mattieswifenomatterwhich

[mattieswifenomatterwhich]

Gentle nerd tech... or not ?

Pairing: Benji Dunn x Rose Arleau (OC) Word count: ~800 Rating: 🔥 Explicit / NSFW

Tags: smut, subverted power dynamics, Benji has a god-tier stroke game, ruined!OC, she’s so gone, glasses kink, softdom Benji, predator-prey reversal, unhinged OC, praise, control kink, dom!Benji if you squint, emotional filth, “who’s the cute one now?” energy

Warnings: unprotected sex (don’t), language, Rose is feral, Benji is terrifyingly good at this, strong language, this is basically filth with feelings

The room was dim, bathed in the soft flicker of city lights bleeding through the curtains. Somewhere in the distance, the hum of a passing car, the low buzz of a streetlamp. Inside, though—there was only the sound of her.

Rose Arleau, the woman who had dropped warlords with a single shot and made men cower just by lifting an eyebrow, was underneath her adorable, brilliant, utterly unassuming tech nerd.

And she was whining.

Fingers clawed into his shoulders, nails digging in just to ground herself, her head tossed back against the pillow as breathless, gasping moans spilled out of her. Her curls were a wild halo around her face, her brow drawn tight in disbelief, mouth parted in a way that would’ve undone anyone.

Benji was above her—sweaty, focused, wrecking her with a rhythm she hadn't expected and still couldn’t handle. His jaw clenched, glasses slightly askew, curls damp and hanging low over his forehead. His hands were gripping her thighs like they were the only thing keeping him tethered to the planet.

“Benji—” she gasped, her voice rasping like she’d just survived something cataclysmic. “Fuck—Benji—baby—”

And he just leaned in, breath hot against her neck, and murmured low:

“Thought I was just the cute one, huh?”

That did it.

Her legs locked around his waist, her nails dragged down his back as she sobbed out a curse in French, her body arching beneath him, trembling, helpless against what he was doing to her.

Her soul was gone—floating somewhere above the room, watching this quiet, unassuming genius make her forget her own damn name.

She was reduced to gasps and whimpers, writhing under him, completely, utterly ruined.

And he—her sweet, shy Benji—just kept going, gritting out her name like a promise, like a prayer, like she was his, and he was in control now.

And she loved it.

God help her—she loved it.

Every time she tried to say his name again, it came out broken.

Every time he pushed her a little further, her grip on reality slipped.

And just before she came completely undone, one last coherent thought flashed through her mind:

He was still wearing the glasses.

Holy. Fuck.