You're the only woman ben hooks up with anymore- but he thinks your ashamed of him. Time to prove him wrong.
|• MDNI (18+!) |• cw: jealous!Ben, unprotected P-I-V, oral (fem!receiving), creampie, cold!Ben but he warms up, hooking up, quickies
W.c: 1.8k (not proofread)
Ever since you've joined the group, you've had your eyes on Ben.
How could you not? Yeah, hes scary, hes the soldier boy, for fucks sake. but you cant help the way your knees wobble slightly everytime he speaks to you in his rough tone.
A rainy evening rolls in. The safehouse smells like motor oil, cheap beer and damp concrete. But it always does. Ben is sprawled across the ratty couch like he owned the place, boots on the coffee table while hughie argued with frenchie in the kitchen about explosives- atleast it sounds like it. You sit cross-legged on the floor, cleaning blood off a knife.
"...why d'ya always stare at me like that,"
he drawls. "People are gonna think you like me." You didnt even look up.
"People think alot when the days long."
He grunts. The thing was- you hadn't meant to stare. You never do- it just comes naturally. It started ugly and impulsive after a mission had gone sideways.
Adrenaline. Screaming. Bruises. The two of you alone in some ratty motel bathroom while water from the shower collected on the tile floor to drown out the noise.
One minute, you were yelling at him for nearly getting MM killed, the next he had your wrists pinned against cracked tile and you were kissing him hard enough to make his lips hurt. Not that he'd care. After that, it became a pattern. Quick, secretive, never discussed. Quick fucks against walls, in abandoned motels, even in the safehouse late at night when everyone was asleep, a hand slapped over your mouth to muffle any noise from your mouth while he rammed his cock into you.
And soldier boy- who had spent decades fucking his way across America without a second thought, realized one evening in a bar that he hadn't touched another woman in months.
Not because he couldnt.
No- because he didnt want to. Which was fucking ridiculous. He told himself it didnt mean anything when you rested your head on his chest after sex. Didnt mean anything when you absentmindedly played with the chain around his neck while half asleep.
Or on that quiet afternoon. You angered him on a mission, and fuck if he could wait until you're back at the safehouse. He cant. Thats why he has you on some scrappy, dirty floor, fucking you hard in prone-bone. The tip of his thick cock slams into that perfect, spongy spot inside your warm cunt, and you feel like you might cry. With your cheek smushed against the floor, and feet dangling weakly behind you, your hand reaches out, searching for something to hold onto while every harsh thrust inches you a little forward, and your hand finds his. Your eyebrows knit together while his scruff tickles the sensitive skin of your throat, and he quickly pulls out, still holding onto your hand while his warm cum shoots all over your back.
Not even that meant anything-....right?
That afternoon had stayed with Him. Your palm against his, breathing uneven and eyes squeezed shut while he held on so tight he thought me might break your fingers. People who were just fuck-buddies didnt do that. Right? But then the next day you'd barely look at him infront of the others. Like he embarassed you.
The bar is crowded and loud, neon signs reflecting blue and pink against sticky and nasty floors. Ben sits alone in some dusty corner, nursing whiskey while Butcher hustles some idiot at pool. You're sat at the bar waiting for drinks when some guy slides up beside you. Young. Pretty. Smug. Ben watches your face carefully over the rim of his glass, a perfect eyebrow slightly raised. The guy says something that makes you laugh politely, and then- he touches your arm. Soldier boys jaw tightens.
What. The fuck?
...why is he even mad- you're just fuck buddies, but hes still halfway to standing when you shake your head and say something short. Final. He cant hear it but the guy looks annoyed. You glance across the room one time- directly at Ben. Automatically, the guy hitting on you looks over too- but once he catches sight of the massive supe glaring holes through him, he basically evaporates. Right after, you grab your drinks and walk straight back to ben's booth.
"You looked homicidal,"
you smile a little, sliding him a Beer.
"I am homicidal."
At his words you snort softly and scooch into the booth next to him, slightly close like its instinct. Warm. Easy. His arm settled along the back of the booth behind you.
"You could've gone with him,"
he says casually, making your brows furrow. "Why would i do that?" He shrugs, pretending not to care. You stare at him for a second too long before looking away.
And only two nights later, you're back at it. Stubble scratching along your thighs, you moan quietly. He eats you out like a man starving, ridiculously- plump lips wrapping around your clit and sucking on it with a loud slurp.
Jesus Christ, hes a real womanizer. His beefy arms wrap around your thighs, stopping you from squirming with ease- one of your hands tangled in his hair while the other one braces against the sheets.
"....mm-, fuck-"
you whisper breathlessly. He only hums in response. "....mhmm?.."
A floorboard creaks outside.
Both of you freeze.
Then comes footsteps.
Your eyes widen in Panic. "Fuck-" and the doorknob rattles. In one panicked- intrusive reaction, you shove at ben's face with your foot.
Hard.
He stumbles backward with a loud thud into the nightstand. "OW-- Jesus fucking--"
"Shhh!" The door cracked open and inch. "Everything okay?" Hughie asks sleepily. He heard whining. You sit upright instantly, clutching your blanket to your chest while ben crouched besides the bed, rubbing his jaw with murder in his eyes. "Fine!-" you squeak. "I--uh--nightmare,."
Hughie blinks. "....Right. okay." The door shut.
Silence.
Ben slowly looked up at you.
"You kicked me in the fuckin' face." You'd almost be scared of him right now if you werent so caught off guard.
"I panicked-!"
"You panic like a goddamn mule."
You bury your face in your hands. "I'm-...sorry-."
But he barely hears you. Not because of the kick to his face- because all he could think of was how terrified you'd looked at the idea of someone finding out.
Not embarassed.
Terrified. Of him.
Something cold settles in his chest. Colder than it always does.
So he pulls away after that. Subtle at first.
He stops touching you casually. Stops sitting beside you. Stops lingering after missions to trade sarcastic comments while everyone else cleans up.
And you notice.
Of course you notice.
He can tell by the way your eyes track him across rooms now. By the little crease between your brows whenever he brushes past you without stopping.
Still, neither of you say anything.
Until one night, you finally corner him in the kitchen after everyone else went to sleep.
"You're avoiding me."
Ben scoffs, swallowing. Not nervous. Not really. Just....tense. "You're paranoid."
"Bullshit." You hiss.
Making you flinch, he slams the fridge shut harder than necessary. "Maybe i got tired of sneakin' around like your dirty little secret."
Your face falls.
The instant regret hits him like a truck, but he keeps going because hes soldier boy.
"You act like people finding out about us would be the end of the fuckin' world."
"Thats not---"
"You kicked me in the face because hughie touched a doorknob."
"I panicked!"
"Why?" His voice cracks through the Kitchen sharper than intended.
"Why are you so scared of people knowing, huh? Are you so ashamed of me?"
You stare at him like he'd slapped you. Then you laugh once- small and disbelieving.
"Ashamed of you?-"
"Sure looks like it."
"Oh my god." You drag both hands down your face before stepping closer.
"Ben, i'm- scared because this team is already hanging together by threads and if Butcher realizes we're involved he wil absolutely use it against us-"
He says nothing.
You swallow the lump in your throat, shaking your head. "You really thought i was embarassed of you?"
"When people get close to me," he says quietly, "it usually ends badly."
The honesty in that nearly breaks your heart. His expression had gone guarded in a way you rarely saw-- less arrogant, less untouchable. Just...tired.
You step closer slowly, fingers curling in the front of his shirt.
"I turn other men down because i want you," you mumble softly. "I sleep in your bed whenever i can, because i want to. There's no other guy who's hand i hold during sex-..."
His eyes search yours carefully, like he doesent trust what hes hearing.
"And for the record," you add, voice trembling slightly, "if someone had opened that bedroom door while you were eating me out? I would've died of humiliation because they caught me completely in love with you."
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Then ben kissed you.
Not rough this time,- not hungry. Just deep- and wrecked and relieved.
His hands cradle your face like something precious while your arms wrap around his neck.
"You love me..?" He mutters against your mouth like the words still confused him. His rough hands trail up your waist under your shirt.
You laugh shakily. "Unfortunately."
A huff escapes him- almost a laugh.
Then he buries his face in the crook of your shoulder, eyes closed.
"Mh,"
A few soft kisses get pressed against the smooth line of your throat, making you exhale shakily while one of your hands braces on his chest.
Your and ben's heavy breathing fills the room. His hands tug your pants off, and your hands fumble with his sweatpants too. Of course hes not wearing any underwear. Pig. Biting down on your lower lip, you spit into your palm and stroke up and down his length a few times, before he pushes your panties aside and lines up with your pretty cunt.
God, hes missed it.
Once he bottoms out in you, a grunt leaves him and a quiet moan leaves you. Every thrust feels different from the other times- Like you both finally admitted something thats been killing you. Your hands scramble for leverage on the counter and the back of your head hits the cupboard with a deep thrust. If only you could bring yourself to care. Your arms wrap around his neck.
"Nnh- mh-mh-mh-...shit..."
You pant. His hips move faster and faster until he finally throws both of you over the edge, bodys locking up and limbs tangled with eachother. He pulls out of you, his cum leaking out of you with ease.
a/n: accept this as a peace offering while i work on requests
18+ content ahead—minors do not interact. preferably watch in private, not public. you must be logged into x (twitter) to watch the videos below. ૮꒰ ˖˚⊹ ꣑ৎ ꒱ა
✘ creampie
✘ bend over
✘ makin’ you do all the work
✘ lesson learned
✘ face riding
✘ don’t tell butcher
✘ between your tits
✘ rightfully where it belongs
✘ throat fuckin’
✘ passionate
✘ thigh humping
✘ mutual masturbation
Summary: Ben is trying to be a good boyfriend and hold back his possessive instincts. But it’s difficult to control himself when men like The Deep cross lines.
Word count: 5.8k
Warnings: +18 MDNI. SMUT (unprotected p in v, riding, doggy—various positions, idk, they’re horny—, choking, spanking, deepthroating, big d ben ofc, degrading words, one use of ‘daddy’), ben is kinda rough and caveman-like but he is trying to be nice(?), toxic masculinity, gaslighting, kinda-toxic established relationship, reader being sexualized af, kinda fluffy yet angsty sometimes, the Deep being annoying, and consumption of drugs.
Being part of The Seven was one of the worst things that could’ve happened to you. After replacing the “treacherous” Starlight, Vought’s marketing sexualized you to the fullest extent.
It started with your small, tight costume, which left nothing to the imagination; one wrong movement and your boobs could spill out mid-fight. Then came the innocent commercials with sexual innuendo… You were haunted by the commercial where you were “playfully” moaning and whining while getting covered in glue.
In every film, TV show, and even fucking TikTok videos, you were used as a sex icon to attract perverts. What even was the point of a shirtless scene in a movie about The Deep and you fighting the Mexican cartel?
And, of course, Vought tried to set you up in a PR relationship with Homelander. You were sure they would’ve gone with Deep if he hadn’t been married already. But in all honesty? It would be a nightmare to pretend to date either of them.
The false relationship didn’t work—thank goodness—since Homelander couldn’t stand spending more than five minutes close to you. And who were you to complain? You had the daily mission of avoiding Homelander and your fellow Seven members as much as possible.
But everything changed when he returned.
You had no doubt that Soldier Boy would be just as obnoxious and evil as his dear son, Homelander. But then you noticed the long, quiet glances your way, the stammering over his words every time he tried to talk to you, and the respectful, gentle way he treated you.
Only you, though. He was horrible to anyone else who tried to start a conversation with him.
Being brought back to life for a second time had changed Soldier Boy’s perspective on many things. He hadn’t loved anyone in years, and he wanted to do things right with you…
A YEAR AGO…
You entered your Vought apartment and let out a long, tired sigh. After being the face of this year’s Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show, all you wanted to do was lie in bed and eat a thick hamburger. You took off your robe, the expensive lingerie, and the painfully high heels to take a cold shower.
Bathed and comfy, you returned to your living room. It was so full of gifts and flowers that it was difficult to walk around them. There were roses, lilies, tulips, orchids... but you were looking for a specific set of sunflowers. A bouquet you had been receiving every day for the past two months.
They never came with cards or clues as to who your secret admirer was, so you appreciated them much more. There were no ulterior motives behind them; someone simply wanted you to have flowers every single day.
You had spent almost twenty minutes frantically walking around your living room when a soft knock on your door stopped you. You looked at the time on your phone: almost midnight.
What the fuck?
After grabbing a kitchen knife, you opened a fraction of the door.
Looking at the floor and with his hands behind his back, stood a normally-dressed Soldier Boy.
Your body relaxed at the lack of threat. “Oh, hey. What’s up?” You looked him up and down. “I’ve never seen you out of your suit—”
Before you could finish your sentence, you remembered your current attire: Hello Kitty pants and a baggy Star Wars shirt. You discreetly hid half of your body behind the door.
Soldier Boy glanced up and tried to smile. “H-Hey. Uhm, sorry if it’s too late. I just…” He cleared his throat. “I dozed off while waiting for you to come back, but I just heard you pacing around.”
You grimaced. “Right. You’re next door. I’m sorry. Was I too loud?”
He firmly shook his head. “Not at all. My apartment is just… too quiet, I guess.” His eyes dropped to the ground again. “Whatever. I watched that, uhm, runway show on TV and t-thought you did a great job, so I wanted to…”
Pulling his hands from behind his back, Soldier Boy showed you a bouquet of sunflowers.
Your jaw dropped as you took a step back from the surprise. All those months… “It was you?!”
He blinked confusedly. “What? Oh… yes. I’ve left some at your door before. I don’t know if you’ve seen them—”
“Of course!” you shrieked with a wide, excited smile. Then you shrank down, remembering the late hour. “I mean, yes, yes, I have. Oh, God. I’m so…”
There were a hundred possible adjectives to describe what this revelation was causing to your head, your heart, and your stomach, but none of them would be accurate enough. From all the scenarios you had imagined, this was definitely the best.
(Thank fuck it wasn’t The Deep…)
You smiled nervously, like a girl talking to her crush for the first time as you fidgeted with the door’s handle. “Do you want to come in?”
Soldier Boy froze for a split second. “Are you… sure?”
You rolled your eyes playfully and nodded. “I was about to order some McDonald's and maybe watch a movie. Wanna join me?”
Maybe you had fallen in love with Ben because he was the first man to see you as a human being, and maybe you should’ve seen a therapist to discuss that, but you didn’t care.
And, well, his big dick and your wonderful bed chemistry definitely helped his case.
There was just a tiny flaw in your amazing man: his old-fashioned possessiveness and uncontrollable jealousy.
No one really cared about you two going out. Vought was busy trying not to go bankrupt; Firecracker was discreetly trying to take your place as the face of the company; Deep and Noir were distracted hating each other; Sage was being her mysterious usual self; and Homelander… wanted people to see him as a god.
That’s how you found yourself presenting a PowerPoint with ideas for Homelander’s godly rebranding in your current team meeting.
You leant forward to your computer as you angrily pressed a button to pass the slide. “Shitty thing,” you muttered when the screen froze.
As you bent further, squinting at the screen and unconsciously arching your back, Ben noticed something. Right next to him, Deep’s eyes wandered unashamedly to your ass. He bit his lip and discreetly adjusted himself.
You grunted and hit the side of the computer. “This stupid thing doesn’t work.”
“Your USB probably has a virus,” Firecracker commented shadily before looking at Homelander for approval.
The blond man was stoically staring at the door with his hands pressed together on the table. You gulped nervously, hoping he wouldn’t explode against you.
Homelander had stopped the mean comments towards you since he found out about your relationship with his father, but he still threw ugly glares your way when Ben wasn’t present.
“I’ll just request another one and—” You never finished your sentence.
It all happened in a flash.
Soldier Boy stood up and smashed Deep’s head against the table.
“What the fuck, bro?!” Deep tried to get up, but Ben helped him to it.
Your man grabbed Deep by the collar and flung him across the floor. He approached his weak body and repeatedly kicked him in the head, stomach, and crotch.
Everyone was taken aback by the sudden violence, but no one moved to stop it. The Deep’s whines and cries filled the quiet room.
Your hands were on your mouth from the shock. You looked at Homelander, who had a tiny smirk on his face.
And anything he liked would always be something you hated.
You walked around the table and muttered, “That’s enough.”
Soldier Boy was so enraged and jealous that he didn’t pay attention. He hovered over Deep. “I should tear off your eyes for staring at my girl’s ass,” he grunted before punching him hard.
The Deep was trying to cover his bloody face as he whimpered, “I’m sorry!”
“You have no right to even look in her direction, you hear me?”
You sighed deeply and approached the scene. “C’mon, stop. You’ll kill him.”
But he didn’t register your words at all. Ben grasped Deep’s face and yelled, “Do you understand or are you too much of an idiot?!”
Deep cried, “I do! I’m so sorry!”
Soldier Boy raised his arm to deliver another punch, but you had enough of this embarrassing scene.
“Ben, stop!”
Your angry tone mixed with the mention of his real name seemed to make its magic. Ben lowered his arm slowly, spat on The Deep’s face, and stood up.
His broad, proud chest deflated at your gloomy expression. He hadn’t thought clearly about his actions; he just reacted at the sight of a threat… like a caveman.
You ignored everyone’s stares and ran away from the meeting room. Without a doubt, Soldier Boy followed behind.
“Y/N, wait.”
But you walked firmly down the hallways and away from the chaos. People jumped out of your way, not from fear but from awe. You forced smiles at them until you reached the elevator.
“Honey…” Ben murmured, noticing you were insistently pressing the closing button. He sped up. “Y/N, don’t be ridiculous—”
And the doors closed on his face. He sighed deeply and refrained from causing another scene in public.
The stairs would work… if your bedrooms weren’t ten floors below.
“Goddamn, woman,” he muttered and started the long way downstairs.
Your thoughts combined with people’s voices were making everything loud. You needed to lock yourself in your bathroom and take a long bubble—
Ben roughly pushed the door to your quarters open, preventing you from closing it fully.
You stepped back before the door could hit you in the chest, which made Ben raise his hands and look at you with wide eyes. “Did I hurt you? I’m sorry, I—”
“I wanna be alone,” you muttered, walking to your kitchen for a desperately needed glass of water.
He followed behind you, his hands tight in fists. “You always say we have to 'communicate' and all those things pussies do, but now you want me to go away? Do you hear yourself?”
You pulled a glass from the cabinet and opened the refrigerator.
Ben stepped right next to you. “Oh, you are ignoring me? Real mature, Y/N.”
That was it… Your patience seemed to run thin when you were with him.
You turned to your boyfriend with livid eyes. “I’m the immature one? Me? Not the guy who beat up a dude out of jealousy?”
He scoffed. “It was not any dude. That disgusting piece of shit was ogling your ass with no shame.”
You sighed and poured some water for yourself. “Everyone looks at my ass when I’m in this micro suit that your son ordered me to wear.”
Ben’s jaw dropped. “He can have my blood, but he isn’t my son, and you know that pretty well, Y/N. Stop with your goddamn mind games to make me feel guilty.”
It was your turn to be flabbergasted. “I’m not doing that! I’m just saying that you should be used to this by now. Especially with Deep, he looks at everyone’s butts. Even yours!”
“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” he muttered.
“It’s my body. I definitely don’t like it either, but if you beat up every guy who looks at my ass, there would be no male population.”
Ben passed both hands through his hair. “That’s not my point. It’s not only the looking at it. It’s the disrespect.”
You crossed your arms. “To you or to me?”
He opened and closed his mouth, then sighed. “To both, doll. These morons know you’re my girl, and they still look at you as if you were free meat on the market down the street.”
Ben realized he fucked up when the words had already escaped his mouth. “Which you are not,” he added, trying to save the situation.
“Leave,” you murmured angrily. “Now.”
“What I’m saying is that men should know better—”
“No!” you cut him off. “Don’t pretend this isn’t a jealousy tantrum. We’ve had this conversation before, and you always try to find excuses.”
“I don’t!”
You placed your hands on his chest and started to push him backwards to the kitchen’s door. “Fuck off.”
Ben didn’t move an inch. “Can we talk like mature adults who want to maintain a healthy relationship?” he said, clearly mocking you.
“Oh, because we are so healthy,” you snapped with sarcasm.
His shoulders dropped as his heart stung… and now you were the one that fucked up. Ben scoffed and turned around, going straight to the main door.
You sighed and reached for his left arm. “Baby, wait.”
“No, no.” He pulled back. “Let me fulfill your wish of fucking off.”
And there was nothing worse for your heart than seeing him walk away. You jumped between him and the door.
“Baby, I love that you want to protect me all the time…” you spoke in a low, soft voice. “But your possessiveness isn’t healthy for us.”
Ben melted as you reached for his hands.
“I know. I’m working on it, honey,” he murmured, his thumb caressing your knuckles tenderly. “But you don't know what it’s like to date someone who is desired by everyone.” His arms wrapped around your waist as he drew you closer to press his forehead against yours. “You could be with any man in the world, baby. And you should definitely be with someone less fucked up.”
Your hands held his cheeks as you shook your head. “I don’t want anyone else, Ben.”
He closed his eyes, the simple yet genuine words hitting him hard. “You’ll get tired of me. My head is a mess. I have no self-control and—”
You silenced his insecure words with a soft kiss.
“I love you,” you whispered against his lips. “I’m not going anywhere, alright?”
Ben licked his lips, already missing yours, and dived back for another taste. This time, it quickly turned passionate as he backed you to the door.
That’s how it always was with you two. The arguments and yells morphed to kisses and physical apologies.
He started devouring your jaw and neck, finding your weak spots with ease. You gasped when his big, strong hands grabbed your ass roughly. His beard tickled you as he whispered in your ear. “I love you too, honey. You’ve no idea how much.”
And, for the millionth time this month, he carelessly tore apart your suit. You felt yourself getting wet as the cold air hit your bare skin. Ben slapped your ass before hooking his hands behind your thighs to lift you up.
You couldn’t contain a soft moan at the sudden contact of your pussy with his suit. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his hips. He smiled arrogantly against your collarbone, then walked to the nearest surface: the dining table.
He pushed the flower vase and the napkins to the floor before laying you down and spreading your legs.
“You’re so beautiful,” Ben murmured and reached for your breasts. He grabbed your left one, playing with your nipple until it hardened. “And I’m the only one that gets to see you like this.” You moaned and arched your back, needing his tongue to replace his fingers. But he stopped. “Say it.”
You frowned and whined. “What now?”
Ben sighed through his nose and squeezed your breast. “Say I’m the only one that gets to fuck you like a whore on your dining table.”
His sweet words never lasted long.
And you would be lying if you said it didn’t make you wetter.
You rested on your elbows and whispered, “Well… on this dining table, yes.”
Ben rolled his eyes at your joke attempt. His free hand slid up to cup the back of your neck, holding you closer. “On every fucking surface of this shitty apartment?” he clarified.
You gulped and looked up at him with faux innocence. “Y-yes. Only you,” you whispered.
He let go of your neck to grasp your cheeks and kiss you messily. You held onto his shoulders, moving to the edge to feel him against your bareness. When you made contact with his hard belt, your hips started moving desperately.
Ben chuckled and pulled back from your lips. “Needy for my cock, doll?”
You nodded without hesitation. “I need it. Here. Now.”
He clicked his tongue. “You know I like to take my time with you, princess.”
You whined and pressed yourself against his hard-on, making him groan. “Please fuck me, daddy.”
And that broke what was left of his self-control.
He wanted to make you fall apart with his tongue and fingers first, but you were an expert on making him a mess. Ben fidgeted hurriedly with his belt, his eyes glued to your body. You played with your nipples and let out little whimpers to tease him some more.
“You’ll be the end of me, woman,” he murmured before shoving down his pants.
He pulled out his hard cock and immediately aligned it to your entrance… but you stopped him. “Take it all off,” you whined, pulling at the top of his suit.
Ben sighed, took a step back and grumpily unclasped piece by piece. “You’re bossy today.”
You smirked and planted your feet on the edge of the table, giving him a perfect view of your wet, open pussy. “Why do something if you won’t do it correctly?”
Your boyfriend rolled his eyes. “Is this about the grilled cheese I burnt this morning?”
“No, but now that you mention it— Oh!” Your words were replaced by a loud, trembling gasp when Ben slammed fully into you.
He grasped your hips hard enough to leave marks as he started a rough, fast pace. You held onto his shoulders, your nails sinking in his skin as if your life depended on it.
The table shook rhythmically with each of his movements. “Not so bratty anymore, doll?” he grunted cockily.
You could only respond with more shaky moans as you looked at him with glassy eyes, overwhelmed by the fullness.
Ben lifted his left hand to hold the back of your neck before kissing your forehead, a gesture completely opposite to what he was doing with his lower body. “Cat got your tongue?”
As if proving his point, you whined and pouted for a kiss. He chuckled but brought you close to meet your lips, the tenderness of it contrasting with the animalistic need in his body.
Ben pulled your hair, exposing your neck before biting down to leave long-lasting hickeys. He was claiming you, a rough reminder of who you belong to.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grunted, his voice barely audible against the loud sound of skin slapping against skin. “Take it all, doll.”
You were a moaning mess as you tried to hold onto the table, but the slippery glass wasn’t helping. “Couch,” you ordered weakly. “I want to be on top.”
Ben didn’t have to be told twice. Without pulling out, he lifted you up and rushed to the pricey velvet couch. He sat down and looked up at you with newfound hunger. You leant forward and positioned yourself in your favorite riding position.
His arms surrounded your back to bring your breasts closer to his face. “Fuck, I love you,” he murmured before devouring them eagerly.
At times like this, you both wondered why you wasted time fighting when you could’ve had him balls deep inside you.
You grasped the couch’s back for support and suddenly felt a sting in your hand. “Shit!”
Ben looked up worriedly, a string of saliva connecting his mouth to your left breast. “What’s wrong?”
You patted around until you found the source of your pain: a phone with a smashed screen.
“What happened to your phone?” you gasped, then sighed and smiled condescendingly. “You sat on it with your fat ass again?”
His face dropped as he tried to take the device from your hand. Thinking he was playing, you raised your arm to keep it out of his reach. “C’mon, why didn’t you tell me?” you chuckled. “We’ll buy another one tomo—”
“Just give it to me, for fuck’s sake!” he snapped. “I didn’t sit on it, okay? Give me my phone.”
The cold tone of his voice while his cock was literally shoved inside you was… an insane scenario. You shoved the wrecked phone into his chest. “It was a joke,” you mumbled and stood up.
Ben grabbed your wrist, his eyes back to soft and regretful. “I didn’t mean to snap. I’m sorry, doll. Come here—”
“No, I’ll…” You pulled your arm away from his touch. “I’ll take a shower.”
Now you remembered why your relationship was more fight than lust. Your boyfriend had the talent of suddenly being a huge asshole.
6 MONTHS AGO…
You finished wrapping your wet hair with a cotton towel and walked back to the living room, where Ben was supposedly waiting for you to watch a movie.
He was manspreading on the couch, a hand on the controller and a deep frown on his face as he watched the television. “What the fuck is this?”
You skipped like a happy deer to sit down next to him, but the excitement drained from your body when you saw the screen.
It was your most recent food commercial. You were in your usual tight superhero suit, but your makeup and hair were overdone for the camera.
“You know I like them thick and creamy,” Television-You said before taking a big bite of a hamburger and moaning.
You grimaced and looked at your boyfriend, who was watching the commercial with disgust. A pang of shame struck you hard.
“Come to Hooters and try my personal favorite: Juicy Booty,” you finished, winking at the camera.
Ben sighed and pressed his face into his hands. “What the fuck?”
You stood up anxiously, avoiding his eyes as you looked for your phone. “Did you take a look at my movie watchlist? I’m thinking we can watch Zoolan—”
“Don’t change the topic,” he muttered. “What was that? Why the fuck do you make stuff like that?”
Needing a distraction, you walked to the kitchen to prepare some microwave popcorn.
“It’s not like I have a choice,” you mumbled. “I signed a contract with Vought.”
He entered the kitchen, fuming. “So if Vought asks you to do porn, you’d do it?”
You glared at him, then turned back to the microwave. “Of course not. It’s just a stupid commercial. Get over it.”
Ben scoffed, thoroughly offended. “Get over my girlfriend acting like a prostitute for Vought to get some dollars that won’t make a difference in her fortune?”
Your heart dropped as his words hit on your deepest insecurities. Ben noticed your tearful eyes and immediately regretted his words. “Well, I mean… Maybe more than some dollars—”
“Stop,” you snapped in a trembling voice. “Just… leave.”
Ben approached you slowly and hugged you from behind. He kissed the back of your neck. “I’m sorry. I love you so much and it hurts seeing Vought treat you like that.”
You closed your eyes as you fought the urge to give in. Ben turned you around gently and kissed your forehead. “I’m sorry, doll. I don’t deserve you.”
“Don’t say that,” you whispered, already feeling bad for him. “I love you too… but I don’t like when you say stuff like that.”
He nodded and sighed. “I won’t do it again, okay? I promise.”
And after more murmured apologies between kisses, you believed him and let him fuck you on the kitchen counter, the popcorn’s buttery smell filling the room.
You were weak when it came to Ben. It seemed that you were the only one in the relationship who was understanding about him being from another decade.
“Things were different back then,” you repeated to yourself every time he said something morally incorrect…
But when were you drawing the line?
He tried to hold your hand again, but you brushed him off. As you began your naked walk of shame to the bathroom, Ben spoke again.
“I downloaded the app that you showed me. The one that answers questions,” he started. “Redhead?”
You slowly turned around. “Reddit?”
“Yes, that one.” He stood up. “I was looking up ways to reset the microwave—”
“What?”
“Long story.” He paced as he continued, “The point is… when I finished, I looked up your name.”
Oh.
You sighed, already imagining the thousand possible bad things he could’ve seen.
Ben shook his head as he grasped his hair in distress. “How can people talk about you like that?! And-and the drawings? It’s so… so…”
“Disgusting?” you offered.
“Inhuman,” he murmured. “There were drawings of your body with every type of proportions, or fucked by different Supes, or in weird costumes, or with octopus—”
You placed both hands on his chest. “I get it. I’ve seen some too.” At least he didn’t find the deepfakes…
He held your waist as he shook his head again, disappointed in society. “I hate that they see you like that. I wish I could… take you away from here.” He placed a strand of hair behind your ear. “Taken care of and loved by me. Only me.”
You closed your eyes, feeling conflicted about his protective nature.
His big hands stroke your cheeks possessively. “Let’s take a break from this. From Vought’s bullshit circus. Let’s go to… I don’t know. Europe? I’ll take you to Europe, baby.”
“Ben…”
He kissed your forehead. “I’ll buy us a cabin in the most beautiful woods, and we can live there alone.” Then your nose. “I’ll get us a chef and a maid so we can fuck all day.”
“Ben…”
He pulled slightly back to look into your eyes. “And we’ll have a big backyard where I’ll marry you.”
You stopped resisting. God, you were weak. “Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah.” He pecked your lips before murmuring against them. “And then, we will have all the puppies you want.”
“And kittens?”
Ben smirked and bit your lower lip gently. “And kittens, bunnies, flowers… anything for my princess.”
He was an expert at fucking up, but he excelled at convincing you to forgive him. And it seemed like he had succeeded with his words today.
You pushed him back to the wall and knelt in front of him. Your boyfriend smirked, proud of himself for making you horny again.
He grabbed your hair and guided your head forward, slapping you with his hard, leaking cock. “Open up, baby.”
You opened wide obediently as his thick head reached your lips. Ben groaned deeply when you took him in your mouth, your jaw already aching from his girth.
He gripped the back of your head and rolled his hips slowly. “Fuck… Take it all. I know you can do it.”
Waking him up with a blowjob every morning during the first month of your relationship had taught you how to relax your throat and breathe through your nose. Ben groaned at the messy sight of his cock disappearing between your beautiful lips.
His grip on your hair tightened as he thrust up and hit the back of your throat. “That’s it, fuck.” Your eyes watered when his hips began to move with more urgency. Ben looked down at you with lustful, dark eyes. “You look so pretty like this, doll. Bet you’d let me use this mouth all fucking day.”
You moaned around him, making him grunt and lose control. He was thrusting deep now, his balls slapping against your chin as he fucked your mouth. You held onto his strong thighs with shaky hands.
“Look at you,” Ben growled. “Choking on your man like a good girl. My perfect slut.” But he pulled out, letting you catch air, and lifted you up. “But I need to finish inside you.”
You gasped, startled, as he threw you over his shoulder and rushed to the bedroom. You wouldn’t stop him at all; you loved pleasing him but you needed to be fucked now.
After a sharp spank, Ben dropped you on the king-sized bed (which had never stayed clean for more than three hours since he moved into your chambers). He flipped you onto your stomach and lifted your ass, his favorite position.
“We’re not leaving this bed today,” he joked as he aligned his cock with your pussy.
You whimpered and pushed back for his voluptuous tip to slip in. “Please…”
Ben smirked and teased you with a few more inches. You grasped the bed and instinctively arched your back. But he pulled back and snickered. “Please what, baby?”
Typical of him to get cocky in the worst moments. You sighed heavily and mumbled, “Please put it in?”
He clicked his tongue. “You can do better than that.”
You grunted against the pillow before turning your head to the side and saying, “Please fuck me so hard I can’t walk tomorrow.”
Ben chuckled and wiggled your ass playfully. “I don’t think you can handle all that.”
You rolled your eyes and pressed your back right to his crotch. “You know I can't, and that’s why you love it.”
Your boyfriend smiled wickedly and positioned himself back in your entrance. “Goddamn right, princess.” He pushed the tip in slowly. “Let’s see how rough I can get until I break you.”
Finally, Ben grunted deeply as he slammed into you. Your pussy clenched at his sounds and at the sensation of being filled to the brim. Even after a year, you hadn’t gotten used to his super-sized dick. And it wasn’t as if he ever gave you time to process it. No, once he was inside you, he couldn’t control himself.
Ben gripped your hips and set a relentless, rough pace. “Fuck. Always so tight.” Something inside him lit up at the sticky sight of his cock disappearing into you, right where it belonged, where he would never leave. “Feels good, baby?”
The bed was banging against the wall with each movement, creating a nasty melody joined by your moans and Ben’s grunts.
“It’s g-great,” you managed to respond. “Need m-more. Please!”
He wrapped both hands around your waist to hold your ass up and pounded into you deeply. His tip reached that sweet spot inside you over and over, making you arch your back.
“Oh, fuck! Don’t s-stop!” you yelled.
“Wasn’t planning to, princess,” he chuckled breathily. He spanked your left cheek. “Only I can fuck you this good, huh?”
“Y-yes, only you!” you moaned, trying to look back at him.
Ben pushed your face back to the mattress and used his free hand to slap your ass repeatedly. “Such a fucking slut for me. Clenching so hard around me.”
You couldn’t really process the pain he was causing to your lower back when his cock was transporting your mind to a lustful heaven.
“Want me to come inside, honey?” Ben asked, already knowing your answer.
“Please!” you whimpered. “Need you t-to fill me up.”
Ben hooked his fingers around your hair and pulled your head back to kiss your neck. “So perfect for me… You’re gonna be full of me all day. Won’t let a drop out of this cunt.”
You nodded. “I love you,” you whined, feeling overwhelmed with need. “Only you. Forever.”
He grabbed your cheeks and pecked your lips. “I love you more, honey.” His right hand wrapped around your front to rub fast circles on your clit. “I’m never letting you go. Not a fucking chance you’re getting rid of me, you hear me?”
You nodded again, like an obedient doll, and pouted your lips pathetically. “K-kiss.”
Ben gave you a passionate kiss that pushed you right to the edge. The rubs mixed with the hard snaps of his hips against your ass were enough for you to let go.
The tight clench of your orgasm brought him close to the afterglow too. He let out a guttural grunt as he spilled deep inside you, his hips stilling and his hands using your waist for support.
Ben sighed tiredly and kissed your cheek briefly. He pulled out and fell to the mattress next to you. “That was amazing.” He squeezed your thigh before sitting up.
Your tired body felt like a dumbbell sinking in an ocean. “We aren’t leaving this bed, indeed. I’m sleeping til dinner,” you mumbled.
Ben opened the nightstand’s drawer and pulled out a small bag of coke. You tensed immediately, glaring at him as he made a messy line and snorted it with ease.
You stared at the ceiling, biting your tongue while he lay back on your side. He caressed your waist tenderly... almost apologetically. But you knew him well enough to know that he never regretted doing a line.
For a long minute, Ben was so quiet you thought he had fallen asleep. Then he whispered, “We have to run away before you start showing.”
You gulped, the reminder causing your stomach to drop. “We still have two months or so.”
“I don’t care,” he said with the softest voice he could evoke. “We need to be out of here before that son of a bitch finds out.”
Your boyfriend didn’t have to explain why Homelander finding out about your unplanned pregnancy would be catastrophic.
Ben rested on his elbow to look at you. “The second I find the V-One for you, we’ll take a plane to—”
“I don’t want the V-One, baby,” you mumbled with a sad smile.
The ambient turned heavy every time you two talked about this. Ben had found out he was immortal, so naturally, he was determined to get the V-One before Homelander or Butcher’s gang and inject it into you.
Ben scoffed and sat up. “Wait until I have it before deciding, okay?” he said with a shaky voice that pulled at your heartstrings. “I c-can’t lose you.”
You reached for his hand and intertwined your fingers. “You won’t. I’m right here.”
He shook his head. “Just… promise me you’ll think about it until I get it. Please?”
Even though he was high, it was rare to see him vulnerable and with his emotions so on the surface. You were sure no one else in the world but you had been lucky enough to be his shoulder to cry on.
So how could you break his heart?
“Alright. I won’t make a decision yet,” you lied. To him or to yourself? You weren’t sure.
Ben brought your intertwined hands to his lips and placed a delicate kiss to your knuckles. “We’ll get through this together.” His free hand caressed your lower tummy. “The three of us.”
You tried to believe him, to believe there was a way to survive Homelander’s horror show, but it was hard to float with no faith. Even if you managed to escape, he would find you. Maybe Homelander wouldn’t hurt his father, but you? While carrying his father’s unplanned-but-already-loved kid?
But you smiled weakly and kissed his cheek. “Together.”
you see your father’s friend for the first time after he spent ten years in prison, and you can’t help but feel attracted to him
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.
you're already warm under him, sprawled across the bed while he looms over you— the smell of whiskey clinging to his breath, his hair mussed from your fingers. ben's pupils are blown wide, his grin lazy and smug, and you know he’s been drinking enough to get mean about it.
his big hands grip your thighs and shove them apart like you weigh nothing, the sound of your gasp making him chuckle low in his chest.
"c'mere, sweetheart.. lemme check on her."
he doesn't mean you. you've learned that by now. when he's drunk like this, you are just the delivery system for the only part of you he gives a damn about.
he noses down into the soft heat between your legs, dragging his stubble along your skin until you're arching. then his tongue flattens, wide and slow, painting over you in a way that's filthy and reverent all at once. he drags it up again, then again, and you realize— he's actually tracing a sloppy b against your folds.
"that's for her. she's been good for me, huh? all soft n' needy.."
your hips twitch and he pins them hard to the mattress, mean grin cutting across his face.
"don't run from me, doll. not when she’s lookin' at me like that."
the wet, obscene sounds of his mouth on you fill the room. every lap is a little messier, his grip a little tighter, until you're squirming under the pressure of it. he's sloppy, spit mixing with your slick, and every so often he pulls back to look— thumb sliding between your folds, parting them so he can watch the way you clench.
"christ on a cross.. she's workin' overtime. just for me."
it's too much, and he knows it. he pushes you over once, twice, doesn't even let you catch your breath before his mouth is on you again. you're gasping, begging, fingers in his hair, and it only makes him meaner.
"yeah, that's it— give it to me, sweetheart. c'mon, she's not done yet."
when you try to push him away, he laughs, drunk and rough, holding you open wider. his tongue circles in tight, relentless flicks, and he groans into you like he’s the one getting off.
"ohhh, she likes that. look at her twitchin'. pretty little thing's gonna squeeze every drop outta you for me."
your thighs tremble, overstimulation sparking through you, but he's not stopping— not when you're dripping, not when your voice breaks, not when you're practically sobbing into the air. "nah, sweetheart.. i'm still hungry."
and the worst part? he means it.
you don't even get the chance to come down from that last orgasm before his hands are under you, flipping you like you weigh nothing. your cheek hits the pillow, your knees shoved apart, hips pulled back into the air by his grip on your waist.
"yeah.. that's the view. goddamn."
you can hear him breathing hard, voice thick with whiskey and greed. he kneels between your legs, palms spreading you open from behind, thumbs pressing into the soft give of your ass until you feel exposed down to your bones.
then he dives back in. his mouth is hot and wet against you, the angle letting him bury his face deeper, tongue fucking into you in short, hungry thrusts. he moans into you like he’s tasting something he's been craving for weeks, the sound vibrating straight through you.
"mm.. she's even prettier from back here. all swollen n' drippin' for me."
you whimper, trying to hold yourself up, but his hands are gripping so tight you can't move— not away, not closer, nothing but take it. he drags his tongue up, circles your clit, then drops back down to fuck you with it again, over and over until your arms are shaking from holding yourself up.
"c'mon, doll.. gimme 'nother. she's beggin'."
your hips twitch and he growls, sucking your clit hard before letting it go with a wet pop. his fingers replace his tongue for a moment, two thick digits curling inside you while he licks around them like he's cleaning you up for his own use. the stretch is deep, relentless, and you feel yourself clenching helplessly around him.
"that's it.. squeeze my fingers. make her show me what she's got."
the overstimulation's sharp now, teetering on painful, and you gasp out his name, but that only makes him meaner. he pumps his fingers faster, tongue working your clit in messy, desperate laps. he's drunk enough that his rhythm is erratic— sometimes too fast, sometimes unbearably slow— but it keeps you on the edge until you're choking on a cry and falling apart again.
you slump forward, but he yanks you back by the hips, lips still pressed to you, licking through every aftershock like he's wringing you dry.
"oh no, sweetheart.. you don't tap out on me. not 'til i'm done with her."
he means it. you can feel it in the way he keeps going, sloppy and drunk, until you're half-collapsed in his grip, your whole body shivering.
note : this is a repost/revamp from my old account (@wwvvii)
— summary: You see how tense Dean is and decide to give him a long prolonged back massage. But before you know it, it turns into something much more intense than just a simple massage.
— tags/warnings: smut, MINORS DNI, fem!reader, friends to lovers, desperate!Dean, unprotected p in v, face riding, oral sex (f receiving), cum eating, fingers in mouth (both), slight dirty talk.
You’d known Dean Winchester for what felt like forever.
Long before the hunting, before the endless motel rooms and sleepless nights on the road became your normal, there had been scraped knees, stolen snacks from gas stations, and summers spent trying to keep Sam and Dean out of trouble.
Growing up alongside the Winchester brothers meant learning early that Dean carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, even when he was just a kid pretending everything was fine.
And maybe that was why you’d offered him a back massage in the first place.
The hunt had been rough. Dean had spent most of the drive back hunched over the steering wheel of the Impala, insisting he was “fine” despite the stiffness in his movements and the occasional wince he thought nobody noticed. You noticed, of course. You always did.
What you hadn’t expected was just how much he needed it.
Seated on the edge of the motel bed, Dean let out a long breath as your hands worked at the knots buried deep in his shoulders. Years of fighting monsters, carrying weapons, and refusing to take care of himself had left his muscles impossibly tense.
The second you found a particularly stubborn knot near his shoulder blade, his head tipped back and a sound escaped him before he could stop it
“Ah, shit…” he groaned, eyes fluttering shut. “Yeah, that’s the spot. Mm….”
You paused for half a second, trying, and failing, not to laugh.
You sat here, kneading his shoulders as he groaned and moaned and squirmed. You chuckled, looking at the back of his head.
„stop making those sounds.” You chuckled.„somebody will think you’re getting the best head of your life.” you said, kneading his muscles.
Dean snorted, the corner of his mouth twitching as he fought a grin. He didn’t open his eyes, couldn’t risk breaking this moment.
“Oh, please,” he drawled, voice low and lazy from relief, „like I’d make noises that embarrassing for anything less than a damn miracle.”
He shifted slightly under your hands, not pulling away, just leaning into the pressure like a cat begging for scratches. Another knot gave way with a sharp pop and Dean exhaled through his nose like he’d been punched in the gut by pleasure.
“You’re evil,” he muttered, “doing this on purpose.”
Because you were right, those sounds? Pathetic. But you also knew exactly where every ache lived in him after years of hunting side by side. No one else touched him like this.
You couldn’t help it. Dean Winchester, the toughest son of a bitch you knew, melting under your fingers like warm butter? Pure gold.
Your thumbs pressed harder into the base of his neck, the spot that always made him tense up when he was stressed. And oh yeah, he definitely tensed.
Not from pain this time, but because it felt too good and he hated how obvious it was.
“Oh my god,” you cooed, “you’re purring.”
He wasn’t making any noise now, just breathing deep and slow like a man who’d finally stopped running for five seconds, but your teasing lit him up anyway.
Leaning down slightly so your hair fell over one shoulder, you blew gently on the back of his neck where sweat had started to glisten. Dean’s entire body jerked, like he’d been shocked by a live wire.
„Jesus!” he barked, head snapping forward as his hands flew up to swat blindly behind him like you were an attack spider. But there was no real anger, just flustered, wide-eyed panic.
He whipped around fast enough to glare at you over his shoulder, and wow. There you sat. Smirking like the devil itself with those big eyes full of mischief and victory.
“You’re insane,” he accused, voice cracking slightly. „Who does that?!”
The flush crawling up his neck betrayed him completely, the tips of ears turning red under messy dark hair.
You were absolutely, shamelessly enjoying yourself. That little gasp he’d made? The way his shoulders hitched like a startled animal?
Priceless.
Still smirking, you reached out and flicked the tip of his ear, just once, before leaning back with your arms crossed, looking far too pleased with yourself.
“You’re all tense,” you said innocently, “needed to cool you down.”
Like that made any sense. Like blowing on someone’s neck was a legitimate massage technique. You weren’t even trying to be believable, and that only made it funnier.
Dean’s ear stung, more from embarrassment than the flick, and he rubbed it instinctively, glaring at you like you had just committed a war crime.
“Cool me down?” he repeated, voice rising an octave. “You blew on my neck like I’m a damn bowl of soup!”
He opened his mouth to retort, maybe throw a pillow at you, but you were still sitting there looking so smug, arms crossed like some queen who’d just won the throne through pure teasing cruelty.
A beat passed. Then another.
And despite himself… despite everything… Dean felt the corner of his lips twitch again. And oh, you were relentless.
The way Dean’s face twisted, half outrage, half helpless amusement, sent you straight into victory mode. You leaned forward again, propping your elbows on your knees.
“Aw,” you cooed, “are you blushing? Oh my god. You’re totally blushing.”
You didn’t wait for a denial, because you knew there’d be one coming in three… two…
“No I’m not!” Dean snapped instantly, “It’s hot in here! The AC broken!”
Without missing a beat, you reached out and booped his nose with one finger. And that broke it, absolutely and utterly broke it. One second you were smug. The next you were airborne.
Dean moved fast, faster than anyone who’d just been melting like a stress ball had any right to. In one fluid motion, he twisted and lunged, catching you off-guard as his arms wrapped around your waist.
“You’re dead,” he growled playfully before tackling you backward onto the motel bed with a soft thud.
The springs creaked under you as you tumbled across the saggy mattress, blankets flying everywhere. Dean wasn’t trying to hurt you, and in seconds he had both of your wrists trapped above your heads with one large hand while the other hovered near your ribs like a threat.
His face hovered over yours, dark eyes glinting with mischief and revenge-laced glee.
You let out a squeal, actual, undignified, high-pitched, and immediately started squirming like a trapped squirrel.
“Dean! No! No!” you shrieked between breathless giggles, “I take it back—I take everything back!”
But your protest was utterly useless. The second his fingers brushed your side with the lightest tickle, just one feathery poke near your ribs, your entire body convulsed in laughter.
Your legs kicked. Your head thrashed against the pillow. Tears pricked at the corners of those big eyes as you laughed harder than you had in months.
And Dean?
Oh, he saw this for exactly what it was. Payback served cold and fast. So he did it again. And again.
Dean grinned like a wolf who’d just cornered the last rabbit in the woods, wide, wicked, and utterly delighted.
Every giggle you let out fueled him. Every flail of your legs? Music. The way your face scrunched up with laughter, tears actually forming at the corners of you eyes?
“Ohhh no,” he teased, voice low and mocking, “you don’t get to take it back now.”
He attacked again, fingers darting rapidly over both sides of your stomach this time, not rough but relentless, a quick three-tap combo right where he knew you were the weakest from years of teasing each other as kids.
The world spun as Dean kept tickling you, his weight shifting naturally between your legs to keep himself balanced on the narrow motel bed. The mattress dipped under him, and suddenly he was… there.
You didn’t notice at first, not through the haze of laughter that had stolen all coherent thoughts. Your body was too busy convulsing with joy, stomach aching from laughing so hard you couldn’t breathe.
But then, A shift. Warmth pressed against your thighs.
His jeans brushed against soft fabric of your pants and something about it sent a jolt through the chaos in your brain. Your giggles faltered for half a second.
The laughter didn’t stop entirely, just hiccuped, stuttering like a broken record. For that split second, your breath stopped. The warmth between your legs wasn’t just Dean’s weight, it was Dean. Close.
Your hands were still pinned above your head by one of his large ones, but now… you could feel it, the heat of him through both layers of clothes, the faint pressure as he pressed further between your legs.
oh.
You hadn't planned this. Hadn't thought about him being over you, like this, not even when they'd been teasing each other all night. And suddenly? The room felt smaller. The air thicker.
Dean was still grinning, his breath coming a little faster than usual.
He looked down at you for the first time since tackling you onto the bed. The laughter had died in your eyes, replaced by that quiet intensity you got when you were thinking too hard about nothing.
His voice dropped without meaning to, softer now, almost tender beneath its usual gruffness.
“Hey,” he murmured, “you okay?”
The teasing edge was gone. Just Dean. Concerned and suddenly aware of how close you were, your faces just inches apart, your bodies aligned in a way that wasn’t funny anymore.
Your breath caught as you finally registered the hard press between your thighs. Not aggressive, not demanding… just there. Unavoidable.
Dean had always been broad-shouldered and built like a tank, but right now? The evidence of his body’s reaction was undeniable beneath the worn denim of his jeans. A slow heat crawled up your neck, not embarrassment exactly. Something warmer. Sharper.
You swallowed hard, heart suddenly hammering in a way that had nothing to do with laughter anymore. Then a smirk tugged at one corner of your mouth.
“Well,” you said softly, voice lower than usual, „someone’s definitely happy.”
The words were teasing, but careful this time. Testing. Dean froze. No dramatic gasp or sudden stiffening. Just… a quiet stillness, like the world had hit pause.
His cheeks darkened instantly but this time it wasn’t just flustered anger. This was embarrassment. The kind that comes when you’re caught red-handed and there’s no joking your way out of it.
He didn’t let go of your wrists right away. Couldn’t decide if he should pull back completely or… not.
“Shut up,” he muttered, but there was zero bite to it. His voice came out rougher than usual, low and thick with something unspoken.
You could see the exact moment his brain short-circuited, the way his green eyes flickered, the slight parting of his lips like he was about to say something but forgot how words worked.
Your smirk widened. Just a little. Not cruel but undeniably pleased with yourself for flustering him this badly.
“Dean,” you said again, slower this time, „are you… blushing?”
The question hung in the air between them, light and playful but loaded as hell. You shifted slightly beneath him, adjusting just enough that your thigh brushed against where he was already painfully hard.
His breath hitched and you felt it. Against your leg. Through the layers of fabric.
Dean Winchester, master hunter, fearless monster killer, unshakable force of nature… currently short-circuiting because a girl was looking at him like that, and teasing him about something he couldn’t exactly control right now.
“No,” he lied instantly, “I’m not blushing.”
He said it fast and immediately regretted how defensive it sounded. His ears were burning though, there was no hiding that. The tips were bright red.
The brush of your thigh against him, accidental or not, he didn’t care, sent a jolt straight through his nerves like static shock. Dean’s jaw clenched. Just slightly. A reflex to keep from doing something stupid. Like kissing you.
He still hadn't let go of your wrists, but his grip had loosened without him realizing it. The tension in his hand gone slack with distraction as all the blood in his body seemed to rush southward.
His eyes dropped for half a second, to your lips and then snapped back up like they’d betrayed him.
You watched him, every flicker of his expression, every tiny shift in his body, and your heart thumped harder with each second. This was Dean. The guy who never backed down from a fight, who smirked through blood and bruises like it was nothing.
And right now? He looked nervous.
The realization hit you like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, he actually cared what you thought. Right now. In this moment.
A slow warmth bloomed in your chest, not just attraction, but something softer underneath it all. Affection so deep it scared you sometimes.
“You’re really bad at hiding things,” You whispered, “you know that?”
Still smiling slightly, you tilted your head just a little, offering him an opening without words.
Dean swallowed hard, his throat dry, and then, suddenly, he wasn’t nervous anymore. He was Dean Winchester again, old, direct, no-nonsense.
He leaned down just a fraction closer, close enough that his breath ghosted over your lips and narrowed his eyes slightly. Not angry. Challenging.
“You’re the one who started this,” he said quietly, “with all your stupid teasing and booping my nose like I’m some damn puppy.”
A beat passed. His voice dropped lower.
“And now you’re looking at me like that. Smiling all sweet… giving me that little head tilt…”
His free hand, the one not still loosely holding your wrist, lifted slowly toward your face.
The second his rough, calloused fingertips brushed your cheek, so gently it barely registered, your breath stopped.
Dean wasn’t graceful. He wasn’t poetic. But the way he touched you? Like you were something fragile and precious? It undid everything.
His thumb traced the curve of your cheekbone, slow and deliberate, before sliding into the soft hair near your temple.
The other hand finally released your wrist completely, freeing both of yours, but he didn’t pull away.
Instead, Dean leaned in even closer… so close now that their noses almost touched… and paused there. A silent question hung between them.
Your breath was shallow, your heart pounding so loud she swore he could hear it. The space between you crackled, charged with everything unsaid for years.
And then you spoke.
“Dean,” you murmured, voice low and sultry, laced with a confidence that surprised even yourself. “You’ve been looking at my mouth since I teased you.”
A pause. Your blue eyes flicked down to his lips, deliberately, and back up again.
“Kiss me.” Not a request. A command.
The second those words hit his ears, low, sure, and dripping with that kind of boldness he’d never heard from you before, Dean’s control snapped. No hesitation. No second-guessing.
In one fluid motion, he closed the gap between you and crushed his mouth to yours. The kiss was hungry. His lips moved against yours hard but not rough, the kind of kiss that made your toes curl and your stomach flip at the same time.
One hand slid into your hair while the other cupped your jaw, tilting your head just right so he could deepen it further.
The kiss turned electric, messy, desperate, and perfect. Dean’s lips were warm and demanding against yours, his stubble grazing your skin just enough to send sparks down your spine.
You kissed him back just as fiercely, no hesitation now. Your fingers tangled in his hair instantly, soft strands slipping between them as you pulled him closer like you couldn’t get enough.
A quiet moan escaped you when he bit gently at your bottom lip and the sound made Dean growl low in his throat.
He shifted over you on the bed, his weight pressing down more deliberately now, not crushing but claiming space, one knee sliding between your legs.
The growl that rumbled from Dean’s chest was primal, raw, unfiltered, and it vibrated through your lips where they were still locked together.
He loved that sound you made. Loved it. And now he wanted to hear more. His knee pressed between your legs as his body settled fully over you, caging you in without pressure but leaving zero space for escape, not that you’d want any.
The heat of him surrounded you completely, broad shoulders blocking out the dim motel light, hard chest rising and falling fast against yours.
Your breath came in short, warm puffs against his lips between kisses, each one deeper than the last. And then you did something bold.
“God, Dean…” You whispered right before crashing your mouth back onto his, but this time with teeth and tongue and a hunger that surprised even you.
Then you shifted under him, grinding down slowly against his thigh where it pressed between your legs, a deliberate roll of your hips that sent fire straight through both of you.
The friction was electric through layers of fabric, soft cotton pants over denim jeans. Not enough contact to be satisfying, but just enough to make everything ache for more.
A low moan slipped out as you did it again, and again, and again.
„Mmm… you feel so good.”
Dean broke the kiss just enough to trail his lips down your jaw, rough stubble scraping deliciously against soft skin, before growling right into your ear.
“You’ve been driving me insane all night,” his voice was low, gravelly with desire, „teasing me… touching me… and now you’re grinding on my leg like that?”
He bit gently at your earlobe before whispering.
“Fuck. You wanna know how bad I want you? How long I’ve thought about doing this?”
His hand slid down further, gripping your hip hard as he ground back against the motion. A slow, deliberate rock of his thigh up between you.
The friction sent a jolt through you, electric, intoxicating, and Dean wasn’t done talking. Not even close.
“You’re so damn beautiful,” he muttered against your neck, voice thick with lust, “all this blonde hair… those eyes… and you kiss me like you own me.”
He sucked lightly on the sensitive spot just below your ear before adding in that same rough whisper,
“I’ve fantasized about this. About holding you down and kissing every inch of your skin until you scream my name.”
His teeth grazed over your collarbone as his hand slipped under the hem of your shirt, warm palm sliding up along your bare stomach.
Your breath came faster now, uneven, hot, as Dean’s hand slid higher under your shirt. The touch burned through you like wildfire.
“God,” You gasped, arching into his palm, “your hands feel so good… I’ve wanted you to touch me like this for years.”
You tilted your head back, baring more of your throat to him as you whispered, low and sultry.
“Kissing me? Yeah… but what else do you wanna do? Huh?”
“I bet you think about fucking me all the time.” you smiled.
Dean’s entire body went rigid for a split second, like someone had flipped a switch and turned him into pure instinct.
Your words hit him like a punch to the gut. Dirty. Direct. No games, no teasing, just raw honesty that made his blood boil in the best way.
A growl rumbled deep in his chest as he dragged his mouth back up to yours, kissing you hard again, hungrier this time, messier.
Then he broke away just enough to glare down at you with dark eyes full of heat and hunger before muttering.
“You have no idea.”
His hand kept climbing under your shirt while the other gripped tight at your waist, and then suddenly, he rolled them both over so you were straddling him instead.
The sudden shift in position sent your heart leaping, now you were on top, straddling Dean’s hips while he lay beneath you, eyes blazing up at yours.
He looked good. So good. All that messy dark hair fanned out on the pillow, lips swollen from kissing, chest rising fast under his tight black t-shirt.
And the way he was looking at you? Like she was dessert and he’d been starving for weeks.
You leaned down and kissed him again, slow this time but deep and searing. Your tongue slid against his, your hands ripping his shirt off of him over his head.
„i need you.” You breathed, pressing your hips onto his crotch.
The second your lips crashed back onto his, Dean let out a low groan as you tore his shirt off. The cool motel air hit his skin for just a second before your body pressed down on him again.
Your weight over him was perfect, warm and soft where it mattered, firm in all the right places. And when you ground against him? Jesus Christ.
His hands flew to your hips instantly, big palms gripping tight as he kissed back with everything he had. No teasing now. Just raw need.
He arched up into the kiss like he couldn’t get close enough, one hand sliding around to pull at the hem of your shirt this time, pulling it off.
„i’ve been thinking about this for way too long.” He breathed against your heated skin, his hands sliding up your ribcage.
You smiled, running your hands through his short hair as you could feel his cock twitching beneath you as he spoke, his hips pushing up.
„Yeah? How long?” You said quietly.
He breathed heavily, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra slowly, letting the lace fabric slide down you arms and onto his lap.
„Since you were nineteen.” He whispered, grabbing one of your breasts and slightly squeezing. „when i saw you… on your nineteenth birthday in that… damn pink dress.”
He swallowed, kissing your skin before his palms grabbed your waist, pushing you more onto his lap and keeping you grinding on him.
„…and all i could thing about in my awful, dirty, perverted head was pulling it up and burying myself so, so, so deep inside of you.” He panted, slightly reaching down to undo his pants.
You chuckled breathlessly, looking down at him and grabbing his hair, forcing his head back a bit.
„you’re a pervert.” You smiled, lifting yourself up so he could push his pants down easily. You looked down, and there he was. Big and beautiful, with a pink head and pre cum pearl dribbling at the slit.
He breathed heavily, looking up at you, before pushing you onto your back, crawling on top with his cock hanging between you two. The heat was almost radiating off of his body at this point.
„I am. I thought we knew that already.” He smiled, kissing down your chest and stomach. „i’m your pervert.”
His hands slid down your soft skin as he kissed down, rough fingers sliding on the warm silk of your flesh. A squeeze there, a caress there.
His fingers slid into the sides of your shorts and tugged them down harshly, before parting your legs with his palms.
He groaned at the very sight. This was all of his teenage fantasies before of his eyes, your puffy, pink pussy dripping wet right in front of his face.
„I imagined you a lot.” He smiled, pushing your legs open even wider. „I wanted to taste this sweet pussy for years.” He breathed, kissing your thighs, squeezing the plush.
You smiled, looking down at him and adjusting your hips slowly, feeling his warm, wet lips against your thighs.
„I want you to ride my face. Please?” He asked, looking up at you. His shoulders square and wide as his biceps wrapped around your calves, keeping you open.
Your heart almost skipped a beat or two. Riding his face? Good lord, this man was so hot it was unfair.
„Lay back.” You murmured.
And there was the overeager puppy again. He stumbled to his feet, shrugging his pants off entirely and now remaining blissfully naked like the day he was born.
He laid down on his back comfortably, hoisting you up to straddle his chest, before gently coaxing you forward, letting your thighs settle around his head.
„ohhh, fuck yes.” He groaned, immediately grabbing your hips and slamming you back down, his nose pressed against your clit as his mouth sucked your whole pussy into his mouth.
Your eyes shot open immediately and his tongue dragged a loud, strangled moan from your throat. You fell forward a bit, catching yourself on a wall.
You looked down, seeing his eyes closed as he worked his mouth between your legs. His hands held your thighs to keep them from closing on his face.
„you taste so good, fuck—„ he breathed between licks, his hands sliding to your hips, forcing you to move back and forth. „come on, don’t be shy now.”
His voice alone made your jaw go slack and open. Your eyes closed as your hips moved slowly, relishing the sounds of his moans and whimpers as he ate you out.
That’s an enthusiast, for sure.
And he knew what he was doing. The sounds he made, slurpy and disgusting, filled the room in seconds, followed by your moans and squirms.
„ah ah, don’t squirm away from me, pretty lady.” He smiled against you, rubbing his flat tongue on your clit, before sucking it into his mouth.
You liked it, fuck, you loved how he had his mouth full of work and still talked. He was always fucking talking.
„there we go… good girl, good girl…” He panted, squeezing your ass and pulling it open, his tongue working faster and more smoothly.
You actively started to forget how to form sentences. Your head was thrown back, hips rocking back and forth on his face. Then you heard slick sounds through all of the haze.
You slowly looked over your shoulder, keeping the motions of your hips steady, seeing his big hand wrapped around his cock, his pointer finger lifted as he stroked.
You smiled, then looked back down at his face.
„you can’t keep yourself back, huh?” You smiled, leaning back a bit.
„I can’t.” He breathed, his eyes heavy lidded as he continued feasting between your legs. „you’re a goddess.” He said, dragging you back onto his face.
You chuckled and moaned, your back tensing and bowing slightly, and you forced yourself out of his grip, sliding off of his face and sitting on his thighs.
„Oh, come on.” He groaned, looking up at you. He looked pathetic, his cheeks flushed, hair messy and lips wet and sticky. His own saliva coated his chin and dripped down his neck.
You smiled, watching him sit back against the headboard of the cheap motel bed, his hands on your hips coaxing you with him.
„what? Disappointed?” You smiled, replacing his hand on his cock with your own, squeezing the firm flesh.
He groaned, his eyes fluttered closed. His jaw was set tight as they opened once again, focusing on your pretty face so close to his own. He loved this game too much.
„Very.” He said, his hands squeezing whatever he could. „wanted to make you cum so bad.”
You smiled, pressing your lips to his in a slow, steady kiss before pulling back a breath just to speak.
„i’d rather cum on your cock.” You murmured, looking down and then at his face, watching as his jaw clicked into place. Out of pure desperation.
His eyes were full of fire. You had never seen Dean in this state before, so unguarded and sensitive to everything. But god, you loved it more than you probably should have.
„I don’t have condoms on me.” He whispered, looking at you. You just tilted your head to the side.
„i don’t believe you.” You whispered. Your eyes slowly dragged down his body, looking at his glistening skin and tensed muscles.
„I’m serious.”
„…then we will go without one.” You shrugged, already gently guiding him to your slick entrance, rubbing his thick head against it.
He choked out a throaty moan, his eyes squeezed shut. He was shaking, his fingers digging into the plush of your waist hard enough to leave marks tomorrow.
„I—„ He swallowed, blinking slowly to calm down. „i’ll knock you up.” He whispered, not even trying to hide how desperate he was to finish inside.
You looked at his eyes, seeing that he was insanely serious about this. A grin bloomed on your face, his desperation amusing to you.
„You’ll pull out.” You said.
His hands stopped you entirely from pushing yourself down onto him. No matter how much he ached to bury himself in that delicious, wet heat he had been dreaming about since he was twenty, he knew how this would end.
„no.” He whispered, looking down at your lips the whole time. „i won’t.”
Your lips pressed into a thin line, then parted as you licked them. He looked so fucking hot like this — so desperate and serious.
„You don’t understand.” He whispered, lifting him slightly and making his hard cock tilting slightly towards his stomach. „when i get inside, i’ll fuck until i can’t breathe. I’m serious.” He said.
You looked at him in silence for a moment, before grinning like a shitface.
„i’m playing with you. I’m on pills.” You smiled, pressing your lips to his in a messy, desperate kiss.
„Cum how much you wa—„ you tried to say, but he slammed himself inside and cut you off halfway through your sentence.
It made both of you groan in satisfaction. He was buried balls deep in your tight heat, and he felt like he was on top of the whole world.
„Feels good? Does my cock satisfy?” He whispered into your ear, rubbing your back slowly, his hips slightly, barely, pushing up.
You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. You just nodded, fingers digging into his biceps as your hips started moving on their own, dragging back and forth.
He smiled, delivering a soft smack to one of your ass cheeks, encouraging.
„That’s it.” He breathed, keeping you close with one arm and helping you move with the other one.
His cock had that delicious stretch to it, the one that kept you feeling full but not overwhelmed. He was big, really, and definitely had an idea what he was doing.
He met your hip rolls with small circles of his hips, his fingers running down your arms almost like feathers.
„Look at you… i always knew you’d be such a good cowgirl.”
The words made your heart leap in your chest. You sat back and looked at him as he laid against the headboard, your lips close.
„Am I a good cowgirl?” You smiled.
„The best one.”
The rythm changed as he started to slowly push up with each thrust, the motel bed cracking beneath every move they made.
Your hand slid to the side of his face, her thumb brushed his bottom lip, coaxing his beautiful, plump lips open.
Your thumb slowly slipped into his warm mouth. He sucked softly, his tongue wrapped around it gently. He smiled around it with it between his perfect teeth.
The sight turned you on even more, and you were certain you were dripping down his balls right now. The speed increased slightly, but barely.
„you’re so beautiful.” You breathed, sliding your thumb out and replacing it with two fingers, sliding them deep into his mouth, almost making him gag.
But he sucked, eager and happy to even be inside of you right now. One of his hands held your wrist as the second helped your body move on his lap.
Your eyes zeroed on his lips wrapped around your fingers, before you slipped them out and reached down to slowly, methodically circle your clit.
He smiled, following the path of your fingers down between your legs. He breathed out, laying his head back and just watching you bounce.
„What a pretty angel.”
You smiled, looking down and continuing to touch yourself as you fucked yourself dumb on his dick. It was a damn sight, that’s for sure.
The heat was getting hotter and hotter with every bounce. He was already close, and so were you. You both already drove each other close before this, but fucking never could even touch anything before that.
„I’m close.” He groaned first, but you knew you were just as close. The movements sped up a bit, your hands on his shoulders, holding for dear life.
Your head threw back uncontrollably as the first wave of your orgasm hit. His fingers slipped between your legs and rubbed your clit, making it impossible not to shake even more.
The orgasm hit, and before you could even whine you felt the warmth and stickiness of him spill deep inside of you. It made you both tense and finish mutually, making you both slump back slightly.
You panted for a while, struggling to catch your breath. But before you could fully recover, you got thrown onto your back.
„Oh, now you can’t run.” He smiled, throwing your legs over his shoulders, your ankles right at his shoulders. He sealed his mouth with yours.
Then his hips moved.
It punched a moan from you. He was literally folding you in half, his hands holding your legs at the knees, keeping you open and nice for him.
„you’re so tight after you come.” He whispered into your ear, pushing in as deep as he could, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix.
It made starts blow behind your eyes every time he bullied himself as deep as he could. Your hands clutched at his back, every thrust dragging a whine out of you.
„Dean—„ you gasped, back arching, already feeling close again. His hand slipped between you and circled your clit.
„oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—„ you whined, a groan sliding out of your mouth as he found every spot inside that made you squirm. And his fingers on your clit? Game over.
„I know, baby, I know, shh…” He whispered, his hand rubbing your head as he pressed his cheek to your temple, pushing himself as deep inside as he could.
He was using all of his strength, his muscles bulged and throat raw from groaning. His biceps bracketed your head, hips punching punishingly, but slowly.
„I- ca-n’t—„ You whined, actually feeling as if your nails were starting to draw blood on his back. And they were. A small droplet of blood dripped down his tanned skin.
He groaned in pain and pleasure, delivering some short, hollow thrusts before a couple of final ones, dragging all the way out before pushing all the way in, making you come again.
„There we go.” He smiled, slowly pulling your legs off of his shoulders, letting them drop down. He slowly pulled back, watching his cock slip out of you. He was half hard, slowly getting softer.
He rubbed your belly gently, pressing on it slightly and watching his cum drip down out of you. He smiled and gathered it with his fingers slowly, before bringing it to your lips.
„come on, open.” he whispered.
Your lips parted on command, and he shoved his fingers into your mouth. The salt and sweetness exploded on your tongue, tasting yourself and him mixed together.
„Good?” He asked, slowly rubbing your clit, prolonging the orgasm.
You breathed, your hips running away from his hand.
„yeah.” You smiled, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him into a kiss. „we’re definitely doing this again.”
He smiled and grabbed your waist, slightly adjusting himself, kissing you deeper.
„Yes, please.” He whispered
I kinda need him to put me in that damn mating press and fold me in half btw.
Ben, walking in on (reader) getting out of the shower, looking down: See that’s how it should be.
(Reader), internally: What the fuck-
Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Female Reader
Tags/Warnings: Reader has a bush, suggestive, Soldier Boy loving her bush, him being descriptive
Legal's notes: Hahaha. I can see it in my mind.
You thought you were home alone, so you went out naked, your hair loose and still damp, walking to the closet to grab your clothes when you heard someone at the door. You turned around, startled, and saw it was Ben.
“Damn, Ben, I didn't know you were home.”
But he just looked at you, slowly letting his gaze travel down your wet body until it reached your crotch.
“This.” He said, pointing at your privates. “This is how it should be.”
You looked at him, confused, and glanced down at your midsection. You weren't one to shave down there; at most, you trimmed, but honestly, you almost never touched your pubic hair.
What the fuck? You thought, looking back at him.
“You're disgusting.”
“Disgusting?” He raised both eyebrows and slowly walked toward you. “Why? Because I love a woman with pubic hair?” He pointed at you. “Look at you. A fucking beautiful grown woman, naked as God made her, with a bush on my favorite part of her body. And wet.”
“This can't possibly turn you on that much. It's just hair.”
“It's natural.” He placed his hands on your hips. “And it's fucking perfect.” He ran his fingertips through your curls and you bit your lower lip. “I imagine getting lost and choked in this jungle and not even finding your clit. But of course, I always do.” He winked at you.
You rolled your eyes.
“This is getting out of hand.”
And just as you were about to turn around to grab your clothes from the closet, Ben gripped your hips tightly, pinning you to the spot, and knelt down.
The next thing he did was bury his face in your pubic hair and move it from side to side, feeling like it was scratching his skin.
Thinking about spnAU!Dean Winchester not being able to stay away from one of the many girls he had fucked, causing him to end up in her bed over and over again!
Warnings: unprotected sex (wrap it tf up), creampie, casual sex, jerking off mentioned, porn mentioned? (barely), alcohol, condescension, sub-ish!Dean kinda, penetrative sex, oral sex (fem!receiving), addiction mentioned (metaphorically), possessiveness, Dean is lowk mean.. English is not my first language !!
(wc: ≈ 3.0k; genre: smut)
⋆｡‧˚ʚ ୨୧ ɞ˚‧｡⋆
| Dean had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t get attached. He really had. Yet after a particularly long hunt somewhere in a small town — something involving vengeful spirits — he found himself unable to forget you.
You, the gorgeous and innocent girl he'd slept with one time and now only let himself think about when Sam was asleep and the whiskey got to his head. The girl he couldn’t remember the name of, but sure felt on his skin whenever his rough palm connected to the flushed skin of his dick and tinny moans echoed from his laptop.
Hookups, one night stands, casual sex.. and none stuck with him the way you did. You took over his thoughts and haunted his every sense until he broke the rules he’d set up for himself and called you again.. ending up buried deep inside your guts, regretting the unfaithfulness to his own game.
'S'the last time I'm fuckin' you, y'hear? Last time— I'll leave after tonight.. and.. and you'll delete my number, yeah, baby?' —that’s one of the last things you heard from him. His voice had been all raspy, his forehead beaded with sweat, his face nudging your shoulder, breathing you in like you were crack and he was your druggie.
Up to this day, you don’t remember if he was talking to you or if he had been reassuring himself that he won’t find his way back into your warm bed. That he wouldn’t cave and drive five hours in the middle of the night, just to feel you squeeze around him one more time.
Dean had your number saved. Just in case, he told himself. Not by your name, no, that would be too intimate. But he did call it whenever his own hand felt too lonely and he needed to get his fix.
And every single time he called, you answered. Like the loyal girlfriend you weren’t, you answered the phone, no matter how late it was. No matter if his voice was low and his words were slurred.
——————————————————
True to form, there you were again; laying in bed, dressed in your nightgown, ready to drape the blanket over your frame and go to sleep. Nothing much to do on a late summer night in a small town anyway.
Just then, you notice your phone lighting up. A call? Who would even call you at this hour? Before you could brush off your confusion, you saw the contact name lighting up; Dean. No last name. You'd never caught it.
'Hello..?' You answer the phone.
Silence. He cleared his throat and after a moment, the familiar voice spoke up. 'Hey.. sweetheart. How's my girl doing?'
He called you 'sweetheart' because he didn’t remember your name.. but it didn’t fail to charm you anyway.
'Hi, Dean— Haven’t heard from you in a while. I'm good… what're you up to?' You tried to keep your voice at level, not wanting to come across as overly excited. Though he knew you were. He had too much experience not to know.
Dean sounded smug already, you could picture his grin through the screen. His alcohol-reeking breath, the gunpowder that lingered on his clothes. 'Y'know. Work.. business, nothin' a little girl like you would understand.'
'Ha ha. Very funny. So.. what do you want?' You'd bite on your lip in anticipation, knowing exactly what he wanted. He was drunk and craved a warm body to lay next to. Specifically yours.
'You know what I want, baby.. s'the same as always.. tell me, you don’t happen t'have moved away while I was gone, right?'
'No.. no. Same place. And my parents are out of town too.. if you wanna swing by. Say hello. Y'know.. don’t be a stranger.'
As soon as the slightest initiation in your voice hit his ears, he was clutching the keys in his hand, ready to abandon his brother for the sake of a good hookup.
'I'll be there, gorgeous. Wait up f'me, yeah?' And he hung up, leaving you with an answer stuck to your parted lips and the phone frozen in your hand.
——————————————————
The next couple of hours, you spent pacing around your room, biting the insides of your lips raw and bloody, as you put your makeup on to meet him.
At around four in the morning, he arrived. You had hurried outside, as soon as you heard the sound of a car pulling up.
And there he was, his back leaning against the sleek polish of his car. He stood there with a cocky look on his infuriatingly good-looking face.
Almost out of habit, you ran into his arms without even thinking, not caring about your bare feet stumbling over the grass and pebbles below you.
"There she is. Hi, pretty girl…" He practically cooed at you, easily wrapping his big arms around you and engulfing you in the familiar scent of whiskey and smoke. He'd been drinking; you could tell when he kissed your forehead all lovingly, as if he wouldn’t leave you again by dawn.
"C'mon, gonna leave me standing here? Don’t you wanna give your old friend a tour 'round the house?" He urged you, his voice husky and promising against your ear, making you shiver. Almost everything he said sounded condescending, like he was aware of how weak you were for him but liked knowing he could mess with you this easily anyway.
With a slight swat against your ass, he sent you off to lead him inside by his hand.. as if he didn’t know the way himself.
Following you up the stairs, he was slightly swaying, the alcohol clearly catching up to him, making him give into his desires again, making him do things that he’d regret. 'Do things'—do you.
——————————————————
In less than ten minutes after you two had met again, you found yourself laying flat on your back against your bed. Dean was perched on top of you, his mouth so hungry against your soft lips.
His tongue dove into your mouth like he owned it, teeth clashing and tastes colliding in a mix of hot desperation again. As soon as he tasted you, he felt the need in him flare, almost as if he physically wished to drown in your taste.
"Baby— y'still taste so sweet, hm? You been with other guys since the last time y'had me?" He coaxed the answer out of you by trailing those perfectly plush lips over your jaw and down your neck, pushing the straps of your nightgown down your shoulders just to suck a bruise onto your collarbone.
You shook your head, a small moan escaping your throat, as his hand reached around it, not squeezing, but offering grounding pressure.
Your hands found the dirty blonde spikes of hair on the back of his head, as he pushed the fabric of your nightdress all the way down, leaving you naked beneath him; bare skin bathing in moonlight and the orange lit of an old lamp, body only covered by a pair of panties.
"Good girl. You been good, huh? Waiting for me? Didn’t I tell you t'delete my number, baby?" Your breath hitched.. he remembered? You shook your head once again, feeling your eyes flutter shut, as he settled between your legs.
Dean found pleasure in the fact that you hadn’t been with anyone else ever since. He wasn’t too keen on sharing, despite having slept around multiple times since he left you. He was a hypocrite, really, but his behaviour was what truly corrupted your mind, leaving you to yearn after him as well.
"Speak up, sweetheart. Missed your pretty voice.. n'your pretty sounds.. and this pretty.." He stopped mid sentence, just to lean down and press a soft kiss against your cotton-covered clit. "..this pretty cunt, baby."
By now, you definitely felt arousal pooling between your legs, forming a slight damp spot that caught his attention.
"What's this, hm? Y'wanna tell me what this is? A kiss' all you need to get excited, baby?" He was practically mocking you now, being all mean, because he hated himself for how badly he yearned for you. Despite the heat, he kept his voice gentle, his breath warm and familiar against your wetness.
Finally, making you sigh a moan in relief, he dragged those panties off of you, kissing your ankle in the process of it, yet revealing your glistening cunt to the open air.
Suddenly, his every puff of air felt cold against your slit, making you squirm and close your legs around his head.
"Mmh— Yeah, baby. That’s right. Still as sensitive as ever, hm? Squeeze me all ya want.. need t'hold my hand too?" Dean chuckled, as his face lingered just millimetres from your cunt. He was being a drunk asshole with his mocking comments and he knew. If anything, he got off on it.
Yet, as soon as he licked a stripe with the flat of his tongue, all the way up your slit.. everything was forgiven. A loud moan left your lips, accompanied by his muffled groans, when he began to eat you out like a starved man.
His tongue was licking and swiping over your entrance, tasting you, while his freckled nose nudged your clit perfectly, offering a mind- blowing combination of pleasure.
Every grasp at his hair drove a grunt out of him, every grunt sounding more and more like a moan. Although just when you were about to come on his tongue, he pulled away, your cunt still connected to chin by a string of saliva.
All drowsy, hazy eyes, swollen lips and sticky, flushed face, looking up at you from between your legs. Addicted to the taste of your cunt.
"Fuck, baby.. wanna keep tasting her s'bad— But I gotta feel you.. m'so hard, baby—" He almost pleaded, his voice cracking just slightly, when the condescending act wore off and he searched the relief to the need aching deep inside his veins.
Looking at his desperate face, you couldn’t deny him. So, you got up onto your knees getting to work on his belt, as he stood up to his full height and took off both his flannel and his shirt — jacket already discarded.
Your lips connect with his chest, before pulling his jeans down. He kicked the fabric off, until there was a pool of clothing scattered over your bedroom floor. He was straining against the black fabric off his boxers. A whole dark spot of precum betraying his mean, big talk.
As you laid back for him, your head hitting the soft pillows again, he practically climbed on top of you, his big hands slightly clumsy as he tugged at his boxers, revealing his flushed and neglected cock.
"Let me put it in, pretty girl.. need to feel her squeeze me again— c'mon.." Dean urged again, with a whinier voice this time, as his hand guided his cock to collect the mix of his spit on your cunt and his pre, lubing up the length enough to fuck you without having to inch in slowly first.
"Dean— go slow.." You moaned, trying to get some logic into that thick head of his, although he was intoxicated all the way. He was too far gone to listen to anything other than the deep aching anticipation he felt.
He aligned his cock with your entrance, pushing the angry-pink tip in first, before giving one sudden thrust inside, filling you up with no room to adjust.
"Oh—" You choke on a gasp, your head tilting back with your lips parted and your eyes squeezed shut. For a moment you swore you had almost forgotten how big he is.
"Shh— Shh.. I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry, m'so sorry, 'kay?" He slurred his hushed words, his lips placing wet, uncoordinated kisses against your jaw and the side of your neck in a lousy apology for his brutal entrance.
Without a second of thought, he set a relatively fast rhythm, driving himself allll the way inside you, only for his tip to kiss your cervix, before he withdrew the pleasure from you for a second again.
"You feel so.. so good. My pretty girl.. my perfect girl. Never wanted to leave you— leave this perfect pussy.." Dean blubbered to himself, his face buried against your neck, still inhaling you to numb the voice screaming in his head. Screaming about how stupid he was for getting attached. But it didn’t seem to understand.. he needed you. He really did!
Growing tired of the short period of time you were left empty, whenever he thrusted fully out of your hole, your legs wrapped around his waist, drawing him inside you, locking him right inside you.
"Shit— shit, baby. Gonna come, if you keep me here f'too long.. gonna come inside you, yeah. That what you want? Hm?" For a second, you almost heard a slight groan in his voice, not far from a growl that signalled just how lost he was in the feeling of your cunt.
"Want you t'come, Dean.. inside— Please." You beg him without thinking twice, the words just leaving your lips more like an instinct than anything else.
"Yeah? Yeah, baby? S'that how this is? Fuck—" His hips stuttered for a moment, as his hand flew towards your clit, his thumb rubbing tight circles onto it with a sort of urgency to make you spasm all around him.
"Come on then— C'mon. You come first, pretty girl.. squeeze around me.. and I'll come too, baby.. show me you missed this.." He panted against your shoulder, as your nails dug half moons into the muscles of his back, ranking all the way down his spine, which got his dick to twitch inside you.
Your eyes squeezed shut, when he drew moans of his name from your lips with every thrust, making you sound like a broken record. As soon as your walls clamped down on his cock and you came with rushing pleasure, you squeezed him tight enough to trigger his own release.
Dean fucked you through his orgasm, not stopping the thrusts, although his rhythm got sloppy and he held on to you like you actually mattered for a second, his parted lips releasing high-pitched moans against the damp skin of your shoulder.
Once the high of the orgasm wore off and his cum was buried deep inside your bruised guts, he weakly pulled out, his face showing pure ecstasy.
Dean was blissed out, his freckled face dusted pink and his lips swollen red, his green eyes utterly hazy, as he slumped down next to you, with one arm draped over your heaving chest still.
"Sweetheart.. that— fuck, that felt so good. M'never leaving you again.." It sounded like a promise, though by now you knew better. His mouth was all over you, smearing drunk kisses over your face and throat, getting his fix before he'd fall asleep and leave again in the morning.
But you knew that his addiction to you would lure him back in, one way or another. Dean Winchester was hooked to you.. and maybe one day he would figure out your name.
ᥫ᭡ writers note: Hi ! Everyone pls forgive me for literally disappearing for a month, I swear sm happened. I wasn't even gonna write tonight but whatever.. this was incredibly self-indulgent and I had trouble uploading it.. Inbox is open as well, lmk if yall have any requests ! xoxo —ℳ ᥫ᭡
