#jensen ackles fic

[poisonivy2267]

This is soo sweet 🥰

hello I don’t know if you’ve seen the interview where howie mandel asks jensen if he has a girlfriend ? Could u write something inspired by the interview?

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ she’s not public, but she’s mine,

pairing. young!jensen ackles x reader ( f )

wordcount. 494 genre. giggling

warnings. none. this is pure fluff! // set in 1999

notes. i'd never seen this interview and jensen is so f-ing adorable. ugh. thank you for this -🩷

The lights are blinding.

Jensen blinks under them, trying not to squint as he smiles politely, shifting in his seat across from Howie Mandel on some mid-afternoon talk show circuit. It's 1999, he’s barely twenty-one, fresh off his first big soap role, and trying not to look like he just borrowed this button-up from a department store clearance rack.

Howie leans forward with that signature grin, holding his cue card like it’s a secret weapon. “Now Jensen, we’ve seen the photos, the magazine spreads, the dimples... so the big question is—do you have a girlfriend?”

Jensen freezes for a second too long.

The audience titters.

He scratches the back of his neck. His ears go a little red.

And then he smiles—soft, sheepish, a little smug.

“Uh… yeah,” he says, voice warm but careful. “Yeah, I do.”

Howie raises a brow. “Ooooh. So it’s serious.”

Jensen shrugs, trying to keep cool. “She’d probably roll her eyes if she heard me say that. But yeah.”

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m not blushing,” Jensen lies immediately, and the audience laughs again.

“She in the biz?” Howie presses. “Model? Actress? Future co-star?”

Jensen shakes his head. “No, no. She’s not in the industry.”

��So just a regular girl?”

Jensen huffs a quiet laugh and leans into the mic a little more. “She’s anything but regular.”

The audience awws. Someone whistles.

Howie grins. “And how long’s it been?”

“Little over a year,” Jensen says, the corner of his mouth lifting like he can’t help it. “She knew me before all… this.” He gestures vaguely to the stage, the cameras, the clunky hair gel holding his ‘90s part in place.

“And you’ve kept her secret?” Howie asks, leaning back, impressed. “Smart guy. That’s rare in Hollywood.”

Jensen nods, gaze flicking toward the camera like maybe you’re out there watching. “She’s private. And I like keeping her to myself.”

The crowd laughs again, but it’s quieter this time. Sweeter. Like everyone feels the weight in those words.

Because Jensen looks a little different now—like he’s not here anymore, not entirely. Like his mind’s back home, in some shared apartment or tucked-away dorm room, where your shampoo’s still in the shower and your laugh echoes down the hallway.

He blinks back into the moment, ducking his head, voice quieter. “She keeps me grounded. Reminds me who I am.”

Howie softens. “Sounds like a good one.”

“She is.”

“And if she’s watching right now?”

Jensen smiles at the camera, more confident this time. Dimple flashing, eyes bright.

“Hey, sweetheart. I’ll call you after this. Don’t make fun of my shirt.”

The crowd bursts out laughing again, and the moment moves on—another joke, another segment, another smile.

But later, backstage, when his phone buzzes with your number and your voice comes through the line teasing, “so you’re not blushing, huh?”— He smiles like he’s got the whole world in his pocket.

Because he kind of does.

And she’s his little secret.

Just not for long.

ꔛ. all works ; writing guidelines ; support my work .ᐟ

[castielscaplan]

Killing in the Name of...

Summary: By day, he’s a charming mechanic, a doting brother, and a favourite tenant in his apartment building. By night, he's something far darker: a thrill-killer evading the law with chilling ease. With his face plastered on wanted posters across the county, Dean moves through life unbothered, hiding behind charisma, clever lies, and the loyal silence of those who love him—or fear him.

Warnings: a smidge of Lisa x Dean, jess x Sam (neither of these pairings are big parts of the fic.), angst, serial killer Dean, blood, gore, some smut at one point but it's not graphic, NOT A READER INSERT!!

WC: 4.1K

Read on AO3!

A/N: I originally wrote this back in 2015? i think. I was going through my ao3 the other day and remembered how much I loved writing this out. i was going to rewrite it, but nothing I wrote sounded good to me. Hopefully, y'all like it despite it not being a reader insert!

Dean whistled to himself before smirking down at the bloody mess that splayed out on the tiled flooring of the storefront he had broken into. He wasn’t expecting it to be occupied, since the sign on the door claimed to say the store wasn’t going to be occupied for another four days- the workers were on a family vacation of sorts. But it didn’t stop him from his robbery, nor the fact that he’d wanted to feel the bones of their throats crushing beneath his fingers. The bodies that littered the floor brought joy to him, if only for the moment.

He knelt down and with two fingers, soaked his fingers with the brilliant scarlet liquid, bringing the digits into his mouth and sucking them vigorously. He enjoyed the taste of ironic blood on his tongue. He heard the sirens blaring away in close proximity and made his way out of the store through the back alleyway. He climbed the ladder on the side of the building and laid against the concrete roof, hissing at the heat that it had given off. He stayed low to the ground as he watched police cruisers huddle up in front of the wreckage.

He grinned maliciously as he watched the uniforms bolt into the joint, weapons pointed out in front of them. They were talking amongst themselves, ordering each other to search around. Dean knew they wouldn't catch him.

It's almost coming up on the sixth month anniversary since he had started this game of murder. Of course, he knew his mug shot was plastered on almost every store front from here all the way to the White House. The police had been after him for a long time. And he'd be damned if they had caught him now. The police feared him. Ladies wanted him. Men wanted to fight him. He'd never willingly give in. But maybe, just maybe, he'd allow them to catch sight of him.

He peered over the roof ledge, checking the visuals around him. He had still heard the ruckus of the officers beneath him. He looked to his left at the rain drainage pipe and took a steady breath, debating if he should test the waters or not. He crawled over to it quickly, and grabbed hold of the white material, shaking it, testing its strength. The noise must have caught the attention of one of the officers inside because seconds later, one of them had run out of the store frantically searching for the source of the noise. Dean had quickly hid from view again as the officer had turned to the draining pipe and looked inside it. He must have decided that the noise was caused by an animal because a moment later, he had walked back inside.

Dean had relaxed his body when he realised he hadn't been caught. He placed his head in his hands and breathed in. "Fucking hell."

He looked around again, checking if the coast had been clear. He crawled back over to the ladder that he had climbed up earlier and climbed down, skipping the last five steps. He ran through the alleyway, laughing to himself. He'd gotten away. Close call, he thought to himself. He ran through an alley way and leaned against the yellow bricks and breathed deeply through his nostrils.

When he had regained a steady heart beat once more, he walked out of the alleyway, peering out cautiously before stepping out and walking down the street. He kept his head bent low over the collar of his shirt as he paced the streets. He could sense the stares of the other people around him as he quickened his pace, making his way to the apartment building that he lived in with his younger brother Sam.

As he stepped into the lobby, he stripped off the bloodied shirt he was supporting and balled it up in his fist. He smiled at the lady behind the counter as she welcomed him, calling him by name.

"How're you doing today, Ellen?" He called as he made his way to the elevator.

"Doing swell, actually, yourself, Winchester?"

"Have you seen the newest posters they put up yet?" Dean chuckled, stopping in the middle of the lobby, causing a man to almost bump into him.

She had rolled her eyes. "They can't seem to get your face correct, can they?"

"Never, sweetheart. Is Sam upstairs yet?" He questioned.

She nodded.

"Alright, I'll come down in a little while and bring you down entertainment. Is that okay?"

"Unless the entertainment is you relieving me from this boring ass day, I can only imagine."

He smirked as he pressed the button to call for the elevator. He had looked down and noticed the wet blood still splattered on his jeans. He sighed as the elevator came. He stepped into the small box and pressed the button that indicated the seventh floor.

He hummed to himself as he surveyed his body in the reflection of the grey walls. I look damn good. All this running must be doing good on my body.

Soon enough, the elevators dinged indicating his floor. He stepped out and turned left and walked down the hall, nodding silently to his neighbour as he pulled out his key and shoved it into the lock and pushed open the door. He entered and called out his brother's name. "Sammy?"

"Kitchen." Came the voice of his brother. Dean had heard a girls giggle as he walked down the short hallway. "Is that my beautiful sister in law that I hear?" He had said, smiling as he turned into the room.

"Hey handsome," Jessica Moore had greeted as she turned around, allowing him to kiss her cheek.

"What's for dinner?"

"Baked macaroni and pepper steak." Sam answered as he bent over to peer into the oven.

"Go get washed up, tiger." Jessica had said, slapping Dean on the behind.

He smirked. "Only if you join me, sweetheart."

She rolled her eyes, shooing him out of the kitchen. "Go." She pointed in the direction of the bathroom.

He laughed out loud and walked out of the room.

"...sightings of the murderer around noon today, exiting the quickie mart on Locust Ave." the news reporter continued, showing a rough sketch of Dean's face on the screen.

"Hey, Dean!" Sam called from the living room. He and Jessica were lounging around after dinner. Dean had retired to his bedroom. He had been exhausted after the events of the day.

"Hey, Sammy!" He called back, not moving from his bed.

"Are you watching this?" Sam called.

"Is it my face again? Does it look good?" Dean asked, finally sitting up from the bed into a sitting position.

"Come here!" Sam yelled.

Grunting to himself, he heaved his body and stood up, shaking his head as dizziness blurred his vision. He walked down the hall and sat on the arm of the couch.

Sam looked over at him and slapped his leg. "How many today, man?"

Dean shrugged nonchalantly. "Six, maybe."

Sam shook his head as he let out a sigh of disbelief. "You can't keep doing this. You're going to get yourself caught."

Dean smirked proudly as he started running his hair through Jessica's hair. She hummed and leaned into the touch. "But I haven't. I've been careful."

"Dean," Sam sighed deeply. "Please. It's bad enough everyone knows what you look like. Did anyone see you come into the building?" Sam asked as he leaned over.

He shook his head. "I was careful."

"Are you going out tomorrow?"

Dean shook his head. "I'm not sure. Bobby wanted my help at the shop."

At this, Sam sighed and rubbed at his face roughly. "Why don't you stay home for a while? Lay low."

Dean's eyes flashed in anger for a moment before he calmed down. "What am I supposed to do?"

"I don't know, man. Just stay here for a while. Call some girl over. How about Lisa? You haven't brought her over in a while."

"She's scared of me." Dean rubbed his face again. "She thinks it's me killing all over the city."

Jessica smirked. "But it is you."

He smirked. "Your point?"

"Don't get caught, Dean." Sam said, standing up. "Jess and I are going out for the night. Mind holding down the fort for us until we get back?"

Dean nodded. "Let me know if anything pops up, okay?" Jess kissed him on the cheek before they left the apartment, leaving him completely alone.

He slid onto the couch in a laying position and grabbed the landline from the table next to him. He dialled Lisa's number.

"What do you want, Dean?" She asked when she picked up.

"Why don't you come over for a few hours?" He asked.

She sighed deeply. "Why? So you can kill me?"

He chuckled. "Come on, baby. Why do you gotta be like that? It's not me! I'm telling you, baby. You got the wrong idea."

"Your mug is all over the tv, Dean. I know it's you killing those innocent people."

"Aw, come on, Lisa just come over. I miss you."

She sighed again. "Is Sam there?"

"No, he just left with Jess."

"Give me a few minutes." The line went dead and Dean felt accomplished. I knew she would give in. He stood up and walked over to unlock the door and returned back to the couch to relax until Lisa had arrived.

********

An hour later, he must've fallen asleep because he was blinking wildly as he heard someone knocking on the door. "Who is it?" He called as he sat up.

"Open the damn door, Dean." Lisa's voice echoed through the hallway.

"It's open, Lis. Come in." He said as he yawned into his hand.

"You can't be gentleman enough to open the door?" She scolded as she came through the threshold.

He smirked up at her as he turned to look at her. "For someone like you? Of course not."

She rolled her eyes. "You got any beer?"

"You know where the kitchen is, right?" Dean asked, pointing.

"Want one?" She asked, knowing the answer before he opened his mouth.

"Bring me two."

She returned with three bottles and placed them on the glass coffee table in front of him. He took one and popped the cap off with his teeth easily. He spit the cap onto the table and grinned at her as he placed his mouth around the neck of the bottle.

"You're disgusting." She commented as she twisted the cap from her bottle with the edge of her short.

"You love it, though." He took another drink from the bottle and smacked his lips together.

"Are you sure it's not you killing those people, Dean?" She asked as she as back and leaned into him.

"Of course it's not me. I'd be in jail right now if it was" What she doesn't know won't hurt her, right?

She looked into his eyes and smiled gently as she leaned deeper into his touch when he started massaging the top of her head. She moaned in appreciation at the touch. "I missed this," she commented.

"Stay the night?" He asked lightly brushing his lips against her neck.

She hummed. "Why? So you can just fuck me and then force me to leave in the morning?"

"Please?" Dean pleaded, nuzzling his nose against her neck. He knew he'd get his way. He always did with her.

Finally, she sighed. "Just tonight."

He smiled and looked at her, kissing the corner of we mouth lightly. "You won't regret this tonight. I promise."

She scoffed. "I'm sorry, have you met me?" She stood up from the couch and sauntered down the hall. "Are you coming or not?" She called as she reached the bedroom.

He huffed and stood up mimicking her footsteps until he reached his bedroom. He leaned against the doorframe as she sat on the bed, legs crossed. "Well?" She commanded.

"So bossy," he mumbled, though he walked into the room, stripping his shirt and pants in the process. He stood in front of her and she grabbed hold of his hips lightly.

"Do you want me, Dean?" She asked, kissing the space just above the hem of his boxers.

He licked his lips as he looked down at her. "More than you know," he said, almost in a low whisper.

"Prove it," she said, sliding her hands behind his knees and pushing until he was kneeling in front of her.

"What do you want?" He asked, voice full of need.

"I want you to pull my skirt away and pull my panties off," she started, not breaking eye contact. He reached up with his hands, breath coming in sharp and quick. He hooked two fingers in the sides of her skirt, making sure to graze against the bare skin of her hips. He slowly pulled them down, gently kissing the newly exposed skin. She had let out a slight whimper at the touch.

When her panties and skirt had been discarded across the room, he licked at his lips, looking at her for more directions. "Do you want me, Dean?" She asked, running a hand of her own across her exposed hips and thighs.

He nodded, never once breaking eye contact.

"I want you, too." She said, grabbing his right hand and placing it on her thigh.

"Can I?" He asked, swallowing thickly.

"You may," she commanded.

He ran his hand down her thigh and pulled his face closer to her throbbing core. He blew against it lightly and she shivered slightly. "Go on," she urged, leg twitching in anticipation at the thought of his mouth being against her.

He enveloped her in his mouth, moaning into it. She threw her head back in pleasure. He kicked viciously at her core and placed a hand on her breast, pulling and rubbing at her nipple. She bucked underneath his mouth. He placed his unoccupied hand across her hips to steady her body.

She moaned loudly, calling out his name in breathless moans and groans. He kept licking and sucking her clit. He released his hands from around her hips and placed a long finger inside of her. He felt her clench around him as he pumped. "Come for me, baby. Come on," he urged around her clit.

And that's all she needed to hear before she was coming undone around his mouth. He licked and lapped up all of what she had spilled for him. "I hate you," she said through heavy breaths as she came down from her orgasm.

"You love my tongue and you know it." He smirked as he whipped his mouth on his black sheet.

"That's going to stain." She observed.

"I'll buy new sheets," he said uncaringly. He crawled up the bed and pulled her body into his own. "I love you, Lisa." He said as he nuzzled his face into her long brown hair.

"No, you don't." She said as she cupped their hands together. "You're only saying that because we just had sex,"

He laughed softly. "Why don't you believe me?"

She turned her head to look at him. "Because your lying to me."

"About what, sweetheart?" His green eyes were concerned.

"I know you killed all those people, Dean." She whisoered as she turned onto her back.

He shook his head. "No, Lisa."

"Stop lying to me, Dean." She pleaded, turning fully to face him before placing her palm on his cheek. "What am I going to explain to Ben when you go to jail? He looks up to you."

He sighed heavily and rubbed at his face. "First, Ben isn't my biological kid. DNA tests proved that to be true years ago. And second, I'm not going to be caught."

"So you admit that you've killed those people?" She asked, knowing she caught him.

He stiffened at her question. "No."

She huffed and rolled her eyes. "Stop lying."

"I'm not.”

"You're mug-"

"Lis-" he grabbed both of her hands gently and kissed each knuckle before speaking again. "I promise, it's not me. They have the wrong man."

"What, do you have a secret twin that I don't know about?"

He sighed and placed his hand over his face before looking at her again. "I promise, I'm not a killer."

She hummed and he knew she didn't believe a word he said.

"I have to go, Dean." She said unexpectedly.

"What?" He sounded surprised. "Why?"

"I shouldn't have come."

He smirked. "I thought you enjoyed my tongue work?"

She rolled her eyes. "I have a child to worry about."

"Will I see you again?" He asked.

She closed her eyes and pursed her lips before answering. "I don't know." She walked out of the bedroom and before Dean could put his shirt back on, the front door had closed as she left.

He sighed and sat on the edge of the mattress.

"Do you think he left?" Jess asked as they walked down the hall to the apartment.

"I'm hoping not." Sam answered as he turned the doorknob and swung it open. "Dean?"

"I'm here, Sam." He walked out of the kitchen and smiled at the pair. "Beer?"

"No, thank you." Sam declined.

Jessica, however, walked over and took the bottle he offered and muttered a thanks. "So, what did you do while we were gone?"

He shrugged. "Nothing too crazy."

She leaned in closer to him and made a face. "What girl did you have over this time?"

He feigned offence and placed a hand over his heart. "I'm extremely offended that you would assume that about me."

She smirked. "Who was it this time?"

"Lisa."

"I thought so." She said knowingly. "Does she know anything about your day time activities yet?"

He nodded solemnly. "She put two and two together."

"And how does she feel about it?" Jess asked as she leaned against the counter.

"I don't think she'll be bringing Ben around me much longer."

"Oh, Dean." She said, placing a hand on his arm.

He gave her a weak smile in return. "It's not like the kid's mine, so I can't force her to let me see him."

"What are your plans for tomorrow?" She asked.

"Might go help Bobby over at his garage. Why?"

"I was gonna offer you and I go downtown for some fun time." She smiled softly.

He raised a tempting brow. "And how would Sam feel if you took his brother out?"

"It's not like I'm asking for a good fuck, Dee." She smiled. "I was just thinking it would be nice for you to get out for a while and not kill people when you do."

"Jess," he started. "Darling, I would love to. But no thanks."

"And why not?" She looked at him with a knowing look.

"I'm going to Bobby's shop." He repeated.

"Don't make me call the shop to make sure your there." She threatened lightly.

"I'll be there," he promised, grabbing her hand and kissing it lightly.

"Did you eat after we left?"

He raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Food? Or a girl?"

"Food, you perv." He laughed at the disturbed expression on her face.

"No," he smiled and wrapped his arms around her waist and placed a kiss on her forehead.

"What do you want to eat? I'll get Sam to cook you something."

"Do you think he'd mind if I stole you for the night?" He smirked.

"Yes, he would."

"Damn." Dean pretended to be offended and released his hold on her. "Where'd the Sasquatch head off to anyway?"

"Probably the bedroom." She answered as she walked out of the kitchen.

"If I fry up some burgers, want one?"

"No thanks. We are at a restaurant in the city."

"And you guys didn't bring anything back for me?"

"We figured you ate already," she looked apologetic.

"You know," he started, pointing a spatula in her direction. "you're lucky I love you. Or else I would be severely offended."

She smiled at him before she walked away and down the hall to the bedroom she shared with Sam.

"Hey, kid." Bobby called through the speaker from the office.

Dean looked up from the car he had been working on and turned around to look at the other mechanic, Kevin. "Is he talking to me or you?"

Kevin shrugged and continued pulling out the hose of the engine he had been fighting with for the last ten minutes.

Dean walked over to the speaker and pressed the button. "Yeah, Bobby?" He spoke.

"Come to my office for a minute." Bobby requested.

Dean sighed and wiped the back of his hand on his forehead, knowing it was going to leave a black line against his tanned skin. "Coming." He threw the towel on the ground and marched through the garage and into the store and made his way to the back into Bobby's office. "Yeah, sir?"

"Quit callin' me that, will you, boy?" He said as he looked up from the papers on his desk. "I'm your uncle, alright? Not your boss."

"What did you need, Bobby?"

Bobby roughly ran a hand across his face before folding his hands together on the desk. "Sit."

Dean obeyed.

"Why in the hell am I getting complaints about a serial killer working in my shop?" He whispered, though the room was soundproof.

"I have no-"

"Boy." Bobby threatened. "You know damned well I don't watch the damned horse shit that's on television." He said. "So tell me what the hell people are complaining about."

"Bobby, I-" wanted to lie. That's what I wanted to do. He'd have fired me on the spot if he'd known about my pastime. "-I don't know what people are talking about." He said calmly. He felt the older man's eyes scrutinise him heavily. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

"You lying to me, boy?" He pointed a threatening finger.

"No, Bobby. Of course not."

"Do I need to start watching the news or something?"

Dean shook his head. "No, sir."

"Get out there and continue working, then."

Dean nodded and silently walked out of the office and back into the garage.

"What was that about, Dee Bag?" Kevin asked.

Dean shrugged. "Wanted to know if I have been cleaning the bathroom properly," he invented quickly before returning to the car he was working on previously.

"Hey, Bobby." Sam greeted through the phone. "Is Dean available?"

"No, he went on his lunch break a few minutes ago. Say, Sam. Mind if I ask you a question?" Bobby asked.

Sam scrunched his brows. "Anything."

"Did your brother kill anyone that you know of?"

He was taken aback by the sudden question. "Not that I'm aware of, why?" He lied quickly.

"I've been hearing around the shop over the last few weeks."

"Hearing what?" Sam questioned.

"People have been complaining; They say they don't want a murderer working on their cars."

"Bobby," Sam started. "He's been here with Jess almost constantly. She can vouch for him on that."

"Are you sure?”

"Of course."

"Alright then," Bobby excused himself from the phone.

Sam looked over at his girlfriend the minute the dial tone died down in his ear.

"What's wrong?" She asked, noting the look on his face.

"I think Bobby’s catching on."

Her eyes grew wide in fear. "How?"

"People have made some complaints to him about recognising Dean from the sketches."

"Where is he now?"

He shrugged. "Out on lunch."

"Do you think he's-"

"I wouldn't doubt it." Sam sighed. "He carries extra mechanic uniforms in his trunk."

"Sam-"

"He's not dumb enough to get caught, Jess."

She sighed and leaned back in the chair.

*********

Dean looked down at the cowering woman in front of him. "Please," she pleaded desperately.

"Sorry, toots." He mumbled as she shoved the knife into her chest and twisted it roughly, killing her instantly. He watched the light leave the woman's eyes and smirked as he stood up again. He wiped the blood on his uniform and walked out of the laundromat from the back. He quickly shed his mechanics uniform and changed into a clean one. He smoothed down the creases as he sat in the driver’s seat and drove back to Bobby’s garage.

"Heya, Bobby." He greeted as he walked into the shop.

"Sam called a few minutes ago looking for you." He said in way of greeting.

"Did you tell him I was on lunch?"

He nodded. "I suggest you call him back. He sounded concerned about something or other."

Dean nodded and walked to the office and picked up the phone, dialling Sam’s phone number.

"Hello?" He questioned as he answered the phone.

"Hey, Sammy." Dean said.

"Where'd you go for lunch, bub?"

"Just drove around. Why?"

"Dean." Sam warned.

"What?" Dean half laughed. "That's all I did, I promise."

"If I see your mugshot on the Tv tonight, I'll kill you myself."

"You won't." Dean promised.

"Alright, get back to work. I'll see you later tonight."

"See you, brother." Dean hung up and walked to the bathroom to clean the dried blood from his hands.

--

//PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK IN THE COMMENTS/REBLOGS??\\

[thesilmarillionblog]

COME CLOSER

Summary: Reader asks her friend, Soldier Boy to take her virginity.

Pairing: Soldier Boy / Reader

Warnings: +18! (MINORS DNI), virgin reader!, smut, language, rough Soldier Boy, beard kink, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, friends with benefits

Word Count: 4052

A/N: English is not my first language.

You grabbed the gun from Ben's suit and placed it in your bag without even waiting for a response since you knew he wouldn't refuse you. “May I take this?” you said. “Just for safety issues.”

Ben joined the team to kill Homelander months ago, and because you two have been on missions together for so long, you two have kind of gotten to know one another. He frequently teased you, and most of the time he really got on your nerves. Another thing Butcher's wanted from you regarding Ben was to make sure you kept an eye on him while he was high or furious. 

He sighed, “You are already in safe hands,” and then gave you a little push toward the car, where Butcher and the other members of the team were waiting. “You know that you are something different. Trying to protect yourself with a firearm in spite of the fact that you already have three supes with you, me included, who are the strongest and greatest.” 

“After the job is completed, even the biggest dicks become smaller. I wonder if your gigantic ego will ever be smaller one day, Ben.”

“Not mine,” he winked at you in between his laughter before the two of you entered the car. “How on earth does a naive virgin speak like that? I must discipline your dirty mouth at some point.” 

He pushed until you reached the other side of the seat, and you muttered, “Shut up.” Your face flushed. “You leave no space for me.”

“Do I look like your personal driver?” Butcher growled at Hughie to come in too, questioned in a disapproving tone. Then Butcher turned back to Hughie, who was sitting in the passenger seat, and said, “Where the fuck is your girlfriend?”

“She arrived earlier with the others. They were driven there by Frenchie already.”

“Will you shut up and drive?” Ben messed with your hair for a while while ignoring what you said that he was going to ruin it, saying to Butcher in an irritated manner. 

“Good boy gone bad, huh?” Ben ignored you and filled the entire seat between your complaints. Butcher murmured, “Let's fucking have some fun there since we may not be finding any free time soon, Navy girlies.” 

Luckily, Butcher managed to locate a club devoid of supes, but it was still massive and insane, complete with loud music. Hughie's gaze found Annie right away, and Butcher followed after him while he winked at the girl who was staring at him with a chuckle. 

You gave Ben a drink and complained, “Do I have to babysit you?” Even though all of the girls were capturing his attention, he was undoubtedly hearing what you were saying. 

He patted your head and said, "Babysit me?" with a look of astonishment. "Sweetheart, it's me who has been watching you for several months. After all, it's easy for you to get into trouble." 

"Me?" As he messed with your hair, you giggled and attempted to push his hands away. "You're always on the verge of being furious for no reason at all, and I have to keep your ego boosted when you are about to lose it." 

"Or maybe I act it this way to get you even more anxious; what do you think? Your human face looks so funny when you're trying to calm me," he smirked and remarked with arrogance. 

Punching him in the chest, you said, "You're impossible," although your wrist ached. You sighed in agony, "Fuck, Ben," and made sure everything was okay by looking at your hand. Thankfully, there were no physical wounds. 

"Why the fuck have you tried to punch me now? Haven't you still learned I'm built to last?" he complained, gently massaging your hands. 

You muttered, "You're so annoying," while he sighed and released your hands. "I can't imagine why almost nobody likes you." 

"All you do this evening is talk rudely with that lovely mouth of yours and spit poison. Also, you are to blame. How many times do I have to tell you not to try to punch me? Wish to adopt a tough-ass persona? You're just a little sensitive, soft doll," he continued to tease, causing you to flush with rage. 

"Remember the day I gave myself a Temp-V injection? When I really punched you, you seemed rather surprised, and I'm sure it hurt." 

“I didn't think being a temporary Supe could happen, and that was a while ago.” Ben continued to smirk and replied, “Keep that in mind. I was merely trying to comprehend the change in your scent when you unexpectedly struck me and pushed me against the wall. You know, I should have been doing that. Of course, I'm not referring to the punching; rather, I'm speaking to the second one, but more gently.”

Ben flirted with you, giving you a tiny pinch on the chin and a wink. He was perhaps the most flirtatious man ever, but the reason he acted this way was that you told him you were a virgin, and even when he understood you were becoming too shy and a little anxious, he continued to tease you verbally. You didn't feel uncomfortable about it, though. 

“Whatever.” You rushed to end it, fearing he would start talking even more profanely. You tried to silence him by putting your palm over his mouth. “When are you going to shave this beard? It's really lengthy.”

He murmured, “I thought you liked it longer and thicker,” as he combed his facial hair. 

This time, instead of being annoyed, you giggled. “You're impossible.” 

You said, “I'm going to check on Annie and others,” feeling a little guilty for something you didn't even understand when you saw him searching for women who fit his tastes. “So that you can have your fun.”

Ben, who had just bought a drink for himself, approached a redhead who had been staring at him passionately ever since he entered the bar. You led the way to join Annie and the rest of the team, but you were carrying a heavy weight that you couldn't quite explain. You did your best to ignore the stupid ache in your heart and laugh out loud at Butcher's half-made-up stories. It was a rare, heartfelt moment of calm after months, shared by all of you as you briefly watched the redhead woman take Ben's head and lead him to the second floor.

Ben's social batteries ran out after a few hours, and when he got into a fight with Butcher, you volunteered to take him home in your car because you were starting to have headaches too. Annie and Kimiko were dancing in the center; it appeared like they were just getting started. Either their heightened enthusiasm was to blame, or you simply didn't feel like having fun at that particular time. Ben was the source of your annoyance because he preferred to spend his time in the club having fun with other women and left you kind of alone.

You just said, “I will drive Ben back; just stop arguing for once,” and snatched Butcher's keys. “I assume everyone will be arriving home late. It appears that Kimiko and Annie won't be calling it a night anytime soon.” After observing them for some time, they realized you were right. Kimiko was high as fuck.

Ben didn't have a shower in his own room, so he quickly took one in yours once you drove home. Surprisingly, he hasn't complained to Butcher about it in any manner, and you've allowed him to use yours anytime he needs to, even if he occasionally takes a shower a bit too frequently, leading you to believe that he does it on purpose to irritate and enrage you so that you two can argue. But no matter what, his unique word choice never failed to make you chuckle.

As he was taking care of himself in the bathroom, you considered something you had long since ignored: your virginity. You could never go one step beyond, not even if you were in your mid-20s. You just didn't want it to be just one fleeting, pointless act, and you didn't feel anything at all. Perhaps you were a shamefully traditional person who was eagerly awaiting the realization of your real fate.

Ben used to make jokes about your virginity, which you didn't mind, but tonight it kind of got under your skin and made you feel uneasy, like there was something wrong with you. It just didn't seem right at all to be a virgin in your mid-twenties. 

“You appear to be lost in thoughts. What's consuming your mind so much?” Ben queried. 

His long beard and damp hair were pouring over the floor as he emerged from the bathroom, his thick, muscular belly wrapped in a towel. Your eyebrows are raised between your sighs. Though you always knew he was extremely attractive, he seemed even more so at this moment. 

Ben glanced at your short dress too, seeing that you were staring at him as your lips parted slightly in a hint of yearning. He smirked, conceited, seeing your legs pushed together. 

“I think I can make a guess.” He walked over to sit on the bed next to you and mumbled. 

You hesitantly said, “I was thinking something,” not quite sure what to say exactly. 

“About?”

You abruptly asked, trying not to flush too much as you moved the bed and fully turned your body to face him. “Would you take my virginity?” 

Ben exclaimed, “What?” with his lips parted in wonder as he tried to understand what you meant and raised an eyebrow. 

“You already heard me.” 

Ben laughed and ignored your request, saying, “Are you drunk or do you need to jerk off? You're going to be a good nun when you grow up.”

“I'm serious here,” you said, blushing red from embarrassment and rage at the fact that the fact that he didn't take you seriously at all.

Ben's mocking expression changed to one of confusion as he realized you were serious. “I thought you were waiting for the love of your life or something. Why did you change your mind all of a sudden?”

“I wasn't waiting for someone,” you denied right away. “I decided being like this bothers me, and I want to change it.”

You continued, “We have known each other for months, and I think we kind of formed a good friendship during this time,” before he said anything, you added, “It must be okay to ask your friend for help, and it's better than to be with a total stranger, right?”

“I'm not the right person to share something like that.” Ben said in a serious tone, “I don't know why you made this decision so quickly, but you'll regret it tomorrow, I promise. If you are horny, I can give fingerfuck you, though.” It was clear that he was not hearing you clearly. 

“It's not really that significant, is it? I didn't wait for someone right away, as I had said. If I knew I would regret saying it, I wouldn't have said it in the first place. What's the purpose of friends?”

Hesitantly, you reached out to touch his damp arms to gauge his reaction while also conveying your concern. You felt your small confidence begin to fade as you noticed he was staring at you with the same expression, so you brought your hands back to yourself. “Well, of course I won't try to convince you to take my virginity if you don't want to get into such an intimate interaction with me,” you said, trying not to seem offended or disappointed. “It's a different issue.”

Your heart raced under your thin dress as you anxiously awaited his response. 

“I would fuck you with pleasure; it's not that I don't want it,” he added, examining your bare legs and breasts as they rose and fell in time with your heavy breaths. He whispered, placing his rough palms on your chin. “But I can't promise it won't hurt, and I don't want it to be just a one-time thing.”

You muttered, “I know it's going to hurt,” and at last he relaxed and seemed to agree. 

He smirked and continued, “I'll fuck your cunt whenever I want,” staring right into your eyes and making you tremble at the sensation. “You'll spread your legs for me and beg me to fuck you.”

“It's better,” you said as his hand lowered to your throat, causing you to become even more thrilled. You chuckled awkwardly and murmured, “Practice makes perfect, right?”

Your lips parted in ecstasy as his thumb massaged your hardened nipple, and he gently pinched it between his fingers through your dress. He didn't even slightly break eye contact with you, as if he wanted to watch every move you made. 

Ben mumbled, “I wonder if you're dripping under there already,” as he climbed on top of you. Feeling uncertain about what action to take, you placed your quivering hands on his large chest. 

His palm stroked your pussy through your underpants, and you clenched around nothing, murmuring, “I feel like it.” You were already embarrassingly drenched; you knew that. 

“Ben,” you murmured quickly, and his hand instantly froze there. He stared at you, confused, not knowing if you wanted to stop or not. You grabbed his wrist and stopped him just as he was about to return his hand to himself. “Can you do the entire job for tonight” you said in a hesitant manner. “I have absolutely no idea what to do.”

Ben surprised you with a kiss on the forehead and said, “Of course I'll do the entire job. You just lay down and relax. I'm going to take care of you well, okay?”

You nodded quickly, trusting that Ben knew what to do when he started to rub your pussy through your underwear again. Your hips rose higher to meet his movements as he played with your clit with a gentle thumb. “Let's get rid of your dress, huh?” he said, helping you to remove it from your body. You were lying under him naked, except for your underwear.

You wanted to hide your body with your hands because you felt a little shy, but you forced yourself to look at him with courage because you wanted this to be good. Even if he was already erect under the towel, he ignored his own needs to give you the pleasure you needed first.

Then he pinched your nipples once more and added, “You have such lovely tits.” Before you could respond, he put his warm lips on one of your tits and started sucking, giving you very light bites. You were a little scared that he could harm you because you had a big power imbalance since he was a supe, but you chose to put your trust in him because you knew he had experience having intercourse with normal people just like you.

As he continued licking both of your nipples, you placed your hands behind his hair and pulled. You pushed his head to your tit as you raised your hip to match his movement, but you moaned loudly when he ripped off your panties and inserted one of his meaty fingers inside of you slowly, even though you were trying really hard not to scream. It was difficult to take even one finger, so tears welled up in your eyes, but you didn't want to ruin the moment.

Groaning, “Fuck, you are tighter than I expected,” he lifted his head.

When he noticed your pained expression, he began to gently massage your clit with his thumb once again. Thankfully, this helped you feel better, and after a while, you began to slowly tighten around his finger.

He asked in a rough voice, “Do you like me fingering you?” and continued to push his finger in and out. “Your pussy is so adorable and swollen. You so desperately need me to fuck you raw.”

He commanded, “Tell me it's just for me,” tensing up his motions as you continued to tighten around his finger.

You said, “Just for you,” and he attempted to press another finger, but you were simply too tense to take it. You said, “Ben, be slow,” in a panic.

“In order for you to take me easier, we need to properly prepare your little pussy. Now spread your legs and don't cover that adorable cunt,” he gave another command. It was then that you realized you were attempting to press your legs together.

You spread your legs so he could see you as per the directions he gave. You let out a loud cry of pleasure and agony as he carefully inserted another finger. Ben swallowed your groans and stretched you with two fingers, his warm lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss.

You were moaning inside his mouth while his tongue and fingers dominated you. Ben felt your wetness on his fingers, your hips rising to match his rhythm, and he felt like he might come without even touching himself.

With a harsh voice, he commanded, “Cum on my fingers,” and proceeded to fuck you while your walls tensed up. With a loud moan and his name between your lips, you nailed his biceps while he watched you orgasm under his touch. “Good girl. You are so easy to make cum. Fuck, you're a needy one.”

You continued orgasming and wetting them while Ben held your fingers within. Even though your pussy felt extremely sensitive, he continued to finger you without giving you a minute's break after your climax had passed.

“Ben, it feels sensitive.”

“Fucking take it,” he growled. “You'll come as much as I want you to.”

You muttered, “I don't think I can,” as your legs continued to shake uncontrollably.

“You can and you will,” Ben responded, and he proceeded to fuck you even more forcefully than before.

The bedroom was filled with obscene noises, and your eyes welled up with tears of pleasure.

“Cum to me,” he commanded again, and you instantly clenched around his fingers. Putting your hands over his head, you kissed him, pressing your lips to his in an attempt to stop your moans.

As you orgasmed, you sensed him grinning slightly against your lips throughout the kiss. He whispered, “You're so fucking tight, you're almost going to lock me inside your pussy,” as you calmed down after your climax subsided. “I guess you're ready now.”

Your eyes widened with fear and dread as he removed the towel from his belly and threw it to the ground, revealing his firm cock. Ben began to give himself brief strokes while spreading your legs apart. Aware of your discomfort, he smiled slightly at you. “I'll do my best to be gentle. You're enough soaked already.”

You nodded to him, waiting tensely as you watched him pump himself between his rough hands. You tensed up abruptly as the tip of his cock touched your entrance, and he took himself in hand after giving it enough strokes.

He said, “Relax,” and kept pushing the tip inside. “Fuck, take it already.”

You attempted to let him in, your legs trembling with desire and dread, but you couldn't stop clenching.

You whimpered, your eyes welling with tears, as he thrust his cock inside with a forceful move. You also pulled his hair around his neck. Your hips were being held in place by his hands, preventing you from moving them. You were certain that it would bruise badly.

You cried out in fear, “Ben,” as he persisted in pushing. Tears fell from the corner of your eyes onto the covers when you were nailing his arms.

He groaned, “Calm down,” and gave you some time to relax. “It's just the head.”

“Sorry,” you said, ashamed that you weren't able to bear pain and adding unnecessary difficulty to the procedure.

His eyes widened at the sight of your face, and he planted a gentle kiss on your forehead. He whispered, “Hey, it's okay. You take me so good, so warm,” in between kisses and proceeded to place his cock inside of you once more. You knew it was a major step for you when you felt like he broke your hymen. This time, his hands gently remained on your hips as he sensed a change in your feelings.

Thank goodness, you relaxed between his kisses and compliments, and your wetness allowed him to enter at last. Ben gave you time to get used to his size after his cock completely filled your insides.

After planting another hard kiss on your lips, he asked, “Are you okay now?” and stroked your cheeks. 

You responded, “I'm okay,” as the agony lessened and you began to get pleasure from his cock pulsing inside of you. 

Ben put his hands on the sheets, and as he started to move slowly inside of you, you locked your legs around his hip. 

He groaned, “You're so tight around me,” as he began to move faster. “I should have fucked you sooner.”

He gave you quick kisses, and his bushy beard tickled your chin as he began to fuck you quickly and roughly. “I'll turn this little cunt addicted to my cock.”

As you continued to moan beneath him, he gave another order: “Tell me you want me to fuck you hard.”

You murmured, “Please,” and he slowed down. 

Ben wrapped his hand around your neck and said, “Beg me properly,” but he wasn't using force against you. 

You sighed, “Fuck me hard, please, Ben.” You moaned as you saw his mucsles stretching as he continued to penetrate you quickly and roughly. Your hands nailed his chest and broad abdomen. 

He put your legs on his shoulders and stated, “I'm going to fuck you every day; make you my little cumslut. Do you enjoy having your friend fuck you? Does this turn you on?”

When he kept talking filth, you couldn’t stop clenching around his cock.

He moaned, “Fuck,” in between hard strokes. “Look at this pussy clench. You really get turned on by it.”

Ben intensified his movements as your legs trembled with pleasure around his hips, and you felt your climax strike with a loud moan and a cunning sneer on his face. You tried biting your lip to muffle the moans, but it was difficult as Ben fucked you raw, on top of you, dominating your whole body. 

He whispered, “I'm going to fuck your face another time,” and put his thumb inside your mouth. “Suck it. Prove to me how much you crave my cock inside your mouth.”

You groaned in displeasure as he slowed. Ben strictly said, “Suck it, show me how badly you want my cock inside your mouth, and I'll fuck you as you need,” when you lifted your hips to get him to return to his previous rhythm. 

With the expectation that he would like it, you put your lips around his thumb and started to lick it with your tongue. 

He mumbled, “Fuck yes, gonna cum inside that mouth,” and started fucking you quickly and roughly once more. 

He muttered, “Almost there,” and continued to fuck you while staring at your bouncing tits. 

His hardness continued to throb inside of you as you tightened around him one more time and orgasmed. He moaned and spilled inside of you, filling you with his thick and warm ropes. 

Ben continued to fill your pussy as your climax subsided. You felt incredibly satisfied because you felt so full of his seed. 

When he was finished, he carefully pulled out his cock, exposing the blood at the tip. Ben gave you a long, hard kiss on the lips when he noticed you were staring at it. 

You offered him a tiny smile as he whispered, “Come closer,” and he embraced you with his large arms. “Are you alright?” 

You continued to stroke his beard while responding, “Yes.” Actually, you've never felt better.

You can check my MASTERLIST for more.

[wchswift]

── ❝ tied him down to my queen bed ❞

pairing! soldier boy x fem!reader

summary! you want to spice up things, so you tie up soldier boy. (Inspired by "Freak" by Doja Cat.)

contents! no plot just porn, established relationship, rough sex, power play, light bondage, kinda sub/dom!soldier boy, degradation, edging/denial, overstimulation, names (sweetheart, doll, brat & bitch), dirty talk, praise & degradation kink, teasing, oral/face sitting (f & m receiving), and probably more; very intense and filthy sexual content so mdni 𖤐 18+ !!

word count! 1.4k

You decided that tonight you wanted to try something different with Ben.

He immediately gave you that sly, bitchy smile of his, not even questioning it. The freak that he is.

But tonight, you wanted to match his freak, do some bad things to him. Spice up his life a little. And that's why you had the big, admired Supe tied down on your queen bed.

The sheets are silk beneath your thighs, black as sin, clinging to your skin like smoke. Soldier Boy is stretched out on his back, arms pulled taut above his head, thick rope biting into his wrists. His chest rises and falls, sweat-slick and heaving, muscles flexing as he tests the restraints. But you tied them well. You made sure of it.

"Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart," he growls, voice deep, ragged. His biceps strain, veins popping, but he’s not getting out of this. "You really think this’ll hold me?"

You hum, trailing your fingers down his chest, nails just sharp enough to sting. "That’s the fun part, isn’t it?"

His jaw tightens, that sharp, stubborn line of his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. You can feel the heat of him, the way his body radiates it, coiled and waiting, just on the edge. His cock is thick and heavy against his stomach, twitching every time your touch ghosts over him without giving him what he wants.

"You really want to tease me, huh? Do you think this will make me love or hate you?" he mutters, his smirk sharp. "Gotta say, doll, if it's the second option, doin’ a damn good job."

You grin, dragging your mouth down his torso, kissing over the old battle wounds. He’s all hard planes and rough edges, but here, tied up beneath you, he’s yours to unravel.

"That so?" you murmur against his skin, breath hot. Your nails scrape down his abs, slow, intentional. He shudders.

His hands twitch in the bindings, but he can’t move. Can’t touch you.

"Goddamn tease," he rasps, his hips jerking when you shift lower, your breath feather-light where he wants it most.

You let the silence stretch, your tongue flicking out, just barely tracing the thick vein running along his cock. He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, muscles locking up like steel cables.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he hisses, tugging at the restraints again, but they hold. He’s at your mercy. "Quit playin’."

You tilt your head, lashes low, fingers ghosting up his thighs. "Make me. Oops, that's right, you can't."

The growl that rumbles from his chest is deep, primal. His arms flex, a warning, but he’s stuck right where you want him. Helpless. Desperate.

You take your time, dragging your tongue along the length of him, savoring the way he twitches, curses, his head falling back against the pillow. His hands clench into fists above him, but he can’t do a damn thing about it.

His breathing is rough, labored, the heat rolling off him like a furnace.

"Jesus fuckin’ Christ, woman," he groans, his voice almost breaking when you hollow your cheeks around him, sinking down slowly.

His control is slipping. His cock throbs in your mouth, his hips trying to jerk up, but you press a firm hand against his stomach, holding him down.

"Shit—doll—"

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, lips wet, mouth curved in a wicked little smile. His chest heaves, green eyes burning.

"You’re playin’ a dangerous game," he growls.

"Am I?" your voice drips with sarcasm, you clearly enjoying it too much.

His thighs are trembling beneath your hands, his cock twitching in your grip, veins bulging along his forearms as he fights against the ropes. You’ve got him right where you want him—strung tight, wrecked, teetering on the edge.

And you’re not done yet.

You make the Soldier Boy come apart while you watch it—feel it, in the way his body strains, muscles trembling, sweat rolling down his abs in thin rivulets. His cock is thick, swollen, slick with your spit, twitching against your palm as you stroke him slowly. Agonizing.

You think you've never seen him like this and you even dare to say that maybe he's never been like this.

"You fuckin' brat," he growls, voice wrecked, thick with something dark and desperate. "Untie me, and I swear to God, I'm gonna—"

You pull off him with a filthy pop, licking your lips as you meet his furious, lust-drunk gaze. His wrists are raw where he's tugged at the restraints, his knuckles flexing like he wants to wrap them around your throat and fuck you breathless.

"You’ll what?" You drag your nails down his thighs, pressing just hard enough to sting. "Hurt me?" Your smirk is lazy, teasing. "Wouldn't be the first time."

His chest rises sharply, those thick arms flexing again. "You're fuckin' evil."

You hum in agreement, shifting up his body, dragging your soaked core over the length of him. His whole body jerks at the friction, teeth clenching so tight you think they might crack.

"So goddamn tease," he spits, his voice a guttural rasp. "Bet that little cunt’s already dripping, huh? So fuckin’ greedy."

You rock against him again, slow, deliberately cruel, letting the slick slide off your folds coat every thick inch of his cock. He twitches, the head of it catching against your clit just right, making your breath hitch.

"You wanna find out?" you murmur, rolling your hips again.

His arms yank hard at the ropes. You know he wants to grab you, to flip you over and fuck you so deep you forget your own name, but he can't. You’ve made sure of it.

His nostrils flare, those sharp green eyes locked on where your bodies meet, watching the way you drag yourself over him, the way your slick glistens on his skin.

"Fuck, sweetheart—" His head falls back against the pillows, his hips jerking up like he’s lost control of his own body. "You’re killin’ me."

You smirk, sliding up his torso until you’re straddling his chest, your dripping cunt hovering just above his face. His jaw tightens, nostrils flaring as he takes in the scent of you, the heat of you.

"That’s the idea," you purr.

His tongue darts out, hungry, desperate, but you stay just out of reach.

"Goddamn it," he snarls, frustration burning in his eyes. "Sit that pretty little pussy on my fuckin' face before I break these goddamn ropes and do it myself."

Your core clenches at the raw heat in his voice, at the way his fingers are flexing like he’s imagining them buried deep inside you.

"Beg me," you whisper.

His head jerks up, eyes flashing, like he might snap, but then—then his lips curl into something wicked, something sharp.

"Fucking. Please." It’s a growl, low and menacing, but there’s desperation beneath it, an ache he can’t hide.

And that's what you were waiting for.

You sink down onto his mouth, and Soldier Boy groans like a man starved. His tongue drags through your folds, hot and slick, before wrapping around your clit and sucking hard.

"Fuck," you gasp, fingers tangling in his thick hair, holding him in place—not that he needs it. He’s already devouring you, licking into you like he needs it to breathe. "Such a good boy."

His beard scrapes against your thighs, the rough burn mixing with the wet heat of his mouth, sending shivers up your spine. His tongue flicks, curls, fucks into you, and you grind against him, chasing the friction, riding his face like you own it.

His moans are guttural, vibrating against your clit, and you swear you see stars. You feel his hips jerking beneath you, his cock throbbing, untouched, desperate, leaking all over his stomach.

"Shit—" Your breath hitches, body trembling, that coil tightening, tightening, ready to snap.

And then—you pull back.

His head jerks up, lips slick with your arousal, panting like a rabid fucking animal.

"You fuckin' bitch," he growls, yanking at the ropes so hard you almost hear the fibers snap.

You grin, sliding back down his body, pressing your soaked heat against the aching length of his cock. He curses under his breath, head falling back, body tense as a bowstring.

"You gonna behave?" you murmur, dragging your nails over his chest.

His jaw clenches, muscles flexing.

And then—then, in a voice rough and wrecked and furious—

"Fuck no."

And that’s when the ropes snap.

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

⛥ main masterlist.

lina's notes: yeah... I'm so not normal about him. I think this might be the dirtiest thing I've ever written?? idk but I actually felt embarrassed posting this lol I'm not confident at all. But yes I'm definitely a sub! soldier boy defender!!

This idea happened because after rewatching the boys I saw an edit of Soldier Boy with this song and wow I already knew what I had to write. I don't see him being written like this much so I decided to give it a voice lol. Despite everything and me being very insecure, I hope it met you guys expectations and that it messed with you in the best way yk... and that you genuinely enjoyed it!!

tags: @blossomingorchids @rositaslabyrinth @cowboysandcigarettes @soldiersgirl @bluemerakis @h8aaz @figthoughts @jasvtsc @maddie0101 @bejeweledinterludes @starzify @gibson-g1rl @losers-clvb (let me know if you want to be added or removed <3)

purple divider made by @elleisdesigning <3

[bluemerakis]

────────── ᝰ bluemerakis ༝༚༝༚ ────

❝ cream pie ❞

─ ۶ৎ ─

pairing ୨୧ munch .ᐟ dean winchester x fem .ᐟ reader

warnings .ᐟ cussing, reader somewhat oblivious to the obscene meaning of munch, tooth-rotting fluff, mentions of a sexual!cream pie, mild food play, finger-sucking, oral f receiving, pet names. pls lmk if i forgot any!

synopsis ─ dean’s always poked at you for being a slow-eater. likewise, you’ve always poked at him for being a fast-eater—going so far as to accuse him of an early death should he continue at that pace. so, on the night of his birthday, he decides to make a change to his eating habits, becoming deliberately slow in his meal’s devouring. only, that meal is you.

word count ~ 5.4k

──────────────────────

The doors to the diner announced the next newcomer with a shrill tinkle of bells, and by the nature of human curiosity—or a hunter’s paranoia—you found yourself glancing past Dean to witness a little girl ushered inside by an older woman.

You circulated a mouthful of fries as you watched the child bound over to the front counter, short, stubby finger outstretched to prod at a large print of the most obnoxiously decorated milkshake you’d ever seen—a mound of cream, candy and sprinkles that must’ve accounted for half the drink’s weight.

“Scoutin’ out for Sammy?” Dean asked suddenly—the words muffled by the burger he’d taken to devouring almost instantly after it’d arrived. Not even five minutes ago.

You forsook the view of the little girl to tune into the booth’s space, where the Winchester sat across from you with cheeks that had grown comically round. You couldn’t help but briefly stutter on your ground fries, perplexed by the plate that he’d wasted no time in clearing out. All that was left was the half-eaten burger currently clutched between his talons, where his lips closed in on to wrap around the bread-cocooned glory. The fries that had previously formed the burger’s first line of defence had not stood a damn chance.

With a thick swallow of your morsel, you cleared your throat to voice your concern—Dean’s question hurled out the current window of care. “Where the hell did all your food go, Dean? It literally just got here!” You reached across the table to take up your glass of water, downing a much needed sip that moistened the walls of your throat after the fries had brushed it dry on their downward journey.

Observing Dean, you almost felt like you were intruding on some intimate moment between himself and his burger, which he currently ogled from every angle in search of his next, perfect bite—yet to swallow down the last bite he’d taken. The appetite on this man was astounding. And so was the seemingly unlimited mouth space that he seemed to cram full squirrel-style, given any and every chance.

At your perplexed pry, the Winchester strayed from his guilty pleasure to grace you with a stupidly triumphant look, his vigorous chewing coming to a halt. “Just gave it a tour o’ my insides,” he mumbled grossly, eyes narrowing with smug amusement while he went out of his way to part his lips in a messy, food-kissed smile—just to get a rise out of you.

“Stop that!” You groaned, hand coming up in a defensive spread to shield yourself against the view of the chunky stew plastered along his teeth. “You’re disgusting,” you added with a meek giggle, chin perking slightly as you attempted to peer at him over the jagged horizon of your fingers.

You caught his Adam’s Apple bopping with a hefty swallow, the lump striding down the lean length of his neck, and it was a sight that made you feel safe enough to lower your hand once more. You watched him pass his tongue across both oil-kissed lips, savouring the essence with a pleasurable hum and smack of his mouth—like he’d never known the first thing about table manners. He passed the remainder of his burger to one hand, the other now freed to gesture in your direction.

“Hey!” he began—a clearer, more sophisticated sound. “I get my hands on somethin’ as delicious as this, I show her a good time,” he explained with a laughable seriousness. “You, of all people, should know this.”

You’d taken to plopping another fry into your mouth while he spoke, but at that last sentence, you dusted the lingering salt grains from your hands and made a hasty swallow before answering. “That you’re a munch?” You established innocently.

Dean perked at the observation you’d made many dinings prior—wore the title like a badge of honour. “Damn right I am, baby—and this was a damn preview,” he said with a charming wink, one that entertained his own, mental scheme.

“A preview of what?” You tested with a confused grin.

Dean’s glare turned the type of determined he usually reserved for an exhilarating hunt, his lips quirking with the utmost pleasure that you’d asked. “You, me, and your good friend down south—later tonight—” he began enlightening, but neglected to finish the sentence as he brought the last of his burger to his lips. Then, they crashed down onto the buns in an obnoxious motion—gluttonously garnering every inch into the compartment of his cheeks.

He began chewing with difficulty, at first, but no look of panic flashed across his features, despite your own worry that he might’ve started choking at any instant. Then, he rolled the empty burger wrapper between his palms, eyes droning into you with an unvoiced expectancy while his jaw circulated like a cow’s. You returned his stare with a cluelessness, taking a second to mull over his incomplete sentence—and it was then that his insinuation clicked into place.

Your cheeks flushed hot at that, the hands you’d nestled at either side of your plate drawing into fists. “I was talking about the food!” You said accusingly, his innuendo drawing a disbelieved laugh from your lips.

“Yeah, no, that ain’t what munch means, sweetheart,” Dean said smoothly, rocketing the crushed wrapper into the air before catching it and plopping it down onto his plate. His palms then came together in a scheming rub, eyes lowering to the menu beside his emptied plate. “Speakin’ of food,” he hummed thoughtfully, and you lifted your chin to get a better view of the options he was scanning through. Light meals.

You shook your head lightly, turning your attention back to your own plate. “You’re going to implode,” you remarked.

“Hey—drop the freakin’ fuss,” he grumbled indignantly. “‘Cause it just so happens that shit’s on the house for this birthday dude,” he added, hands coming up to gesture to himself almost proudly. “And I’ll be damed if I don’t do somethin’ ‘bout it.”

You flashed him a hopeless smile, but didn’t push him on his appetite any further. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen Dean so unbothered and chirpy. As of now, life had been good—great, even. Bobby had offered to take care of this week’s hunts in order to free up Dean’s schedule, giving him the time to celebrate an event he hadn’t deemed worthy of a celebration for a long, long time. And Sam—ever the content third-wheel to you both—had taken the afternoon to kill time in his own Sam ways.

The deal you’d struck with the younger Winchester was that he get the morning to entertain Dean’s birthday, and you get the afternoon. The brothers were up at the crack of dawn to motor it over to some shooting range, where they’d completely obliterated the targets—earning dubious glances from the other, inexperienced hobbyists. You’d thought about asking why they’d opted for picking up a gun on their off-days, but Dean had returned with such a beaming smile that you’d swallowed the question entirely.

The only thing that mattered was that he was happy. Enjoying himself.

Eventually, Dean let out a decided exclamation, index finger coming down on the table to single out an option amongst the menu.

Your head lifted curiously. “What you got there?” You asked, plopping a fry into your mouth.

“The best thing to exist after cars,” he answered vaguely and with a playful waggle of his brows, his head then averting to do a sweep of the diner.

“With how easily amused you are, that could be narrowed down to an endless amount of shit,” you scoffed lightly.

“T-t-t,” he silenced with a finger in your direction, eyes still doing an intent scan of the space. When he managed to spot a waitress, it almost looked like his eyes could’ve slipped the keep of his sockets. His lips pierced to execute a perfect whistle, hand waving through the air to beckon her over—which she made haste on.

You turned your attention to the waitress as she pranced on over, fluster heavy in her rosy cheeks and sheepish smile as she glanced between yourself and Dean. “What can I get for you both?”

“One o’ these bad babies, please,” Dean requested with a show to the menu, hands then coming up in a thankful clasp as the waitress nodded lightly in response. “Sweet,” he murmured contently, his attention turning back to you. “Anythin’ for you?” He asked politely, but the hitch of his singular brow as he glanced between you and your stacked plate told you that he knew the answer.

“I’m good, thanks,” you told the waitress, who gave a small nod before scampering off. You turned back to Dean with a light shake of your head. “Oh, I know your heart hates you. You’re going to die an early death at this pace,” you scoffed, glancing down to where you began picking through your cooled fries in search of the crispy pieces.

“Yeah, whatever, happy deaths,” he answered lightly. “You gonna eat any o’ that?”

You glanced up to Dean’s famished eyes hounding the pot of edible gold still crowning your plate. “Yes, I’m gonna eat it!” You answered almost instantly. “I’m starving!”

“Well, you don’t look it,” he scoffed with a dramatic widening of his eyes—like he couldn’t believe you’d fault him for asking when your plate currently housed twice the calories of his. “Man, if my heart hates me, then your stomach hates you—teasin’ it like this with the one bite an hour ritual you’ve got goin’. You’re playin’ hard to get with the damn thing,” he huffed amusedly.

“It’s called savouring it,” you retorted with a light shake of your head. “You should try it some time.”

“Hey—I savour plenty, alright?” His brows perked pointedly, eyes lowering down your figure and straying to some view below the tabletop, where they lingered with a mischievous tongue poking at the inside of his cheek.

You caught on immediately, apples of your cheeks rounding with a grin. “I can’t even with you,” you sighed dramatically; warmly.

Dean’s eyes lifted back to you, forming a wink that he’d come to reserve just for you. “And yet you do, anyways,” he chuckled, then straightened in his seat with some new resolve. “Alright, c’mon—start stuffin’ up on fries. For every bite you don’t finish, your ankle’s gettin’ ganked—” he paused to reinforce the threat by nudging the toe of his boot against yours, “—and then I’m eatin’ whatever’s left.”

“What are you—five?” You giggled, and then his boot came forward to deliver the first of its taps against your ankle. You let out a squeal despite its gentle nature, hand flying forward to scoop up a handful of fries with a grin heavy on your lips.

Dean’s arms crossed as he watched you with equal amusement. “It’s called buildin’ character,” he said. “Consider this your motivation to eat faster.”

“Maybe you should try eating slower!”

He tsked in response to that, then offered a tiny nod. “Yeah, alright, alright, I’ll try it sometime,” he entertained, jerking his chin at you. “C’mon, wrap it up and we’ll go half on that apple pie I ordered.”

⋆ .˚⋆ ≐ ⋆ ˚.⋆

On the drive back to the motel, Dean had rattled Baby’s entire infrastructure with some deafening rock, his jaws testing out new heights as he accentuated every tune with utmost enthusiasm. He’d glanced your way a couple of times to enlist you into his self-hosted concert, still blaring along to the music, but you’d only managed to pick up on a few phrases here and there through your time spent as an audience to his hunting playlists.

Whenever a song came on that you recognised, you’d chime in to harmonise with Dean in a word or two before dropping off and taking to watching him ensue into musical madness, a grin heavy on your lips. God, you loved him. You loved him so much. And you loved seeing him recognise how much of his free-will he could cash toward buying his own happiness, instead of worrying about everything and everybody else—especially on a day like today.

The drive back to the motel was a cheery one you’d mentally documented as a day to remember. When you’d eventually pulled up at the motel, Dean had laid the engine to rest with an intense glance in your direction—one that you’d come to recognise as something to question. Because if you didn’t, there was no telling what was on a mind as carefully guarded as his.

You met his gaze with light confusion, acknowledging the silence he’d coupled with his dramatic shift in demeanour. “Is everything okay?”

Much to your relief, Dean’s features grew soft, his lips spreading with a thankful smile. “Everythin’s perfect,” he soothed quickly, but no less gentle. “Just. . . thinkin’ ‘bout today—how you and Sammy went outta your way to make this day so freakin’ awesome. I appreciate it—I do,” he added with a light chuckle, his head tilting slightly as he drank you in with love-struck eyes.

You shifted across the seat until your leg was flush against Dean’s, your hand coming up to gently cradle his jaw. “First off,” you began, thumb stroking gentle lines over the apple of his cheek, and you felt the unbridled weight of him melting into your hold—because he’d always felt safe enough to entrust all of him to all of you. “When it comes to you, nothing will ever be out of the way. You’re worth the time—worth taking that moment to think about how we can celebrate the man who tries so hard to keep us all together. You’re always jumping at the opportunity to do things for everybody else, but tonight—on your night—I’m going to honour everything that you are. And reflect on how blessed the world is to have its very own Dean Winchester. How blessed I am.”

Dean’s eyes twinkled at that—like a starstruck fanboy—and you felt honoured to be the recipient of his admiration. His love.

“Secondly,” you continued. “This day is all about you—officially, and everything—there’s a birth certificate out there to prove it. But I want you to know that you’re the type of person worth celebrating every single day. And I do, quietly—with every glance I steal of you because I’m just so thankful that we exist at the same time. And even in a life that gets as shitty as ours, I’m glad that it’s you I get to share the small breaths of a break with—you that I’m laughing it up with over a burger and beer, you that I get to share a cuddle with each night that feels like it could fend off every worry, and you, in all that you are, reminding me every single day of what good looks like—and why this world is worth saving. You’re the face of all things precious and scare in this world, Dean.”

At those words, Dean cracked with a twitch of his lip, giving rise to a smile that was simultaneously hurt and healed. As he gazed into your eyes, you saw their beautiful, green depths begin to glimmer at the borders. At the first comprehension of his growing tears, he was quick to dip his head into concealment, jaw turning an inch to catch his lips onto the hand you’d cradled his cheek within.

There, in thick silence, he pressed a long and tender kiss to your palm—as though trying to brand himself with the taste, touch and scent of you. A gesture to remind you just how much of himself he’d devoted to loving you, living for you, and embracing everything that you meant to him in ways that didn’t always embody words.

You sat there for a few seconds, watching as he became one with you—choosing you as his safety confines while he worked to sort through the feelings he’d never been apt at acknowledging this gently; vulnerably. Eventually, he stirred from your hold, but not to forsake it entirely, his hands outstretching to frame you tenderly at the neck.

“God, I love you,” he whispered with a shuddered breath, the tears he’d tried to quell with a moment of silence proving to be stubborn. But they came as gentle streams, providing just enough moisture to cast a soft sheen amongst his cheeks. “I love you so damn much,” he reinforced—the sound gruff, raw and passionate—and then his lips were pressed against yours with a hunger that felt desperately pushy and shy all at once.

You reciprocated the kiss with equal devotion, hands coming up to wrap around his wrists as you steadied yourself within his passionate grip. His thumbs rubbed gentle lines down the ledge of your jaw as his kiss continued to deepen—not particularly lustful, but just a very physical, passionate vow of loyalty. A show that he was yours, and all yours.

For a while, your lips remained entangled in a fervent dance, the world all around you dissolving into nothingness. What was out there didn’t matter, anyway, not when your whole world was right here, right beside you.

⋆ .˚⋆ ≐ ⋆ ˚.⋆

Back in the motel, you and Dean had slunk inside with the intent to not wake up Sam—only to find that when you’d flicked on the lights, the younger brother was nowhere in sight. For a second, you both stood in dumbfounded silence, heads swinging to scan the modest space that he couldn’t have possibly been hidden away in—not with the height on him.

Then Dean let out a soft noise of realisation as he left your side to stroll into the kitchen, hand outstretched to pluck a note from the fridge’s barren door. He brought it toward him with a focused furrow of his brows, eyes scanning over the information before he let slip a smug chuckle.

You wandered over to Dean curiously, and just then, he turned to you with the note waving about. “Sammy’s slipped out for the night—called a cab and said us naughty teens could have the place to ourselves,” he explained with a heavy, cheeky undertone as he glanced you over.

You drew up beside him with a smile to entertain his implications, arms coming up in a cross. “Oh, yeah? Guess we better make the most of it, then,” you murmured, leaning yourself against the counter bordering the fridge.

Dean wandered close enough for the fabric of his jacket to graze your arms, head lowering to yours in a painfully slow manner. “Hm. . . what’d ya have in mind?” He asked before pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then to the bridge of your nose.

Your nose scrunched playfully beneath his lips, eyes screwing shut at his very welcomed trespass. “I think—” you began, but were quickly silenced by the press of his lips against yours. After a few, greedy kisses with a point to prove, he pulled away to let you finish. “I think,” you repeated with a breathless laugh, eyes falling open once more. “You get the gist of it.”

“Think I damn well do,” he grinned, coming in for round two, but you stopped him with a finger to the lips.

“Not so fast, Casanova,” you steadied with a smile, making a point to tap his lips before pulling away. “I’ve got a little surprise for you, first.”

“What—it ain’t this?” Dean said ruefully, gesturing to all of you. “C’mon, man, quit teasin’ me.”

“I’m not teasing you,” you giggled before pushing yourself off the counter to round him in favour of the fridge. “I made you something.”

He hummed interestedly. “Well, colour me intrigued,” he drawled, turning to face you as he leaned himself against the counter to watch after your every move.

You opened the fridge and briefly ducked inside, rounding onto the point of your toes to grab the mystery meal off the top shelf. Beside you, Dean uttered a whistle of admiration, and you scoffed at his apparent leering. You lowered yourself with the prize in hand, shifting it to a one-sided grip as your free hand moved closed the door.

Dean studied the dish with interest as you strode over to him and placed it onto the counter. A part of you felt a sense of annoyance as you reflected back to the diner, where he’d gone and ordered himself two slices of pie despite your protest. You hadn’t wanted him to have his fill of it before tonight, where the dessert pie you’d baked him had been waiting for its time to shine.

Slowly, you pulled back the wrapping to reveal the dish—a dainty cream pie.

Dean took a moment to flutter his lashes, his lips forming a thoughtful pout—like he was trying to find the right words to decline your offer. You’d been afraid of this very reaction after he’d eaten enough pie for the next month. “More pie?” he remarked with an almost pained expression.

You let out a loose scoff, tossing the wrapping onto the counter. “I told you not to order another slice of pie at the diner!” You exclaimed, head shaking lightly.

“Yeah, but I just thought you were hasslin’ me over the eatin’ thing—not because you went and baked an entire one,” Dean laughed before moving to take a swipe at the topped cream. You watched as he crowned the pad of his index finger with a considerable cluster, then brought it up to his lips for a taste. After swallowing the smooth sweetness, he smacked his lips appreciatively. “But this tastes freakin’ amazing,” he praised with a warm grin. “Thanks, baby, I’ll savour it as much as the diner’s pie.”

“You’ll do that and more,” you shot back with a pretence of annoyance, but you couldn’t fend off the grin peaking through. “Cause it was hard work making this thing!”

He cocked a brow smugly. “Really? ‘Cause when last we hit the sheets, I seem to remember doin’ it in five minutes,” he said pointedly, teeth flashing a lewd grin as he gave an obnoxious wink.

Your jaw dangled at his shameless obscenity—alluding to a few nights ago where you’d begged him for a quickie, and had him finish inside of you. “Dean!” You exclaimed, hand coming forward to swat his arm lightly. “Think you’re a funny man, yeah?”

“I think I’m hilarious,” he replied charmingly, hand diving down to take another swipe at the cream. Just then, he brought it up to your face to slather the side of your cheek, which made your mouth curl around a gasp as you seized up on the spot.

“Asshole!” You sniped with no real anger, hand coming up to wipe some of the cream from your face, but Dean caught you at the wrist before you could eradicate the stickiness entirely.

“Fun-ass,” he corrected cheekily, gaze holding yours as he leaned himself down to wrap his lips around your index finger. You felt his tongue swirl around it to gather the cream, and even once he’d sucked it clean of all tangible sweetness, he kept up the wet whirlpool.

“Dean,” you laughed weakly. “Stop.”

Eventually, he freed your finger from his lips with a jarring pop, his chin wagging subtly with the pride of his action. “What?” He asked innocently, releasing your hand. “I’m just findin’ ways to make eatin’ this pie more excitin’.”

“Very innovative,” you giggled. “And messy.”

“Darlin’, don’t you worry—when I make a mess, I clean it up right after,” he remarked.

Suddenly, you became keenly aware of the cream still slathering your cheek. “Oh, is that so?” You retorted. “Because the records aren’t exactly reflecting right now.”

Dean’s hands came up in a gesture of his defence. “Hey, give me a chance,” he chuckled, then moved to wrap a hand around the nape of your neck. There, his fingers fanned the hair draping your neck, and he pulled you into his frame as his jaw made a dive toward your face.

You felt the warmth of his tongue drag a gentle trail up the curve of your cheek before drawing back to repeat the motion. You squirmed against the humid wetness, hands coming up to his chest as you let out a strained giggle. “That tickles, you weirdo!”

Eventually, he pulled back to face you, and the view of him was silly enough to send you into another giddy fit. The bridge of his nose was dotted with cream, and the trail dissipated along the curve of his glistening lips only to reappear within the divot of his chin.

“You look ridiculous!” You remarked with a warm laugh, finger lifting to wipe some of the cream off the button of his nose and present it to him.

“Yeah, well, you taste delicious,” he mocked childishly, linking his finger with yours to wipe the cream from the tip before plopping it into his mouth. He jerked his chin to the counter behind you, wiping his hands together. “Could ya pass me a paper towel, please? Behind you.”

Just then, an idea sparked to mind—shameless, and a little dirty, but fun. “Don’t bother,” you replied, and Dean’s brows shot up in surprise. Just then, you turned toward the pie, hand coming forward to scoop up an impressive amount of cream.

Behind you, Dean let out a soft huff, like he’d had an idea of what game you were about to play. Turning back to him, you hovered your cream-laden hand out in front of you, your other chaste one slipping beneath the hem of your tank to lift it up the expanse of your stomach. You terminated the stripping beneath the curve of your breasts, revealing enough of your abdomen to spur the Winchester on.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he breathed, his eyes unashamedly lowering down your exposed stomach before darting back to the cream cradled within your palm.

Without a word to spare, you began spreading a slow and messy trail across your stomach—starting at the divot between the curves of your breasts.

“Oh, I think I like where this is goin’,” Dean chuckled absentmindedly, lower lip drawn into a bite as he watched you paint the sticky trail down the length of your stomach—where you stopped just shy of your short’s hem.

Once you’d planted a generous path of cream, you brought your hand up to your lips to lick the last of it from existence, other hand still anchoring your shirt in its unobstructive place. “Rules of the game,” you began with a grin, Dean reciprocating one far more exhilarated. “Leave no mess behind—should be easy for you, he who always cleans up after himself,” you poked lightly.

“Easy?” He tutted cockily. “I’m gonna nail this out the freakin’ park. And then nail somethin’ else,” he added with a wink.

“Okay, mr. Big Talk, enough of the chitchat,” you laughed, free hand beckoning him forward.

Dean obliged with an eager, yes, ma’am, before inching his way toward you, leaning in to place a kiss on your forehead, then at the crook of your neck before he pulled back to gaze you in the eye.

“Happy birthday,” you murmured with an adoring smile.

“Happy freakin’ birthday to me, indeed,” Dean breathed in astonishment, taking a moment to lower his eyes along the candy trail that paved way to his personal jackpot down under before glancing back up at you. Then, with a determined smirk playing at his lips, he ducked from your view.

His hands took up firm grip at your waist, anchoring himself there as his lips took to your cream-kissed skin like the famished jaws of a zombie. Your head lolled back at the sensation of his tongue swirling along your skin, your free hand coming forward to plant itself within the jagged field of his hair. There, your fingers curled around unruly wisps—as if needing to ground yourself against the skilled tongue currently deconstructing your every sense—and your lips parted with a soft moan.

Dean, as if spurred on by that singular, sweet sound, added teeth into the mix, nipping lightly at the surfaces he’d licked clean before continuing to lower himself down your stomach. His grip at your waist became firmer—more desperate—and as if he couldn’t restrain himself any longer, his fingers grazed down your sides to slip beneath the waistband of your shorts and underwear. There, he tugged ruthlessly, successfully managing to pull the items down and over the curves of your hips and thighs.

You aided his efforts to strip you with a shimmy of your legs, allowing the clothing to plop to the ground. Shortly after, Dean’s fingers made a return to your waist, his tongue doing one, last greedy sweep of your navel to terminate the creamy line. He pulled back to gaze up at you—nose, mouth and chin slathered with the remnants of your game—but his pupils were blown wide with arousal, his teeth bared in a grin that told you he wanted to taste more of you.

“Jesus, baby, you’re gonna ruin me,” he uttered gruffly, breathlessly, and then without waiting for your input, he dipped into the yearning warmth nestled in the nook of your thighs, where his nose struck your clit with all the right force.

Like a starved and thirsty man deprived of everything essential to life, his tongue swept through your folds with the intent to garner every last inch of you. You let out a loud moan at that, hip collapsing slightly into the support of the counter, but Dean’s hands—anchored at your hips—tightened to remind you of his reliability, pulling you back onto the support of his mouth. There, his grip lowered to your thighs, squeezing lightly before they tightened mercilessly with the intent to grind himself deeper into your warmth.

Tears began to well at your eyes as the stimulation consumed you, head snapping back and eyes screwing shut to get lost in the abyss of Dean’s making. You felt, and heard, every flick and swirl of his tongue around your clit—the sound obscenely audible as wet fluttering—and it was enough to deduce you to a stew of mindless praises.

“Fuck, Dean, fuck,” you breathed—whimpered, tightening your hold within his hair until you were tugging meanly at his scalp. But he didn’t mind it—if anything, it elicited his own grunts of pleasure, which reverberated into your folds and added to the tension you felt building within your core.

He drew your swollen clit into a whirlpool, spinning it round and round his exploitative tongue with a moan of enjoyment. You could have listened to him utter that sound a hundred times over, and it jabbed at your core to know that Dean would never fail to find joy in pleasuring you.

“Fuck, baby, so wet, ‘nd so fuckin’ good,” he murmured against you, the words slurred by his discontent to disrupt the contact—and pace. He made a dive toward your dripping entrance, gathering the amalgamation of saliva and arousal attempting to slip away unnoticed, before he briefly slipped into your entrance.

You let out a broken gasp at that foul move, hips stuttering further into his jaw, but he steadied you upright with an accomplished chuckle to rattle you from within. His tongue retreated to drag back up your folds, re-establishing its rightful place running laps around your clit.

“S’alright, baby, I got you,” he murmured into you, adding fuel to the fire you felt about to erupt within you.

“I’m gonna come,” you muttered breathlessly, thighs clamping around his hold.

Dean gave a hum of approval at that, but kept up his slow and steady pace, only intensifying the stimulation with the pressure of his tongue.

The bundle within you began to grow and grow at your centre, tightening into an inexplicable mass that you craved to let go of. “Fuck,” you spat, eyes clamping shut as you chased your high. “Dean—don’t stop,” you breathed. “Don’t stop.”

“Ain’t ever stoppin’, baby,” he mumbled, hands squeezing your thigh pointedly.

“Can you. . . go faster,” you stuttered out, eyes faltering open and chin dipping to glance at him. “Please, I need it,” you whined softly.

Dean didn’t stray from his work to glance at you, and his pace didn’t budge, either. “Can’t,” he declined. “Gotta eat slower, remember?” There was a teasing flick across your clit, and you couldn’t help but let out a disbelieved laugh, eyes falling shut once more as you melted into his controlled pace.

“Asshole.”

“Fun-ass.”

──────────────────────

a/n ─ happy birthday to pookie!!! and this is a birthday gift bc dean’s a simple man—he’s a munch. fuck birthday presents & fuck birthday cake, this fucker just wants to devour you. best birthday song? the filth outta your mouth when his tongue’s surfing your clit. said who? me. dean told me. in my wet dreams last night. as a bonus for shits & giggles

thank you for reading! all likes, comments & reblogs are deeply appreciated

tags ─ @gibson-g1rl @bohemianblasphemy @fallbhind @titsout4jackles @ultravi0lence14 @angelicjackles @starzify @honeyryewhiskey @deansbeer @figthoughts @floralscented @walkslikesummeractslikerain @deansbbyx @whisperingdaze @maddie0101 @lieutenantchaos @spn-reader @bakugotypecrashout @jaydensluv @misatxox

want to become part of the taglist for any future dean winchester works?

other works ─ supernatural masterlist

© bluemerakis ─ do not plagiarise or steal any of my works.

[soangelbaby]

ও need your kids ; jensen ackles

“. . . have a baby by me, baby be a billionaire . . .”

jensen grips your hips, lifting you slightly off the bed to remove your white lace panties. “you want my babies huh?” he smirked, lining his dick up at the slit of your already leaking pussy. he didn’t slide in immediately, instead he teased you, brushing his tip lightly against your soaking folds. you didn’t answer, just reached up gripping his shirt, “jensen—fuck please..” you moaned as you watched him play in your juices. he always went for games, always made you beg, with him nothing ever came easy. why would this be any different?

“please what baby? tell me what you need, i can’t read your mind.” he snickers, his hands travel up your body, stopping just at the curve of your waist. his eyes were locked on you, he loved the sight of you so desperate and needy for him, so vulnerable, he could keep you like this forever. “please nut in me, fill me up, want all of you.” you breathed out, your fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt. jensen let out a low chuckle before leaning down to kiss you sloppily, he moved down to your neck sucking on your sweet spot. your polished nails clawed at his back as you felt his dick at your entrance again, but this time he slips in—no warning.

“f-fuck yes, jensen.” you moan out, feeling his dick veins rub against your walls, you could hear how wet you were for him, each thrust drawing everything out of you. his face was still buried in your neck, nipping and biting at the skin there, you were sure a hickey was already forming. “that’s it, take it all. let’s see if i can finally knock you up this time, yeah?” he groans against you, your stomach does flips as you let his words sink in. you wanted it so bad, no—you needed it, needed to see his cum leaking out of you, needed to milk him completely until he had nothing left to give, you wanted every single drop.

“mhm, baby—ugh—need all of it.” you arch into him, his dick repeatedly hitting your g-spot. his pace is brutal, relentless, there’s nothing soft about the way he’s fucking you, like he’s trying to bury himself so far you’ll never get him out. his fingers press against your lower belly, feeling every inch of himself there, how deep he’s buried inside you. “you feel that, baby? feel how deep i am? you’re gonna take all of it.” his voice low, thick with possession as he spreads your thighs wider for him, nearly behind your head. you nod, lips parting, but no words come out—just a breathy, wrecked little whine. your hands gripping his arms, fingertips leaving little crescents in his skin as his dick twitches inside of you. your legs lock around his waist and his thrusts become harsher, more punishing.

“shit babydoll, so tight and swollen for me.” jensen growls into your mouth. “tell me how bad you want my seed baby, tell me how bad you want me to make you a mommy, gonna fucking ruin you for anyone else.” his hand slips down between you to trace lazy circles over your clit, making your hips jolt. the added sensation is enough to send you over the edge, your entire body trembles beneath him, drawing a loud throaty whine from you. “there it is, such a good girl. taking my dick so well, this pretty pussy is all mine.” his weight is firm, pinning you in place as he ruts into you with reckless abandon. his lips drag along your jawline, breath hot against your skin—and then you feel it. the warm liquid shooting into you, coating your walls, and a guttural moan escapes jensen’s lips, rumbling against your skin. your walls clench around him, keeping his nut inside, it flooding you, spilling so deep into your spent little pussy.

“now get ready for another one, i’m not pulling out until i know it stuck kay? you wanted me raw, right baby?”

[sturnspup]

BOMBPOP.

premise ; you’re eating a bombpop, and it gives dean an idea.

content warnings ; est. relationship . blowjob . bunker era .

wordcount ; 717.

the wind was cool, carrying the buzz of cicadas around like an orchestra. the sun was beaming down on the freshly mowed grass, bugs and worms crawling and burrowing into the heated dirt. the sky was clear and blue except for a few stray clouds. and you were soaking it all in.

it was the middle of summer, how could you not?

you were sitting on a lawn chair outside the bunker, shorts low on your hips as your pink and orange bikini popped against the dull grey tone of the building behind you.

your lips were already beginning to stain red. you had a bombpop in your hand, the melting popsicle coating your tongue at each swirl of the tip. a drip fell onto your chest, trailing down quickly due to the summer heat. “fuck,” you muttered before looking down and swiping it up with a finger, licking it off quickly.

dean had walked out of the bunker right as you took the patriotic treat back into your mouth, sucking up and licking the melted drips before they could fall. he watched the way your tongue curved against the popsicle, dragging up from the blue all they way back up to the red.

he felt a familiar twitch in his now tightening jeans, along with the warm flow in his lower abdomen. he looked down to see himself already half hard before glancing back up at you.

you were glistening—glowing.

the sun casted its light on your skin nearly majestically. and the shadows from the curvature of your breasts in that bikini—the one he got you a year ago on a whim—you were heavenly.

“how’d i get so lucky?” he questioned out loud, catching your attention. you jumped in your seat, relaxing instantly at the sight of your boyfriend. “what’re you talkin’ about?” you asked with a smile. your eyes locked onto his approaching figure, sneaking a downward glance at his prominent bulge.

“you. what lottery did i win to get ya, sweetheart?” he spoke smoothly. he pulled at your bottom lip with his thumb, watching it bounce back into place. a slow grin pulled against your red lips at the sound of dean’s zipper going down.

he slowly pulled his hardened cock out. you were practically drooling at the sight of him, popsicle now long forgotten on the grass below you, melting into the green blades. “no lottery,” you hummed, “just love.” you grabbed onto his shaft, pumping him slowly.

“just love, huh?” he tilted his head. his eyes were hooded as they stared down at you, roaming over your body under the sun. “mhm—all of it,” your breath fanned against his tip as you leaned in closer, dean taking more steps toward you. “yeah? show me then.” he smirked, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

you gave his slit a kitten lick, watching him groan at the sensation of your tongue dipping in. he pushed past your lips, hips thrusting slightly. your mouth stretched around his girth as your head moved back and forth, tongue swirling and curving against him.

dean could feel the stickiness of your popsicle coated lips, and the stain was beginning to spread on him faintly. he couldn’t keep in his noises. your mouth was so warm, red 40 all on your tongue. you could still taste the faint cherry from the bombpop, now mixed with the taste of dean’s skin and his precum.

“fuck, sweetheart—doin’ so, so good,” he cooed. he slid his hand into your hair, a signal that he’s getting close. you had sped up your pace already, getting sloppier the faster you went. he was hitting the back of your throat repeatedly, and the vibrations of your gags only lulled him closer to the edge.

“cum—ming! oh, god, m’cumming, baby, fuck!” he whined before spilling down your throat. he held you still, hands gripped on your head. you stared up at him as you swallowed all he gave.

you pulled back, finally being able to breathe properly. you gave him a smile, glancing to the ground where your popsicle was now a purple puddle with the stick floating in the middle. “fuck, my bombpop! dean!” you pouted, making him laugh while he stuffed himself back into his pants, promising to get you another one.

gabs yaps ; happy 4th of july... boooo 🍅🍅🍅 ANYWAYS i have a 4th of july blurb for totc that i might post tmrw!! also i’ve had this idea for dean since i first started back in feb 😭

tags ; @starzify @sunsbaby @sturnsflirt @ateotdwinchester @southernimpala @sacr1ficialang3l @littlejoels @fairychris @tinas111 @bruisedfig @ccupidzbvnni @mahi-wayy @jensenacklesballsack @lanasgirlfr @halsteadwichester @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @angelically-yours + wanna be on the taglist?

[jays-bonnie-on-the-side]

HAPPY FATHER’S DAY, JENSEN

PAIRING : jensen ackles x fem!reader

SUMMARY : it’s father’s day and one of his “gifts” gets it’s own surprise

WARNINGS : fluff. love. established relationship. oral (male receiving.) smut. strong language. slight daddy!kink. daddy!jensen. surprises. caught in the act.

A/N: i was laying in bed this morning, day dreaming as usual and this one shot came to mind. despite all my plans i had, i had to make sure i put this out today. hope y’all enjoy 😉😆 happy father’s day zaddy.

It was Father’s Day. A day Jensen rarely got to spend with his kids. As fate would have it, he finished his scenes for Soldier Boy last week, so he came to Connecticut to spend his free time with you and the kids before leaving for L.A. in 48 hours. The house was eerily still, something neither Jensen nor you were used to after the children arrived a few days ago. Their inner alarm wakes them up no later than 8 a.m.

Your eyes flutter open, sleep clouding your vision, but the brightness of the digital alarm clock on the nightstand displayed 9:52. I should go check on them, you thought. As you stir, Jensen pulls you tighter into his naked chest. His warmth convinces you to stay just a little longer. You sink back into his embrace, enjoying the rare moment. Eh, they’re fine.

After a few minutes, when consciousness pulls your soul from the deep slumber that engulfed you moments ago, you slowly turn in his strong, muscular arms. You press your face against his lean chest and listen to the steady drum of his heart. It alone could’ve lulled you back to sleep but your lustful thoughts kept you in this realm. You weren’t complaining and you knew Jensen wouldn’t be either. A devilish smirk graced your lips before you pressed them against his left pec. You trail hot kisses upwards, earning a quiet moan when you kiss just under his ear. He was up and you felt his excitement begin to flourish.

“Happy Father’s Day, Daddy,” you whisper seductively.

“Mm, thank you, sweetheart.”

You kiss his sharp jawline until you reach his luscious lips. Despite sleep still invading his senses, he’s quick to devour you. His mouth opens and so does yours, your tongues dancing together perfectly. His hand runs through your hair, pushing it away from your face. With all your might, you roll both of you over so he’s lying on his back with you on top. Your hips grind against his growing member, and you each moan into the kiss.

With difficulty, you break away. You pant heavily, trying to inhale the air your bodies had expelled while making out. Remembering the time, you figure you’ll give him the first of his many presents for today before you join the kids. You trail sloppy kisses down his chest, past his abdomen, and above his boxers. Jensen sits up, his back against the headboard, so he can watch you work.

Your mouth opens, eager to take him in. He shoves the covers past his knees, just as impatient. You free his aching cock from his briefs and without hesitation, you wrap your plump lips around his flushed tip. He sucks in a breath and his hand flies to your hair on instinct. You slowly take him deeper, inch by inch.

It had taken some practice, which you both enjoyed, to train your throat to accept his girthy length. Now here you were, with your nose against his base, taking him fully. You pull back, swirling your tongue around his bellend before inserting the tip of your tongue inside his tiny hole. He tugs on your hair and bucks his hips. You know he wants more.

Jensen sinks back into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat with ease. Your cheeks hollow as you retract, sucking harder with each bob. He throws his head back, the veins in his neck protruding as he gets closer to his high. Your name falls from his lips like a prayer, encouraging you to work harder, faster, better. A string of curses leaves his perfect mouth, followed by breathy moans and guttural groans.

“Fuck, princess, I’m almost there…Keep going…Just like that.”

You moan in response, your jaw aching with how wide you’ve had to open. It was worth it. Feeling him squirm underneath you was everything. He’s your everything. After all, you want his kids one way or another.

“Oh, fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum.”

You feel him tense, his dick twitching deep in your throat. He moans loudly and hot squirts of cum spray down your esophagus. Suddenly, you hear the small humans yelling outside your door. The next moment, they push it open, barely giving Jensen enough time to toss the duvet over you. Fuck!!!

“Happy Father’s Day, Daddy!” The kids shout as they run in.

You panic, eyes wide as he continues to spill into your mouth. Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh! Your heart hammers against your ribcage. If you move, they’ll see you and question you. But if you don’t move, they might find you. There was no winning in this situation.

“What’s wrong?” Zeppelin asks.

His voice is strained as he responds, “Nothing, buddy. Just got a cramp, is all.”

“Where’s Y/N?” JJ questions.

Jensen takes a second, steadying his breathing then says, “She’s hiding. Why don’t you guys go find her?”

“Daddy, what’s that lump in your bed?” Arrow observes and you can hear her feet patter on the floor as she walks closer.

FUCK!

With haste, you release his limp member from the depths of your mouth, swallow his salty load, and stuff him back in his boxers. You rise from the bed, the blanket falling around your figure, surprising the children.

Trying to play it off, you cheer, “You found me!”

“I knew it!” Arrow smiles.

“You’re so smart. Why don’t we go make Daddy some breakfast?”

“First one in the kitchen gets to be my favorite.” Jensen challenges.

They bolt out of your shared room, arguing over who’ll win.

“Oh my fucking—”

“Yeah.” You slump against your spouse, your heart racing as if you just finished a 5k.

“We need to start locking that door.” Jensen breathes.

“I couldn’t agree more.”

His large hand cups your jaw, his thumb stroking your flushed cheek. “God, I love you.”

“I love you.”

Jensen leans in and so do you, sharing the perfect chaste kiss.

“Daddy! We’re waiting!”

He slaps your ass, squeezing just momentarily, before lifting you both off the bed. “All right, all right. I’m coming!”

JENSEN ACKLES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | JOIN THE TAG LIST

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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO JAYS-BONNIE-ON-THE-SIDE

: do not steal, plagiarize, translate, and/or republish any of my works* on here or another platform

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[sbwifey]

Crazy

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x F!Reader

Summary: Jensen is trying to work but you love to drive him crazy.

Warnings: Smut. Oral (M Receiving). Dom!Jensen. Semi-Public (In Front Of Others Without Them Knowing). Rough Sex. Slapping. Some Pet names. No Use Of Y/N.

A/N: We were being very horny in a gc with some friends of mine and we started talking about this scenario, so I had to write it. Also ignore the stupid dates and random words, I just threw like big meeting words in it.

masterlist — taglist

Jensen sat back in his chair, the screen of his laptop casting cool blue light across his face.

He looked effortless — one arm resting on the desk, the other lazily curled near his chin, fingers brushing his jaw while his agent and the showrunner rattled off potential dates for the next month of production.

“We’re tentatively thinking the 10th through the 24th,” the showrunner said. "You good with that?"

“Depends on flights,” Jensen replied, tone smooth, even. “And whether I get a bed that isn’t moving for more than two days.” His voice was calm and professional.

You entered the room without a word.

You didn’t make eye contact. Didn’t speak.

You just sank slowly to your knees and slid beneath the desk between his legs, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body through his joggers.

He didn’t look down.

But his thigh twitched the moment your fingers brushed the inside of it.

Still, he kept talking.

“If we’re going into press immediately after the shoot,” he said, “I want my call times locked by the 5th.”

Your hands slid higher, slow, steady, deliberate.

He clicked mute.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he muttered, low and sharp.

Your mouth was already on him.

You pressed your lips right where he was already starting to harden beneath the soft fabric of his joggers. His hips shifted — reflex, not choice. His knuckles tightened against the desk.

You smiled. And kissed him again.

"You're fucking crazy, y'know that?" He murmured.

You traced the shape of him with your mouth, kissing slow and patient, until he was fully hard and straining against the fabric. Then your fingers hooked his waistband, tugged it down just enough to free him.

Thick. Hot. Already leaking.

You wrapped your hand around him and stroked once, slow and tight.

Then took him into your mouth.

He didn’t breathe for a second. Then he let out a low, harsh exhale and clicked back to unmute.

“If we push press to the week after, I can flex the 29th and 30th,” he said, his voice raspier now, just a hair off. “But I need confirmation by end of day.”

You swallowed him deeper.

His hand slid under the desk and into your hair. Not guiding. Just holding. Anchoring. Like he needed the contact to survive the storm you were pulling him into.

You sucked him slow and deep, your rhythm perfect, your tongue circling with precision. He tried to stay still. Tried to keep the mask on. But his thighs flexed, his hand trembled, and you could feel how badly he wanted to lose control.

Muted again.

“You keep going like that,” he growled, “and I’m gonna cum all over your tongue with three people still watching me.”

You moaned around him.

His cock twitched hard in your mouth.

“You like that?” he said, breath breaking. “Knowing they’re listening while you take me apart under the desk?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

Your mouth was too full, too busy wrecking him inch by inch.

He clicked unmute again, barely hanging on.

“Uh...yeah,” he said, voice rough, strained. “I’m good with that.”

No one on the call noticed. They had no idea what was going on beneath the camera.

But you felt everything. The way his muscles tensed, the heat building fast beneath his skin, the way his hips started to roll against your mouth, searching for friction he knew he shouldn’t chase.

Muted.

“Fuck. I’m gonna—”

And then he did.

He came with a stifled groan, hand clamped over his mouth, thighs shaking around you as his cock pulsed his hot cum against your tongue. You swallowed every drop, held him there, let him ride it out while he came completely undone.

The meeting ended with a quiet click.

And then silence.

His chest rose and fell. He looked down at you.

Eyes dark. Mouth parted.

“Get out from under that desk,” he said, “and bend the fuck over it.”

You didn’t even get the chance to stand.

Jensen grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you out from under the desk, his grip firm, possessive, not cruel, but firm. He was done pretending to keep it together. The moment that meeting ended, he snapped.

“You want to act like a little fucking distraction,” he growled, voice low and dangerous, “then you’re gonna take what you fucking asked for.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before he turned you around and shoved you down onto the desk. Papers scattered. Your hands hit the wood hard, legs trembling.

He didn’t undress you carefully. He yanked your pants down fast, rough, baring you completely, his palm dragging across your ass as he kicked your legs farther apart.

“Stay there. Don’t move.”

The warning in his voice was sharp enough to sting. He wasn't playing around any longer.

You heard the sound of his joggers hitting the floor, and then he shoved inside, thick and deep, in one brutal thrust.

You cried out, your hands clawing at the edge of the desk. He didn’t pause. Didn’t ask. Didn’t soothe.

He just grabbed your hips and started using you.

His pace was relentless, deep, pounding thrusts that sent the desk rattling under your body, your breath punched out of you with every slam. His fingers dug into your waist, holding you in place like he owned you. You are his.

“Thought you were so fucking clever, huh baby girl?" he snarled, fucking you harder. “Sitting under that desk, moaning around my cock while I’m trying to talk.”

You tried to answer but couldn’t.

He reached up, grabbed your hair, yanked your head back just enough to growl in your ear.

“You wanted my attention, yeah? Like the little slut you are," His hips slammed forward. “Now you’ve got all of it.”

You choked out a gasp, pleasure blooming fast inside you. Your body was already close, already raw and wet from everything before, and now he was wrecking you, ruining you with each punishing thrust.

“You’re dripping,” he hissed. “You fucking like this, huh? My fucking slut."

You nodded frantically, your voice broken. “Yes. God, yes—”

He smacked your ass hard.

“Louder.”

“Yes, Jensen—!”

His hand wrapped around your throat and pinned you flat against the desk, his body caging you in while he thrust deeper, angrier. His cock filled you completely, slamming into that spot that made you scream.

“Good girl,” he growled. “You don’t get to be quiet now.”

You came first, back arching, breath breaking, your orgasm crashing through you so violently your knees gave out. But he held you up. Fucked you through it.

And he didn’t stop.

Not until you were whimpering and pleading under him.

Only then did his rhythm falter. His grip tightened. A vicious growl ripped out of his chest as he came, hard, deep inside you, every muscle locked down as he emptied himself with a final punishing thrust that left you gasping.

Then silence. Just your bodies. Breathless. Sweat-covered. His cock still inside you. His hand still holding you down.

Then his voice, ragged and low against your ear.

“You want to pull that stunt again?” he breathed. “Next time, I won’t be this nice.”

A/N: I went to SPN NJ this past Sunday and I miss it so much. Jensen and Jared give such good hugs. Ugh I miss them.

tags: @animelucky @mystic-writings @magster196 @soldierboysdoll @caplanbuckybarnes @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @mostlymarvelgirl @waynes-multiverse @deanspookiebear @multiversefanfics @chevroletdean @skywalker0809 @winchesterwild78 @cas-is-my-angel7

[pieandflannel]

I'm in a Jensen Ackles community, and someone posted that they wanted a fic about the reader liking Jensen's hands. I love your writing and think you could do it justice. If this isn't something you'd want to do, you can ignore this. 😊

They also said they wanna be tagged, @/deanwinchestersgirl8734

౨ৎ ₊˚⊹ veins and vows

pairing: jensen ackles x fem!reader

summary: jensen catches you staring at his hands which gives him a cheeky little idea

cw: 18+ smut/fluff.ᐟ soft dom!jensen.ᐟ reader has a hand kink.ᐟ teasing.ᐟ praising.ᐟ breast & pussy play.ᐟ pre-established relationship [married].ᐟ jensen is a teasing menace.ᐟ

word count: 987

julia yaps: thank you so much @multiversefanfics for thinking about me it’s so sweet and considerate of you. i didn’t get much details about what you wanted so I hope this is okay

────────── 🤞 ──────────

“you’re staring sweetheart” said jensen with a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, his gaze focused on the script he was currently reading through.

you snapped out of your thoughts and went back to cutting the vegetables for dinner, your cheeks catching on a slight shade of pink, feeling flustered that he caught you staring at his hands. “sorry” you murmured.

but at least he couldn’t read your mind right? he couldn’t tell you were imagining his hands roaming all over your body in a meaningful and sensual manner, his big hand wrapped around your throat as with his other hand his fingers work you open, slowly, one finger then two, maybe three. his thumb circling your swollen clit.

he couldn’t tell you were thinking all that right?

but come on can you blame yourself? his hands are so pretty but at the same time so masculine, decorated with age, kissable freckles and veins, a watch on his wrist, tattoo on his thumb and a silver wedding band on his finger that represented his undying love and loyalty for you. you shamefully worshipped your husbands hands as if they were sculpted my michelangelo himself, and he secretly knew it despite you trying to hide it.

he glanced up from his notes and couldn’t help but smile softly as he noticed just how embarrassed you were at him catching you gawking.

an idea popped in his head, he cleared his throat, putting down all the papers onto the table and he stood up, taking his empty coffee mug and walking over to the kitchen counter. his walk was slow, almost like a predator creeping up on it’s prey.

you looked up and flashed him a smile before going back to focusing on not cutting your fingers off with the kitchen knife.

jensen put the coffee mug down by the drip machine, pressed the button to make more coffee and walked behind you, his broad physique towering over your smaller one. his front pressed up against your back.

he gently placed his hands on your hips and pressed a soft kiss on your cheek, then another one on your neck and lastly onto your shoulder.

“babe~” you let out a giggle as his beard tickled your delicate skin, your cute little giggle making him smile. he gently squeezed your waist before snaking one of his hands up your shirt, moving higher up, just below your bra.

your breath hitched slightly as you tried to focus on slicing the vegetables and not his hand placement, but jensen made it real hard when he sneaked his hand under your lace bra to cup your breast. his hand big and warm.

his other hand gradually shifting lower and lower, his fingers playing with the waistband of your shorts. “babe wha-what are you doing?” you managed to stutter out with a smile.

he hummed in your ear, a big smug smile on his face. “nothing” he replied with an innocent tone which you didn’t fall for. “mhm sure” you chuckled and playfully rolled your eyes.

his hand softly massaged your breast, his thumb brushing against your hardening nipple which made you let out a shaky breath. you had to put the knife down in order not to hurt yourself or him by accident. your lips parted as your breathing became heavier.

“you know what i’m thinking of right now?” jensen whispered into your ear, his breath tickling your neck which sent shivers down your spine.

“n-no?” you accidentally whimpered out. he couldn’t help but smirk at how worked up you seemed to already be.

his veiny hand suddenly leaving your breast and gripping you teasingly by the throat, his fingers wrapping round you deliciously.

“having my hand wrapped round your throat as my other hand plays with your pretty little pussy” his other hand sliding into your shorts and panties, his middle and ring fingers finding their way between your folds with practiced ease. “oh would you look at that, sooo wet, already?” he teased in a slightly mocking tone as he spread your arousal with his middle finger, using it as lube.

you gasped out as he suddenly brushed against your bundle of nerves, your hands weakly grabbing a hold onto his wrists which only made him chuckle. you tilted your head back, resting it on his muscular shoulder. his facial hair brushing against your temple.

his hand teasingly tightening around your throat as his thick digits circled your clit painfully slow, a soft moan slipping your lips. your eyes closing as your back arched leading to your ass brushing against his crotch. “j-jensen..” you breathed out his name like it was some secret.

“shhh shhh it’s okay sweetheart” jensen cooed into your ear, his fingers sliding up and down your slit. “just focus on my hands, in your panties and around your neck…you’re doing so good for me sweetheart” he praised, his words making you melt right there on the spot. he gave your cheek a soft kiss and continued to play with you.

as tension was building up in the pit of your stomach, your grip on his wrists became gradually weaker. jensen could tell that you were getting close by how your body tensed up underneath his touch.

then suddenly his phone started ringing, jensen couldn’t stop the small smirk forming on his face, he was waiting for this important call for a while now, knowing damn well he will leave you waiting, on edge and unsatisfied until later.

“i gotta get that, it’s important” he whispered with a smirk before giving you another soft kiss on the cheek and slowly pulling away, reaching into his pocket for his phone with one hand and licking off your arousal from his other.

“i’m not finished with you yet” he said, giving you a cheeky little wink before picking up the call and walking away into the living room.

thank you so much for reading! feedback and reblogs are always deeply appreciated <3

tags: @jensino @emeraldcrs @soldiersgirl @jensenacklesballsack @missus-ackles @littlesoulshine @deanswifeyy @slut4jackles @h8aaz @bittersweetfig @angelicjackles @losers-clvb @lyarr24 @cowboysandcigarettes @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @rositaslabyrinth @deanspookiebear @tinas111 @bejeweledinterludes @miss-marmalade @pinksatinpanties @multiversefanfics @cupidzbunny @sunnyteume @lunaleah

𑁥౿ check out my masterlist for other works!

♡ see this post to be added to the taglist!

© pieandflannel – do not plagiarise or repost any of my work!

© reserved for photo/gif owners!

© diver by @cafekitsune <3

[littlejoels]

honestly…road head with soldier boy is all i can think about lately (love all your works btw!!)

notes .ᐟ thank you babe ♡

the car jerks forward harshly, making you slam your hand against the dash, laughing and scared shittless. “what the hell was that?” you ask, bracing your palm against the dash, glaring up at him trying to look serious.

“i’m drivin’,” he growls, not looking at you, “you said keep it between the lines, so i’m keepin’ it.”

“you’re weaving like a drunk grandpa in a bumper car .. this isn’t a fucking tank.”

he lets out this deep, sexy grunt, “shit, maybe i’d do better if this piece’a shit had some real power under the hood .. this feels like steer’n a fuckin’ washing machine.”

you shake your head and let your fingers trace over his inner thigh again. his jeans were too tight, but you can already feel the bulge pressing under the zipper. he twitches when you press into it. “you need to learn how to drive like a grown-ass man,” you murmur, palming him harder, “and i figured you may need a little motivation.”

“this motivation involves me crash'n into a fuckin’ ditch?”

instead of answering him, you gently slide his zipper down. his cock strains forward the second there’s room. the moment the beast is out, you lean in to breathe across the head.

“eyes on the road, soldier,” you whisper, lips brushing him, “show me you can multitask.”

“fuckin’ hell,” he mutters, groaning low in his chest, “you’re gonna get us killed.”

“you’ve been blown up and buried, what’s one little blowjob while doing forty in a school zone?”

he barks a rough laugh, head thrown back against the seat for a second before he yanks it forward again, knuckles tightening hard on the wheel. “oh fuckin'—”

you hum as you wrap your lips around the head. gosh, he tastes amazing. his cock swells fast in your mouth, thickening against your tongue, and you sink lower inch by inch until your throat’s tight around him.

his voice comes out tight, “you know i killed a guy with a bayonet once .. stabbed him right in the fuckin’ neck.”

you pause, then pull off with a wet pop, blinking up at him. “why the fuck would you say that while your dick is in my mouth?”

he groans, breath shuddering. “fuck if i know. just—tryin’ not to cum in the first five gotdamn seconds.”

“try harder .. ”

you go back down on him without waiting, bobbing your head slowly letting spit build up so every stroke’s sloppy. he twitches, hips jerking once, and the car veers a little to the left. you suck harder, “fuck me—fuck me runnin’, that mouth—”

“you got any idea how many dirty fuckin’ dreams i’ve had about this? a pretty little mouth stretched over my cock while i try not to crash? i used to jerk off to shit like this in the barracks.”

you hum around him, gagging once when he thrusts up too hard. your hand shoots to his thigh to keep him steady and he grips the wheel harder, shoulders tense. “fuck, don’t you dare stop—feels too good. been waitin’ for this since that gotdamn diner when you bent over in that tight little dress and smiled like you didn’t know what the fuck you were doin’ to me.”

you choke a little, spit leaking from the corners of your mouth, dripping down his cock and your chin. “you fuckin’ knew. knew exactly what you were doin’. dressed like that, sittin’ pretty in the booth like a fuckin’ pin-up. and now you’re down there takin’ me like a gotdamn champ.”

you gag again, eyes watering, but you don’t stop. your hand jerks what your throat can’t take, quick strokes between each pass of your mouth. his cock pulses hard against your tongue and he lets out a ragged, distressed sound

“i swear to fuck, sweetheart—one more suck like that and i’m blowin’ this load all over your fuckin’ face. don’t test me.”

you pull back again, breathing heavy, drool stringing from your lips. “then cum .. but i’m not lettin’ go. you’re gonna have to crash before i pull out.”

he groans and thrusts up into your mouth again, harder. your jaw aches but you open wider, letting him fuck your throat in short, desperate pumps.

“take it—fuckin’ take it, mouth’s made for this shit—”

his hips jerk, his cock throbs once, then again, and hot cum floods your mouth in thick pulses. you choke but swallow it down, gagging once but refusing to let up until he’s done.

you pull off slowly, spit and cum smeared on your lips, and wipe it away with the back of your hand, looking up at him, as he still focuses on the road with red eyes and a heaving chest.

“so,” you say, voice scratchy, “how’s driving in the modern age feel now?”

he huffs, dragging a hand through his hair. “feels like i need a fuckin’ cigarette and a nap.”

you grin and nudge his leg with your wet hand. “you earned the cigarette .. but we’re hittin’ the freeway next.”

“jesus christ.”

he zips up, muttering something under his breath about you being the real weapon of mass destruction, but you can already see his cock twitching again through the denim.

he’ll get the hang of the road eventually, but not before you suck him off in at least two more intersections.

#tags below

@soldiersgirl @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze @bruisedfig @sunsbaby @ambiguous-avery @bocadelinfierno @sunnyteume @bejeweledinterludes @zepskies @k-slla @lunaleah @pieandflannel @liiiilsss @that-stanford-girlie @lanasgirlfr @angelicjackles @mostlymarvelgirl @nymphet-quenn @thesevnthseal

[wendichester]

Jensen ackles x wife!reader during conventions please? Fans record sweet moments between the both of them.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 caught on camera,

pairing. jensen ackles x wife!reader ( female )

wordcount. 416 genre. fluff

You're not supposed to be on stage.

You promised. Promised Jensen you’d stay backstage, hidden behind the curtain, “like a normal person” while he answered questions about monsters and music and the time Jared accidentally set a salt circle on fire.

But you made the mistake of laughing too loudly during a fan Q&A, and now he’s caught sight of you.

And it’s over.

Jensen's eyes flick to the side of the stage, and that lazy grin blooms across his face—bright and completely useless at hiding how gone he is for you.

The audience notices instantly. The girl with the microphone turns, sees you too, and gasps. “Oh my God, is that your wife?”

You start to shake your head, backing into the shadows like some kind of cryptid caught in the act. But Jensen just leans into the mic and says, “Babe. You might as well come up here now.”

There's cheering. Loud, enthusiastic, filming-on-their-phones cheering.

“You all are menaces,” you mutter under your breath as you make your way onto the stage.

Jensen’s already out of his chair. He meets you halfway with an arm around your waist and a kiss pressed to your temple, soft like muscle memory. “I told you they’d find you,” he murmurs.

“I told you I’m not the talent.”

“And yet, somehow,” he says, turning you toward the crowd, “they still love you more than me.”

Another round of cheers. Someone yells, “SHE’S OUR MOM NOW,” which gets a solid laugh from the whole room.

You sit in Jensen’s chair while he stands behind you, hands on your shoulders, thumbs gently stroking back and forth over the fabric of your sweater. It’s domestic. It’s unprofessional. It’s so adorable the girl with the mic literally forgets her question mid-sentence and squeaks into her phone camera, “They’re holding hands behind the chair, oh my God—”

Later that night, you’ll scroll through all the videos on TikTok. You’ll see clips of Jensen resting his chin on your head while answering a fan’s question. The ones of him looking at you while you’re not even paying attention. The one where you lean back and whisper something and he just laughs, nose scrunch and everything.

You’ll see the captions: “Get you a man who looks at you like Jensen looks at her.” “She’s literally his safe place I’m gonna cry.” “I’m not jealous you’re jealous.”

And Jensen?

He’ll just smile, tug you closer in bed, and say, “Told you. You’re the real star, sweetheart.”

ꔛ. all works ; writing guidelines ; support my work .ᐟ

[daylighted]

─ BITE THE PILLOW, dad's best friend ! jackles

jensen's been breaking a lot of his rules and traditions for a little more time with you -- and he's getting less and less inclined to care.

warnings. ( 18+ ! ) pls for the love of god don't interact with this series if you're a minor. hefty age gap. unprotected p in v. daddy kink. dirty talking. manhandling. he whimpers you're welcome. he actually pulls out this time good for him! aftercare. <3 word count. 4.6k

sneak into his room here!

SATURDAY NIGHTS AT YOUR HOUSE WERE always for one thing and one thing only: football. it was a tradition for as long as you could remember: the living room would fill up with your dad's rowdy friends, slinging ice cold beers back and forth from their spots on the couch, a mountainous pile of pizza boxes piling up on the coffee table.

some things never changed. your parents go apeshit downstairs over a sports game in the living room, you stay very far away from downstairs as long as you can.

not that you didn't show your support in some little ways. you avoided your family and their antics and the chaos of it, but you still wore the blue and white of the dallas cowboys; you weren't crazy.

it was one of those instances where you couldn't just avoid going downstairs, needing to eat something before the night wrapped up. you could only stay locked away in your bedroom with the sound of muffled shouting and drunken cackling through your bedroom door for so long.

"hey, sweetheart," your mom says the second you hit the bottom floor, which completely zilches the attempt you'd been making to get in and get the hell out without being noticed. "comin' to watch halftime with us?"

your face falls, exasperation dropping your jaw and leaving your mouth hung partly open. "it's only halftime?"

"sorry," she apologizes like she personally had a say in how long this game felt like it was stretching, which brings a little bit of a smile back to your lips. "your father started his little indoor tailgating party earlier since jensen's here for the weekend. that's probably why you thought it'd be over by now."

even better. jensen was in the other room, kicking the shit with your dad and uncle tom, probably drunk off of his ass. not that you cared what he did or got up to or anything, it just made the fact that you'd only thrown on one of your dad's old dallas cowboys jerseys on and nothing else a hell of a lot more interesting.

"is there any pizza left?"

your mom leans against the doorway from the kitchen to the living room, hand braced on the wall as she looks. "yeah, the top box at least has a few slices," she says, patting your shoulder warmly. "they've been talking about you."

you try your absolute best to pretend like that isn't a terrifying thought, what with who the three men in mention were. "why?"

"well, jensen asked about your studies, i think, and your dad and uncle couldn't help but start bragging on you." heartwarming as it was, you could only focus on one part of that explanation. jensen asked about your studies. after the conversation you'd had with him last night on the patio, you didn't think you liked the thought or reasoning behind that very much.

instead of pressing, you just smile at her. "oh, that's nice." it was, too, and it sucked that the only thing you could think about was how he'd use the fact that you were acing your classes without a blip on your record against you.

"go say hi to uncle tom," your mom urges, nodding you in the couch's direction, "he missed at your party when you ran off, wanted to congratulate you face to face."

you very much did not want to go say hi to uncle tom, since that meant being in close vicinity to jensen. sometimes, things were out of your control, like the fact that the reason you missed saying hi to uncle tom was because of the other of your dad’s visiting friends.

your little life was beginning to get big complications.

still, your say in the matter was naught, because your mother was nudging you in that direction already by your jersey-clad shoulders.

and there isn't any way that you can do this subtly, either, without more attention than necessary drawn to you, because you make it half a foot from the arm of the cream-colored couch your dad and his friends are spread out on, and uncle tom is on his feet.

"here she is!" he exclaims, like he hasn't seen you in weeks when, really, it'd just been a couple of days, if you counted your party. if you didn't, it'd only been a few months while you were away at school, and your dad provided you with many occurrences where he'd been with tom and he said hi.

uncle tom tosses his arms around your shoulders, tugging you tightly into his chest. he smells like beer and tomato sauce from the slice still held in his hand. he plants a big kiss on your forehead, and you can't even find it within yourself to be angry because of the dopey grin on his face when you pry yourself from his grip.

"didn't come say hi on thursday," he says, dropping back down onto the spot of the couch he took up space in, right next to an arm that you refused to look at who belonged to. you knew. that tattoo was pretty recognizable, unfortunately. "thought i pissed you off or something."

"no, i was just tired." the lies come easier now, which only makes your stomach churn just a little. you shouldn't have had to lie to your family about what you'd been up to, but you certainly weren't telling them that you'd been charmed by a devil to dance with him. "jetlag and all."

there's a reason he was your godfather. he looks relieved at that, like the prospect of you being easy on yourself and resting instead of talking to him two days ago was something he supported. he wouldn't if he'd known what you really were up to that night.

nausea churns in your gut, but you shove it down with force. the best you can do in this situation is avoid the man that'd caused it, which you were doing a wonderful job of doing.

"well," you say on a sigh, snatching the top pizza box with a little smile, very carefully dancing your eyes across the couch and skipping over jensen's in the middle, "i'm gonna go back upstairs, now. have fun with..." you wave your hand aimlessly at the tv screen. "that."

you can hear uncle tom's and your father's voices saying something, but everything is a blur outside of the tunnel vision you have for getting the hell out of there. the stairs are only a couple feet away, and you restrain from straight out running to them.

"hang on," you hear jensen mumble from the middle of the staircase, the clink of a bottle being sat down, "m'gettin' a call, i'll be back."

you literally could not move faster trying to slip into your bedroom and get the door shut before you had to cross paths. sure, he'd be on a call, but you purposely avoided his gaze entirely for a reason. he could keep up this facade with ease, but it was starting to weigh on you.

your door half-latches by the time his voice crests the top of the staircase, and you leave it, hoping he takes it as an invitation to bypass it entirely.

"yeah, i can come by monday," you catch from your spot in the center of your bed, pizza box haphazardly open next to you. you aren't even thinking about eating right now, not when you're so focused on making sure jensen walks past your room and goes to the guest one. "any time good? good."

there's a light tap on the other side of your door, and you're certain that you can feel the blood drain from your body. two more light taps, and the door pushes open slowly. jensen has his phone to his ear, a half-quirked grin on his mouth. "quick thinkin', ain't it?"

you blink your confusion. "what?" your lips mouth, not wanting to interrupt his call.

jensen flashes the blank screen of his phone at you for a second before pressing it to his ear again. "not a real call, pretty girl," he clarifies, the amusement evident in the lilt of his voice. "but you're real cute for bein' respectful about it."

the confusion melts away into exasperation. "you're ridiculous."

"you wouldn't look at me," he says, giving you an exaggerated pout that, just as fast, becomes indifference. "got a little creative."

"why?"

"don't play stupid, pretty girl," jensen steps fully into your room, closing the door behind him. the big fingers that dwarf his phone drop the facade, slipping it into his back pocket. "you're too smart for that."

you cross your legs beneath you, adjusting the end of your jersey over them — an action that jensen very blatantly tracks with his gaze. "you wanted me to."

"good girl," there's a part of you that's thankful he isn't examining your frozen-in-time high school bedroom, and another that wishes he had any indication that he wasn't just using you for a quick fuck while he was in town, because he bypasses everything to get to your bed, moving the pizza box over to the desk perpendicular to it, "and why do i want you to?"

your chin raises in defiance. "because you've been fucking me underneath your best friend's nose, and it's more fun for you to test the limits of that."

jensen's eyes flash with something, enough that his expression flattens, but that carefully constructed mask of indifference is back. "wrong." his weight sinks the edge of the mattress beneath him as he sits. "wrong twice, actually. c'mon, baby, don't make me spell it out for you."

you turn in the bed to face him, fingers folded in your lap. "how is that wrong twice? you are."

"i fucked you once." his smile is bitter and saccharine-sweet at once, a combination that almost makes you want to shrink away. you'd seen a couple sides of him before — the side that flirts with you and death at the same time and the side that pushes you and the limitations you've put on yourself, no matter how cruel it feels — but you've never seen the wolf that crowds you into a corner with his teeth bared. "i've just thought about it more than a few times."

his eyes are dark, the green swallowed by blown pupils that only serve to make him look more predatory. he leans over, his body looming over yours enough that you're forced to lean along with him, spine grazing the pillows behind your back.

"i want you to look at me," he whispers it like it was a secret, and from the look in his eyes, you didn't think he'd repeat them again, "because i wanna see those cheeks flush all pretty pink tryin' to pretend i haven't spread you open before."

you swallow thickly, unable to look away from him. he's got you held captive both in the cage of his arms he's put you in, and the intensity of his eyes. "you just wanna see me squirm. that's not fair."

"no, i want to see you scream my name, but we all can't have what we want." he tips your chin up with his index finger, caressing your jawline with the knuckle. "sometimes life ain't fair. sometimes you gotta take what you can get, when you can get it."

his expression shifts again, less predatory and more gentle, even though the dark of his pupils never pull back from their drowning of the green. "tell me to go away, and i'll go away."

and you should tell him to go away. this was becoming more of a pattern than you wanted it to be, bordering on a desperation that would do nothing in the end besides get one, or both of you, into deep waters you couldn't get out of.

but you think back to last night, how it'd felt to hear that so much of your life was kept in a tight-knit box, never straying loose from what was expected of you.

so you kiss him.

you kiss the taste of beer off of his lips, kiss the scratch of stubble that tickles against your own mouth, kiss him with your hands wound into the strands of his hair, tugging him down on top of you further so you could melt into the pillows behind you.

jensen doesn't hesitate to rise up onto his knees and move to lay over you, held up by one palm sinking into the springs of your mattress, the other pressed lightly against your chest, fingertips tracing lightly over your collarbones. it's just enough pressure to make you shiver, the callouses on his fingers leaving goosebumps peppered across your skin.

they slide down, down, down until they lift underneath your jersey and brush across the soft fabric of your panties. "i knew it," he laughs breathlessly against your mouth, hooking a finger into them and tugging, "naughty girl, prancin' around in front of me in just this."

"you weren't supposed to still be here," you say in answer, though it sounds weak in your mouth. everything sounds weak when he's pressed to you like this, daring you to open your mouth wide enough for him to invade it with his tongue.

jensen's palms flattened on your sides beneath the elastic of your panties, his fingertips pressed into the curve of your ass like he owns it. he probably does at this rate. you're so quick to melt into putty in his hands. "thank fuck i was, then," he rasps against your mouth, and then suddenly, you're on your stomach, your cheek resting into the pillows.

you don't even have time to process it, not before his hands are working so much more carefully than you'd expected from him, tugging down your panties. the cold air of your bedroom sends another wave of shivers down your spine when it breaches the newly exposed skin, wet with desire that never seemed to fade when you were with him.

jensen doesn’t waste any time, erasing any moment for you to feel vulnerable or nervous about your body being exposed — he licks a slow stripe up the slit of your folds, deliberate enough to make your toes curl into the thick muscles of his thighs.

"christ," he swears under his breath, closing his fingers around your thighs to pull you further against him. one of his palms moves to flatten on your spine, pressing it down until your back arches and pushes your ass higher into the air.

there’s the sound of a zipper and the shuffling of jeans behind you, and you writhe beneath him, a low mewl in the base of your throat. his laugh is breathless, breath ghosting over your ear as he bends down. "as pretty as you sound right now," he murmurs, his voice deep and gravely, "m’gonna need you to bite down on that pillow for me, baby girl."

you get two seconds to process the implications of that request before he slips into you, gliding effortlessly between your gushy tight heat. you understand instantly why he asks that of you when you gasp sharply, your mouth hanging open as it presses into the pillowcase.

"shh, what did i say?" jensen grunts into your ear, still sheathing the entire length of his thick cock between your tight walls. "c’mon, princess, what’d i say?"

"bite the pillow," you echo back to him, your voice wavering as he stuffs you full of him.

his fingers stroke through your hair, twirling the strands around his fingers affectionately as his hips start to rock. "good girl. you gonna do that for daddy? keep quiet for him?"

your fingers curl into the sheets, managing a nod despite the shudder that trembles like electricity through your veins. "mhm."

the hand in your hair gathers it into a ponytail and clutches it in his fist, tipping your head back. his lips graze your ear as he whispers, "doesn’t look like it to me. i wouldn’t push me, baby girl. i don’t know if you’ll like me mean."

it felt like a challenge, in its own way. he was still moving slowly inside of you, your fluttery walls stretching around him with each shallow, painstakingly slow movement. he’d chastised you for your blind obedience; did he want you to fight him on this?

you tip your head back to meet his gaze, a fire in your gaze that makes jensen grin wolfishly. you don’t say a word, but you hold the eye contact as you moan, a sound that makes his own green eyes flare.

"oh, you want daddy t’be mean, that it?" he releases your hair to push your upper back down into the mattress again, sliding his palm up to shove your head into the pillows. "always knew you were naughty, baby. someone’s gotta fuck that out of you."

you couldn’t move your face if you tried. each little noise you make in the back of your throat is muffled by the fluff of your pillows. only then does he start to quicken his pace, not as much as you want, but enough to make his heavy balls slap against the sensitive skin of your full cunt.

his one hand stays on your cheek, the other grips your hip, guiding you back against his shaft to take him deeper, hard enough for you to feel the imprint of his fingerprints in your thighs.

"you’re so goddamn tight," he hisses through his teeth, finally beginning to sound ragged and breathless himself, "i love your pretty pussy, baby, y'know that?"

you nod against the pressure of his hand, your fingers flexing at your sides after they'd started to go numb from how they'd clutched at the sheets. you'd been doing really good keeping the sounds to a minimum, but the faster he started to pump himself into you, the less inclined you were to try.

you didn't want to give into his request so easily, but you couldn't help it. your parted lips close around the fabric-covered pillow and you teeth clamp down on it, each moan and mewl from your mouth completely swallowed by the fluff inside of the pillow.

finally, his palm relents from your face, smoothing the back of his hand down the side of your face. "good girl," he murmurs, and he stops touching you and instead, grabs the polyester in his fist to jerk you harder down the aching length of his cock. each thrust is hard enough for you to push forward into the bed, deep enough for the tip of his cock to bruise your cervix.

your legs tangle around his behind you, and he shifts closer to you, making it that much more intense as he buries himself balls deep inside of you. "i'd stay inside you all fuckin' night, if i could," he pants behind you, rugged voice muffled by the soaked sound of him fucking into you, "don't got that kind of time though, do we? never have enough time for me to fuck you stupid."

you weren't so sure on that. every single time you'd been alone with him, you seemed to stop thinking entirely; obviously, considering you always ended up with some part of him inside of you. "m'not gonna last with you behavin' for me like this," he actually whimpers in the rough of his voice, the sound going straight to the ache between your legs, the building pressure of pleasure that you were so close to cresting over.

the pace jensen had set speeds up, and it's clear that he was just as close as you. you were bucking your hips against him, each noise in your throat getting more ragged and desperate. he releases your hip with his one hand, dropping it to clutch your fingers in his.

there are tears in your eyes when you finally reach your breaking point, stinging the corners. you barely manage to keep your mouth around your pillow as you cry out through the clench of your teeth, your legs shaking as he keeps going, keeps going, keeps going.

there was something raw about him like this, fucking into you with reckless abandon, enough so that his groans wavered into little whimpers. you're about to squeeze his hand to get him to stop, to slow, before the tears pooling in your eyes become overstimulated sobs, when he pulls out.

the feeling of the loss is immediate, almost as overwhelming as the feeling of his balls hitting against your clit, over and over. you gasp, lifting your head just in time to see him spilling in your previously discarded panties, the fabric fisted around his cock as white hot streaks seep through it.

jensen's eyes reopen after a couple of moments, a thin sheen of sweat coating his forehead, making the jersey he wore cling a little tighter to his arms and shoulders. he laughs, somewhat sheepish for how you usually see him, waving your panties like a white flag. "tryin' to be responsible." a joke followed by a curve of his lips.

"i'm gonna throw those away," you rasp, just as teasing as he was.

he raises an eyebrow, and you mimic the action right back at him. "i don't think you will," he hums, tossing them aside onto your hardwood floor. jensen crawls over top of you, all but crushing you under his weight as he looses a deep sigh. "jus' gonna stay like this for a minute."

"long call, then," you whisper into his ear, trying to shift underneath his heavier weight to get more comfortable. it was comforting to be so wrapped up in him.

he huffs a laugh, lifting his head to press his forehead against yours. "yeah. long call. i'll tell 'em downstairs i was talkin' to my bank or somethin' important."

his fingers brush across your cheek, tucking the strands back behind your ear. jensen leans in to press a kiss to your forehead, lips lingering for much longer than needed to be. it was this that kept you letting him into your room — the gentleness that only ever came in the aftermath, when you could believe you were more to him than just a convenient fuck.

"wasn't too rough?" he pinches your cheek affectionately, then brushes the pad of his thumb over the bone.

you shake your head, the smile on your lips lazy and sated. "no, but you're real cute for being respectful about it."

this time, his laugh is full and hearty. jensen sits up, reaching across your bedroom space to snatch the pizza box off of your desktop. "probably cold, now, but..." he settles back onto the backs of his legs, setting it between the both of you. "you should eat."

"mmm, not hungry anymore."

jensen shoves the box open, snatching a cold piece of pizza from it and shoving it in your direction. "mmm, don't care." he waves it adamantly until you take it with a dramatic huff. "you got a towel in here? lemme clean you up."

it was a striking difference to the closed-off jensen you'd gotten the first time you hooked up. he was on his feet, tucking himself back into his jeans as he genuinely searched your room for a towel or something.

you take a bite from the pizza slice, nodding toward your closet door. "it's my shower one," you feel the need to explain, though you don't really know why. you're not used to small talk with him. little details and small talk never really came up when you were together.

jensen grabs it and quirks a half-smile over his shoulder at you. "not anymore." his footsteps echo on the hardwood as he makes his way back to your bed. he hooks his fingers around your ankle and drags you closer to the edge of the bed, startling a gasp out of you, and nudges your legs open with his other hand. he wipes the towel gently up and down the inside of your thighs, glancing up at you through the short strands that fall in his eyes. "keep eatin'."

"you're distracting me." and he was. it was domestic, in a way, how gingerly he held your ankle and how careful he was with the towel between your legs.

jensen shrugs. "don't care," he repeats, though he follows it with a warm, teasing smirk, "keep eating or i'll start."

what kind of masochist were you if that sent a renewed thrill down your spine? jensen catches the sparkle in your eyes and shakes his head, tossing the towel in the same direction as your defiled panties. "you are becoming a little fiend."

you give him a toothy smile. "your fault."

"oh, my fault?" he leans in like he's going to kiss that smile, and at the last second, turns his head to steal a bite from your pizza. you gasp in surprise, laughter bubbling out of you before you can stop it. "i think i'm just pullin' the deviant out of you."

"you're pulling something out, alright," you shoot back through the fit of laughter, and he is utterly captivated by it. it makes you all too aware of how close he is, of each sweep of his eyes over your expression.

jensen leans in to kiss your forehead again, another lingering one that eases the slight tremor in your muscles still. "you'll be okay if i head back down?"

you don't want him to, and the grimace on his lips makes you think he doesn't want to, either, but you nod regardless. as he'd said before, the moments you had together were fleeting and weighted. "i'll run you a bath in the bathroom, when i head out. should be warm by the time you finish eatin'," he says, brushing your hair back out of your eyes, "and no one down there will hear the water runnin' for a few extra minutes over your uncle tom's damn shouting."

"he loves football," you say in his defense, ignoring every other bit of information he tells you so that you don't do something stupid like take it anyway else but face value. he probably wouldn't be like this again next time. there probably wouldn't be a next time. he had one day left at your house, and then he'd go back to wherever he lived, out of your life.

jensen's face falls at whatever is reflected in your eyes, and he kisses your cheek this time, the stubble tickling the skin around your lips. "you can come down after, if you want," he offers, pressing his forehead against yours. "i'll behave."

you smile, settled again from the bout of unease. "if i'm not too tired."

"i'll save you a seat."

jensen slips away, then, steps slow and reluctant like he was waiting for you to invite him back in, even though both of you knew he couldn't. he keeps the door gapped again just like you'd had it before his arrival with one last look over his shoulder at you, something unreadable and soft in his eyes.

moments later, you hear the water start to run in the bathroom at the end of the hall, and you smile to yourself.

maybe you lived as prominently in his head as he did in yours. maybe, you'd started to unravel the elusive mystery of his closed-off exterior, one day at a time.

notes | sigh i love them. they r everything 2 me. i am so excited 2 finally get this out of the drafts! ───ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤfeedback & reblogs appreciated <3 !!

tags | @soldiersgirl @seven7lee @deansbeer @titsout4jackles @winchestersbgirl @tinas111 @bejeweledinterludes @lonelylonelybaby @mourningthewicked @ultravi0lence14 @1-imbroglio @hughesinthebox @angels-silhouette @blossomingorchids @chris444evr @cassiecourtemanche @writtenbyhollywood @adrienneleclerc @losers-clvb @bluemerakis @fuckedupfate @legalmente-loca @k-slla @fxckingjo @blueschevy @fitxgrld @viluren @youdontknowe @sizzlingcheesecakepanda @cupidluvzz @lanasgirlfr @h8aaz @coralfacecrown @doublecrazyyymofo @1ghxstt1 @mahi-wayy @narniabusinessbitch @zqarax @angelicjackles @arcannaa @am0rem @sthefferrete @v1v1-3 @spxideyver @suckitands33 @beausling @pieandflannel @briisbananass @cowboysandcigarettes @deanswidow @aurevina

[thesilmarillionblog]

𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒

Summary: Though you don't really want to, Butcher persuades you to fuck Soldier Boy in front of him since he believes that your relationship is becoming duller by the day.

Pairing: Soldier Boy, Billy Butcher / Reader

Warnings: Dark Fiction!, +18! (MINORS DNI), smut, dirty talk, threesome, rough Soldier Boy, Butcher is a manipulative boyfriend , hair pulling, breath playing, kinda forced, established relationship, forced oral sex, multiple orgasms, reader is manipulated, overstimulation, porn without plot, a plot twist in the end

Word Count: 2709

A/N: English is not my first language.

This is for @anundyingfidelity. I love you and your stories, bestie.

You let out a loud gasp as you locked your legs around Butcher's hips, squeezing him till he hit your most sensitive spots. 

Sucking his lower lip, you used one hand to brush his thick beard and the other to nail his back in an attempt to stop yourself from moaning. 

"Don't hold yourself back, love," he smirked at you. Let me listen to those lovely sounds. You are free to be as noisy as you would like to."

You questioned, "What if he's listening?" and gasped softly as Butcher tightly gripped your nipple and squeezed one of your tits, causing you to scream.

He continued, firmly thrusting his cock inside your pussy, “Are you afraid he's jerking off right now to your moanings? He better be.”

You cried out, “Don't say such things,” as he began to fuck into you more and more inside of you. 

He spit in his palm and began to stroke your clit, muttering, “Why? Imagine him jerking off while watching us, getting hard watching your cunt railed by me.” 

“Screw you, Butcher. Shut up,” you said, hitting him fiercely on the shoulder as he attempted to make you scream once again. 

“The thought of you looking like this fucking drives me on so much. Are you okay with him watching us? Do you want to see your pussy full of my jizz as he watches you being fucked and cum in his hands? He must be beating his cock right now, hearing me filling your tight cunt.”

“No,” you said as you raised your hips in an attempt to match his tremendous rhythm. When he spoke to you in that manner, it was difficult to get off. “Cut it, Butcher.”

Despite your constant statements that you weren't into that kind of thing, Butcher was becoming more and more brutal with each stroke. This put your relationship on the brink, but you still cared deeply for him and found it difficult to please him at times, which left you feeling quite exhausted. 

Butcher roared, “Fuck, yes,” slowing down to take his time and enjoy the twisted moment. “Maybe I should let him watch next time or even join; let him fuck you raw.”

You managed to say, “I don't like it when you talk this way,” in between his embarrassing words. 

“Your body seems to like it, though,” Butcher remarked slyly. “Right now, your pussy clenches around my cock so well. Are you okay with him fucking you?”

“No,” you said, your eyes welling up with tears from his powerful hits, which were both pleasurable and painful. Even though you were so close, he was taking his time to enrage you. “All I want is you. The only person I want to fuck is you.”

Butcher turned you, pressing your face into the covers with a roar. You forced yourself to look away as he continued talking about really obscene things and becoming lost in his own fantasies, but his hand stopped you from speaking. 

“I'm going to let him fuck you and rail your tight cunt till he fills your pussy up, until you are ready for me to be filled. Is it okay if he spills inside your pussy? Would you rather be fucked by someone else in front of your boyfriend?”

His hand over your mouth prevented you from denying it and telling him to stop talking. Your eyes welled up with tears as you continued to scream into his palm as he began to pound into you quickly and violently. While your other hand was firmly gripping the sheets beneath you, you tried to get him to relax by holding his palm to your mouth, but he pressed it even harder. You were really close. 

“See your pussy's reaction to me. You need another cock so much. My girlfriend is such a big slut; I didn't know that.”

This time, Butcher moved his hand away from your lips and gave you a hard spanking on your ass cheek, nearly causing you to shout out in agony and pleasure. You moaned, “Please,” not really comprehending what you were pleading for. 

“Please what?” Excited, Butcher asked. He continued to stroke his cock inside of you while gathering and pulling your hair. “Tell me you want to be fucked by him. How much do you want to be fucked by him, huh? Imagine Soldier Boy sucking your cunt.”

With one forceful stroke, Butcher slammed his cock into your pussy just as you tightened around it, roaring as he began to come inside of you. You finally clutched around his cock, moaning as your orgasm hit strong because his triggered yours. 

“Fuck, love. That was good,” Butcher remarked, grunting as he removed his softened cock from your pussy. 

Your cheeks reddened as you straightened your skirt, pulling up your underwear and giving him a furious look. “You know I don't like it when you talk about threesomes or anything related.”

He murmured, “Come on,” embracing you in his arms as he lit a cigarette. “We haven't been together for fucking two years, and you're not interested in trying anything new. You are aware that our relationship is currently becoming a little monotonous.”

You questioned with shock and disgust, “Boring? We love each other. Is this not enough?”

“Love can't solve everything out, my dear.” Butcher planted a firmly planted kiss on your lips. “You need to be receptive to new ideas. You know, I wasn't aware that you were so old-fashioned-minded.”

You refused, blushing with shame. “I'm not,” you said. “But what if it ruins our relationship?”

“It fucking won't,” he murmured, running his fingers over your tender spot. “It will make our relationship even better than before.”

You asked, hoping that at some point he would change his mind because it was twisted as fuck and you didn't want another man to touch you: “Do you really want to watch me getting fucked by someone else though?” Not Soldier Boy, in particular.

“Is it not evident? I want to jerk off and watch your gorgeous pussy get filled up with another man's sperm while you scream and get fucked hard.” 

You sighed and reluctantly replied, “Okay.” A grin appeared on Butcher's face. He was shocked to see that, after weeks of trying, you were finally saying yes. “So be it.” 

A week later, with just the three of you living in the house, Butcher was fucking you with his fingers when Soldier Boy burst through the door, smoking some weed. 

When your eyes met his green ones, you wanted to press your knees together, but Butcher grabbed you firmly and murmured, “Don't be shy, relax,” as if it were natural and not at all awkward. 

Before giving you a sly grin, Soldier Boy sat on the closest chair and smelled the white from the desk in front of him. 

You made an effort to clear your head and concentrate just on the pleasure. You moaned in protest when Butcher stopped, leaving you on edge, just as your walls were about to tighten. 

He noticed and then said, “You're ready now,” whispering to your lips as Soldier Boy removed his shirt, his broad muscles in sight. 

After Butcher kissed you firmly, you put your knees together and sat in the chair that was very next to the bed, feeling a little uneasy. 

Soldier Boy whispered, “Let's see what your little girlfriend is capable of.” He worked his cock and pulled down his sweatpants. “Come here.”

He moved your body on the bed before you could respond, put his hand behind your back, and brought his cock to your lips. You assumed it would be limited to simple fucking. In your lengthy partnership, even Butcher had only ever fucked your mouth two or three times. Now, a stranger who you had never even fucked before was going to make you suck him. 

Before you could say anything, he slipped his cock between your lips, and your pulse was pounding in your chest. You gagged strongly, pressing your hands across his thighs to make him slow down. 

With a deep voice, Butcher said, “Suck him good,” stroking himself as he watched your eyes well up with tears from being fucked on the mouth. 

Soldier Boy moaned, “Use that mouth better,” and forcefully pressed his cock to your throat. It was difficult to swallow everything because it was so much larger than Butcher's. 

His hand stoked your hair as you palmed his testicles and squeezed him, all while using your tongue to satiate him and get him to release his grip. 

When you began to use your tongue and hands simultaneously, he groaned loudly. "Look at her eagerness. Desperately trying to make me cum in her mouth like a bitch.”

He halted your motion, grasped his shaft, and fixed your head in position. His precum was dripping from the tip, and his thumb hovered over the head of the cock. 

This time, he said, “Suck the head,” pressing the head between your lips once more. “Look at me.”

His salty precum covered your tongue as you sucked the head off his shaft and took a look at him. It tasted nasty and salty. similar to Butcher's. 

As he watched you suck Soldier Boy's hardness, Butcher remarked, “Fuck, you are so hot like this, baby,” and continued to stroke his dick. 

“Fuck, I'm about to cum; don't you fucking stop.” With a moan, Soldier Boy kept your head still. 

When he told you he was getting close, you attempted to back off. After all, you've never been fond of the taste of sperm. 

Butcher remarked with a cunning smirk, “She doesn't like it to be spilled in her throat. You may, however, spill over her face. She finds it more appealing.”

“Do you take permission when you fuck her mouth and are about to cum?” With a single, hard thrust, Soldier Boy laughed and plunged his cock deep into your throat. His legs continued to push against your hands, which were trying to stop him before he reached your mouth, and your eyes began to well up with tears. “Relax your throat or it will be harder for you.”

When he groaned and began to fuck into your mouth, pushing it all the way down and spilling, filling your lips with his thick, white ropes, you kept moaning in fear. “Swallow it all.”

“Yes, fuck,” Butcher groaned out. "You're so fucking hot like this. Allow him to fill that lovely mouth."

You followed his instructions, and when he finished spitting inside your throat and you gasped, he pulled his cock out of your lips.

Soldier Boy pushed you to the bed and stated, “Not bad, but it can be better,” preventing you from catching some air.

He immediately inserted two fingers into your pussy and groaned, “Fucking slut. You are very wet. Look at you. Is it pleasant to get face-fucked by someone else in front of the one you love?”

“No,” you replied, trying not to break down too soon and astonished at how already wet you were. You were incredibly close. 

“You adored it to the hilt. Perhaps you enjoy being forced? Did you enjoy being dominated?”

This time, you didn't respond, and as you rode your climax, your walls constricted around his fingers, causing your lips to separate in pleasure. You moaned so loudly that it caused Butcher to experience an orgasm as well. 

“Fuck, sweetie.” He said, “I knew you would like it,” as he approached you and observed Soldier Boy continuing to finger your pussy. You wanted him to slow down, but he kept forcing his fingers inside, even though you felt oversensitive and your legs were shaking. 

With a “Now it's time for real fuck,” Soldier Boy turned to face you and gave you a spank to your ass behind you. 

Soldier Boy moved behind you, pumping his hardness a little harder, and Butcher took himself in hand again.

When Soldier Boy shoved his cock inside and Butcher groaned, “Look at me when he fucks you,” you closed your eyes. 

When you opened your eyes, you saw him stroking himself while he watched you get railed by another man.

You were momentarily out of breath when Soldier Boy began to fuck you raw and hard while holding your hips tightly. His balls were slamming against your clit and making nasty noises while he was hissing behind you. You bit your lip to stop yourself from moaning, but as soon as he began to quickly stroke your most sensitive area, you began to scream with both pleasure and pain.

Soldier Boy growled, “You fucking shameless slut,” and he hurried to get behind you. “Look at your guy as he takes himself in hand while I'm giving you a raw fuck. You enjoy being taken on by a stranger so much, don't you? You tightly clasp around me. Fuck it. From now on, I will fuck you every day.”

He forced your head into the covers, causing you to gasp for air while he continued to pound into you. You tried to get a breath, but you were powerless against his strong grip. 

He grinned and added, “Cum around my cock or I'm not going to let you go. Cum around my cock while your boyfriend watches you getting railed.”

You clenched around him, desperate for air, and with a silent groan, you stepped around him. His strong hands made you tremble, and your climax lingered longer than expected, much to your surprise. 

“This is how you fuck your woman,” Soldier Boy declared. “By stopping fucking taking permissions and giving what her slut body needed.”

Butcher got to the bed with a roar, and you found yourself on top of him. “Come here, baby.”

Your eyes widened in horror as Butcher shoved his cock inside your pussy while Soldier Boy was still inside of you. You trembled and whispered, “It's not possible.”

Your ass got spanked by Soldier Boy, who moaned, “Fucking shut up.”

You clasped your hands around Butcher's arms and screamed as their huge cocks were shoved in your pussy. 

“You're so gorgeous like this, taking our cocks so good,” Butcher murmured when he simultaneously began to fuck you and so did Soldier Boy. 

To press your pained moans, you started to kiss Butcher while Soldier Boy kept soaking and insulting you as he fucked you from behind.

“Such sluts like you have to be fucked exactly like this. For you, one cock is never enough. See your body's reaction when you take two dicks at once. You're encircling me with clamps and fucking leaking.”

Butcher moaned, “Keep going,” as he gave you short, hard strokes. 

Soldier Boy muttered, “Gonna fill you up, baby,” and gently bit your neck while speaking in your ear. 

Soldier Boy moaned as he fucked you with Butcher, and with one last blow, he began to spill inside of you, causing Butcher to have another orgasm. This continued until Soldier Boy humiliated you with words in every way possible. 

With a loud gasp, you clamped around Butcher and continued to kiss him passionately. 

Soldier Boy moaned, “Oh fuck,” as he continued to spill his thick white ropes inside of you and kissed the back of your neck firmly.

Check my MASTERLIST for more!

Turning your back to him, you kissed him on the lips passionately and said, “That was so good, baby.”

[wchswift]

── 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

pairing! soldier boy x fem!reader

→ summary! ben decides to reverse the roles a bit and destroy you instead. part 2 of "tied him down to my queen bed." → contents! established relationship, no plot just porn, rough sex, power play, dom!soldier boy, degradation, orgasm denial, edging, overstimulation, dirty talk, explicit language, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!!), praise & degradation kink, possessiveness, cocky/bratty dynamics, teasing, fingering, choking (light), masturbation (teasing/control), really filthy lol. mdni 𖤐 18+ !! → word count! 1.8k

The sound of the ropes snapping is barely audible over the pounding in your ears, over the sharp inhale you take when Ben lunges forward. One second, you’re in control—smug, taunting, playing your little game. The next, you’re flipped onto your back so fast the air is knocked from your lungs.

His weight presses you down, thick hands pinning your wrists above your head, the same way you had him. His grip is bruising, ironclad, his forearms flexing as he cages you in.

"Thought you were real fuckin’ cute, huh?" His voice is low, rough, dangerous. "Gettin’ me all wound up, keepin’ me on edge, makin’ me beg?" His lips curl, a smirk full of sharp teeth. "Well, sweetheart, now it's my turn."

You swallow hard, but your cunt clenches at the raw fury in his voice, at the way his body is pressed tight against yours, hot and hard and so fucking big.

"Look at you," he sneers, shifting his hips so the thick length of his cock slides against your slick folds, teasing. "You love it, don’t you? You love bein’ a fuckin’ brat. Love pissin’ me off just to see what I’ll do to you."

You gasp when he rolls his hips again, the head of his cock nudging against your clit, sending a shockwave of pleasure through you. Your thighs twitch, trying to press together, but he grips your knee and forces you open, spreading you wide beneath him.

"Not so cocky now, huh?" he murmurs, dragging his lips along your jaw, his breath hot and heavy. "Now that you’re the one tied down? Where is that dominant woman?"

You want to snap back, want to play it cool, but when his fingers slide down your stomach, teasing over your swollen clit, all that comes out is a breathy, pathetic whimper.

His smirk widens.

"That’s what I fuckin’ thought."

And then he pulls back.

You blink up at him, dazed, breathing hard. He sits back on his heels, still straddling you, looking down like he’s got all the time in the world.

"Here’s what’s gonna happen, sweetheart." His voice is slow, deliberate. "You’re gonna touch that pretty little pussy for me."

Your breath catches.

His hands slide down his own torso, abs flexing as he strokes his cock—slow, lazy, teasing himself the same way you did to him.

"Come on, baby," he murmurs. "Wanna see you spread yourself open for me. Wanna watch those pretty fingers play with that sloppy little cunt."

Heat floods through you, your face burning, but fuck, the way he’s looking at you—eyes dark, lips wet, chest rising and falling with every heavy breath—it’s too much.

Your hand trembles as it slides down your stomach, fingers parting your folds, dragging through the slick that’s pooled there.

"Good girl," he praises, his voice like gravel. "Now rub that clit for me. Nice and slow."

You obey, gasping when your fingers make contact, circling that swollen bundle of nerves. Your hips jerk slightly, chasing more, but his voice is sharp.

"Ah-ah. Slow."

You whimper, forcing yourself to keep the pace light, teasing, exactly how he wants.

"Shit," he groans, fisting the base of his cock, stroking once, twice, watching you like a predator watches prey. "Look at you. Drippin’ all over yourself. So fuckin’ needy."

Your fingers work over your clit, but it’s not enough. Not nearly enough. You squirm beneath him, biting your lip, your free hand gripping the sheets.

"Look at you," he murmurs, eyes locked on your hand between your thighs. "So desperate to cum, huh?"

"Please," you whisper, barely able to form the word.

He laughs—low, dark, cruel.

"Oh, sweetheart," he drawls, still slowly jerking his cock. "You’re not gonna cum."

Your stomach clenches.

"Not until I say so."

You whine, thighs trembling, fingers still working your clit, but the ache, the need, is unbearable. Your body is screaming for more, for relief, but he just watches, smirking, stroking himself like he has all the time in the world.

"You’re so fuckin’ pretty like this," he muses. "All spread out, soaked, beggin’ for it." He tuts, shaking his head. "Should make you do this all night. Make you edge yourself until you’re fuckin’ cryin’ for me."

Your breath stutters, your thighs twitching at the filthy promise in his voice.

"Maybe I’ll just watch," he murmurs, voice thick, gaze hooded. "Maybe I won’t even fuck you. Just make you do all the work while I sit back and enjoy the show."

Your fingers falter, and you make a pathetic little noise, somewhere between a whimper and a sob. Your body is shaking, your pussy clenching around nothing, your entire being screaming for him.

"Please," you gasp, your voice breaking. "I—I can’t— fucking do something already..."

He exhales sharply, jaw clenching, his grip tightening on his cock. You can tell he’s barely holding himself back, barely restraining the urge to rip your hand away and shove his cock inside you.

Finally, finally, he leans down, his breath hot against your ear.

"That’s enough," he growls. "Get your fuckin’ hands off my pussy."

Your fingers still immediately, and he grabs your wrist, pinning it above your head before pressing his weight down on you again, his cock nudging against your entrance.

"You want it, babydoll?" His voice is rough, shaking slightly. "You want this fuckin’ cock?"

"Yes," you sob, body arching against him, desperate beyond words.

"Then beg for it."

“Fuck Ben,” you gasp, voice breaking, wrecked with need. “Please, I need you, I need your cock—”

Soldier Boy laughs, low and rough, like gravel in his throat. He knows how sweet you are playing to get what you want. He knows you. “That’s all you got?” His fingers tighten around your wrists, keeping you pinned beneath him. His cock slides against your drenched folds, teasing, dragging through the slick mess you’ve made of yourself. “Come on, sweetheart. You can do better than that.”

You writhe beneath him, helpless, thighs twitching every time his cock nudges your clit. The teasing, the denial—it’s too much, it’s too fucking much.

“Please, I—I can’t take it anymore—”

“Oh, you can,” he growls, dragging his teeth down your throat, sucking a bruise against your skin. “I made you like this. So fuckin’ desperate. So fuckin’ soaked.” He grinds against you again, slow and torturous, letting you feel every inch of him. “You love it.”

You whimper, hips jerking up, trying to take him in, but he pulls back, again, leaving you aching, throbbing, empty.

"Beg better," he orders, gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him. His pupils are blown, his jaw tight, his cock twitching against you. You can tell he’s barely holding himself together, but fuck, he loves this. He lives for this.

"I—fuck—" Your brain is a mess, nothing but white-hot need burning through you. "I'm aching for you, baby, to finally feel you, I need you inside me, I want you to stretch me open, use me, fuck me—please—"

"That’s more like it."

And then, finally, finally, he lines himself up and shoves inside you with one brutal thrust.

You scream.

It’s too much, it’s perfect, the stretch burning so fucking good as he buries himself to the hilt, filling you up, splitting you open. His cock is thick, heavy, pulsing deep inside, and your walls squeeze around him, desperate to keep him there.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, voice wrecked, forehead dropping to yours. "So tight, so fuckin’ tight—"

You whimper, nails digging into his shoulders, and he doesn’t wait, doesn’t give you a second to adjust before he moves.

The rhythm he sets is brutal, merciless, hips slamming into yours, his cock hitting deep, over and over and over. Every thrust knocks the breath from your lungs, drives the air from your body.

"That's what you wanted?" His voice is a growl, lips brushing against your ear. "Wanted me to ruin you?"

You can’t speak, can’t think, can only sob out broken moans as he fucks you like he’s trying to break you. His weight presses you down, keeps you helpless beneath him, makes you take it.

"Fuckin’ brat," he snarls, hand closing around your throat, not squeezing—just holding, making you feel how small you are beneath him. "Think you can tease me, tie me up, make me beg?"

His pace somehow gets rougher, more punishing, skin slapping against skin, sweat dripping from his chest onto yours.

"Ah, you fucking loved it and I know." you managed to speak, your voice hoarse and strangled.

"Still cocky, huh? This fucking mouth" He bites your jaw, licks the sting. "But what happened to the rest of that attitude?"

You try to speak, try to say anything, but all that comes out is a whimper.

"That’s what I thought," he grunts, grinding his hips deep, making you scream. "Nothing but a dumb little fucktoy now, huh?"

The words send a fresh flood of heat straight to your core, and he feels it, groaning when your walls squeeze around him.

"Yeah," he breathes, lips curling into a smug, wicked smirk. "You love it. Love bein’ my fuckin’ toy."

You nod, brainless, lost in him, lost in the way he’s tearing you apart, making you his.

"Say it," he orders, voice sharp, grip tightening on your hips.

"I—fuck—I love it," you gasp. "Love being your—your fucktoy—"

"Good fuckin’ girl," he praises, and your whole body burns.

"But you— you love being my toy too." you finish, still teasing. A proud smirk appeared on your blushed and full of pleasure face.

He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. Letting that one slip because, fuck, you're right. Then his hand slides down between you, finds your clit, and rubs harsh, tight circles.

"Come for me," he orders, his voice lethal. "Make a fuckin’ mess on my cock."

It’s not a request.

The pleasure slams into you like a freight train.

You scream, body locking up, pleasure tearing through you like a live wire. Your vision goes white, the world disappearing as your orgasm destroys you, rips you apart at the seams.

Soldier Boy fucks you through it, grunting as your walls spasm around him, milking his cock, pulling him deeper.

"Fuck—fuck, baby, I’m—" His rhythm stutters, turns sloppy, desperate, until he snaps, burying himself to the hilt and growling as he spills inside you.

You feel it, dear God, you feel it, the heat flooding deep, his cock twitching as he pumps you full, branding you from the inside out.

He collapses on top of you, heavy, breath ragged, heartbeat pounding against yours.

For a long moment, neither of you moves, both wrecked, used up, panting in the aftermath.

Then, finally, Ben chuckles, voice still rough.

"I think we should do this more often, doll. But next time you wanna tie me up, oh sweetheart…" He lifts his head, smirking down at you, eyes dark, wicked. "You better make sure I can’t break free."

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

⛥ main masterlist.

lina's notes: helloo!! sooo here's part two... no cliffhanger this time lol. you guys asked me so much and I hope it's as good as part one and doesn't leave anything to be desired yk. also, I just realized I hit 470+ followers AND THANK YOU SO MUCH I APPRECIATE IT SO SO MUCH AND LOVE YOU ALL, so I decided to post this as a 400 followers thank you 💜👯

tags: @blossomingorchids @rositaslabyrinth @cowboysandcigarettes @soldiersgirl @bluemerakis @h8aaz @bruisedfig @sapphic-destiel @deansfavorite @mostlymarvelgirl @jbsgirl4ever11 @kimxwinchester @bleuatlas @strawbeepop @amazingphil @tinas111 @jasvtscrecs @maddie0101 @bejeweledinterludes @starzify @inbred-eater @losers-clvb @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @pieandflannel @mostlymarvelgirl @jbsgirl4ever11 @kimxwinchester @bleuatlas @strawbeepop @amaris444 @tinas111 @fuckedupfate (let me know if you want to be added or removed <3)

[bluemerakis]

────────── ᝰ bluemerakis ༝༚༝༚ ───

❝ memory foam ❞

─ ۶ৎ ─

pairing ୨୧ soldier boy x fem .ᐟ reader

synopsis ─ soldier boy teaches you how to roll a blunt and then makes you hold it between your lips while he fucks you into insanity. just filth honestly bc this man is filthy and i love it

warnings .ᐟ cussing, light misogyny throughout (i mean,, come on), v light dirty talk, masturbation f receiving, hair-pulling, grinding, edging/overstimulation, spanking, fingering, unprotected sex p in v. i feel like these warnings have y’all opening this fic with a therapist on speed dial. if i forgot anything pls lmk!

word count ~ 7.3k (this was supposed to be a drabble 😀)

──────────────────────

Lithe trails of smoke crept over the horizon of your laptop screen, which called your attention toward Ben’s seated figure at the small, rounded table near the kitchen. You reached to lower your laptop screen an inch—just enough to properly reveal the schemes unravelling beneath your boyfriend’s hunched over frame. You didn’t doubt that he was currently unravelling some recent haul of self-indulgent narcotics because as much as you loved your severely traumatised, addict boyfriend, he didn’t have any other tasteful way to pass time. Well, when he wasn’t ploughing you into the mattress and pummelling your senses into an otherworldly abyss of pleasure, of course.

Ben had slipped into the apartment an hour ago with that dubious, white plastic bag in clutch—no print to identify any luxurious takeaway you’d have killed to plunge into your gurgling stomach. You’d been tempted to ask about it then, but he’d entered with such a thick swathe of broodiness cramping his brows that you’d laid off the interrogation entirely. Though, just by stealing a single glance of the bag in its own, unassuming simplicity, it could have branded itself as some sketchy stash of drugs he’d picked up from one of his regular dealers on the way home.

You honed in on the man of the hour, your unflattering nosiness taking the cake on the mental debate of whether or not you should interfere with Ben’s activities. It was a debate that had never happened to begin with because meddling in anything and everything that he did was practically your brand—no questions asked. You’d once called it a loving obsession, but Ben had called it a hounding cock block on his highs. You’d been quick to rebrand your pestering of him as your own guilty addiction, and he hadn’t had much to say in response to that. He had his addictions, and you had yours—him. Oh, he so must’ve regretted accommodating you into his life.

Your boyfriend’s sharp features were currently kneaded into a focused frown, his head tilted down to where he emptied out the plastic packet onto the table. Your chin perked with sly interest, no further surprise to be unwrapped when you glimpsed a sprawl of paper and herbs. Drugs, as expected, but nothing nearly as hard as his usual indulgences. Your attention flickered up to the blunt currently clutched between his lips—the bane of your existence—before you lowered your focus back down to the table, where his busy hands alternated between segregating the devious mess and popping out his smoking stick to dispel a pull.

You didn’t need to squint hard to confidently label said herbs as weed—once the distinct scent left his lips to shroud the modest apartment and assault your sensitive nose, it was a dead giveaway. You’d never been much of a fan of smoking to begin with, and weed might’ve been the rankest pick of it all, but it’s something you’d gradually grown tolerant of. It’s not like you had much of a say in the matter, anyway, given that your boyfriend had his lips wrapped around a cig almost as often as he had them wrapped around you. It was a relationship that had existed long before yours, so who were you to complain, really?

Besides, this was his apartment, which meant that his guilty pleasures were anything but your business. And you doubted that your complaint would manage a graze of his ears before his cock would plug your lips to shut you the hell up about it. He didn’t much like when you had an attitude about his aforementioned hobbies.

“Ah, shit!” Ben exclaimed angrily around the blunt’s body—a muffled sound that banished smoke from his pursed lips. You watched as he tossed aside the plastic packet, seizing his tempter by the throat as he thudded his palm against the table. “Fuckin’ dickless prick sold me short,” he grumbled to nobody in particular, releasing the blunt for a disgruntled exhale before his lips took to it once more like his next, dire breath.

You plugged your lips at his temper tantrum, throttling a chuckle you knew would be severely misplaced during this fit of his. You couldn’t help it, though. Ben loved to pretend that he was ‘man enough’ to be unbothered by trivial things, but it never took much to get under his skin. The irony was so palpable that you could’ve poked and prodded at it with ridicule. “What’re you doing?” You called to him with an accentuated chirp to your tone—you’re curious, oblivious, not probing.

Ben’s eyes lifted from the table for a second to glance in your direction, where you sat comfortably cushioned against the headboard of his bed. His glare hovered for a few measly seconds, holding no adoration at this particular time. It made you utter a mental damn. At most, he’d give you a wink or a scheming narrowing of his eyes that spoke all sorts of dirty he’d have loved to work you through. But he merely turned back to the task at hand, freeing the blunt from his tightly-wrung lips.

Yeah, women are the moody ones, you remarked mentally. What a chuckle-fest.

The supe gave a hefty exhale, smoke streaming out in a slow gust that told you a somber story of a shit-filled day. His whole demeanour was off-put. A good girlfriend would’ve asked him about it, but a smarter one—like yourself—knew err on the side of caution. You’d long since learned not to pester him about his emotions because, to quote Ben: ‘only pussies hold hands and waste daylight wailin’ about this ‘nd that. Me? I ain’t strokin’ anybody’s cock with some me too bullshit. You gotta act the man and suck it up.’

Yeah, you weren’t going to open that can of worms again.

Without sparing you another glance, Ben jerked his head in your direction. “Get over here,” he demanded distractedly. “It’s ‘bout time I teach ya the hustle o’ this shit.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll leave the lung cancer to you,” you poked light-heartedly, but you shifted your laptop aside to scamper across the mattress regardless. Unfortunately, you were the type to spend any given chance at your boyfriend’s side, and it didn’t matter how trivial the activity was—it was all about the quality time. Ben was overly tolerant of your clinginess, so much so that you almost thought he enjoyed the attention more than you did. But that wasn’t anything he’d ever admit to, were it true to begin with.

You ambled across the open-plan apartment towards his smoke-enveloped figure, and upon reaching the table, you pulled out the chair opposite him to take up his company. All the while, Ben’s attention remained fixed on his concoctions, never once straying from the table to acknowledge that you’d joined him.

“Why would I need to know how to do any of this, anyway? You know I don’t smoke,” you asked once you sat yourself down, hand swivelling through the air to disperse the suffocating haze of the weed, lingering under your nose like an intoxicating fart. You watched his free hand sort the dried and shredded weed into evenly-sized piles with one of your ancient loyalty cards—a card you’d lost a few weeks back. The bastard must’ve nicked it from your purse. And knowing him, he’d probably used it for plenty more than sorting weed.

“No,” he agreed, “but I do. Besides, it’s somethin’ every fine woman such as yourself oughta know. It’s not usually what women waste their time learnin’, but I’m sure I could have ya mastering this shit in no time. You’re a surprisingly quick learner,” he murmured busily, pausing only to secure the blunt between his lips once more.

You didn’t know whether to feel offended at that observation, or to accept it with the knowledge that Ben didn’t usually hand out compliments—even backhanded ones—outside of, well, being inside of you. You dismissed the thought with a flick of your eyes, but soon, you were drawn to his face once more. You could have grown jealous with the amount of time his lips spent wrapped around that paper-wrapped crap, but you’d long since laid off the visuals. He enjoyed your pouting way too much—always finding a way to ridicule you for it.

“Why the sudden insistence that I learn this crap?” You asked.

After a deep pull, Ben retrohaled the smoke off to the side, conscious not to direct it onto your intolerant senses. “Cause it sure hits the spot when your girl can slip you a win after the day’s been a fuckin’ ball-buster,” he mumbled.

“Or,” you countered, head tilting with a pretence of consideration as you watched him sort the piles of weed into small plastic bags. “Here’s a thought—and just humour me, would you? You could make yourself one,” you finished, hands coming forward to fold onto the table as your eyes flickered up to Ben expectantly.

He lifted his head to fix you with peeved eyes, the card’s rim stilling against the last herded pile of weed as his free hand plucked the stick from his lips. “The hell you think I been doin’ all this time?” He challenged pointedly. The blunt’s ignited end pulsed with heat—as if to emphasise his words. “Is it too much to ask that you fix me a goddamn escape after a long fuckin’ day?”

“It is in that tone, Mister,” you scoffed, leaning yourself across the table in an attempt to pluck the blunt from his fingers, but he was quick to catch you at the wrist. Your lip quirked at the force with which he restrained you, your eyes slurring up to his with a heavy, seductive whisk of your lashes.

Ben always caught the intention behind your every act of defiance. He enjoyed it, even, despite the permanent hint of dour in his expression. “Hands off my shit,” he warned, his pretty green eyes drilling into yours to emphasise his point. “Don’t make me fuck the nerve right outta you—you know better.”

You took your lower lip into an amused bite, enjoying the way you so easily seemed to rile him up. Yeah, your boyfriend was a Supe, but it was moments like this that made you feel like you held all the power—and you revelled in it. ‘Nobody controls me’, your ass. You had Ben wrapped around your finger. He knew it, too, he just wouldn’t admit it because what man wants to admit that he’s pussy-whipped? No, he’d rather bathe in denial by fucking you senseless each night, smothering your head into the sheets and coaxing his name from your foul lips so that he felt he had some semblance of control over the way you made him feel.

You succumbed to his possessive grasp, leaning your body further across the table as your head tilted in cheek. “Do I know better?” You absolutely did, and so did he. But part of the fun—part of what made this dynamic between the two of you so riveting, is that you pretended to act stupid, and Ben eagerly indulged it as an opportunity to condescend you and further inflate his toxic ego. And something more.

The supe’s lip quirked in amusement as he glared you down, but the sentiment didn’t reach high enough to mould his eyes into kindness. “Gonna play it like that, hm?” he murmured, bringing the blunt back to his lips before he leaned further into your proximity, his lips brushing against yours with the tease of a kiss. But he didn’t follow through with his unspoken promise. Instead, his lips parted only to huff the smoke directly into your face.

Your nose scrunched at the scent, your free hand lifting from the table to shoo away the smoke. “Ben!” You protested, but his grip on you didn’t budge until the intrusive fog thinned out into the rest of the room. You gave a light cough at being a forced second party to his smoking, and that’s when he finally released your wrist—more like discarded it in a careless toss. You retreated with a huff and sat yourself back down. “Dick!”

“Pussy,” he retorted through a shit-eating smirk, but he quickly came to realise that the amusement was wholly one-sided when he glimpsed your ruffled brows. There were very few times you could have convinced him that his actions weren’t funny. “Ah, come on,” he drawled, attention lowering back to the weed as he suckled on the smoking stick once more. “You know ya love it,” he mumbled.

“Oh, bite me,” you murmured lightly, crossing your arms as you watched him continue his work. You could have chosen to pout a little longer, but you’d have been naive to settle down with somebody like Ben and not expect him to pull a nasty stunt now and again. Besides, you did like him mean. The subtle glow that beamed briefly within the crook of your thighs was testament to that.

“You ever roll a blunt before?” Ben muttered, eyes downturned to where his hands began prepping an irregularly squared piece of paper. The question was sheer stupidity—so much so that you felt the the weight of the frown on your brows as you parted your lips to answer him with far too much eager spunk. But Ben pulled the cancer stick from his lips and interjected without missing a breath.

“Just pullin’ your leg—‘course ya haven’t. As far as I’m concerned, you’re the fuckin’ Mother Reverend of the Church of Holy Smokes.” At that jab, his eyes lifted to yours with a smugness that wound his lips thin.

You gave a dismissive roll of your eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” you hummed, your arms unfolding to rest your hands against the table. “You can keep shitting on me, Benjamin, but let’s not forget just how ancient you are. Once your light’s snuffed out, old man, maybe—just maybe, I’ll consider learning how to smoke, and it’ll be your ashes I probe in that damn ashtray.” Oh, how the roles would reverse.

Ben neglected the piece of paper he’d been gripping and straightened himself from the table. He leaned back into his chair with a gruff chuckle, his gaze raking you over with a light air of amusement. He plucked the blunt from his lips and hovered over the table as he gave a compliant cock of his head—a gesture that said, yeah, I could get behind that.

“Just make sure you put the tray somewhere I can get a good view of your ass,” he retorted with a brisk wink before he pressed the cigar’s inflamed nose into the ashtray loitering beside his hand. “And the tray better not be this ugly fuckin’ thing. Get me somethin’. . . quaint—none o’ this modern day lifeless shit and a half that’s got fuckin’ pussy power or some ball-less, feministic propo shit like that scribbled on the side.”

You narrowed your eyes mischievously. “Only you will demand everything your way even in death,” you chuckled, then you tilted your head inquisitively. “So you’re telling me that if I had to get my breasts casted with clay to make two matching bowls for your ashes, you’d have a problem with that? Is it too modern for you?”

Ben’s brows hoisted up a look of consideration, then his lips pursed with content acceptance. “Baby,” he drawled. “You do that and I’ll be back to fuck you in your dreams every. goddamn. night,” he promised.

“I guess that might help me not to forget you,” you retorted cheekily.

“Damn right,” he mumbled cockily. “Can’t forget a dick as givin’ as this one, anyway—and you’d be kiddin’ yourself otherwise. Little cock-slut like you? You were made to memorise every inch of my dick like a butt-print in a shitty velvet sofa.” He birthed a grin so condescending that it barely left room for you to breathe.

Smug, obscene asshole, you scoffed silently, but you couldn’t deny the truth behind his claim, and you had countless memories to serve as evidence. Ben knew that—it was the singular thing that warranted his sheer audacity to boast. For lack of better words, you flashed him the finger before bundling yourself back up, arms crossed against your chest as a ruffled gesture for him to continue his little project.

He made an amused noise halfway between a grunt and a chuckle before shifting in his seat and guiding his hands back to the concoction before him. “C‘mon, take a look,” he urged, plucking up some of the shredded weed between his fingers and gingerly placing it onto the squared paper. He took a moment to prod along the scattered herbs until a coherent line was formed atop the material. “This right here,” he said, prodding the paper, “s’called rollin’ paper. Gotta wrap it around the weed real nice and tight, like the foreskin of a sexually-abstained father of the church. Or some creakin’, ol’ geezer.”

“So like you, then?” You interjected, and you could’ve sworn you heard the snap of his neck as his eyes darted up to scorn you.

“Callin’ me old when you’re the one who can’t walk after one night in my bed is a li’l comical, don’tcha think?” He retorted, eyes lowering to where he rolled his thumb along the ball of his index finger to dislodge the clinging weed scraps. “Man,” he laughed in disbelief. “You got helluva mouth on ya.”

“Oh, so that’s what it’s called?” You chirped sarcastically, rubbing your lips together as though smearing some chapstick along the edges. You knew it was a stupid, bratty punch to throw, but you thought it worth it if it would coax any sort of reaction from Ben—and it did.

He glanced up at you from beneath hitched brows, pushing out a chuckle so forced, it could’ve starred the backtrack of some poorly made sitcom. But the faux amusement in his expression was dropped in an instant, his chin making an impatient jut in your direction—like the firm finger of a mother’s chide. “Shut the fuck up and pay attention.”

Your eyes widened in mock as you muttered a “yes, sir,” and turned your attention back to the table, your heading craning with far too much curiosity for your liking. Your eyes trailed every whisk and wander of his skilled fingers as he prepped another paper like the last. “Does it matter how much weed’s in a single blunt?”

Cautiously, Ben moved back to the first paper, his lips subconsciously jutting into a focused pout. It was something he did often without a notice, and you couldn’t help but savour the scene with a subtle grin. It was adorable, but for the sake of preserving the clueless tradition, you never said anything about it. You knew he’d find some way to get butt-hurt over you pointing it out, and then you’d be stuck with him forging some permanent, stoic expression to fend off the horrors of being called adorable.

He anchored the topmost corners of the rolling paper with his middle fingers before grabbing the bottom corners between his thumb and index finger, finally folding the square in half. “‘Bout a gram or two’ll do,” he finally replied. “But the paper’s already sized, so it’s just gotta be enough to fit in it. . .” he murmured busily, trailing off as he focused his attention onto carefully lifting the assembly from the table—determined not to spill any of the contents and further rob himself of the stock he’d been sold short on.

“Now,” Ben cleared his throat with utmost enthusiasm, his eyes momentarily lingering on the wrap before they flickered over to you with a scheme glinting in their green depths. Just what the hell was he up to now? “We gotta wet this baby real good, so why don’tcha stick out that tongue o’ yours for me, yeah? Lend an old man a helpin’ hand once in a while.”

He held the makeshift blunt tenderly between his thumbs and index fingers as he presented it in your direction with an annoyingly smug furnish to his handsome features.

Your eyes widened in surprise at his request. “You do it,” you told him through a chuckle, pressing your index finger against his nearest hand to gently nudge the dissembled blunt back in his direction. “You’re the pro of the fucking cancer sticks, so you show me how it’s done. Like you said.”

Ben cocked his head in slight disappointment, a smirk pitching up the corner of his lips as he withdrew the blunt with a light huff. “To think you’re usually all I can do it myself, Ben, I don’t need your help, Ben,” he mocked deeply, which caused your face to contort with a hint of offence.

“I don’t sound like th—“

“Yeah, you do,” he cut you short, the smirk on his lips playing into a full-blown grin as he drank in your affronted pout. “You and your fuckin’ feminist high,” he scoffed, bringing the paper up to his lips. “Now, stuff it and watch, ‘cause I’m only gonna show you once—and I expect ya to nail it off the fuckin’ bat.”

You hitched a brow at his subtle threat. “Or what?” You challenged.

He left that question unanswered—verbally, at least. But he fixed you with an intense glare as his tongue slipped past his lips to drag a slow, accentuated line along the edge of the paper, and you knew that to be answer enough. A promise—and hardly one of a good time when he was calling all the shots with the intent to punish you. Still, you felt your core jolt at that singular gesture, your thighs discreetly pressing together with the memory of that very movement that must’ve become etched into your folds by now. That teasing bastard, getting you all hot and bothered just for the sake of it.

When he reached the end of the jagged material, he drew the line back up one more time before his tongue retreated back to the concealment behind his lips. He lowered the concoction to the table, gaze still trained on you. Then, with a beckoning gesture of his chin, he said, “get over here.”

You obliged silently, quickly—guided by your arousal more than your own will, if you were being honest. Your chair screeched in protest as you pushed yourself up from your seat and slipped around the circumference of the table towards Ben’s seated frame. You’d barely reached his side when he freed a hand to eagerly outstretch and receive you, his large palm snaking along the small of your back to hook around your waist. He pulled you into his lap, legs spread in a wide v to comfortably accommodate your frame onto his.

As you settled yourself onto his lap, you made a point to dramatically shimmy your ass into the crook of his legs, causing him to grunt as you ground yourself against his prominent manhood. His free hand snaked over your thigh to settle at the tender, inner skin with a warning squeeze, his lips coming to press against your ear.

“Careful, baby,” he murmured lowly—a gruff sound that sent a jolt directly to your already-compromised core. And it was hard to ignore your arousal with the added stimulation of his stubbled jaw grating the sensitive skin of your cheek.

You turned your jaw partially, causing his soft lips to trace a seductive line along your cheekbone. “Always am,” you murmured in return, a cheeky grin beaming through as your gaze flickered down to his lips. Those darn lips. A taste you’d never get sick of, despite your tendency to grow bored of things rather quickly. Maybe you were no better than Ben—a shameless addict infatuated with the highs, only, your highs were being fondled by him.

For a moment, Ben entertained your play with a second of silence, and you were almost hopeful to feel his lips snag onto yours, but instead, they retreated from your jaw and left you in a state of hot disappointment.

“Pay attention,” he ordered, removing the hand he’d burrowed at your thigh to frame your jaw firmly. He turned your head forward and downwards, forcing your attention onto the makeshift blunt gripped in his other hand. His thumb trailed to your lips, kneading the tender skin aimlessly before slipping his hand from your jaw entirely. “Stick your tongue out.”

Obediently, you did as told, your tongue slipping through until you felt too ridiculous to go further.

“Atta girl,” he praised, your waist now straddled by both his arms as he held the corners of the makeshift blunt in his fingers and lifted it to your dangling tongue. “Now, I want you to lick it, just like I showed ya—and don’t crap out on showin’ it a good time, yeah?”

You gave a small nod and leaned your head down to meet the paper with your tongue, starting at the left corner. When the tip of your tongue made contact with the sheet, you could feel the cool, lingering trace of Ben’s saliva. It felt so primal, but you knew that he was enjoying every second of it—you lapping up his taste like an eager mutt, so you decided to give him one hell of a show.

You pressed your tongue against the paper more firmly now, and you began to drag a slow, sensual line toward the other corner, making sure to deliver a quick flick over Ben’s waiting thumbnail. He made a hald-amused, half-entertained noise, but waited patiently as you retraced the line back to the starting point.

Pulling back your tongue, you smacked your lips triumphantly. “All wet now,” you said.

“Bet you are,” he chuckled lazily, fingers moving to seal the paper and twist the ends into a reputable blunt. He brought the finished product up to your lips, urging the nozzle between them. “Be a good girl and hold onto that for me.”

You pulled your lips inward to deny the entrance of the blunt, turning your jaw to reject the offer. “No, thanks,” you said, but Ben wasn’t having it.

You felt his hand stroke up the curve of your thigh before forcing way beneath the hem of your shorts and underwear, where his fingers stroked a rough line through your folds. You gasped at the feel of his cool fingers playing at your hot core, and before you could process his foul play, his other hand was quick to push the fresh blunt between your parted lips.

“You talk too fuckin’ much,” he murmured against your ear, delivering a harsh squeeze to your clit. Your lips tightened around the blunt and you moaned into the smoking stick, eyes screwing shut as your head collapsed back into the crook of his neck. He pressed a hasty kiss to your temple, and you knew that it was more of a branding than a gesture of adoration. You were his to cherish, exploit and discard, all at once.

“What, you gonna tell me you didn’t see that comin’?” he chuckled lowly, the mocking sound vibrating against the crown of your head. “Been actin’ the brat this entire time, just hopin’ I’ll shut you the fuck up, huh? Yeah, I heard ya—loud and clear, baby.”

Your lips tightened around the blunt as Ben brutalised the pace of his fingers between your folds, vigorously toying with your clit like it were the worn strings of the guitar he couldn’t seem to master the tuning of. Your lips tightened around the blunt as his finger prodded at just the right spot, an explosion of pleasure slinging your thighs into a weakened and sprawled mess. All control over your body seemed to retreat as you slumped further into his strong frame, which cocooned you like it were your last hope at survival. Oh, you were done for, all right.

“You like that, huh?” Ben cooed into your ear, his free hand sliding beneath your tank to grab ahold of your breasts. He palmed both in a rough, careless motion, then settled on one with a teasing pinch to your nipple. The combined stimulation of his toying at both ends rendered you so speechless that you couldn’t even salvage a coherent moan, so you laid there in complete arrest, succumbing fully to your boyfriend’s mean ministrations. “What, nothin’ to say now? Not even a fuckin’ please or thank you? I know chivalry died when I was buried on ice, but I didn’t think the women had lost their manners, too.”

In all honesty, you could barely comprehend your boyfriend’s words through your numbed haze. Your vision slurred into darkness as your eyes fluttered closed, your saliva beginning to seep into the blunt’s contents as your lips clutched it like a lifeline. Ben released your breast, but the weaving of his fingers down below didn’t stutter. You felt his free fingers graze both your temples in sequence, where his knuckle pushed back the foremost strands of hair that had slipped the keep of your ears. Your heart fluttered an inch at what you thought to be an intimate gesture—which he gifted very few and far between. But knowing the type of man Ben was should have clipped your wings of hope and had you grounded from the get-go.

Suddenly, his hand trailed through your hair and fastened through as many strands as he could collect. Then, with a smooth roll of his wrist, he twined it into a harsh grip, your neck arching at an angle you couldn’t have achieved out of free-will. A weak protest slurred within your throat, which made Ben utter a sound half way between a low laugh and a scoff—the sound so demeaning it flushed your cheeks red. His exploitation hurt—but at the same time, it felt so good, so much so that your body did anything but pull away from his touch.

“Now this is a view I can get behind—you, all pretty and practically fallin’ apart on my fingers,” Ben murmured, his head lowering to your ear so that the sharp button of his nose nuzzled at your temple. “Fuck, I could take you right here, right now,” he continued sultrily. “You want that, sweetheart? Want me to give you exactly what you’ve been cravin’ all fuckin’ day? All you gotta do is ask. Nicely, you know, stroke my cock with your good-doer attitude. That achievable for a brat like you, hm?”

For all the questions asked, you couldn’t offer one damn answer—not with your lips plugged by Ben’s newest fix. You moved a hand to reach for the blunt, eager to pave way for the word that would lay your urges to rest for the night, but the hand he’d buried between your legs were quick to come up and seize your wrist in disapproval. A hot, disgruntled tut from Ben streamlined your ear, but all you could focus on was the sudden barrenness between your legs, a cold neglect left in the wake of his hand.

You weren’t afforded the opportunity to mourn that loss for long before he had both your palms pinned flat onto the table in front of you, the hand in your hair tugging further so that your upper body became suspended within a ruthless game of tug and war. Only, the two contestants—both his hands—were playing for the same team. Ben’s. The advantage was far from yours.

“Dirty stunt,” he hummed almost admirably, his nose tracing your jaw to place a single, devouring kiss over the arch of your neck. You felt the way his lips lapped at your skin in a large motion, like he craved to garner every inch of you in that single touch. He solidified that point with a harsh nibble, the sort that would pucker your skin for a good few minutes, before he brought himself back to your ear. “You don’t get to use your words for this, baby. Your right to an opinion has been worn out for the day, and quite frankly, I’ve had enough of all your fuckin’ chitchat. You wanna get fucked, you’re gonna show me just how much y’want it,” he husked with a dramatic pause, then added in a low murmur, “with your body. Got that?”

With your head practically immobilised by his grip, you echoed a muffled mhm. Your response seemed to be satisfactory enough because he relented his hold—just enough to relieve your pipes so that breathing came with a little more ease.

“Atta girl. It’s gets my dick salutin’ when you’re all obedient,” he praised. His claim was firmly backed by the bulge you felt growing beneath you. It pressed between your thighs like a brash beckoning, and it was enough to cause all the heat that had dissipated between your folds to re-emerge in full force. “Well? The hell you waitin’ for?” He asked in a tone a lot louder—and firmer—this time around.

You pushed out a clueless noise, which made Ben shift a thigh beneath you. Suddenly, the bulk of his leg was hoisted up between your own, the blunt force striking your core at just the right angle that sent a jolt up your body. You gasped a breathless sound into the blunt, your teeth burrowing into the softening paper, and your eyes screwed shut with the pleasure currently coursing your entire being.

“Get that body o’ yours movin’, or we can call it a disappointin’ night,” he instructed. God, you couldn’t come up short after all you’d endured thus far, so instinctually, your hips began to roll against his thigh at a jagged pace, seeking out the only stimulation you could manage in your stilted position. “Yeah, that’s it,” he cooed. “All yours for the takin’, if you’ll hold out long enough to see fuckin’ rainbows. A lot like bein’ on a high, ain’t it? Got my own li’l addict in the makin’.”

He was right. Actually, you thought this felt a whole lot greater than sniffing a line that would simultaneously have you losing your sanity for a few hours. Desperate whimpers began to stew in your chest, polished with so much passion that the sounds felt saturated, almost animated. And Ben, he was devouring every second of it. You couldn’t glimpse enough of his face to say that, but going off of everything you knew about him, and how mean he liked to get with you, you absolutely knew that you were something akin to his own personal heaven right about now. Oh, he’d forsake every personal belief to follow the religion that was you—your undoing.

Almost as though your body had grown frustrated with all the prolonged teasing, your high came on at a rapid pace that made you chest heave in desperation. You felt the arousal bundle into a tightly-knit ball, just yearning to be yanked at by the singular thread that would make it come undone. But the satisfaction was plucked out of reach within seconds when Ben released the grip on your hair to grab at your thigh, forcing your hips to still against his leg. And just like that, the fire within was snuffed out.

Your lips fell loose in exhaustion, the blunt you’d been so loyal to finally making an escape and toppling into your lap. “Ben,” you pushed out frailly, the disappointment heavy on your brows.

“The nerve o’ you,” Ben scoffed, utterly dismissive of your feeble protest. He released your thigh to dip into your lap, and shortly after, he pulled up with the blunt in clutch, wasting no time in pressing it back between your lips. You fumbled with the paper for a few seconds before you finally took it in, but you knew your boyfriend would have something to show for your disobedience. “Yeah, you are a brat,” he said, the hand pinning your wrists suddenly tightening as he pulled your arms to one side, his other hand hooking around your inner thigh.

In one large and effortless motion, he managed to sling you over his lap, releasing your wrists so that you were able to grasp the legs of his chair for support. You clutched the blunt between your lips a little tighter, fighting the villainous pull of gravity, and stifled a moan at the sudden spank that struck the curves of your ass. The aftermath of that contact had your body contracted with a mixture of shock and painful arousal, air blowing from your nostrils like harsh gusts.

“Fuckin’ quiverin’ already?” He chuckled, his large palm smoothing up the fabric of your shorts until you felt every inch of your ass dimple under the cool air of the room. You felt utterly exposed. “Baby, I’m just gettin’ started with you.”

Oh, you were so fucked.

His palm came down for another assault, this time louder than the last. The raw contact echoed through the apartment, narcissistically suffocating the whimper that rattled your chest. Tears began to hoard along the rims of your eyes, but you blinked enough to scatter the moisture. You didn’t need to give him another kick out of this—some lingering stubbornness wouldn’t allow it.

“Fuck, all that noise o’ yours is makin’ me lose count,” Ben scoffed. He rubbed soothing circles over your aching skin, which no doubt glowered an angry red that should have made your boyfriend feel some ounce of sympathy. But then the next words left his mouth, and you knew then that the Supe had no concept of remorse. “Guess I gotta start right at the beginning.”

You braved yourself against the rest of his spanks, your legs drawing together more and more with each touch—not from a place of pain, but from hot, embarrassing enjoyment. The slick within your folds was hard to ignore now, and it seemed to have snagged Ben’s attention because he let up on the harsh punishment, his fingers finding way beneath your shorts and drenched undies. You felt his fingers play at your slick, dragging a line all the way down to your yearning entrance.

“It’s a damn oil slick up in here,” he chuckled, his thumb teasing circles at your hypersensitive clit. “Whaddya say I give her some love, hm?” His finger dipped an inch into your entrance, as if offering a measly taste of his proposal. You rocked your hips back into him as a reply, urgently seeking out the length of his fingers. He gave a low chuckle, and to your shock, actually indulged your plea. Maybe it was your reward for finally playing by his rules.

You weren’t going to fucking question it.

Your back arched by instinct as you felt his fingers prowl into your entrance, your hands clutching the wooden legs of his chair as your eyes rolled into the back of your head. The full force of multiple of his fingers should have coaxed forward some fleeting sense of pain, but you’d been so incredibly aroused for so incredibly long that your entrance welcomed him in like an open-house party. He pumped into you as deep as he could, an appreciative grunt leaving his lips as he revelled in your velvety warmth. His other hand came to wrap around the front of your neck, offering some much needed support as your strength began to collapse with each pump of his fingers.

Your whimpers became more frequent and dishevelled as he picked up the pace, his fingers curling at just the right angle. Every. Fucking. Time. Ben knew how to do the job well—a tactic that had you coming back time and time again, begging for more.

“That’s it, baby, you’re doin’ so good f’me,” he husked out, his own voice slightly abraded by exertion. The subtle breathlessness woven through his words spurred you on even further, making you feel some type of special with the knowledge that he was giving you his all. Just to see you break. Just so that he could put you back together with cherishing kisses.

It only took a few more pumps of his fingers to have your eyes clenching in wait, your lips throttling the blunt as his fingers curled right into your blooming bundle of pleasure. And then he struck it head on, causing an explosion of colour to invade your vision. For a few seconds, you couldn’t comprehend anything beyond your own ragged breaths, your ears ringing with the overwhelming aftermath of your high. You felt your juices trickle from your entrance, and you heard the squelching as Ben slowly retreated from your entrance.

“Holy fuckin’ shit,” he chuckled with a minuscule, congratulatory pat to your ass. “That was one o’ your best runs yet. Think ya can handle one more round?” Ben murmured, releasing your neck to rub a soothing line down your back. You didn’t honestly think you could, and you felt the way every inch of your body ached in an answering protest, but something else tugged your chin into that subtle permission, and then the Supe had you hoisted up in his arms bridal style as he carried you to the bed.

He laid you onto the mattress rather gently, but the caution was instantly discarded as he flipped you over and tugged your hips sky-high. His fingers hooked under the hem of your shorts and undies, and he couldn’t have yanked them over the curves of your ass at a faster pace. Your garments were tossed to some other corner of the room, followed by the rustle of fabric as Ben freed his stoic erection. You heard him huff a breath of relief, and you glanced over your shoulder in time to see him whisk across his shaft with a hasty pump.

You met his eye patiently, making a point to pout around the blunt so that he couldn’t miss the visual image of your dedication to this wretched thing. It made him smirk with satisfaction, a hand coming forward to hook around your pelvis and tug you back an inch. You grunted at the rough yank, turning your head forward as you settled yourself into your folded arms. You felt his tip nestle between your ass before dipping down to glide with ease into your slicked entrance. Both his hands took up firm grip at your pelvis, his large palms fanning across your navel as he pummelled into you with a guttural noise.

“Fuck,” he spat, his length retreating only to return with a force more brutal than a last. His hands shifted across your ass, delivering a hard spank before they slunk up to the small of your back. There, he pushed your stomach into the mattress, and you burrowed further into the material with every possessive thrust of his hips. “You’re just the fuckin’ release I needed after this shitty day—and god, you never disappoint,” he breathed out.

You whimpered in response, pressing your forehead into the sheets as your fingers curled into the bedding. God, this man was overstimulating—he seemed to forget that your frail body was no match for his super-abled one. Or, he simply revelled in that fact. Either way, you were done for.

The blunt’s body quirked against your lips as you practically smothered it against the mattress, but you could hardly be arsed about that now. Ben’s figure came to hover over you, his clothed chest pressing into your back. His hands came up beside your head, frantically searching for yours, and once he found them, his fingers threaded between yours. He held you firmly as he spread your hands out in front of you, trapping you below him as he continued to drive you into the bed. The worn bed frame was creaking so loud that it was almost absurd, and you half expected one of the neighbours to blare a shut the hell up from the top of their lungs. But the only noises to be heard were the gruff moans spewing from Ben’s lips, and your own muffled whining.

The mattress wasn’t anything as fancy as memory foam, but you were sure that by now—with how brutalised Ben’s pace within you was—that the mattress would never forget. You supposed you both had that in common.

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a/n — i’m not gonna lie, i was starting to think this piece would NEVER see the light of day good gawd i think i have commitment issues. anyhoo, if you are a pro at making blunts, mind your business! 😭 i did a quick google search and rolled with it (pun unintended), so if something’s inaccurate you can blame google pls and ty LMAO. i’m just a non smoker girly trying to bring the drug-addled fantasies of loving soldier boy to life, as best as i possibly and very limitedly can. if this fic traumatised you im sorry (also you’re welcome). y’all know the drill, it’s 2 am—if there are typos; no there’s not.

this fic now has a complementary c.ai bot .ᐟ

thank you for reading! all likes, comments & reblogs are deeply appreciated ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི

tags — @gibson-g1rl @fallbhind @bohemianblasphemy @figthoughts

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