Being rabbot's controversial young gf would include
tw for age gap (duh, lol), daddy issues, daddy kink, oral (f receiving), brat taming, being called jail bait as a joke, riding, bush mention, if I missed anything please let me know ! Mdni ! Whole blog is 18+ and so is this post
Trying to balance your time between the two. The amount of scheduling alone that goes into dates with all three of you is...a lot. Catching them when they have the same day off and figuring something out that doesn't disrupt either of their sleep schedules is hard! And that's not even taking into account if they're up for it or not.
Fighting over whose card you use. They're both prideful men who have almost your life times worth of big doctor money tucked into the bank. They're not frugal but they don't splurge on themselves often. A nice place, regular upkeep, bills paid early, money tucked into a retirement fund. Nothing crazy.
Which lets you do the spending for them. Jack is always wordlessly tucking his card into your hand, pocket or purse. "You know the pin, use it, okay?" is often paired with a kiss to your temple.
Robby uses a different tactic. Direct deposits to your accounts. Looking at your carts online. Paying for your student loans and car note, setting them up to automatically come out of his account. Giving you a look when you're getting lunch with him and you reach for your purse before tapping his card on the reader.
Robby and Jack sit through the hauls after a shopping spree patiently, knowing how excited you get and that you want to explain what you got, why you got it, and what you plan to do with it. It's a part of the deal, they know this and accept it. Jack is the one to ask you more questions, encouraging you to talk about it all while Robby just tells you it's all very pretty. If you buy craft supplies or art supplies, he tells you "You know more about that stuff than I do, honey. More talent for that than me."
They're old men (affectionate) so they have old man habits. Some cannot be broken. Calling stores and things the wrong name, not understanding certain slang, telling you to get off your phone while they're trying to go to bed/talk to you.
"Put your phone down and go to bed, baby. Get some sleep and stay off tiktoks. You'll stay up all night on that thing and then you're cranky in the morning."
Jack has the light flash feature on for alarms and calls due to being a deep sleeper and being a little hard of hearing. Robby has a generic ring tone but set one for you specifically so he can know when it's you.
"Sweetheart, I've been down to one good leg longer than you've been alive."
Pet names galore. Sweetie, honey, baby, etc! All the classics. Don't get calling your partner stinky or pookie.
Robby sometimes just needs you to lay on him. Clothes off, feeling the warmth of your skin against his to ground himself in his body. It doesn't stop the thoughts in his head, no, but it does keep them from getting worse. Dragging his large, calloused palm down the length of your spine. Self soothing, is the word, he thinks.
Jack likes to crawl under your shirt and rest his head against your chest. Listening to the thud...thud...thud...of your heartbeat with his own ears, not through a stethoscope like you're a patient. The fabric of your shirt stretching around him. Almost swaddling his broad shoulders. A tuft of his gray curls poking out from the neckline. Being able to breathe your scent in so deeply.
Listen, they're old(er). They don't want to dance around problems or give you the silent treatment. Preferring to tell you if there's a problem or just talk it out. Jack is usually the one to start the conversations. They understand that you're younger and that sometimes you'll have a little fit. But they let you get it out of your system before sitting down and talking.
You get looks when you go out with them. God forbid you go out with the both of them. It makes for a few awkward conversations when people make assumptions about the nature of your relationship.
One time a waitress overheard you calling Jack daddy and the next time she came over, she mentioned how it's so nice that even grown up you still make time to go out with your dad's and spend time with them. Saying how no matter how old you are, Daddy's little girl is always their special lady. Jack got hard under the table.
Robby silencing his alarm, looking at you and Jack snoring next to him with a sigh and a drag of his palm against his face. Pushing himself out of the warm cocoon that you've turned the bed into since moving in. His warm hand rubbing over your back, over the fabric of a familiar hoodie, as he leans over to press a kiss to your temple and then jacks. Despite the protest from his aging back, he lingers. Lips pressing against your skin as his eyes flutter shut while he breathes in the sleepy scent that surrounds the two of you before starting to get ready for his shift. He says it makes the day a little easier to start.
Jack isn't ashamed of his leg, he's lived with it long enough now that it's just a part of him. But it does make him feel old sometimes, and some previous people have left over it. Getting a pretty thing like you to grab his crutches for him? The tips of his ears get a little warm. All the support bars in the bathroom and the shower chair? He goes to explain before you shut him down with a soft look. He realizes you don't care about the way any of it looks, that it doesn't make him seem old or broken. The way you hand him his crutches with a kiss on the cheek, offer a steadying hand when he needs one and keep creams and compression socks by your bed for when he sleeps over proves that. He can't believe he ever thought you'd have an issue with it now.
The first time you come into the pitt to drop off lunch, a forgotten badge or what have you, the muttering is quick to start. Not to your face and not necessarily negative.....just....shocked. You're so....young. Are Robby and abbot paying you? Have they reached that point in being so lonely? Trinity calls you jail bait, it's a joke. Mostly.
Meanwhile Dana just offers you a smile as she talks to you from her spot behind the desk. She's noticed the way the two of them have seemed lighter lately. A little easier of a flow to them. Dana had also caught a glimpse of an...... enthusiastic..... conversation in the group chat the three of you have a little while ago and forced one of them to spill. There just hadn't been time for a proper introduction. She talks to you kindly, tells you to ignore whatever gossip starts to float around. While young, young enough to have gone to school with one of her daughters she realizes, you're an adult. You're a big girl, who picked Robby and Jack.
Worry warts! You text the group chat one day saying that you're getting a McDonald's coke and large fry to fix your headache and they....are less than thrilled. Asking you to rate your pain, where it's located, if you hit it etc. Telling you that they have some medicine in the cabinet, to take that instead of getting the drink and fries. That it's not a full proof method and that the carbonation won't help your head feel better.
"Give it to him, yea, that's it baby, good girl." Jack says from behind you, his hands on your hips as you ride Robby, controlling your movements. Giving the soft skin of your thighs a sharp swat when you slow down or stop.
Jack is daddy, I hate to tell you. The way he holds himself lends to it so well. Firm when you need a guiding hand but knows when to give it soft enough that you actually listen.
Robby on the other hand.....he's a bit of a brat tamer. Gives you that look when you're acting out or doing something you're not supposed to. Jack gets a bit soft and gooey on you when you blink those big Bambi eyes up at him, but it makes Robby hard when he sees tears welling up in them because of a spanking or punishment.
"I know that's not our sweet girl. Daddy's sweet girl wouldn't be doing what she knows isn't allowed, would she? Gonna bring our good, sweet baby back? Hm?"
Big big big on eye contact!!! Jack doesn't like to cum if he isn't looking into yours or Robby's eyes. "C'mon, look at me please." In that low, slightly frantic voice he gets.
They're not as young as they once were but keep in general shape to be able to run around the ER all day and night. Their stamina isn't completely shot but they need a little bit longer between rounds than you do. Which is when taking turns with you comes in handy. Being able to keep you satisfied until one of them can go again, until they have your brain in clumps in your noggin.
"Gonna keep us young with a cunt like that, huh baby?"
They can be a little mean. Slightly condescending. Cooing at you from behind as one of them holds your legs, the other's hips drilling into you. A laugh against your ear when you whine that it's too much, too fast, too big.
They've both walked in on the other ruining you as they get home from their shift in the morning or evening. Robby just raises a brow and asks "It's 7:30, shouldn't we be feeding her about now?" While you moan and gasp from under Jack. On the other hand, Jack chuckles and watches Robby move on top of you before commenting "You're a dirty old man, before 8 in the morning? Poor thing is gonna be sore the rest of the day."
Robby who begs to eat it whenever he can. From behind, while he's on his soft belly, sitting on his face, he doesn't care. He wants to eat it. Sometimes you think it's more for him than it is you, with the way his eyes flutter shut as his mouth wraps around your clit and he groans against you. Rutting that gorgeous nose on you as his tongue plunges into your walls. It's not uncommon for Jack to walk into the living room to you sprawled out on the couch, eyes on the TV as you try to hold your moans in while Robby works between your legs. Head moving as he tries to get you to break, one of his favorite games.
Few things will make Jack chub up faster than being called a dirty old man (affectionate) by you. It makes him get that little grin and makes him raise a brow at you as if to say 'oh, really?' before starting to pepper you with kisses, nipping at your neck. "S'that what I am? Your dirty old man? Yea, sounds about right."
Bush enjoyers. They won't ask you not to shave but they might drop a few comments if you say something about going to get a wax or buy a new shaver. Saying things like back in their day, that kind of thing was incredibly sexy. That you know they don't care what you look like down there. One day, Jack flat out tells you he wants to bury his face in it. Says a little hair isn't gonna stop him.
Sensitive Robby ! Scalp, thighs and hips, neck. All over. His eyes flutter shut when you lightly drag your nails over his scalp and down his neck, shivers running through him at the sensation. Leaning into it like a dog getting scratched behind the ears. He might as well be a mutt for you anyways.
Jack is a biter. You, Robby, any skin is free game. Clamps his jaw down on your shoulder when he's rutting into you from behind and he feels himself getting close. Loves to see the indent of his teeth on the both of you. Makes him grin a little before nipping at your skin once more.
Taking them both can be so overwhelming but in the best way. Stretched beyond what you thought you could handle, the feeling of their warmth pressed against either side of you, hands roaming all over you to the point you lose track of who is where. It's almost biblical, really. In greed, in lust.
It's more than just sex at that point. It's a full blown experience. Mind melting heat that radiates off of all of you. Skin slick with sweat. Hot breaths ghosting over the back of your neck with every movement. Your own pleasure star forming in your bedroom. Right where it will live for the rest of time between the three of you. Robby thrusting deep enough to touch your soul. Jack holding you tight enough to keep you in your corporeal form.
hope you enjoy ! Likes and reblogs are always appreciated ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ
Daddy issues | “and if you were my little girl, I’d do whatever I could do…”
cw: 18+ MDNI, 4.1k words (omfg), smut with plot, meanie!simon (he’s a crazy, asshole), Daddy kink, daddy issues (obvi), dd/lg dynamics, mentions of abuse, sexualization of ‘pa, kiddo’ (truly a case of if you hate it just scroll), oral (f receiving), dacryphilia, creampie, full nelson, age gap (reader mid-late 20s, Simon early-mid 30s), no use of y/n (I use [+]).
a/n: obviously influenced by daddy issues by the neighborhood (I know it’s not about this at all, take it up with god), also by take you down by sza :3
You weren’t used to being this needy in your entire life.
You swore you didn’t need anyone, let alone Ghost Riley. You’d been repetitively normal in all your past relationships.
But he’d run through your mind like the Flash going back in time— the older man ruined some of the circuits in your brain.
You’d two gotten into an argument, shocker, but this time over how you were acting. The usually chilled out girl who Ghost would call when he wanted to see his little kitten purr, was now desperate for every little bit of his attention. The blonde despised every bit of it.
“You’re bein fuckin greedy.” He told you, walking away from where you stood after you told you’d wanted to stay over again for another week. Of course, you easily followed right behind, attempting to match his long stride. You never could.
“By wanting to be with you? Aren’t boyfriends supposed to want to see their girlfriends? Supposed to spend time together? There are probably a million girls and guys with sweet boyfriends—“
“—Do I look like one of those buddy buddy, pretty boys you like to fuck to you, [+]?” He turned on his heal, luckily you didn’t crash into his chest like you usually did. His voice was ice cold, “Answer me.”
“No sir.” You mumbled, the air was thick, tightly wrapping around your vocal cords.
“Then why the hell are you bein so damn needy? I told you, I won’t give you all my attention. I’ve got my own shit to take care of and you want me to, what? Hold you on my fuckin hip like a baby?” Well, hey— “Stop bein a damn brat and get the fuck out my face.”
“ ‘M not askin you to take care of me Si, but, I just want-“
“—Cut the shit [+]. You’re pissin me off, why can’t you just fuckin listen? I hate the clingy, desperate shit, get it out of your damn head and get it out of my fuckin house.” He stormed off into one of the bedrooms with a slam of the door.
Simon never had to tell you when he was kicking you out. You’d always go on your own.
He swore if he saw you and you were still stuck on the idea that you had to cling to him, he was gonna rip you a new one.
Did you take him serious?
On a good day, never.
You’d be stuck thinking about how good he looked, blonde hair a mess, veins popping out his neck and his arms, large muscles flexing, face screwed up towards you— you’d lick up all the poison he’d spewed to you over and over. It’s funny, at times like that you’d just wanted to know, if he’d fuck all his anger into you? Maybe you’d cum so many times just from finger fucking you, you’d be a babbling mess, begging for more—
Delusional.
Maybe when he was actually angry with you, not when Ghost was aggravated to the point he didnt want to physically see you.
And at the absolute worst of times, you’d trusted his words. You stayed away for a couple weeks just as you were told because you so desperately wanted to be told how good you were when you got that call. How you weren’t a needy bitch, but the prettiest & smartest girl he’d ever been with.
And of course you could’ve heard those simple words from anyone in a ten mile radius, ask your online followers for a few complements and you would’ve gotten them like clockwork. But you needed to hear it from that meanie.
Did you have a praise kink? Perhaps.
Did you need men’s approval to live? God forbid.
You just wanted Ghosts approval. His rough hands from those long days of being in action to touch your body, the playful head pats you swore you hated it cause it messed up your hair, a good smack to the ass as praise when he instructed you on how to change a car tire, fat fingers trailing your back as you sat in his lap, reading those books you loved a loud. Gruff voice praising after you had such an amazing day at work— as if you’d been the one to align everything so it could all work in your favor. ‘Good job doll, you’re doin well for yourself.”
Those underlying daddy issues would tear themselves out of you— like some junkie, you craved to hear his praises, feel it on your skin. It tingled the ivory inside you like a piano.
You tried taking your mind off it, throwing yourself into work, hanging out with your friends, doing a stream or two just to see if anyone showed up, get your mind straight so you wouldn’t be so dependent.
But giving a stray attention then yanking it away would be plain rude.
Your brain was in turmoil, front of your brain started to thunk, thunk, thunk from how much you were over thinking. To top it off, your father had called you just as you’d gotten done having lunch with some friends.
It’d be a long fucking night.
“No, I'm not moving back to the US just so I can be married off to someone stranger. Are you crazy?” You practically shrieked once you’d heard your stupid father on the other side of the call. No ‘hello,’ ‘how are you?’ ‘It’s been a while’ just straight bullshit.
Something about an arranged marriage with the son of a businessman he was trying to partner with. You wanted to punch him square in his jaw— ooooh calm down. You were okay. It’s perfectly fine.
“It’s for the betterment of your future, [+]. Why am I the only one who cares about that? You can’t go playing around with dogs all day—“
“I have serious clients dad, famous ones. Rich one’s. I’m not grooming dogs for nothing, even talked about opening my own place.” You tried. It was your dream, something not even your boss knew about. But Simon knew, in fact, he was the one who pushed you the most about really chasing after what you wanted. He had the most faith in you, and you yearned to hear him reassure you right now. Even if it was just him saying, ‘dont let those cunts get in your head, you’re my smart girl, aren’t ya? You know best.’
You would’ve killed to hear that right now.
Your father chastised, “A little grooming license isn’t a bachelors degree, is it?”
Oh. You blinked. He always had to take it there when he couldn’t get his way, because everything needed to go your father’s way or no one could be happy. You wiped your hand over your face in frustration, huffing as you continued on to your apartment, tuning out whatever the man was saying with ‘mmhm’.
Like a knight in shining armor but the opposing enemy, there the skull mask wearing man sat in his big black truck right in front of your apartment building. Simon didn’t even have to say anything when he caught your brown eyes, just motioned his head. ‘Come.’
Did he have to tell you twice?
You climbed in the car, heart pounding, not even listening to the words that were coming from the other side of the line because someone ten times more important had showed up.
“Where’ve you been?” He’d filled the cars silence in a hushed tone. Just enough so you could hear but your father couldn’t.
You fumbled around with your purse, looking at anything you could but the man beside you, “…You told me not to come over.”
“And you actually listened?” Simon griminced, eyebrow raised at you as he continued to drive.
Because usually, you’d show up even if you were the one who was mad. Ignoring him like he did you, even if you two were in the same space but you were still together. He’d still pull you in his arms, rubbing his head in the crevice of your neck because you were so damn cute with those eyebrows furrowed and pout.
“I didn’t wanna make you more upset this time.” You wanted to hide yourself but that truck left no room for it.
Well that didn’t work, did it? It just made him more annoyed. To the point Price had to tell him to ease up on the lower ranked soldiers during training. Even if he did push you away, you were a boomerang, always finding your way back to the older brute— a constant. You were a stray cat that would brush into Simon each time he gave you a little attention, a little food, a little love. And he liked it, his cute little thing that would ease his mind from everything even if you were a little annoying. Something to care for.
Like, a puppy? A kitten? No, more. Girlfriend? Of course. A step down to hell. His baby girl. His baby—
Before Simon could get another word out, the rambling from your phone the both of you were ignoring turned into yelling. His hand gripped the wheel with a scuff. Simon hated your father to say the very least, an annoying, prude that man was. He had a nasty habit of calling you and spewing utter bullshit in your ear, critiquing every little one of your life choices even though he didn’t raise you, didn’t pay for anything— he was just another entitled sperm donor. Simon had to tell you to hang up different times because he couldn’t stand someone talking to you like that.
It took Simon back to his own father, that abusive, psychopathic prick. Didn’t know what the hell he was doing with him and his younger brother, fucker always was on ballistic shit. Throwing things against the wall, putting his hands on anyone in that God forsaken house that breathed wrong, drinking non stop and the goddamn yelling. He didn’t want that for you— didn’t want to end up like that bastard. Simon cared about you too much, he wouldn’t let that happen. So in his fucked up way of caring, he’d push you away. Saying anything that came to mind, only meaning 61% what he actually said.
But that proved to be a new dead end.
Which led to a new resolution: he’d fix whatever issue went on in his head and keep you if it meant not having to see you very clearly, shut yourself down to cope or having to hear your annoying father talking down on you like an imbecile.
Ghost’s own head was reeling— he would never let anyone talk to you like you were an idiot. Couldn’t even imagine it. Yes, you were a little agitating, a little fucking dumb— but that was fixable. Nothing Daddy couldn’t fix. And if you trip and fall on your mistakes, the older man was right there to catch you. He’d refix your problems a thousand times over if he had to, why? Because he adored you to pieces.
But you weren’t an idiot, you can’t fix inherent incompetence.
His princess wasn’t incompetent.
That’s why every fuckin time you were on the phone with your father, which was already rare, he wanted to shove his booted foot right the man’s ass. Sew his asshole shut and keep feeding him, and feeding him, and feeding him. Water board the guy and show everyone how he was the fuckin embarrassment and not his sweet precious daughter—
Simon would try to hold whatever anger was festering this time because you, for your mothers sake, were trying to fix the relationship you didn’t break.
He was off the rocker, yes, but he’d get the shit together. Quick. Somehow. For you.
Be good, good, be good, be good—
“—And I bet you’re still fucking around with that ass aren’t you, [+]? You can be such a fucking idiot, it’s time to grow the hell up-“
You weren’t a fucking idiot. Never. If Simon didn’t call you that, what made anyone think they had the right to?
He didn’t hesitate to snatch the phone out of your hands, “—Are you out of your fuckin mind!?”
His voice boomed, filling the car, not even your father was talking anymore. The only sound that could be heard was the engine and the tires rolling on the pavement.
“Ya don’t say shit to your own kid for a decade but now you think you can run her life because you got some money in your pocket? Money you haven’t even spent a single pound on her—“ there was a quick muffled noise from the other side of the phone but Ghost was faster, “I’m disrespectful!? I wish I gave a shit about what you think of me or what I’m doin with your fuckin daughter. She’s with me for good reason.”
“—The next time you call you’d better have one foot in the grave or I’m gonna find you and make sure you do my fuckin self.” The blonde pressed the red button on the screen, a few more taps to block the man who, the blonde man had decided, wouldn’t be in your life.
After putting your phone in your lap, his hand immediately went to the back of your neck and letting out a deep breath, rubbing the baby hairs with his thumb. Soothing you. You saw Simon mouth move but you didn’t hear what came out of it. It was like your ears were shot just for a second, your heart beating loudly, you had wrapped yourself in a daze whenever you’d talk to your father and this had to be the first time someone not only yanked you out of it, but fully and undoubtedly protected you.
“Kid.” he barked, more profound.
Your big brown eyes snapped over to him, your brain finally catching up to what was happening in the moment.
“You’re okay, ‘s okay. I’ve got you, gonna take care ‘f you. Promise. You want that? Want me to take care of you, hm baby?” His voice was so soft, inviting, pulling you into whatever he’d had set for you in his mind.
How could you say no, when all you ever wanted was to be Simons?
“Yes sir.”
Famous last words.
Like you’d ignited a flame, his brown eyes flickered with mischief.
Ghost, the usual menace, rough man was being cloying with you.
Leaving gentle kisses all over as he made his was down to the heat in the middle of your legs. Big hands roaming the rest of your body as he slid your black, wet, underwear off, throwing your legs over his shoulders and giving a nice smooch to your cunt.
“So fuckin pretty baby, ‘s all for me?” His tongue slide up and down your vulva.
“Y-Yeah,” you said breathlessly, eyes fluttering shut as Ghost lapped up every juice that was coming out of you.
The older man scuffed, slipping a finger inside your tight walls and slowly thrusting them. “ ‘yeah’? That’s all you gotta say? Don’t be stubborn with me doll, wanna be nice to you today.”
You felt a pinch to your thigh, a warning, “keep those pretty eyes on me swee’art, need you focused on me.”
Your head tilted itself to the side, nodding your head and biting your lip to contain your moan but it’s barely doing anything as you watch Simon slip another fat finger into you, pumping his fingers faster and finally going up to your clit, taking a little nibble of it and then talking it in his mouth.
“Fu- mmm- fuuuck- wait- Si- I- can I cum? Please? Can I?” You whimpered, peeking down at the brown eyes that were stuck on you. Ghost was smirking, almost enough to get a laugh out of him.
“Course baby, bein so good. Can cum as much as you want today.” His fingers curled just right at the perfect spot inside you and your walls flutter around his fingers. But he’s not stopping, course he’s not, the man has to get a good taste of you, get you cumming with his fingers, without his fingers, without sucking your clit— he sucking out every drop that leaves your cunt.
Ghost was taking his sweet time, as if you didn’t need him inside you desperately. You were aching for more after cumming a fourth time, bucking your hips only for Ghost to press down on them to keep you still.
He pulled his mouth away from you, face covered in your slick, “Jesus baby, cut it out, will you? Thought you wanted Daddy to take care of you?”
“D-do, I do. It’s just- just-“
“Don’t tell me you’re not used to it.” His ends of his lips turned up into a smirk, teasing, fingers rubbing your clit just enough to keep you wanting more yet slow enough to keep your attention only on him.
No. No you weren’t. He’d known that.
Simon usually manhandled you every which way and any position he wanted you in. Edging you as much as he wanted then giving it to you deep and leaving you breathless at every moment. And it’s not like you hated it, you loved every second of it. But this- this situation made your brain melt.
The older man just looooved that.
“Give me another, let me feel it.” His hands went to grope your tits, squeezing and pulling at them as he rubbed his face further into your pussy, completely devouring you whole. The blonde slid his long tongue back inside your hole, thrusting it just right. The man groaned as you pulsed around him, somehow getting sweeter as you fell apart.
He kept touching all over you, the curve your breasts, the peak of your nipples, the dips in your hips and thighs— ever so softly. As if he was revisiting a map he’d known like the back of his hand, making sure he knew every nook and cranny of you, the cause of every twitch, shake, and moan, the reason slick kept flowing down onto his tongue.
Why?
Well a good Daddy just had to know his baby well, shouldn’t he?
You should’ve known, there was no way Simon would ever be nice and go easy on you the whole time he was fucking you. But you were being silly, fantasizing about him slipping inside you and being gentle.
Your mistake for thinking a man so large in size, so brutal with words, with the biggest and fattest dick you’ve ever seen in your life would ever treat your poor pussy kindly :(. You always looked so perfect when he had you crying, so easy to bully, Ghost just couldn’t help himself.
“Si- Simon!” You yelped out, as he finally bottomed out inside your pink walls that were gonna chop his manhood off. He’d had you stuck in an inescapable full nelson, legs spread wide open and beefy arms hooked under knees, forcing your head down to look at the disappearing act of the century happening with his cock and your cunt.
“Look at the fuckin mess you’re makin kiddo, gonna get my thighs wet at this rate.” Ghost was plopping you up and down, up and down on his length, the loud sloshing sound of your sopping wet pussy filling the room.
“No- Si- aangh- it’s too much!” And it’s not like you could even push any of him away, as he thrusted up into you, making sure you took every single inch imaginable.
“Such a fuckin liar baby. What a fuckin liar you are, ‘nd you don’t think I’ve fuckin noticed that you won’t call me how you’re supposed to? Huh? Didn’t teach you to lie like that, did I?”
You’d internally cursed, slapping at his hand for some relief but your mouth only letting out moans. Yes, you were avoiding calling him ‘daddy,’ even though you’d call him that casually, it felt so off today after your falling out with your father. It made your head spin, because it wasn’t just a nickname anymore.
You were craving the missing hole you’ve been ignoring this whole time, to be filled with the man fucking you like a slut in his big arms.
“Told you I’d take care of ya, didn’t I princess? Promised you I’d be reaalll good to ya but— shit, your squeezing the life outta me— can’t be nice if you don’t treat your own daddy proper, can I?” You moaned at his words, shaking your head because this man was gonna make you go insane, tonight. Pushing you past the point of no return, and no, he wouldn’t let go of your hand while he’d did it.
He’d hold your hand and jump with you.
“Come on, call me how you’re ‘posed to kid.” He grunted in you ear, sucking on your earlobe, “Call the only man you’ll ever need, the man who’s fuckin your pretty pussy right, know you want to. Come on.”
He was egging on that delusion that sat, triple boxed up and in the farthest corner of your mind of your mind. Teasing, taunting you, probing at the thought that you swore you locked away that one time it slipped out of you mid conversation months ago.
But Simon remembered. In fact, he’d just needed the ‘okay’ from your plump lips because he longed to hear you call him that oh so sweet yet oh so sinful name once more. He wanted to be your number one. The man you relied on, someone that would never leave you like your father did. Better than your father, better than any one of those little boys you’d fool around with in the past. Damn it, and it was making you wetter.
“Paaa! You feel so good pa!” You mewled, throwing your head back on his shoulder in pleasure.
You felt that maniacal grin form on Ghosts lips on your shoulder, leaving a kiss on your neck— he was proud of you. It tickled something in his brain, scratched the exact spot where his own daddy issues lay. He wasn’t new to hearing a sex partner call him daddy during sex, maybe he exuded that energy— it was in his blood, Ghost didn’t know. But you just kept pushing the line, accidentally calling him that magic word when he’d praise you. And it stuck. You’d call him daddy like it was second nature. Looking up at him with those pretty brown eyes, obediently listening to whatever he had to say. That’s what all the fucking clingy shit was about, the needy, desperation of it all.
Wanting a father figure from a hell raiser— it was arranged. You were a good girl. Ghosts good little girl.
“Therrre you go princess, atta girl! Doin so good for me, cum on your daddy’s dick. Show me how good you are baby, milk me dry.”
You shook your head, belligerent sobs escaping you. You couldn’t believe you’d just call him that, of all things. And you tried to retract it, whining your way through your orgasm that left you trembling, Simon himself filling your tight cunt with every bit cum that sat in his balls.
“I- I- hicc- I didn’t mean to call you- hicc- I’m sorry.” You blabbered out, how sweet. How cute, you were trying to collect yourself. He pulled out of you with a roll of his eyes, flipping you onto your stomach, rubbing the tip against your hole that was leaking with the both of your cum. What a miraculous sight.
“No, baby you did. Don’t worry that pretty little head,” he cooed, slipping his dick back inside you, groaning at the feel of you. “pa’s got you.”
“Come on doll, wanna hear you,” He rocked his hips into you, the room filling with the smack, smack, smack, smacking of his balls hitting your wet pussy, ripples forming on your ass with every thrust.
Your brain was turning to mush, drool forming and dripping down the sheets of the bed. The only thing you were able to think of was daddy, daddy, daddy, pa, pa, pa. How good your pa was drilling into you like a maniac.
Simon’s hand wrapped around your curly hair, dragging you up to your knees as he continued to ram into you, “This allll my sweet little girl needed? Your pa to take care of you like a good daddy should. Fuck, that bastard couldn’t treat you right could he? Show you how a man’s supposed to treat you, huh?”
“Noooo sir- nghhh.” you keened, eyes rolling to the back of your head.
“Tha’s right princess, don’t worry though— I love you. Your pa loves you soooo. fuckin. much baby. No one’s gonna love you more than me.”
Those words alone is what set off your next orgasm, he was talking crazy, actually. And you loved every second of it, back arching even more so as you pulsated around his throbbing cock. He was still thrusting into you chasing his own orgasm, a string of curses leaving his mouth as you felt the tip of him spasm. He made you so full of him, you’d felt so warm all over.
“Shit, such a good girl for me, gonna take such good care of you from now. What do ya say?” He took you in his arms, laying you on top of him. You could feel his heart beating, chest heaving. Both of your skin sticky with sweat.
“Thank you pa.” You wrapped your arms him.
“Oh princess,” Ghost smiled, pressing his lips against yours, cupping your face with one hand and caressing it with his thumb, “you’re so welcome.”
a/n: it’s three people who are gonna read all this, me being one of them. If you liked it leave me a message or comment. If you hated it, idk. I’m just a big dadbf!simon enthusiast.
john and nikolai have had more than their fair share of spats over the years. insults hurled, punches thrown, low-blows traded. twenty-two years is a long time to call someone a friend. there was bound to be a couple of bumps in the road, but never anything they couldn’t come back from. until now, that is.
john price would like to consider himself a benevolent man. he’s not beyond reason, he doesn’t hold unnecessary grudges, he’s happy to put the past behind him, in most cases. honestly, he never imagined that nikolai could do anything he’d think was unforgivable. it’s nikolai, for god’s sake. his best friend. his dearest comrade. his most trusted confidant. this is the man he calls when he needs to bury a body. the one he’d run to if the sky fell. he’s the one john would want at his side while he laid on his deathbed. they’ve killed for each other, countless times, taken bullets for each other, made promises that they’ll take to the fiery pits of hell.
nikolai’s his friend. his brother, in everything but blood. the other half of his soul, if you will.
at least, he was.
that was before nikolai decided to fuck his kid. his only child. his pride and fucking joy. the same man who held him while he cried about the divorce. the same one he confided in when your mother took you and moved you far, far away, where he could only visit once, maybe twice a year. the one he bragged to when you graduated school, then when you got accepted to university, then when you got your first adult job.
john’s forgiven nikolai for plenty over the years, things that most men would draw blood over, but this — this is a line he never knew he had to draw.
it isn’t the first time he’s dropped by nikolai’s unannounced. it’s been an unspoken, iron-clad agreement for decades that, if and when one of them needed something, anything, they turned to the other. it isn’t the first time that he’s stumbled upon the russian in a compromising position, either. usually, they would laugh about it. john would say he was sorry, and nikolai would shrug it off, because their friendship was worth more than a good time with a stranger.
but this time, it isn’t a stranger — it’s you. his kid. and his best friend. you, in nothing sans your underwear and a sweatshirt too large to be your own, strewn across nikolai’s lap like it were made to cradle you. too comfortable. too familiar. too domestic.
that’s the worst part, somehow. he knows, immediately, that this was not some spur of the moment decision. it wasn’t like you ran into him at a pub and didn’t recognize each other, or that you were both drunk and not thinking straight.
it’s a tuesday night, and nikolai’s at home, watching cartoons, with a lapful of you, petting your hair and nosing at your cheek like he’s got the fucking right. that’s not something you do with a one night stand. it’s not something nikolai does with anyone, at all, because he always claimed that he would never let anyone, no matter how lovely, clip his wings. and yet.
you look horrified, your earlier bliss gone in the blink of an eye, trying desperately to grab for the blanket you’d thrown aside to protect your lower half. but nikolai — he doesn’t even flinch. he manages to sweep you off of his lap and get to his feet a split second before john’s heavy fist strikes him square in the face. he doesn’t retaliate, doesn’t react at all, really, just sighs deeply through his nose, and levels john with a look so cold it would’ve sent a shiver down his spine if his rage hadn’t already boiled his blood.
he should’ve known something was off. nikolai’s been distant lately, and, while that in itself isn’t unusual for the man, flighty as he is, it’s unlike him to have been so hard to reach. not literally, he showed up when he was needed, but mentally. john summed it up to the toll of war, which they all struggle with now and again. he should’ve known better. but in no world would he have suspected this.
“you bastard,” he doesn’t even look your way. he can’t stomach it. “i should shoot you dead, you slimy piece of shit!”
but nikolai — nikolai doesn’t regret a goddamned thing. not even as john’s trigger finger twitches like he’s imagining what his brains may look like splattered across the persian rug you picked out last month.
john could kill him, right here and now, and he still wouldn’t regret it.
truth be told, he didn’t know who you were, not at first. he hadn’t the slightest clue. he’d never met you, hadn’t seen a picture of you since you were a babe. at first, you were merely a sweet soul in search of a safe place to land, and he was a only man with a soft spot for broken things.
you were young, and pretty, so easily flustered, clinging to each and every scrap of affection he dished out like you’d been starving for it. by the time he found out, he was too far gone — not that it mattered.
because john’s version of your story and yours are two very different accounts.
the way john told it, he did the best he could. he called as often as he was able, visited whenever his job allowed, kept tabs on you and all of your accomplishments, loved you as wholly and as truly as any father should. and, maybe, to him, it really was that simple.
but that’s not the version of the story you knew. to you, it was missed birthdays and christmases, it was waiting by the phone until bedtime came and your mom dragged you away, it was countless unanswered letters, it was being bullied in school because, while your peers got to go home to two parents, you barely had one, what with your mother’s two jobs and endless string of boyfriends. it was being made to grow up too fast because no one in your life was willing to nurture the child within. it was searching for a father’s love in every corner of the world because yours wasn’t around to give it.
but nikolai did. he gave it gladly, and in abundance, and never asked for anything in return. he was willing to be anything you needed him to be. sometimes, a lover, and sometimes, something else altogether.
he could he turn his back on you, knowing what he knows? knowing that he enabled it? he couldn’t. he didn’t. he won’t.
“you do not want to do this, john.” he warns, trying his damndest to position himself between you and your father. he knows john would never hurt you, at least not physically, but you shouldn’t have to see this, either. just a moment ago, you were so happy. warm, safe, and at peace in his arms. and now … well, this certainly isn’t how he had intended for your night to go.
he was destined to find out eventually, nikolai knows that. he would have told him himself, he was only waiting for you to be ready. he’d hoped, though, that this part might happen when you didn’t have to bear witness to it.
“the hell i don’t!” the captain spits, nostrils flaring, teeth bared. he’s beyond angry, beyond reasonable. nikolai can’t blame him, truly, but he also knows that his fury isn’t nearly as justified as he believes it to be. he was hardly much of a father to you to begin with. “they’re my kid, nik! mine! what the fuck is wrong with you?”
“lower your voice,” he won’t shout in front of you. god knows you’re scared enough as is. he won’t say any of the things he wishes to say, won’t point out john’s absence, his fabrications, or the damage he’s done to you, because you don’t need to hear it, even if he does. and that’s the difference between john and nikolai. even now, your father isn’t thinking about you. he’s thinking about how he’s been betrayed, about his friend going behind his back.
“oh, you fuckin’—” john goes for his gun, as nikolai figured he would, his hand halfway to his holster when your bare feet hit the floor, your eyes wide and glossy.
something strangled, confused between a sob and a shout, catches in your throat, and john, for the first time, looks at you. nikolai’s arm extended, protecting you from him, your cheeks damp, hands shaky where they grip your blanket for dear fucking life. the captain pauses, tongue running over his teeth, and nikolai sees the war waging in his mind.
his hand drops, and nikolai can breathe again. at least john loves you enough not to kill him right in front of you. it doesn’t count for much, but’s it’s something.
“fuck you, nik.” the man, quivering like a bow string pulled taut, has one foot out the door already, his back turned like he can’t stand to look at either of you any longer. it’s for the best. there’s no bloodless resolution to this. nikolai sorely doubts it’s over.
the front door slams hard enough that a painting’s knocked off of the front room’s wall. it was one of your favorites, too. a shame. he’ll find a suitable replacement. but only after he’s soothed you.
“your face,” you fret, lower lip wobbling, arms wrapped around your middle like you’re resisting the urge, the need, to reach for him. it’s a sorry sight. a regression. you were getting so comfortable, you finally stopped doubting your place here, and this — it’ll have set you back.
but nikolai’s patient.
“i’m fine, lapushka, come here, come here,” he coaxes you into his arms without hesitation, a big hand cradling the back of your head, cheek pressed to your hair. “shh, now. i’ll handle it, hm? everything will be okay, i promise you.”
and it will be. with or without john’s surrender. if keeping you happy, safe, means cutting him out of your life — both of your lives — so be it. he’ll have a choice to make. nikolai made his long ago, and he has no intentions on changing his mind.
you sniffle against his chest, hiccuping as you try, valiantly, to catch your breath, too stubborn, too scared, to cry openly. he holds you a bit tighter.
“shh, i’m here. papochka’s here. everything will be okay, malysh.”
please reach out if you or someone you know is a victim of domestic abuse or anything mentioned. fair trigger warning, please be cautious.
but you know the worst thing about growing up with an aggressive father?
you search for someone gentle. meet rin itoshi, who loves you the way you deserve.
someone who holds you through the night, ushering you through cries and sobs and worries. someone who holds your hand in crowded spaces, intertwining your fingers together and giving your hand a squeeze. someone who says your name with adoration, even when they're mad.
someone who could fill the void of a father that left it there.
but what happens when they're too gentle?
their hold on you in the night feels suffocating, like they're trying to redeem a prior mistake. their fingers intertwined in yours feel like a trap; you will be theirs forever, whether you like it or not. their name out of your mouth feels like a death wish.
its like when a father is too nice, and you realise it too late, that they'll crash out on you.
but rin never crashed on you.
wish you could say the same about you, though.
you didn't mean to. really, he's been nothing but kind to you.
but you are your father's child.
no, no, no! you are nothing like your father.
but he doesn't yell. you do. he doesn't throw things. you do. he doesn't hurt you by accident. you do.
he doesn't hurt you intentionally.
you do.
because there's a sort of solace in behaving that way. like a child learning from their parents. pets imitating their owners. animals mimicking their peers.
and he let's you behave that way. because he knows that you're living out your childhood the way you shouldn't have, but its a step closer to healing.
maybe.
when the rage wears off, and is replaced by child-like shock and tears, he lets you cry to him. he holds you, like a kid in their dad's arms, as you desperately sob. apologies on apologies; he realises you never try making excuses. begging, pleading—anything.
he assures you, whispering between kisses, "you're nothing like him. i promise," to which you continue wailing.
but you believe you are. blood and last name, all your father.
he can't change your blood, but he can change the name that ties you to that man. rin promises, no, vows to himself, that he will change your last name.
"lights, camera, acción / if he likes me, takes me home / you can be my daddy / you know i can't make it on my own / put me in a movie"
nanami kento has everything he could ever want; a lovely new wife, an exhausting but well-paying job, and the life he's always wanted. when he meets his new step-daughter, nanami’s perfect life and morals crumble at the sight of her glossy lips and flirty smile.
➸ nanami kento x fem!reader. wc: +25k and counting. ongoing mini-series.
➸ tags: non-jujutsu!au, DARK CONTENT – stepdad x stepdaughter, pseudo-incest, major age gap, infidelity, mentions of: mental illness & trauma, past rape, grooming, harassment, abuse, substance abuse (none by nanami!!!). eventual smut, MAJOR daddy issues, unhealthy dynamics – THIS IS NOT A HEALTHY FIC. this fic is not meant to depict a healthy relationship; i'm partially projecting my trauma onto a fanfic lol. reader has a partially written backstory, not entirely! (reader has mommy & daddy issues + has experienced SA before)
➸ disclaimer: the mood board for this fic is purely aesthetic purposes! my fanfics are meant to be body and race inclusive (and reader isn't even coquette tbh LOL like i said, aesthetic purposes)
➸ this work does not intend to glamorize or romanticize topics such as pedophilia and rape. you are responsible for the content you consume. viewer discretion is advised. content is not suitable for minors.
➸ new chapter every monday night. fic and chapter titles inspired by lana del rey's song, "put me in a movie"
i. lights, camera, acción (04.13.26)
ii. take me home (04.27.26)
iii. good girl (05.04.26)
iv. you know i can't make it on my own (05.11.26) -> (05.12.26)
v. put me in a movie (05.18.26) -> (05.13.26)
EXTRAS:
series playlist!
➸ if you'd like to be tagged whenever a new chapter is released pls comment/dm me! <3
➸ i do not own any of the characters i write about. do not repost, plagiarize, feed to AI, or monetize my fanfiction content.
This blog and ALL posts are for people 18 + ONLY (MDNI)
I DO NOT give permission for my work to be copied, reuploaded, or translated in any way.
All work is 100% mine and NOT created through the use of AI - I will keep using em dash until I die.
Header Photo Credit 1 & 2 | Divider Credit
Word Count: 4.6 k +
Summary: After Dean comes home covered in blood from a hunt gone wrong, you remind him he’s allowed to be loved. Major hurt/comfort with dom/sub role reversal. Dean cries during sex.
Trigger Warnings: ANGST Dean, mentions of childhood trauma and daddy issues (Dean's), Dean attempting to unlearn toxic masculinity, descriptions of injuries, including mentions of blood (Dean's), descriptions of basic first aid, SMUT, dom/sub role reversal (Dean is usually dom but becomes sub, reader is usually sub but becomes dom), reader does cowgirl, emotional sex? - Dean cries, begging (Dean), maybe some rough-ish sex elements, mention past kinky activities like orgasm denial, AFAB reader / female anatomy used for reader, pet names: Angel, baby, baby girl, honey, sweetheart.
(If I missed any trigger warnings, please DM me or send me an ask, and I will add them ASAP!)
Author's Note: Well, guys- here it is: my second fic! Firstly, thank you so much for all the love and support I got on my first fic- I was shocked by how many notes it got and am beyond thankful! I genuinely think my writing (at least in the first half of this fic) is so much better than my previous fic, and I hope you guys think so too lol. I've really been enjoying getting back into fandom and writing and everything, and I hope eventually my writing keeps getting better along with it! This fic was a little out of my comfort zone, as I am a 100% bottom, no questions asked, and this is more of a switchy-reader type fic, so I hope I did that justice, too. And as always, likes and reblogs (especially reblogs) are so greatly appreciated as they let me know you guys enjoyed and want to see more! Thanks, guys! Love you!
And a special thank you to my beta reader @thewinchesterwench!
(If you are interested in becoming a beta reader, my dm's are open!)
Inspiration for this fic here! | Wanna join my taglist?
Headlights blind him as his foot falls heavier onto the gas pedal. Head pounding, ears ringing, shoulder aching - a wet and deep type of ache he knows means it’s more serious than he’s willing to admit. However, part of him already knew that the blood oozing down his arm and onto Baby’s leather seats was his first clue. But when he’s still an hour out from your place on a night he promised he’d be home, he can’t bring himself to care about the mess.
So he keeps driving. He should slow down; he knows he should, the roads are slick with the steam that rises from the steady rain beating down onto the hot pavement, but he just can’t. His gaze remains fixed, grip all but crushing the steering wheel like he's just as possessed as the demons that did this to him.
The echoes of the night's events still linger within despite his efforts to only think of you. In the storm of his mind, the senses and memories intertwine. The feeling of being thrown into the wall so hard it cracked, mixed with the feeling of your soft skin under his calloused hands- the smell of blood draining from his nose, mixing with the smell of your perfume. The image of the demon’s souls leaving their bodies, mixing with the image of your body in his bed. Every bad, nasty, scary memory always slowly consumed and over taken by the soft, warm memories of you.
When he finally reaches your street, he parks outfront. Your windows glowing a soft yellow light through the curtains into the darkness of the night, meaning that somewhere inside, you’re still awake, just as he knew you’d be, waiting for him even at this ungodly hour.
He doesn’t bother grabbing his duffel; he steps out of the car, his body aching with every move. Pausing, he takes a deep breath, eyes closed, and then once it’s over, he begins dragging himself to the front door. Walking feels like moving through wet cement, and when he reaches his destination, he leans forward, resting his sticky forehead against the grain, trying to catch his breath. Sweat rolls down his face and runs into his mouth, the taste making him cringe- right now, even his sweat tastes like blood.
Dean raises his fist to knock on the door. He has a key, but the thought alone of trying to dig it out of his back pocket makes his shoulder throb even more.
Inside the house, you jump at the noise in slight alarm. You had been drifting in and out of sleep, waiting for him to come home to you, patience waning. But now adrenaline pumps through your veins, suddenly very awake as you make it to your feet and head towards the door.
You know it's Dean, but just to be safe, just as Dean would have told you to, you check through the peephole first. And when you see him, the air feels like it's been knocked from your lungs, your fingers all but scrambling to undo the locks and open the door.
Dean stands there, barely holding himself up, bloody and broken. Your panicked eyes rake over his form immediately as you begin taking inventory of every injury you can find; A large gash to the forehead above his right eye, left eye bruised, bottom lip busted, upper lip and chin stained with blood that at some point had been coming from his nose, his is shirt is ripped along the torso and at the right shoulder which somewhere underneath the fabric is the source of all that blood covering his arm and clothing, and now your front step as well. He looks halfway to death, but somehow in this light, he's still as beautiful as ever, all tan skin with little freckles, green shining eyes, and waiting there just for you- the sight is almost holy.
“Dean-” You finally speak, snapping out of your haze and instinctively reaching out for him. But before you get to him, he stops you, putting up his hands just enough for you to see, reluctantly begging you not to touch him. It’s not that he doesn’t want your touch because - Jesus Christ - that's all he wants, but because he knows the moment he feels you, he’ll be gone.
“I’m okay…” He murmurs with a quiet roughness as he focuses on moving one foot in front of the other, crossing the threshold of your home. When he passes you, you can feel the warmth radiating off of him, despite his denying your touch. It makes your hands ache to reach out for him even more.
“What the hell happened to you?” You question, not accusatory, but serious enough to let him know not to give you a sarcastic response.
He blinks at you for a moment. He looks pale, like he needs to sit before he passes out. “Demons…” He answers breathlessly, trying to pull himself together.
You don’t really hear the answer because, after seeing that look on his face, you begin ushering him to the kitchen, quickly pulling out a chair from the table for him to sit. He involuntarily slumps down with a soft groan, the wood hard and unforgiving. His eyes squeeze shut, and his teeth clench from the impact.
And as soon as you're sure he’s seated, you turn and head for the cupboards, beginning to rummage through them almost frantically. He doesn’t have the energy to question what you're doing, or to even look, but the second you try to walk past him in an attempt to leave the room, searching for something else, he grabs you by the wrist, stopping you in your tracks. His hold isn’t rough, it’s pure longing, the need to touch you, even if it’s just for a moment, even if it’s just like this.
He looks up at you now, noticing how heavy your breathing is, how worried your eyes look, how it's borderline scared. But you need to get the first aid supplies, and you need to stop the bleeding.
“Dean, I need towels, bandages, please-” You tell him, your tone not frustrated but urgent nonetheless, pulling away from him despite how badly the look on his face makes you want to stay. He moves almost indiscernibly, nodding in understanding.
When you return, you haphazardly dump all the supplies onto the kitchen table. This wouldn’t be the first time you’ve patched up Dean’s battle wound, mostly minor, some a little more intense, but this is different, this is unlike anything you've ever seen.
Pulling out another chair, positioning it directly in front of him, you sit down and begin taking some deep breaths, trying to keep your emotions in check. If you want to do this properly, you can’t be a shaking mess.
A beat passes, and then, once you’re ready, you make your first move. You reach out to remove his shirt, needing to assess the real damage under the blood-soaked cotton, but as you do, he stops you, his hands coming up again, palms facing out in objection.
“I‘m fine.” He rasps unconvincingly. “Can do it myself….”
You pause again. You know what this is, you know what he’s doing. “No, you’re not.” You say short and firm but not unkindly.
Dean ignores you, reaching for a towel on the table anyway, hands visibly shaking. He’s lying to you, and you both know it, but that gnawing voice in the back of his head tells him to fight.
The voice is his father’s. It’s the rough, harsh sound of the man who taught him to never show weakness. The man who raised him to hide the blood and pain, to deny all comforts for the sake of serving others. John may have never taught Dean how to ride a bike or shave his face, but he sure as hell taught him how to be a soldier. But for as many physical scars that mentality has left him, there are twice as many emotional.
But you're not letting him play that game tonight, not like this.
Your voice breaks through his stream of clouded thoughts like soft light. “Dean…” You urge gentle but insistent, “Let me take care of you… please.”
Another pause- The room completely silent except for his labored breaths. But he closes his eyes, and all the cracks you’ve made in his armor begin breaking him open. He gives a small nod, finally allowing you in because the truth is that with you, it never feels like breaking at all.
And so, without hesitation, you move, cutting off his shirt and exposing the wound on his shoulder. He grits his teeth in pain while you carefully tend to the source, trying to stop the bleeding enough to clean out the wound, but even with the gentlest of touches, Dean hisses at the pain.
When you wash out the wound, the liquid stings like fire, and his eyes gloss over. He tries to hold it in, both not wanting to show weakness and not wanting to scare you, but the pain’s too much. His fist smacks down onto the table in a tight grip, the sound making you jump. He gives you a guilty look, wanting to say he's sorry for scaring you, but he doesn’t trust his own voice. Deep down, he knows he doesn’t even have to say it; you already know.
You work methodically, going from the deep wounds to the tiny cuts. He tenses and sucks in breath as you work, trying desperately to hold it together.
Dean tries to focus on you, cataloguing every detail he can find, as if he hasn't already memorized every inch of you a thousand times before. He pushes himself to get lost in all that is you: the way you furrow your eyebrows in concentration, the steady movements of your hands. He still clenches his fist and teeth at the prodding of his injuries, but it helps him remain more still, always trying so desperately to be better- to be good.
Once you’ve finished, you lean back, wiping the sweat from your forehead, inadvertently staining it with some of his blood. Every one of his wounds now cleaned, closed, and dressed. The bleeding has finally stopped.
“How do you feel?” You ask softly.
His body language matches yours, leaning back in the chair, exhausted. “Like shit…” He breathes out, voice somewhat garbled.
You give him a second to breathe before you stand, “Let’s get you to the bathroom and finish cleaning you up.”
He nods back, and this time, when you go to help him, he doesn’t resist. Dean allows you to support some of his weight, never all of it, as you direct him to the bathroom.
Entering the bathroom, you turn on the lights, making sure to keep them dim and inoffensive, before sitting him down on the closed toilet seat. He wouldn’t be able to stand long enough to shower, and you just spent all that time dressing his wounds, so instead, you turn on the tap at the sink, letting the water heat up and slowly fill up the basin. While you wait, you turn on the aromatherapy machine sitting on the counter, allowing the sweet, relaxing smell to mix in with the steam forming by the sink. Usually, the small act would have Dean rolling his eyes or making a playfully snarky comment, pretending to think it’s silly, just like he does with your fancy coffee maker, collection of cozy blankets, and all other things his instincts would deem unnecessary. But what he would never admit is that when he’s back on the road, he finds himself secretly longing for the warmth and comfort of those cozy little things alongside the comfort of you.
Turning back to him, you sit down in front of him on your knees. You begin unlacing his old, heavy, and beat-up hunting boots to take them off his tired feet, along with his socks. Next, you reach for his belt. There’s nothing sexual about it, but it’s intimate in a way that still makes Dean’s heart flutter in his chest. All of your movements are so careful, like he’s fragile, not some 6-foot-something grown man that has killed both humans and monsters alike with his bare hands.
You strip him down to his underwear, an old pair of plaid boxers that need replacing, before returning to the sink, now filled. Taking the softest washcloth you can find in the cabinet, you submerge it into the steaming water. You then wring the excess back out, being sure not to cause a mess, and you then bring the cloth to Dean’s face.
Gently, you wash away the remnants of blood and earth on his skin, the cloth picking up shades of rust and soil. You have to wash out and re-wet the cloth multiple times. You know he’ll need a real shower in the morning, but this is the best you can do for now, unwilling to let him go to bed covered in all that muck.
Now clean, you wrap a towel around him. He would never tell you he’s cold; the air on his now damp skin causes goosebumps to form that betray him. You then help him to stand, guiding him to the bedroom where you sit him on the edge of the bed before helping him change into a fresh pair of boxers.
After that, you help him shift his weight so he can sit in the bed properly. He stifles a groan as he moves, but eventually he gets himself to the head of the bed, back resting against the headboard, so he can sit up. He looks uncomfortable still, but he’d be unable to lie down fully right now with the way his back and shoulder ache.
So once he’s as comfortable as he’s going to be, you crawl into the bed as well. The kitchen and the bathroom are both a mess, but you decide to leave them until the morning. You missed Dean like crazy, and even if he hadn’t come home to you beaten to a pulp, you still wouldn’t have been able to keep yourself away from him.
He feels you cautiously positioning yourself on the side of his good shoulder, snuggling into him, careful not to ruin your hard work of bandages and gauze, your body warm and soft against his still tense and aching. You don’t say anything, wanting him to know it's okay if he doesn’t want to talk. But he does.
Slowly looking down at you, his lips part, and a whisper comes out low and strained, “Thank you…”
The words hit you harder than you’d expect, his tone almost pleading, saying more than his actual words ever could. “Dean, you don’t have to thank me-”
Before you’re even finished, his words overlap yours. "Yes,” He states, like it's painfully obvious, “I do…”
Tenderly, he brings a hand up to rest on your cheek. He studies you again for a moment, thoughtfully, but without something else behind his eyes that you can't quite identify yet.
And then softly he speaks again, “Come here,” He whispers, not in command but in yearning.
You nod softly, now understand what he wants, what that flicker in his eyes meant, letting him guide your face to his before he kisses you.
The kiss is hesitant, a timid sort of cautious, all the things Dean pretends not to be.
But the caution passes, as it always does, and Dean sinks into the kiss, now claiming you. After days apart, the first kiss is always more intense, but this is a softer sort of starved.
His body and mind have been through the wringer, and he should be resting. He really shouldn’t be kissing you, not like this, not this hungry, but you let him anyway. Not selfishly, but because when he’s there looking at you like that- kissing you like that, you know you aren’t able to deny him anything.
He pulls away reluctantly and leans his forehead against yours. His breathing is heavier now, and his eyes are becoming heavy. “Baby…” He pleads softly, lips brushing against yours with each syllable.
You know what he really wants, and you want it too, but you can’t shake the image of all that blood, all those bandages and wounds, the way he fought back tears he desperately didn’t want you to see, as you cared for him.
“You’re hurt.” You whisper breathlessly, as if he needed a reminder, before he kisses you again, his movements growing in hunger. And despite your weak protest, your hand finds its way up to the side of his stubbly face, holding it there, holding him.
He pulls away again, holding back the pathetic urge to whimper. He needs you, he needs all of you, now more than ever. “Baby…” He repeats his plea, voice strained and trembling, before adding, “Please.”
His words break what little resolve you had left. How could you ever say no to that?
Nodding, you let his hand on the back of your neck guide you to meet his lips again. And now, with your permission, he pours everything he has into kissing you, from how much he missed you, to how grateful he is for you, his love and need for you, not just in this way but in all ways. It makes your heart ache to give him everything back, continuing to kiss him wantingly.
Intimacy with Dean is always passionate, always loving, but this time is different. Dean is always in control, dominant, disciplined in his love for you, but right now, he’s none of those things, and that realization does something to the pit of your stomach that you can’t explain. You let that feeling guide you, moving carefully to straddle his lap.
When your core, covered by the soft material of your pajama shorts, just barely brushes against him, one of the whimpers he’s been so desperately trying to hold back escapes into your mouth.
His cheeks flush and turn a reddish pink you rarely ever see as he feels his heart sink. “Fuck, I-...” He swears as he pulls back, suddenly embarrassed, a sense of shame washing over him. But you don’t let him get far, not now, not when he’s already let down so many of his walls tonight.
You pull him back in, shaking your head, and cutting him off with a kiss before mumbling the same words you spoke earlier, “Let me take care of you… please,” And just like before, it breaks him, and he gives in, nodding helplessly, connecting his lips to yours.
When your kisses move away from his lips to his jaw, trailing down towards his neck, the hand he has on the back of your neck moves up into your hair, gripping it just hard enough for you to feel the pull. He’s resisting the urge to take over, to dominate the moment like usual; you can feel it in his grasp and hear it in his trembled breath, but you both know he needs this. So you keep going, placing kisses over his soft, exposed neck.
It’s when he whimpers again that a moment of boldness strikes you, and you softly rock your hips, slotting yourself over his already stiffening length. He lets out a gasp that fades into a growl as you repeat the movement slowly.
He clenches his jaw tighter. He doesn’t want to whine, but he feels it there in his chest, as if you had been torturing him for hours. His words come out strained, still resisting the urge to let go “Baby, don’t-... don’t tease.”
But the desperation hiding under the resistance in his voice makes your cheeks heat up in pride. A smile quirking onto your lips inadvertently. “Not so fun when the roles are reversed, huh?” You whisper, knowing you have barely teased him, while on the other hand, Dean has spent hours holding you down and teasing you. And you grind against him again, just to hear him whimper some more, before you assure him with a surprisingly devilish remark, “Don’t worry, baby, I won’t be too hard on you, I know you're hurting…”
He barely registered what you said, lost in his neediness, but he nods anyway, his rough but warm hands moving to grab at your hips in an attempt to pull you closer so he can kiss you again, hanging onto the only shred of dominance he can maintain right now.
You smile against his lips and take the opportunity of him being distracted to reach down between your bodies, gently pull his length out of his boxers, fingers softly wrapping around him.
Surprised, he sucks in a breath. “Oh, fuck-” He moans into your mouth before his head tips backwards against the headboard as you start lightly stroking him.
“That’s it…” You whisper encouragingly as you go back to kissing his neck, now adding little bites and licks, just like he does, copying all of his tactics that he likes to use on you. And he moans again, louder this time, becoming less reserved, the hands on your hips tightening their grip.
He’s fighting every urge to take over, trying to let you take care of him, and it’s all making him into a pathetic moaning and whimpering mess, already rutting up into your hand. “Please, baby, I need you, please,” He begs suddenly.
You remove your lips from his neck and admire the sight of him as you pull away. He’s almost panting, cheeks flushed, sweat forming on his forehead. It’s beautiful - he’s beautiful - and you finally realize why he likes seeing you like this so much.
Thankfully for him, though, you’re not as mean, and you kiss his lips again. Carefully, you lift your lips to remove your shorts and panties. Your heart is beating a thousand miles a minute as you position yourself over him. You’re not used to this role, but the way it’s making you feel right now is almost addictive.
But Dean is too needy to wait for you to revel in the moment, his hands coming back to your hips like he's trying to pull you down onto him. “Please, baby,” He begs, and he just sounds way too pretty for you to say no.
You finally sink down onto his length, moaning out as you do- feeling it stretch you out in all the right ways for the first time since he left over 10 days ago.
“Oh god-” He whines loudly, his grip becoming bruising. You don’t move yet, you savor the feeling of him back inside you, the position making him feel even deeper than usual. He feels it too, the extra depth, the head of his cock nestling snugly against your cervix. “Baby- move, god please love-”
His begging makes you grin, and you do as he asks, starting slow, lifting up and down in a rocking motion against him.
Dean groans and bites his lower lip at the sensation, still trying and failing to keep his whimpers at bay. It makes you feel proud to watch him come undone like this, and it sure as hell turns you on. That addictive feeling rising up in you, making you want to absolutely wreck him.
“You like that, D?” You whisper all breathy and sultry, using his little nickname as you continue to ride him. He nods, groaning out again, using his hands on your hips to try to make you go faster. He’s stronger than you by far and could easily take whatever he wanted, but you try your best not to let him change your pace. “Uh- uh- just relax, baby…” You whisper.
His head dramatically falls back against the headboard again as he whines. “You’re killing me, sweetheart, please- god please more baby-”
You take the opportunity to kiss and suck at his neck, now exposed to you, and give in a little to his pleas, going a little faster now.
“Fuck, honey- thank you-” He lets out unexpectedly, but you eat it up; it only fuels you more. Pulling back, you watch his face scrunch up desperately, and he lets out a strangled groan, sucking in a deep breath. “God, please, please don’t stop.”
“I won’t, baby, I’ve got you.” You whisper equally breathy, getting worked up as well as you move faster, even, beginning to chase after both his and your own orgasm.
Between your words and your movements, Dean is a mess. Completely wrecked, sweating, blushing, whimpering, and moaning, and he feels that familiar pressure building deep inside him, but this time there is something different about it, something even more overwhelming.
He opens his eyes to look at you again, and when your eyes lock, that's when he feels it, that overwhelming sensation growing, that something different. Looking at you now, it’s like he’s falling in love all over again; he sees every part of you inside and out, and it’s sending him over the edge. “I’m not gonna last, baby- shit, god I fucking love you so much.”
Looking into his eyes, you see it, the sudden glossiness, the slight tremble. He’s tearing up. And as he moans out his love for you, the first tear falls.
You smash your lips against his, riding him faster, truly testing your topping abilities, making sure you get him to his climax.
He cums inside you, whimpering pathetically into your mouth, pushing you closer to your own orgasm. His tears only multiply as they transfer onto your skin as you continue to kiss him, allowing you to taste the salt on your tongue. And you can’t help the loud moan that leaves you at the knowledge that Dean Winchester is crying during sex.
“Cum for me, angel, give it to me- please, baby, please.” He begs, overstimulated at the feeling of you still riding him through his post orgasm bliss, but still desperate to see you finish.
You nod, gasping into his mouth, and your eyes flutter closed as you reach your high. Dean can feel you squeezing around him, cuming for him, and he moans loudly again at the sensation.
“Oh my god- fuck.” You moan, hips slowing to a stop as your thighs tremble on either side of him and your chest heaves. You feel his lips on your neck this time, warm and swollen from your kisses and his tears. He kisses all over your skin like he’s trying to get every inch, like he’s worshipping you.
“I love you so fucking much.” He murmurs with his long, damp eyelashes fluttering against your skin.
You bring your hands up to hold his stubbly face between them, making him look at you, wiping the tears off his blushing cheeks. “I love you too- so, so much.”
He kisses you again and then pulls your body flush against him, one hand resting on the back of your head, keeping you in place securely. “I’m sorry I was late,” He whispers, “I’m sorry I came home bloody and dirty, I’m sorry I’m such a stubborn ass sometimes. But goddamnit it…. Thank you for taking care of me, baby girl. Thank you for loving me.”
Your heart breaks at his words, wobbly as he fights more tears. “I’ll always take care of you, Dean, I’ll always love you, even late, even bloody, even stubborn, I promise.”
“I’ll always love you, honey, and I promise I’ll always let you love me too.” And for Dean, that means everything.
