Arcannaa

And still—he doesn’t rush.

He moves them in and out of you slowly, dragging them against that tender, overstimulated spongy spot inside you like he’s painting you open, drawing gasps from your lips and a desperate, choked sound from your chest.

You feel the bed shift, the heat of his mouth never leaving your clit, tongue alternating between hard flicks and devastating slow licks that make your thighs tremble.

Your eyes flutter open—just barely—and your gaze lands on his tousled hair between your legs. His shoulders are braced against your thighs, holding you down, like you might try to run from it.

“Baby—” you breathe, voice thick and wrecked, hips starting to roll into his mouth on instinct, fingers weaving through his hair and tugging gently at the soft blonde strands.

He groans in response, deep and needy, the sound vibrating straight through your clit as his fingers start to fuck into you deeper, faster now—just a little, just enough to send you spiraling again.

Your breath catches, legs tightening around his head, toes curling and your hands scrabble uselessly at the sheets.

“Oh God—Dean, I—” you whimper, but you don’t want him to stop. You want to drown in it. You need to.

He pulls back just enough to look up at you, mouth glistening, lips parted as he pants against your slick pussy.

“You’re already so wet for me, sweetheart,” he rasps, voice low and hungry. “Fuckin’ soaked and you were asleep. You missed me that bad, huh?”

You nod, gasping, the pleasure bordering on too much—but he’s relentless.

“Good,” he growls, and he dives back in, mouth and fingers working in tandem now—devouring you, claiming every inch, dragging you to the edge again like it’s the only place you belong.

Your body tenses—every nerve ending lit up, every muscle tight—as your climax slams into you, sharp and overwhelming, your moan raw and broken as you cum hard around his fingers, legs shaking uncontrollably.

You barely register him easing you through it—his lips slowing, fingers gentler now as he lets you ride it out.

Then he slides up your body, one hand resting on the inside of your thighs, the other cupping your cheek as he kisses you deep and slow, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he whispers against your lips.

Barely—but it’s everything.

Your body’s still trembling when Dean presses his mouth to yours—slow, deep, all-consuming. His fingers are still slick with you when they grip your thigh and drag it up around his waist, anchoring you beneath him. You’re warm and shaky, breath catching in your throat, and he doesn’t even give you time to steady.

His hips sink down between yours, cock hard and hot against your entrance—and even though you’re so sensitive you could cry, your body aches for him. You’re pulsing and open, still fluttering from the aftershocks of your orgasm when he pushes in, slow and thick, stretching you open all over again.

Your head falls back with a soft, wrecked gasp, tears springing to your lashes as the stretch builds, as your body makes room for him like it was always meant to. The pain and pleasure blur, and Dean doesn’t stop—he fills you to the hilt, groaning low in your ear as he bottoms out.

“Fuck,” he hisses, forehead pressing against yours, his breath ragged. “You feel that, sweetheart? Still so tight around me… still fuckin’ throbbing. Goddamn.”

You can’t speak—not really. Just a strangled moan, nails digging into his back as you hold on. It’s so much. Too much. And not nearly enough.

Dean starts to move—slowly. Grinding into you with deep, languid thrusts that have your thighs shaking and your mouth falling open, ragged breaths and whimpers spilling out as the slick drag of his cock brushes your g-spot over and over again.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him down to you. “Dean—baby, please—don’t st-uh-op—” you pant, voice thin and broken.

“Not a fuckin’ chance,” he growls, thrusting deeper, pace just enough to make you lose your mind. “You think I’m done with you? After the way you came for me? Nah, baby… I’m just getting started.”

His hand slips between you, fingers brushing over your clit again, and you shudder, hips lifting to meet his thrusts even as the burn of overstimulation tightens in your belly.

“You’re so sensitive,” he murmurs, dragging his teeth over your jaw, “but look at you. Still fuckin’ taking it. Such a good girl for me.”

You cry out, body clenching, tears spilling as the pleasure threatens to break you open all over again.

And Dean just holds you down, fucking you slow and deep, his hand cradling the back of your head, keeping you pressed against his shoulder as you fall apart in his arms again—sobbing and gasping into his skin, clinging to him like he’s your only anchor in the world.

Because right now, he is.

He leans down, pressing a kiss to your temple. It’s soft. Barely there.

“doin’ alright, baby?” he murmurs, eyes lazy as they trail up your soaked frame in the glass. “bein’ good for me?”

you'd damn yourself later for sounding so pathetic, eyes stinging with tears of need, cheeks hot with a desperately rushing pulse. 

“mmh, keepin’ me warm sweet girl, haven’t you?”

just when you're reaching that tipping point, from the tip of his thick cock pressed snug up against your cervix for long enough it was borderline pain. when you squirm too hard...

smack

he's not rough, just enough of a sting to make your face jolt to the side and your breath catch.

“easy, sweetheart” he coos, tongue wetting the rolling paper “keep actin’ like that, and i’ll start thinkin’ your getting an attitude w'me".

he leans forward, one hand in your hair now, gently using it to tilting it back. “look at yourself" he gestures to the body length mirror he'd conveniently added to pan at the bed.

when you blink the water from your eyes, you're met with quite the sight.

your cheeks were flushed and sticky with spit and tears. tits shaking with every breath. thighs burning, twitching, soaked. ben’s cock still buried snugly inside you, tuft hairs at the base of his cock shiny from your drooling cunt.

“look at this pretty mess y'made” he whispered while the pad of his thumb drifts down to swipe over your clit “ 'nd look at this"

you shudder and nod, lips trembling. “please, ben…”

he brings his thumb against your flushed cheek, smearing a mix of your arousal into the gloss of your tears.

"y'look so fuckin' pretty when you cry" he murmured.

his hips shift forward purposely, cock slipping out of you with a wet squelch that makes you sob with sudden emptiness.

manhandling onto your hands and knees in front of the mirror, your met with a reflection of the mess on your delicate skin and him kneeling behind you.

“this what you want, huh?” he lowered the head of his cock, letting his girth slide between your pussy lips with a strained grunt. "couldn’t sit fuckin' still. cryin’, beggin’ now look at you".

"you want it here, yeah?” he growled, slapping his cock against your swollen clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

you nod through damp lashes, dropping your head forward. “i want it—want you to fill me up, please…”

“uh-uh—” he clutches your jaw and your eyes fly open. thumb swiping a tear from your cheek and rubbing it against the slit of his cock “gonna look at me when i wreck you".

he guides the tip into you with slow and deliberate movement. a few inches in feeling you grip onto him, then slowly pulls back out.

he knew exactly how to keep you right on the edge. each taunting stroke felt like a mix of heaven and hell, dragging every possible sound from your lips.

he leans in, chest pressed to your back. his fingers cup round your throat, eyes waiting patiently to meet with yours in the reflection of the mirror.

"what's wrong? cryin' cause you can’t take it, yet you were pretty fuckin' antsy earlier” he taunted.

you’re already so close, so gone. and when he reaches around to rub your clit in tight little circles, it hits like a flood.

you sob his name, shaking, as he fucks you through your orgasm. watching strings of drool stick from your lips to the mirror.

you didn’t even realize he came until you felt it, hot and thick, painting your insides in deep pulses.

his breath fanned against the side of your neck in heavy, open-mouthed pants. placing a wet kiss against your cheek, right over the smear of spit and tears he caused.

you blinked down at your reflection in the glass, not even sure who you were looking at. lashes clumped together with tears. cheeks slick with whatever mess ben had smeared across your face.

he slowly rocked his hips forward again, just once, to press his cum deeper.

“fuck” he whispered, voice wrecked. “just look at you”.

his cum started to trickle out slowly, sliding down the insides of your thighs, catching where your knees met the floor. cunt wet and creamy still stretching around him.

he moved one hand from your hip, cupping between your thighs, fingers brushing your folds with a gentle pressure that made you gasp his thumb slid upward, dragging through the creamy spill at your entrance, catching it on the pad of his finger.

“goddamn, baby” he whispered. “so full o'me".

he pulled out with a soft squelch. eyes fixed on the way your cunt gapped wide because of him, the fucking mess at he left inside you.

“you okay, sweet girl?” his tone was softer now, like he hadn't just wrecked you apart.

you nodded.

his hand brushed gently down your belly, dipping lower again just to feel the way your body was still twitching.

“don’t wanna waste it now do we?” he murmured pushing two fingers back inside you, keeping you full of him.

he doesn’t argue, just nuzzles into your touch like a sleepy cat, his big body shifting toward you. you settle onto the couch beside him and tug his head into your lap, fingers threading gently through his hair. he hums low, eyes fluttering closed again.

you think maybe he’s finally drifting off, after fighting sleep for so long. until he squirms a little, hand creeping up your thigh with a lazy kind of desperation.

“baby” he murmurs, barely above a breath “need you".

“dean, you’re sick—”

“don’t care” he groans, frustrated and needy, hips giving a slow roll that drags his bulge against your leg. “can’t sleep. can’t stop thinkin’ about you".

you watch as his fingers slide beneath the hem of your shirt, trembling and warm, palm flattening over your stomach like he’s grounding himself.

“please,” he whines, low and hoarse “need you so bad. feel like shit, but you always make it better baby.”

you shift beneath him, thighs squeezing together. “dee—you’re sure?”

he nods, eyes still shut but mouth falling open with a soft whine when your hand grazes over the front of his sweats. “yeah i'm sure. please, baby. just wanna feel you”

he’s warm all over. skin flushed, lips dry and cracked from breathing through his mouth all day, his nose pink and stuffy. you kiss his temple, his cheek, his jaw, until he finally looks at you with those glassy hazy green eyes.

you slip your hand into his sweats, and he chokes out the softest moan you’ve ever heard from him . high and desperate, forehead dropping against your chest.

“so good to me sweetheart" he whimpers, teeth catching his bottom lip as you stroke him slow.

you lean down to kiss his forehead, soft and slow, like you’re trying to soothe him, but his face up at the last second and catches your lips instead.

he's clumsy at first. warm, dry and cracked lips, his mouth hot and trembling against yours. his fingers dig into your hips, trying to pull you down onto him, and you feel the desperate groan in his chest.

“jesus” you breathe, pulling back just enough to look at him “dean you need sl—”

“please" he rasps, eyes glossy and half-lidded, cheeks flushed. “need to be inside you baby. can’t think, can’t sleep, just— fuck" his voice cracks on the last word.

you shift to straddle his lap, and he whimpers like he’s in pain, head falling back against the cushion. his hands slide up under your shirt, rough palms dragging over your skin.

“so warm" he mumbles “wanna stay right here. wanna get lost in you".

you rock down against him gently, feeling the tent in his pants press against your clothed cunt. he chokes on a moan, hips stuttering beneath you. his skin is hot to the touch, fever and arousal mixing in a mess of sweat and aching need.

“you sure you’re up for this?” you ask softly, even as your fingers start to pull down the waistband of his sweats.

“i’ll feel better, swear. jus' need you around me. need you to ride me slow. feel good baby, just for a little while” was a slur of whiny words he was begging you for.

and you give it to him.

you sink down over him slow, steady and careful. but the stretch still punches a whine out of his throat, one hand fisting the back of your shirt like he’s holding on for dear life.

“y'so fuckin’ good to me baby".

you move in slow, lazy rolls of your hips, letting him feel all of you, unraveling more each second. little gasps and broken moans slipping from his lips.

he kisses you through it, sloppy and slow, teeth bumping yours, tongue desperate. trying to lose himself in you completely. you cup his face in both hands, brushing your thumbs over his stubbled cheeks, and he leans into it.

“feels so good” he whispers, brows furrowed. “don’t stop. wanna stay right here— wanna come with you like this".

his eyes are still closed, lashes damp, skin flushed pink with heat. he’s sweating lightly, a feverish shine at his temples, a slow drip trailing down the slope of his neck.

his lips are parted and dry, kiss-bitten and he’s holding onto your hips in a bruising strength.

you rock down again, achingly slow, feeling that creamy ring soak down his shaft. his breath stutters, his brows pinch, and a ragged moan slips from his throat.

“oh fuuck” he pants. “baby, fuck, so good— too good”

you kiss over the fever pink skin along his cheeks as you keep him right on-edge. his thighs twitch helplessly beneath you. his head digs back against the couch, adams apple bobbing, chest rising and falling with every laboured breath.

“can’t think— jus' wanna stay right here, inside you forever baby” he whimpers

your cunt clenches, fluttering tight around him, and he nearly sobs.

“you’re makin’ me crazy, sweetheart” he slurs, breath hitching. “can’t— fuck, can’t do this slow, s’too much, m'gonna—”

you hush him, kissing the corner of his mouth, tasting faint salt from a tear that's slipped down his cheek.

“come for me dee, let go” you whisper encouragingly, circling your hips, and he does.

his whole body shudders beneath with a whine, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted you as he spills his load inside your velvet warmth. his face twists up, flushed and beautiful.

you don’t stop moving, slow and steady. until his come is dripping out of you with a wet squelch. his body melting back into the couch cushions.

he blinks up at you, dazed but stated, and gives a little huff of a laugh through his nose.

“think i’m cured” he murmurs.

you smile, soft and warm, and wipe the sweat from his brow with the pad of your thumb.

"now get some sleep"

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

you've learned to deal with dean's absences over the years, but somehow it never gets easier. especially now, with three daughters—ages eight, five, and three—and a mischievous eight-month-old son who has his daddy's green eyes and stubborn streak.

you're halfway through cleaning up the dinner table, your youngest balanced snugly on your hip, drooling adorably on your shirt, when the front door swings open. dean steps inside, dirt-stained jeans hugging his hips, his faded flannel hanging open over a worn black t-shirt. the sight of him sends your pulse into overdrive.

"hey, sweetheart," dean drawls gently, dropping his duffel by the door. he looks tired—lines etched deeper around his eyes, scruff thicker than usual—but god, he's gorgeous. your heart flips as he steps closer, his eyes softening when your baby boy reaches tiny arms out toward his dad, babbling excitedly.

"hey, buddy," dean murmurs, scooping his son effortlessly into his arms. your heart aches, watching the way dean's face lights up, exhaustion momentarily forgotten in the presence of his child. his lips brush the baby's soft forehead, lingering there as if soaking up every ounce of comfort and affection he can.

"missed you," you whisper, stepping close enough to lean against his chest, breathing in his familiar scent of leather, gunpowder, and something uniquely dean winchester. his free arm wraps tight around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

"missed you too, baby," he whispers hoarsely, his lips pressing softly to your temple. the brush of his stubble sends shivers down your spine, and your fingers fist gently into the fabric of his shirt. "you holdin' up okay?"

you nod against him, savoring the warmth of his strong frame, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. "better now."

the sound of tiny footsteps breaks the moment, and your three daughters come racing into the kitchen screaming excitedly. dean's eyes crinkle at the corners, his mouth breaking into a wide, genuine smile as they swarm him, hugging his legs, giggling when he ruffles their hair, calling each one by their special nickname.

it's pure chaos, loud and messy and beautiful. you step back a little, watching him interact with your children—your chest tightening with an overwhelming surge of love.

the evening passes in a blur of baths and stories and bedtime cuddles. dean insists on handling bedtime, savoring every moment he's missed over the past two weeks.

you watch him from the doorway as he kisses tiny foreheads, tucks blankets gently around tiny shoulders, whispering softly until eyelids flutter closed. your heart swells as you see him in his element, and it makes you fall impossibly more in love with him.

when the last bedroom door finally clicks shut, he turns to you, eyes dark and heavy with a different kind of exhaustion—the kind that only you can soothe. the tension that's been simmering between you since the moment he walked through the door ignites instantly, crackling in the air between you like electricity.

without a word, dean crosses the hallway, his fingers tangling into your hair as he pulls you in, mouth crashing against yours hungrily. your back hits your bedroom door with a soft thud, his broad frame crowding you against it as his tongue sweeps into your mouth, claiming you roughly, possessively. the kiss is messy, desperate—his teeth catching your lower lip, tugging just enough to make you gasp.

"goddamn, baby," he growls against your mouth, voice thick and gravelly with need. "been goin' fuckin' crazy without you."

your hands slip beneath his shirt, nails scraping lightly over his strong stomach, tracing the familiar curves of muscle and softness. he groans into your mouth, pressing his hips into yours, letting you feel exactly how much he's missed you. your breath hitches as you grind against him, desperate for friction, desperate to feel him fill you again.

"need you," you whisper breathlessly, your lips trailing along his jaw, tasting the salt of his skin. "now."

he doesn't hesitate, pulling you away from the door long enough to shove it open. the second it clicks shut behind you, his hands are everywhere, stripping clothes away roughly, impatiently. your shirt lands somewhere across the room, jeans and underwear quickly following.

you fumble with his flannel, tugging it off his broad muscular shoulders, your fingers trembling slightly as you push his jeans down his hips, freeing his hard length.

he backs you toward the bed, lips never leaving yours, and you're both naked before your knees hit the mattress. he lays you down roughly, climbing over you, his mouth blazing a trail down your neck, across your chest, tongue swirling around your nipples, biting gently until you're arching into him, moaning his name.

"dean," you gasp when his teeth scrape over your sensitive skin, sending pleasure pulsing through your veins. "please, baby—"

he doesn't make you wait, pushing your thighs apart with strong hands, sinking into you in one swift thrust. you both groan simultaneously, overwhelmed by the tight heat, the perfect friction. he sets a brutal pace immediately, hips snapping hard against yours, driving you higher, faster, closer to the edge you've been craving.

"fuck, sweetheart," he grunts, his voice raw, desperate, as he pounds into you. "missed this pussy—missed you—so goddamn much."

you dig your heels into his lower back, urging him deeper, harder, your nails leaving red marks down his back as you cling to him. the bed creaks dangerously beneath you, but neither of you cares. you're too lost in the feeling, in each other, in the messy, desperate heat of making up for lost time.

he sits up suddenly, pulling you with him, never slipping out of you. he spins you around until you're on your knees, gripping the wooden headboard tightly, his strong chest pressed hot against your back. he pounds into you from behind, teeth sinking gently into your shoulder, your neck, marking you as his. you push back against him, matching each thrust, feeling your orgasm building quickly, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until it snaps.

"oh fuck, dean—" your voice breaks, your body shaking violently beneath him, pleasure washing over you in wave after wave. he growls your name, hips stuttering, his thrusts becoming erratic as your walls squeeze around him, pulling him over the edge with you.

his hand slams down on the headboard as he comes hard, hips jerking, cock pulsing deep inside you. there's a loud crack, wood splintering beneath his grip, but he hardly seems to notice, too caught up in the intensity of his orgasm.

you collapse onto the mattress together, breathing heavily, limbs tangled, hearts pounding in sync. dean's hand slides gently along your back, tracing soft circles over the bite marks he's left behind, soothing your skin as you both slowly come down from your high.

"think you just broke our bed," you tease softly, nuzzling into his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

he chuckles, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "worth it."

you laugh quietly, your fingers trailing lazily along his chest. "missed you so much, de."

his arms tighten around you, pulling you impossibly closer. "i ain't goin' anywhere, baby," he whispers, voice thick and sincere. "promise."

and for the first time in weeks, you finally feel complete again—safe and loved and exactly where you're meant to be.

"c'mon, sweetheart," he drawls, green eyes glinting under the low light. "show me how much you fuckin' missed me."

you grip his broad shoulders for leverage and start to ride him, slow at first, the thick stretch of him making you whimper every time you sink down. he's big — bigger than anyone you've ever had — and he knows it, the bastard. knows exactly how good he stuffs you full, how you can barely take him without working yourself open first.

you move, hips rolling sloppily, and he watches you like a man starved, tongue swiping over his bottom lip. the sound of your slick, the wet little plop every time you drop down onto his cock, fills the room, obscene and raw.

"fuck," he growls, one hand sliding down to grip your ass, giving it a sharp slap that makes you jolt and clench around him. "you hear that, doll? hear how fuckin' wet you are for me?"

you whimper, nodding, trying to keep up the pace, but your thighs are shaking, muscles burning with exhaustion. you're so tired, so wrecked, but you don't want to stop — not when he's looking at you like that, like you're the only thing in the goddamn world that matters.

"s'tired," you breathe, forehead dropping to his shoulder.

he chuckles low, the sound rumbling through his chest. without warning, he grabs your hips in his big hands and starts bouncing you on his cock himself, using your body like it's nothing, like you weigh less than air.

"poor baby," he says mockingly, voice thick with lust. "thought you could tap out on me? nah. you wanted this — now you’re fuckin' takin' it."

you moan, high and broken, nails digging into his shoulders as he moves you up and down, up and down, the slick sounds getting louder, wetter, filthier. every time you drop, you make that little plop noise he's addicted to, and every time, he groans like he's hearing it for the first time.

"that’s it," he grunts. "fuckin' music to my ears."

his hands leave bruises on your hips, holding you tight, forcing you to take every thick inch of him. he doesn't slow down, doesn't let you catch your breath, just uses you until you're nothing but a crying, whimpering mess on his cock.

"look at you," he growls, tilting his hips up to fuck into you harder, deeper. "bouncin’ on my cock like a good little slut. you love this shit, don't you?"

you nod frantically, tears pricking at your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure. your whole body's tingling, every nerve ending lit up like fireworks.

"say it," he demands, giving your ass another hard slap that makes you cry out. "say who fuckin' owns you."

"you," you gasp, voice cracking. "you do, ben—"

"damn right," he snarls, slamming you down harder, groaning when your pussy clenches around him like a vice. "my good fuckin' girl."

your orgasm hits you like a freight train, your body locking up, mouth falling open in a silent scream. he feels it, feels the way you clamp down on him, and it pushes him right over the edge too. he curses under his breath, hips stuttering as he spills inside you, filling you up so deep it’s almost too much.

for a moment, the only sounds are your ragged breathing and the faint, wet noises of your bodies still tangled together. his hands soften against your skin, rubbing slow circles into your hips like he’s grounding you, pulling you back from the edge.

you slump against him, boneless and fucked-out, and he wraps his arms around you, holding you tight against his chest.

your body's buzzing, twitching little aftershocks still running up your spine as you lay slumped on his chest, too wrecked to move. you're half convinced you might just sleep there, with him still inside you, but ben's already muttering under his breath, shifting you gently off him.

"jesus fuckin' christ," he grumbles, sitting up, reaching for a rag from the nightstand without even bothering to pull his boxers back on. "can't even take a good dicking without tappin' out like a rookie."

you whine weakly in protest, but he just huffs a laugh, grabbing your hips and flipping you onto your back like you're weightless. you can feel his spend dripping out of you, hot and messy against your thighs, and it makes the back of your neck flush.

"look at this shit," he says, wiping at the mess between your legs with rough but careful hands. "fucked you so full you’re leaking all over the goddamn bed."

he's not even mad — not really. you can hear the smugness dripping from every word, can feel it in the way his fingers linger a little too long, wiping you up slow, almost lazy, like he's savoring it.

"told you to stretch," he mutters, tossing the dirty rag onto the floor and grabbing another. "but nooo, you wanted to be a big girl."

you glare at him half-heartedly through your haze, and he smirks, leaning down to kiss your forehead like it'll erase the absolute filth coming out of his mouth.

"don’t gimme that look," he says. "you loved every second."

he's not wrong. you did. you still do, even as he manhandles you like you're made of paper, even as he wipes you clean with way too much attitude.

"next time," he says, tossing the second rag aside and pulling the covers over you like it's a peace offering, "you're gonna be beggin’ me to take it easy."

you snort, voice rough. "no 'm not."

he grins, all teeth, sliding into bed next to you and dragging you against his chest again, like he needs you there, needs to feel your skin on his.

"we'll see, sweetheart," he murmurs against your hair, voice already gone thick with sleep. "we'll fuckin’ see."

and you know he's right.

Slipping out of bed and into his boxers and robe, Ben followed the trail of freshly brewed arabica. The sight he was met with beat any pirate’s lame treasure hunt.

You were standing at the counter, idly humming to yourself while you cut up a handful of strawberries. With your back facing him, you haven’t noticed him yet.

All the more time for him to appreciate the view.

His sharp eyes wandered up your long, bare legs, stopping briefly at the hem of a familiar shirt. Ah, so that’s where his jersey went.

The material was flowing down your body effortlessly, covering you up to around your upper thighs. He’d be lying if the idea of you wearing nothing underneath to cover the fat of your ass and your pretty pussy didn’t get him half-hard again already.

Baggy as your choice of attire was, it hung loose around your neckline. You’d swept your hair out of the way, into a messy ponytail—one he could already picture grabbing tightly to push your little mouth down his girth, much like last night.

Pink and purple constellations peeked through. Distinct marks, clearly the outline of his teeth.

He stepped closer to your unsuspecting form, hands already twitching to touch you again.

“Morning, sunshine,” Ben hummed at last, the gravel of his voice still raspy and deep from just waking up properly.

Honestly, his brain was still a but foggy, whereas other parts of his body were wide awake in comparison.

You flinched slightly, though your tension eased immediately as your eyes met his over your shoulder.

His smile was easy, his green eyes dropping to the curve of your lips. Even at the morning after he could still vividly remember them stretching over his length, glistening with spit as you had drooled all over his cock.

“What’s the rush today?” Ben asked, whilst his big arms caged you in, one hand on each side of you gripping the edge of the counter. “Didn’t want to stay in bed with me a bit longer, princess?”

“Thought I would make some breakfast,” you replied with a smile that was both shy and cheeky. “Was gonna bring it back to bed.”

He was all muscle and skin behind you, pressing against you until the kitchen counter bit into your hips.

“I think I know what I wanna have for breakfast,” Ben purred. His breath was hot and heavy against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. His teeth grazed your tender skin, teasing the bruises and lovebites until you whimpered softly.

Who knew there was an artist in Ben on top of all that superstrength? How else could one describe the canvas of your skin, littered in hickeys?

Before you even had a chance of reacting, Ben shoved the bowl of fruit out of the way and seized you by the hips.

“Turn ‘round for me, dollface,” he demanded, despite manhandling you into his desired position himself.

He spun you in his arms, then lifted you up with ease, sitting you up on the counter. The cool marble surface was a stark contrast against your warm skin, even more so as your bare cunt brushed against it and you flushed further.

Wasting no more time, Ben’s large hands flew to your thighs and spread you open.

Much like your throat, your inner thighs were plastered in evidence of last night’s escapades. A scan of the red marks at the apex of your thighs would probably run successful, if anyone were to test his damn fingerprints. No wonder, considering how hard he had to grab you yesterday, hold you down so you wouldn’t fly off the mattress thanks to his tongue devouring you.

His cock twitched in to life in his boxers just reminiscing over your taste. Definitely better than any fucking strawberry, much sweeter too.

Yeah, he was definitely right. Only breakfast he was interested in eating up was you.

“No panties, huh?,” he quipped, licking his lips.

You scoffed, though with a grin: “Kinda your fault, remember?”

“Touché, princess,” he chuckled and slipped his fingers beneath your shirt. His shirt. “Guess we’re even then, damn thief.”

“At least you can have it back,” you shrugged playfully, “my panties are gone forever.”

A laugh erupted from Ben then and a spark ignited in his eyes. “Good riddance, if you ask me,” he countered. “Not like you need them anyway, they’d only be in the way. I like you without them just fine.”

As if punctuating his statement, his fingers curled around the underside of your thighs, lifting your legs slightly. He sank down to his knees and pulled you closer, hoisting your legs over his shoulders.

And, Christ, you were already glistening, straight up honey for him to enjoy. Always so eager for him, taking whatever he decided to give you like a good girl. That’s what he loved about you. It was addictive.

To your surprise, he started slow—in the beginning, anyway. His lips brushed over the inner of your thigh, almost gently, coaxing a shaky exhale from you and giving you the chance to relax in his grip.

“Thank the Lord for a good fuckin’ meal, or whatever,” he muttered, though he was talking more to himself.

You were only able to cry out weakly as he dove right in, his wet tongue gliding through your folds like he was a man starved. One of your hands shot to his head, fisting his tousled hair as he slurped away.

You moaned his name like it was something holy, although you were his altar he worshipped on his knees.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasped, briefly kissing your sensitive clit. “Swear, this pussy ‘s better than coffee.”

Your thighs were trembling around his head. Your body honestly still ached from hours of Soldier Boy pounding into you, the smallest touch leaving you sizzling. His stamina was downright cruel and you thought it quite unfair that he was already back to full energy while you struggled to contain your first orgasm.

He had barely touched you, but you were already embarrassingly close to crumbling.

You were sensitive still, which Ben used to his advantage.

He lapped at your core once again, tongue flat against your heat and milking you dry. Just before the tight coil in your lower belly could snap, he pulled back, leaving you all whiny and breathless.

“You know I usually like my coffee black,” he spoke as he rose back to his feet, standing tall between your shaking legs and pulling his boxers down just enough to free his throbbing dick. “But I think I wanna add some cream today.”

Ben guided the tip through your slick a few times, teasing and coating himself in your essence. You bucked your hips to meet his touch, desperate to finally feel him fill you. When he did, you gasped audibly, leaving your mouth open and vulnerable for his kiss.

You blushed tasting yourself on his mouth, still fresh and tangy.

He claimed your lips in a heated kiss, teeth colliding and tongues pressing hungrily. All while thrusting in and out of you relentlessly. He pawed at your hips, your waist, everywhere he could reach. Because what where a couple more fingerprints added to the ones that already decorated you? The evidence of you belonging to him. The more the merrier.

Though you struggled to sit upright, you knew Ben had a good hold on you. Your arms snaked around his neck and he took it upon himself to slip his hands under your ass, lift you off the counter, and carry you back to bed. Instinctively, your legs wrapped around him in the process.

Once there, the two of you collapsed onto the mattress, still a tangle of limbs, neither of you knowing where one body began and the other ended.

Ben pushed you down and slammed into you. Hard. Your back arched, your moans echoing off the bedroom walls. Your neighbors must’ve hated you—first you were robbing them of a peaceful night, now you were at it again, like rabbits.

The drag of his cock against your velvety walls was delicious, stroke for stroke making you see stars and every fiber of you tighten.

Ben’s gaze dropped down to where your bodies were connected, mesmerized by the sight of him sinking into you over and over again. As much as he had to give, you were taking all of it, which never failed to impress him. You always accommodated his size so well, getting stretched inch for inch, as if you were shaped for his cock.

“Christ on a cross, ‘s like you were made for me, huh?”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull, which was, bluntly put, swiped clear at this point. Fucked stupid, you didn’t have it in you to produce a coherent thought, let alone form a proper sentence. All you felt, all you were at that moment, was the impact of his hips against yours, the pleasure building in your middle.

What a beautiful mess he’d turned you into, eyes glazed over with tears pricking their corners, swollen lips parted yet only able to spill broken moan after broken moan.

When Ben slipped his hand between your lower halves and let his thumb rub tight circles over your clit, you were gone. Shuttering, you almost spasmed under him, convulsing and crying and falling apart right then and there.

You reaching your climax triggered Ben’s own peak, his hips chasing his high in the warmth of your walls. One more thrust and he followed shortly after, stilling his hips and spilling deep within you.

After riding out both of your orgasms, he dropped down next to you. The sweat sticking to his forehead did not dull the glow of his expression whatsoever. He turned to you, as if admiring his artwork. His grin was wide and proud, the white of his teeth nearly blinding you in the best way possible.

“Gotta say, sweetheart,” he declared. “I could start every day with a breakfast like this.”

Your attempt at catching your breath was interrupted by your own soft laughter. That guy was truly insatiable. Not that you’d have it any other way.

“I guess our actual breakfast is long cold now, though,” you huffed, less disappointed and more bemused.

“Here’s a deal for ya,” Ben started with a wink. “I get my jersey back, you get your coffee. Hot.”

With a snort, you shook your head. Not only had you never seen Ben actually operate the coffee machine, ever, you also saw his offer for what it truly was. You knew what would happen if you were so much as lift the hem of that jersey again.

“And, what? Risk myself turning into another round of dessert the second I return your shirt?”

Ben’s proud grin widened, his eyes heavy on you as he scanned you from head to toe, as if assessing the suggestion. He then shrugged playfully. It definitely sounded like a win-win in his book. “What can I say, I might make myself a career as a salesman after all, don’t ya think?”

Soldier Boy (Ben) Taglist:

@alwaysdaydreamingoffiction @angelicjackles @blueschevy @jackles010378 @jollyhunter

@justwhisperingfantasies @ladykitana90

You were still recovering from another one of your earth-shattering orgasms, your walls still pulsating around his dick. You’d lost count of how many times he made you cum—or if you even had another one in you.

Much unlike Ben, who was still hungry for more. Even though he had just painted your insides white, he was still throbbing. Still hard.

Still eager for more.

Ben’s iron grip on you didn’t falter. In fact, he pulled you even closer and pushed impossibly deeper, until his tip practically bullied your tender cervix. A soft half-squeal-half-chuckle escaped your kiss-swollen lips.

“Easy,” you huffed, breathlessly, but with a smirk on your lips.

“Not a chance, babydoll,” Ben grinned. “’m not halfway done with you.”

Your protest died on your tongue the moment he pulled out and slammed back into you.

Sensitive as you were, your back arched. The lewd squelching noise caused the blush on your cheeks to darken tenfold. You could feel it dripping from you, his warm seed mixed with your own essence, the fluids creating a slick ring around his cock.

“Ben!,” you giggled, your sweaty hands desperately searching for an anchor in his shoulders.

“I could do this all day,” he shrugged and pushed back into you and fuck if that didn’t do it for you.

Curse him and his superpowers. It was so unfair how you were all worn out and tired while he seemed to find fuel in ruining you. Damn supes and their stamina.

“S-slow down at least?,” you whined, twitching and squirming under his hungry touch.

“Oh, sweetheart, I don’t do slow.” As if to emphasize, he punctuated his sentence with yet another snap of his hips against yours. It earned him that sweet blend of a moan and a sob from you, one that spurred him to repeat the movement.

His pace was relentless as it was during the first round, barely leaving you a chance to catch your breath. Each hiccup and moan was swallowed by his mouth on yours, his kisses just as demanding as his thrusts.

“Don’t worry, dollface,” Ben whispered against your lips, with that intoxicating rasp of his, his chest rumbling and pushed tightly against yours. His tongue trailed down your jawline, licking across the slope of your neck, nibbling along your collarbone.

You threw your head back into the pillows, sinking into the silk underneath your tender body. Ben pushed you deeper into the mattress with each roll of his hips. Your thighs were trembling around his waist, but his large hands kept them pressed neatly against his skin.

“All you gotta do—” Thrust. “’s lay back—” Thrust. The inside of your thighs were messy and wet, your juices leaking onto the sheets beneath you. “And lemme make you feel good.”

Unable to respond, you could only give a weak nod. It earned you a soothing kiss to your temple, an affectionate gesture in the middle of his relentless claiming.

“Atta girl,” he hummed, pleased. “Taking me so well.”

And you did.

Every inch of him, every drop, all he had to offer. You swore you nearly blacked out when his movement stilled and he spilled a second load into your sopping heat. He talked you through it, though the words barely registered.

“Gonna pump you so full, you’ll be leaking.”

“Give me one more, babydoll, that’s it.”

“So fuckin’ tight, ‘s like you were made f’me.”

His promises and praises blended together, fogging up your mind until everything of you was literally filled with everything of him. His warmth, his voice, his scent, his cum—you fell apart under him again, body shivering in his embrace.

Ben gave you a moment to calm down, his cock still nestled deep inside of you. Still throbbing. Still hard. And you knew he wasn’t halfway done with you. By far.

“Think you can take another one?,” he grinned, proud and still hungry.

Clenching around him at the mere idea, you bit your lower lip and nodded. “Please…,” you whimpered softly and Christ on a cross, your wish was his demand.

Soldier Boy (Ben) Taglist:

@alwaysdaydreamingoffiction @ambiguous-avery @angelicjackles @bejeweledinterludes @blueschevy

@deanswifeyy @foxyjwls007 @ifritpng @jackles010378 @jollyhunter

@justwhisperingfantasies @kamisobsessed @ladykitana90 @lunaleah @mahi-wayy

@multiversefanfics @slut4axkles @supernotnatural2005

biting them, laying my head on them, digging my nails into them.

how they look when he stretches, arms overhead, t-shirt lifting just enough to show off his happy trail. how safe you’d feel curled up next to him, cheek against the warmth of his muscle.

how you’d cling to them when he carries you, effortlessly, like it’s nothing. thighs around his waist, your cheek smushed against the crook of his arm.

falling asleep on his outstretched arm, drool seeping down from your lips as you fall asleep, like your own personal pillow.

how he’d use them to his advantage when he fucks you from behind. hook his arm around your neck. not to choke you hard, but to hold you in place.

to pull you in closer, cheeks squished right into the warm, solid crease of his bicep. his muscle flexing around your throat everytime he drives into you. it’s not rough or cruel, it’s possessive.