You're summertime angelpie

all guts, no glory

tw. obsessive / stalker dean x reader. somnophilia. pussy eating. breaking in. p in v. creampie. alcohol mention. panty kink. panty stealing. CNC. title from alligator blood- nicole dollanganger.

the key turns with practiced silence in the deadbolt. Dean knows exactly which floorboards creak. the third from the door, the one in the hall by the bathroom, the spot just beside your bed. He's memorised the layout of your apartment the way he memorised the feel of your skin from that one time you bumped into him at the grocery store, your hand brushing his as you both reached for the same bottle of whiskey.

Six months ago. You don't remember but he does.

His boots are off left at the door in the hallway. He's wearing only socks, a pair of dark jeans and a leather jacket that's seen better days. He moves through your living room like smoke, past the collection of succulents on your windowsill, past the half-empty coffee mug you left on the coffee table—black with two sugars. you take it just like he does. moving into the rectangle of pale moonlight spilling from your bedroom doorway.

There you are.

You're on your side with one arm tucked under your pillow, mouth slightly open, your lashes dark crescents against your cheeks. The sheet has twisted around your legs leaving one thigh exposed, the curve of your hip visible where your oversized t-shirt has ridden up.

You're wearing that shirt—the worn one with the faded band logo that he's seen you in at least a dozen times from his parked car across the street.

Dean's breath catches in his throat the way it always does when he sees you like this. Vulnerable. oblivious. his.

He pads closer to the bed, his shadow falling over you. The mattress dips as he settles his weight on the edge, the springs complaining softly. You don't stir. You never do. You sleep like the dead and Dean thanks whatever twisted god is listening for that mercy.

His hand hovers over your hip, not quite touching. He can feel the warmth radiating from your skin, smell the faint scent of your shampoo—something coconut and vanilla that drives him insane. His cock is already half-hard in his jeans, pressing against the zipper demanding attention.

"God.. look at you.” he whispers, his voice rough and low. "So fucking beautiful I can't think straight."

He finally lets his palm rest on your bare thigh. Your skin is impossibly soft, warm from sleep. He strokes up, fingers trailing over the swell of your hip and dipping under the hem of your shirt. You shift slightly in your sleep, a soft sound escaping your lips and Dean freezes, his heart hammering against his chest.

When you settle back into your breathing rhythm—slow, even and deep he exhales shakily.

"Sweetheart.” he murmurs like a prayer. "You have no idea what you do to me."

He slides his hand higher tracing the line of your ribs through the thin cotton of your shirt. His thumb brushes the underside of your breast and his mouth waters. He's dreamed of this, of touching you, of taking what he wants while you lie there oblivious.

Selfish. So selfish.

Slowly he pulls the sheet down further baring your legs completely. The moonlight catches the curve of your ass where your shirt has bunched up and Dean has to bite back a groan. His free hand goes to his jeans fumbling with the button, unzipping with a sound that seems impossibly loud in the quiet room.

He frees his cock—hard and thick, the head already slick with a bead of precum. He strokes himself once then twice, watching your sleeping face. your parted lips. the way your chest rises and falls.

"I need to taste you..” he breathes out.

He shifts positioning himself between your legs. With gentle reverent hands he pushes your thighs apart. You make a sleepy sound of protest but don't wake, your body relaxing into his touch. The cotton of your panties is thin, worn, and he can see the shadow of your cunt through the fabric.

Dean leans down and presses his mouth to you through the cloth, inhaling your scent. He's dizzy with it. His tongue darts out wetting the fabric, tracing the seam of your folds. You twitch, your hips rolling slightly and he groans against you.

He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your panties and pulls them down your thighs, your knees, off completely. He pockets them for later. he'll stroke himself to this memory.

Now he spreads you open with his thumbs and you're glistening pink, already wet in that unconscious way your body responds to sleep. Dean swears under his breath, his voice cracking.

"God look at this pussy. Made for me. Made just for me."

He lowers his head and his tongue is flat against your clit in one smooth possessive stroke. He tastes salt and the faint sweetness of you and it's better than any whiskey, better than anything he's ever had. He circles your clit with the tip of his tongue slow and firm and your body responds immediately—your hips twitch, a soft moan escaping your throat.

"That's it..” he murmurs against you. "Let me have it, baby."

He works you open with his mouth, licking into your folds, fucking you with his tongue. He's patient. He knows what he's doing and he takes his time. He brings you to the edge and backs off just to watch your breath hitch, just to see the way your brow furrows in your sleep, caught in the edge of a dream you don't remember.

When he surfaces his chin is slick with you and his cock throbs with a brutal need. He positions himself between your thighs, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance. He looks at your face one last time—your relaxed features, your soft mouth, the way you've turned your head to the side completely unaware.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart.” he whispers though there's no apology in his voice. "I can't help myself. You're mine."

He pushes in and your cunt yields to him wet and hot and tight, the friction of that first slick slide making his eyes roll back. You gasp sharply, your body jolting and he stills, buried halfway inside you. His jaw is clenched so tight it aches.

"Shh shh, I've got you.” he whispers smoothing his hand over your hip, your belly. "Just relax. You feel so good, Christ. so good."

Your body adjusts, your muscles loosening as you sink back into sleep and he takes that as permission. He pushes deeper seating himself fully inside you and the feeling of your tight cunt gripping his cock is almost too much. He has to breathe through it, his forehead nearly pressed to yours, his breath fanning over your face.

He starts to move—slow deep strokes that drag the full length of him through your slick heat. The bed creaks in a steady rhythm, the headboard knocking soft against the wall. Your nails scrape weakly at the sheets, and your lips part, your breathing speeding up, catching on little whimpers.

"Fuck, you take it so well.” he grits out, his hips picking up speed. "You take my cock so fucking good, baby. Dreaming about this, I know you are. Dreaming about me filling this tight little cunt."

He wraps one arm under your knee, hitching your leg higher changing the angle. He drives deeper, hitting a spot that makes your whole body clench, your back arching off the mattress. A low broken moan escapes you, the first sound you've made that's truly awake, but your eyes stay closed.

"Right there-“ he gasps. "Right fucking there come on, give it to me. wet my cock."

He reaches down between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles. He fucks you harder, faster, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your walls fluttering around him and he watches your face contort in that perfect mask of pleasure.

"Now.” he commands, his voice breaking. "please- cum for me now."

Your orgasm crashes through you, your back bowing with a sharp cry tearing from your throat. Your cunt milks him, clenching and pulsing and Dean buries his face in your neck as he follows you over the edge, spilling deep inside you in hot heavy pulses. He grinds his hips against you riding it out, groaning your name like a curse.

For a long moment, the only sound is his ragged breathing and the distant hum of traffic. He stays inside you softening, his face pressed to the curve of your shoulder. When he finally pulls out, he watches a pearl of his cum leak from your cunt, and he uses two fingers to push it back inside.

"Can't waste any of it…” he murmurs.

He pulls your shirt down, rearranges the sheet over you and presses a long, soft kiss to your forehead. You mumble something in your sleep, turning onto your other side and curling into a ball.

Dean dresses in the dark, takes your panties from his pocket and stows them safely, lets himself out of your apartment the same way he came in.

As he walks to his car under the streetlights, he pulls his phone from his pocket and opens the app he's been using to track your phone's location.

ben catches you humping your soldier boy pillow….. !

mdni. 18+

the apartment was quiet, ben had just gotten back from a late training session with the team, his muscles still humming with residual adrenaline. he’d expected to find you reading or scrolling through your phone, maybe already asleep. what he found instead made him freeze in the doorway.

the dim lamplight painted your body in warm shadows. you were sprawled across the bed face-down, your hips grinding into the pillow beneath you—his pillow. the one with his face printed on it, a promotional stunt vought had pushed out last year that he'd thought was ridiculous but you'd kept anyway.

your fingers were gripping the edges of the pillowcase, knuckles white as you rolled your hips in slow deliberate circles. a soft breathy moan escaped your lips, muffled against the fabric.

he didn't move. didn’t speak. just leaned his shoulder against the doorframe and watched.

your shorts were bunched around your thighs, the damp fabric of your pink underwear clearly visible as you pressed yourself against the pillow again and again. your legs were spread just enough to give him a perfect view of the way your ass clenched with each thrust.

"mmmf…. ben.. “ you whispered into the pillow, your voice strained. "god, yes..."

his cock twitched behind his jeans. he reached down palming himself through the denim, not bothering to be quiet about it.

the sound of his zipper made you freeze.

every muscle in your body locked up as you turned your head eyes wide, face flushed. your lips were parted with a string of saliva connecting your mouth to the pillowcase.

"dont stop caus’ me, honey.”

his voice was rough, a command that left no room for argument. he pulled his cock out already half-hard and wrapped his hand around the shaft. the sight of him towering in the doorway stroking himself while staring at you like prey—sent a jolt of electricity through your core.

"b-ben… i-“

"i said don't stop." he stepped into the room, his boots heavy on the hardwood floor. "you were into it a second ago. dont get shy on me now."

he sat down in the armchair by the window, the leather creaking under his weight. his hand moved along his length slow and deliberate as his eyes locked onto yours.

"go on.” he growled. "show me what you were doin’.”

your body moved before your brain could catch up driven by a mix of embarrassment and arousal. you lowered yourself back onto the pillow, the material still warm and damp from before. the pressure against your clit sent a shudder through your thighs.

"yeaaah... just like that." his voice was a low rumble barely audible over the sound of your own ragged breathing. "grind that pretty cunt against my face."

every movement pressed your clit against the printed fabric, the friction making your hole clench around nothing.

his hand moved in time with you, the wet sounds of his palm sliding along his shaft filled the room mixing with your soft moans and the faint creak of the bedsprings.

a low approving growl rumbled from his chest. "that's it.. baby. keep goin’ dont you dare cum until I tell you to."

the command made your thighs tremble. you pressed your face into the pillow, inhaling the faint scent of his cologne that still lingered on the fabric and continued your rhythm imaging bens cock snug in your guts. the pressure was building coiling tight in your belly but you held back, waiting for his permission.

ben stood up, his boots clicking against the floor as he crossed the room. the bed dipped under his weight as he knelt behind you close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body.

"look at you..” he clicked his tongue. "humpin’ a pillow like a bitch in heat. and it's my face you're rubbing that wet pussy against."

his hand came down on your ass cheek, a sharp stinging slap that made you cry out. the pain bloomed into pleasure and you thrust harder against the pillow.

you could see his hard cock in your peripheral vision—the slick glistening length of him, the way his muscles bunched with each stroke. the sight was enough to push you closer to the edge.

"mmf- can i cum daddy? please! feels so good on my pussy…”

"fuckin’ drench that pillow.” he laughed.

the command shattered you. your orgasm ripped through your body, a tidal wave of heat and pleasure that made your vision go white. you whimpered his name- a broken desperate sound as your hips bucked wildly against the pillow, riding out the waves of ecstasy. slick sputtered from your heat, dripping down your thighs and leaving a stain on the cotton.

behind you ben groaned. his hand moved faster until you felt it—hot thick ropes of cum splattering across your lower back and the curve of your ass. he cursed a string of filthy words as he painted your skin with his release.

he leaned forward, his chest pressing against your back, his lips brushing your ear with that million dollar smirk.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ — gotta teach ‘em young.

soldier boy x reader (18+) … are you recording?

warnings: vomit, oral sex (male receiving), mild degradation, breath play if you squint, throat bulging (wow whos shocked)

wc: 1.4k

note: HAPPY LAST TAPE!! ty for the love on the miniseries! time for bigger things.. if you catch my drift.

Weirdly enough, there was no camera man for this.

Sure, they set it all up for you two and positioned it nicely, but Ben wanted the room just for you two. No one else. An ‘intimate’ moment, if you could call it that at all.

Just to preface, you’ve never really been into sucking dick or deep throating or face fucking or really anything else that comes with putting a penis in your mouth consciously. It’s just not fun for you. Ben hates that about you. Hates that he needs to put in the effort for you to do it. Needs to ease you, to beg you, to drug you into taking him. It works, but it’s annoying.

This is his final straw. What better way to get you to open up to it if he trains you?

You sit at your knees, hands in your lap squeezing your inner thighs. Ben stands before you, his daunting cock waving around in your face. The musk wafts in your face every time the air slightly brushes it. It’s not unpleasant. You know for a fact he’s at the very least mostly clean under there, nice and washed before this moment so you don’t want to throw up right away.

“Open.” He reaches over, grabbing a blue bottle from the side. You open your mouth, sticking your tongue out. He flips the bottle open and squirts the liquid onto your tongue, nodding somewhat when you close and swallow.

He thinks it’s cheating to get a mouth lubricant. He’d rather have a fully dry tongue than this, but you begged him so sweetly he made the accommodation just this once. After this, he’s tossing it.

It tastes sweet and coats your mouth thickly like oil on a pan. You grimace and smack your lips, scrunching your nose. He scoffs. “What? Thought you wanted that stupid thing.” You shrug. “Yeah, I-I did. Didn’t think it’d feel like that.”

You straighten yourself back up, squeezing your hands into fists and opening your mouth back. You can feel the weight of him as he presses his tip at your tongue. It’s solid, as heavy as two fistfuls of rocks. You wonder if he was always this big or if it was just the V.

You don’t get to think for long because the first push is the deepest. Hits all the way to the back of your throat and leaves you sputtering for air. His hands find way to the back of your head, keeping you right in place with nowhere else to go.

“Don’t be a fucking baby.” He pinches your nose scoldingly. You whine around him, eyes twitching with discomfort. You’re grateful for the mouth-lube. It brings out enough saliva that this first stretch isn’t very uncomfortable. His hips come back and push in a bit deeper. You feel it deep within your throat, the stretch of his cock more like a package bubble bursting beneath a finger. It’s explosive and tantalizing, like it wants to reach further yet it can’t.

Each inch that he attempts to force down is swallowed with a soft hiccup. You can’t feel your own breath coming up your throat and through your nostrils at some point, but the ending line is in sight. You can see it when you glance up at his scrunched expression, cheeks flushing somewhat and his mouth hanging open. You can feel it once his pubic hair begins to tickle your nose, a strong stench of masculinity invading your air.

It’s not bad, just him.

“God, you’re tight.” He grunts, hands tangling in the back of your head as he does the last stretch. Your mouth overflows with spit and it spills past your lips down onto your thighs. You can feel the bulge in your throat, all nine and something inches of him inserted into the depths of your esophagus. The gag you’d been holding the past ten minutes finally slips, eyes bubbling with tears and your hands suddenly gripping at his hairy thighs.

Each gag comes through in waves, painful and burning at the skin inside you with stomach acid that threatens to rise. Ben moans deeply with each one, the spasming of your insides pulling out precum from his urethra until it drips down into you. A fire curls in his stomach at the feeling of your nails digging into his flesh. They form crescent indents he’s sure to admire later once it’s all said and done.

He brushes hair out of your face, free from your mouth and watery eyes. Your pupils are dilated full on, endorphins working their magic to calm your nerves and flooding the pain receptors in your body. He looks proud. Almost.

His chest is puffed out, a slight upturn of the side of his lip poking out. You look hazy, eyes lidded and brows furrowed as you focus on breathing. It’s all you can do. As he reels his hips and rocks them back into you, balls slapping against your chin a little more aggressively with each movement, you’re reduced to a drooling mess under his grasp.

You don’t gag as much anymore, it’s more of a hiccup. Your throat closes in increments as each inch is pulled in and out. Ben hopes, hopes and hopes, that the camera can catch the way your throat throbs and widens for him. The way that it contorts in a way it shouldn’t as his abnormal cock stretches it out the same way he does with your cunt, with your ass.

He feels lightheaded. He loves your throat, absolutely loves it. Loves the way he can feel the warm bile against his tip just a little more with each forceful thrust. Loves the way your nose buries into his forest of dark, thick hair, heavy breaths tickling him.

“I’ll never—“ He croaks, snapping his hips into your face with a force that could break your nose. You gargle around him, spit and precum mixing and bubbling around your lips and onto your chin. “—Never understand why you hate this so much! Christ on a cross, baby, you’re tighter than a nun.”

Oh, he’d never understand.

He’s almost never on the receiving end of getting the air sucked out of him like you are, at least not most of the time.

You feel faint. The excruciating headache you have comes from the blood being blocked from circulating with every obstructed breath. Every time he fucks into your face your fingers temporarily tighten and loosen against him. You’ve fallen into a routine of gagging with every fourth thrust.

Ben’s breathing gets a little heavier. His thrusts become looser, hips slacking somewhat. There’s a bubble of heat rising in him, one that sends a shock up his spine.

“Gonna cum, baby.” He rasps. You barely nod at it, a slight huff of acknowledgement at the very most. You whine halfheartedly when he digs his hands deep into your skull, tufts of hair between his fingers as he suddenly locks back in to get himself off.

Cum floods your system in waves like fireworks.

Each spurt is hot and fast, overwhelms you with a snap and forces a sharp gag from deep inside. Ben can’t help himself. He smothers you in his essence, the only other sensation being the pressure of his pelvis against your face.

Bile rises rapidly, the hot, acid-like liquid rushing through your esophagus. It can’t go through your throat and out your mouth, there’s something blocking it. What does it do? It rushes out of your nose instead.

He doesn’t seem to mind much that vomit spills out of your nostrils and onto him, but you do. You claw at him until he finally lets go once the pulsing in his balls stops. You’re ever grateful.

Air fills you in the worst way possible. It fills your orifices while the rest of the disgusting liquid tries to come out, a mixture that sends you into a coughing, sputtering mess. It spills all over the ground and puddles under your bodies, blues, greens and discolored browns mixed with milky, murky white.

“Fucking gnarly.” He grunts. His cock softens inch by inch. He doesn’t take his eyes off of your shrunken form for one second. You lightly whack at his leg, shaking your head with distaste. “F-Fuck you!” You exhale. You sound like a fish out of water, feel even worse than that. Ben shrugs, reaching down and patting your head.

“Yeah, yeah. Dramatic bitch.”

dean winchester is pathetic. you weren’t clueless to that fact when you started dating him, but perhaps you were oblivious to the degree of his stupid submissive tendencies and how much of a horny little mutt he is.

your phone dinged at 3:46pm, the sound echoing off the walls in the bunker’s library. a text from dean. a video.

“hi, baby. i miss you,” he says and smiles into the camera, looking all pretty under the afternoon sun. “sammy and i’ve arrived. he’s back in the room… but i’m out here by the pool. it’s kinda empty… which is good… i suppose… cause look–”

he pans the camera down; he’s in a shirt and boxers, his swim shorts tugged halfway down his thighs. you see the clear outline of his bulge hidden beneath the dark fabric.

“thought about your pussy the whole drive here. i couldn’t help it. i’m just– i’m aching for her. need her smothering my face… or my cock, baby. jesus, i’m so– fuck!”

he rambles on, slowly stroking himself over his boxers. soft needy noises leave his lips—the sounds barely making it into the video. you can tell he’s trying to be quiet, wanting to be a good boy only for you and your ears.

it doesn’t take much for dean to cum, whimpering and whining the whole video until his seed shoots out the leg hole of his boxers and coats his meaty thigh with thick ropes.

“fuck– oh! shit!” he gasps out breathlessly.