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He would’ve found that amusing. He would’ve teased you about acing so cool and collected, right up until you were staring down the barrel of a gun. There hadn’t been a trip of your heartbeat, or stumble in your breath. Lives depended on you being able to do this.

And they depended on you being able to keep your head down.

You’d gotten good at it. Before him, it had been your job to keep calm and collected. Doctors couldn’t be panicking and crying over everything, or nothing would ever get done.

“What about when something’s real fucking gross and sticky?” He used to ask you. “You allowed to cry then?”

You’d smiled at the dishes in your hands. “Would you cry over something gross and sticky?”

“No, because I’m not a-“

“Fucking pussy.”

You’d dropped your voice to mock his, your smile becoming stupid and ditzy as the chair had scraped on the floor behind you. Riling him up was too easy. And if he didn’t want you to keep poking all his old, shiny buttons, he shouldn’t make it so damn fun.

“You got a mouth on you, doll.” Ben had muttered in your ear, arms wrapping around your stomach.

“Hm.” You hadn’t stopped washing the dishes. He’d rip them away from you soon, you might as well focus on what you can.

“Hm? All you got to say is hm?”

“I think you like my mouth.” You’d swayed on your feet, shrugging lazily.

Ben’s arms had tightened around you. “I like somethin’ about your mouth.”

“You like all of it. You like me so much, you chose weed over me, you think I’m better than weed-“

Your dishes had clattered into the sink. Ben spun you around, grabbed your wrists, and pinned them to the counter as he slammed his mouth of yours. You’d made a happy sound, craning your neck to try and chase more, and he’d chuckled. Soft, light kisses had been trailed down your jaw and over your throat, landing on a spot that seemed to be permanently dark since you’d met him.

He’d bitten at the skin, then sucked, letting his tongue flick slightly. Before him, you hadn’t even known you were into that. Now you can’t even graze the spot without your body getting fuzzy and confused. Like it knows he’s supposed to be there.

But he’s not.

“You’re lucky I like you.” Ben had muttered. “And you’re not a genius to figure that out, I think I’ve made it real fucking clear.”

You’d beamed at the air, wrapping an arm around his neck when he released one wrist. His massive hand had grabbed your waist, slipping fingers under the hem of the shirt. You’d shivered, and leaned into his mouth.

He’d been solid. Safe. And you’d been so foolishly sure that he was going to be there forever.

“You have.” You’d breathed.

And you’d really believed it.

But then he’d just… Left.

You’d woken up the next morning, and he’d been off with William Butcher to deal with Homelander. He’d failed, on both the being with William Butcher front and the deal with Homelander front. They’d said he had died. You’d sunken into something like a ghost, wandering through the world without touching anything, passing through days like they were all just a veil to something else.

There were regrets. Not demanding that he stay. Not kicking him out the first time he ended up on your doorstep. Talking to him that first night at the corner store at all, because at least then your heart would’ve still been beating instead of this hollow, gray husk.

But you also wouldn’t have traded him for the world. The time had been fleeting. Only a few splatters of paint on what had previously been a clean, respectable life.

You’d found out you liked being dirty. You liked all the color it came with, and you’d liked how Ben had held your hand through the whole thing. You don’t know why he had. You don’t even know why he’d liked you, why he’d bothered coming back over and over, why he’d decided that you—of all the many, more interesting, more carefree people in the world—were the one he wanted to share himself with.

“You shouldn’t eat those.” You’d told the strange, handsome man at one in the morning.

He’d looked at you like you were crazy. You’d blinked innocently back—a faint bell in your head, ringing that he looked familiar, and you should’ve listened to it—and he’d raised his brows.

“You talking to me?”

“Um,” you’d looked around the aisle. “Yeah? Who else would I be talking to.”

The man had grunted. His eyes hadn’t left yours for a second, and he’d been staring like he was trying to peel you apart. You’d started to feel all dizzy under the attention—he was very pretty, and pretty people shouldn’t stare like that—and shifted on your feet.

“There are studies.” You’d said lamely. “About those drinks. They give you cancer.”

“Cancer?” The man had snorted. “Doll, I’m not worried about fucking cancer-“

“You should be. It’s linked to pancreatic cancer, which is very- Fast spreading.” All your usual, well performed confidence had been wavering. Why had he been staring at you like that. “Because of the pancreases function in, um, your body, it’s basically- It’s fast spreading-“

“You said that already.”

You’d swallowed. His voice was very deep. “Oh.”

His eyes had shined with something that, in the moment, you hadn’t understood.

Now you know it to his form of affection. When he’d look at you and decided that you were real fucking cute, like a twitchy bunny—his words—and wanted to have more.

In the store, you’d hadn’t  been sure if he was going to murder you or make an indecent proposal.

He hated that movie. You’d made him watch it, a few weeks later, and he’d been furious she chose the penniless sad sack. You’d told him you’d chose him, if he was the penniless sad sack. He’d grumbled that he hoped you’d have better survival instincts than that, but you’d been able to read him by now. He’d liked that a lot, and you had the hickies after to prove it.

And he’d laughed.

That night, he’d just laughed.

“You some kind of a fucking doctor?”

“Yeah.” You’d said, nervous and small. “I- I am.”

The man had blinked. Looked over you like he was seeing you for the first time, and leaned back as if the sight punched him in the face. You’d still been wearing your scrubs. Later you’d tease him about not paying attention.

He’d say he’d just been that enraptured by your beauty. You’d flush, and tell him he was using that word wrong. He’d say he didn’t fucking care, and kiss you until you were stupid and giggling.

“What’s good?” He’d jerked his head at the drinks, and you pointed to a different can a shelf over.

He’d eyed you suspiciously, but grabbed it and stomped away. You’d thought he’d be gone when you paid for your own food and walked to the parking lot. Instead he’d been waiting at the counter, watching you with that same, wearily curious expression.

“Are you going to stalk me to my car?” You’d asked causally, careful not to look him in the eyes.

He’d grunted. “I’m escorting you. Stalking makes me sound like I’m some fucking creep-“

“You’re a stranger who’s going to follow me to my car. I should be calling 911.”

“911 couldn’t stop me, sweetheart.”

You’d paused, frowning at him. He’d rolled his eyes, looking around the store like he expected a camera crew to pop out and tell him the whole thing was a prank.

“Don’t call 911.” He’d muttered.

“Why shouldn’t I.”

“Cause I’m not going to fucking hurt you, that’s why-“

“And why should I trust that?”

He’d blinked. That thought hadn’t occurred to him at all.

“I swear I won’t.”

“Promises mean nothing.”

“My promises mean something-“

“Not to me, they don’t.”

He’d stared at you. You’d tipped up your chin, and held his gaze. You were not going to be murdered in a parking lot tonight. You’d ordered new pants last night, and you wanted to be alive to see them.

The man had caved before you. He hadn’t been happy about it, but you’d come to learn that he was never openly happy about anything. There was his genuine annoyance, and his fluffy annoyance. Where he didn’t mean a single groan or eye roll or muttered curse.

He saved that second one for you. And he hated that you called it fluffy annoyance, because he wasn’t ‘fucking fluffy’. But you’d tell him that you liked him fluffy, as long as it was just yours. And he’d said he was just yours, and he’d promised, and you’d learned how to believe him.

“My name is Ben.” He’d told you, reaching into his jacket. “And if I try to hurt you, use this.”

And he’d handed you a fucking gun. The poor cashier that had been listening to all of this shrieked and ducked behind the counter. You’d gaped at Ben, then smacked his arm.

“What the fuck-“

“You can’t just pull out a gun, are you crazy!”

“Don’t call me crazy, I’m trying to make you feel- Fucking better or whatever-“

“How is a gun going to make me feel better, I’m a doctor-“

“So you can stitch me up after you shoot me, all the fucking better-“

“I am not going to shoot you-“

“But you could, that’s what the damn gun is for-“

“I don’t want your gun, I just-“ You’d cut yourself, glancing at the shaking cashier. It had just been some high school kid. He didn’t deserve to deal with this.

And even then, some part of you had known. Ben was a lot of things. Most of them weren’t half as pretty as his face.

But he wasn’t a liar. He’d realty thought the gun would make you feel better.

Later, you’d learn that it had really only been meant to make you feel better. Literally. That if he had been intending to hurt you—which he hadn’t, as he reminded you all the time—the gun wouldn’t have done fucking shit to stop that. But he’d thought it would help you be less nervous. And as much as you’d punch his dumb, big chest after he told you, you had to admit that the plan had—in a very roundabout way—worked.

“Come on.” You’d turned on your heels and walked out of the store.

Ben had followed.

And for a strange, priceless month, you’d known that if you looked over your shoulder, he’d be there. It had become a comfort. It had become the best thing in your life.

Then it had been gone.

Ben had left you, and the world had only gotten darker from there.

So you have all these regrets, that you pile on top of your secret. And they tell you to be more careful. You haven’t been on a date since Ben, although you never even technically dated. You’d never even fucked. It had been a lot of kisses and sharing a bed and wandering hands. Ben had asked. He’d asked all the time, and always sighed dramatically when you said after. After he was done with Butcher. After he dealt with Homelander, he could have whatever he wanted from you.

It was already his for the taking, he just needed to reach it.

And now all of you sat on a high, dusted shelf, waiting for hands that would never reach it.

Now, you’re careful.

After that girl down the hall, there had been the couple on the side of the highway. They’d been trying to hide from Black Noir, but one of them had an infected cut and was getting a fever. You’d treated it, then been on your way.

Then there had been the little boy who’s parents had been taken, and the shrapnel in his foot. The older woman who’s son had been shot, and the people who’d been hit in collateral and didn’t have insurance. And you kept helping and helping and helping, but always with your head down. If you were smarter, you wouldn’t help at all. It draws attention. Attention begs for investigation. Investigation undercovers secrets, and Ben had always been very clear.

No one could know who you are. What you were to him.

Why you have that gun in your closet, unloaded and kept clean like an heirloom. It wouldn’t be hard to trace it to Ben. It wouldn’t take a long time—especially for Sage, who you’ve only seen once from afar but sent a chilling fear through your bones all the same—to realize why you had one of Soldier Boy’s guns. To look at cameras and place timelines and know. What you’d meant to him.

Part of you wants her to. Maybe she’d be able to tell you, after.

Because he hadn’t stayed for you. And you hadn’t been foolish enough to ask him to.

But still.

You’d hoped he would.

“We should go somewhere.” He’d muttered one night, lying flat on his back.

And you’d looked at him in the dark, and found him staring back. He’d always been staring back.

“When this is done.” Ben had reached over, grabbing your wrist. He did that when he needed your attention. You don’t think he ever knew that he had all of you, whether he wanted to grab it or not.

“Done?” You’d breathed. Ben had nodded.

“The whole thing. All of it. I’m not going back into acting and shit, everything is bad now anyway-“

“You liked Paddington 2-“

“Shhh.” Ben had covered your mouth, eyes shining. “Can’t fucking prove that, can you, doll.”

You’d shrugged smiling against his hand. Ben had leaned down until your brows were pressed together, and let out a slow, heavy breath.

“We’ll go.” He’d said it like a secret. Like even in the empty room, you were still the only person he wanted anything to do with in the world. “Anywhere in the world that you want. No more of this fucking bullshit. Just you and me.”

And you’d giggled. You’d pulled his hand away with a laugh, and kissed his adorable little frown.

“You like me so much.” You’d whispered.

Ben had only stared. His heavy sigh had fanned over your cheeks, and he’d kissed the space between your eyes.

“You got no idea.”

And you wish you had.

You wish you’d asked him to stay, but you keep that buried with the rest of it. You don’t want to think about how if you had, he might’ve.

If you had, he might still be next to you today.

You broke a cup.   

The TV in the breakroom is always on, but you usually just spare it passing glances. Since Homelander’s takeover, it mostly just plays Firecracker’s stupid propaganda show, or reruns of old Vought movies with Starlight’s scenes cut out. It makes for a clonky, confusing storyline. Sometimes you watch it when you’re bored, if only to feel a ghost of a smile.

Other days, they play Ben’s old movies. And you can’t stand to listen to those. Just his voice makes you shiver and look around the room, as if he might materialize and grin at you the same way he always did. Like in his eyes, everything just narrowed down to you. The walls existed to hold you and everything around the room was a noise or blockade that needed to be moved, so he could be at your side.

I’d swim in the ocean for you, doll. He’d told you one. You’d laughed. He’d meant it to be romantic, but he’d just sounded annoyed about it, and it had been so stupidly sweet you’d fallen a little more in love with him. But love with Ben had always come like that. In slow drips that built up and up and up, until there was a bucket to be doused over your head and you had to understand.

That he had been everything.

You’d known too late. The downpour had come with the news of his death, when every light had become too bright, and all the color in the world had been washed out to nothing. You hadn’t been able to tell your co-workers why you’d stumbled and started to whine like a lost dog. Why you’d needed the week off, because your legs had turned to lead and it was too hard to get out of bed.

And you’re not going to be able to explain this, either.

Why you hear his voice, look up at the TV on an instinct you’re never going to be able to squash, and drop your cup.

It shatters all over the floor. The two nurses at the table shoot up to help, one saying something about walking carefully over the broken glass, but you don’t hear it.

There’s only the ringing in your ears, and—rising above it all—Ben’s voice.

This isn’t old footage. You’d know. You’ve watched every video and listened to every archived radio interview, just trying to hold onto what you could.

No.

This is new.

Which means Ben- He’s alive.

He’s on the TV. Standing next to Homelander with a bored, unimpressed expression, hands on his belt, looking the exact same as he day he left you.

He left you.

It wasn’t death that took him. He’s right there, instead of at your side. His gaze is just as intense as before, and he holds himself with the same confident, lazy posture, and his mouth stays in the pretty, downturned line that you always loved grabbing up and pulling into a smile.

He’d grab your wrists, but not move you away. He’d ask what you thought you were doing, but he already knew. You’d beam and kiss his nose. He’d pretend to bite yours, and you’d dissolve into giggles and wrap around him like a koala. He’d tell you he didn’t know what he was going to do with you. You’d call him a liar. Say he knew perfectly well what he wanted to do with you. And he’d grumble, because you teased him so much without ever actually throwing him a bone.

You always reminded him there were plenty of other women out there who would happily want his bone. You’d wink, and he’d give you that adoring, exasperated look.

He’d say he didn’t care about any other bones but yours. You’d say that you were both losing the metaphor.

Ben would say he didn’t fucking care, and flip you under him. You’d lose track of time. Of the movie you were supposed to be watching. Of the world.

And then he left.

Just left.

Wasn’t taken. Ben just… Left. After telling you so many sweet thing, after making so many promises, he just left. And now he’s back.

But not back with you.

Your hand is bleeding. You tried to pick up some of the glass, and it sliced along your palm. You barely even feel it. A part of you was already bleeding all over the floor anyways.

He didn’t come back.

Ben couldn’t fucking find you.

He wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t about to go up to any of these weird little pussies and ask them where you were. He didn’t need them to know you existed. No one needed to know you existed but Ben himself.

Before he chased after Butcher, he’d gone to your apartment. And he’d been a fucking idiot with this picture in his head, where he’d knock on the door and you’d been thrilled to see him. He’d sweep you off your feet, and you’d be crying with joy, then he’d fuck you and carry you far, far away from here. 

But he’d knocked. And knocked. And shouted your name, but no one had answered the fucking door.

He’d broken in. You’d be mad about that, if you were with him. That was the kind of thing that got him a stern finger and snapped Benjamin like he was a damn dog being scolded for pissing on the couch.

Don’t kill that guy who’s harassing me, Benjamin. Don’t pick up that car in my parking spot and throw it across the street. Don’t punch the dickheaded dumbass who cat called me, it’s fine, it happens all the time.  

It was real fucking cute when you got all mouthy and angry with him, as if there was a damn thing you could do about it.

Although he had always listened.

But it was real hard to tell you no. Or upset you. Or do anything that made your voice all thick and eyes all watery and sad. Ben had a lot of fantasies about your wobbling lips and sad little kicked kitten eyes—the ones you gave him when he was gone for longer than he said he’d be, or had very fucking reasonably verbally threated the men who’d been giving you a hard time—but none of them involved you being sad. They were all about how pretty you looked like that, and how nice it would be to see that gorgeous sight without feeling so fucking bad about it.

His heart squeezed uncomfortably, when he made you upset or nervous. It was incredibly fucking annoying. When it had first happened, he’d decided he needed to keep you close. To figure out what the fuck you were—what supe or Russian spy had been sent after him—so he could neutralize you.

Then you’d just been a person. And Ben had to deal with the fact that his dumbass fucking heart just did that for you. It didn’t do that for anyone else, and he’d been alive a damn long time.

He’d been angry about it, for about ten seconds.

And then you’d smiled at him.

He’d decided that as long as you were smiling, there wasn’t much to be angry about in the whole fucking world.

There were things to be angry about now, though.

You weren’t smiling. You weren’t there. Ben had kicked down your apartment door and found it empty. Bare.

Hollow.

Something inside of him had split and become so fucking hollow. He’d ripped up the floorboards and checked in the vents. He’d punched a hole in the wall and roared your name, but you’d been gone.

Someone had to have taken you. You’d always been to smart and kind, you might’ve said something truthful and gotten dragged off to one of Homelander’s stupid camps for it.

If you were dead, Ben was going to break some shit. A lot of shit. Namely, Homelander’s fucking skull between his hands.

And if you were alive, he’d still probably do that anyways. For hiding you and hurting you. He’d just be faster about it. You didn’t need to see that shit, and the moment Ben had you again he wasn’t going to let go for a damn second.

He just had to find you first.

Ben had been good at investigating, in his day. But shit had also been simpler. There hadn’t been Sage hanging over his shoulder and watching him like a very annoying hawk. That Firecracker girl hadn’t been trying to hit on him—a shame, because his dick was sore, but his hands hurt even trying to touch someone else so he shut it down fast—and Homelander hadn’t been whining like a little fucking bitch baby all the damn time.

All these damn computers with their fucking passcodes and weird words didn’t help either. Ben spent an hour trying to break into one, then physically broke it, and all the others in the lab.

The Fish-Fucker walked in on him. Ben narrowed his eyes, and the pussy paled and raised shaking hands.

“Hey, dude, I didn’t see anything-“

“You know how to open a computer?” Ben barked, and Fish-Fucker blinked.

“Uhh… You mean log into one?” Fish-Fucker laughed, high and weak. “Yeah, bro, I know how to log in to a computer, who doesn’t know how to-“

He cut himself off as Ben’s jaw ticked, going even paler. He even looked like a fish.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean- You shouldn’t kill me! I can log in, I can find whatever you want-“

“Shut up.” Ben raised a hand, and the Fish-Fucker fell silent. “You know how to keep your mouth shut?”

“Yes. Yes- Sir-“

“Open it.” Ben pointed at the computer, and Fish Fucker scrambled forward.

He grabbed the back of the pussies neck before he could sit down, dropping his voice to a hiss.

“You tell anyone about this, I stuff you up like a fuck doll and turn you into fucking chow, you got that?”

Fish-Fucker nodded, throat bobbing and body twitching all pathetically. Ben let him go, and stood back up.

“Good. I got a name for you to look up.”

Fish-Fucker laughed nervously, nodding as he hit his fingers all over the keyboard. “More revenge, sir?”

“No.” Ben muttered, clasping his hand in front of him.

Revenge isn’t going to help, Ben. You’d told him that over and over again, but you’d also run your fingers through his hair and told him you wouldn’t stop him. He’d asked you if you’d still be there when he came back with blood on his hands. He’d meant it to be teasing, a thing he used to say to old lovers to test how much they could handle. They’d always giggled and rolled their eyes like they thought it was a damn joke. You’d tipped your head at him, eyes sharp and bright, and sighed.

You’d told him he’d need to take a shower, first.

And Ben had known. 

“What is it, then?” Fish-Fucker asked, and Ben didn’t bother to answer.

That wasn’t for anyone to know but him. You weren’t for anyone to know. Not these horrible, weak people who would hurt you and use you against him.

Your face popped up on the screen. The smiling photo that you’d used on social media—you’d taught him what that was, and he didn’t fucking care for it but he sure as hell liked seeing pictures of you—and a link to your profile at that hospital you’d worked at.

You still worked there. You weren’t gone.

Ben’s heart did a little flutter. He ignored it. That kind of gooey shit could be saved for after he found you.

“Who is she?” Fish-Fucker peered at your photo. Ben should pop his eyeballs out of his damn skull. “A Starlighter?”

Ben grunted. “Don’t ask stupid fucking questions.”

Fish-Fucker said something else. Ben didn’t listen to it.

He had to go find you.

You get home, and you feel like nothing.

It’s been two weeks, since you found out Ben was alive. Two long weeks where time dragged you through the mud and you had to learn how to keep your heart beating.

You pulled out the gun every night. You’d never shoot it—you didn’t even have ammunition—but you’d needed to hold it. To cling to proof that it hadn’t all been a dream. He’d been here. He’d given you part of him to keep.

Then he’d decided you weren’t worth the rest.

You’d thought, like a naïve, lovesick school girl, that you were going to be worth the rest.

You kick off your shoes, and go straight for the gun again. You lie on the floor, because it’s cold and that forces you to stay awake. You haven’t been sleeping properly, and when you pass out from exhaustion you don’t wake up well rested. It all hurts. It always hurts, and you don’t think it’s ever going to not hurt again.

You close your eyes, hugging the gun tight to your chest. Tears are burning behind your eyes again. You’d been hoping you’d run out, but you feel the hot shame of one sliding down your cheek. A broken sob rattles through your chest, and you’ve given up on fighting it.

This is just always going to hurt.

“I didn’t give you that so you could shoot yourself, doll.”

You scream. Your hands fly before you can think, scrambling to grab the gun. Some scratch in the back of your head knows that a bad idea, and drum in your chest demands that it’s bad idea, but you’re tired and afraid. You thought you were alone, and you’re not, so you aim the gun straight at the man standing in your door.

Ben grabs it like he’s taking a toy from a toddler. He takes out the empty clip and examines it with a frown, his hair flopping over his face. You’re breathing so shallow you think you might have passed out. You’ve had a lot of dreams about him since he left. You’ve just finally gone off the deep-end, and now they’re hallucinations.

“Hm. Not loaded.” Ben tosses the clip off to the side, shooting you a smirk. “Good girl.”

You don’t know if you scream again, or crawl to him on your knees. He sounds real. He looks real. He’s smiling at you like he never left, like you hadn’t pour every piece of yourself out to make room for the swelling grief of his absence. If you reach out, you think you’d find solid muscle and warmth. A heart that beats under your fingers, in a rhythm you always hear when you close your eyes. Ben would cover your hand with his own, holding onto your wrist the same way he did before. Like he wanted to tie you together. Like he could never bear to let go.

Or you’d just pass right through thin air.

And everything you have left would dissolve with the illusion.

You wrap your arms tight around your stomach, drawing your knees to your chest. You know this is fear. You know Ben thinks fear is weak, but he’s never looked at you and said you were anything but his.

Then he left.

And you’re not anyone’s anymore.

Ben says your name, and you swallow. He sounds so real.

“Ben?” You whisper.

A familiar smile ghosts over his lips. It terrifies you.

“Me.” He murmurs, tossing the gun onto the couch without breaking your gaze. “Hey, doll.”

He takes a step forward.

You push back, pressing yourself into a small ball on the floor.

Ben freezes. His brow furrows, and his lips press in a tight, thin line. He reaches out. And you don’t want to touch him and know he’s not real.

You shrink away.

“How did you get in.” You whisper, fixing your gaze on his knees.

“You didn’t lock the door.” Ben grunts. “Which we gotta talk about later, that’s not fucking safe, but first-“

He says your name, reaching once more, and you squeeze your eyes shut. 

Strong, warm fingers grab your chin. You make a tiny noise from the back of your throat, and for a split second, the whole world goes still.

You can feel him. He’s tipping your chin up, handling you like a baby bird even as he angles it how he wants, and you can feel him.

“Look at me.” Ben mutters, and you drag your eyes open.

He’d kneeling in front of you, brow furrowed tight. There’s that look again. The one that makes you naked and exposed, your clothing sticking to your skin and every inch of you seen.

Ben sees you. You can see him.

And either you’d fully lost your mind, or he’s… He’s really…

“You’re here.” You breathe. “You’re real.”

Ben’s eyes snap to yours. His frown deepens.

“’Course I’m real, why the hell wouldn’t I be real.”

“You left.”

And something flashes over his features. It’s furious and loud, but not directed at you. His fingers on your chin don’t even flex.

“I didn’t leave.” He grunts, the words pushed through his teeth. “I told you I’d never fucking leave you.”

Your tongue flicks over your lips. You shake your head.

“I saw you on TV.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, those weird fuckin’ attention sluts love a camera-“

“You were there, Ben.” You cut him off with only a whisper. “Not here. I- I thought you were dead.”

The stupid tears are back. And they always blur the whole world, but Ben remains sharp. Of course he does. Bastard.

“I waited.” Your voice breaks. Ben watches you, his jaw clenched tight. “I thought you were dead and I still waited, and you- You were just on TV-“

“Don’t say it like that, it’s- That’s not what this shit is-“

“You left.” 

“No, I didn’t-“

“You left me.” You scream, and Ben blinks.

It’s like every bit of pain, every scrape and open wound you’ve been treating with paper band-aides, Ben’s ripped everything wide open. Your tears are falling freely, your voice high and soft as you struggle to breathe, all the grief and anger at him crashing from your mouth in unforgiving waves.

“You left me, you said you’d come back, you said we’d go anywhere and you’d be here and you- You fucking left me here and I- I-“

Your word crack into a body-shaking sob, and you try to slump away from him. To just sink into the floor where he can’t see your weakness, your crying, every fissure in the mask you’re usually so good at keeping together. You don’t want him to see the rawness underneath. The way that you’ve always been ill-matched, because there’s nothing in Ben that even knows how to break, but you’re like an gastropod. Every bit of armor is borrowed and crafted. Under it, you’re nothing for him.

Weak.

“You left me.” You’re still breathing it out. You can’t stop. “You left.”

Ben sighs. And when he gets up and walks away, you’re going to be okay. You’re going to find a way to be okay, even if that means just having this gaping feeling forever.

But Ben doesn’t leave.

He wraps around you, and you wiggle a little, but he doesn’t let go. He pulls you fully into his lap, and you go limp. Your face presses into his chest, tears flowing freely with every shaking, silent sob. Ben rubs your back, holding you steady. And despite yourself, you hold on. You sink in your nails where you never should’ve let go, and you hold on.

His heartbeat hasn’t changed. And everything in your still recognizes it.

Still calls it yours.

“Didn’t run.” He mutters once your breathing has evened, tangling his fingers in your hair. “Butcher turned on me, helped Homelander and that Maeve bitch knock me off the tower. Got put back under. Homelander woke me up. And the first fucking thing I did was start looking for you, but you weren’t where I left you.”

You swallow. You’d moved because you couldn’t stand that apartment without him. You turned every corner and expected him to be there. It was pure torture.

“But I found you.” Ben continues. “I fucking found you. And I’m not going again, doll. We’re leaving, together, and that’s it.”

Ben tugs on your head, and you let him pull you back. He’s not crying—you’d be shocked if he knew how—but there’s a heavy light in his eyes, like a lamp that’s begging to be bright enough to be seen. You reach up to trace his jaw. His eyes close for a second, and he leans into the touch.

Your throat bobs. Your voice is still small.

“Why should I believe you?”

Ben’s eyes shoot open, glinting and sharp. Not dangerous. Never to you.

Just focused.

“Because I’m telling the fucking truth-“

“Swear it?”

Ben nods, and you tilt your head.

“You swore you’d come back.”

“And I am back.” He grabs your wrist, keeping your hand to his face. “No promises got broken, doll. And I’m not fucking leaving without you.”

You laugh, something in you breaking and fusing together all at once. Like glass, burning before it gets to be something beautiful. Something that can let the light in.

“Don’t say that.” You breathe, holding his gaze. “I’ll believe you.”

Ben’s eyes narrow. He leans over you, that attention as unwavering as always, and suddenly there’s nowhere to hide. Not that you ever could. Not from him.

“You think I’m not serious?” He murmurs, low and dangerous.

You don’t flinch. You never have.

“Prove that you are.”

A deep sound rumbles from Ben’s chest. He lets go of his hand, his own flying up to frame your face. Your breath hitches, right as his lips slam against yours.

You’ve kissed Ben many times. He always does it like it’s going to be the last time he ever touches you. He’s demanding in how much you take, but never how much you give. Your mouth falls open in a moan, and he grunts, hauling you up his chest to deepen the kiss. It’s sloppy and wet, your fingers scrambling against his shirt to keep steady, but he doesn’t falter for a single second.

“Be- Ben-“

He grabs a handful of your ass, squeezing as his teeth drag over your swollen lips.

“Ben-“

“That’s right.” He grunts. “Say my name, I know you didn’t forget who fuckin’ owns you.”

God, you should shove him for that. But he knows what it does to you. He smirks, when your thighs clench and a soft whine escapes your lips.

Ben lands a sharp slap on your ass. It makes you keen, collapsing over his chest. You’re pulling at him, kisses uncoordinated and desperate—how did you ever survive without this, you’re not sure—as you try to further a kiss that’s already fusing you together by the mouth.

He doesn’t even come up for air.

“Oh- Fuck, Ben-“

He speaks against your lips, voice rolling in his chest. 

“I know, doll. You believe me now, don’t you.”

“Ye- Yes-“

Another slap. This time he lets his hand drag lower, teasing over the crease between your thighs, then the hem of your shorts. Your hips buck into the featherlight touch. Ben grunts, short and tight.

“Dirty girl.” He mutters, starting to wander his kisses over your cheeks. “Say it louder. You fucking believe me.”

“I- Ooooh-“

You press your face into his neck, biting down a moan. The tips of his fingers are tracing your pussy through your shorts. You sink your nails into his shoulders, your breathing ragged as he starts to trace them back and forth.

“You what?” He teases, nipping at your ear. “Heard you start to say something doll, you already that stupid? I’m barely fucking touching you.”

“You- You’re touching enough.” You breathe out, squeezing your eyes shut. “More- Please-“

“More?” Ben snorts. “You’re always getting me on that fucking feelings shit, you don’t get more until you talk.”

You shake your head. “Ben, I- I can’t-“

“Can’t what? Can’t speak? Can’t say Ben, I believe you. ‘Cause trust me doll, when you do I’m going to touch you for real, and you’ll feel real fucking stupid for how you’re acting right now.”

Ben rips clean through your shorts, and thick, warm fingers start to rub the lips of your pussy. He scissors two fingers, pressing them just upside your core, then dragging back and forth. It’s all pressure and not enough friction. It’s going to drive you out of your mind.

“Come on, baby, where’d all that fucking spunk go-“

“You- Benjamin-“

“Uh oh.” He laughs. “I’m in trouble.”

The tips of his fingers graze your clit. You whine, grinding back into the touch, and Ben grabs your pussy with a single hand. He’s covering it completely, pinning you to his chest, and you moan so loud you think it echoes.

“Think you’re going to forgive me?” He mutters in your ear. “Think I’m not dead fuckin’ serious, when I tell you that I’m back. That I want you, all of you, and I’d kill people to have it.”

“I- I don’t want you to kill anyone.” You breathe, dazed and drunken on him.

Ben chuckles, kissing right under your jaw.

“I know you don’t, pretty girl. And I’ll go on the damn leash if you’re yanking me, but I’m not letting you drop me. We go, we go together, you fucking remember that. We get out. You gonna get out with me?”

“Ben-“

“I’ll take care of you.” He mutters. His hand starts to move again, torturously slow. “I’ll be real fucking good to you, swear it. Swear it on you.”

Two fingers slide over your pussy, spreading your arousal on his fingertips. A slow, breathless sigh of escapes your lips, and Ben lets you have this. He teases those fingers over your cunt a few times, then slowly pushes one of them in. You gasp, wrapping your arms around his neck. Just his finger is the biggest stretch of your life.

“I know.” He kisses under your ear, pressing it further in until he’s at the knuckle. “It’s a lot, isn’t it. But you’re doin’ so fucking well. Sweet fucking pussy, all wet and tight for me.”

“Mmmh.”

“Say it’s for me.” He demands, crooking them so they hit a soft little button you’re never able to find yourself.

“Ben-“

“Say it.”

“S’ for you-“ You take in a sharp breath, when he starts to slowly pump them in and out. “All for you, Ben, I- I’m all-“

Your words break into a moan. He’s pressing back against that same spot, rubbing it until you’re squeezing around him before drawing shallowly out and slamming back in. Obscene sounds fill the room, and you didn’t even know you could get this wet.

It’s a grace. Ben’s finger is massive. You can feel every drag of him inside you, and you’re not sure how you’re managing to take it when you keep squeezing around him.

“How- How big is your dick?”

He barks a laugh, pulling your face back with his hand on the back of your neck. He kisses you slowly, matching the pace of his fingers moving inside you.

“You’ll see, baby.” He says. “Just need to be good.”

You pout slightly. “I am being good.”

Ben’s lips twitch. He kisses your forehead, then suddenly speeds his fingers up. Your back arches, hips grinding as you try to chase the feeling, but he holds you firm.

“Ben-“

“Say it.” He grunts, squeezing the back of your neck. “You wanna be so fucking good, say it-“

“I love you!” Your words come sudden and desperate. “I- I love- I love you, please-“

You almost scream, when his fingers stop moving. You grab his wrist, blinking in hopeless confusion. Ben’s jaw is clenched tight, his eyes wide and nostrils flaring.

Then you realize.

Shit.

“Ben, I- I didn’t-“

“You didn’t mean it?” He grunts, and you shake your head frantically.

“I didn’t mean to- I just- I missed you, and you said- And you were-“ You gesture frantically at his hand. His fingers, still buried deep inside you. “And I- You don’t have to-“

Ben moves, and your words turn into a squeal. You’re airborne, being tossed over his shoulder as he stands.

“Fuck- Benjamin, what are you-“

He slaps your ass, then drags two fingers back through your pussy. You close your eyes, biting your lower lip to stifles the moan at the perfect combo of pleasure and pain.

Ben spanks you again, his voice stern as he moves to his feet.

“Don’t fucking do that quiet shit. Let me hear you.”

His finger pushes back into your cunt, finding that spongey spot in a second. This time you let yourself moan fully, and you’re rewarded with a scraping kiss on your ass.

“There you go, baby. That’s what I want.”

You keen at the praise, and you don’t know why you bothered hiding it from him. Ben feels and see the flutter of your pussy and chuckles. Your knees are dragged together, forcing more pressure, making you tighter around his finger when he shoves it back in.

“Be- Ben-“ Your getting light-headed, from the combination of his touch and being upside down. “What- What’re we doing-“

“You’re telling me where the bedroom is.” He grunts, turning in a circle like a magic sign is going to appear. “Then I’m fucking you ‘till you can’t walk.”

“Oh- Okay.”

You grab a fistful of his shirt as he slaps your ass again, moaning when that fucking finger starts to pump once more. There’s a pressure building in your core, and the way he’s holding you is only making it worse. Like you’re just a toy, but still the most important thing in his life. He keeps kissing your thigh and ass while he fingerfucks you. Your exposed to the cold air, the window is open, but the warmth of his hand and body—the warmth of what he’s doing to you—is almost too much to handle.

“Bed, doll.” His reminder is gruff, but soft.

You nod, your tongue all loose and hopeless. “I- I um- It was- That way-“

You press on his shoulder, steering him towards the door and Ben slaps your pussy.

“Good girl.”

The praise and touch shoot through you like a drug. You think you might be about to cum just like this. Over Ben’s shoulder with barely any friction at all.

He kicks the door open, and marches into your room. You’ve never seen him so focused before. He lays you down on the bed with shocking care, before ripping at your clothing like a child on Christmas.

Ben whistles, when you’re fully exposed to him.

“Look at you, baby, can’t believe I was sleeping next to you for months and you wouldn’t let me touch.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your breasts. “You didn’t earn touching. Only good, domesticated boys get that.”

Ben scowls, pulling off his shirt. “I’m a domesticated fucking man, doll.”

And you giggle. Because he’s so fucking stupid, but he’s here. You’d cry if there wasn’t a helium filled light, blooming through your body.

You still might cry.

Ben’s looking at you like you’ve lost your mind—and like he doesn’t care the slightest, he’s just mostly concerned—and you laugh more because you’re definitely going to cry. You’re going to cry during sex with Soldier Boy, and he’s still going to fuck you anyway. 

“You know it’s not nice to start fucking laughing before a man takes his pants off-“

“I love you.”

You say it plainly, because it is. You love Ben. You have for so long, and it had been buried like treasure, but now he’s here. Now it gets to shine, and it’s far too bright to be ignored.

Ben looks shell-shocked. He’s panting like you punched him, but you’re not worried. He’s a big boy. He’ll be okay.

You both will.

“I love you,” you repeat, beaming up at him. “I love you so much, Ben, I-“

You giggle again, as he almost stumbles forward to kiss you. His massive chest envelops you, his kisses pushing you back into the mattress, and you meet him with everything you have.

Ben pulls back. Staring at you the same way he always has.

Like he’s found the last, greatest wonder of the world.

“Say it again.” He mutters.

“I love you.”

You offer it easily. It’s his to have.

And Ben seems to swallow it. His mouth closes, his tongue flicking over his lips, and you know that face.

It means he’s on a fucking mission.

“Here’s how this is going.” He grunts, fixing you with a glare. “You listen. I work. I’m tasting you,” he slaps your pussy again, lips twitching at the full body shutter it gives him. “Then you’re going to cum on my cock until you’re sobbing, and I’m going to keep fucking you until you can’t walk. You got that.”

You swallow and nod. Ben’s eyes narrow.

“You talk to me, sweetheart, I can’t read your fucking mind.”

“Got it.” You breathe, your legs spreading wide.

It’s a shameless offering. Ben slaps your pussy again, and you buck a little of the bed with a whine of delight.

“Hold onto something.” He winks, sliding slowly down your body. “I ain’t going fucking easy.”

You expect no less of him. And you’d be able to make that joke, if he didn’t lick a thick stripe up your pussy and make you shriek.

“Holy fuck-“ Your eyes roll back in your head, your hands clawing at the sheets.

Ben chuckles, the sound vibrating against you, and repeats the motion. Your thighs press together, but he shoves them back open with a single hand, settling fully down.

“No hiding from me.” He mutters, breath warm over your core. “Look at you, doll. Even prettier from down here, didn’t know that was fucking possible.”

You laugh breathlessly. “Kiss ass.”

“Gets me places.” Ben kisses the inside of your thigh, sucking softly.

His beard scrapes and tickles against you, his chin pressing where you need him and his nose bumping your neglected clit.

“Ohhhh.” You close your eyes, slowly running your fingers through his hair. “Oh God, Ben-“

He hums in approval, switching to match the mark on the other side. He’s let go of your thighs to grab everywhere else, rubbing your ass, your hips, your sides. He slides a massive palm over your abdomen, pinning you to be bed. You should know that’s a warning sign, but you’re too lost in the heat of his mouth.

“Ben...” You moan freely, covering his hand with one of yours.

He flips it over, and you thread your fingers together.

Another warning.

“That’s- Fuck-“

He blows on your clit, and shivers run up your spine. You don’t think you can take being teased any longer. Not right now.

“More, Ben, more-“

A dark, promising chuckle rumbles in his chest. You crane your neck to look at him, and realize your mistake too late.

He’d been waiting for you to ask. And now that you have, he’s not holding back.

Ben shoves his face fully between your thighs, lapping and sucking at your clit and soaked pussy like a man starved, and your mouth falls in a long, silent scream.

You’ve been eaten out before, but never like this. Ben’s going at you the same way he kisses you. The same way he does everything. With everything he has, and the mindset that less is a sin. If something is worth doing, he’s not going to slack.

And your pussy is under that full focus. It’s almost too much to handle.

Ben makes out with every sensitive spot, inside and outside. He licks and tongue-fucks, letting you squeeze around him and pushing your ass up to hit a better angle. He noses at your clit while he works on your gaping, leaking hole, then switches.

Soft, slightly chapped lips wrap around your clit, sucking on you with all the power of a fucking sex toy. His tongue flicks back and forth over and over again, building you into a whining, cloudy eyed frenzy. You scratch at his scalp and pull on his hair, but it just makes him moan, and now everything is vibrating.

Everything seems to make him moan. Ben grunt every time you jerk your hips, slamming them back down and squeezing your hand. He moans when you squeeze down on his tongue, when he brings you right up to the edge then stops at the last second, so you slam his shoulders in frustration.

Sometimes he laughs. And that’s even worse. It makes his massive arms—wrapped around your hips—flex, and it goads him into working you impossibly deeper. You turn your face, pressing it into the pillows. Ben squeezes your hand, dragging your clit between his teeth before pulling away for a single second.

“Eyes.” He grunts, and your attention snaps over.

“Be- Ben-“

“Watch me, doll.” He open-mouth kisses you clit, and you whimper. “That’s right, don’t you look away for a fucking second.”

Now that you’re watching, you couldn’t if you tried.

Ben goes back to his self-assigned job, and the sight is more lewd and sinful than any porno in the world. His massive shoulders roll and flex as he moves you how he wants. You can’t see his mouth, but you can see him moving his head with his tongue on your clit. He shakes it, playing the nerve bundle like a bop-it, and you’re right back up the edge again.

And again, Ben stops.

You almost scream, and Ben chuckles. He kisses your poor, throbbing clit all sweet, then goes back to slowly working his tongue against your entrance. You’re wound too tight. You think you might snap from just the wrong breath.

“Be- Ben-“ You pull his hair, trying to get him back up to your clit. “Ben, let me cum- I- I need to cum-“

He just moans again. You’re going to kill him.

“Please, I- I can’t take it-“ You moan, trying to squirm your body further onto his face. “God, Ben, I can’t- I need it so bad, please-“

Sharp, lust-blown eyes snap to yours. You whimper, giving him your best hopeless pout. It’s the one that usually gets him to cave. He laughs and shakes his head and gives you whatever you want, grumbling affectionately about how damn impossible you are.

But this time, he just smirks against your pussy. And you might have him wrapped around your finger, but he’s got you cornered.

Take it. He’d said.

You don’t think you have a choice.

“Look at you,” Ben drawls, kissing your clit. His beard drags. You whimper, eyes locked onto his.

The sounds earns you another kiss, and it makes you squirm. With how his eyes gleam, you’re worried he’ll just keep you like this all night.

“You’re close.” He mocks, rubbing his palm against your pussy. “So close, baby doll. I can fuckin’ see it, you’re about to cry.”

You glare at him, and he just grins.

“You think I’ll give a shit? Think I don’t want to see you break for me?”

He presses his hand down harder. You go to reach for it, but Ben grabs your wrist and pins it firmly next to him on the mattress.

“No touching.” He grunts. “Mine.”

Oh, that makes you clench around nothing. After, you’re going to force him to make dinner and maybe do taxes or drive a car to earn feminism points back, but right now everything is just Ben, lying between your legs, calling you his.

And he’s staring at your pussy, almost transfixed. You moan as his thumb rubs your clit, his hand rising up so he can watch you react. You can feel yourself, gushing and fluttering. Desperate for anything he can give you. You’ll beg more, you’ll take it however he wants, you just need more.

“Christ on a fucking cross.” Ben mutters, pressing his cheek into your thigh. “You know, I’ve seen a lot of pussies, doll.”

You shoot him a look. “Romantic.”

He rolls his eyes, pinching your clit between his fingers.

“Was going to say yours is the best, you fucking brat.”

You smile, cupping his cheek with trembling fingers. You’re seconds from exploding with desire, but you just want to hold him. Feel him, for only a little longer.

Something in Ben’s expression shifts. For the briefest moment, it softens. His shoulders relax, and the slow breath he lets out sounds like a release. He kisses the inside of your palm. His thumb pushing on your clit, dragging it back and forth in a steady, relieving rhythm.

But you’re too sensitive. You’re being worked back up too fast, and tears start to prick.

“Ben.” You breathe, fingers curling against his cheek. “Please.”

He smirks. There’s one last kiss on your clit, then another on your well-bruised thighs. He rises to his knees, slapping your pussy while one hand undoes his belt.

Ben chuckles, at the way you fully tremble from the hit.

“You fucking like that shit, don’t you.”

You shrug, watching his belt slide away. “Maybe.”

“You do. Can see it, you-“ He pushes two fingers back into your cunt, and you moan.

“Ben- Oooooh-“

He tosses aside his belt, spanks your clit, and grins triumphantly.

“Fucking felt that. You started pouring on me like a waterfall, you love it-“

You kick at his thigh, flushing and rolling your eyes. “Shut up.”

“Don’t think I will.” He drawls, going back to his pants. “Think I get to talk as much as I want, baby doll. You’re the one that’s going to be fucked all damn stupid.”

You had a smart, sharp retort.

It dies when Ben pulls down his pants, and you see his cock.

Of course he’s such an arrogant, smug ass. Endowed is too weak a word. He’s blessed. He’s got the most beautiful cock you’ve ever seen—thick and long in all the best ways, like it was handcrafted to give your pussy a heart attack—and with the look on his face, he fucking knows it.

“See something you like,” he grins down at you, stroking himself slowly.

“I… Um…” You lick your lips, crawling slowly up the mattress. “You’re very…”

You trail off again. You’re humping the sheets like an animal, forcing yourself not to just fucking touch yourself, but it’s impossible. He’s too… everything.

Ben laughs, prowling up over you.

“You’re fucking drooling.”

“You’re pretty.”

“I am not fucking pretty.”

“You are.” You roll your eyes, letting Ben drag you onto your back. “You’re so pretty, Ben, it’s bonkers.”

He grunts, settling himself above you. “Pretty is what you call a fucking show pony.”

“You are a show pony.”

That earns you a glower. You beam back in return, giggling at your own jokes.

“When we’re done, you should let me braid your- Oh my God-“

You grab at his shoulder, eyes going wide as Ben slides his cock into you with one, smooth movement. He drives right into your g-spot, dropping his hips so he’s pinning you into it. He grinds down, abs rubbing on your clit, and there it is.

That coil that had been building in you all night. Ben gets inside of you for ten seconds, and you snap.

You writhe and scramble under him, grabbing at his chest and trying to hide from the overwhelming orgasm ripping through your body. Ben grabs your jaw and forces your gaze back to his, still grinding down onto you as it drags on. You whimper, making garbled sounds of his name.

Ben kisses you, as you twitch through the last bits of it. You turn to limp putty, moaning into his mouth and shivering as he settles at being bottomed out.

“That’s what I wanted to see.” He mutters, nipping at your upper lip. “That’s what I fucking dreamed about.”

You whimper, and Ben laughs. He gives you a shallow thrust, and your eyes go wide.

“Don’t think I’m done with you yet, baby.” He teases, ghost his lips over yours. “We got a lot of fucking time to make up for, and you,” he gives another, sharper slam of his hips. “Are too fucking gorgeous to just give one orgasm.”

A strangled sound escapes your lips, and Ben grins.

“I know. But feel that,” he pulls all the way out, then slams back in. “Real good, isn’t it. Fuck, this pussy was made for me. Going to fuck you until my name is written on it, until it can’t even take anyone else.”

His logic is flawed, but you still moan. Hard not to, when you’ve got all the mass and power of him over you, driving in and out of you at a torturously slow pace.

“That’s my girl.” He coos, bumping your nose before going for a hot, sloppy kiss. “That’s a good fuckin’ cock slut for me, aren’t you.”

Your eyes fly open, your pussy clenching down, and Ben laughs. He starts to drill into you, knocking every bit of air from your lungs.

“Yeah, I know how you like it. My dirty baby, get off of me telling you that I own you,” he slams down, and tears burn at your eyes. “That I’m going to fucking wreck you, turn you into my fuck doll, my sweet little fucking whore.”

You moan, the shame only making the heat in your tummy build faster. Ben rises over you, hair pressed to his brow from sweat.

“That’s right. Take it, take this cock and thank me for it.”

He slides his thumb over your lips, pressing down ever so slightly as his cock fucks ruthlessly in and out of your pussy. You mewl, opening your mouth for him to take. Ben laughs, thick and breathless, and pushes his thumb in.

“Fucking- Christ-“ He groans as you start to suck. “You’re so fucking beautiful, and- Tight-“

He groans, fucking impossibly harder. The bed squeaks and shifts. You moan around his thumb, tears flowing down your cheeks.

“Crying for me, baby doll, so fucking desperate you’re going to cry for it- Shit-“

Your second orgasm hits suddenly. You clench down on Ben, making him groan loudly. His chest is tight with restraint, and you scratch at the muscle, whining around his thumb.

It’s so much. Too much. You’re stuffed so full, and you can barely breathe, and it’s perfect but you don’t know what to do with yourself but sob and moan.

“There you go, so tight and warm.” Ben’s babbling. You think he’s lost himself as much as you have. “Fuck, you’re going to be death of me if you keep lookin’ like that, gotta-“

You squeak as Ben pulls his thumb and cock out with wet sounds. There’s no time to protest the loss, though, before you’re being flipped onto your stomach and fucked within and inch of your life.

Ben drags your ass in the air, barely giving you a second to recover before he’s back to railing you into the mattress. You cum even faster this time, between the filthy words and deeper position.

“Greedy pussy can’t get enough, can she.” Ben grunts in your ear, his chest draped over your back. “You love it, fucking love being marked up and fucked like an animal. You fucking slut, bet that pretty mouth needs something to suck on again. Be you’ll look so pretty choking on my dick, to bad you look even fuckin’ better like this.”

You cum again with Ben’s thumb in your mouth, tears on your cheeks, and his body wrapped around yours. Then a third time, when he rises up and plays with your ass, shoving your head into the mattress to watch you cry and try to wiggle back on his cock.

After a while, you lose track of what position your in. You’re over him, then under, then pressed against the headboard and folded in half. You don’t know how he’s held himself off this long. You’re a boneless, oversensitive puddle made of countless orgasms, by the time Ben starts to rut and groan.

Ben finishes inside you, holding you firmly above him as his hips jerk up. You watch him come apart under dazed, tear-stained lashes. It’s the most beautiful sight in the world. He’s pumping into you, hot and jerking, dripping out of your pussy as just more and more comes. A wet sound fills the air, and you can see his own release stained over his abdomen as he just keeps going.

You think you pass out, after. You must, because when you come too, you’re lying on clean sheets and wearing Ben’s shirt. You stare at the ceiling for a while, still partially lost to the world.

You come back to earth, when Ben says your name. He’s coming out of the shower, bare-chested and glorious.

He gives you that small smile, and you return it without a thought.

“Feeling alright?” He mutters, climbing into bed at your side.

No pants. Unhelpful.

“Um-“ You stare at his cock, swinging between his thighs. Your mouth is watering. “You…”

“Jesus, woman.” He snorts. “I’m not trying to fucking break you, stop slobbering.”

“I am not slobbering-“

“Yeah, you fucking are.”

You stick your tongue out and try to roll away, but Ben’s right. He worked you. One movement comes with a whine, and suddenly you’re being pinned below Ben’s bare body.

“Rest.” He scolds, and you roll your eyes.

“You’re not my boss-“

“Yeah, but I love you, and I’m going to be real damn pissed if you hurt yourself.” He taps your jaw. “Rest.”

You blink at him.

And again, Ben just finds a way to make you feel more full.

“You love me?” You whisper.

He blinks. You don’t think he knows he said it.

“Of course I do-“

“Say it.”

He scowls. “You heard it, means I said it-“

“Say it again.” You give him that look. The pouty one.

This time, it’s going to work.

“Please?” You add.

Ben sighs, shaking his head, and glares at you like you’re the bane of his existence.

You might be. But he likes it, and he’s the one who’s going to be keeping you at the center of his universe.

“I love you.” He grunts.

You beam, and Ben kisses you with a labored sigh. It’s slow. Romantic.

Meant to remind you that you have time.

“Good boy.” You whisper, and he groans.

“You’re real lucky-“

“Yeah.” You cut him off, and he lets you.

He always lets you. Because he loves you.

“I am.”

✦End note: i dont care what he does in the show this is my emotional support old horny man✦

✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦

✦Buy me a coffee!☕️ (and get early access!)✦

.ᐟ.ᐟ moc!dean winchester who fucks you like a fleshlight. he only gets a few inches in before you're a wreck, clutching the sheets and crying. but he takes no notice of it; or, he does, but also balls-deep in you by now, focused on the way you whine, and the way your tight cunt spasms around him. "if you don't stop crying, i'm gonna shove my cock so far down your throat that you won't be able to cry anymore, 'kay?" is one of his usual threats, as watches you pathetically attempt to take him. he's already made a mental note to use all of your holes and fill them as much as he can, just so he can fuck you without your constant complaints.

he's also very into getting you in any position that he can, nevermind if it's basically bordering on impossible for you. in missionary or full-nelson, getting to watch you whine and scratch at him when he cums so deep in you that it's definitely reaching your cervix makes him go feral, and more so when you tell him that he's gone too far. but he's also big on doggy-style; the sight of his cock being buried in your cunt from behind as his hands leave marks and bruises on your ass? hooo boy.

“What?” 

You sigh, “I’ve been driving for hours and gas prices are insane right now, Pope!” 

He pulls away from you, lightly shoving your face from him. “So nothing's wrong?”

“Hey,” you glare up at him, “we need to go to Encinitas to—“ 

“We?” He’s upset. Your smile falls as you take a step closer to him. 

“Why are you angry? I just said I needed you—“ 

“I thought you were hurt.” 

“Pope, you’re cool and all and I really want to fuck but if I were hurt, I wouldn’t call you.” You let the words settle and the guilt at the way his jaw clenches and how he turns from you, makes you feel worse. “Not like that. I know you’d help me. I’m just saying… I love going to the hospital for any little scrape. If I were hurt I would go—“ 

“To me.” He interrupts you. Still, he’s not looking at you. His eyes are on the ground, his hands gripping onto the car door of his passenger seat. “You come to me.” 

“Or I can go to-“

“Me.” 

You laugh, “no, I can go to—“ 

“Me.” 

“Pope! Stop!” You laugh, smacking his arm. “I’ll go when I—“ 

“Always.” 

“Pope!” You groan, “let me ta—“ 

“No.” 

“Pope!” 

He opens the car door some more. “Get in. I’ll drive us.” 

You pinch his side as you move past him and into his car, his hands pushing yours away and slamming the door shut. You don’t flinch, sitting back in content as he climbs into his truck. “Where to?” 

You pull your phone out, “I called this target and they said they only had a few left and I offered to blow the guy if he saved me one.” 

“You did what?”

You snort out a laugh, “I’m kidding, Pope. I begged and he said he can only save me one.” 

“You joke too much about sex.” He puts the car in reverse, immediately driving you to that location. It’s quite a drive, especially since you’re about to hit peak traffic but you know it’s worth it for Lena. 

It’s quiet as he drives. An awkward quiet. This is the longest time you’ve ever spent with him, especially since the last incident. And you weren’t lying when you said he makes you shy. He’s so handsome and so grown. In the way you always like your men, their age showing around their eyes. 

They’re stuck on the highway when you decide to speak, “j told me it’s your birthday soon.” 

“J needs to mind his business.” 

“J is amazing. Why are you so mean to him?”

He doesn’t respond. You sigh, shrugging. “Doesn’t matter. What do you want?” 

He turns to you, eyebrows furrowed with that familiar scowl of his. “What?” 

“For your birthday gift. What do you want?” 

He shakes his head with a roll of his eyes, shoving your face softly again. “I don’t need a gift.” 

“Oh, you’re getting a gift.” You smack his hand away from you. “Whether it’s money or a candle or my body or a card—“

“You need to watch what you’re saying.” He scolds. 

“Fine. Not a card.” You quip, lightly smacking his arm when you see he’s not lightening up. “Chill, Pope. I kid, I kid. I do want to get you something though. I know you’re a clean freak—“

“Am not.” 

“And you’re a boxer, right? Or maybe I can turn you into a gamer. Buy you a switch so we can visit each other's islands on Animal Crossing.” 

“Do not,” he stops, releasing a shaky breath. “Spend your money on me.” 

“I want to. With the two jobs and my financial aid I have quite a b—“ 

“It’s not right.” 

The conversation is annoying you, watching him carefully as he starts driving again. “What does that even mean? I want to buy you something.” 

“I don’t want anything from you.” He snaps. 

“Oh.” You sit in silence for a moment, nodding as you slump back into the seat. You’re embarrassed now. Of course he doesn’t want anything from you. You’re a nuisance to him. There are moments when you feel you’re finally making way into his heart but it’s times like these that you realize it’s not doing much of anything. 

You see that his hands are tight around his steering wheel. He doesn’t look comfortable. And you feel the guilt weighing on you again. “I can just do—“ 

“I need to be buying you stuff.” 

His interruption makes your breath catch. “W-what?” 

He shakes his head, sighing. “What do you mean ‘what’?” He pulls the visor down when he notices you’re squinting from the sun in your eyes. “Just shut up.” 

You’re bursting into laughter. “Oh my god! Are you… are you a misogynist?” 

He sputters, “what? Am I… am I a? No!” 

You’re wheezing, holding your stomach as you’re doubling over in laughter. “Oh my god! You’re… that’s your thing. You like taking care of people! Pope, that is sooooo sweet!” You squeal in awe. “Pope, do you want to take care of me? Does that turn you on?” 

“Shut up.” He seethes as you keep going. 

Getting to the store is fast, you rush inside, slipping in your slides. You get to the return checkout, “hello? Hello! Hi, hi, honey. I called earlier about the—“ 

The lady in the vest sighs, “the Nee-Doh’s?” 

You nod with a polite smile, “yes. Those things.” 

She eyes you wearily, “is it for a child?” 

Your eyebrows furrow, “uhm… yes. It’s a toy, right?” 

“Yeah… adults keep buying them.” She reaches beneath the counter and she pulls dozens of boxes of the toys. 

Your eyes light up in wonder. “Oh my god. He saved me the dumplings too? I love him.” Him being the worker you spoke to on the phone.

“Love who?” Pope is finally walking into the store, standing behind you, looking over at the countless squishies. “Those things are ugly.” 

You try to elbow him but he easily grabs your arm, settling you down. You turn back to the cashier. “Can I buy them all? The heart of a young girl depends on this.” 

The girl seems to mull it over. “Sure. I don’t care. Just make it quick, I'm off in five.” 

You leave the store with a bag full of the popular toys that Lena’s been telling you about. 

“I can’t believe you just spent two hundred on toys.” Pope scoffs from behind you. 

You shrug easily, “it’s for Lena.” 

He hums as he opens the car door for you, letting you slip in. “You really do care for her?” 

You nod, looking up at that face of his you absolutely adore. You’re smiling so prettily at him, “yeah. Of course I do. She’s impossible not to love.” 

It’s quick. You almost think you’ve imagined it. The way his lips press to your forehead. It’s not long. He pulls away quickly, getting into his seat. “Shut up.” You don’t dare say anything.  

authors note . . . unedited and a late update hehehe

“hey– hey,” he grunts, shifting his hips slightly, the fat tip of his cock pressing firmly against your cervix. you whimper at the feeling of cum seeping out of your stretched cunt every time he pulls back, your walls unable to hold anymore of his four loads. he’s only got one mission tonight, and that’s to get you pregnant. no questions; no debate. and especially no protests. “gotta stop with the fuckin’ complaints, yeah? gotta let dad do what he needs to do.”

with a rough hand, he spreads your legs further apart, your knees almost touching your chin as he forcefully keeps you in a full-nelson. it hurts more than you can admit, but with your current state– a mushy brain addled with lust (and what you’re sure is some drug that he laced you with), and a body that bends and works on his will– you’re in no position to say anything. 

you know how much pride ben takes when he gets to fuck you like this; all dumb and sweet, innocent beyond words. and you also know exactly how to encourage him. “put a baby in me, please,” you beg eagerly, wrapping your arms around his neck. “‘m gonna have all your babies.”

“yeah? is that what you want?” he taunts, grinning wickedly as he presses down firmly on your abdomen. you whine in response, shuddering from his touch. “gonna have to keep takin’ em until it works then, alright?”

you nod silently, once again bucking your hips into his like an animal in heat. and whilst you may be under the influence of something currently, you’ve always had the thought of carrying his baby; it stirs something in you, the idea that no matter what, you’d forever have that little part of him. you can feel your face grow wet. “pleasepleaseplease– wanna be yours forever!” 

“if it’s what you want, kid,” ben sighs– as if this isn’t precisely what he wants; some excuse, some entrapment, that makes you utterly dependent on him for the rest of your life– groaning as you clamp down on him. “gotta promise me to take it all, yeah? can’t have you wastin’ anymore of my cum.”

you writhe under him, practically choking on your sobs. “wanna be a mommy so bad,” you whine, past beyond the point of desperation for him to fill you up. and even with your cunt full of his cum already, this drug-altered version of you can’t imagine him not filling you up once more. “wanna be yours.”

There’s a slight trembling in your legs as you try to bounce, burying his cock deeper inside your sloppy pussy, all while watching him take hit after hit on his blunt. “Having a girl dripping on my cock while I smoke, that’s truly fuckin’ Heaven if you ask me.” You suddenly hear him say, thick smoke leaving his mouth just to hit your face, making you cough and clench around his cock. “Fuck, keep squeezing my cock and I’ll fill you up.” He groans, squirming to let his shoulders against the headboard.

His free hand moves to smack your ass, making you gasp and arch forward. “Keep bouncing, icky girl.” His hips thrust up only once, making you feel his tip almost kissing your cervix. You roll your hips after his action, hands grabbing his shoulders to hold yourself up.

Squelching noises are heard each time you lift and lower your hips on his cock, balls sticking to your ass. Thick and creamy white is pooling at the base of his cock, all leaking from your wet pussy due to the multiple previous orgasms you had (without much of his help). 

Your eyes are half-lidded with pleasure, trying to get some eye contact with the Supe under you but all he’s focused on is the state of your cunt. How wet makes your bush glisten, how creamy it is from so much stimulation, how your clit is pulsating with needs. Ben takes another hit of the blunt in his hand, the tip glowing red for a second or so before smoke is exhaled once more, the smell of weed flowing in the room, making you dizzy more than you already are now. 

“Ben—My thighs hurt…” You end up voicing, making him look up at your sweaty face, your lips parted with remaining dried drool at the corner of your lips. “Do they, now? What the fuck y’want me to do about it?” He groans, his free hand moving to swipe hair from his forehead, licking his lips before you reply. “Help me out, please?” You see his eyes rolling at those words, he sighs as you try to roll your hips onto his cock, smearing come against his bush.

“Can’t a motherfucker just relax? God, you youngsters can’t do shit anymore.” He says before bringing the blunt to his lips again, but only to keep it there. Then, both his hands move to your hips just to grab the fat there, and it’s almost painful. You can’t clearly understand what he is saying due to the joint between his lips, but he mumbles.

“Fuck—slick pussy—squeezing my cock.” And before you can say anything, his big and strong hands are helping you bounce up and down on his fat cock. 

But the pace is almost violent, making you gasp loudly; his bulbous tip is hitting your gummy walls all the right ways, rubbing and stretching everywhere necessary. You have to hold yourself harder onto his shoulders as he is using you like a fucktoy—slamming you down his cock, making you cream more and more. Your eyebrows are furrowed, lips parted wide with moans escaping from it. One of your hands moves to his mouth just to take the blunt from between them, just to hear him speak again. “That’s good, yeah? Love my cock hitting deep? You’re fucking dripping.” 

Ben hiss when you clench around him in response, the back of his head hitting the headboard. “Give me a hit, doll.” He groans at you so you move your hand back toward his mouth, letting his lips wrap around the blunt.

The tip becomes red, smoke leaving his mouth before you pull it away and having the smell directly in your nose. “That’s a good fucking girl. All that weed in your tiny brain, must be feeling all dizzy now. Creaming onto his old man’s cock with y’sweet young pussy. Feels good, yeah?” You nod, lips parted and pupils blown out.

Ben grabs your hips tighter, slamming you down on his cock, louder squelching noises are created by your sloppy pussy; his tip rubbing at the entrance of your cunt each time he brings you up and down. Your thighs are shaking once more but now, it’s from your orgasm being so close, heat in your lower belly. “Ben, m’gonna come again…” You whine out, and he decides to thrust his hips up, finally. “Yeah? Gonna make a mess on my cock like a good girl? Milk my cock dry again, doll?” He asks but you’re too far gone to reply anyway.

One of his hands moves to smack your ass again at the same time your orgasm hits, and his slap is strong, which mixes pain and pleasure. You cry out his name, head thrown toward the ceiling. You feel him taking the blunt out of your hand then, just to bring it to his lips once more. Your pussy clenches, thighs trembling and body squirming at the force of your climax; a trail of drool drips from your mouth toward your neck. More smoke is exhaled toward your face then, and your upper body falls to rest against Ben’s chest.

His hips thrust up a few more times before he shoots his load deep inside your messy cunt, filling it up with his semen once more.

It leaks from your hole, dripping all the way down his length and to his balls, and you feel it against the skin of your ass. You both stop moving, your breathing labored before you push yourself up to see Ben’s face and it seems like his daily routine; the way he just keeps smoking his joint, brushing hair away from his face. 

He looks at you, smirking before you are hit with the smell of weed again. “Want a hit before I start to pound your pussy, doll? That’d be nice to have you relax a bit. I wonder how fuckin’ icky you are when you’re high.”

He learns your routines and inserts himself into them without asking. Making your coffee exactly how you like it, sitting beside you during quiet moments or walking with you instead of disappearing the way he used to.

He doesn’t say I love you right away. When it finally comes, it’s awkward, hesitant, like the words don’t quite fit in his mouth yet. “I believe… I am experiencing something humans describe as love.” And then, softer: “It is… you.”

Jealousy is something he doesn’t recognize at first; he just feels this tight, unfamiliar tension when someone stands too close to you or looks at you too long. He won’t interrupt, won’t make a scene—but afterward, he’ll be quieter, more watchful, like he’s trying to understand why it bothered him so much.

Castiel doesn’t laugh often, but with you, it starts to happen more. Small, quiet things at first: barely there smiles, a soft exhale that almost counts as a laugh. And every time it happens, he looks a little surprised, like he didn’t expect himself to feel that. He also doesn’t always understand humor, but he likes yours. Even when he doesn’t get the joke, he watches you laugh and decides that’s enough.

When he kisses you, it’s slow and intentional, like he’s learning something important. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t take more than you give; just follows your lead until he understands, until it becomes something natural between you.

Castiel listens to you like everything you say matters, even the small things. Especially the small things.

He learns pet names slowly. At first, he just says your name, all soft, careful, like it’s something precious. But over time, he starts trying. “My… love,” he says once, uncertain. And when you smile, he remembers.

He doesn’t think of love as something loud or dramatic. To him, it’s this: staying when he could leave or choosing you, over and over, without question. And if anyone ever asked him what it feels like to be with you, he’d pause, searching for the right words, before settling on something simple and certain: “It is… peaceful.”

His elbow rests against the window, the fingers of his other hand are brushing slowly along your thigh, not quite teasing, not quite absent either. Just there, present and grounding like he always is with you. “You’re gonna wear a hole in that sleeve, y’know,” he murmurs, voice low and rough in the quiet, eyes flicking down to where your fingers keep twisting the fabric.

You blink, like you’ve just come back to yourself, gaze lifting to his sparkling hazel eyes. “Sorry,” you say automatically, soft and sweet like always, your hands stilling for a second before you loosen your grip. “I didn’t even realize.”

Dean huffs a quiet breath, something fond tugging at the corner of his mouth; sweet like whipped cream. “Hey,” he says, shifting just enough so his hand slides over yours, stilling it properly this time. His thumb presses lightly against your knuckles, grounding, warm. “Didn’t say you had to stop, sweetheart.” His voice softens at the end, like it always does with you, like something in him instinctively smooths out the edges when he’s talking to you. He’s all circle, square gone.

You relax immediately at that, your shoulders dropping just a little, your hand settling back into the sleeve—only now your fingers brush against his wrist too, like you’re anchoring yourself there. “Okay,” you murmur, barely louder than a breath, and Dean feels it; how easily you settle when he gives you something steady to hold onto. It does something to him, something quiet and deep that he doesn’t really have a name for.

The silence stretches for a moment, not uncomfortable, just… thick. Heavy in a way that feels familiar between you now. His hand drifts again, slow, deliberate, fingertips tracing the curve of your thigh through the soft fabric of your clothes. Even now, even with everything that’s grown between you, Dean’s learned the way you respond best: slow, steady, giving you time to feel every second of it.

You shift slightly at the touch, your breath catching just a little, and his eyes flick to your face immediately, watching for any sign that you don’t want it. But you don’t pull away, you never really do and instead, your body leans closer, your knee nudging against his thigh, your fingers tightening faintly in his sleeve. “Hey,” he murmurs again, softer now, his hand stilling for a second. “You good, baby?”

You nod, eyes dropping to where his hand rests, your voice quiet but certain. “Yeah… I’m good.” There’s a beat, and then, quieter—almost shy—“I like it.” And that does something to him, the way your voice whispers, the way you try to hide your face away from his soft glaze.

Dean exhales slowly through his nose, his gaze sharpening just a fraction as his thumb starts moving again, a little more intentional this time but still so gently. “Yeah?” he mutters, leaning just slightly closer, his shoulder brushing yours, his presence suddenly more noticeable, more solid. “You like when I touch you like this, huh?” His tone is like sugar, honey and everything sweet; he doesn’t try to tease, doesn’t try to mock. There’s a genuineness in his words.

You swallow, your head dipping a little, but you nod again, softer this time too, your voice barely there. “Mhm.”

God.

There’s something about the way you say it (so sweet, so honest) that makes his jaw tighten just slightly, and his heart skips a beat inside the cavern of his chest. He loves you so much; even though you know that already. Dean could give you the world, right here and right now. Snatch the moon off of the sky, make it into a necklace for you to wear.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, shifting his hand from your thigh to your waist, guiding you without force, just pressure, just enough that you follow. You always follow. You move easily into his space, letting him pull you closer until you’re straddling his lap, your legs on each side of his own and your hands instinctively finding his shoulders to steady yourself. It’s a bit uncomfortable due to the crampy space, but you both make it work.

“Dean—” you start softly, a little breathless, but he cuts you off gently, his hand sliding up your back, warm and firm. You can almost feel the warmth of his skin through the layer of clothes you have on.  “Relax,” he murmurs, his voice dropping, softer but heavier somehow. “You’re alright. I got you, sweetheart.”

The words settle into you instantly, your body softening under his hands, your grip on his shoulders loosening just slightly as you lean into him. You trust him and that’s the thing Dean keeps circling back to, even now: you trust him so easily, so completely, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. From up close, a sniff of his nose is enough for his brain to catch up on the smell of strawberry; the sweet-sugary smell of your favorite perfume.

His hand moves slowly along your side, then back down again, deliberate, giving you time to feel every inch of it. Your breath stutters again, quieter this time, and you hide your face for a second against his shoulder, shy in that way that never quite goes away.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing gently along your jaw, coaxing your face back up. “Don’t hide from me now, baby.” You hesitate, then lift your head again, your expression soft with your eyes flicking between his beautiful hazel ones. “I’m not hiding,” you whisper, even though you kind of were. Dean huffs a quiet, amused breath, his thumb brushing just under your bottom lip, not quite touching, just close enough to make you notice. “Yeah, you are,” he says, not unkindly, his voice low. “But it’s cute, don’t worry.”

Your cheeks feel warmer at that, and you duck your head slightly again, but you don’t pull away. If anything, you lean closer, your chest brushing his, your fingers curling a little tighter into his shirt to make sure he won’t suddenly disappear into thin air. The thing is; you’re not used to being all over him—usually shyer with that type of interaction, but Dean brings something out of you that you can’t deny. It’s new and a bit scary, but beautiful at the same time.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, softer now, more approving than teasing. “Stay right there.” His hand shifts again, slower, more certain now that he knows you’re with him, that you’re not going to pull away. And you don’t. You stay exactly where he wants you, soft and pliant and warm in his lap, your breathing uneven, your body reacting in ways that still feel new enough to make you shy as your hips softly move against Dean’s. 

“Look at you,” he mutters under his breath, almost like he’s talking to himself, his gaze dragging over your face, the way your lashes lower to almost rest against the top of your cheeks, the way your lips part just slightly, the way your pupils blow a bit. “All sweet like this… You’re so beautiful, sweetheart. My pretty girl.” You let out a small, breathy laugh, your forehead tipping forward until it brushes his. “Dean,” you whisper, half a protest, half something else entirely.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, his nose nudging lightly against yours, his voice quieter now, more focused on you. His eyes take the expression of your face as he gently angles your hips down again. You don’t answer right away, you just look at him, soft and open in a way that makes something in his chest twist unexpectedly. And then, quieter still—“Don’t stop.”

Dean exhales slowly, his hand tightening just a fraction where it rests against you, his forehead pressing briefly against yours before he leans in, kissing you: slow at first, deliberate, giving you time to follow, to meet him there. Your hands slide up to his shoulders, then into his hair, your body leaning fully into his now, soft and trusting and just a little needy in a way that makes his chest feel tight.

“Careful, pretty girl,” he murmurs against your lips, voice rougher now, but still soft like a cloud underneath it. “Sam’s right across the street, he could come back anytime now.”

You let out a small, breathless sound that might be a laugh, might be something else, your face turning slightly into his neck for a second as if to hide once more. “He won’t know, Dean,” you whisper, shy but honest, your fingers curling tighter in his shirt.

Dean stills for just a second at that, something flickering across his face; surprise, maybe, or something warmer, something sharper. “Yeah?” he mutters, pulling back just enough to look at you properly, the apple of his cheeks a bit more rosy than before. You tend to do that to him. “You sure about that, sweetheart?”

You nod, small but certain, your eyes soft but steady. “I just… want to be close to you.”

And that—soft, sweet, completely unguarded—hits him harder than anything else.

Dean lets out a quiet breath, his hand coming up to cup your face for a second, thumb brushing gently over your cheek, grounding himself as much as you. “You got me,” he murmurs, softer now, something steadier settling into his voice again. “Always got me, baby. I’m not leaving any time soon.”

And then he pulls you back in, slower this time, more careful, like he’s balancing something fragile between his hands. His hand angles your hips once more, down against his own in the softest and gentlest way he knows how to. Not rushing, not pushing—just letting you feel it, letting you stay soft even as you lean into something new, something that belongs just to the two of you.

The Impala hums quietly around you, the world outside distant and unimportant, and inside, it’s just you and him: warm, close, and learning each other in ways that feel a little dangerous and a lot like home. 

The car is filled with the quietest of praise coming from Dean’s honey mouth, words that echo in your ears just to slide to your heart. You can feel the beat of his own heart against your chest, a telltale of the love he feels for you and he helps you on his lap, pressing kisses to the skin of your cheeks.

“I love you so much, sweetheart.” You can hear him say as you feel warmth coursing through your body, muscles gently twitching under his touch before he pulls you into a hug and you are left breathless for a second. Dean’s hand rests against your lower back, rubbing it slowly until your heart calms down. Only then, you pull your face away from his neck and look up at him. 

“Feeling good, pretty girl?” He asks and you nod, smiling softly like only you know how to. It makes Dean feel all flustered to see you so happy, knowing you feel safe in his arms. He leans his face closer to yours, pressing a kiss to your lips; lingering but honey-like.

“Want to go find an open diner and get some milkshakes?”

perv!dean who openly the downright most diabolical things about you.. as if you’re not standing right next to him, along with whoever else is subjected to his perversions. “yeah, so, she’s pretty an’ all- when you fuck her right,” he comments off-handedly, grinning wickedly when you blush and get all squirmy. his rough hand groping at your waist and pulling you closer to him; just so everyone knows who you belong to. although, he’s not not had the thought of passing you around. “i mean, we could all fuck her, but there’s only one guy she’ll be crawling back to..”

perv!dean who when you think you’ve discovered another kink of his, there’s more. seriously, the guy could be balls-deep in you and suddenly come out with something about how he’s gonna breed you, or ask demand you do something depraved for him. he’ll have his hand yanking your head up by a fistful of hair, coaxing you to say “yes”. and, of course, you will say yes.. you just love him that much. 

perv!dean who loves to turn you into a mess, savouring every second of it. even when your body is past the point of giving in, he’ll shove your legs further apart, press firmly down on your abdomen so you can feel him. he’ll fuck his cum deep into you, tease you because you can’t take it. “i know you can do better than that,” he sighs, arrogant as all-hell. “fuckin’ filthy f’me, sweetheart.. aren’t you?”

perv!dean who makes all his vitriol seem so sweet– especially when he’s got you spread out for him. can’t stop; won’t stop. he’s going to make sure his cum is right up in you, make sure there’s every chance under the damn sun that you’ll get pregnant.. despite your protests. and, yeah, he may get a bit pathetic towards the end, his groans getting more desperate with each sloppy thrust, but the sight of your cunt swallowing his cock is something else.

mari woke up like it was any other day. the only difference was another hunt with the winchesters.

she was getting used to them, and her feelings for the youngest only grew deeper.

the plan for the day was to interview the victim's families, then circle back and find connections to lore. around early afternoon, mari made her way to the motel parking lot.

she didn't really enjoy riding in baby yet. i mean.. the cassette player, the seats.. it was pretty to look at, but riding in was a different story.

she was used to her crv. the hours she spent on the highway, the small naps she'd take at rest-stops and most importantly the seat warmer.

but that was besides the point, she was ready with her professional clothes: a pretty bun, black blazer pants—flared of course, and a loose button up.

making her way to the impala she wiped her glasses, ignoring the way her stomach churned every time she had to meet sam.

it's something she thought would never go away, the nerves, racing thoughts, extra checks for her appearance more than usual, and the more she saw him didn't help it, actually quite the opposite.

sam noticed her first, a smile spreading on his face and waving before dean spoke.

"mornin' sunshine, you look...very professional." he beamed, giving her a not subtle glance up and down.

she quirked up in a soft pout, looking between both sam and dean. "you do too." before climbing into the car.

she wasn't used to the nicknames or banter that wasn't mari just talking cas' ear off. sam, dean and mari were friends, but not that close, her feelings for sam made it harder to get more comfortable.

before pulling off, dean stated "i'm gonna make a quick stop to the store before we go to the victim's house."

mari nodded, "alright." head tilting towards the mirror, trying to catch sam's reaction.

parking the car in front of the store, dean left swiftly, saying he'd be right back, leaving sam and mari in the car alone.

she stayed laid against the window, behind sam's seat and avoiding his eye-line.

having a crush made her second guess almost everything, from the way she stood, to the faces she made when she was in thought.

the sound of his voice brought her out of her daze. "so what do you think about the case mari?"

she heard his clothes shuffle against the seat, watching him turn his body towards her to listen.

she shyly scooted down a bit so he could see her better. "from the case files and what we heard at the morgue it sounds like vamps? but it's weird that they're taking and draining them another way. maybe they're sadists? like to do it slowly til they give out." mari grimaced, looking down at the thought of the victim's suffering.

he nodded while she spoke, eyes not leaving her face. "yeah, maybe they are." sam frowned before tilting his head up. "but we'll stop them in time, i'm sure of it." she saw his hand twitch, almost as if he was holding himself back from reaching out.

smiling softly, she nodded "i hope so." before dean swung open the impala door.

a paper bag was in his hands as he settled back in the drivers seat. he took a beat, looking around and getting ready to pull off before lightly tossing a box in sam's lap.

"something sweet for your special day," he smiled, then pulled out a obvious skin mag. the cover being a practically naked blonde with surgical enhancements.

mari's eyes widened, looking to sam scrambling when he noticed it. he tossed the mag below his feet, turning it over to reveal an even worse shot of her behind.

"god, dude you had to ruin it." sam groaned, eyes shutting as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

dean smiled, not an ounce of regret on his face, looking between sam and mari to say, "what? we're all adults here." he pulled off, mari still putting the information together.

"sam, it's your birthday?" he looked at her, a bit flushed and awkward, he nodded. "why didn't you say anything?" she tilted her head, frown fighting not to appear on her face.

he shrugged, looking away quickly before returning his eyes. "it's not that big of a deal, even when i was a kid we really didn't celebrate anything."

she couldn't hide the pout then, eyes trying not to look sorry. she gave a smile instead, "happy birthday!"

she watched his cheeks flush further, a toothy grin on his beautiful face, "thank you." before turning back in his seat, fingers fiddling with the cake box dean gave him.

after talking to the families, despite dean & mari's protests, sam said he wanted to eat in, and study the lore after the new information.

sam waited in the motel with his almost melted cake, while dean grabbed the food and mari went back to her room.

except, she didn't go to her room. on the drive back she noticed every store near the motel, looking the places up on her phone to see what they sold.

when she got to the motel, she changed into more casual clothes, and walked to the streets ahead.

she felt weird, i mean she'd feel bad not giving him a gift but looking for one felt exciting yet strange.

i mean, was it okay? they were friends but would he think it's weird? is it obvious she likes him? she exchanged her overthinking thoughts for music by putting in her headphones.

her face lit up at the sight of a paper store, for someone like sam there must be something he'd like. she was in there for longer than she anticipated, thought going into every choice she made.

she made her way out the store with a pretty paper bag, a smile on her face that wouldn't drop even when she made it to the motel.

she put it in her room, opting to give it to him at the end of the night incase any awkwardness ensued, so she could run back to her room and sleep it off.

over-thinkers always plan ahead, she nodded to herself then made her way to sam and dean's room.

sam let her in with a smile, she couldn't get used to his height yet, cranking her neck to see him. god, he was so attractive. she shook her head lightly, brushing off the thoughts before dean came in shortly after.

carrying chinese takeout, "who's ready to.... read.." dean said with a fading smile, if there was anything mari noticed, it was that dean slacked off when he could. lore reading especially.

he was very smart when it came to it though, remembering things at the top of his head and dating back to his father's journal.

they spent the night in a happy silence, between bites and pages, exchanging thoughts and connections before dean called it.

"listen, i'm gonna go grab some beer, no buts!" he pointed at sam, making his way out backwards before winking.

mari looked between them both, blinking in confusion of his wink but that couldn't matter. now was the perfect time to give him his gift.

she stood up from the table, legs and arms stretching out subtly before speaking. "i have to grab something from my room, i'll be right back."

sam responded with a confused but light-hearted 'okay' before she walked out.

with the bag now in hand she looked through it, taking out the receipt and making sure there wasn't any tags, mari felt the nerves building.

'why am i cursed with anxiety' she sighed to herself, opening the door with her hand behind her back.

sam looked at her with curiosity, before she sat down, still hiding the bag. "so i ran out a little earlier, i know i didn't know about your birthday before but i wanted to get you a little something." she said, her heart pounding in her chest as she brought up the pretty bag.

she pushed it towards his side of the table, watching his cute shocked eyes as he looked between her and the gift. "oh mari, you really didn't have to." he smiled, showing his dimples as his fingers looped through the handle.

"i wanted to." she said quietly, eyes soft as she nervously watched him. he opened the bag gently, shock spread on his face.

he took out a good quality journal, with plastic wrap and a dark green color. then a small bookmark, with a metallic edge, a pretty design of flowers with reddish tones attached to twisted string.

next, a gel pen from japan, it had a sleek design, that was followed by a simple chocolate bar.

his face was softer than she'd ever seen it, eyes happy yet unreadable, hands passing between each item slowly.

"wow, mari. i love it, i really do. thank you." he smiled, along with the happiness was something else, mari couldn't tell. was it sadness? she hoped it wasn't.

"no need to thank me, i'm glad you like it, i don't know your taste too much but i tried." there was a hint of worry in her expression, before she began to ramble.

"y'know the pel actually is super nice, they have testers and it runs really smooth, and the journal i know it's simple but it has nice sections and the bind isn't too in the way, it can lay flat which is good."

he laughed, a sound that was rare from him, his cheeks were so pink as were hers. "thank you. i don't think it's simple mari." he said softly, fingers running over the bookmark, "it's all beautiful." he said so quietly, she thought she didn't hear it.

"this means for the time being, you're two years older than me." she joked, poking his arm lightly before sighing. "twenty-seven." smiling, she looked away, their arms brushed when hers fell down.

"only until august right?" he said, head moving to see her turned face. her eyes widened in shock.

"yeah that's right, how'd you–" their eyes met and she felt her heart beating so much she wanted to look away. his hazel eyes did something to her entire body.

"you said it talking to cas one time." he grinned sheepishly. "you remembered that?" mari questioned in awe. his hand crept up to scratch his neck nervously.

"yeah, i guess i did." he didn't take his eyes off her, glossy and tender with a smile that couldn't fade.

his heart was beating too, so hard he thought she'd hear it. sweating slightly too, his hands felt clammy and neck felt slick. he drummed his fingers on the table, eyes looking between the table and her as his nerves built up.

"you always work on your birthday sam?" his attention was right back to her, "yeah, i didn't really notice that before." he sounded almost dejected before turning the question to her.

"what about you?" she noticed how their hands kept getting closer, how his chair wasn't across but next to her.

she shook her head slowly, she felt bad. almost every birthday she had was spent well, her friends making it special whether inside the house or on a trip.

knowing sam never got that luxury or a break broke her heart. she refrained from most personal talk because of that.

"that's good, you don't have to feel bad about that." he said assuredly after noticing her face change. his voice was so soft, it almost made her melt into the table.

but she was so focused on the conversation, her feelings for him were being pushed aside. and for good reason or else she would've been a wreck.

she looked at him before nodding, mari didn't know what to say. with the whole apocalypse thing it made it severely hard to plan for the years to come.

she wished she could promise him a break for his next birthday, with better gifts and better setting.

"i hope this hunt wraps up quickly, then maybe we could do something fun." she breathed, eyes darting away as he smiled.

"hopefully." their hands touched but neither moved away, mari was looking around the room as she thought to herself.

their knees brushed at the same time. sam could only stare at their hands and at her.

'she has no idea how i feel about her, how much this means to me.' is what passed his mind as he observed her.

she was thinking of activities to do after, ice skating was out—but rollerskating.. were they too grown for that? well they could go see a movie? that was a safe option.

neither of them noticed the sound of the impala before dean came through the door. they both shifted, the contact dissipating.

"beer's secured sooo.. the untouchables or the lost boys?" dean spoke obliviously.

mari's eyes rolled, "i'm gonna go to my room.." sam's eyes widened as she stood.

"what? c'mon mari–you know how weird it is that you haven't seen ONE movie from the 80's?" dean whined, popping the beers in the freezer to cool faster.

she shrugged "why don't you ask sam what he wants to watch?" she turned to sam, looking between both with an expectant look.

"fine. sammy, what do you want to watch?" dean sighed, sam looked around before his shoulders jerked up, "i don't know."

he wasn't really a movie guy, he just wanted mari to stay.

before dean could speak, mari gave an idea. "how about we watch the first scream movie? i've always wanted to see it." her eyes glimmered in brief excitement.

it was quick moments like these that the boys saw her real personality. as serious as she could be, when comfortable she was bubbly, talkative and to sam? the cutest.

before dean could protest, sam pointed "we'll watch that." dean threw his hands up, mouth open making a 'wh-' sound before giving up.

mari made her way to the beds in front of the tv, grabbing the remote to search.

dean grabbed the beers out the freezer, grumbling before noticing the stuff on the table, ignoring the gift entirely and taking sam's candy bar.

"this," he held the chocolate in the air while standing above sam, "is collateral." he handed sam a beer before plopping on his bed, taking all the space with his boots still on.

mari looked back in a sigh, noticing the candy bar in hand and his dirty boots on the bed. turning to sam, she asked hesitantly, "can i sit on your bed sam? or i could pull up a chair?"

he nodded instantly, "of course, on my bed, i mean—to sit." dean snorted at his failed english, mari smiled and laid on his headboard then motioned for sam.

when he made it in front of her, he asked quietly "you don't want me to pull up a chair?"

she shook her head, "no, no, it's your bed, your birthday, just sit next to me." she said it casually like her stomach wasn't twisting.

he made his way to the right of the bed and laid down cautiously, thankfully without any dirty shoes.

the scream movie popped up on screen along with the prices to rent, mari looked at dean before grinning. "your treat." before pressing 'rent' and shuffling into the bed.

the body heat from sam comforting her along with the dim motel light. the groans from dean fading as she turned the movie's volume up.

A/N i think.. this is the most i've ever written holy shit? i hope this doesn't have too many errors or repetition bc i just wanted to get this out as soon as possible!!! happy birthday to the best boy ever i love him so bad & mari does too!!

it’s fun; you’re fun. getting closer and closer to him as the night goes on, feeling yourself grow warm (and wet) as he grins at you when your words start to slur. ben merely spurs you on, keeps pouring that amber liquor down your throat.

but only when his rough hands start groping at you does something break within you. 

“‘m– what’re you doing?” your words slur as you pull away from him. however, he pulls you back to him just as quick– as harsh. “ben, ‘m not–”

“shut the fuck up. now.”

you don’t pick up on it in your drunken state, but simply put, ben’s had enough; there’s been too much attitude from you, and he can’t handle it anymore. “gonna fuckin’ put you right,” is all he tells you. someone needs to put you in your place, that “someone” being him, and it all starts with alcohol. and a healthy slap to your face.

through your blurring, drunk vision, he grabs your face between his hand, your cheeks squishing. he makes forces you to look right at him as he begins his.. teachings.

“been gettin’ on my nerves lately.. y’think that’s any way to talk to me?” ben growls. his eyes bore into you with such a biting intensity that it sours your stomach. he’s never, never, been like this with you, and you can tell this is something he’s not joking around about.

and now, his fat cock’s been stuffed into your stretched cunt for.. well, you don’t know. his thrusts are mean, erratic, even if his words of “don’t mean any of it, sweetheart” and “love you; just gotta help you” are meant to make you feel better about all of this. he clearly doesn’t care about how his cock bruises your cervix again and again. he’s mad, and you need to know it.

“y’mean the world to me,” ben mutters against your neck, even as he forces your legs further open. clamps his hand over your mouth when your protests get too much. “but y’need to stop with the bitchin’– ‘m just teachin’ you a lesson, yeah?”

his large hand keeps you spread open for him, coinciding with your drunken state that makes it simply too easy to get deeper, harder with you. you’ve never known him to use this much force, it almost scares you– but deep down? you like it. 

he doesn’t need you to tell him.

“my sweet girl.. imagine if your darling daddy edgar could see you like this,” ben’s panting as he berates you, his hand resting at the base of your throat. you shudder at the mention of your dad– the one thing he’s never meant to bring up, given his relationship with the man– and you squeeze your eyes shut. but the second you do so, his hand comes harshly into contact with your cheek. “eyes open, sweetheart– y’ain’t gonna learn anythin’ with your eyes closed.” 

⠀⠀𓍼⠀⠀ ݁⠀ heavy make ups , glamorous dresses , short skirts , thick fake lashes , overlining lip bombos , bamboo earrings .

⠀⠀𓍼⠀⠀ ݁⠀ expensive perfumes with strong scents…you will never catch her wearing cheap perfumes or notes that doesn’t match her vibe or outfits .

⠀⠀𓍼⠀⠀ ݁⠀ bimbo ! reader who has duck nails or stilettos with maximalist vibes. fond of charms adorning her nails .

⠀⠀𓍼⠀⠀ ݁⠀ bimbo ! reader who has a dermal on her left cheek and nostril on her right flare. she changed her nostril basic piercing it to some hello kitty one .

⠀⠀𓍼⠀⠀ ݁⠀ bimbo ! reader who is fashionably late because she takes her sweet time choosing her outfit and always changes them at the last minute because “ it doesn’t fit my vibe today ”

⠀⠀𓍼⠀⠀ ݁⠀ juicy couture tracksuit pants with a victoria secret thong hanging on her hips.

⠀⠀𓍼⠀⠀ ݁⠀ bimbo ! reader who’s often called a princess or a doll for being high maintenance and hyper aware when it comes to her appearance .

⠀⠀𓍼⠀⠀ ݁⠀ bimbo ! reader who’s very affectionate and empathetic. can and will spend her money on you if she likes you. she’ll hug and kiss you often to say hi or good bye .

⠀⠀𓍼⠀⠀ ݁⠀ bimbo ! reader who’s perceived as a mean girl while she’s actually pretty sweet , which surprises people .

⠀⠀𓍼⠀⠀ ݁⠀ bimbo ! reader who’s a non labeled queer woman. always answers “ i love people ” whenever she’s asked about her type .

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡⠀ ⠀ ꗃ̲ ⠀ ⠀ : ⠀ ⠀ joel miller , dean winchester , starfire , jason todd .

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒⠀ ⠀ : ⠀ no gravestones yet.

𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐒⠀ ⠀ : ⠀ camgirl!bimbo reader ⠀ ␥ ⠀ feelin’ yummy ( dean winchester ) , coming soon .

𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂⠀ ⠀ : ⠀ all fics ⠀ ␥ ⠀ tag navigation ⠀ ␥ ⠀ moodboards .

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𝒕𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⠀ ⠀: ⠀@harleymuses , @flwrlea , @pittsick , @mtcloudsworld .

when you straighten up and turn around , you finally notice dean. he’s standing there , shoulder leaning against the door frame. his biceps are crossed over his chest. he doesn’t even realize his tongue slide over his lower lip with hunger.

you brush it off as soon as an idea blooms in your mind as another song starts playing. you stalks across the room dangerously and take his hands to guide him farther into your bedroom. dean looks at you and you can practically hear the question forming in his head.

“ dance with me. ”

“ what ? sweetheart you know i don’t dance. ”

“ i don’t care— c’me on dean. ” you insist already turning around.

his brows furrow while you proceed to prop your knees and place your hands back on them.

“ son of a bitch. ” he mutters. your hips follow the beat , ass grinding against the bulge pressing behind the zipper of his jeans. you really did move it like water. his hands immediately grip your hips , pressing you harder on his dick.

“ goddamn it—you got me hard like a fucking rock , baby. ” he groans behind you while his finger tightens around your exposed skin. he can’t help but think about the way he’d nut so fast if you ever done it while riding him. using your hips to move your ass back and forth on his dick with nothing but that sexy red string tucked on the side , the string pressing into the meat of your cheek. and god damn that tanning mark above your ass crack—

“ i’m gonna cream my pants like a fucking teenager. ”

𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬　𓏲　summer scent , dean winchester .

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𝒕𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⠀ : @harleymuses , @flwrlea , @pittsick , @alasdecas , @mtcloudsworld .

It was assignments’ deadline week for most. It was a Monday. And on top of all that, it was storming out. The rain was on and off, but the thunder and lightning was constant. 

You weren’t even scheduled to work that night but when one of your colleagues couldn’t make it because of the horrible weather, the boss called you and asked you to please fill in for them. It was convenient. You were closer after all, since you lived at the dorms nearby. Plus you were ahead with all your assignments so you were free. Besides, the extra money wouldn’t hurt. 

You looked around the pub as you mindlessly wiped the counter down for the fifth time. The floor was mostly empty. There were no students in sight. Only a couple of people scattered about, some in the booths, most of them still with their first pint of beer and their phones in their hands. Some people read, others were engaged in hushed conversations. 

You sighed. Guess it was gonna be yet another boring, stormy night. 

But just as you turned around to look for something to do, maybe even rearrange the glasses for no reason, you heard the little bell above the entrance ring twice. Signaling that someone new had walked in. 

You turned around and found Dr. Grace walking right at you. 

Truly, you thought, what a man. 

Tall, well-dressed even though in a slightly dorky manner with the sweater and the powder blue shirt, and casual jeans. You’d never seen him in casual clothes before. And those glasses on that gorgeous face. How was this man just walking around single? You knew he was single because some of the girls you were friends with wouldn’t stop talking about it. 

And you didn’t blame them. Gods, if you had him as one of your professors, you would get nothing done in his class. 

You blinked and Dr. Grace had taken a seat at the counter, and he let out a heavy sigh. He hadn’t made eye contact with you yet. He just took a seat on one of the old leather stools and kept his head down. 

You waited for a moment or two. Waited for him to look up and order something but he didn’t. He just sat there. You had no other option but to approach him first. 

“Hi, Dr. Grace.” You spoke, giving him a small smile the moment he finally lifted his head up and looked at you. Wow. He had really pretty eyes. “What can I get you?” 

“Oh god.” He groaned dramatically. “You’re not one of my students, are you? If you are, you should be at home completing my assignments.” He did that thing where he looked at you from above the frame of his glasses. Such a teacher thing to do. But he made it look attractive. 

You laughed. Fuck. He was adorable on top of all that they said he was. “Unfortunately, I’m not. Physics and math stuff aren’t my thing. Same university, however I’m studying English Lit.” You let him know. 

“Ah.” He nodded, “Well, I came here to escape my students.” He smiled fondly while talking. “Their emails mostly. You know how it is, all of them suddenly have horrible things happening to them and they all need deadline extensions.” 

You chuckled, then carried on admiring the man in front of you while he began talking about some drama which occurred in his department earlier that day. Honestly, you barely paid any attention to what he was saying. He was just so god damn gorgeous. 

He looked a little tired, maybe even a little sleep deprived and yet so, so handsome. You got it now, now having seen him from up close, why some of his students were almost obsessed with him. Rightfully so. 

Dr. Ryland Grace… with his nerdy glasses, his messy and fluffy but perfect hair, those clear blue eyes. Not to mention the intellect. He was smart. While explaining the department drama he went off on multiple short tangents – explaining contexts or anecdotes – but he was so concise with it that it felt like you could listen to him talk forever. 

So he didn’t come here for drinks, you concluded. He just needed to get away and clear his head. Plus, he had mentioned somewhere in there that he had driven here. So yeah. Definitely no alcohol. 

“Well, then. What should I get you? We have lots of non-alcoholic drinks. Zero percent beers, ginger beers, alcohol free ciders,” You listed some more. 

But Dr. Grace just shook his head and said, “Actually I have this headache, I should just get some iced water.” 

You smiled and nodded. “Coming right up!” 

A minute later, when you placed his glass in front of him, it took you by surprise when he casually said, “Oh. Thank you, sweetheart.” 

There it was. A shiver dancing down your spine upon hearing that word. He’d whispered it. But that voice of his did something to you. 

You quickly cleared your throat and looked for something else to say. You found yourself saying, “Are those foxes? On your sweater?” You leaned against the counter, like you always did when making small talks with your favorite regulars. 

Dr. Grace let out an unexpected chuckle. “Yeah.” He admitted rather sheepishly, “I… I like foxes.” 

Huh. Cute. 

But then the smile disappeared from his face and he sighed again. For a moment, he threw his head back and groaned, “I hate work on some days.” He said it in that tired, whispery, raspy voice again. 

And that should not have been as hot as you found it. Fuck. He was gorgeous even from this angle as he threw his head back and let out a slow exhale. Your mind went straight to the gutter. And you began imagining filthy, filthy things. 

You’d never been so attracted to someone’s throat before. Was that even a thing? 

“You know those days,” He lowered his head back to normal and spoke, “Those days where nothing goes the way you want it to. Where everything feels wrong? Oh god. I think I’m having a midlife crisis.” He said, placing his elbows on the wooden counter and cupping his face in his hands. The action made him look so boyish, it drove you insane. 

You couldn’t just stare at the gorgeous, desolated man in front of you. So you said, “I’m sorry to hear that, Dr. Grace. But you know, if it makes you feel any better, I’ve always heard that you are a great professor. You’re brilliant, and kind. And funny, and smart,” He began cracking a little smile at the sound of this. “So,” You continued, “Whatever it is, midlife crisis or not, you of all people will figure it out and get yourself out of this mess.” 

Dr. Grace gave you a genuine smile. “Thank you, sweetheart. It feels good to hear that.” 

You didn’t let the nickname affect you as much this time. You were afraid of what you might do if you thought about it for too long. So you found a way out of the conversation. “No problem. I gotta go do some stuff in the back, we’re short staffed today. But do let me know if you need anything else.” 

— 

Dr. Grace didn’t linger for long. It was getting near closing time as well. So one moment he was sitting at the counter, scrolling on his phone and the next, he was gone. 

You went ahead with your regular routine and closed the pub. The weather was still bad, damp and cold. But at least it wasn’t raining as you began walking to your dorm. You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to keep warm. Damn it. You should’ve worn something warmer instead of your skirt and tights. 

As you were about to curse yourself some more regarding your choice of clothing on a night like this one, you noticed a car approaching. Slowing to a stop, until it caught up to you. You stopped walking as the window rolled down, and you could see Dr. Grace in the driver’s seat. 

“Come on.” He said gently, “I’ll drop you. It’s gonna start raining soon.” 

Ah, fuck. He really was fucking hot. Even in the knitted sweater with wolves on it. 

“Oh.” You tried not to immediately jump into his car. “Dr. Grace, it’s a short walk.” You said, almost shivering, your voice unsteady due to the cold. 

“Oh get in.” He must have noticed because he insisted. “It’s too cold out for you to walk back to the dorms, sweetheart. Come on, I’ll drop you.” 

You would be lying if you said that the nickname plus caring demeanor combo wasn’t driving you absolutely insane. Why did he have to be so kind? So soft spoken and gentle? And to make things worse, he had a nice car. The interior was sleek and clean, and it was nice and warm, and it smelled good. 

It smelled like him. 

The moment you strapped your seatbelt, it started raining like hell outside. And you turned to find Dr. Grace with a triumphant smirk on his face. “Told you it was gonna rain.” 

You smiled. “I should’ve known better than to argue with a scientist.” 

He laughed. 

—

The drive was, of course, short. But he never once stopped talking. Making you laugh with his funny little anecdotes, or his horrible jokes. Really, he was a nerd. 

A hot one. 

By the time he pulled into the parking area of your dorm, the rain had gotten heavier. Even the thunder was much louder than before. 

“Thank you for the ride, Dr. Grace. Looks like I’m gonna have to make a run for it.” You looked ahead, through the windshield. Yeah, no. Your building wasn’t too far but with the heavy rain, you’d be drenched by the time you made it there. 

“Or,” Dr. Grace spoke up quickly. “You could wait. You’re gonna catch a cold with the rain this bad.” 

You debated. The windows were getting foggy, and the inside of his car was so warm. Plus, with the streetlights allowing some light in, he looked so handsome. You never wanted to leave. You eventually would, but… maybe you could stay a while? 

“Right.” You agreed. “I’ll just wait a few minutes, I suppose.” 

He smiled and the two of you sat in comfortable silence for a moment or two. Then you asked, “Is your headache okay?” 

“Oh,” He explained, “I think I just needed to get out of the house, you know? I’ve been working more than usual recently. I probably just needed a break. Plus these kids, I mean no offense, but…” He groaned in annoyance. 

You chuckled as you looked at his side profile. Gods, he was perfect. “Well, I’m glad you feel better.” 

He turned to look at you with a lay smile. His glasses caught the light and you couldn’t help but think how well they suited him. 

“I guess your cucumber and mint infused fancy water helped too.” He said, “And maybe I was just being dramatic about everything, you know?” He added quickly, “And before you make a smart little comment, yes, scientists are allowed and can be very, very dramatic.” 

“Oh I can tell.” You laughed again, unable to look away from his gorgeous eyes. He was dangerous. Did no one tell him he couldn’t just be going around looking at girls like that? 

He was quiet. And so were you. The rain was getting louder. The thunderstorm, incessant. His breathing deepened. As did yours. 

You didn’t know who leaned in first. Maybe it was you. Maybe him. Or maybe both of you leaned in at the same time. But in the blink of an eye, his mouth was inches away from yours. And you were about to close the distance but Dr. Grace pulled away first. 

He didn’t move too far away from you. Just a few inches away as he muttered to himself. “Oh my god.” He groaned quietly. He was still close enough that his warm breath tickled your skin. “I don’t know what I–,” He looked deep into your eyes and said nothing for a moment. Then said, “I didn’t mean to… I shouldn’t.” 

You reached out and touched his face gently. His stubble was rough against your palm but his skin was so warm. He was so warm. The heat was almost radiating off him. 

“It’s okay, Dr. Grace.” You whispered, leaning in slowly. “No one has to know. Besides, it’s just a kiss.” 

You closed the distance between your mouth and his lips, kissing him gently. His lips parted instantly. And fuck… his lips were so soft. You caught the little, almost desperate gasp he let out when you pulled away. 

“See?” You said, “Just a kiss. Nothing wrong with it.” 

He was quiet. And a heartbeat later he was kissing you. Properly. His hand grabbed your face tenderly, pulling you into him as he turned his head and deepened the kiss, surprising you with his enthusiasm. And skill, honestly. He was such a good, slow kisser. It felt like you were melting right under his touch. 

His hand held you by the chin, keeping you in place as he kissed you deeply, passionately. Sighing and groaning softly against your mouth like he’s been starving for this very moment. “Fuck…” He whimpered quietly against your lips, and the sound of it made your stomach flip.

“Come here, I need you closer.” He leaned back into his seat, pulling you onto his lap. 

And you shifted smoothly over the console, straddling his denim-covered thighs as you lowered yourself down on his lap. Your arms went around his neck. You couldn’t stop touching the soft fabric of his silly sweater. 

His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you snug against him. He gave you a faint, nervous smile. “We’re being really bad.” He whispered, rubbing the tip of his nose with yours. “Aren’t we?” 

“I told you, no one had to know. It’ll be our little secret.” You whispered, smiling down at him as he slowly trailed his hands downwards till they rested at the curve of your butt. You could feel his warmth on your skin even through the material of your skirt, and it made your heart race even more.

He leaned back, his head against the head rest as he watched you. He was silent for a moment. He just watched as you rubbed your hands all over his shoulders and chest. Then he asked, “Can I kiss you again, sweetheart?” 

You nodded, already leaning in for another kiss. It was short and sweet. 

And when you pulled away, he said, “You taste amazing. Like peppermint.” 

You chuckled at the comment. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” He smirked. Looking devilishly handsome. “Does the rest of you taste as good?”

You couldn’t help the surprised gasp which left your mouth at the sound of that. Both of you laughed. “Dr. Grace.” You teased. “Who knew you had such a way with words?” 

He grabbed your chin again, keeping your eyes on his as he said, “It’s Ryland, baby. Not ‘Dr. Grace’. You’re on my lap, I think you can call me by my first name now.” 

You giggled. Then said his name, as if testing to see how it would sound. “Ryland.” 

“Good.” He looked down at his lap, watched how your skirt had ridden up, exposing a lot more of your thighs than expected. “Come on, then. I’m waiting.” He said, leaning in to kiss along your jaw, and down your neck. “I want a taste, baby.” 

You frowned, wondering about the mechanics. This position made it hard for him to– oh. 

The realisation of what he meant hit you once he grabbed your hand and casually shoved your middle and ring finger into his mouth, wetting them first, then said, “Now, sweetheart. Don’t keep me waiting.” 

Your heart raced a little faster. Fuck, why was the sight of your fingers in his mouth so hot. And why did he have to pull them out so slowly? He was killing you. 

But you did as he asked, and Ryland looked almost hypnotised as he watched shamelessly. He watched how you slid your skirt further up, and slid your tights down – with some help from him – and how you pushed your underwear aside and gently traced slow circles around your throbbing clit with your fingers, gathering your wetness on your fingertips. You let out a gasp as you touched yourself, keeping your eyes on his face. 

His pretty, pink lips parted as he breathed deeper and deeper. The bulge in his jeans growing more and more prominent each second. Fuck. He was so hot. 

You were so busy staring at him that you’d forgotten about his demand from earlier. So he was quick to remind you. “In my mouth, baby. Come on.” 

Ryland didn’t hesitate before taking your two fingers into his mouth the moment you pressed them to his lips, wrapping his lips and tongue around them and sucking them gently into his warm mouth. 

You whimpered when he held your stare as he moaned at your taste. 

“So fucking good.” He reluctantly released your fingers, still holding your stare as he reached in between you two to touch himself through his jeans. It was such a small gesture, just him fully grabbing his cock and releasing some of the pressure. 

But it had you almost drooling already. And judging by the way you were grinding your hips on his thigh, he could tell you were on the edge by just watching him as well. 

He smirked and asked, “One more time, baby. Please.” He begged. “I just need one more taste. Just one more, and then we can fuck, okay?” 

This time, you nodded and obeyed right away. You reached down and purposely brushed your knuckles against his bulge as you pushed two of your fingers inside of you, pumping them in and out of you a couple of times, gently, before lifting your hand up to his mouth again. 

He took your fingers into his mouth again, only this time he grabbed your hips and lifted you off his lap for a moment, sucking on your fingers as he undid his belt and zipper as fast as he could, pulled your underwear to the side, aligned his cock to your hole before gently lowering you down on him. 

You both moaned and groaned as you slid down his thick cock, your fingers in his mouth and his stare burning on your face as he thrust up into you. 

You let out a whimper at the sudden movement. Your fingers slipped out of his mouth.

“Fuck!” Ryland tensed up. “I’m sorry, baby. Do you need a moment?” 

“No.” You whined. It was all too much, but fuck, you did not regret it one bit. 

You held onto his shoulders as you rode his cock. Or tried your best. He was… a lot to take in at once. 

Given the lack of room for proper movement, and both of your desperation combined, you couldn’t bother taking your shirt off completely, you just lifted it up to your chin, bra and all, baring your breasts to him. 

The chill in the air made your nipples hard, but so did Ryland’s ravenous stare. His mouth was onto you in no time. “Fuck, baby. Are you trying to kill me?” He whispered, before leaning in and taking one of them in his warm mouth. His hands at your hips slowed you down for a moment, as he focused on having his mouth wrapped around one of your tits. “Fuck me,” He cursed. “You’re perfect.” 

Your back arched, giggling and gasping as he teased you with his tongue and teeth, tasted you like he’s been dying to do this whole time. You found your hips moving against his, grinding against him.

“Ryland…” You gasped, laughing as he sucked hungrily on your skin, moving up to your collar bones, down to your breasts and back up. 

Ryland let out a gasp when you tugged on his hair. Huh. So he liked his hair pulled? You did it again. And he gasped again. 

So you did it again, enjoying the desperate whimpers he let out. 

And again. 

He finally caught on to what you were doing, so he pulled away and looked up at you. “Having fun?” 

You smiled, leaning in to give him a sweet kiss. “Maybe.” You whispered, inching closer to him, grounding your hips against his, slowing down for now, just enjoying the feeling of his hard cock inside you as you made out hungrily. His glasses got in the way but neither of you cared at the moment. 

You playfully bit his lip, making him whimper in pain before he chuckled against your mouth. “Okay, okay. I see you’re getting impatient.” He whispered against your skin as his hand slipped under your skirt, his thumb caressing your inner thigh. His fingers crawled upward until he found your clit, teasing it as he said, “Fuck yourself on my cock.” He gave you a lazy smile, eyes hooded with lust behind his glasses. “Go on, baby. Make it good for me.” 

Fuck. That cocky tone of his? Lethal. 

You moaned as you slid up and down his thick cock again, his stare burning on your face as he thrust up into you, all the way in this time. “Fuck,” He swore, then leaned in to give you a wet, messy kiss. His thumb still rubbing your clit in slow, agonisingly good circles. 

“Ryland…” You whined as he grabbed your hips and guided you up and down his cock, stretching you out in the process. “You feel so good.” You felt him fill you up nicely each time, the pressure in between your legs getting hotter and hotter. 

Ryland threw his head back, grunting at how good you felt. He let out a strained moan, almost another whimper as he thrust up into you over and over again, while also bringing you down on his cock each time with enough force to make your tits bounce. “Oh my god,” he groaned. “Look at you. Just look at you.” He gasped. “Fucking perfect, huh? Such a perfect girl for me.” 

You forced yourself to keep your eyes open, to look into his eyes, and the feral look in them only made you clench harder around him. You bit your lip to hold back your moans as he thrust his hips up harder into you. 

You knew you wouldn’t last too long. And he knew it too, judging by the way you tightened around him each time he thrust into you. 

“You’re gonna come for me, baby?” He asked, “You’re gonna come all over my cock, huh?” 

You answered after a loud whimper, “Yes… please, can I come?” 

He cupped your cheek with his other hand, and traced your mouth with his thumb, “Go on, baby. Come all over my cock. Come for me…” 

“Fuck….” Your walls clenched violently around his cock. You came hard, whimpering and crying for him and gasping for breath. 

Ryland pulled out just in time, and came right after you, his warm load spilling all over your thighs, your skirt, his jeans, and your tights, as he wrapped his arms around you and held you. Shoving his face into the crook of your neck to catch his breath. 

Your head rested on his shoulder, your damp skin against his soft sweater, as you tried to calm your racing heart. 

“Look at me, sweetheart.” Ryland murmured after a minute, cupping your face in both of his hands as he examined your face. “Are you okay?” 

You nodded and gave him a satiated, lazy smile. “All good, Dr. Grace.” You whispered, feeling his cock against your thigh. 

“Oh?” He smirked, playfully smacking your bare, exposed thigh. “Back to being ‘Dr. Grace’ now, am I?” 

You chuckled and said, “We made a mess in your car.” You hid your face into the crook of his neck. “But hey, thanks for the ride again.” 

Ryland laughed. 

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