candytoothed - Tumblr blog

candytoothed · 16 hours ago

Text

Lilac Cotton

Dean Winchester x Reader | Supernatural

NOTES: Rhonda Hurley, the woman that you are <3 this might be a little cracky but I don’t care because I love it

TW: smut, grinding, cumming in pants/panties, dirty talk, Dean tries on your panties, and then makes you wear them (dirty), jealousy, discussion of an ex/past sexual experiences, no Sam in sight, Dean being his charming sexy self

It’s stupid.

You know it’s stupid. Just one of those throwaway things people say—especially Dean. Especially when the night’s gotten long and the beer’s kicked in. A dumb, drunken anecdote tossed out like candy, all swagger and no filter.

“This chick, Rhonda Hurley, made me wear her panties once.”

It was funny. Really. You’d even laughed—at least, something that sounded like a laugh. Tight, maybe. A little delayed. But it passed.

Dean hadn’t thought twice about it, grinning like an idiot, cracking jokes about pink satin and “breezy ventilation,” waving the memory around like a lighter flame at a concert. Just another ridiculous chapter in his endless book of stories. Not serious. Not romantic. Just stupid and nineteen and high on hormones.

And you’re not mad. Not at him. Not even at her, really.

It’s just… stuck.

It crawled into your brain and sat there, humming quietly under your skin for days. Not because of what happened, but because of what it meant—that some girl, way back when, got to see that side of him. That goofy, reckless, willing-to-do-anything version. The one who hadn’t been so jaded yet. Who could still be embarrassed. Who maybe didn’t think about how things would sound later.

That part gets to you. The part where he just did it. Because she asked. Because she dared him. Because it didn’t matter.

And now you’re here—years later, folding laundry on a lumpy motel bed, trying not to remember how casually he’d said it. How easy it was for him to let it go. How hard it’s been for you to stop thinking about it.

You haven’t brought it up. Didn’t want to sound nagging like some crazy, jealous girlfriend.

But somewhere along the way, something shifted. Something small, but noticeable. A pause in the way your hands reached for him. A little more space between your bodies in bed. A silence that didn’t used to be there.

You didn’t mean to change. It just… happened.

And it’s not about whether he loves you—because you know he does. It’s not about her being special—because she wasn’t. It’s just that weird, stupid ache that creeps in sometimes, when you realize someone else got a piece of the person you love. A piece you didn’t know you wanted until it was already gone.

And now you’re here, matching up socks like your life depends on it, trying not to say her name.

Trying not to let it slip.

But it already has.

Dean’s across the room in the battered armchair that looks like it’s seen a few bar fights and lost all of them. He’s nursing a beer, flipping through channels like there might be something new on TV despite knowing damn well it's the same midday reruns of Judge Judy and Walker, Texas Ranger.

“I’ve been thinking about Rhonda Hurley.”

Dean doesn’t look up right away. He’s mid-sip. “Jesus. What’d she do now?”

You hesitate, fingers curling too tightly around the edge of a faded graphic tee as you fold it with mechanical precision.

“You.”

That gets his attention.

His head turns slowly, one brow lifting in a familiar, skeptical arch. “Come again?”

You focus on the shirt in your lap like it holds the secrets of the universe. “The thing you said the other night. About her making you wear her underwear.”

Dean squints like he’s trying to replay the moment in his head, then huffs out a short breath, almost disbelieving. “That was, like, four motels ago.”

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, folding the shirt with surgical focus, “it stuck.”

There’s a beat of silence before he speaks again, voice more curious than anything. “You mad about that?”

“I’m not mad,” you say immediately—too fast. Too defensive.

Dean snorts behind his bottle. “Well, you’re something.”

“I’m not.”

“You haven’t touched me since Nebraska,” he points out, voice light but unmistakably edged with concern. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed. And you’ve been balling socks over there like they stole your lunch money.”

You glare at him, sock still clenched in your fist. “Don’t make fun of me.”

His smirk fades. “I’m not,” he says, quieter now. “I’m just tryin’ to figure out why the hell you’re jealous of something that happened when I wasn’t even old enough to legally drink.”

You don’t answer. Your hands have gone still in your lap, the soft rhythm of folding clothes broken. That’s what tips him off.

Dean sets the beer down on the side table with a quiet clink and leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Hey,” he says gently. “Talk to me.”

You take a deep breath, staring at the half-packed duffel in front of you. “I just didn’t expect it,” you murmur, finally. “You. Doing something like that.”

Dean lifts a brow again. “Like what? Wearing panties?”

You wrinkle your nose. “D, it’s just—”

“What?” he shrugs, all unbothered bravado. “It was a dare. She said she’d tell everyone I had whiskey dick if I didn’t. I was nineteen, full of testosterone and bad decisions. You think I was gonna say no?”

“I know, it was forever ago,” you say softly. “It’s not even about her.”

“Then what?”

You swallow. “It’s that you did it for her. You barely even liked her, and you still—” You break off, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. “Never mind.”

There’s a long pause, then a quiet huff of a laugh—one that sounds more fond than mocking.

“Sweetheart,” Dean says, rising to his feet. The floorboards groan under his boots as he crosses the room. “You think I’d rather put on her panties than take yours off?”

Your cheeks flush hot. “I'm being serious—”

“I am being serious,” he says, eyes glittering. “If you left a pair out for me right now? I’d wear the shit out of ‘em. Hell, I’d walk around this whole dumpy motel in ‘em just to see the look on your face. Do a twirl for you and everything.”

Your lips twitch despite yourself. You try not to smile. You fail.

He reaches you in two steps, crouches a little to meet your eyes. “Baby,” he murmurs. “You really sat on that for almost a week?”

“I didn’t mean to,” you mutter, voice small. “It just kinda… festered.”

Dean exhales through his nose, warm and steady. He lifts his hand, cups your jaw, brushing his thumb along the apple of your cheek with that rough softness only he has. It’s gentle. Familiar. Safe.

“You know you can tell me when something’s eatin’ at you, right?” he murmurs. “You don’t have to wait until you’re muttering about my exes over laundry.”

“I didn’t want to sound crazy.”

Dean deadpans, “Too late for that,” and you smack his chest with the balled-up sock, but you’re laughing now. He catches your wrist, presses a kiss to the inside of it before letting you go.

“Look—was it dumb? Yeah. But so was I. That was long before I ever had you. And now?” He leans in close, voice dropping to that low, warm rasp that always unspools something deep in your chest. “I don’t want anyone else. Haven’t even looked at anyone else since the first time I laid eyes on that pretty face of yours.”

You bite your lip in an attempt to tamp down on the smile that's winning out on breaking across your face. “Even if I don’t wear pink satin?”

Dean’s grin could light a match. “Especially because you don’t. I like the stuff you wear. Smells like you. Fits you better,” he says, kissing your temple, then wrapping his arms around you like he’s afraid you’ll melt away.

You sink into him, your arms winding around his back as you rest your cheek against his chest.

“And if it helps,” he adds after a beat, “I’m pretty sure Rhonda’s married to some dentist in Ohio now.”

“Good,” you mutter into his shirt. “Hope he makes her floss ‘til her gums bleed.”

Dean snorts, burying a laugh in your hair. “That’s my girl.”

And just like that, the ache in your chest starts to ease.

You don’t do it right away.

You almost chicken out, honestly.

But something about the way Dean held you last night—firm and steady and just smug enough to make you want to smack him—gives you a little push.

So the next morning, while he’s in the shower, you do it.

You leave them on the bed. Right on top of the flannel and denim he’d laid out for the day.

You don’t make a show of it. Don’t say a word. Just fold them neatly—soft lilac cotton, simple and sweet—and set them down like they belong there, like this isn’t a challenge you’re daring him to meet.

He notices the second he stumbles out of the shower, still towel-damp and sleepy, scrubbing at his hair with the hem of a ragged motel hand towel. He’s mid-yawn when he freezes, looking down at the little pile of fabric like it might bite.

You keep your eyes on the ceiling. The silence stretches.

Then, soft and lazy: “Seriously?”

You hum. “Something wrong?”

Dean turns toward you, one brow raised, mouth already tugging into a lopsided smirk. “You left these out for me?”

“Depends,” you murmur, not quite looking at him. “You gonna wear ‘em?”

He huffs, steps closer. “You really still thinkin’ about that?”

“I think it’s burned into my brain, so yeah.”

Dean sits at the edge of the bed, still holding them. “Baby. I told you, it was a one-time thing. I was a dumbass. She dared me. She laughed, I went with it. It’s not like I—”

“You said you kind of liked it,” you say quietly.

That shuts him up.

He glances over his shoulder, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “You still mad?”

You hesitate, then shake your head. “Wasn't ever mad. M'still not."

“Jealous?”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t look so proud of yourself.”

He grins anyway, like it’s cute. Like you’re cute.

“Kinda hard not to, when you’re jealous over somethin’ that happened before the dinosaurs died.”

“I’m not jealous of her,” you mutter.

Dean stretches out beside you, one arm tucked behind his head. The other still holds the lace trimmed cotton.

“I know,” he says. “You’re jealous she got to see me like that. To have something you didn’t.”

You swallow, shrugging half heartedly. “Maybe.”

There’s a beat. Then, quietly: “You know you don’t have to fight me to prove something, right?” he murmurs. “You coulda just said you wanted me to wear ‘em.”

You glance at him, startled. “That’s not what this is.”

“No?” he asks, smirking as he dangles the pastel fabric off his finger. “’Cause I gotta be honest—kind of feels like you want me to put these on and let you get it outta your system.”

You go very still.

Dean holds the panties up between two fingers, giving them a quick little snap.

“Guess there’s only one way to fix this,” he says, and before you can stop him, he’s pushing up from the bed and dropping his towel.

You don’t even try to pretend you’re not looking.

He slips them on, careful and casual, like this is a completely normal part of his morning routine.

And damn it all if they don’t actually fit.

A little more than snug, sure, and absolutely ridiculous, but there’s something about the way he owns it—hips cocked, bare chest on full display, smirk firmly in place—that hits you somewhere deep and low.

And then?

Then he turns around and shoots you a look says that’s right. Still got it.

You laugh—can’t help it. Hide your face in your hands. “Oh my god.”

Dean flops back onto the bed beside you, stretching like a cat. “They’re actually kinda comfy.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“Yeah, but I’m yours,” he says, nudging your knee with his. “C’mere.”

You do. Slowly, like you’re not totally sure what’s happening.

Dean pulls you into his lap, your thighs straddling his, that lilac cotton warm under your legs.

“Better?” he asks.

You nod, cheeks flushed.

“Good,” he says. Then lowers his voice. “Now sit real pretty on my lap and ruin ‘em for me.”

You blink. “What?”

Dean grins, impossibly fond. “Figure if I’m wearing your panties, might as well let you mark your territory.”

Your breath catches. And just like that—you’re not jealous anymore.

You’re breathless, not quite sure if you’re blushing from embarrassment or arousal. Probably both.

Dean leans back on the pillows, one arm draped lazily behind his head, like this is the most natural thing in the world—like he isn’t half-naked in a pair of your underwear, looking at you like he’s about to ruin your whole afternoon.

“Well?” he drawls, voice low and rough, like gravel warmed in whiskey. “Gonna sit still up there all day or you gonna move, sweetheart?”

You blink. “You’re actually—this is actually happening.”

Dean smirks, eyes flicking over your face, your chest, your thighs tucked around him. “Sure is. And I gotta admit… kinda diggin’ the view.”

Your hands press lightly to his bare shoulders, and you can feel the heat of him, the muscle, the slow flex under your fingers as he shifts beneath you. His breath catches when your hips shift—just a little.

Not enough.

You do it again, slower this time. A soft drag of your center against the washed soft material stretched across him.

Dean hisses through his teeth. “Yeah. That’s it.”

You’re trying not to come undone just from this—just from the look in his eyes. It’s half-devotion, half-filth, like he can’t decide whether to tease you or worship you.

“You’re insane,” you whisper.

“Maybe,” he murmurs, leaning up to kiss your collarbone. “But you’re the one grindin’ on me while I’m wearin’ your panties.”

He’s not wrong.

You roll your hips again, testing. The friction’s not perfect, but it’s enough to send a flush down your spine. You feel how hard he’s getting beneath the fabric, how it’s already too tight, how his hands tighten against your hips like he’s holding himself back.

“Gonna leave a mark if you keep this up,” he mutters against your throat.

“Maybe I want to,” you breathe.

Dean groans, like the idea of you soaking the front of your own underwear while he’s wearing them is about to break him.

“I gotcha, sweetheart,” he murmurs, dragging a slow hand down your back.

You try to respond, but your brain’s still short-circuited. Your thighs twitch around his waist, breath hitching when you realize he’s still hard beneath you—still grinding up, slow and deep, like he can’t stop.

Each lazy thrust drags the soaked fabric between you in slick, filthy friction, the ruined lace slipping over your clit just right—just enough. You cry out, legs tightening around him instinctively, hips jerking down to meet his.

“Dean,” you gasp, voice breaking. “I—I can’t—”

“Oh, baby,” he groans, voice raw with praise. “Yes, you can. You’re so close. I can feel it—fuck, you’re right there.”

He’s not wrong. Every roll of his hips pushes you closer, heat coiling tighter and tighter in your belly, your thighs trembling uncontrollably as your slick makes a mess of both of you. The pressure’s sharp now—hot and aching and impossible to ignore.

Then he shifts—just barely—but it’s enough.

The angle changes, and the thick, soaked fabric presses flush to your clit, catching it perfectly. Once. Twice.

You shatter.

Your whole body seizes, thighs clamping around his waist, hips grinding down wildly as the orgasm tears through you, sudden and explosive. You gasp, eyes wide and unfocused, mouth falling open with a soft, desperate sound that borders on a sob. It pulses through you in waves—deep and devastating—your hips jerking helplessly against the friction until you’re almost whimpering from the overstimulation.

Dean’s voice is in your ear, gentle and awestruck. “That’s it. That’s my girl. Goddamn, look at you—fuckin’ perfect.”

You collapse against him, boneless and shaking, your skin damp with sweat, nerves still firing like live wires.

“You feel what you do to me?” he rasps against your ear. “You soakin’ through em—fuck, baby…”

Your breath stutters. You shift your hips just barely and he groans, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

“I’m gonna come,” he pants. “Shit—shit—you ride me like that, all wet and needy—“

You lift your head just enough to meet his eyes. He looks wrecked. Flushed. So damn ruined.

You kiss him—hot, messy, teeth and tongue—while your hips roll again, deliberately slow. The soaked cotton between you clings with every movement, slick and tight and filthy.

Dean’s hands clamp hard at your hips, pulling you down just as his body tenses, every muscle locking up beneath you.

“Fuck—fuck—baby, I’m gonna—”

And then he breaks.

With a strangled groan, Dean comes hard, jerking up into you as the wet heat floods between you, mixing with yours, soaking the cotton through.

You feel it—all of it. The way he shudders. The mess of it. How it clings to both of you, hot and sticky and everywhere.

Dean’s breathing like he ran a mile, chest heaving under your hands. His eyes flutter shut as he pulls you close again, burying his face in your neck.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, hoarse and raw.

You laugh weakly against him, dazed and limp. “Not sorry.”

He chuckles, deep and low, pressing lazy kisses to your throat. Then his hand drifts down—palming the ruined fabric still clinging to his hips.

“Gonna have to peel these off,” he murmurs, almost in awe. “Cant say I've ever come in someone else's underwear, but there’s a first for everything.”

He shifts, breath warm against your cheek. “Good job, baby.”

You bury your face in his neck, half-embarrassed, half turned on all over again. “Shut up.”

He grins. You can feel it against your skin.

“Nah,” he says, voice thick and warm. “You oughta be proud. That was a scene straight out a goddamn porno.”

You groan, squirming in his lap, but his hands tighten at your hips—holding you steady.

Then he leans back, just a little, and looks down between you.

“Well,” he says, breath catching, “they’re not completely destroyed, might as well put em to good use.”

You glance down and flush immediately. The underwear is soaked through—his cum, your slick, all tangled up in the delicate cotton. It’s obscene.

He starts peeling them down slowly, carefully, and you gasp as the fabric pulls away, sticky and warm against his skin.

“Dean, don’t—” you start, but he’s already grabbing a corner of the sheet and wiping at them—gently, even with a smug smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“Relax, don’t wanna let this go to taste,” he murmurs, swiping away the worst of the mess. “But I’m not lettin’ you wear ‘em if they’re squishing’ every time you move, sweetheart.”

Your whole body heats up. “That’s disgusting.”

“Yeah?” He lifts his eyes to yours, slow and smug. “Didn’t seem to mind when you were grinding down on me in ‘em like your life depended on it.”

You make a sound—half protest, half whimper—and he just laughs, soft and fond, like he can’t help himself.

Then, after a beat, he shifts again—slipping a hand around you, guiding you gently to lie back. His touch is reverent now. Slow. Almost tender.

“C’mon,” he says softly. “Let me. Please?”

You make a soft, mortified sound, and he just laughs—quiet and pleased, the sound of someone completely smitten with their own bad behavior.

Then he moves—leaning over you again, hand sliding around the back of your thigh, guiding it up. You tremble under his touch, still oversensitive, but the look in his eyes is so tender it knocks the breath from your lungs.

When he gets them into place, snug against your hips, he smooths his hands along your thighs, adjusting them like he’s dressing something delicate.

He leans down, kisses your stomach. Your hip. The inside of your knee.

“There,” he murmurs, pleased. “Now you get to walk around all day knowin’ I came in your panties.”

You flinch when his palm cups you again through the panties—instinctive, oversensitive—and he grins, wolfish.

“Still twitchy,” he murmurs, dragging his hand away slow. “God, that’s hot.”

You groan, cover your face. “You’re disgusting.”

Dean chuckles low in his throat and leans in, nose brushing along your cheek. “Yeah, well. So are you, sweetheart. You just hide it better.”

You shove at his shoulder, half-hearted. “Stop.”

“I mean it,” he says, and there’s something softer beneath the teasing now. “You act like I don’t know you, baby. I can read you like a book, I know you liked it.”

You pout without meaning to. “You liked it too.”

“Damn right I liked it,” Dean grins, full of sin. “And now I like this—you, squirmy as hell, wearin’ ‘em sticky ‘cause I made you come so hard, you forgot your own name and you rode me hard like a bat outta hell. ”

Your breath hitches. “Dean—”

“Shhh,” he soothes, brushing your hair back, but there’s mischief in his eyes. “You let me do this, remember? My girl made me feel fuckin’ awesome and now I wanna take care of her.”

You’re already flushed, but when he dips down again—tongue peeking out to catch a little spot he missed before—you practically levitate off the bed.

“Dean!”

He laughs, actually laughs, and finally wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before he reaches for the panties again.

Dean must see it in your face, because he slows down, his fingers gentler now as they smooth across the waistband, thumbs pressing into your hipbones.

“Too much?” he asks softly.

You swallow hard. Shake your head.

He smiles again, softer this time. “You’re somethin’ else, baby.”

You squint at him. “That a compliment?”

“Hell yeah it is,” he says. “Only girl I know who could turn a hissy fit into the hottest damn afternoon of my life.”

You groan again, drop your head back to the pillow.

Dean leans in, presses a warm kiss to your stomach, then one to your thigh. His voice is low, reverent.

“Kind of love that you get to walk around wearin’ me all day, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Bet you’ll think about me every time you move. Every time you feel em against you, you’ll know I put em there.”

You make a soft, broken sound. He just grins wider.

“Good,” he says. “I hope it drives you crazy.”

And the worst part?

You know it will.

TAGLIST @spxideyver @tendertulip @n-o-p-e-never @suckitands33 @lunaleah @fandomchik @tinas111 @0ccvltism @cupidzbunny @losers-clvb @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @thatg8rl

let me know if you’d like to be added 🤍

125 notes · View notes

candytoothed · 1 day ago

Text

cw: smut-ish.ᐟ angst.ᐟ comfort.ᐟ dbf!ben x reader.ᐟ au non-supe ben.ᐟ age gap [reader is in her 20s].ᐟ reader lives at home.ᐟ manipulation.ᐟ corruption kink.ᐟ pervy!ben.ᐟ aggressive!ben.ᐟ pet names [sweetheart, baby, baby girl].ᐟ 18+

wc: 3060

you never seemed to keep a boyfriend for very long.

it had been two so far this year, and not a single one ever lasted more than a few weeks past meeting your family— your dad, his buddies, the usual backyard hangout crowd. they’d smile and shake hands and crack open a cold one, and then something always shifted.

texts got slower, plans got canceled, one ghosted you entirely.

another mumbled something about “not being ready for something serious” after he’d just spent the week telling you how into you he was.

you didn’t understand it. what you were doing wrong? they always left just when things started to feel comfortable, right around the time ben was over.

but you never suspected anything. your dad had always been supportive— maybe a little protective, but never pushy. and ben was even better. he’d clap your boyfriends on the back, offer them beers, flash that easy smile that made everyone feel like they belonged.

he made jokes, gave advice, almost played the role of ‘uncle ben’ so well you’d almost forget how long his eyes would sometimes linger on your legs, your lips, your hips when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

not that you ever suspected him. why would you? he was your dad’s oldest friend, practically family. had been around forever— fixing things around the house, cracking jokes that made your cheeks burn.

but he never crossed a line, never touched, never did anything outright.

but you also didn’t catch the way ben’s arm draped casually along the back of the lawn chair, fingers curling into a fist behind your boyfriend’s head. or the way he gripped their hands too tightly for a handshake.

you didn’t catch the way ben looked at them— not friendly, but waiting.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

the first boyfriend you had, was polite, nervous around your dad, always offering to help carry things. not the type you usually went for, but he made you laugh, and he looked at you like he meant it.

ben had come by to drop off a tool he borrowed, that’s all it was. a quick visit— couple of beers, some talk about chainsaws, and a smoke by the shed. but he came through the front, unannounced. let himself in like he always did.

and he wasn’t loud about it either. the creak in the door, barely audible. he stepped inside quiet, out of habit. caught the sound of the tv, soft buzz in the background and then the silouhette of you on the couch.

“anyone in here?” ben called out turning the corner.

you jolted, legs swinging off of your boyfriends lap so fast your knees hit the coffee table. your shirt was rumpled, lips swollen— the boy had been grinding up against you through his jeans.

“ben— fuck, i didn’t hear you come in,” you stammered, tugging the hem of your top straight. wiping your lips off like you just did something unholy.

ben didn’t look at you, he tipped his head toward your boyfriend with a tight smile. “your dad’s wants me riggin’ up a tarp for the smoker, we're gonna need an extra pair of hands, mind helpin’?”

and your boyfriend actually smiled back. standing up with a full fledged boner hidden behind his belt, with a "sure thing, man".

it wasn’t until the sun dipped and everyone had gone inside that ben finally pulled him aside. just the two of them behind the shed, cigarette burning between his fingers, smoke curling against the boy's face.

“so, what is it?” a pause to take a puff. “you fuck her yet?”

your boyfriend choked on his own spit. ��excuse me?”

“i said, did you fuck her?” ben asked again, a twitch in his eye. “you put your cock in her, huh? that it? cause see, a sweet girl like that— she ain’t meant to be ruined by some dumb kid’s fingers."

ben leaned in, too close and he sure as hell wasn’t smiling now. “c'mon champ, you ever taste her? she ride your thigh like that often, or just when she’s desperate for it?”

“look man—” the boy took a step back, hands up defensively, “i— i haven’t done anything. i swear. she said she wanted to wait.”

“good,” he muttered finally. “means she ain’t fuckin' ruined.”

and with a little more coercing, and possibly a few mild threats, your boyfriend left the next morning. no text, no explanation, completely ghosted you ever since that day.

the second boyfriend. you were upstairs getting ready for bed. hair still wet from the shower, door cracked, towel slipping low on your hips. ben paused in the hallway. stared just long enough to see the shadow of your figure move in front of your mirror, then kept walking.

your boyfriend was alone in the kitchen. it was late. your dad had gone to bed already. ben should’ve left too, but he didn’t.

“grab me one would'ya?,” ben said, nodding at the fridge as if it was his own.

your boyfriend smiled, pulled two beers. he was nervous— you always dated the nervous ones, the type that tried too hard to fit in. ben cracked his open bottle and leaned back against the countertop.

“you ever think about how young she is?” ben asked suddenly.

the guy blinked. “uh— what? i've only got a few years on her?”

ben took a long sip from the beers spout. “you know what i mean. she’s not some bar slut, she’s still got rules. living in her daddy’s house, under daddy’s roof.” he gave a dry chuckle.

“dude, no,” he said quickly. “it’s not like that.”

ben tilted his head finally. studied him like something under a heat lamp. “you’re tellin’ me you ain’t touched her yet?”

your boyfriend cleared his throat. “not like, not all the way, but—”

ben laughed under his breath. shook his head like he was disappointed. “she’s sweet,” he murmured. “ and too fuckin’ good for you.”

“well, i like her,” the guy insisted. “i’m not trying to hurt her or anything.”

ben stepped closer, eyes dark. “nah. but you’re gonna. sooner or later. they always do. and i’ll be honest with you, kid.” he leaned down, tone dropping low enough to make the hairs rise on the back of his neck. “if you ever come 'round here again, i’ll put your head through drywall and tell her you fell.” ben smiled, mocking but almost pitying. “don’t make me have to explain to her why you stopped calling.”

he patted him on the cheek once, like a father would. then turned and walked down the hall— pausing just once to glance up at the light spilling from your bedroom door.

and that guy left the same night, told you 'it wasnt gonna workout' with no further explanation.

you cried his arms both times— like you always did after things went wrong. the second ben seen your red eyes, he was reaching for you.

“sweetheart,” he said, full of concern. “what happened?”

you tried to wave it off. shook your head, blinked quick like that’d stop the tears, but he was already opening his arms, tugging you into his lap.

“shh, hey now,” he muttered, one hand smoothing over your hair, the other rubbing long, slow strokes down your back. “none of that, baby. you're too good to be cryin’ over some dumb fuck who doesn’t know what he had.”

you sniffled, curled into his chest, and he rocked you just a little— soft and steady, hoping he might lull the ache out of your ribs.

“they don’t get it, sweetheart,” he whispered, mouth near your temple. “you’re somethin’ special. any guy with half a brain would be beggin’ to hold onto you.”

and the second time it happened, he offered to take you for ice cream. said you could drive around in his truck for a while, let the breeze help clear your head. called you his baby girl when you managed a weak smile.

and you didn’t even think to wonder why he was always the one around when your heart got broken.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

you’d kept this third boyfriend to yourself for the first few months— told yourself it was better that way. no pressure or interference. no early opinions from your dad or awkward tension radiating off the man who was fused to your living room couch.

and things were going well this time. there were no red flags, sudden withdrawals, no ghosting or half-hearted apologies through text. and most importantly, now he wanted to meet your family.

after your last ex ended things out of nowhere, it left you hollow and second-guessing everything— if you were too much, too clingy, not pretty enough. the kind of rejection that doesn’t make you angry, just small.

you’d never wondered why ben always showed up the next day. or wondered how he always knew exactly when you needed him.

because now, things were going right— and ben’s been watching you closer. smiling harder, slipping in questions with that easy charm he uses when he wants to pretend something doesn’t matter.

“what’s got my baby girl lookin’ so happy lately?”

you’d simply smiled, not bothering to look up from your phone. “no reason.”

“nah,” he hummed. “there’s always a reason. c’mon now, y'don’t need another silly boyfriend to keep that pretty smile, sweetheart. you’re perfect the way you are.”

your laugh had been small, shoulders hunching like he’d embarrassed you. but you didn’t think much of it. ben said shit like that all the time. always a bit too affectionate, too hands-on, too familiar— but that was just the way ben was.

and so, you finally decided it was time to bring your boyfriend around. your dad didn’t think much of it— he was just glad to see you smiling again. and ben, well, ben had just grinned. “can’t wait to meet him.” with a tick in his jaw that went unnoticed by you.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

so, the dinner had been your idea. your boyfriend— months in now, and still going strong— had started asking about finally meeting your dad. and since ben was already over almost every weekend, hanging around like he always had, it made sense to do it all at once.

but by the time you’d set the table, there was a nervousness creeping in under your skin. not from your boyfriend, no, he was charming, polite. even brought your dad a bottle of something expensive as a thank you. he complimented your cooking, even offered to help clean up.

it was because of ben, from the moment he stepped through the front door, something was off.

"mm, smells real good in here," he said, sniffing the air dramatically. "or is it that new scent you been sportin' lately.”

“it’s that strawberry one i bought you—” your boyfriend started from beside you.

ben didn’t even look at him. “s'the lavender vanilla one,” he cut in smoothly, eyes flicking over to you like he’d won fucking first place in a game that wasn't supposed to be played. “ it's a little stronger than usual tonight, ain’t it, sweetheart?”

you shyly laughed, cheeks warming as you smoothed your hands over your thighs. “yea, maybe i went overboard.”

“nah.” ben’s smile twitched into something tighter. “i like it.”

your dad called from the kitchen, and the moment broke— ben shrugging out of his jacket and moving toward him like nothing had happened, patting your boyfriends shoulder, helping with drinks.

ben sat across from the two of you at the table, making himself comfortable like he owned the place. arm hung lazy over the back of your dad’s chair, relaxed in a deliberate way that always meant he was watching everything.

“so," he started casually, tipping his chin toward your boyfriend, “you’re the one that’s got her grinnin’ all the time like that, huh?”

"guess so," your boyfriend chuckled, glancing at you.

"hm." ben smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “lotta pressure, y’know. keepin’ a smile like that on her.”

your dad snorted into his beer. “don’t scare him off now, ben.”

“nah, i mean it,” ben said, eyes flicking back to your boyfriend. “ain’t nothin’ wrong with bein’ a little protective. not when that someone’s worth protectin’.”

your boyfriend nodded tightly, but he shifted in his seat like he was uncomfortable just sitting there.

you glanced between the two of them, sensing a weird change in the air, but your dad— oblivious— got up from the table with a sigh. “gonna hit the bathroom, don’t let ''em fight while i’m gone.”

the second your dad disappeared down the hall, ben leaned forward, forearms braced on the wood, beer bottle dangling from his fingers.

“so tell me,” he said, tone still smooth, but quieter now. “you think you’re good for her?”

your boyfriend blinked. “uh—yeah. i’d like to think so.”

“you’d like to think so,” ben echoed. “see, that ain’t the same as knowin’. that’s just guessin’. and guessin’ don’t cut it around here.”

“ben,” you warned softly, eyes wide.

“what?” he blinked innocently. “m'just tryin’ to get to know the guy.”

you shifted in your seat, suddenly too aware of the tension— how your boyfriend had stopped smiling. and how ben hadn’t looked away from him once. the air had thickened with something unspoken, even as he tilted his head and grinned again, all faux-charm and teeth.

"look," he said, glancing at you. “m’just messin’ with you both. i approve of it, m'happy for you two.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

after dinner, the air was cool outside, crickets humming under the moonlight. porchlight flickering.

your boyfriend had kissed you goodbye by the front door. leaned in with both hands curling a little too low over your ass, even gave a squeeze that made your shoulder jerk with a surprised laugh. you returned still inside, rinsing the dishes with your dad. laughing over some dumb joke ben had told earlier.

your boyfriend didn’t know ben was outside the house. he didn't clock the sharp flick of a lighter or the curling smoke of a cigarette beside the fence, or the way his boots chewed over the gravel when he stepped out of the dark.

“hey.” ben had that wolfish grin on his face, the forced kind of grin that never reached his eyes. “you left somethin’.”

your boyfriend blinked, patting his pockets. “oh shit what—?”

“my fuckin’ patience.” ben grabbed him by the shirt collar before the kid could blink, yanking him back against the rear end of the car with a dull thud.

“jesus, what the fuck man?”

“don’t touch her like that.” ben’s fist was knotted in the cotton of his collar, twisting hard enough the guy had to grab at his wrist. "you shut up and listen to me.” his voice was so quiet, dangerous, the kind of tone that made anyones blood chill even if it wasn’t meant for you.

“you wanna play boyfriend, fine. smile at her, take her out, tell her she’s beautiful. but you pull a stunt like that, in front of me again— hands on her ass, kissin’ her like you own her— and i swear to god—”

“you’re insane—”

ben leaned in closer, his mouth right by the guy’s ear. “if you wanna keep your fingers, you’ll walk away, tonight. tell her you changed your mind, tell her it’s not workin’. i don’t give a fuck how you spin it. you make sure it ends.”

he let the poor guy go, shoved back just hard enough to make him stumble.

“and next time a man’s talkin’ to you, you look him in the fucking eye, or i’ll teach you how real men handle disrespect.”

your boyfriend looked stunned. chest heaving, like he couldn’t decide whether to swing or run.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

but by the next morning— ben knew.

it was barely past noon when he pulled up to the house again. he knew your dad’s out at work for the day, knew it before he even turned onto your street.

still, he knocks at your front door twice, but you don’t answer. and your sniffles gave you away before anything else did. ben opened the door and turned the corner to see you curled up on the couch, knees to your chest.

you look up, startled, and he plays the part— eyes wide with concern, voice gentle like cotton as he crouches down to your level.

“hey now,” he murmurs, brushing a hand over your arm, “what’s all this?”

your face crumples. “ben—” but the words cut short as your mouth wobbles and your eyes squeeze shut, tears spilling hot down your cheeks.

“aw, baby,” he breathes, pulling you in, “c’mere, that’s it. let it out, let it all out.” he cradles your head against his chest, and you just sob—deep, shaking, gut-wrenching.

you not even sure why he’s here. but the warmth as you cling to him, twisting your fists into the front of his shirt, as he pets your hair like you’re some fragile little thing. it was soothing.

“i knew somethin’ was wrong,” he coos, “my poor girl, crying all alone.” his lips press right in to your hairline. “don’t worry, i'm here now.”

he tilts your face up, pads his thumb under your lashes and over the damp skin of your cheeks, placing a soft kiss between your brows. “you’re too good for that kinda heartbreak, sweetheart.”

your breath stutters again, but it’s softer now— easing slowly under the warmth of his voice and the rough pads of his fingers stroking your temple. you fall asleep like that— head resting in his lap, cheek squished against the denim of his jeans, fingers curled against his thigh. he rubs your back in gentle circles, just watching down over you.

ben's other hand drifts over your bare thigh, and his cock is already half-hard beneath you. and it’s not about that right now, not when you look this soft, this innocent.

because if ben can’t have you, then no one else ever will.

tags: @tinas111 @fancyhideoutpeach @kimxwinchester @soldiersgirl @lanasgirlfr @unfortunate-brat @bruisedfig @angelically-yours @winchestersbgirl @spnaquakindgdom @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @pieandflannel @bejeweledinterludes @deanstubble @sunnyteume @clitsout4clark @sunnyfuffly @deansbeer @claymoresofinfamy23 @beforeroachfalls @capkatie @sbwifey @thesevnthseal @lunaleah @prettywhenipanic @defnot-svnshine @coventina2001 @adoredawn @averagedenjienjoyer0290 @scrmqwn @littlejoels @lori19 @tinysunshine @luvriablack @hueswithblues @lupinslibraries @a-lil-pr1ncess @lovtaesunu @beausling @lacysretribution @eternalstaar @maleficdean @ladykitana90 @n0t-vzin1s @deansposessive @quinnsdesk @okyouknowwhat @castielsonlyangel @maanlikemoon

⟢ if you would like to be added to / removed from the taglist, check out this post ᥫ᭡.

⟢ view my masterlist for more !!

515 notes · View notes

candytoothed · 2 days ago

Text

─── ( mlist, nsfw ! ) DEAN WINCHESTER carries two polaroids inside his wallet. a picture of you in a motel bed, sunlight spills through the curtains on your skin, drowning your irises— it’s one of his dearest possessions. you wear his flannel only, a pair of panties and no bra and your laugh is so contagious dean swears each time he takes the polaroid out of his wallet he falls in love all over again. and every time he can hear your laugh. you have huge smile plastered on your face and your mouth is covered with ketchup from a half eaten burger you’ve abandoned somewhere inside the cheap room.

the second polaroid, the prettiest fucking face he’s ever seen— big, teary eyes, wide open just for him. his cum drips in thick trails down your chin, your lipstick smeared, mascara running down your pretty face. it’s a polaroid of you on your knees, with your lips wrapped perfectly around the tip of his cock, your hand fisting its base, even if he spilled his cum down your throat already. the polaroid is shaky, but he’d never mind that. you’re gorgeous.

and a third photo— dean keeps it hidden inside his car. his little secret. his proudest one. it’s and old photograph of you inside the impala, completely naked, sprawled over the leather car seat while his dick fills up your wet cunt in the most obscene way. and you take him so well. so well, each time he’s away from you, he’ll stare at the polaroid with his dick throbbing inside his jeans. he gets so hard it physically hurts. he’ll spit in his hand and stroke his cock thinking of you, fantasizing about the way your pussy tightens around him.

he’d be such a liar if he said he didn’t have any more pictures of you.

1K notes · View notes

candytoothed · 2 days ago

Text

bunnyquirk!reader who stares curiously with wide eyes the first time they see katsuki bakugo in class, an expression of awe as they decided that 'yes, this is the boy i will obsess over."

bunnyquirk!reader who, despite being horribly shy the first few weeks at UA, slowly grew accustomed to their classmates and started following them around the school.

bunnyquirk!reader who slowly grew more and more attached to katsuki despite his pleas. he didn't need some furball clinging to him at random hours of the day.

he did, however, learn that bunnies had super long tails...

katsuki who snuck up behind them during training one day to be the little shit he was, eyeing the round tail that peak out the bottom of their training uniform shirt. he quickly tugged on it, watching it unravel to it's full length before they quickly jumped away in shock.

bunnyquirk!reader who quickly became the subject of katsuki's teasing after that incident; he'd ruffle their hair, play with their ears, verbally tease them and call them 'bunny' in a demeaning tone.

bunnyquirk!reader whose nose would twitch in embarassment from each interaction, horrified to admit that they were growing attached to him.

bunnyquirk!reader who would purposefully stand super close whenever they could, rubbing their chin all over katsuki's shoulder to claim him as theirs. he let them, not entirely knowing what the hell it was all about but enjoyed the attention. he got overly praised and obsessed over, not some damn extra.

bunnyquirk!reader who sat curled up under a stairwell after a particularly hard day, being found by katsuki with tears in their round eyes and ears pressed to their head. he bristled in discomfort, not knowing what to do before sitting down awkwardly next to them and patting their head.

bunnyquirk!reader who, despite technically being a prey animal, was promised by the boy they liked that he'd blow anyone up without hesitation if they ever so even breathed near them the wrong way.

3K notes · View notes

candytoothed · 4 days ago

Text

this are my boyfriends

we are in love all three together

411 notes · View notes

candytoothed · 4 days ago

Text

I personally believe Bakugo would get with a girl from a different country and not mind a slight language barrier.

Can you imagine how cute he’d sound trying to speak english?

He understands you, but for some reason actually speaking the language gets him tongue tied.

“Nice…to…meet…ju—-FUCK.”

“You. It’s okay.” You kiss his cheek as he begins to type away on his phone with google translate;

“How long are we going to be on this train. I’m fucking bored.”

You giggle at his words with his blank, furrowed expression and climb over to wrap your arms around his neck, “This is a 12 hour train ride and we just got on two hours ago, papa. Besides, we can practice your english for when you meet my mom.”

Your lips peck his pouted bottom lip, still happy and excited to finally be with your long distance boyfriend, and of course Bakugo was estatic himself. He has been practicing his english and so far he knows a few basic greetings and phrases and it’s the same with you learning Japanese.

The effort he’s been putting into this relationship really made your heart swoon for him more. He’s a bit rough around the edges, but that’s honestly what made you fall for him all those years ago.

“Again.” His raspy voice spits out in English, his ruby red eyes down on your glossed lips. He was still so demanding despite his cheeks being to red with you on his sturdy lap.

Cupping his chubby cheeks you tilt your head to do so more slowly and firm, he holds you by the ass to push you more against his chest, the sounds of nothing but the white noise of the train moving so fast and both of your moaning filled the train cabin.

“Kiss..again….please.” Bakugo spoke again, still needy, but trying to steady his breathing, which really made you smile so widely, he really was trying, even if he only spoke in broken English.

You kiss him once more, eventually feeling his tongue swipe your teeth for more access, he gets tongue tied when speaking another language, but not when he kisses you.

6K notes · View notes

candytoothed · 4 days ago

Note

pls need ddlg simon and reader

dead dove warning - ddlg, power dynamic, big age gap, perv simon

{ mdni } wc: { 1118 }

simon knows his pretty baby is just a little too stupid and dumb to tell him when its too much. so he pushes that line and tries to see how far she'll let him take it.

he coos and chuckles gently when he first tries to kiss his tip to your little sopping hole. hes fucked you so many times by now, and every time its perfect and everything hes ever been hoping for. it was just for his own sick little satisfaction that he wanted to see what you'd do when he tries to shove all of him in there for the first time.

"you're a big girl right?" he muses while his hands move your fatty hips to be nestled into the bed. he smiles softly when your sweet and pure lips mutter the word, 'yes'. every time you spoke it was prayer to him. he never knew angels had such a pretty and delicate little body. "yeah . . you're a big girl now, and big girls can speak their mind and tell daddy when its too much, right?" simons warm voice harvests the same comfort a warm blanket in a blizzard feels. but his tone let it be known that this was not the first time hes had to talk to you about this.

he could've chuckled a little when you nodded. he admired your naivety, he really did. it was his job to be the one to take care of you. where would you be if you didnt have him? who would order the food and drinks for you at a bar and restaurant? well who would be there to make sure you brush your teeth? it made it happy, made him feel warm.

simon knew he had to get you ready for him, especially if he was going to be pushing your limits and helping you find your voice this time.

hes standing at the foot of the bed while you rest on the edge near him. legs spread out and eyes ready to follow every command he utters. his eyes are focused down on the pretty pussy he's kissing his tip against. "got such a cute cunnie, baby" he muses while keeping his eyes down.

there's something so sweet about how the idea in his head is to help you find your voice, it didnt even cross his mind that maybe he likes seeing you squirm a little more than usual.

your legs twitch when you feel an inch of him slip in to just the hole for a second. pulling out and sliding against your soppy folds. sweet little whimpers parting your lips and gracing his ears. his hand stays firm around the base of his cock, letting you yearn for more before he gives it. "so sweet, honey,"

it only took seven minutes for you to be whimpering and pawing at him for more.

so hes rutting his cock into you for a little bit. only shoving five of the eight and a half in. its what hes alway done. hes learned to be a content man who's happy with what he gets. but the way your wet cunt getting his shaft to glistening in every moment hes pulling back just to fuck in - it just got too good of an offer to pass up.

those endless dark eyes glance up to your face when he pushes in another extra inch. he caught on to your little cracked squeak between the moan. but it wasn't the word he wanted to hear. he shoves in another and felt a little bad when he heard your yelp.

"daddy, too big, 's too big" you whimper to him.

"shh baby . . it'll be alright. biigg strettchhh" he muses while trying to get his fat cock all the way in there. he needs you to tell him when to stop. and he could've doubled over when he finally felt your warm pussy wrapping around and soaking his entire shaft.

the first couple seconds when hes all the way in there are bearable, but when he pulls back to give you that breath of release, it makes it feel like his almost nine inches are tearing you in half.

its making you pant and mewl. being fucked into the warm bed while the hard and thick girth of his cock is stretching out the tiny hole that needed three months to just get used to the first five.

simon is letting out breathy groans, his feet struggling to stay planted on the floor, he wants to just let go. but he started to see those tears prick in your waterline. he knew you were overwhelmed, you just never said the word he was looking for when this happened. like you were too stupid to know your own limits.

"you look like you're gonna cry, baby," he teases lightly. "you gonna cry for me?"

your head shaking 'no' being strong. it wasn't that bad you thought, you could take it, if it meant making him happy.

he chuckled when you told him no. "you tryin' to be brave for me?"

a coo escaping his lips when you nodded your head yes. he was blessed with such a sweet baby. he pushed his finger in your mouth for you to suck on. hoping to soothe that ache you were trying to get over.

feeling your warm and sticky mouth drooling around his finger, your teeth grazing against him, trying to not bite down. "cmon baby, if youre overwhelmed, tell daddy."

he was panting along with you now, that pussy was just sucking him in so easily. squeezing around him as it clamped down every couple of seconds from the sheer overstimulation.

you always stayed so docile for him. even if your cheeks were flushed and your eyes were glistening and teary, whimpers and whines keening from the lips that struggled to stay wrapped around his finger. chest panting in supple heaves as the bulge of his cock buried deep in your tummy. he chuckled at the sight, going harder, getting those whimpers to turn into yips.

"such a tight little pussy, baby." he purrs.

the wet squelching sound of his cock bullying into your pussy was mixing into a heavenly sequence with your sounds. he was growling and groaning while pistoning in and out of that tight little hole.

hips stutter and deepen the thrusts when his cock twitched and emptied out into you. warm and hot spurts of cum nuzzling into your cervix and not daring to spill out. simon leaves his spasming cock to settle after a couple seconds and pulls out, wiping his sensitive tip over your pulsing little clit.

"we gotta work on speaking up, baby."

2K notes · View notes

candytoothed · 6 days ago

Text

You and Toji are both exhausted new parents, constantly up at all hours—day and night with the baby. Toji’s grumpy and sex-deprived, muttering every morning about how he hasn’t been inside you properly in weeks—just humping against you during bottle feedings like a desperate old dog. And you’re just as pent-up, but every time you get a second alone, the baby starts crying.

Enter Megumi.

Grumpy, sleep-deprived, 20-year-old Megumi shows up to visit, stares at the bags under your eyes and the way Toji’s rubbing slow circles over your hip like a horny caveman, and just sighs.

“I’ll take her for an hour. Don’t do anything weird”.

You both freeze and blink at him in disbelief.

“Like… an hour-hour?” you ask with your breath catching, eyes sparkling with hope.

He rolls his eyes, already pulling the baby into his arms. “Yes. An hour-hour. Shower or whatever. Go”.

Except the moment the bedroom door shuts, Toji’s already on you, panting and feeling you up “Strip. Don’t waste the boy’s generosity”.

You’re both so frantic and relieved it’s honestly hilarious—Toji’s pants barely hit the floor before he’s hoisting you up, not even bothering to fully get on the bed. You’re clinging to his neck, giggling through your moans, whispering “We have to be quiet—he’s literally in the living room” while Toji mutters “He’ll live” as he bounces you like it’s his last chance at life.

Cut to poor Megumi who’s sitting stiff on the couch, holding the baby who is cooing softly against his hoodie, completely unaware.

In the background, there’s muffled thumping.

A faint creak.

A breathless “Fuuuck, I missed this pussy”

Megumi just closes his eyes and sighs.

“This is why I shouldn’t have offered”.

9K notes · View notes

candytoothed · 7 days ago

Text

ೃᰰ࿔ — filthy sex with MARK MEACHUM

summary: your older boyfriend looks a little tired after a long day at work. you help him destress in his favourite way.

warnings: smut (with no plot), squirting, age gap, use of ‘kid,’ established relationship between reader & mark 18+

wc: 1.5k

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

mark’s tired—his head throbs, and he’s got that strange hollow feeling behind his eyes that only makes the thudding pain worse. he’s had a rough day at the office; he’s exhausted and pent-up with frustration over his ever-increasing headaches and lack of headway with his case.

“baby, you know i’m gonna have to fold you in half if you keep looking at me like that,” mark mutters, his voice gruff as he watches you from across the room. purple bags hang heavy below his eyes, and his shoulders sag—a testament to his exhaustion.

you shift your weight on your feet and watch him melt into the couch, your heart sinking at how unengaged and tired he seems. his wrinkles look deeper today; he looks older, and you can feel the difference in your energies. you almost want to tease him for being an old man, but you don’t.

“do it… if it’ll make you feel better,” you say instead, your voice soft and saccharine like honey.

he raises his brow in interest, and a sigh escapes him. “yeah? c’mere then, pretty girl,” he murmurs, and then pats his thigh, silently commanding you over.

you oblige and make your way over, plopping down against him on the couch cushion, pressing into his side. he cups your cheek, guiding your face to his, and smiles tiredly.

“y’always know how to make your old man happy, huh?” he asks rhetorically before meeting your lips with his. he hums into the kiss; it’s slow and languid but charged with an underbelly burning full of need and desire.

mark nips at your bottom lip, his hand still cupping your jaw. he’s not letting you go, and you can tell how pent-up he is, how much he needs you.

your kisses turn more heated—lips parting, tongues darting out, meeting.

he loops his arm around your waist, pulling you tight against him. your fingers are busy undoing his belt buckle, your hand meeting his bulge once you unzip his fly, rubbing along the semi trapped in his boxers.

a chorus of groans tumble out of mark’s mouth as his cock grows hot between his thighs. he doesn’t take long to harden, not when you’re kissing and sucking on his tongue like the young little thing you are—always so eager to please.

you pull him out, and he’s leaking from his ruddy head already, keen and warm in your hand. you spit on your palm before wrapping it around him, tugging down on his cock.

“shit,” mark bites back a moan. “that’s it.”

you pump him slowly, letting your lips kiss at the leathery skin of his neck, tasting the subtle saltiness of his sweat, lingering from his long day at the precinct. you stroke up to his swollen cockhead, squeezing gently at the nerves, the feeling sending sparks rushing down his length and straight to his lower stomach.

“fuck, kid,” he gasps out, bucking his hips up into your hand. “you’re barely touching me, and i’m ready to cum. jesus christ.”

you press your lips into his jaw and hum, “mmm, yeah?”

he scrunches his face in pleasure and groans, his hand desperately undoing the button on your pants. he slips his hand into your underwear, his skin warm against yours, and finds your clit with his fingertips. you feel your nerves perk up at his touch.

“always so soft, baby,” he moans, rubbing your pussy. “my pretty pussy.”

your hips roll forwards against his practiced motions, working in unison for that sweet friction that makes your cunt drool. your hand doesn’t falter in its strokes on his cock, still tugging back his skin as little beads of pre dribble out of his piss slit.

your joint moans and heavy breaths escape into the air harmoniously, filling the otherwise silent space with noises that are nothing short of filthy.

mark feels your muscles twitch between your legs, and his own stomach muscles tighten in delight. “you ‘bouta cum, pretty baby?”

you nod, still letting your hand move up and down his member. “y–yeah… can i?” you breathe out.

“mmm, shit. you’re such a good girl when you ask like that. yeah, go on. cum for me, angel.”

you let go as soon as the words leave his mouth, your thighs spasming and your core clenching. mark feels his fingers moisten at the flood of your arousal leaking into your underwear.

“ah– fuck, good girl,” he gasps out, his throbbing cock twitching in your grip, ready to explode. “gonna cum, baby. you gotta let– let go. need to fuck that pretty pussy.”

you pant, coming down from your high, and gently drop his cock to his stomach. his precum smears just under his belly button, glistening in the dim lighting. it looks so sweet, you could just about lick it off, but mark’s already pushing down his jeans and boxers, eagerly baring himself for you.

you follow suit, tugging off your own pants and underwear, letting them fall into a pile on the floor with mark’s jeans.

his hands pull you onto his lap, his fingers rubbing along your slick slit. his eyes meet yours, his pupils dilated and hazy. “you ready? gonna take me, huh?” he asks.

you nod, your voice pleading and sweet. “please, mark.”

he swipes the swollen head of his cock along your folds, collecting your arousal on his tip, letting it mix with his pre.

“atta girl,” he praises and brings himself to your entrance. “down you go. nice ‘n slow for me, kid.”

you sink down, your walls fluttering around him as you try to accommodate the stretch of his solid cock. you both groan in sync at the feeling.

“shit, you’re so warm. you’re always so warm,” he mutters, his darkened eyes drinking in your expression. you nod again wordlessly, your contorted face betraying every spark of pleasure you’re feeling. mark watches you—his sweet little thing, all pretty and gooey for him. “that’s it, baby. just like that.”

his soft praises seep into your brain and force a warm fuzzy feeling to bloom in your chest. your hips rock back and forth on their own, working up a steady pace on his lap. his hands rest on your hips, squeezing gently as he guides your movements over his cock. “oh, yeah. that’s– just like that. good girl.”

your slow grinds quickly turn into hurried bounces in only a matter of minutes. impatient and needy, the pair of you. you work together in a flurry of intrinsic movements, like your bodies were made to be together. the pleasure builds between both of you; mark’s balls tighten preemptively as he thumbs your engorged clit, working you up into a whiny mess on his lap. schlick sounds erupt from your cunt as you bounce, joining your moans in filling the room with vulgar noises; your arousal drenches your inner thighs and mark’s pelvis—the sight is fucking filthy.

the band in your core tightens and tightens and tightens, and you watch mark’s eyes squeeze shut. the look on his face sends the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy.

you’re shocked as the clear liquid escapes you. you look down, gasping and whining as you finish on his lap, your squirt spilling down through his thighs and soaking the couch cushions. your cunt clamps tightly around mark’s cock, milking him for all he’s worth.

and that does it for him; he spills into you with a deep guttural groan, stuffing you full as you flail around on his sticky lap in a mess, still dribbling out finish from between your folds.

his lap is completely soaked by the time you finally settle down and cease your movements. you feel him beginning to soften inside your gummy walls, still plugging his cum from leaking out, but he says nothing, his panting taking precedence over words.

your legs shake, and your eyes meet his. he looks at you in a haze, a goofy smile stretching across his lips, and he blinks slowly, studying you. he raises a hand to your cheek, cupping it gently, before speaking in a low tone, checking in on you, “my good girl. you feel good?”

you nod. “yeah– yeah, that felt…” you trail off.

mark nods in understanding. “looks like it felt good,” he muses and pats your cheek, glancing down at the mess you made.

you feel your face heat up at his words, and you smile. “shut up. couldn’t help it… it just happened.”

“mhm, it did. i just made it happen,” mark chuckles, catching his breath. he drops his hand from your cheek and leans back into the couch with a deep content sigh of exhaustion, his hands now resting on your hips again.

the way he reverts back into his state of prior fatigue makes you huff in amusement. “you’re such an old man.”

mark scoffs, returning your teasing, “yeah? your favourite old man, who you should be grateful for right now, sweetheart… ‘cause no boy your age could get you to cum like that. i know that much, kiddo.”

he smirks at you and tilts his head arrogantly, and you sigh… because you know he’s right.

fig yaps: feels like i haven’t written word porn in ages so forgive me if this was a lil rusty omg anyways first mark fic yaaaay he’s so daddy i’m going to explode <3

reblogs and feedback are appreciated! mwah!

⟡ taglist: @abellmunsonmovie @cryingdew @floralscented @deansbeer @honeyyxxbee @ilovedilfs-4-ever @soldiersgirl @jensenacklesballsack @beausling @sturnspup @bluemerakis @luvmes-things @n-o-p-e-never @dubina-dawkins @fawncried @jasvtsc @starzify @bejeweledinterludes @sbwifey @nymphet-quenn @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @minettacreekk @sapphic-destiel @tinas111 @skutykocur @completedust @titsout4jackles @diner-girl @littlejoels @tortureddarkstar @angelically-yours @pieandflannel @angelicjackles @cherrygirl444 @confuzzled-waffle @spookyysinsanity @ccupidzbvnni @euphoriabyjk2 @jackles010378 @cupidzbunny @slayjjuni @lanasgirlfr @celebrinigf @briisbananass @hueswithblues @siddyyyyyyyy @manicjk @ackl3z @defnot-svnshine @sunnyteume @shannonxg

join my taglist here! or message me to be removed! <3

#RAAAHHHHH #it’s a good day it’s a great day #gimme dat neow!!!!

489 notes · View notes

candytoothed · 7 days ago

Note

dads best friend ben. pls. i love u.

cw: smut.ᐟ dbf!ben x reader.ᐟ au non-supe ben.ᐟ age gap [reader is in her 20s].ᐟ reader lives at home.ᐟ oral / face fucking [m.receiving].ᐟ dubcon.ᐟ power imbalance.ᐟ vulgar!ben.ᐟ pervy!ben.ᐟ cocky old man behavior.ᐟ suggestive tones.ᐟ pet names [honey, sweetheart pretty girl, sweet girl].ᐟ 18+

#notes: anon, this may have given me a reason to write one of my favourite tropes of all time. apologies if it's too filthy.

wc: 2500

ben's not a stranger, not by a long shot.

he's been in your life since you were old enough to climb onto the back deck barefoot with juicebox in hand and tug your dad’s sleeve to ask who the loud man with the beard was. “that’s ben,” your dad had told you, already half-smiling. “he’s a trouble maker sweetie.”

trouble, yeah. but familiar. too familiar, now. somewhere between scraped knees and summer jobs, ben stopped treating you like a kid.

at twenty, you came home from college for reading week. ben was already there hanging out, lounging at the kitchen island in a white tee and sweats— no boxers, never any boxers.

he smiled when he saw you. “well shit, look what the fuckin’ wind blew in,” and then pulled you in for a tight hug. one arm above the dip on your waist, the other dragging across your upper back.

“c’mon, give the old man a spin. lemme see what college did to ya.” he murmured near your ear. you pulled back. his hand lingered too long, eyes dropped too slow. he clicked his tongue when you turned to leave and gave him the middle finger.

twenty-one. ben was staying in your basement that week while his house was getting work done— busted pipes, or drywall, or whatever fucking excuse he gave your dad to crash for free and drink all his beer.

you came downstairs to throw a load of laundry in. figured he’d be out with your dad like usual, but he was in the den recliner. his hand was tucked under the waistband of his sweatpants, not doing anything at first, just resting.

he didn’t move when you walked past. a subtle glance at you with those heavy-lidded eyes and adjusted himself once, palm shifting under the fabric. “relax, sweetheart,” he muttered without looking up from the TV. “just fixin’ the boys.”

that same week, you caught the bathroom door cracked open. steam poured into the hall, and in the mirror— his back, broad and freckled, towel hanging off his hips. and his cock, swinging low and heavy as he dried off without a care in the world. he wanted you to see.

then twenty-two, you were eating cherries out of the fridge, standing in front of the open door in a tank and sleep shorts. ben came in behind you, opened another beer, and leaned his hip against the counter. watching you pop the pits into your palm with your thumb.

“you always suck ‘em like that?” he asked, voice thick with something. you looked up and blinked. “the cherries,” he said, cocking his head. “you always roll ‘em around in your mouth? jesus christ, honey.” you tried your best to not let it go to your head, or better yet your cunt. but ben walked away before you had time to come up with an answer.

so yea, ben wasn’t a stranger. if anything, he was around too much— laughing too loud in your kitchen, always grabbing a beer from the fridge like he lived there. and he looked at you too long, lingered too close, stared in ways no friend of your dad’s ever should’ve.

all the while, your father had no fucking clue.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

you’d been hearing them for the past hour— voices rising above the hum of the tv, the familiar thud of beer bottles against the kitchen counter, bursts of laughter so loud and guttural it rattled the light fixture in the hallway. ben's voice somewhere in the mix, always the loudest when he was around.

your father had called up to you a few minutes ago. asking you to come down to say hi, be polite. you almost didn’t, but with a roll of your eyes you did anyways.

the air was thick with a mix of cologne and stale beer when you stepped into the kitchen. five grown men crowded around the island— your dad, a few of his old work buddies, and ben, standing leaned back against the sink. the counter was cluttered with empty bottles, and fresh one's sweating in a lopsided cooler on the floor.

“there she is,” your dad said, smile splitting his face as he reached out to tug you into a side hug. “my girl’s staying in for the weekend.”

the others echoed their greetings, nods and smiles, but ben moved first. arms outstretched like it was nothing, pulling you in close with that slow grin he always wore when he'd had a few. his arms circled your waist, and you didn’t have time to hesitate before he kissed the top of your head— too sweet for someone who wasn’t family.

“‘bout time you showed up,” he murmured, half-drunken buzz clinging to every word. his hand lingered at your back a moment too long.

you stepped back, muttered something about grabbing a drink, and drifted to the living room couch where the tv flickered low. your fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt. the voices carried in from the kitchen.

“—nah, this one chick in montana, swear to god, made her cum just from sucking on her tits,” ben was saying, loud enough to be heard clearly from the living room. "poor thing couldn’t walk straight for days.”

more laughter. someone groaned. your dad barked a laugh. “you’re a fucking pig, ben.”

“takes one to know one,” he shot back, and you could feel the cockiness in his voice.

every time he told another story, his voice got bolder, more descriptive. women who’d sent him videos. girls who liked it rough. a flight attendant he once made cry— but in the ‘good way’, apparently. and every time, you caught his gaze slipping past the kitchen archway, trailing toward the couch. right towards you.

ben never said your name or directed a word your way. but he was aiming every filthy syllable at you— baiting you with the past he lived in and the kind of man he’d always been. the kind of man your dad kept around for god knows what reason.

he still hadn’t touched you. not really. not after all these years. but you knew him long enough to know that look. the half-drunk and cocky, beer bottle dangling from two fingers, eyes heavy-lidded and hungry.

eventually, the back door creaked open and the pack of them spilled outside. boots scuffed across the deck, someone cracked a joke about cigars and a bonfire, and the sharp metallic flick of a lighter snapped through the air.

you waited until the laughter dulled, and the drag of their boots faded to the backyard. the silence left behind made the house feel too big. told yourself you were only heading upstairs to get away from the smell of cigarettes and beer that lingered, and noise and him.

but the truth followed you with every step. ben's voice still echoing in your ears. all those stories. the stares. the weight of it never letting up. you slipped into your room, shut the door behind you, and pressed your back to it— just for a second. breathing in, chest tight. thighs tighter.

you didn’t bother locking it. some rational part of you knew better. but a part of you hoped. either way, the click of the knob turning minutes later didn’t surprise you.

“so this is where you hide, huh?”

you barely had time to look up before he was leaning in the doorframe, eyeing the mess of your room like he belonged in it.

“couldn’t handle bein’ near me anymore?”

you stiffened, fingers curled tighter in the edge of your blanket. “i was just tired—”

“bullshit,” he cut in, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him as if it was nothing. “you pressed those thighs together so tight i thought you were gonna make yourself come right there on the fuckin’ couch.” his voice lowered as he walked towards you. “you been like this for years,” he said. “ always sweet. lookin’ at me when you thought no one would notice.”

you looked away feeling sick with shame, but you couldn't even help the way your thighs clenched again.

“i mean fuck, look at the tits on you,” thick with booze and that low, too-casual slur that made your skin crawl. “y'filled out real nice, honey.”

you stiffened. he laughed, cruel under his breath. “what? you ain’t gonna say thank you when someone gives you a compliment now?”

he cupped himself through his jeans, palming the tent in his pants like he needed the relief, cause it was your fault he was hard.

“y'know, your dad would kill me if he knew what i used to think about when I was in that basement,” he muttered, almost to himself. “how bad i wanted to pull those shorts to the side and eat your cunt until you cried.” he paused a moment, watching your reaction.

“i always wanted to see if it’d taste as sweet as you looked down there all summer, bendin’ over in those tight outfits. thought you were subtle, huh?”

your knees buckled just slightly, but he caught your chin with two fingers, turning your face back toward him.

“nah, pretty girl. you always wanted me lookin’. fuck, you know what it does to a man? seein’ his girl grow up that pretty— walkin’ around the house in tiny shorts, not wearin’ a bra." ben's tongue darted out to wet his lips. "and now here we are.” his hand slid down to grip your jaw. “door’s shut. nobody comin’ up here, and you’re still lookin’ at me with those same curious eyes.”

“m'gonna kiss you now. would you like that, sweet girl?” his gaze flickered between your eyes and lips, watching you nod as he closed the distance between you two.

the clink of metal hitting metal made your stomach drop. starting with his belt, the zipper next— drawn down in a drag of teeth, loud in the stillness of the room.

and then he shoved his jeans down low on his hips, underwear pushed just far enough to free his cock— flushed pinks and reds and already leaking. coarse hair dark brown at the base, a heavy trail leading up his soft belly, dusted thick across his lower abdomen.

“yeah,” he smirked, watching you watch him. he wrapped a fist around the base, letting you see the dribbles of premium oozing from his slit.

“this what you think about when you’re touchin’ yourself, honey?” he asked, voice turned rougher, eyes half-lidded with heat. “you ever think about me while you had those little fingers stuffed inside your cunt? wonderin’ how much bigger i’d feel?”

his free hand found your chin again. this time, he held you still, made you look right at it. chubbed up, cut, flushed dark at the tip, glistening from the weight of his need.

“don’t be scared now,” he mocked, voice laced with sarcasm. “go on, you can touch it, won’t bite.”

your knees hit the floor a second later, thighs tight together from the way your whole body pulsed with heat.

“good fucking girl,” ben groaned, hand sliding to the back of your head. “knew you’d be good on your knees.” he let go of his cock, let it slap against your cheek, smearing pre-come across your skin as he nudged the tip along your plush lips.

“open up, sweetheart,” he rasped. “lemme see that tongue.” and when you did, he spit, landing right down against the shaft, guiding his cock into your mouth.

your smaller hands barely wrapped around his shaft, hands gripping at the base while you looked up at him. saliva already pooling and sliding down your chin. but ben didn’t care.

his hand tightened in your hair as he rolled his hips forward, just to feel your sudsy lips covered with bubbles of spit, choking on the length that slowly penetrated the back of your mouth. your nose started to nestle against the scratchy corse hairs at the base of his cock. he held you all the way down for a moment, revelling in the tightness of your throat.

ben's thrusts were getting sloppy. the heel of his palm pressing against the back of your head to hold you down, to make you take it.

“hear that?” he grunted. “fuckin’ mouth's squeezin’ me.”

your fingers curled against his thighs, trying to keep balance as he used your mouth, hips jolting harder now, ragged breath above you.

“shit, m'not gonna last,” he warned, barely holding together. “gonna shoot it right down that pretty fuckin’ throat. s’what you wanted all those years, right? daddy’s friend fuckin’ your face.”

he twitched in your mouth, grip tightening, and before you could brace for it, he came with a ragged groan— creamy splats over your tongue, too fast to swallow.

you tried, but it flooded your mouth, smeared down your chin, dripped onto your shirt. you coughed around it, choking, the mess forcing you back off him. attempting to apologize while blinking down salty tears mixed with mascara.

ben leaned down with a crooked grin. “if you were really sorry, you would’a swallowed like a good girl.”

his hand slid down your throat, then carefully swiped through the mess coating your skin. he brought a slick glob up on his index finger, holding it steady in front of your lips.

“but nah,” he murmured, full of mock disappointment. “you’re just a dirty slut who spilled it all.” his finger hovered there. “open.”

you blinked up at him, chest still heaving, lips parting slowly.

“there she is,” he rasped, watching as your tongue flicked out and pulled his finger in, sucking it clean like a fuck toy for his personal use.

you barely had time to catch your breath before the faint scrape of deck chairs sounded from below, a voice calling out through the screen door.

“ben? the fuck are you man, fire's blazing out here.”

your stomach dropped. ben’s head snapped up. he moved quick—tucking his softening messy cock back into his jeans, still half-hard, zipping up with a hiss and wiping his thumb across your bottom lip.

“get in bed,” he muttered, no room for question. “pretend you're asleep.”

you nodded, messy as fuck, and crawled up on to your mattress on weak limbs. the sheets were still warm where you’d left them, but nothing about you felt the same.

ben watched for a second longer, hand braced on the doorknob. then he slipped out without another word, quiet as he could, shutting it behind him with the softest click.

you lay there in the dark, heart thudding, mouth still tingling where he’d touched it— his salty taste lingering thick on your tongue.

downstairs, your father laughed at something ben said, some excuse he'd conveniently made up.

and you turned your face into the pillow, trying to hold back a fucking smile.

⟢ if you would like to be added to / removed from the taglist, check out this post ᥫ᭡.

⟢ view my masterlist for more !!

565 notes · View notes