Ā
He nodded once and tightened the second strip. You sucked in a sharp breath, knuckles turning white against the sheet. Before either of you could overthink it, he pulled the last one closed. Once the wound was finally together, he carefully laid a thick gauze pad over it.Ā
āYouāre a cuteā¦doctor, doctor.āĀ
He ripped a piece of medical tape with his teeth, raising his eyebrows at you. āDoctor, huh?āĀ
You hummed, looking at him through heavy eyes. āYouāre bloody.āĀ
āYeah, wellā¦ā a small, broken smile tugged at his mouth. āYouāre one to talk.āĀ
You hummed again, letting your eyes drift over him one more time. For a moment, neither of you said anything. The motel room was quiet except for the sound of your breathing and the soft tear of medical tape between his fingers. You could feel his hand on your side, staying there long after the pad was secured.
āDean.ā
āYeah?āĀ
āAm I okay?ā
His eyes dropped to your stomach before slowly finding yours again. The hesitation was small, but you caught it. āI think so, sweetheart.āĀ
āOkay,ā you whispered, letting your eyes flutter shut again.Ā
His expression changed immediately. āNo.ā His hand tightened against your side. āFlirt with me more.āĀ
āMātired, Dā¦ā Your voice faded, barely more than a whisper.Ā
āI know, baby.ā Every part of him wanted to let you rest, but the other part needed your eyes open and looking at him. Looking at him like you always do. Steady. Quiet.Ā
āI know. Justā¦give me a little longer, okay?ā He leaned over you, hoping the sight of him would keep your eyes open. āTell me something stupid,ā he whispered. āAnything.āĀ
āYouāre really pretty.āĀ
For a second, he forgot how to breathe.Ā
āPretty?ā he repeated softly, like the word didnāt belong to him.Ā
You nodded, clearing your dry throat. āYeah.āĀ
You were exhausted. Frail. Bloody. And somehow, you were still smiling at him. You lifted your hand, fingers weakly reaching up to tussle his hair.
āWhat the fuck are you doing?ā he chuckled.Ā
āSaying goodnight,ā you mumbled, giving him one last smile before your eyes slipped shut. His entire face dropped. The panic came rushing back. He couldnāt do anything but watch as your breathing slowed, counting every rise and fall of your chest until he was sure you were still there. He waited a few minutes before carefully moving you into a more comfortable position on the bed and pulling a blanket over you.Ā
He tried to keep busy. He cleaned up the mess on the floor and threw away the bloodied suppliesāanything to keep his hands busy. Eventually, he grabbed a chair and placed it beside the bed. He sat there for a while in silence until he couldnāt keep himself grounded.
āBobby,ā he said, voice tight, eyes still on you. āShe got hurt. Bad hunt.ā He swallowed, staring at your sleeping face with his phone pressed to his ear. He was sitting there hunched over, elbows digging into his thighs. āI patched her up, butāā His voice caught, and he looked away for a second. āBobby, I hope I did enough.āĀ
His eyes dropped to the floor, foot tapping the carpet softly. āNo, sheās sleeping.ā He rushed the words out. āSheās sleeping. She was talking. She was joking with me. SheāāĀ
He stopped, letting out a breath.Ā
He listened for a minute, eyes fixed on you. Then his voice came out quieter. āI thought she was going to die beforeā¦ā He paused, swallowing hard. āBefore I could tell her.āĀ
āNo, I know.ā His jaw tightened. āBut I was scared, Bobby.āĀ
He looked down at his hands, still stained with layers of blood. āI thought I was gonna lose her.ā He went quiet, listening to Bobby on the other end for a couple of minutes. Then a small sound left you, and his head snapped up immediately. āHang on.āĀ
Then you shifted beneath the blanket, slowly turning onto your back.
āBobby, I gotta go.ā His eyes stayed locked on you. āThink she needs me.ā
For the next hour, he watched. He memorized your breathing patterns, he counted every time you twitched, and replayed the events of the night until they blurred together. He was tired, but heād never admit it. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed beside you. But he couldnāt fall asleep. He had to be here when you woke up.Ā
His head rested against the back of the chair, eyes fixed on the ceiling.Ā
Then he heard you.
āDean?āĀ
He moved so fast it almost hurt. He was on his knees beside the bed in seconds, right next to your face. āHey,ā he said softly. He watched you swallow, catching the dryness in your throat. Before you could even ask, he was already reaching for a glass of water.Ā
Your eyes drifted to the chair next to the bed. āHow long was I out?ā you choked out, watching him cross the room to you.Ā
āAbout an hour.āĀ
You nodded, slowly pushing yourself up onto your elbow.Ā
āCareful, sweetheart.āĀ
āItās okay,ā you said, your voice dry as you reached for the glass. You drained it in one long drink before gathering yourself to sit on the edge of the bed.Ā
His brows pinched together as he stepped toward you, ready to catch you if you fell. āWhat are you doing?āĀ
āI am showering. Feel icky.ā
āNo.āĀ
āNo?ā you repeated with a small smile, slowly easing yourself off the bed. Your face pinched with pain for a second before relaxing again.Ā
āIām coming in.āĀ
āIāll be okay, Dean.āĀ
āNot asking.āĀ
He walked behind you as you made your way to the bathroom, his hand hovering behind your back. The bathroom was cramped. You held onto the sink, looking at him through the mirror as he turned on the shower. The back of his shirt was stained with blood, not like the front, but enough to show tonightās events. He turned around, and you went right to him, pulling him into a hug. He held you gently, careful not to hurt you, but he couldnāt shake how tightly you were holding onto him.
āIām okay,ā you mumbled against him. All he could do was hum, not fully believing you after everything that happened. You started to pull back, but he didnāt let go right away. He couldnāt. He held you for just a little longer before finally forcing himself to release you. His eyes were heavy, and you kissed his cheek gently, letting it linger before moving away to undress yourself.Ā
He lowered the toilet lid and sat down, watching as you moved carefully. When you tried to bend down to take off your shoes, your wound pulled painfully, stopping you. He immediately patted his thigh, silently offering to do it for you. It was quiet aside from the sound of your shoes hitting the tile. Your fingers moved to the waistband of your bottoms, moving slowly so your wound didnāt get agitated. He watched, waiting for any sign you needed him.Ā
āGot a dollar?āĀ
āWhat?āĀ
āFor the striptease.āĀ
He sighed, trying to hide the smile he wanted to give you. Your fingers moved to your shirt, already half off. The stretching instantly caused you to wince, and he immediately stood to help. He threw it in the sink, and without asking, undid your bra and laid it on the counter. Your eyes met his in the mirror. He looked wrecked.Ā
His hands settled gently at your hips, hooking beneath the waistband of your underwear. He didnāt say anything, just pulled them down and let them fall to the floor.Ā
āGo shower,ā he mumbled.Ā
He moved back to the lid as you stepped inside the shower. The warmth cradled you as he sat there deep in thought. You tried to go about your normal shower routine, but the second a wince left you, he opened the curtain and stuck his head in.Ā
āYou okay?āĀ
āYes, pretty boy.āĀ
He nodded once, moving back to stare at the ceiling. His mind wandered right back to the huntāthe blood, your voice calling his name, and how he thought he lost you. His heart kept climbing into his throat every time he didnāt hear you move. You were only in there for a few minutes, but it felt like an hour.Ā
His head lifted to the curtain when you stepped out, dripping wet. The shower was still running behind you as you grabbed a towel, flipping your hair forward to twist the towel around it. He forced his eyes anywhere but your body, settling on the floor instead. You wrapped another towel around yourself before stepping closer. His breath caught when your hands cupped his face, lifting his gaze as you scanned the cuts on his face.Ā
āYouāre hurt, D.āĀ
āIām fine, sweetheart.ā
You gave him a look, sighing softly. āThe waterās hot.āĀ
āI donāt needāāĀ
āNo.ā You cut him off, and for once, he didnāt argue. He stood, stretching slightly before pulling his shirt over his head. Your eyes scanned his chest, then his stomach. There were a few small cuts, but nothing that worried youāhis face and hands needed the most attention. He bent down, undoing his shoes quickly before moving to his belt. His eyes lifted to yours as his fingers worked the buckle loose.Ā
You gave him one last look before stepping out of the bathroom. He watched you for a second before dropping his jeans and boxers. The steam filled the air as he stepped into the shower, and you went about your normal after-shower routine. You gathered a fresh shirt and boxers for him, placing them on the sink as he stood under the water. He still hadnāt let himself breathe; he was still tense even if his body was starting to calm from the warmth.
He took a fast shower, trying desperately to get back to you. You were sitting on the second bed, damp hair and the med kit next to you. For the first time tonight, you had a moment to actually process everything, but your mind just kept settling on Dean. All you wanted to do was hold him and make sure he was alright.Ā
He stepped out of the shower, and his eyes darted to the pile of fresh clothes on the sink. A tiny sigh left him; he didnāt know why it meant so much. He ran the towel through his hair as he walked into the room, looking for you immediately. He tossed the towel and sat next to you on the bed.Ā
The motel room was quiet except for the hum of the air conditioner and the faint sounds of people outside. You looked at him, taking in every piece of him that was still there. And he looked at you like he couldnāt believe you were still here. He never enjoyed the smell of your lotion more than he does right now. Your eyes dropped to his hands. His knuckles were swollen, scraped raw, and already bruising.Ā
āShould ice your hands.āĀ
āToo late,ā he sighed, looking down at them. āKept going after he was gone.ā He swallowed, jaw tightening. āDidnāt even realize Iād gone through him and was hitting the pavement.āĀ
Something about the way he said it made your chest tighten. Not because of what heād done. But because you knew why. You didnāt even remember that happening, even if you were lying on the ground next to it all. You brushed your thumb over his bruised knuckles. For a second, he looked like he wanted to lean into you, like he was trying to fight the urge to rest his head on your shoulder.Ā
āDonāt think my face is that bad,ā he muttered.
āLet me play doctor for a minute,ā you sighed. āYou got to.āĀ
A tiny smile came across his face, and you went to open the med kit. He only had a few cuts, nothing serious, but you still wanted to patch them up. You shifted closer, tending to the wound you could reach on his temple. But then you stretched a little farther, trying to tend to the other side of his face. Your brows pinched as you pulled on your wound a little, and he noticed.Ā
Of course he noticed.Ā
A small sigh left him, and before you could protest, his hands settled at your waist, softly, since he could feel the gauze pad underneath your shirt.Ā
āCāmere, baby,ā he mumbled, lifting you onto his lap like it was the most natural thing in the worldālike it didnāt make his heart race to feel your weight on his lap. His voice was deep with exhaustion, and it nearly made you crumble. You gazed down at him, caught somewhere between surprise and amusement. He looked back at you, tired and bruised. āCan you reach now?āĀ
You nodded, already moving to address the two cuts on that side of his face. He didnāt look away. He just watched you. Watched the concentration on your face, the careful way your fingers moved, and the way you treated every little injury like it mattered. When you finished, you gently pushed his damp hair back from his forehead so it wouldnāt ruin the bandage. And without thinking, he wrapped his arms around you. Not tight. Not the way he wanted to. He could feel where you were still hurt, and the last thing he wanted was to make you ache more.Ā
So he just held you, his head pressed against your chest. You dropped your cheek against his hair as your hand moved to the back of his head. He breathed you in, closing his eyes softly for the first time all night. He froze when he felt you lift your head, thinking you wanted to pull away. But instead, your lips pressed against his forehead. Once, over a bandage. And then, back to his forehead. A quiet hum left him, his arms tightening just slightly around you before he remembered and eased up.
āYou should sleep, D.āĀ
āDonāt want to,ā he mumbled against you.Ā
A soft smile sat on your face. āYes, you do.āĀ
āCanāt let you go,ā he whispered, and your hand slowed against his hair.Ā
āBaby,ā you said softly, and he hummed again. āCome lay with me. You donāt have to sleep, but just pleaseā¦lay down.āĀ
He lifted his head slowly, eyes finding yours immediately. One hand left your back and moved to cup your face, thumb brushing lightly along your cheek.
āCome on,ā you said softly, carefully moving off of him. You held your hand out even if the walk to lie down was practically non-existent, but he grabbed it anyway. He rolled into the bed so he was on the right side, knowing you couldnāt lie on yours. He settled against the pillow as you crawled in next to him, resting on him. The room went quiet, and very quickly his breathing started to change. Slower. Deeper. You looked up at him to find his eyes already closed. For the first time all night, he finally gave in and let himself be. You stretched ever so slightly toward the nightstand, flicking off the light before settling deeper next to him to sleep.Ā
Shortly after sunrise, you woke up on your back with him flopped over on you. He was snoring softly in your neck, lips vibrating gently against your skin. His weight was heavy and warm, and for a moment you sat in it. You didnāt want to wake him, so inch by inch you slithered out to the bathroom. But by the time your toothbrush was in your mouth, he was standing in the doorway. Hair messy. Eyes barely open.Ā
āYou okay?ā he asked through a yawn.
āYeah, D, go back to bed,ā you mumbled under the toothbrush.Ā
āNo.ā You tilted your head at him. There was something vulnerable about the way he stood there. āCome back,ā he said softly, almost like he couldnāt admit it.Ā
You rushed through brushing your teeth, and he waited the entire time, watching you with sleepy eyes. The second you finished, he took your hand and led you back to the bed. He rolled back into the sheets, still holding you as you settled beside him. Then, without fail, his arm wrapped around you again, and his face was tucked in your neck. Your hand moved slowly along his back, trying to ease him back to sleep. But he didnāt. He just shifted closer.Ā
His nose brushed along your jaw before his lips pressed softly against your skin. You tried to steady your breath, not because you didnāt want it, but because he was awake enough to know exactly what he was doing.Ā
His kisses grew slower, lingering as they moved over your face and along your neck. But then he found your sweet spot, kissing you long enough that a tiny moan left your lips. You felt him smile against your skin, kissing you there again. Then, his tongue slipped out, making you gasp.Ā
āDean.āĀ
āYeah, baby?ā he murmured, amusement in his voice. His hand came up to hold your face, and you melted into it, giving him more room. Another moan.Ā
Then he shifted, moving up to look at you. You both held each otherās tired gaze, but through it, he could see everythingāthe girl he thought he was going to lose, the girl heād loved for a while, and the girl he couldnāt imagine letting go of. He didnāt even have time to think before your hands grabbed his face and pulled him to your lips.Ā
The kiss was long and slow. Neither of you wanted to be the first to pull away. And for a moment, there was nothing but that kiss. That devilishly deep kiss that neither of you could take credit for because it was so evenly done. Everything about last night seemed to have made sense, like it was what you both needed to realize.Ā
You both rolled onto your sides, closer now, frantic now. His hand lifted your thigh onto him as yours tugged at his hair. Sunlight was beginning to fill the room, and when you felt how hard he was, a moan slipped into his mouth. He pulled you even closer so you could feel all of itāhe wanted you to feel it twitch in his boxers.Ā
His hand left your thigh and moved slowly against your underwear. He could feel your wetness growing as he ran his knuckle up and down, which gained a whimper from you. His lips moved into a smirk, breaking the kiss before you pulled him right back. You were hungry. And he loved that. He kept teasing you, running his knuckle up and down and pressing softly into you. He could feel you shifting your hips toward him, pleading for more of his touch.Ā
And because he loves you, because he loves every second of this, he pushed himself up on his elbow to pull down your underwear. His fingers curled around the band before he leaned down to give your hip a big wet kiss. He could feel you pulling up his sleeve so you could kiss his bicep, which made him smile against you. He let you kiss him until he couldnāt take it anymore, moving back fast. He looked at you with furrowed brows before kissing you again, fingers moving to your wetness to play with you.Ā
He was devouring your whimpers, playing with you so slowly that your hips wouldnāt ease off of him. But then he slipped two fingers inside you, making you gasp in his mouth.Ā
āFuck baby,ā he breathed, feeling you soak his fingers. āYouāre soaked.āĀ
You whined at his words, and he started moving slowly inside youālike it would be a disservice to not learn what you feel like inside. Your mouth was parted against his jawline, moans pouring out as he kept going. He watched your face, how you were crumbling beneath his fingers. He started picking up the pace, and you got louder.Ā
āYeah,ā he grinned, and you hated him for that.Ā
āDean.āĀ
āWhat sweetheart?ā he mumbled.
āDonāt stop,ā you choked out. āPlease.āĀ
He thought about making you beg. God, he wanted to hear that, but at the same time, he wanted to give you everything and more. He went faster, deeper. But then your hand trailed down his stomach and slipped into his boxers. He let out a low groan when he felt you grab his cock, the one that had been throbbing painfully. Heād never been this wrecked from whimpers, whines, and moans before.Ā
You held him for a second before coming out and tugging at his boxers to let his cock out. His eyes stayed on you as you spat in the palm of your hand. His fingers weakened inside of you when you started twisting and pumping his head. He threw his head back against the pillow at the feeling, moaning your name through a broken breath. Spit was pooling at the base as you moved your hand up and down. He was moaning deeply, and almost forgot to breathe once your lips met his neck. He let this go on for a few minutes before he rolled you over because he couldnāt bear not being inside you anymore.Ā
āNeed to fuck you so bad,ā he mumbled, leaning down to kiss you one more time. He looked down at your stomach, hoping this wouldnāt hurt you. You caught it instantly, fingertips running up and down his forearms.Ā
āI donāt care, D.ā The tiniest bit of concern spilled onto his face. āI need your cock.ā You paused, shifting so you were flat against the mattress. āNeed you to fuck me. Please, baby, please.āĀ
āFuck,ā he muttered, throbbing at your pleas and the pout that sat on your face. āJust tell me.āĀ
āI know.āĀ
The sun had fully taken over the room as he held his thick cock in front of your dripping pussy. He shifted toward you, dragging his head up and down your opening. His eyes were down, watching it the entire time, like he was waiting for the right second to push into you. You kept your focus on the sensation of him sliding up and down, the ache in your pussy deepening with every slow pass until he had you withering beneath him.Ā
āYou want it, baby?ā he smiled, sliding even slower.Ā
āWant it so bad, Dean.ā Your voice was quiet, breathy, almost. āStop teasing and fuck me.ā You pouted, reaching out to touch his stomach.Ā
A hum left his throat, and he pushed slightly inside you. āYouāre so cuteā¦need my cock that much, huh?ā Before you could even reply, he slipped inside you, getting a loud moan from you. The feeling of you wrapped around him in all your dripping glory completely ruined his original idea of fucking you slowly. He didnāt want to waste any time. He wanted to fuck. He wanted to give you every inch of him and hear every sound that fell off your tongue.Ā
And he got it.Ā
Messy moans and cries filled the air as he drove his cock in and out. His own moans began mixing with yours, low, rugged, and sexy. And he was caught on the way your pussy sounded, how sopping wet you were with him buried deep inside you.Ā
āAh, fuck, sweetheart,ā he said through a pant, grabbing your thighs and pounding even more.Ā
āIām yours,ā you moaned, the words strong in your throat. āYou know Iām yours.āĀ
He slowed down almost to a stop and looked at you, his cock twitching softly inside. The words hung in the air, and he swallowed them down, letting them settle deep in his chest.Ā
āBaby, Iām yours,ā you repeated, wrapping your fingers around his forearm.Ā
He leaned down, grabbed your face in his hands, and met your mouth. His hips picked back up, but this time, there was a different rhythm to it. A slower, more deliberate pace. Your foreheads were pressed together, eyes fully stuck on each other.Ā
āMine. Fuckāā He breathed against your mouth. āYouāre mine.ā
āNot going anywhere, Dean,ā you choked out, moans melting with your words.Ā
āFuck,ā he groaned, pulling you even closer like he could press your words into his chest.Ā
His pace stayed slow and deliberate, but he was deep. So deep you knew youād feel him for days after. He couldnāt focus on anything but your sounds and your growing wetness around him. The sounds of your wetness and moans were sending him to the edge. He moved his fingers down to your sweet spot, rubbing softly because he couldnāt bear the idea of you not having an orgasmāhe was determined for you to come on his cock.Ā
And a few more thrusts and rubs, he got you close. He didnāt want to ruin it for you. God, heād hate himself if he did. You could tell he was near, so you lowered your sounds until your orgasm hit. He kept his pace with both his fingers and his cock, not letting you miss any ounce of pleasure. Your moans filled the motel room, his name slipping through your cries.Ā
He knew he was done after that.
āCome for me, baby,ā you whined, wrapping your arms around him so he stayed close. He let out a low groan and kept pounding, feeling every bit of warmth and plushness you had to offer him. āDean, gimme it.āĀ
āFuck, sweetheart,ā he moaned loudly, your words opening a floodgate of pleasure.Ā
Another deep moan left him when you squeezed around him, adding a little extra pleasure for him when he hit the peak. His sounds were heavenly, rumbling through you like they were meant to live inside of you. He took longer to come down than normal, his orgasm hitting harder than it had in a whileālike he was saving it just for you.Ā
He rolled off next to you, not wanting to squish your wound that came out of this unscathed. Pants filled the morning air, the smell of sex mixing with the scent of coffee outside. Without hesitation, he pulled you close, looking at you for a moment before kissing you slowly.Ā
After a couple of minutes, he mumbled against you.Ā
āBreakfast, baby?āĀ
ą§ą feedback and requests are welcome here! or in the replies lol
headcannons Ł ą£Ŗā non-explicit, Dean Winchester x reader (f), Dean in love, major fluff, Ig Iām just pumping out hcs today
Ł ą£Ŗā Dean would wash your hair while murmuring about all the unnecessary girly products you use, yet his heartbeat would stutter in his chest at the smell, because it reminds him of you, and heād smile while watching you melt under his hands that are threaded in your hair.
Ł ą£Ŗā he would act all cocky, constantly cracking suggestive jokes and looks, until your soapy hands glide all over him, massaging the knots in his neck and getting all the dirt and grime from the hunt off his skinā yeah heās a goner. The man melts like butter in a hot pan.
Ł ą£Ŗā dramatic soft shower kisses are mandatory, whether itās you stealing a kiss from him while his eyes are closed or he pulls you in while āinnocentlyā washing your body. Neither of you caring about the suds dripping into your eyes.
Ł ą£Ŗā a long domestic hug under the spray after youāre all clean, just his big arms wrapped around you, engulfed in the shower steam and weak water pressure, warm bare bodies pressed together just right that it feels like youāre one. Heād press an absentminded kiss to your wet hair and sigh as he let the post-hunt exhaustion comfortably fall over him.
Ł ą£Ŗā heād get out and towel himself off first just so he can wrap you up in a fresh towel, with such concentration itās almost comical, right when you get out so youāre not too cold.
Ł ą£Ŗā Dean would also totally help brush and blow dry your hairā and for my fellow curly girls, heād put in all your products (heās practically a pro after watching you do it so many times), running his hands through your hair so reverently, scrunching with his big hands, and heād even diffuse it for you because he knows you canāt fall asleep with wet hair, and that youāre tired after the hunt (so is he but he doesnāt care)
š«ating Dean Winchester Headcannons āā¹āā“
ā” pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader
ā” tags/warnings: smutā¦ and some fluff !! dean is pathetic (but whatās new..) touch-starved dean
ā” an: this is the first smut that Iāve ever written, and I wrote this in a midnight haze a few months ago so please excuse any errorsā¦
ā” ā¤· Dean Winchesterā¦ who is the biggest boobs guy. During intimacy, the first piece of clothing that heād remove would be your shirt. Heād try to pace himself, migrate his open-mouthed kisses to your jaw and neck, but he would soon end up back at your breasts. Heād kiss, and suck, and tease them until he was satisfied with the small marks that heād left, and only then would he finally remove your bra. He would keep them in his hands the whole time, and then afterwards he would rest his head on your chest.
ā” Dean Winchesterā¦ who adores seeing you in his clothes. When your hair is messy and youāve got nothing on but a baggy band shirt of his, or when he buys you something and he sees you wearing it, he gets flustered and smiley.
ā” Dean Winchesterā¦ who has a thing for performing āfavoursā for each other in the impala.
ā” Dean Winchesterā¦ who was so touch starved when you began dating him that it was bordering on pathetic. When youād do so much as kiss him or brush your fingers through his hair, his brain would melt to mush and his jeans would grow uncomfortably snug.
ā” Dean Winchesterā¦ who is SO loud during intimacy. Heās shameless about groaning, so much so that youāve even considered him being proud of it; empowered by it. But when he whines, he gets sooo embarrassed. He tries to deepen his voice afterwards, and his checks get flushed. You ignore it once or twice but when it happens again you assure him that itās okay, and even open the possibility that you like it. That sends him off the edge.
ā” Dean Winchesterā¦ who is a certified munch!!! Heād wake you up with soft kisses along your neckline, trailing down the valley between your breasts, illuminated by the morning sun that soaked its way through your curtains. His faint stubble would tickle your sensitive skin, sure to wake you up. Once you were he would migrate his kisses to your stomach. Heād stall until you finally gave him the routine āokayā by running your hands through his hair and urging him to remove whatever clothing survived the night. Heād start slowly; changing paces, tensing and flexing his tongue, moving down to lick a long strip and then going back up to suck and tease until you were silently begging. Heād drag your pleasure out for as long as he could, youād tug on his hair as he worked you closer to the edge and he would groan into you, making you moan in return.
ā” Dean Winchesterā¦ who loves being on top, but would melt if you took control.
ā” Dean Winchesterā¦ who loves teasing you during intimacy. Heād make sarcastic remarks, not to make you feel bad, but to hear you groaning his name in the stern warning-like tone you always used. Heād do it to feel your own body betray itself as your pleasure slowly spread throughout your body.
dean winchester should hate shopping. it's everything he's not: materialistic, frilly, soft, pink. and he did hate it. at least, that's what he'd been telling himself for the past fifteen minutes as he stood outside your changing room, three shopping bags clutched in each hand like they were loaded shotguns.
he'd been standing idly for what felt like hours, trained like a lost toddler to stay put after you caught him eyeing the blonde sales manager with a mole on the left side of her chin. dean either met onlooking stares of sympathy with embarrassment or avoided it whatsoever.
"don't move a muscle," you warned, nails hooking onto his collar and spinning him around with the swiftness of a feline predator catching a bird. deanās gaze locked onto yours with an unwavering softness that felt almost uncharacteristic.
"yes ma'am."
time had faded since then, the wait suspending him somewhere between boredom and sheer willpower. dean forced himself to listen to the retail music, a bubblegum pop tune he tried convincing himself would've sounded like lynyrd skynyrd if he was really, really high and desperate.
he looked around the general vicinity, eyes scanning over neat rows of colored silk and giant, glowing pictures of underwear models. he focused on one particular model who looked as bored as he felt, except her boredom was a pose, and his was just real.
you finally came out just as dean's patience ran thin and his stomach started begging for toxic grease sludge. dean immediately perked up, his hunger for food mixing with something deeper and more raw. pink satin clung to your glowing body like second skin, and in this lighting you looked more angel than human.
he eyed you up and down, the corners of his lips lifting into a familiar smirk, though his usual charm had taken on a more domestic quality these days, even if that's never the word he'd use outright.
"well?" you tried spinning but fumbled slightly on your heels. dean's hands came to steady your waist in an instant.
he whistled lowly, hands moving down as his thumbs rubbed circles into your hips. "well, hello there. do i get to take you home like this?"
you laughed and pulled his wandering hands back to your waist. "pay first and we'll see."
dean immediately pulled back, hands caught between balancing the bags and clawing through his pockets for his wallet.
he'd never moved this fast for anything that wasn't a gun.
ā¤a/n: I was writing smut for a different fic but thennnn we veered over here... no more writer's block!! thank yew smut! also my first Posted dean fic Iām realizing
āDean?ā You question, knocking once before pushing his door open. He glances up from his bed, cell phone pressed to his ear as he listens to someone on the other end.
His mouth drops open when he notices that all youāre wearing is one of his shirts; long, bare legs on full display and a look on your face that makes his cock twitch.
āYeah.. Iām gonna have to call you backā¦ā He doesnāt take his eyes off you, or wait for the other person to answer, before heās snapping the phone shut and dropping it onto his nightstand.
āShitā¦ā He mutters, sitting up straighter against the wall.
You step into his room fully, shutting, and locking, the door behind you.
āWhen did you get back?ā He asks as you pad across the room. āAbout an hour ago.ā You say simply, climbing over his legs to straddle him. His eyes follow every movement you make, anticipation rising in his chest. Your hair is still wet from your shower, skin soft from the lotion youād slathered on just before coming to see him. He runs his hands up your legs, stopping at your hips as he fingers the hem of the familiar fabric.
You lean down to kiss him softly, teasing. āI missed you.ā You pull away enough to see his face tilted up towards you. Heās never looked prettier than when heās under you, looking up at you through long eyelashes like youāve hung the stars. You could ask him to do anything, and heād do it. Happily.
He smiles, āI missed you too.ā Then he catches your lips in another kiss that lasts longer than the one before.
He grunts into your mouth when you grind down against his jeans, hands slipping fully under his shirt, to grip your bare sides in a hurried attempt at getting you closer to him.
āFuck- no underwear?ā He groans.
You giggle, pulling away to undo each of the buttons on his shirt still hiding him from you. āDonāt laugh at me.ā He pouts, letting you pull his arms out of his sleeves. āIāve been deprived of this for an entire week.ā When you move to take his shirt off of your body, his hands stop you. āNo.ā He breaths out, āLeave it on.ā
āSo needyā¦ā You pout back, leaving his shirt in its place to run your hands over his chest as you press another kiss to his lips. Your hands undo his belt buckle, and you manage to get his jeans unzipped before youāre looking at him expectantly for help.
āLooks like Iām not the only needy one.ā He grins, but lifts his hips to slip off his pants, anyway. You rest your arms over his shoulders to keep him sitting up and away from the wall, and sit back down on his lap, leaving a wet spot on the only fabric left separating you from him. āYouāre soaking, sweetheart.ā
Your retort gets caught in your throat as he runs a finger through your slick folds, a breathy laugh escaping your lips instead. You watch as he lifts his finger to his mouth to taste you, still trying to find your words.
Finally, with a deep inhale you manage to echo his sentiment back to him. āA week is a long time.ā and then youāre pulling his mouth to yours in an increasingly desperate kiss.
His hands are on your hips again, letting you rub against him until he can barely stand it, and heās gripping you in place. āIām gonna cum before Iām even inside you if you keep this up.ā His voice is deep, and hoarse in a way that settles itself into your core.
āShit, De.ā You lift yourself up long enough for him to pull off his underwear, reaching down to line him up with your entrance.
The stretch as you sink down has you struggling to keep quiet. āItās okay, baby. You can be as loud as you want.ā He coos into your ear.
His hands wander as you start to move up and down, cupping your tits from under his shirt in a way that makes the whole thing feel even more scandalous. Youāre suddenly aware of the cool metal from his rings brushing against your skin, peaking your nipples, and itās driving you insane.
One of your hands is scratching red lines into his back, the other is tangled in his hair. Both are keeping his chest pressed against yours as you moan into his mouth.
āThatās it.ā He praises, gripping your ass to help you keep riding him as he starts to thrust in tandem with your movements. Him bottoming out only makes you louder. āLook at that pretty cunt riding me so well.ā
āGod, Dean, I missed your mouth.ā You whine, kissing him between words, unable to get enough, but also not wanting him to stop saying filthy words.
āYeah? What else?ā
You canāt help but smile at his faux attitude - youād missed that too. But you loved praising him as much as you loved taking it.
You cup his chin with one hand, leaving the other splayed across his back, as you bring your mouth to his ear.
āI missed your hands on my body, and I missed these eyes looking at me.ā You trace a finger down the side of his face, āBut I especially missed your cock fucking me.ā
āJesus Christ.ā He groans as he fucks you through his high, until your legs are shaking and you can barely keep your hands steady on his shoulders.
But heās not satisfied.
He maneuvers you, a heavily breathing mess, onto your back. Itās only now that he lifts his shirt over your head, tossing it onto the floor.
āMy turn to take care of you.ā He whispers against your skin, kissing across your collarbone as his hand drifts down to your clit.
He rubs lazy circles with his thumb, before pushing two fingers into your pussy. Your hips buck up to meet his hand, and his mouth finds the curve of your tit, sucking hard in a way that will surely leave a mark. āOh godā¦ā You whimper, closing your eyes to get lost in his touch.
In any other situation, he wouldāve quipped back something like, āNot quite!ā, with a shit eating grin on his face, earning himself an eye roll from you, but in this sacred moment, he wouldnāt dare do anything that would take you out of it.
His fingers pick up their pace, and your nails find his back again. āIām close-ā Your back arches off the bed as Dean shifts so he can watch your face. āI know, honey. Can feel it. Come for me, baby.ā He presses harder circles over your clit, fingers curling until they find the spot on your walls that has you seeing stars and coming hard again.
āRight there, huh?ā He doesnāt stop until youāve come down, a blissed-out beauty lying on his bed. He presses one more kiss to your lips, matching the smile on your face from where heās propped himself up on his elbow.
āI should wear that shirt more often.ā You smirk, earning a laugh from Dean. āIād fuck you in anything.ā He says, a wicked grin on his face, āBut the shirt was a nice touch.ā
Itās your turn to laugh as he lays down next to you, pulling you into his arms. You wrap one arm around his back, and feel the raised skin marking where your nails had been.
āSorry about your back.ā You sheepishly mumble against his chest, and he snorts. āAre you kidding? I loved it.ā
You hum in acknowledgment. āGood to know.ā
A few minutes of silence passes in his arms, and then, āIām glad youāre home safe.ā He says softly, pressing a kiss to your head.
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