𝓖.𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 🌷♡ ͏͏ has you sucking his dick while he drives you home. the problem? you're his son's best friend.
♡. 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓽𝓱𝓻𝓸𝓫. older!satoru :: age gap (40s/20s) :: smut :: roadhead :: m.oral :: fingering :: dirty talk :: reader is megumi's best friend
"Fuck, your dad's gonna kill me."
All you had was that new car smell and the scent of Satoru's cum clogging up your nose.
Rough, long fingers gripped at your hair. Blunt nails digging at your scalp. Forcing you down harder. Deeper. Till you gagged and spluttered all over his dark pants.
Swallowing your best friend's dad's cock down your throat was exactly how you wanted this night to end.
Satoru's white-knuckling the steering. You could picture his jaw set tight. Grinding moans between his teeth as those woman-killer blues of his locked to the windscreen even with his fogged, rimless glasses.
Streetlights flashed by. Pouring over the lewd scene in the front seat. Of you, on your knees and leaned over the centre console, his thick cock straining your lips. Your cherry gloss mixing with foamy precum as bob your head back to his base.
His hips twitched. Breath hitched. As the car slowed to a red light, his head finally fell back.
"Sweet lil' brat," he heaved. Sounding like his lungs were fighting god as he gripped at the back of your neck. "This your plan all along? Study session with my son so you could get me here?"
"Mhhhm."
You hummed, honeyed as you withdrew with a filthy pop. Tongue laving over his underside. Swirling on his throbbing, blushing tip.
"Of course not, Mr Gojo." You croaked, delicate hand squeezing his cock, thumbing on a vein. You pressed the hardness into the side of your face. Batting your doeish lashes up at him.
"I'm a good girl. I promise."
A curse hissed from his heaving chest. Stare heavy as it scowled down at you. A dark grin cracked onto his lips.
"Yeah? Good girl sucking old man dick? Knowing damn well my son's got a crush on her?" His hard shove forced your head back down his cock. Stretching your aching glands around his thick inches.
His hot tip smacked the back of your throat. Smearing his sickeningly sweet pre all over. Earning a saliva-filled whine from your dazed self. Your eyes fluttering back with little hearts as you slaved your mind and mouth to the sick course of sucking on a man who was twice your age. Old enough to be your father. Hell, your best friend's dad.
Gurgled babbles and filthy gawks filled the dim, humid space. Your knees rubbing raw on the leather seat as you let him fuck your throat. Taking you all the way till your chin grazed his balls and tears spilled from your eyes.
"Now that's a good girl. Fuuckk. Pretty lil' thing like you really knows how to suck a dick huh?"
His rough groan vibrated deep in your tummy. Your shaky thighs rubbed together to ease the hot slickness blooming between them.
"What's this?" Satoru breathed, cutting you a small glance as the car took off again.
The hand on your hair slipped down your back. His arm long enough to easily reach over your ass and tuck between your thighs. A sly middle and index nestled against soaked cotton. Stroking over your swollen flesh.
"Getting your panties all sticky just from sucking me off? Oh poor baby," his tut was drawled, pouted as he massaged your quivering cunt. Rubbing on the wet spot and grinding his callouses right beneath your clit.
You choked around him. Eyes fluttering back as you tried to press yourself into him. Whimpering around his pulsing cock as your head stuttered in its movements.
His hips bucked a bit. Stuffing you full again until you spluttered.
"Uh uh sweet thing, c'mon." He cooed. "Keep that throat niicceee and full. You're a good girl, remember?"
You barely managed a nod. Taking him back down till he bulged your bobbing throat again. All while he played with your needy cunt and kept his eyes on the road.
Never slipping in, never stuffing you full from both sides, Satoru merely kept you in the desperate position. Bent over his centre console, in his car, with his cum threatening to spill down your throat any second.
"Three minutes, sweetheart. Better— fuck. Hurry if you wanna take something home with ya." He strained, pinching your clit through your soaked panties.
You whined. Hollowing your cheeks. Squeezing your throat. Your head pumped in a shot of vigour. Eager to taste his cum before you trotted back into your house and smiled at your parents. Lied through your teeth about how productive your study session was when you wouldn't remember anything other than the smell of your best friend's dad and the taste of his cum.
Spit and pre mixed. Stringing a filthy web between your lips and his crotch. Snapping and splashing as you worked him. Jerking back to focus on his tip. Sucked on a vein. Then greedily took him back all the way. Till your throat would miss the shape of him when this was all over.
The car slowed as Satoru got close. Both to your home and his orgasm. Words melting into a stream of deep groans and gruff grunts.
His hips slammed! up as he turned the corner. Grinding nastily into your mouth. Twitching and throbbing like mad as that thick, underside vein of his pulsed hard at the back of your tongue.
"Better fuckin— take every, hah, every drop like the good girl ya keep telling me you are." Words broken, rough. You swore his eyes must've been rolling back.
As the car pulled up, his hand slammed down. Shoving your head all the way. Till your eyes rolled into your skull and your mind flatlined.
"Fuck, oh fuck babbyyy."
Hot, thick spurts frothed up your throat. Creaming you so full that it bubbled back up into your mouth. Spilling around your glossy lips. Trickling down your chin.
You didn't care for the mess. Too lost in your newest addiction: old cock and cum.
Satoru's breaths heaved. Wheezed and burning as he slumped back into the seat. Glossy eyes looped to the car roof as his glasses slipped down his nose.
"Fucking. . . gonna give me a stroke." He groaned, grinding his hips a few more times into your greedy mouth.
You hummed in response. Dazed. If it were up to you, you would have stayed there. Nursing on his cock and lapping his cum.
No such luck. Satoru lifted you off of him soon enough. Cupping your face and swiping a thumb on your lower lip.
"Can't keep doing this, y'know." He breathed. But his eyes told you that's hardly what he wanted.
Nudging your face into his palm, you pouted. "You can't ignore me now. I sucked your dick in a car. We're practically engaged."
He sighed, deep and fond before he pressed a kiss between your brows. Achingly affectionate.
it was at night when u got home one time and was met with the sight of him just.. in ur room… organising ur clothes drawer.
you basically jumped at the sight: "What the fuck— dex! are you trying to give me a heart attack?" u huffed, hand on ur heart and clearly still recovering from the scare of a massive man (who was still suited as bullseye) in ur room at 11pm. he just looks at u with the expression of an unimpressed cat as if he’d done nothing wrong!
"your room is messy." he says. vaguely gesturing to the pile of clothes in a basket placed in the corner.
another time, you could be watching a movie, haven’t checked ur phone in a bit when u hear the sound of a window sliding open from ur bedroom. dex walking out with a bit of a concerned expression before relaxing at the sight of you, "you weren’t responding to my texts." standing by the TV as he squinted at you skeptically… as if he wasn’t literally standing next to the reason why.
"..i’m watching a movie, babe. i didn’t see the messages," sighing softly as you patted the couch, dex immediately moving to plop down next to you like an overgrown puppy.
another time, you were sleeping— trying to sleep. tossing and turning with grumbles and complaints and as if the universe was finally on ur side you heard ur bedroom door being opened gently, "mhmmn.. dex..?" u mumbled, rubbing ur eyes and rolling onto ur back. dex grunting softly in response as u heard him kick his boots off, settling beside you on the bed as he shifted you onto a more comfy position.
"baby… you can’t just keep breaking into my home."
"…yes i can." he grumbled, before he kissed ur neck gently and snuggling you tightly.
warning: MDNI 18+!!, (?semi-) public sex, breeding, rough sex?, chasing, choking, unprotected sex, stalking, face holding, dacryphilia, daddy kink
A/N: listening to dollhouse while writing this btw 🎀
The idea had started as a joke. One careless comment while the two of you walked through the forest trails, hands intertwined.
“You know,” you start. “if you ever decided to become a serial killer, you’d be terrifying one.”
Dex glanced at you from the corner of his eye.
“Why?”
“Because you’re weirdly good at sneaking up on people. But I think I would be able to run away from you.”
“Really? Want me to prove otherwise?” His expression didn’t change. The challenge in his voice sent a shiver down your spine. You laughed anyway.
“Sure.” You say laughing but you obviously don’t mean it seriously. But apparently it was serious enough for Dex.
That was your first mistake. Dex stopped walking next to you, leaving your hand. You took another few steps before realizing he wasn’t beside you anymore.
Turning around, you found the trail empty. Dex no longer to be found, no movement no nothing.
A knot formed in your stomach.
“Dex?” You call out for him but he doesn’t answer. The forest suddenly felt much larger than it had a minute ago.
“Ha Ha. Very funny.” You rolled your eyes but still nothing.
Then, somewhere off to your right, a branch snapped. You spin toward the sound but there was no one. The undergrowth swayed slightly before becoming still again. Your pulse now kicking up.
“Dex? Come on, stop. You proved your point.”
A shadow moved between two trees ahead. Gone before you could focus on it. You started walking a little faster. Every instinct told you he was nearby. He is somewhere watching you and waiting.
You can’t see him, but somehow that made it worse. Because Dex isn’t the kind of person who rushed things. He observes, calculates and then makes a move. He probably enjoys how lost and slightly scared you look.
The forest seems full of him. Every rustle of leaves made your head turn. Every shifting shadow looked like a figure standing just out of sight.
Then you caught a glimpse of him, far off to your left. Motionless between the trees. His dark jacket blends into the shadows but his eyes are fixed on you. He is watching you.
The moment you looked directly at him, he stepped behind a tree and vanished.
“Hell no.” You immediately broke into a run. Panic escapes and you could swear you felt your adrenal glands release adrenaline into your bloodstream, triggering the fight-or-flight response.
The trail started to blur beneath your feet as you sprinted through the woods. For several seconds there was nothing behind you.
No footsteps. No sound. Nothing.
And maybe this should scare you because Dex is still not chasing you. He is letting you think you have a chance to escape him. He wants you to think that you can actually out-smart him.
But then you hear it, the unmistakable sound of someone moving fast through the tree.
You risk a glance over your shoulder and this was a big mistake. Because now you see him. And he doesn’t look like he’s struggling to keep up with you. Just gaining on you with terrifying ease. His focus only on you. The sight alone makes your heart beat even faster than before and you’re suddenly able to run faster than before.
Every obstacle, every root and fallen branch, seems invisible to him. He moves like he’d already predicted exactly where you were going.
“Dex!” The grin on his face is an answer enough.
You push yourself harder. The distance between you barely changed. Instead, the distance started shrinking.
You feel his presence before he touched you. In a rush of a moment, you feel his strong arms warp around your waist. You let out a yelp as he tackles you both into a patch of leaves. The impact knocks the breath from your lungs.
Before you could recover, Dex had already pinned you beneath him. His breathing steady despite the chase. You, on the other hand, were taking deep breaths.
“You really think you could run from me?” The corner of his mouth twitches upward.
You stared up at him, still trying to catch your breath. “You’re insane.”
“You ran.” A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Because you were stalking me through the woods like a psychopath.”
“I wasn’t stalking you baby. I was just observing you.” Dex replies while holding deep eye contact with you and you see how his eyes are filled with lust. His eyes undressing you and his mind creating unholy scenarios about you. His gaze flicked around the forest as if he was only just noticing.
Leaves clung to both of you. Your hair was a mess. There was probably dirt on your face and somehow he still looked completely focused on you. As if nothing else existed.
The energy from the chase had faded into something more intimate. Something that made your pulse race for entirely different reasons.
His gaze dropped to your lips and you’re trying so hard to stay focused. You’re trying do hard to push the naughty thoughts away because you’re still in the forest. Anyone could walk by and see you. But, fuck, you also need him so bad right now, you can’t wait until you’re back home.
“Dex.” you whispered. He didn’t answer.
Instead, he leans closer. Slow enough that you could stop him if you wanted. Slow enough that the anticipation becomes almost unbearable.
His lips finally meet yours, it was gentle at first. But that doesn’t last long. Gentle never lasts that long with Dex.
The kiss turns into something passionate and intense, both of you trying to assert dominance. But you know damn well you won’t succeed. It’s impossible.
You smiled against the kiss, feeling him pause in brief confusion before he kissed you again. His hand slides up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing against your cheek.
You open your mouth for him to enter push his tongue inside and make contact with your tongue. The kiss now turns into something messy, it sends heat traveling down your body.
Dex breaks away from the kiss and the only thing that still connects your lips with his is the saliva string between you.
His hungry eyes are still focused on you and his hands move towards your jeans. He unbuttons them slowly, ripping them off of you now along with your panties. He removes his jeans low enough only for his hard cock to spring free and slap against his lower stomach, pre cum already leaking from his tip.
Dex starts playing with your clit but he doesn’t give you the satisfaction of pushing his fingers inside you. “Cmon baby. Already this wet for me, think you can do more than that hm?”
His fingers now picking up the speed as he rubs his two fingers against your clit. Your back aching now and you feel your needy pussy pulsing underneath you. You close your eyes at the feeling but that only causes Dex to harshly grab your face with the same fingers he used to rub your clit.
“Don’t you even dare to look away.” Dex warns you before pushing your face away. You do as he says and now watch him spread your legs wide open until he found the perfect position. Now, he’s standing just between your legs, pussy in the open for him and begging to feel his big veiny cock.
“It will only hurt for a second, take a deep breath baby.”
You do as he says and take a deep breath. In the meantime you feel his cock slowly entering your needy cunt, spreading your walls around him. You don’t dare to close your eyes.
He starts moving now, sending deep thrusts inside your wet pussy, hips grinding into you.
Eventually, you feel him picking up the speed. His thrusts become faster and rougher each time. You feel with each time he’s gliding into you how his tip is sweetly abusing your cervix.
Each time he catches you almost closing your eyes he would grab your face and force you to look at him roughly fucking you.
“Look at yourself. You’re doing so good baby.”
“Dex hmph-” You moan his name.
His veiny hands now release your face and instead finds their way around your throat. The view alone made his cock twitch inside you.
He pounds his hips into you. You let out a whine, digging you teeth into your lower lips.
“Such a pretty mess. Hmph- Taking my cock like a good fucking girl. Let me hear you baby.”
“Daddy-” You softly moan which causes Dex to laugh and shake his head. How do you plan on looking at your father’s face after calling Dex daddy on multiple occasion.
“Yeah? Does hmph Daddy’s cock make you struggle mh?”
And as if it wasn’t already overstimulating you, you feel his other free hand move down your body, fingers now simultaneously rubbing against your clit while he is still fucking you roughly. The feeling too overwhelming for you and you feel tears building in your eyes and a sob escapes from you.
“Awww why are you crying?” Dex mocks you with a smirk on his ridiculous handsome face. “Such a mess for me. Such a mess for Daddy.”
As hot tears fall down your eyes, you can feel Dex’s cock twitch inside you at the sight of you crying because of him. It turns him on seeing you with your mouth hang open, you being a crying mess, skin mapped with goosebumps and looking disheveled.
You start clenching around him now, squeezing around his cock which makes it a little harder for him to thrust. Dex whimpers at the feeling.
It starts getting harder for you once you feel yourself holding onto the edge. The urge to cum getting harder to ignore now.
“Please, I need to-” Dex cuts you off before you can finish your sentence.
“I know I know. Think you can hold it in a little longer? I’m almost there.”
“Please, Please Please Daddy let me-.”
“I said hold it in a little longer.” He warns you immediately, voice dangerously low. You cry quietly and shut up, not wanting to anger him again.
After a while, you feel his thrusts become sloppy and his cock starts twitching inside you again. A desperate, pulling ache now forming inside him and the feeling to shoot his hot cum inside your pussy grows louder.
“I’m gonna cum inside you yeah? Fill you up real good.”
It doesn’t take him long until he quivers with the release, painting your walls white with his warm cum. A few seconds later you feel the shockwaves of pleasure wash over you and you cum hard enough to force Dex slightly out of you.
He smiles go himself and pulls out of you, letting himself fall next to you. Both of you taking heavy breaths now.
The warm mixed cum slowly escaping from your pussy catches your attention and the feeling makes you feel a little dizzy.
Dex slowly lifts himself up before kissing your tears stained face, distracting you a little before he pushed the mixture of your releases up inside your pussy again with his two fingers. You gasp at the contact.
“Learned your lesson, baby? You can’t escape from me.”
@poindextersgirlforever @joolapopola @weallhaveadestiny @pearlvirag @angelz-twinstars @mskingbeann Finally finished writing this thanks to you guys xx 🫶🏻
fbi!dex who’d never been in a proper relationship before you. he struggled with comforting u, and wasn’t really good with emotions as a whole and often felt awkward whenever he caught that u were upset. usually giving u “i’m sorry, that must be really hard.” and letting you cling onto him.
before u two began dating he had a habit of stalking ur socials, and later on that still stuck. he caught wind of u reposting a few things related to getting fucked to soothe ur feelings. so it clicked to dex that was how he could comfort u from now on!
it began after someone had been an asshole too u at work and u just wanted help — surprised when dex began to slide ur shorts down slowly with mumbled comforts and slipping his fingers into u clumsily.
from then on: rough day? he’ll bend u over the nearest surface. upset over a small problem? he’ll eat you out.
u and dex had gotten into a small disagreement— dex unable to handle you ignoring him so he practically stormed over to you and shoved ur leggings down with shaky hands, bending you over ur bed as he dealt with his own clothes before shakily spreading ur legs and sliding into u with perfect precision. "you’re okay— it’s okay. i’m sorry. don’t leave me. y— you’re okay, right?" as u were now, crying from pleasure.
big brother fauxcest with sam + dean inspired by this ask!!
"Hey, what's goin' on in here," sam asked, soft enough for you but with enough bite for dean.
"Just showin' sissy how that cute little clit can blow up like a balloon," dean replied proudly, his hand still deeply knotted in your hair.
Noticing your teary face and beaten-down expression, he directed his next question at you, kneeling down to your level. "How's he treating you, sweetheart? Is he bein' a good big brother or a mean one?"
"Mean," you mumbled, barely fighting back a fresh wave of tears. "All he's doin' is hurting and not even making me feel good."
"He should know better, baby. Know that you're too fragile for that treatment, huh?" And looking up at dean, eyes narrowed and voice thick with disapproval, "even if he is your big brother."
Dean rolled his eyes, acting like he wasn't threatening a pussy pump right before sam walked in. "Then why didn't she tell me to stop, huh? All I got were some pretty tears and whimpers. That sure doesn't sound like a 'stop' to me."
Sam kept looking at dean expectantly, waiting for a better excuse while a slow smile drew across dean's face.
"Feel how fuckin' wet our little sissy is and try to tell me you could pull yourself away. She's drenching the fuckin' bed, sammy. Swear to god," he started, putting his hand over his heart as if making a solemn oath, "every time I hit her she'd squeeze out more slick."
"Can I check sweet thing?" he asked softly, his big, gentle hands rubbing your thigh soothingly.
You nodded, suddenly shy now that sam was touching you for the first time.
The pads of his fingers ghosted against your slit, and the second he realized that dean was being honest his lids grew heavy.
"Oh no, honey," he said softly, brows knit with worry as he tried to soothe you. "That's not good. Little girls aren't supposed to be this wet when their big brothers bully them."
"But ours is just special, right sammy?" dean asked rhetorically, tugging on your scalp just to remind you he still has his claws in you.
"Just because she lets you doesn't mean it's good for her, dean. Isn't our job to teach her, guide her, keep her out of trouble? Not train her to... whatever this is."
"And I am guiding her and teaching her how to be my perfect little sissy whore. Right, baby?"
Your eyes flicked between them nervously, unsure whose side to take. You were thankful sam had come to your aid, but dean would never let you hear the end of it you agreed that you need constant princess treatment. On their own accord your eyes crept up to look at dean, and when you met his you saw them glittering in triumph.
"Told ya she likes to get smacked around a little," he said to sam, his fingers getting painfully wound against your scalp.
"Dean she didn't even agree. All she did was look at you and you're acting like it's permission to treat her however you want."
"However she wants. Promise you I'm not the one creepin' into her bed and humpin' her leg and beggin' for her fingers down my throat 'cause I had a bad dream. That's all her.
"That's okay, baby. It's natural to feel a little needy at your age, but it's dean's job to make sure you're all taken care of." His eyes searched your face for any flickers of emotion you so often try to hide, desperately trying to drive his point home. "Good big brothers," he started, shooting dean a dirty look, "teach sweet things like you how good you can feel."
Dean rolled his eyes, obviously feeling offended at the implication that he wasn't treating you right.
"Are you gonna do that?" you asked, hope visibly blooming in your wide eyes.
"I don't know," he said, eyes tight as he realized he just cornered himself. "I can try, but I don't know if we can do all the things you and dean do. You two have a schedule, rules, and live this. I can always step in if dean is getting too rough or if you need help or care from someone other than your brother.
"But aren't you my brother, too?" you asked sam quietly. "If dean's my brother then so are you."
"Baby, I don't know if it works like that-"
"That's exactly how it works," dean interjected, making his point of view on the matter abundantly clear. Then quieter, "sammy, you do not want to make her cry over this. All she wants is bathtime and some 'bedtime touches'. Not gonna kill you to play along."
You looked at sam expectantly, mind already racing with what you could get up to with two brothers.
"Yeah?" sam said, cradling your face in his huge hand. "Our baby sister wants some extra attention?"
You nodded excitedly at the prospect of sam joining you, your face leaning into his touch.
"So precious, baby. Don't know what dean was doin' all that for when our little sister is so sweet already."
Against your will your eyes started fluttering shut, sam's soft words and praise turning your brain to fuzz.
"Let's get you cleaned up, okay? You deserve to get rubbed to sleep after what dean put you through."
aiden hear me out. pet play w carmy but when you ask him to play with you, he knows you’re embarrassed so he keeps making you repeat it
ok so bc im a nasty pervert freak i added a hint of fauxcest i hope thats okay honey <333
OH honey i feel sooo faint. its one of those days where you’re just so exhausted and you just need to turn your brain off. you’re inching over to carmy nd sitting on the floor between his legs, pressing your cheek against his thigh. your eyes are all big and shiny and carmen knows exactly where your head’s at. “what’s up, peach?” his voice is just slightly hoarse— probably from yelling all day. his hand finds it’s way to your hair; you try to push impossibly closer against his palm. “dunno. jus’ been kind of a long day.”
“yeah? ‘m sorry, baby,” carmy all but coos at you, watches you fight back a whine when his fingers scratch at your scalp. “you need somethin’ from me?”
“can we, um… can we play for a little bit?”
you can hardly even look at him while you say it.
“play how? gotta tell me more than that, sweetheart.” he’s so mean— that’s what’s going through your head right then. “just— wanna stay like this. ‘nd you keep petting me and calling me nice names. and i don’t have to think.” carmy nods slowly like he’s really thinking about your words. “sounds like you want puppy treatment, doll.” the hand in your hair slips down to your cheek once he sees how you start to shrink in on yourself.
“‘s okay if that’s what you need, nothin’ to be shy over. just wanna hear you say it.”
“dad—”
“it’s alright, baby, say it. say ‘dad, i wanna be your puppy.”
you repeat the words with a whiny tone, and carmen accepts it— for now. “there we go, pup, wasn’t so hard,” he murmurs in that soft tone you’re weak for, thick thumb pressing down on your bottom lip and pushing its way onto your tongue.
in just a few minutes, he’s letting you rub yourself stupid on his thigh— not without making sure you’re reminding yourself of what a good puppy you are for dad every now and then <33
❝ you offered him a chance when he was already preparing to lose you. so now, sitting across from you with trembling hands and too many thoughts, dex does the one thing he's always been terrible at—he tells the truth. about the loneliness. about the silence. about the way people always seem to leave once they realize there's something wrong with him.⠀⠀❞⠀
◜ including ⠀! ⠀benjamin poindexter.
◟ warnings ⠀! ⠀part 4 of series. part 1 — part 2 — part 3. fem reader. obsessive dex. fluff? masterlist. gifs by @.novagif. english is not my first language.
The hour feels unbearable.
Dex spends most of it sitting in the corner booth pretending not to look at you while every thought in his head tears itself apart.
You offered to stay.
That’s the thing his brain keeps circling back to.
You could’ve said no.
You could’ve told him politely to leave and never come back.
Instead you said:
We could have coffee together.
Coffee together.
Like normal people.
The phrase feels strange inside his head. Almost unreal.
He watches you from the corner while trying very hard not to look like he’s watching you. Which probably just makes him look worse. Every time your eyes briefly flick toward him, he immediately looks away too fast.
Stop doing that.
Jesus Christ.
Act normal for once in your life.
But his pulse won’t settle.
What if you only said yes because you felt bad for him?
What if you’re scared to reject him directly?
The thought makes nausea twist through his stomach.
He keeps replaying the look on your face earlier.
Not fear.
Not exactly.
But concern.
Carefulness.
Like you were handling something fragile that might suddenly bite you.
The thought digs under his ribs.
By the time your shift finally ends, his nerves feel skinned raw.
You emerge from the back room wearing a softer sweater than before, sleeves covering your hands slightly. Your hair’s down now, loose around your shoulders.
You look younger out of uniform somehow.
Softer.
“There you are,” you say lightly when you spot him still sitting there.
Like you expected him to stay.
Of course he stayed.
Dex stands too quickly.
The table bumps softly against his knee.
Shit.
You pretend not to notice.
“That place across the street is quieter,” you tell him. “We can go there.”
We.
The word lands heavily inside his chest.
Outside, the rain has mostly stopped. The sidewalks still shine wet beneath streetlights, reflecting blurred gold across the pavement. Cars hiss softly through puddles while people hurry past bundled in jackets.
Dex walks half a step behind you automatically.
Not too close.
Don’t crowd her.
You keep glancing back at him occasionally while talking about random things. The weather. A customer who spilled an entire latte earlier. Some guy who tried flirting with your coworker and accidentally asked for her “Instagram number.”
You laugh while telling the story.
Dex watches your mouth move more than he listens.
You laugh so easily.
He doesn’t understand people who laugh easily.
The café you bring him to is small and warm and mostly empty this late in the evening. Soft jazz humming quietly overhead.
You order hot chocolate immediately.
“I hate coffee,” you admit sheepishly.
Hate coffee.
Another thing his brain stores away instantly.
The barista smiles at you like he already knows you.
Of course he does.
People probably remember you everywhere.
Dex orders black coffee because he always orders black coffee. Not because he likes it particularly. Just because it’s efficient. Bitter enough to keep him awake.
You both sit near the window.
And suddenly—
silence.
Awkward.
Thick.
The kind that presses against skin.
You stir whipped cream slowly into your hot chocolate while looking out the window.
Dex can hear the spoon tapping ceramic softly.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Say something.
Anything.
But his thoughts keep colliding against each other too fast.
Don’t scare her again.
Don’t ramble.
Don’t stare.
You glance at him finally and smile awkwardly.
“So…”
Dex’s stomach tightens.
“So,” he repeats stupidly.
Great.
You let out a tiny nervous laugh.
God.
You’re nervous too.
That helps a little somehow.
“Aren’t you cold?” you ask suddenly, looking toward his jacket. “You barely zip that thing up.”
“Oh.” Dex glances down at himself briefly. “I don’t really feel cold much.”
“That sounds fake.”
“It’s not.”
“You’re a cryptid then.”
The word surprises a laugh out of him before he can stop it.
A short rough sound.
Your eyes widen immediately afterward like you didn’t expect him to laugh either.
“There,” you grin suddenly. “That. You should do that more.”
The warmth that spreads through his chest afterward genuinely hurts.
He looks down at his coffee quickly.
Steam curls upward.
“You really thought I was scared of you?” you ask quietly after a while.
His fingers tighten around the mug immediately.
Don’t lie.
“Yes.”
The answer comes out flat.
Honest.
You look down at your drink.
“I wasn’t scared,” you say softly.
Then quieter:
“I just didn’t know if you even liked me.”
What?
Dex stares at you.
His brain genuinely stalls.
“What?”
You laugh awkwardly, hiding part of your face behind the mug.
“You stare really intensely,” you mumble. “And you barely talk, so I couldn’t tell if you hated me or not.”
Hated you?
The idea feels insane.
“No,” he says immediately.
Too fast.
Too intense.
You blink slightly.
Dex forces himself to lower his voice.
“No,” he says again quieter. “I don’t hate you.”
God.
How do you explain this without sounding insane?
He stares down into his coffee instead.
Dark liquid reflecting distorted light back at him.
“I just…” His throat tightens. “I’m not good with people.”
Understatement of the fucking century.
You stay quiet.
Listening.
That alone almost undoes him.
Most people interrupt eventually. Or drift away mentally. Or start looking uncomfortable.
You just listen.
“I never really had…” He swallows. “Anybody.”
The words sound embarrassing out loud.
Too vulnerable.
But now that he started talking, he can’t seem to stop.
“No family,” he says quietly. “No friends.”
His fingers trace unconsciously against the paper sleeve around the coffee cup.
“I mean—I had coworkers and stuff. People around me sometimes.” He lets out a humorless little laugh. “But nobody close.”
You’re staring down into your hot chocolate now.
Not looking at him.
But still listening.
“That’s probably my fault,” he says.
Because it is.
He knows it is.
“People usually…” He struggles for the words. “People notice something’s wrong with me eventually.”
There.
Said it.
The thing sitting under his skin his whole life.
Wrong.
Not broken exactly.
Just wrong in ways people can sense without understanding.
“They think I’m weird,” he continues quietly. “Or intense.”
Obsessive.
Uncomfortable.
Too much.
The words stay trapped inside his throat.
“I don’t know how to…” His jaw tightens slightly. “Be normal around people.”
Silence stretches softly between you.
Not uncomfortable.
Just heavy.
Outside, rainwater glides slowly down the windows.
Dex keeps staring into his coffee because looking at you suddenly feels unbearable.
“And then you gave me that bracelet,” he says quietly.
His thumb brushes unconsciously against the pink stones around his wrist.
Still there.
He wore it for you.
The realization makes his chest ache again.
“It helped.”
The confession comes out rougher than he intended.
You finally glance at the bracelet.
Then at him.
“It sounds stupid,” he says quickly.
“No,” you whisper.
Dex’s throat tightens.
“No,” you repeat softly. “It doesn’t.”
He looks at you then.
Really looks.
You’re staring at the bracelet now with this strange sad tenderness in your face.
Like your heart hurts for him a little.
That feeling almost kills him.
“I’m not asking for a lot,” he says suddenly.
The words leave him before he can stop them.
Your eyes flick up immediately.
“I know I’m…” He laughs weakly. “A lot.”
Understatement.
“But when you talked to me…” His chest feels tight suddenly. “It felt…”
Safe.
Warm.
Human.
The words clog inside him.
“It helped,” he says again quietly.
You keep looking down while he talks.
Dex notices your fingers tightening around the mug.
You’re thinking carefully.
Please don’t reject me.
The thought screams inside his skull so loudly it almost drowns everything else out.
Please.
“I don’t really know how to do this either,” you admit finally.
Your voice sounds small suddenly.
“My sister says I adopt sad stray people.”
Despite himself, Dex snorts softly into his coffee.
You smile faintly at that.
Then after a long pause, you say:
“We can be friends.”
Friends.
The word lands inside him like something breaking open.
You said yes.
You actually said yes.
Relief floods through him so fast it almost makes him dizzy.
“Really?”
Too desperate.
Fuck.
But you just laugh softly.
“Yeah, really.”
Dex shakes his head slightly in disbelief.
“Thank you,” he says immediately.
Too fast.
“Seriously, thank you, I—”
And then suddenly—
a weird sound escapes him.
Halfway between a cough and a strangled goat noise.
A sharp mêhh—
Silence.
Dex freezes.
Mortified.
What the fuck was that?
Your eyes widen instantly.
For one horrible second he thinks he just ruined everything.
Then you burst out laughing.
Real laughter.
Head tipping back slightly. Shoulders shaking.
“Oh my God,” you wheeze. “What was that?”
Heat floods Dex’s face instantly.
“I don’t know,” he mutters, horrified.
And then somehow he starts laughing too.
Actual laughing.
Not fake.
Not forced.
The sound feels rusty coming out of him, rough around the edges like something unused for years.
You’re both still laughing while people glance over confused from nearby tables.
cw: Smut 18+. voyeurism. use of sex toys. age gap. degradation. masturbation ( M and F) Fem! reader. daddy kink. mention of porn and cocaine. Reader is a slut and Ben is a pervert. Tiny allusion to non-con but not really. Ben has super-hearing.
₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊
It's the late 80's and Soldier Boy has fallen completely in love with what America has to offer: VHS pornos and cocaine. I mean do you know how emasculating it is to have to jerk your dick next to some bald, sweaty pervert at the theater? When you can’t even enjoy the money shot without imagining that poor sucker getting cum all over his grubby hands? No, Soldier Boy loves his privacy, and this changed everything.
He moves into some suburban nightmare to appease Vought’s demands that he present himself as a wholesome, All-American, well-to-do Supe. The Supe, who always comes through for his citizens. One night he does a few lines while watching some redhead get her hairy cunt stretched by some muscle with a bad haircut. One night turns into every night, and soon he has a routine. Snort, jerk, snort, jerk, sleep, repeat. The volume is always LOUD and so are his groans.
When you move in next door 2 months later, you’re shocked to say the least. Living next to Soldier Boy would make any woman happy, ecstatic even. All the ladies in the neighborhood slow their morning jogs when they reach his house, their husbands get angry but shit, what can they do about it? Beat him up? You hear his noises at night though, and it makes your thighs press together.
When he notices a sweet young thing like you living alone, he's intrigued. You’re one of those independent types, he thinks. Different from the women who throw themselves at him, you keep your admiration distant. Of course you have a crush on him. Of course you hope he notices you as his new neighbor. But I guess you have more important things to worry about? Soldier Boy thinks to himself, well what the hell could that be?
Then one night while he’s loading “DIRTY PRINCESS GETS PUSSY FILLED BY KNIGHT VOL.2” into the VCR, he notices something in the corner of his eye. A light coming from your bedroom. Your window directly faces him but he rarely gets to see you. He's hoping a few nights he could catch you changing out of those little white shorts that barely cover your ass, he swears you wear them just for him. In fact, he knows you do.
He moves closer to the window, the tape far beyond his priorities now. Sure the actress who plays Princess Lisa has great tits and an ass that could swallow Andre the Giant's fist, but you make him feel a sick twist in his stomach. You're always so chipper, so sweet and helpful around the neighborhood. You don't know how the world works yet, and it makes his dick hard.
He's left breathless and almost drops to his knees when he sees you. "Jesus fuckin' Christ" he groans under his breath. You're naked. The curtains of your room pulled far apart to get a perfect view of your bed. He watches the way your ass jiggles as you pace around the room, before finally sitting at the edge. The soft glow from your lamp in your otherwise dark room illuminates your skin. You look like a goddamn angel.
He knows he's a drug addicted, drunk, lying piece of shit. But he's not crazy. So this has to be real. He lets himself get a real view, not caring about hiding behind his curtains anymore. He swings them open and his heart stops. You notice him, and give him a flirty wave wiggling your manicured fingers. Even from across the lawn he can see how pretty your lips are. Your smile turns into a giggle as you spread your legs.
"Fuck."
He can see your folds all puffy with desire. The lamp makes the slick from your pussy glisten. You take a finger and trace from your breasts all the way down to the mess in between your thighs. He can hear the way your breath hitches as your fingertips graze over your soft skin. He can smell how much you want him.
Your fingers begin to rub slow circles over your swollen clit. Your face scrunches up in pleasure, biting your lip like the chicks in his pornos.
"Goddamn it" he groans as he shoves his boxers down his thighs. "Knew you wanted my big cock inside that cute little pussy." He's so fucking hard. His cock all pretty and thick with a vein running all the way down. He takes his big hand and begins to stroke himself, locking eyes with you.
You inch your fingers closer to your opening and dip them inside. Your mouth hangs open as you begin to pump them in and out of your sopping cunt slowly. He grunts loudly at the noises your pussy is making. "Just wanna get filled up don't you? Fuck- want daddy to come fill up that whore cunt huh baby?" His needy grunts and moans grow louder.
You take your fingers from outside your pussy and suck on them all sloppy. You roll your eyes back, whining at how good you taste. They leave your mouth with a trail of spit and you wipe it all over your hard nipples.
The shlick-shlick-shlick of Ben's cock halts when he sees you get up.
Was that it?
Were you going to leave him rock hard and desperate? He hopes you won't. He doesn't think you'd be so sweet anymore if he had to show you it's not polite to give America's Son blue balls.
His thoughts are interrupted when you enter in view again. This time you have a long, thick, fake cock in your hands. It's pink like your comforter.
Ben's throat tightens. It's not anywhere near his size really, but close. You shift on the bed to prop your thighs up better. With your pussy spread open, you take the dildo and circle it around your hole, teasing yourself and Ben. He hears your needy gasps, and the thumping of your heart.
"Do you think I can take this big cock in my pussy, daddy?"
It was the faintest whisper. Ben heard it nonetheless. He takes his dick back in his hand and begins pumping it again violently. "Your slutty little cunt can take it baby, just nice and slow". He knows you can't hear him. Doesn't mean you won't respond though.
You slowly inch the dildo deeper and deeper into your cunt until it bottoms out. You throw your head back and moan all high-pitched and breathless. "God, so fuckin big daddy, don't know if I can take yours."
You begin thrusting it in and out at a faster speed than your fingers, Ben matches your pace. "You're gonna take this fuckin cock, doll. You're gonna spread that young pussy all over my Supe dick you dumb fuckin' groupie."
Your moans turn into needy whimpers as you feel the cord in your belly about to snap. Ben presses one hand against the window. Getting as close as he can, he stares deeply into your fucked out teary eyes. He licks his lips as your body begins to twitch.
"Oh god daddy, think m'gonna come, ugh- g-gonna make a mess!"
You arch your back as your cunt clamps down on the silicone dick. Your body buzzes with euphoria so intensely you feel like bursting into tears.
Ben feels his balls tighten as he witnesses your orgasm. He can't wait to make you look like that over and over until you're begging him to stop. "Fuck m'close honey. God fucking damnit!" He shouts.
You're not done though. A few seconds after you come back down to earth from your high, you sit up and slip the dildo out from your abused pussy. You lick a long stripe from base to tip, and moan as you wrap your mouth around the head and swirl your tongue around.
Ben has died and gone to fuckin' heaven.
He chuckles in disbelief at your depraved actions. "Stuff that fake cock down your tiny throat, fuck- do it for daddy honey, make me proud". His voice breaks into a desperate lustful whine.
When you take the dildo and stuff it so far down your throat you gag, Ben explodes with a shout all over his hands.
"Jesus fuck, m'cumming honey, fucking christ i'm cummin' all over that dumb fuckin face of yours."
You pull the dildo from out your mouth and wipe the spit off your chin. Satisfied with the view of Ben's sweaty chest and cum-covered hands, you close the curtains and turn your light off.
Ben's reflection stares back at him through the darkness.
He needs to get out of the suburbs, and he needs to take you with him.
lowdown ☆ soldier boy discovers a deeply effective way to ruin your ability to form a coherent sentence. butcher discovers a deeply effective way to ruin everything else.
ride or die ☆ soldier boy x reader ( f )
miles ☆ 2574 ride style ☆ smut!!
danger on the trail ☆ explicit sexual content, cunnilingus, fingering, overstimulation, dirty talk, praise, pet names, hair-pulling, thigh-gripping, light restraint, possessive behavior, soldier boy being smug beyond reason, accidental supe yeeting
liv's log ☆ ya'll are getting fed. you're welcome 🤒
𐚁 .ᐟ masterlist ☆ join the taglist ☆ listen to the playlist ☆ support my work ᢉ𐭩
“jesus fucking christ, ben.”
your voice breaks around his name, which is humiliating enough without the low sound of satisfaction that answers it.
morning has been trying to happen outside the room for a while now. thin light slips through the blinds in pale, uneven lines, catching the heap of discarded clothes on the floor, the belt hanging half-off the chair, one boot abandoned near the edge of the bed like it made an attempt at escape and failed.
somewhere beyond the walls, the safehouse has started waking in pieces—pipes knocking, footsteps passing faintly down the hall, a cupboard opening and closing in the kitchen. none of it matters. not with soldier boy between your thighs, committed to making sure you never contribute a useful thought to society again.
he’s been down there for what feels like forever and somehow not long enough. the sheets are pulled over his head and shoulders, turning him into a broad, shifting shape beneath the fabric. you can feel every movement—the slow drag of his tongue, the press of his stubble against your sensitive skin, the way his big hands hold your thighs open to prevent you from closing them.
you fist the pillow above your head, back arching when he licks a slow, filthy stripe from your entrance up to your clit and sucks gently.
the wet heat of his mouth is obscene.
he groans against you like he’s the one getting devoured, the vibration shooting straight up your spine.
“ben—” you gasp, hips twitching.
he doesn’t answer with words. instead he slides two thick fingers inside you, curling them perfectly while his tongue flicks fast and relentless over your clit. the dual sensation makes your toes curl.
you bite your lip hard enough to sting, trying not to moan too loud, but it’s useless. the sound slips out anyway, breathy and broken. under the covers he makes another low, satisfied noise. he’s fucking enjoying this. you can tell by the way he keeps pressing closer, nose buried against you, breathing you in like he can’t get enough. his shoulders shift as he works you open, fingers thrusting slow and deep while his mouth stays glued to your clit, sucking and licking in a rhythm that has your thighs trembling around his head.
“you taste so fucking good in the morning,” he mutters, voice muffled under the sheet. he drags his tongue through your folds again slowly, collecting every drop of wetness. “could stay here all goddamn day.”
you reach down blindly and grip his hair through the fabric, tugging. just enough to tell him you’re losing your mind. he chuckles darkly and rewards you by sliding a third finger inside, stretching you open while his tongue circles your clit faster.
your legs shake harder. the coil in your stomach winds tighter with every wet stroke, every curl of his fingers against that spot that makes sparks explode behind your eyes.
you’re panting now, chest heaving, free hand clutching at the sheets beside you.
he senses it. soldier boy already knows exactly when you’re about to fall apart. he doubles down, sucking your clit between his lips and humming while his fingers fuck you deeper, faster, slick sounds filling the quiet room.
your body tips over the edge with an ugly, breathless gasp you barely manage to bury against the back of your wrist. every muscle draws tight at once, then breaks apart beneath the force of it. the sheets twist under your fingers. your head pushes back into the pillow. your legs clamp around his shoulders before you remember that breathing is generally considered useful.
ben keeps you there through it.
not stopping. not letting you squirm away even as you’re twitching and oversensitive, he keeps licking slow, lazy stripes through your soaked folds, fingers still buried inside you. gentle now, but insistent. like he’s not ready to let the moment end.
“ben… fuck, i can’t—” your voice is wrecked.
his mouth brushes your thigh once more.
“you can,” he answers, voice rough and smug under the covers. “give me one more, baby. i’m not done with you yet.”
you stare at the ceiling, hair messy against the pillow, chest rising hard beneath the shirt you never bothered pulling off. “you are so incredibly pleased with yourself right now.”
he pushes the sheet back just enough to look up at you. his hair is a mess, lips shiny and swollen, eyes dark with pure hunger. the sight alone makes your stomach flip. he looks like he’s having the time of his life down there, cheeks flushed, stubble wet with you.
“you say that like i didn’t earn it.”
you let your hand fall over your face. “i hate you.”
“no, you don’t.”
he presses one last open-mouthed kiss to your soaked folds before crawling up just enough to rest his chin on your lower stomach. the sheet pools around his shoulders now, revealing the broad expanse of his back, the thick muscle shifting as he settles between your legs again.
you peek at him from beneath your arm, still trying to catch your breath. your body feels liquid, humming, but the ache is building again under his gaze. soldier boy looks up at you through his lashes, green eyes dark and heavy, lips glistening with your release. he looks obscene. beautiful. entirely too proud of himself.
he turns his head and presses a slow kiss to the inside of your left thigh. his stubble scrapes gently against the sensitive skin, sending a shiver racing up your spine. then another kiss, higher this time, closer to where you’re still throbbing and slick. his rough thumbs stroke soothing circles on the backs of your thighs, holding you open for him, keeping you exposed.
you can’t look away.
his eyes stay locked on yours the entire time, watching every flutter of your lashes, every small twitch of your mouth. it feels more intimate than it should—the way he studies your face while his mouth worships your skin. like he’s memorizing how you fall apart for him.
“ben…” you whisper.
he answers by dragging his tongue in one long, slow stripe up your inner thigh, tasting the mess he’s already made of you. then he dips lower again, nose brushing just above your clit as he kisses the crease where your thigh meets your body. his breath is hot against your soaked center.
you feel yourself clench around nothing, aching for more.
finally, he lowers his mouth again. this time it’s gentler. almost reverent. his tongue slides through your folds in one smooth, unhurried drag, collecting the fresh wetness that’s leaked out of you since your first orgasm.
he groans quietly.
his thumbs keep stroking your thighs, rough pads pressing into soft skin, grounding you while his mouth works you open again.
you let out a shaky breath, fingers threading back into his hair. he hums in approval and pushes his tongue inside you.
the sensation is overwhelming in its softness. he fucks you with his tongue in slow, deep strokes—pushing in, curling slightly, dragging back out. wet, filthy sounds fill the room as he laps at you, savoring every drop. his nose nudges against your clit with every forward thrust, giving you just enough friction to make your hips twitch.
“fuck, ben…” you moan softly.
his eyes flick up to yours again. they’re half-lidded, drunk on the taste of you. he holds the eye contact as he pulls his tongue out and replaces it with two thick fingers, sliding them in easily. then his mouth returns to your clit, licking slow, broad circles around the swollen bundle of nerves. the combination is devastating.
he doesn’t rush. every movement feels luxurious. his fingers pump in and out of you in a steady rhythm while his tongue traces lazy patterns over your clit—circling, flicking, then pressing flat and dragging up. every time your breathing hitches, he adjusts, finding the exact angle that makes your thighs start to tremble again.
you’re so wet it’s embarrassing. you can hear it. the slick glide of his fingers, the obscene sounds of his mouth devouring you.
your arousal coats his chin. drips down toward the sheets. soldier boy doesn’t seem to mind. if anything, it makes him more eager. he groans deeply when a fresh rush of wetness meets his tongue, like the taste of you is driving him insane.
“that’s it,” he murmurs against your pussy, voice thick. “give it to me, baby. let me feel you gush.”
his words send heat flooding through you. you roll your hips against his face, chasing the building pleasure. he lets you use him, eyes never leaving yours, watching with dark satisfaction as you start to lose control again.
his free hand slides up your body, pushing your shirt higher until he can palm one of your breasts, rolling your nipple between rough fingers. the added stimulation makes you cry out softly, back arching. the floorboards creak in the hallway. he pinches lightly, then soothes with his thumb, all while his mouth stays working between your legs.
you’re trembling harder now. the second orgasm is building slower than the first but deeper—a heavy, coiling heat low in your belly that threatens to drown you. your fingers tighten in his hair, tugging harder. soldier boy moans in response, the vibration making your toes curl.
he curls his fingers inside you again, stroking that perfect spot with every thrust. his tongue flicks faster over your clit, matching the rhythm of his hand. the floorboard outside the bedroom door creaks a second time. closer. you can feel yourself getting wetter, slick sounds growing louder as your body prepares to give him exactly what he wants.
“ben—fuck, i’m close again,” you pant, voice breaking.
he doesn’t pull away. if anything, he presses closer, burying his face deeper between your thighs. his shoulders flex as he works you harder, fingers pumping faster, tongue relentless. his groans are constant. low and hungry, like he’s getting off just from the way you’re falling apart on his mouth.
your thighs start shaking uncontrollably around his head. your breathing turns ragged. the pleasure coils tighter and tighter until it feels almost unbearable. you’re right there— right on the razor’s edge, muscles locking up, vision starting to blur at the edges—BANG BANG BANG!
the sound tears through the room hard enough to punch every thought clean out of your head.
you jolt.
not gracefully. not in any way your body will forgive once the adrenaline wears off. one second, you’re hovering right on the edge of something devastating, fingers twisted in soldier boy’s hair, every muscle pulled tight around the promise of release. the next, panic fires through you on instinct and your legs clamp shut around his shoulders before shoving outward with considerably more force than either of you expects.
the sheet shifts violently.
the mattress jerks beneath you.
soldier boy disappears.
there’s a heavy thud beside the bed, followed by a silence so complete it feels medically concerning.
your eyes widen. your chest is still rising too fast, skin flushed, legs trembling from an orgasm you were approximately three seconds away from having before the universe decided you had experienced enough joy for one morning.
outside the door, butcher speaks with infuriating calm. “need you in the kitchen, love. five minutes.”
you stare at the empty space between your thighs where ben’s head had been moments ago.
then you lean cautiously over the side of the mattress.
soldier boy is on the floor. actually on the floor. one broad shoulder is pressed against the rug. the sheet has followed him halfway down and is now tangled around his waist in a undignified knot. his hair’s wrecked, mouth still wet, expression blank with the pure disbelief of a man who has survived bullets, explosions, decades of torture, and the collapse of several governments only to be thrown out of bed by a startled woman with questionable reflexes.
for one horrible second, neither of you speaks.
his eyes lift slowly to yours. “what… the fuck?”
you wince, still breathing hard, thighs trembling from the ruined orgasm. soldier boy is sprawled on the floor like a disgruntled greek god who just got kicked out of olympus. the sheet is barely covering his hips, doing nothing to hide the very obvious, very angry erection curving against his stomach.
“i panicked!” you whisper-shout, sitting up on your elbows. “butcher knocked like he was trying to break the damn door down.”
soldier boy pushes up on one elbow, glaring at you with pure betrayal. “you threw me.”
“i didn’t throw you.” you try, but it sounds weak even to your own ears.
he completely ignores you. “with your legs. i was two seconds from making you come so hard you’d forget your own name and you launched me like i was a fucking football.”
“you’re the one with super strength! how was i supposed to know i could actually move you?”
“i was distracted,” he growls, gesturing sharply at his glistening chin and the very obvious evidence of how thoroughly he’d been enjoying himself. “my face was buried in your pussy.”
your face burns despite the fact that modesty left this room a long time ago. “yes, benjamin. i was there.”
“could’ve fooled me.”
“oh, please. you survived.”
“barely.”
you stare at him. “you’re bulletproof.”
“not the point.”
outside the room, butcher’s footsteps retreat down the hallway. soldier boy pushes himself upright with the offended dignity of a man attempting to pretend he didn’t just get launched—nay, yeeted—off a mattress in nothing but a tangled sheet. he stands, muttering under his breath while he searches for his clothes.
you bite the inside of your cheek. “you know, training really has paid off.”
his head turns slowly. “don’t.”
“hips first,” you continue, unable to stop yourself. “shoulder follows. fist last. apparently, legs are also very effective.”
“keep talking.”
“maybe tomorrow we can work on your balance.”
he catches his shorts from the floor and drags them on with an irritated movement. “you caught me off guard.”
“grandma at bingo all over again.”
his eyes narrow. “you think this is funny?”
you look at the sheet still hanging crookedly from the bed, then at his wrecked hair. “a little.”
“unbelievable,” he mutters, bending to retrieve his shirt. “my girl throws me off the goddamn bed seconds away from seeing heaven, and thinks it’s funny.”
the words pass so naturally beneath the rest of his complaining that you almost miss them. your mouth parts, but he’s already pulling his shirt over his head, too busy being insulted by the entire morning to notice the silence that follows. by the time his face emerges again, you have rearranged your expression into something far safer.
“butcher’s waiting,” you remind him.
he looks at you for a beat. then he steps back toward the bed.
“ben.”
“relax.”
one hand catches the back of your neck. he kisses you before you can argue, rough and unhurried enough to make your breath catch. the taste of yourself lingers on his tongue, warm and indecent, and the smug bastard knows exactly what he’s doing when he deepens the kiss for one lingering second before pulling away.
his thumb brushes the edge of your jaw. “we’re evening the score later.”
then he walks out, leaving you flushed, disheveled, and staring after him while butcher calls your name from the kitchen again.
[𝝑𝑒] :: true form!sukuna ‘trying’ to share a romantic moment in the rain with his favorite concubine :: tags. fluff, suggestive.
sukuna never understood humans.
they always say and do things that annoy him in a way. though after meeting you—his favorite little concubine—that annoyance has slowly started to turn into fondness. something he isn’t ready to accept or even acknowledge.
“come inside and quit your foolishness,” the king of curses groans, sighing for the nth time. his four arms are crossed over his chest and his expression is unreadable. he’s exasperated by your silly antics once more.
it’s raining—pouring—yet you’re outside in the courtyard. you’re smiling from ear to ear as you hop from puddle to puddle, enjoying the cold droplets that continuously fall and wet your skin.
“oh, come on! it’s fun,” you giggle, urging sukuna to join you.
the pink-haired man only shakes his head and clenches his jaw. he doesn’t see the fun in being out there when it rains. he doesn’t understand why you’re so happy about getting dirty and wet. the kimono you’re wearing is one he specifically ordered for you and here you are, ruining it.
sukuna wants to get angry, but for some reason he can’t bring himself to raise his voice or show his disdain. the smile on your face and your happy giggles refrain him from doing or saying anything too hurtful.
if it were any of his other concubines, he’d probably have punished them the second he saw them being somewhere they shouldn’t.
but that doesn’t mean sukuna isn’t going to talk you out of it. or try to.
“y’ll get sick, brat. get back here i said,” sukuna calls out with a frown.
he lets out a low groan of frustration when you simply continue to walk around happily in the rain. are you seriously not aware of how fragile humans are? being in this cold with little coverage is going to make you sick.
sukuna has had enough of your antics. he stomps forward, not caring about the rain that’s wetting his clothes. he just wants you to get inside and dry. he frowns and opens his mouth, ready to scold you.
however, as he closes the distance between you two, his voice got stuck in his throat. the sight that greets him makes his frown slowly disappear.
his eyes wander over your face and body from up close, finally noticing just how beautiful you are while enjoying the stormy weather. the pure joy looks good on you.
you’re soaked, clothes and hair dripping wet, and yet you still manage to captivate him. the carefree smile on your face only adds to your charm. sukuna stops just an arm’s length from you, eyes narrowing.
you turn to face him properly and chuckle. “thank you for coming out to play with me,” you comment half-jokingly.
you reach out to hold onto two of sukuna’s hands, tilting your head back to stare at him with those eyes.
those puppy eyes that will make even a ruthless monster like him calm down.
sukuna clears his throat and grumbles, “this is stupid.”
you laugh softly as you notice how he’s trying to hide the effect you have on him, though you know better than to address it directly. you wrap your arms around his waist, your bodies now pressed together. you tilt your head with a teasing grin, “reaaally? is it now?”
sukuna rolls his eyes, but doesn’t make a move to push you away. he can feel every curve of your frame pressing against his through your wet clothes and the sensation sure is tantalising.
his large hands move on their own. two settle on your waist while one other creeps up your back to come tangle into your hair, yanking slightly at the strands to make you tilt your head back.
sukuna leans down, his red eyes focused on your parted lips that are calling out to him. his mouth is on yours before he realises it, claiming you in a fierce kiss.
the rain continues to fall around you two, but neither of you seem to care. you’re too lost in the feeling of each other to pull away from the intimate kiss. your lips are moving in tandem, tongues brushing together.
you only pull away when you run out of air. you breathe heavily as you look up at sukuna, seeing the same yearning reflected in his piercing eyes. it makes your tummy tingle—makes you feel all giddy to know the power you have over such an unfeeling man.
sukuna doesn’t say a thing. the tension between you two is only emphasised by the rain. the continuous pitter patter of the droplets seems to only increase with time, making it harder to see, yet also intensifies the unspoken feelings. perhaps now he can understand what humans find so romantic about being in the rain with their someone.
but there’s this all-consuming thought that drives his mind towards a more dark place. looking at you with your kimono hugging every curve, the water drops dripping down your bare skin and your half-lidded eyes staring at him like he’s all you care about—it’s making the king of curses want to devour you whole. a carnal desire that threatens to take over every time he feels that foolish, sappy emotion which humans call love.
sukuna snaps out of his daze and a muscle in his jaw ticks. he grabs your wrist and cocks his head towards the doors leading inside.
“alright, let’s get y’r ass inside,” he huffs and starts dragging you off with him, “i don’t want you complainin’ to me when you get sick, y’hear?”
you whine but now better than to struggle. you walk with him, heart still racing as you think of the intimate kiss you shared. you know you’re the only one who gets the privilege to kiss the king of curses, to be so close to him, to have him indulge your silly requests, to have him look at you with such insatiable desire.
it makes you even giddier thinking about it.
you look up at the back of sukuna’s head as he guides you inside of the palace, attempting to convince him to extend your little romantic outing, “can we do it agai—”
hello pretty !! hope ur having a lovely day 🦢 i love ur work!!
could i ask shane with a very dollcore morute kinda uncanny but very pretty and cute and pink reader?
oh you and shane are the talk of the town for suree, this pretty little doll that is always by the hunters side looking creepy with her big eyes..
at first shane thought you were quite weird — he spotted you randomly while he was out hunting, a girl in pink just standing in the eerie woods all by herself with a suitcase. he yelled something along the lines of you lost little girl?, and walked towards you in the crunchy leaves until he could see a better view of you. and you didn’t really respond to him when he asked, only looking up at him and observing the older man while he asked you all these questions, “where you coming from?” and “how’d you end up here in the neck of the woods?”.
you didn’t really answer until he asked if you needed a place to stay and you nodded your head at that, strolling over to his campsite and sitting on the floor right by his seat. shane was dumbfounded at your behavior but laughed it off as he went back to his seat.
ever since then you guys have kind of just been together, an odd couple that compliments each other well when you get to know them. you always have these frilly babydoll-dresses that are pale in color, cute shoes and all these accessories that shanes not sure where you got it from.
you have taken over a good portion of his cabin decorating it all in pink and lace! his shelves have your collection of antique dolls on them along with your wax candles, the only thing he really has in his living room is his deer head up on the wall that you absolutely detest..
he calls you his doll I think instead of bambi, it just fits better because he genuinely sees you as one considering how you dress and do your makeup so meticulously everyday.
you drag shane to all these different thrift stores that are across town to get all your clothes and add to your vintage collections, asking him what he thinks of your hundredth babydoll dress that you just pulled out from the rack. “they all look the same doll, looks fuckin pink like the rest of them.. are you done?” he’ll sigh, sliding a hand down his face.
“this is primrose shaney, it’s not just pink. you’re no help— go somewhere else.” you’ll huff, shooing him away as you put your dress in the cart and look back on the rack. he ends up buying all your dresses and dolls as per usual from the money of his hunting, rolling his eyes when you get in your tip toes to kiss his cheek with a thank you!
I think you often end up cleaning and restoring your dolls while shane is on his campsite, he got a chair just for his pretty girl to sit on while he’s on the look out. sitting there all dolled up while you brush its hair with your dress, white socks and shiny mary janes.
Hiromi Higuruma is seething with jealousy when his pretty assistant is re-assigned to another attorney — so he spanks her !
Your ass was heated under Higuruma's hand, bright and red from the amount of sharp hits it's taken. "Hiro!" You yelped, legs lifting up in the air in reflex when his had struck down again.
"What was he telling you, hm? That he would treat you so much better than me?" At this point your panties were drenched in arousal as you recalled the earlier events. You both were in the office. Him busy with paperwork and you talking his ear off. “Will you miss me Hiro?” You spun around in your chair, sliding over to Higuruma’s desk where he sat — looking over a few papers. His foot placed itself on your seat, pushing you away from him back to where you were.
“I believe not. I can only pray that my next assistant won’t be as talkative as you.” He simply said, glancing towards you for half a second. Because if he looked at you for longer than that, he was sure he’d say what his heart desire to.
You’ve been partners for the past year, but after a recent notice from the law firm explaining the change of your position, you would no longer be taking the usual route to his office. And you definitely wouldn’t be making a stop at his favorite bakery every morning for his black coffee & bagel anymore.
“Well, I hope that my next attorney will be more talkative than you.” You shot back, pouting.
“I’m sure she won’t be.”
“Ah, it’s actually another man i’ll be assisting.” Higuruma froze. Another male lawyer? Surely, he heard wrong, right? "What was his name.." You looked upwards to the ceiling, recalling the name of your new attorney. "I believe his name was Kento, Kento Nana.. something."
'You've got to be shitting me.' Higuruma thought to himself. Out of all the males in the building, he was the one to steal you away from him. Your phone ringing interrupted his thoughts. You reached for it on the other side of your desk, checking the caller id. "Oh! It's him!"
Higuruma frowned, staying quiet in hopes of listening it to whatever the blonde was saying.
You used the same tone on Nanami as well — polite & sweet. "Okayyy, I'll be there!" That made Higuruma's brow rise, studying your face closely. After you hung up, you grabbed your coat and purse. "He invited me for lunch! We'll be going to the bakery down the street."
"I don't think so." His monotone voice cut through your excitement, resting his elbows on his desk. "It's not lunch for you just yet."
"Mmm, well I don't really work for you anymore do I?" You teasingly said, not know the way your words made his heart sting. "I'll see you later Hiro!" Closing the door behind you, silence filled the office. Higuruma was conflicted in going after you, dragging you back inside to fuck you sweetly over his desk — begging for you to stay.
But he could wait.
Nanami walked you back to the law firm, offering you his warmer coat to protect you from the cold weather. "Are you sure you don't want it? It's quite chilly and yours doesn't look like it's doing much."
"I'm alright! Besides, we're here anyways." You hummed.
The blonde nodded, corner of his eyes crinkling as he smiled down at you. "It was a pleasure getting to know you more. I'm more than positive we'll get along well at work."
Of course, Higuruma couldn't help but look at the two of you through the window, hence why he has you now over his lap. "I asked you a question, sunflower."
"H-he just said than he looks f-forward to working together!" You hissed out when his larger hand massaged the newly bruised cheeks. His cock was pulsing underneath you, begging to be released and stuffed in you already. Higuruma hummed, squeezing you roughly. "And what else."
"Is all! I promise!"
His dark & tired eyes met yours, trying to see if you were saying the full truth. He allowed his hand to travel up to your hair, stroking it gently. "He won't know how to handle you. He'll send you back to me in no time."
"Hiro.." You whined, arching your back. Because obviously, you couldn't help but enjoy the sudden attention your boss gave you. He craned his neck, mocking your neediness. "What is it babe? Need me to hit you some more?" He lightly smacked your ass, sticking two fingers into your mouth. "Is that it?"
Without warning, his hand lifted once again, landing another blow on you. "You're so drenched, are you not ashamed." He chuckled, sliding your panties to the side. Your cunt was dripping downwards to his pants, staining them with your arousal.
"Shit.. this all for me?" His eyes met yours again, seeking for an answer. You nodded, sucking obediently at his digits. "... Let's get you on the desk. C'mon." Higuruma's giant hands manhandled your fragile body onto his desk, moving any important folders to the side to make room for you.
"He won't know what to do with you.." He repeated, sliding his thumb in between your folds.
“Please.” You managed to moan out. “Please what?” Higuruma wiped his wet finger on his lips, tasting you. “I so badly want to eat you out. But we’ll save that for another time.”
Out of all the dicks you’ve seen in your lifetime, Higuruma had the longest. “I don’t think it’ll fit!” He quickly shut you up with a hit to your ass. “I’ll fucking make it fit.”
Higuruma’s fingers dug into your hips, pulling you towards his cock. He threw his head back, watching as he entered your tight hole inch by inch.
“That’s it,” He grunted, pushing his hips forward to fill you up entirely. “You’re doing so good.” His hands moved up to grip your waist, helping you move alongside him. He could help but let his mouth hang slightly open, tongue darting out to lick at his bottom lip. He was breathless under your grip, entranced at the recoil of your plush ass as it hit against him. “You’re doing so good.” he praised.
His cock was thick, stretching you out deliciously. All you could do was moan out his name repeatedly, upper body resting on his desk as you cunt happily took him in from the back.
“Better not see you smile at Kento the way you do with me.”
“I w-won’t..!” Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, seeing stars. The desk shook underneath you, feeling almost positive that the office below could figure out what was going on upstairs.
“Should stuff you full with my cum that way you’re stuck with me. You want that?” His hands slid down to your ass, squeezing and spreading your cheeks. “Yes! God yes!” You screamed.
sharpstick!frank dada teaching his sweet girl what masturbating is,,, 🪶
it’s because you’re all pent up and frustrated. he’s been on mission after mission and hasn’t had time to get you right, so he puts you in front of the mirror and lets you watch how dad does it :( after about ten minutes he’s telling you, “okay, sweetheart, now you try.” at first you’re super grumbly about it, your fingers aren’t as long or thick and you want dad to be the one touching you, but after a while of doing it to yourself, frank is always catching you with your hand in your panties
frank castle catching you watch daddaughter p*rn …
you didn't mean for him to see but also... you weren't being particularly careful either. sitting in the living room, stuffie between your legs, hips rocking forward every so often on their own accord ): you've got headphones on so you don't even hear the door open or his heavy footfalls. only his hand pressing on the back of your neck jolts you out of it, hand scrambling to close your laptop while the other pulls off your headphones,,,
"i didn't- i mean- it's not-" "not what, babydoll ? not what it looks like ? looks like you want your dad, hm ? got a crush, baby ?" "uhm- i- uhh... it's just... it makes me feel- feel, uhm, funny. i don't-" "so funny you're taking it out on your teddy, i see."
Bratty reader trying to annoy Dex but ended up the one getting annoyed instead because he doesn’t fall for it
trying to annoy brat tamer!dex 🫧
dex knew you well. too well, perhaps. he knew you loved being extra bratty, loved whittling away at his temper and welcoming the repercussions when he would drag you to the bedroom. but he learnt your game, and he wouldn't reward you with what you wanted when you were purposely prodding at him. so he let you have your fun, and allowed himself to take part in this little game.
you thought you were winning, at first. when you were laid beside him on the couch, one leg draped over his lap and the other prodding at his face whilst he watched tv. you would nudge at his face with your toes, mindlessly doing so as you indulged in your book. waiting to hear him huff or sigh deeply, but instead he had taken hold of your foot, keeping it hostage on his lap. with not a glance in your direction.
"if you wanted a foot rub just ask, sweetheart."
when he would tell you to get dressed for your walk around the park, you would combat his every word with a "what?" as if you couldn't hear him. you expected him to stomp over to you, hands on his hips, and make it clear what he had ordered you to do. but nothing. you heard him chuckle quietly, and pick your clothes out for you.
on your walk, you would repeat everything he said.
"look at that dog, sweetheart."
"look at that dog, sweetheart."
"i did, that's why i told you to look at it."
"i did, that's why i told you to look at it."
and he wouldn't huff, or go silent in rebellion against your repeated words. he would laugh, pinch at your chin in adoration, and keep walking.
when he would sit with you for dinner, you would kick at his legs under the table. and still, he hadn't told you to quit it, or threaten to drag you into the bedroom. he kicked you back, a playful smile on his face as he watched your expression sour.
"antsy today, hm?" he goaded, locking your feet between his legs as he finished his meal.
"what is your problem?!" you exclaimed, standing from your seat at the table with your arms folded. his smirk remained at your outburst, slowly laying his fork against the edge of his plate.
"what's the matter, sweetheart?" his tone was dripping with condescension, waiting for you to explode at him about your incessant irritating behaviour and how unaffected by it he was.
"you!" you stomped your foot. "i've been trying to annoy you all day and you haven't done anything to correct me."
dex stood from his own seat, stepping over to you with his hands rested on the side of your arms. he stared down at you with a blend of pity and amusement, subtly pouting at you as you sulked.
"what would you like me to do?" he whispered. "you want me to get mad? spank you?"
"no." you felt stupid, this whole day you had tried to get him to be gruff with you, manhandle you and make you listen to him. but he let you act in such defiance, with a smile on his face.
"what's the matter, hm?" he laughed, tilting your face up to look at him. but your eyes remained closed. "if you want me to fuck you, you gotta say please."
any promise of sex would have you willing, would have you on your best behaviour. you opened your eyes at his request, a mischievous smile on your face.
"please." you whispered.
"what?"
"please."
"what?"
"i said please!"
"what?"
and then you caught on, he was mocking you. from earlier, when he asked you to get dressed for your walk. and you were incessant on pretending you couldn't hear him. but your pouting hadn't lasted long, not with his laughter against your lips, pulling you into him to comfort you.
"let me clear up the dishes." he whispered into your hair. "go sit all pretty for me on the bed, okay?"
summary ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ a too-friendly little town keeps stranding couples for sacrifice, so dean decides the obvious solution is pretending you’re together—which would be easier if it didn’t feel so natural.
pairing ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ dean winchester x reader ( gn )
wordcount ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ 1310 genre ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ fluff
warnings ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ canon-typical case danger, fake dating, scarecrow monster, mild violence, flirting, banter, almost-feelings
notes ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ ִ❀໋ consider supporting my work .ᐟ
the town is too cute, which almost makes everything worse. white fences, flower boxes, a tiny main street with a diner that sells pie by the slice and a mechanic who smiles too hard when dean pulls the impala into the shop.
there are pumpkins stacked outside the grocery store even though halloween passed two weeks ago, and everyone waves at you with this shiny, neighborly cheer that makes your skin itch.
it’s the kind of place where people say things like we take care of our own and somehow make it sound less like a promise and more like a threat.
dean clocks it before you even reach the motel.
“couples,” he says, leaning over the hood of the impala while the mechanic pokes around under it with the world’s fakest concerned face. “all the missing people were couples. newlyweds, honeymooners, road-trippers. car trouble. small-town hospitality. then poof.”
you glance toward the garage office, where the mechanic’s wife is watching you through the blinds with a coffee mug held near her mouth and not a single sip taken. “so they’re sabotaging cars.”
“yep.”
“and feeding people to whatever’s in the orchard.”
“probably.”
“great. very rural.”
dean’s mouth curves, but his eyes stay sharp. “which means we need bait.”
you already know what he’s going to say before he says it. worse, he knows that you know. the grin spreads slow and smug across his face, all dangerous charm and bad ideas, and you hate that your stomach reacts before your brain can file a complaint.
“no,” you say.
“i didn’t say anything.”
“your face did.”
“my face is handsome and innocent.”
“your face is about to suggest we pretend to be a couple.”
he points at you, delighted. “see? this is why we work.”
you stare at him.
he leans closer, lowering his voice just enough that the mechanic can still see the shape of intimacy without hearing the words. “come on. little hand-holding, little sweet-talking, maybe you call me honey if the mood strikes—”
“i’m not calling you honey.”
“baby?”
“absolutely not.”
“snookums?”
you almost smile. “i will leave you here to get sacrificed.”
“hot. committed to the role already.”
the mechanic comes back wiping his hands on a rag that looks cleaner than any rag should coming from a garage. “looks like you folks might be stuck here overnight.”
dean’s expression changes instantly. warmer. easier. he slides an arm around your shoulders, as if the weight of him tucked close to your side is something your body has always known how to make room for.
“that so?” he asks, disappointed in a way that is almost convincing. “well, damn. guess that ruins the anniversary plans.”
you blink. anniversary.
right. you turn into him because if he wants a show, you can give him one. your hand lands on his chest, fingers spreading over the worn softness of his shirt, and you feel him inhale under your palm. almost nothing. but there.
“it’s okay,” you say, looking up at him with your sweetest, deadliest smile. “we’ll make our own fun.”
dean’s eyes flick down to yours.
the mechanic clears his throat.
you win.
by sundown, the entire town thinks you and dean are married, or engaged, or disgustingly in love depending on who you ask—because dean keeps changing the story just to annoy you. at the diner, he tells the waitress you met during a bar fight. at the motel, he says you proposed after saving him from drugs, which earns him a kick under the check-in counter hard enough to make his smile twitch. later, walking down the quiet road toward the orchard, he holds your hand because people are still watching from their porches, and you tell yourself that is all it is.
his palm is warm and rough against yours, fingers lacing too easily. every few steps, his thumb brushes over your knuckle, casual in a way that makes you want to accuse him of doing it on purpose. the worst part is he isn’t even talking that much now. the case has settled over him, sharpening the edges of his attention, but the fake closeness stays. shoulder bumping yours. hand firm around yours. his body angling slightly ahead when the road darkens.
“you’re quiet,” you comment.
he hums, “thinking.”
“dangerous.”
“about us.”
your heart trips.
then he adds, “our fake marriage. i think we need a dog.”
you exhale through your nose, trying not to laugh. “you’re insufferable.”
“and yet, you married me.”
“fake married.”
“vows are vows.”
the orchard rises ahead, black against the fading sky, rows of trees scratching at the air. the sweetness of rotting apples thickens with every step, and beneath it there’s something older—wet earth and old blood. your grip tightens around dean’s before you can stop it.
his teasing drops immediately. “hey,” he murmurs. “you good?”
he says it softly, and that’s a problem, because there’s no audience, no performance… just dean, close enough that his breath warms your temple, looking at you like your answer matters more than the thing waiting between the trees.
“yeah,” you say. “i’m good.”
he nods once, but he doesn’t let go.
the town makes its move near the scarecrow post, of course. three men come out with shotguns, the mechanic among them, all apologetic smiles and dead eyes, saying things about tradition and harvest and how you seem like such a nice couple.
dean keeps himself between you and the guns, mouth running because fear and fury both turn into sarcasm on his tongue.
“hate to break it to you,” he says, backing up with you toward the field, “but our relationship is actually in a really fragile place right now. sacrificing us would be super insensitive.”
you elbow him. “dean.”
“what? communication is important.”
then the scarecrow moves. not creaks. not falls. it moves—wooden limbs snapping loose, burlap head twisting toward you, black pits where eyes should be. the townies scatter fast, cowards underneath all that civic pride, and dean shoves you behind him for half a second before you shove back because you are not decorative bait, thank you very much.
“dude,” dean blurts, staring up at the thing as it lurches out of the dirt, “you’re fugly”.
“focus,” you snap, grabbing the kerosene from his bag.
“i am focused. on how ugly he is.”
the fight is messy and fast. you duck under a swinging arm that smashes into an apple tree hard enough to split bark. dean fires salt rounds that barely slow it down, and somewhere between the shouting and the panic, he grabs your wrist and yanks you out of reach with such hard, automatic terror that it punches through all the fake feelings.
you burn the scarecrow together.
flame catches straw, then burlap, then whatever old evil is stitched into the thing. it screams in a voice made of dry leaves and bone, collapsing into the dirt while the orchard glows orange around you. dean stands beside you, breathing hard, soot on his cheek, hand still wrapped around yours.
the town is quiet now.
you look down at your joined hands. so does he.
“guess we can get a divorce now,” you say, because if you don’t make a joke, you might say something honest and ruin both your lives.
dean’s smile comes slow, but it doesn’t reach all the way. “nah,” he says, voice rougher than usual. “we survived a sacrifice. pretty sure that’s legally binding.”
you laugh, soft and breathless, and the sound shakes more than you want it to. his thumb brushes your knuckle again, not for the town, not for the case, not for anyone hiding behind curtains.
you should pull away. you don’t. and when you finally walk back toward the impala, your hand still in his, the pretend part feels a little too far behind you to reach.
ꔛ. all works ; writing guidelines ; writing schedule.
Stepbro!Dean fingering reader in the passenger seat with a newspaper in hand all layed out with her legs spread without a care in the world while he’s driving, and won’t let her cum til she finds a case that sounds supernatural enough for them and slaps her pussy whenever she gets distracted..
But how can she focus when her brother’s knuckles-deep inside of her!! :((
i love asks becauss u guys come up w some shit i for some reason couldnt think of.. i love making these come to life
dean dean dean.. that teasing little bastard. he’s got you bending one leg up and keeping the other down just in case anyone looks in, making you sit with your back against him so he can still drive relatively safe. even when it’s just mindless touches he still fingers you better than anyone else ever has.
“there.. there’s a hotel in, um, michigan. family just died there..” you murmur softly, barely audible. you’re trying not to be too loud and you’d like to say it’s working but it’s really not. dean nods, doesn’t look back at you. “and?” your breath hitches as he curls his fingers, the balls of your feet pressing into the seat. “a-and, and they.. um,” you trail off, blinking slowly. the words on the paper jumble together into messy black lines. your head feels like it’s going to explode.
“what else?” he barks, gently smacking his palm against you. it doesn’t hurt, but it shocks you out of your daze. “shit!” you shake your head, squint your eyes. “says it was an accident, something about the heater busting and they got carbon monoxide poisoning, but it was just their room.” you manage. his fingers gently glide back inside you and he nods. “nobody else?” he repeats. you hum, crinkle the paper in your hands. “no one else. it- it says owners thought they fixed the pipes as early as september, almost four months ago.” you hear him hum into your ear.
dean allows it to pass, after all you’ve gone through about seven newspapers by now. he scissors his fingers, presses the heel of his palm into your clit. you buck immediately.
you groan softly, head leaning back into his shoulder. “that’s it, just let go f’me.” he coos, glancing over just for a split second. you’ve been on edge for a while now so it doesn’t take much for you. your hips stutter into him, gasping as an orgasm floods your body. dean pulls his fingers out of you, prods them at your mouth to signal you to suck. your lips wrap around the digits, heavy breaths around them.
“we’ll head there then.” he says, smiling at how you bite and tongue his fingers. “what’s the address?”
