Kol-Ut-Shan

Too many options. You weigh them. He'll give anything, you could ask for his mouth or thick fingers or dick. Could push off your back and clamber onto his lap. He's a mess but hiding it well, save for telling pinched brows.

"Wanna see you better."

He sits high on his knees and blinks at you, trying to focus. It's hard, when you're a glowing vision in his backseat and nude besides underwear. An angel. Splayed and running a tender hand along his chest, your thumb coaxes his nipple.

"Fuck," he hisses, dark lashes aflutter.

You smile. Rarely are you the one doing the teasing.

"Sensitive," you coo and pinch quick. "Oh, you like that."

Ribbons of silver moonlight bleed through the windows, strapping across his abdomen. They set the honey-blond hairs above his belt flaming white, flowing down his navel in a band, beckoning to be licked and touched.

You twist his nipple between a delicate thumb and index. He barely swallows a whimper.

"Baby." He scrambles to hitch your thigh up his waist, holding it there while he helplessly grinds the swell of his jeans against you. "Fuck, you're so- so good. A fuckin' angel."

Your hand falls and settles on his bicep. He ruts slow and stuttered, lowering himself to press the point of his nose beside your ear. Powdery fragrance, he breathes in and in again, chest flowering with sticky, sweet love.

"Dean, I... oh."

He raises his head, fingers kneading at the dough of your leg. His rings indent cold and your half-lidded eyes tug his heart achingly. You've such a breathy, faraway voice and he hasn't even fucked you stupid yet.

"Good?" he checks. "Feels good? You like this?"

You nod feverish, catching his chin with a sloppy, pillowed kiss. He's got enough sense to grin lopsided and swallow your mouth whole, tongue needling for yours. This earns him a dreamy, lilting sigh that pits straight to his gut and pools there in welling heat.

"Y'sound like..." he starts, mumbling and blissed, following a connecting string of saliva back towards your lips. Can't ever get his fill, mind a mantra of you, warm, soft, sugary. "Heaven. What does heaven sound like?"

A shaky breath passes from your nose. "Heavenly, I'd guess."

He licks a stripe on your throat. Your arms cross over his shoulder blades, palm scooping through spiked hair, hips lifting to meet his movement. A small, hiccupping sound flies from him traitorously, bordering on plea.

"Jesus- shit," he says. His clothed thrusts become sloppy.

"Here," you offer, reaching for his belt. "Please."

There's nothing else to think about, to feel, except for your fingertips grazing past that musky trail on his low stomach. He slows, missing the friction as it wanes, but adoring your cautious expression. Excitedly nervous. Your pinkie curls around a belt loop. His palm skates the length of your thigh.

"Y'don't have to," he murmurs. "It's okay, baby."

Dean decides you must be magic, when your eyes find his. Glittering jewels amidst the dim light in the car. He can see your smile, a perfect, curling thing, and holds back from kissing you again and again until your brain is mush.

"Want to," you reply. His belt comes undone with a clink.

The button of his jeans pops out lazy under your tentative touch, but he doesn't rush. Rolls his lip beneath a shiny canine as you slide the zipper down and stifles a whiny beg. You're soft and pretty and he wants to bury himself in your skin forever.

You work his jeans to his knees and then pause to watch him quietly, ignoring his straining boxers, your chest pulling with prolonged rises. He wonders where that brief teasing went but loves you just as much, like this. Affected.

"Hey," he whispers. Leans quickly to give a smacking kiss to your hip bone. "You're beautiful."

"Thank you. You're, um. You're beautiful, too."

His body pangs. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Can you fuck me, now? Please."

Yes, yes, yes.

Clumsy in this small space, he manages to kick off his pants without hitting the top of his head and yanks his wallet from the back pocket to grab a condom. Brings it to his teeth and tears it open. His supply is diminishing.

"Yeah, yeah, baby. Yes. C'mere."

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Dean knew he’d gone too far, but in his mind, he hadn’t crossed any lines yet. To him, this was all a normal reaction for a man in love. He watched and followed you to protect you. He kept you away from your friends or boyfriends, whom Dean saw as threats to you, not him, because he wanted you happy. He came into your house and masturbated because he wanted you around, completely normal and in the name of love.

This had to be the sixth time he’d come over to your house and masturbated. He’d done it in different places in your house: your bathroom, your bedroom, your couch, your kitchen. He didn’t care. His cum wasn’t coming out as hard and as much as it had the first few times because of his excessive masturbation.

And now he was in your bed. He’d even gone so far as to take off his clothes, leaving himself completely naked between your white sheets. He was so immersed in the feel of your dirty panties against his damp cock that he didn’t hear the door open or close, or the jingle of your keys as you placed them on the table near the entrance.

He licked his lips as his precum stained your panties.

“Yes, right there. God, you’re so good.”

“Yes, right there. God, you’re so good.”

God, if only he’d heard your footsteps approaching…

“Oh, God!”

His eyes shot open, startled by your cry. He saw you standing right there in the doorway across from the bed.

You were terrified, your eyes wide as you dropped your bag on the floor. And it only turned Dean on more.

“Who the hell are you?! What are you doing?!” You stuttered, but your voice was fast. Your mind still hadn’t been able to grasp what was happening.

“Hey, calm down.” Dean spoke calmly, sitting up slowly, but not taking his hand off his cock.

A few moments passed, your breathing rapid, your mind working hard to process the situation. And then it hit you. There was a naked man in your bed, masturbating with panties that were probably yours.

Your gaze locked, time seemed to stand still, and Dean, seeing that it might be time to try and get closer to you, moved slightly to get out of bed, but it was an action that had another action, because it made you react and run from the room.

“Shit!” Dean cursed as he quickly got up and followed you. “Wait!” You grabbed for your keys, but your hands were shaking and they fell off, and in desperation you pulled on the door, not caring that it was locked. Dean stood a few feet behind you, his hand in front of him. “Hey…” You jumped and turned to face him. “Hey, calm down.”

He took a few steps toward you slowly so as not to scare you. You were trembling.

“W-who are you?”

“Someone who won’t hurt you.”

You swallowed.

“W-what are you doing here? What were you doing in my room?”

“Well…” He looked down at his naked body, his cock still hard, even harder after seeing you, your panties with semen on his hand, before looking up at you with a smirk. “We both know the answer to that.” He slowly moved closer until he was only inches away from you. You turned the doorknob again. “Hey, hey. Come on… don’t do that, babe.” He slowly brought his hand up to your cheek and caressed it with his thumb. “God… You’re even more beautiful up close.” You stared at him.

“Please don’t hurt me.”

He looked at you with offense, as if the mere thought of him hurting you was impossible.

“I could never do that to you.” He brought his face down to yours and licked his lips. “I love you.”

And with that, he kissed you.

It had to be the happiest moment of Dean’s life. Finally feeling your lips against his, not just imagining them. They were soft, and Dean swore they fit perfectly with his. And you… Well, you didn’t know how to react. You were still, shocked, terrified. You’d stayed put, just letting it happen. Your mind was a mess right now.

And Dean was loving every second of it.

He could feel your trembling and he reveled in your wailing. Something about the way you feared him turned him on.

He held your face with both hands, the panties touching your cheek, to make sure you didn’t move and licked your lips, trying to get between them. He wanted to make you open your mouth, so he reached up and pulled at your hair, causing you to gasp, and Dean took the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth.

He moaned against your mouth at the taste of you. You were so much better than he’d imagined, and he couldn’t help but move his hips against your body like a dog in heat.

Finally, he pulled his mouth away from yours with a soft bite and ran his thumb over your lips.

“Relax, I’ll make you feel better.” He said, noticing you were starting to react.

He held your hand and led you to the bedroom, knowing the way perfectly.

“Wait-”

“There’s no time to waste. I’ve waited too long for this.”

He pushed you onto the bed. He tilted his head, looking at you in admiration.

“God, you’re perfect.” He tugged at your feet, removing your boots and stockings, before running his hands over them. He smelled them and sighed, placing a kiss on them as he looked down at you. “Everything about you is perfect.”

He let go of your feet and brought a hand to his member, with her panties still in her fist, stroking himself slowly.

“Undress.” He ordered you.

It was his moment. All his fantasies, thoughts, desires… He was going to act on them all right now.

You complied. With trembling hands, you reached down to your jeans and pulled them down under Dean’s watchful eye. He bit his lower lip at the sight of your panties and brought the ones in his hand to his nose, sniffing deeply. You watched him, your heart skipped a beat, and you admitted in your head that you were wet.

He threw the panties aside. Now that he had you, he wouldn’t know them. He rested his knees on the edge of the bed and lowered his face to your core, sniffing. He let out a moan and licked through your panties. You had red panties. They weren’t considered sexy in society, but Dean figured you’d put them on hoping he’d see them. I mean, you must have suspected something already. So many times he’d left his cum on your things and not noticed? Surely you already knew and had come quietly to surprise him.

“Dirty girl.” He clicked his tongue. “I’d stay with my face between your legs for hours on end, but you denied me this long ago.”

And with that, he ripped your panties off, leaving a stinging sensation in the area. You gasped in surprise, and he positioned himself on top of you, holding your wrists above your head.

“Relax, you’ll love it. I’ll make you cum so many times that you’ll beg me to stop.” He held his member in one hand and entered you slowly, wanting to savor the moment. “Oh, baby, you feel so good.”

He looked into your eyes and placed a kiss on your forehead before penetrating him. You moaned, your gaze darting around the room, so he cupped your chin in his hand, causing you to turn your gaze back to his.

“That’s it, baby, you’re so pretty.”

He began to move slowly from the outside in. He picked up his pace quickly. He couldn’t wait, he’d already waited too long. He slipped his hand under your sweater and squeezed your breast hard.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.” He lowered a hand to your clit, flicking it quickly as he watched you intently. “Come on, babydoll, cum for me. Only for me.”

And you did. Only for him. Your eyes rolled back and your body shook.

“Yeah, that’s it.” He kissed you roughly, biting your lips before pulling out of you and quickly turning you over, your face against the mattress. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk.”

He entered you again and began a rapid pace. Your hands gripped the sheets tightly, your eyes closed as tears streamed from your eyes—maybe from the pain, maybe from the pleasure, Dean liked it either way. His hips slammed against your ass and his balls against your clit. It was too much for you, so you shifted uncomfortably.

“Easy, easy, I’m finishing now, my love.”

“You know something?” He gasped. “I’ll leave my semen inside you and make you bear my children. One after the other, without stopping. You’ll stay home taking care of them.” You clenched around him, and Dean took it as if you liked the idea. “Yeah, you feel that?” He growled through gritted teeth, feeling his cock twitch. “Oh, God, baby, that feels so good.” He moaned and closed his eyes. His thrusts got harder, moving you forward. He held your hands behind you and placed his foot on top of your head, pushing it into the sheets.

Dean reached his orgasm, his cum shooting out harder than ever, staining your insides. He gave a loud groan, his breathing rapid as he lay still for a moment, processing what had just happened. He pulled out of you slowly and watched the cum oozing out of your small, now red hole. He inserted two of his fingers, shoving it back in. You moaned at the sensation.

Dean smiled and lay down beside you, stroking your cheek. Your eyes were half-open, your face red, some of your hair falling in front of your face.

“You were perfect, baby. I’ve been waiting for this for a long time.” He hugged you. “This is the beginning of a new life, sweetheart.” He kissed the tip of your nose. “You’ll see.”

Dean Winchester One Shots

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"you're useless." "dumb fuckin' kid." "can't do one goddamn thing right."

"You always this slow?" Then he’d already be looking away, because the conversation was done whether you agreed or not. Nothing ever seemed to matter when Ben was in a bad mood.

"C'mon, sweet girl. One drink."

"No, sir."

"Why? You a stuck up?"

Because you were his employee? Because he was old enough to be you father? Because he was an asshole? But you never got that far.

Ben would just roll his eyes as if you were the difficult one.

The annoying part was that he never stopped. Not after you said no, not after the second no, not after the tenth.

One day you'd get a lazy "Mornin', doll." The next it'd be "You can't actually be this fuckin' stupid." And somehow neither one felt stranger than the other, because it always made your belly twist in the best way.

Maybe you should've reported him. Maybe you were actually that fucking stupid, because why would you let him treat you that way? Maybe you enjoyed it more than you wanted to admit. Maybe he was telling you to stay away from him while already looking for reasons to drag you closer. Because why else would you keep letting him get away with it? Why else would your stomach still flip every time he walked into a room and stared at you like a hungry wolf?

You should've listened to the logical part of your brain. Instead, you kept finding yourself in his office. Finding excuses to stay a little longer after meetings, finding yourself alone with him more often. You enjoyed it, his attention, it was gratifying in a way, no matter how much of a cruel asshole Ben was, and the fact that he was the most handsome man you’d ever seen wasn’t helping either. And he knew that, oh, Ben knew. He knew that no matter how much he pushed you down you'd always crawl your way back to him. You always came back into his orbit because it was the only place you were meant to be. Because you were a good girl. Really, you listened to authority, respected him because of his age, his position. You were a good girl, and he was an awful, awful man.

The office is empty at this hour.

Ben growls at the sight of you already spreading yourself like some desperate slut on his messy desk. The grip on his cock tightens as he steps closer, pressing the thick head against your dripping entrance. "Done bein' a fuckin' tease?" Ben asks and all you can do is nod all meek, but he doesn't like that answer very much. Pain shoots through your scalp as he harshly pulls at your hair. "Speak." He tuts. "Y-Yes, 'm done.. I'm sorry— sorry, sir.." The words stumble out through a soft whine.

Ben laughs mean. "You ain't sorry, sugar." A determined thrust buries him to the hilt in one brutal move, stealing a ragged cry from your lips as he bottoms out inside your tight pussy.

"Oh my gosh—" You suck in a deep breath to stop yourself from crying, grabbing onto his shoulders for support.

Ben swallows. "Fuckin' hell.. So tight, baby." He loves how he's already stretching you out, how you're so responsive just for him, a mess. He loves how you looked right now, and your noises, god, the sounds were shooting straight to his dick getting him harder than he ever has been.

"That's right— look at that, doll. That all the way in, just lemme own this sweet little pussy of yours, mkay?" Ben roughly pats at your cheek as you wriggle your hips, urging him to move. A rough thrust punches another sob out of you, his smirk only widening. "Greedy bitch."

God.. he loves having you just like this, all desperate, crying and trembling against him like his personal little toy. Ben knew you'd eventually fall, they all do, one way or another. He's for sure keeping you after this, he thinks to himself.

"So goddamn desperate for cock, huh? Bein' a little tease for the past few months.. Testing me, just to get me all worked up and wantin' you. I was so obsessed with you, baby, from the first moment you opened that pretty mouth, jesus." Another pathetic moan cascades out of your open mouth. "Thinkin' you could refuse me, what a silly, stupid girl." Ben lets out a short laugh as he bullies deeper into your pussy. "You just wanted me to snap, didn't you? Wanted me to finally go crazy and fuck you right?"

His hips snap wildly up into you, the obscene squelch of your pussy echoing through the empty office. "H-Hah— yes~"

Ben smiles proudly at the sound of your broken voice, his thrusts getting rougher, harder, meaner. His grip on your hips tightens as he drags you onto him with every snap of his body. A sharp slap to your face makes you yelp as he leans in closer, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "You want me to fill this pretty little cunt up? Want me t'mark ya from inside out?"

You cried out, all high-pitched, pathetic really, Ben thinks. You're already this stupid and he hasn't even fucked you properly yet. "Yes, please, please y—es!"

His thrusts turn brutal, slamming into you with enough force to knock you forward on the desk, knees now pressed to your chest.

"Gonna breed ya full and leave ya right here until morning so people know who they're workin' with. Yeah, she likes that.." A rough growl rumbles in his chest as he feels your pussy clenching around him in fast pulses.

"Gonna make sure everyone knows exactly who owns her, ain't that right?" His hands slide up to grip your throat "Say it."

A sharp thrust urges another cry out of you as he comes in closer, his voice demanding.

"Tell me who owns this pretty cunt, tell me whose cum's gonna be dripping outta ya."

"You— you do-" you mewl, legs falling around his hips "Yours, jus' yours, sir, only yours!"

Ben hums, the sound ripping from his throat as he slams into you one last time. His grip on your throat tightens as he spills deep inside you, hot and thick spurts of come painting your gummy walls.

"Oh, mhff, fuuh—" you breathe out, back arching against the desk as you finally come over the edge too, whole body convulsing into his hold, mind a fuzzy mess.

Ben smiles as he feels you tighten even more around his cock, body spasming, cunt milking every last drop of his come. The grip on your throat loosens just enough to let you breathe, but he doesn’t pull out just yet.

"Ah yeah.. Look at that." A chuckle rumbles in his chest as he watches the way some of his release spills from you the moment he moves back only a little.

"Gonna be feelin’ this for days, sugar. You'll be walkin’ funny.."

You can only pant like a helpless puppy, back flat against the cold surface. Ben clicks his tongue and pulls out a bit more. He hums in satisfaction as he watches his cum leak out of you, walls still twitching like they're trying to keep him inside forever.

"Tch. Messy fuckin' girl.. Can't even hold my load, huh?" Ben drags a finger through the mess, pushing it back inside with a slow thrust just to feel you squirm. "Gonna have t'make sure this stays put next time."

You whimper, immediately squeezing aroud the thick digits "W-wait, sir, too sensitive—"

He grins sharp, his other hand gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him. "Poor girl. Shoulda thought about that before beggin' for it like a slut." Ben mocks.

A rough plunge of his fingers makes you choke and he leans in closer, voice dropping into something grave. "I'll make sure this gets through your thick skull, 'til you learn your lesson. Gonna have ta fill ya up again just t'make my point."

Ben withdraws his fingers slowly, leaving you feeling cold and empty. He grabs your hips, hoisting you off the desk, and drags you over to the couch against the west wall of his office, practically tossing you onto it.

"On your knees, princess. Ain't done with you just yet."

You're wondering if you're gonna get that promotion any time soon.

He lifted his gaze at the sound of your car. Seeing you get out of the vehicle he stood, a smile on his face and started to head over to you.

“Hey,” he greets his bowlegs carrying him to you in a few strides.

You walk straight up to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face in his chest without a word. You just need him to hold you. 

Wrapping his arms tightly around you, a small frown passes across his face. It's not like you not to speak.

“Everything ok?” He checks. 

You simply shake your head no.

“You wanna talk about it?” He murmurs into your hair.

“In a minute. I just wanna stay like this for a bit longer.” You say relishing in the warmth and safety of his strong arms and firm chest.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head before gently resting his cheek there, happy to stay like that for as long as you need. 

“People suck,” you eventually mumble into his chest.

Lifting his head he angles himself to look at you. “They can, yeah. You ready to tell me what happened?”

Sighing you pull away from him and nod. Placing his hand on your lower back he guides you over to the steps of his decking. Gesturing for you to take a seat in the wooden deck chair, while he perches on the little table next to it, facing the fire.

“It's just… my entire day I've had customers and members treating me like crap. It's like every little inconvenience is my fault. As if I’ve personally gone out of my way to inconvenience them. I don't make the rules, I just have to follow them. Why am I getting all the grief? They talk to me like I'm beneath them, and look at me like I'm something disgusting they scraped off their shoes. And I certainly don't get paid enough to deal with all of this,” you sigh. “It's just so frustrating. I used to love my job but now…”

Beau squeezes your hand, “Sounds like a rough day.”

“Working with the public sucks,” you grumble. 

He purses his lips in thought for a beat before agreeing, “yeah it can.”

“At least you can threaten to arrest them when they act like that.”

“You want me to go arrest them for you?” Beau half jokes, because if he could he would. 

“Yes,” you tell him, collapsing into him.

He chuckles, wrapping his arms around you again.

You allow yourself to relax in his embrace. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. “For being here, for this.”

Beau hums in agreement, and pulls you into his side a little more. “Any damn day darlin’. Any damn day.”

A/N: Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it! Would love to hear what you thought.

Some days I really wish Beau could wrap me up in his arms and make me forget about those interactions.

The "People suck/ Working with the public sucks," comments, I don't think this applies to everyone. Just those that like to be rude to receptionists, retail workers etc.

Beau Arlen Taglist:

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What questions should we consider while we watch? We have a few questions you can keep in mind while you’re watching the episodes:

Are there any “fanfiction gaps” in this episode? Any places between scenes where a juicy story could happen? (For example, one scene ends at night, but the next scene begins during the day, and what did they do with all of that time?)

How would the episode be different if you changed one thing? What is changed is up to you. It could be as complex as a character making a different choice, or as simple or silly as someone wearing a funny hat throughout part or all of the episode.

What about this episode would you like to see happen differently? How would making that change affect future episodes?

List any parts of each episode that you think could be jumping-off points for a fic. Like, in the pilot, how did Sam meet their friend who was in the bar with them?

How would the episode be different if there were another character involved, like a reader-insert character?

Do any of the themes we’ve already discussed in The Archive (See the bottom of the doc under the heading “Thematic docs”) show up in this episode? Does this episode bring up any new themes we should be watching out for in the future?

What else can we do before the chat? You can add any notes you have about the episodes we’ll be discussing to The Archives! In addition to just discussing the fanfiction possibilities in every episode, we also want to encourage you to create things centered around the episodes we’re discussing and share them with the rest of us. Things like:

Write some meta about some part of the episode. What does this episode show us about one or more of the characters?

Write a fic based on the episode. Share a link to your fic in the discussion and we can talk about it!

Make a playlist that you feel reflects the mood of the episode.

Make some art or a photo collage or edits to go along with the episode.

We look forward to seeing everything you create! Be sure to tag us so we can reblog your work!

B. How do I deal with the lack of feedback from my dwindling audience?

There are a couple of options for you here: Work to expand your audience and focus on only a small portion of your audience.

Expanding your audience on Tumblr is near to impossible, but not completely impossible. There are still a couple of things you can do. (Side note: We are working on a series of posts coming soon that will go into some of this in more detail.)

Interact positively with your audience - Say thank you when someone reblogs your work. Go to their blog and reblog some of their work. Take requests. Something I haven't seen in years is to do a blog takeover by a character. (You take asks on your blog as an SPN character for a certain period of time. RP, in a way.)

Submit your stories to blogs that reblog for you like we do, or @dirtysupernaturalimagines. (Know of any other blogs that reblog fics? Let us know and we'll add them here!)

Join bangs and writing challenges - The admins who run these things will reblog the stories involved on their blog and you will get more exposure that way.

If you've already done all of that, then consider expanding to other platforms. Get an AO3 account. Set up a handle on Twitter for just your writing and interact with readers there. Find an artist to team up with (you can do this easily by joining a bang) and have them hype you on their Instagram or Twitter in exchange for you doing the same for them.

While you're working hard to expand your audience you can also narrow your focus to just a handful of people. Instead of looking for quantity in your feedback, look for quality. Find people who will honestly tell you whether they like your writing and make them your alpha, beta, or omega readers. Focus on what this core group of people say and consider anyone else who gives you kudos as icing on the cake.

3. How do I rebuild my own confidence in my writing?

So far, everything mentioned has nothing to do with your writing. That's because the loss of notes and followers and feedback probably has nothing to do with your writing. I doubt even Robbie Thompson could get notes in this fandom's current climate.

Most importantly, I'm going to repeat what I said above. Instead of looking at quantity of feedback, look for quality. Find people you like and respect, whose work you admire, and focus on them. Instead of judging your writing on numbers, which can have little to no relation to your writing skills, judge your writing based on how a handful of honest reviewers feel about it.

Also, consider writing for a newer fandom or in any other way switching things up. The Tumblr SPN fan fiction audience is dwindling, so find an audience that's growing and write for them. Getting feedback from a whole new set of people might reenergize you and get you back to your keyboard again.

You rose to your feet and slipped your flip-flops back on, glancing down at your clothes. It wasn’t like you were dressed for company, but it was too late to worry about it now. You tried to see who was behind the wheel, but the sun glinting off the windshield made that impossible, so you shrugged and went down the steps to greet whoever was driving. When he climbed out of the car, your mouth dropped open, and you stopped in your tracks for a second.

You could have sworn the temperature just rose another 20 degrees. This man was a whole other level of hot. Drool-inducing, panty-melting, fantasy-inspiring hot - tall, lean, bow-legged, broad-shouldered, and gorgeous. As you forced yourself to close your mouth, he swore, talking to the car.

“Son-of-a-bitch! Come on, Baby, we’re almost home.” The frown between his brows (even that was attractive) smoothed out a bit as he saw you approaching (once you recovered your ability to walk). “Hey, sorry about that. I guess this heat is too much even for my Baby today.”

“I can see that!”

He turned to raise the hood, steam surrounding him as he propped it in place, and you swore you could hear porn music playing in the background as you stared at his biceps. You stifled a groan at the play of muscle underneath his grey t-shirt, which was rapidly growing darker with sweat in the heat and clinging to his back. “I’d better let her cool off.”

“I can hook up the hose so you can put some water in the radiator after it sits for a bit.” You were sounding far less wilted than you had felt before he got out of that car, that was for sure.

He smiled, and your heart did a somersault in your chest. “That would be awesome, thanks.” He followed you around to the side of the house, and you shut off the water to your flowers, then reached to unscrew the sprinkler hose. It had apparently welded itself to the spigot – you couldn’t get it to budge. You bent over, struggling to force the stubborn coupling to loosen up, but it was hopeless. You turned, frustrated, and your unexpected visitor’s eyes traveled quickly back up to your face as his tongue swept over his lips. “I – uh… Here, let me give it a try.”

He stepped forward to deal with the stubborn fitting, and you blushed at your thoughts. Had he been staring at your ass? Speaking of… Your eyes were currently glued on his backside as he finally managed to unscrew the sprinkler hose. You shook your head to break the spell and rushed over to grab the regular hose from its storage on the side of the house, handing it to him without meeting his eyes. You had to calm your hormones before you made a total ass of yourself over this guy.

“I have some iced tea in the house – or would you rather have a beer?”

He straightened up after hooking up the hose, turning to grin at you and sending another flood of those pesky hormones flooding into your bloodstream. “A beer sounds great, thanks. And my name’s Dean, by the way. Dean Winchester.”

You smiled back at him as you introduced yourself, then went up the steps and into the house to fetch a couple of cold beers from your fridge. Of course, you stood with your head inside of it for a couple of minutes first, thinking about the way you could feel his eyes following you as you had walked away from him. And you had thought this stay-at-home vacation was going to be boring.

You headed back outside, and Dean walked back towards you from where he had dragged the hose over near his car. You couldn’t stop staring at that bow-legged stride, the denim of his jeans hugging those strong thighs, and you dropped down to sit on the steps to mask your agitation. He plopped down beside you, gratefully taking the beer you offered. “Thanks - nothing like an ice cold beer when it’s hot as hell out,” he said grinning over at you. You agreed, watching as he tipped his bottle and took a long pull. You followed suit quickly, because otherwise you were going to moan out loud at the sight of his perfect lips on the rim of the bottle, the tip of his tongue touching the opening before he drank. There were several very filthy thoughts battling for space in your head, and you could feel your pulse beating between your thighs.

“Soooo,” you started, a little too loudly, but you quickly caught yourself and adjusted your volume. “I heard you say you were almost home – where are you from?”

“My brother and I live a couple miles south of Lebanon.”

“I guess we’re almost neighbors, then,” you said, inwardly cringing at your lack of small talk skills.

Dean gave you a crooked smile, nodding his head. “Yeah, I guess we are. So if I come knocking at your door to borrow a cup of sugar, you got me covered?”

You smiled. “Any time.”

He picked at the label on his bottle, shooting a sideways glance your way with a sly quirk of his lips. “As long as your boyfriend isn’t the jealous type.” You laughed softly, and he nudged your shoulder with his. “What, too subtle?”

“No boyfriend. Just an ex-husband, but that’s old news.” You met his green-eyed gaze, which had your breath catching in your chest for a moment. “How about you?”

“Nope, completely free.” A warm smile slowly spread across his face, making your stomach do a little flip. “So far.” He winked, so quickly that you weren’t completely sure you hadn’t imagined it, and then drained the rest of his beer and rose to his feet. “Let’s see if I can bring Baby back to life, huh?”

You went to the side of the house and waited for his shout, then turned on the water. You waited for him to call out again to shut it back off, then walked back around the house as he slid behind the wheel. You heard him turn the key with a ‘Come on, Baby!’ and then a ‘That’s my girl!’ when the engine roared to life. You were trying to stifle your smile when he shut the engine off and climbed back out, but he just grinned back at you before turning around to put the hood down.

He headed back your way, wiping his hands on the tail of his t-shirt. “If you’re not in a hurry, you could come inside and cool off before you head home, have another beer.” You shrugged as if it was no big deal, but you were holding your breath as you waited for his reply.

“Yeah, thanks. Lead the way.” You smiled and turned to go up the steps, Dean right behind you. You both let out a relieved sigh at the cool air in the house compared to the sauna-like atmosphere outside. “Damn, does that feel good,” he said as you kicked off your flip-flops. He bent to untie his boots, but you stopped him.

“You don’t have to do that, really.” He glanced up to see that you were sincere, gave a little nod in acknowledgment, and followed you into the kitchen.

You went to the fridge, grabbed a couple more beers, and handed him one, turning to lean against the island as you opened yours. Dean settled against the counter top across from you, flipping his lid into the trash with perfect aim, then tilting his head back to take several swallows as you lost yourself in the sight.

His t-shirt was stuck to his body, his nipples showing through the damp cotton of his shirt. You stared at his throat as he drank, watching with bated breath as a bead of sweat trickled from his hairline all the way down his neck. He licked his lips as he set his bottle down beside him, his eyes moving from your parted lips to your breasts as they rose and fell with your rapidly increasing breathing. Your heart was beginning to pound, and you took your bottom lip between your teeth for a second before you spoke, your voice breathless. “So, do you wanna…”

“Hell, yeah,” he growled out before you could finish, and then he was on you before you could blink. You reached back blindly, your beer thankfully settling in an upright position as he pinned you against the island and took your lips in a ravenous kiss, all tongues and teeth and hunger. He had both hands on your ass, kneading and squeezing as your fingers clawed at his back, and you could feel him rapidly growing hard as he pressed closer.

He finally broke the kiss, barely parting from you and still nibbling at your lips as he spoke. “I’ve got some condoms in my bag in the trunk.”

You shook your head, kissing him again and making him moan as you sucked the tip of his tongue. “Down the hall, nightstand, top drawer,” you managed before he flashed a grin, giving your left cheek one more squeeze before he rushed away to follow your directions.

Dean was back before you finished taking a swallow of your beer. He took the bottle from your hand, turning to set it next to his on the opposite counter top. “Might need some room,” he said as he moved close again, putting his hands on your waist and boosting you up to the top of the island. He slipped his fingers up under the hem of your shirt, looking into your eyes. “Can I?”

You nodded, holding his gaze as he slowly peeled your tank top up, then over your head. He tossed it behind him without taking his eyes from your breasts. “Your turn,” you said softly, giving his shirt a tug, and he pulled it off in one quick move, then moved in close. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him snug between your thighs as you ran your fingertips over his chest, tracing the pattern of his tattoo.

He put a hand on your knee, moving it up slowly until his fingers slipped under the frayed hem of your cutoffs. “I should tell you, these Daisy Dukes have been making me crazy,” he rumbled, making you shiver as he traced a line forward and along the crease of your thigh. He leaned down to kiss you as he worked your zipper open, and you moaned into his mouth as he shoved his hand into your panties, his strong fingers gliding through your slick folds as he hummed against your lips.

“Well, I should tell you I’ve been wet for you since you first climbed out of that car,” you said, your voice raspy with arousal. His lips curved into a sexy smirk, and you leaned back on your elbows to lift up a little as he pulled your shorts and panties down, letting them fall to the floor.

He pulled you back up against his chest, kissing you again as he slipped a finger up inside you, stroking, searching until you squirmed with a little whimper. You felt him smile against your lips, and then he added another finger, rubbing firm circles over your clit with his thumb as he brushed his fingertips repeatedly over your sweet spot.

Dean rested his forehead on yours as you raised you hips to chase his thrusts. It felt amazing, but at the moment there was only one thing you wanted. You clutched desperately at the waistband of his jeans, popping the button free and jerking the zipper down. He grunted as you gave his erection a squeeze, then tugged at his jeans until he pulled his fingers from you, a low chuckle in his throat. “Okay, okay, I get it,” he managed to say as you looked up at him with a coy smile, and he shoved his pants down, your eyes widening a little at the sight of him. He rolled the condom on and moved in close again, rubbing his sheathed cock through your slick pussy.

“Dean….” you whined softly at the friction on your swollen clit, and he leaned close, whispering in your ear.

“Shhhh, sweetheart, I got you.” He reached down, guiding his cock to your entrance and pushing forward as you clutched at the back of his neck. You chased his lips, kissing him desperately as he worked his way inside you with short strokes until he was buried deep, your hips rising to meet him. Every sensitive nerve inside you was singing, your body trembling at being filled to the limit.

You were panting as you pulled back from the kiss, and Dean put a hand to your face, brushing your damp hair back from your forehead, his green eyes warm as he gazed into yours. “You doing ok?”

You leaned into his touch with a euphoric little smile, then nodded. “I’m good. Really good.” He flashed a quick grin before giving you a gentle kiss, letting his hand drift down to cup your breast. “Could be better,” you mumbled against his lips, giggling as he drew back and looked down at you with a cocked eyebrow, a sparkle in his eyes.

“Oh, yeah?”

You reached down to squeeze his ass – his very firm, pert ass – and leaned up to whisper in his ear. “Fuck me, Dean.”

He didn’t make you wait. He braced one hand on your hip and wrapped an arm around you to hold you close as he began to rut into you, staying deep inside you at first, then pulling out farther and driving back into you faster and harder. Your thighs tightened around him, your hips bucking into his thrusts as your fingers dug into the muscle of his back, his skin slick with sweat. Moans of pleasure and grunts of effort filled the air as you began to clench and pulse around his cock, and you arched your back and cried out as you came undone.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Dean swore softly as he lost control, his cock throbbing inside you as your orgasm sent him over the edge with you. You strained against him, whimpering at the intensity of the sensations washing through you, finally slumping with your face against his chest, a shudder making you clench around his still-pulsing length. He leaned forward, slightly trembling, holding you tight with one arm as he braced a hand on the counter, his chest heaving beneath your cheek as he slowly came down from his high.

He rested his head on top of yours, his warm breath stirring your hair. “You’re fucking incredible,” he breathed, raising back up as you moved to look up at him.

“Pretty incredible yourself,” you responded with a languid smile. “I haven’t felt this good in – well, ever.” His eyes searched yours as he bent close to kiss you, sending a wave of warmth through you.

“You know, I could kiss you for hours. Possibly days.”

He laughed softly, his fingers trailing along your jaw. “Well, maybe we’ll work on that. But I should probably take care of…” He glanced down pointedly at where you were still joined, and you smiled.

“Oh – yeah – I guess so.” You held your breath as he pulled himself free, then put his hands on your waist and helped you down off the island. He smiled down at you, his eyes scanning over your body with a naughty smirk as he let out a soft ‘Mmm-mmm.’

“I’ll be back,” he said, hitching his pants up, and you stared as he walked away from you, heading to the bathroom. You collapsed back against the counter, blowing out a breath in aroused appreciation. You had just had sex with a complete stranger who was hot enough to fuel your fantasies for many, many years into the future – and you were pretty sure you weren’t finished with him yet. In fact, you were sure of it. So you stood up straight and headed for the bathroom, in all your naked glory, with a big smile on your face.

When he opened the door, you were standing there waiting. His eyes widened a little, his smile slowly growing as you peered up at him with a flirty expression. “I need a shower. And you’re welcome to join.” You pushed your way by him, letting your breasts brush against his arm on the way by, grinning to yourself as you heard him chuckle.

You reached in and turned on the water to let it warm up, and Dean watched you with appreciation, pulling his lip between his teeth. “I – uh – have some clean clothes out in the car. I’ll be right back.”

You shot him a sidelong glance with a smile as you stepped into the shower, sliding the glass door shut behind you. He let out a low whistle before he rushed to the front door, heading for the car to get his duffle bag and pulling out his phone to call his brother. “Sammy? Yeah, had a little car trouble, I won’t be home until tomorrow sometime. Nah, nothing serious. Yep, later.”

Sometime tomorrow. Next day at the latest. He smirked to himself as he closed the trunk, patting the Impala’s roof on the way by as he headed back to the house. “I owe you, Baby.”

Three weeks later:

You sat on the porch swing, a cold beer in hand as you relaxed after a long week of work. The weather had finally cooled off, and it was pleasant on the porch, a light breeze stirring your hair. You reached for your phone as it rang, smiling as you looked at the screen. “Hello,” you said, a smile in your voice.

“Hey, there – it’s me, your neighbor.”

“Hi, neighbor,” you laughed. “What’s up?”

“Well – as it turns out, I’m completely out of sugar.”

“Completely, huh?”

“Absolutely. Totally out. I could really, really use some sugar right now.” His voice was already sending vibrations through you that made you want to tell him to get in the car now. “And you know I’ve got a sweet tooth that just won’t quit. I need sugar, sweetheart.”

You laughed as you heard Sam’s voice in the background, threatening to throw up if Dean didn’t stop. “Well, you know you’re always welcome to come over for sugar if you need it, Dean.”

“I knew I could count on you. You’re the best neighbor ever. And we can fire up the grill, I’ll make my world-famous burgers, how’s that sound?”

“Sounds amazing. And I’ll handle dessert.”

He growled into his phone, making you laugh again. “Yeah, you will. Mmmmmm. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

You sighed happily as you hung up, swinging lazily with a smile on your face. Maybe you should put on those Daisy Dukes again.

Without panties, of course.

Tag List #1:

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There was a second of silence on the other end.

“Where are you?”, his voice sounded tense, he already knew something was wrong.

You gave him the address between the music and the laughter. You didn't have to explain much; Dean just let out a long sigh and said.

“Don't move from there. I'll be there in twenty”.

Twenty-five minutes later, the black Impala pulled up in front of the house with a deep roar. You descended the porch steps as quickly as your balance would allow. Dean was already out of the car, leaning against the driver's door with his arms crossed and that expression that promised a storm.

He opened the passenger door without saying a word. You got in, and the familiar smell of leather, oil, and his cologne enveloped you instantly. As soon as he closed the door, Dean walked around the car and sat in the driver's seat.

Neither of you spoke for the first few minutes. All you could hear was the purr of the Impala and the sound of the tires on the asphalt.

Until Dean broke the silence.

“Seriously?”, his voice was low, but loaded with anger. “A drunk party on a Tuesday? You?”.

You glanced at him sideways. His jaw was tense and his knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

“Your dad is going to kill you if he finds out”, he continued, not giving you a chance to respond. “And with good reason. What the hell were you thinking?”.

He turned his head for a second to look at you, his green eyes shining with a mix of concern and annoyance.

“Anything could have happened in there. Anything. Do you know how hard it was for me not to tell your dad?”.

The car filled with a heavy silence. Dean looked back at the road, but his voice lowered a bit, hoarser.

“Tell me you at least didn't leave with anyone.”.

You looked at him directly, your heart beating hard from the alcohol and something much more dangerous.

“I almost did”, you said, almost in a whisper, but clear enough. “There was a guy… handsome, persistent. I was about to leave with him”.

Dean didn't say anything right away. His hands tightened more on the wheel, but his expression remained almost neutral. Only a slight tic in his jaw gave him away.

“That was stupid”, he continued, his voice deeper than usual. “That kind of parties are full of idiots who are only looking for one thing. They could have drugged you, taken you by force… It's not a game, princess”.

The affectionate nickname he always used with you sounded different this time. Hoarser.

You weren't planning to stay quiet. The heat from the alcohol and the built-up tension gave you courage. You slowly slid your hand across the seat until you brushed his right thigh. Dean visibly tensed, but he didn't move his leg away.

“I'm sorry…”, you murmured, not sounding sorry at all. Your fingers went up a little more, feeling the hard muscle under the jeans. “Really, Dean. I didn't want you to get mad. I just… wanted you to come”.

He let out a long, heavy sigh, glancing briefly at your hand on his leg before looking back at the road.

“You're playing with fire”, he warned, though his voice no longer sounded as firm as before.

Your hand didn't stop. You moved it up a little more, caressing the inside of his thigh with deliberate slowness, feeling how his breathing changed.

“Maybe I want to burn”, you replied softly, looking him in the eyes when he turned his head again.

The silence that fell between you was dense, loaded with everything neither of you had ever said.

“Dean…”, you said in a soft, almost sweet voice, while your hand continued to caress his thigh. “Let me make it up to you. For not telling my dad and for coming to get me”.

He shook his head, staring fixedly at the road.

“No. I'm going to drop you off at your house and we're not going to talk about this again. End of discussion”.

But you weren't going to give up that easily. With your pulse racing, your fingers moved up to his belt. You started playing with the buckle, pulling it slowly, teasing him.

Dean went rigid.

“Hey…”, he warned, but his voice was already hoarser.

You didn't stop. You unbuckled the belt with skillful fingers and lowered the zipper with deliberate slowness. You felt how his breathing became heavier.

Suddenly, Dean swerved and stopped the car abruptly on the side of the road, in a dark and deserted stretch surrounded by trees. The engine was still running, but the lights were off, only the dim dashboard light illuminating the interior.

“Stop”, he ordered, grabbing your wrist firmly, though not hard enough to pull you away completely. “You have to stop now”.

You looked him straight in the eyes, not withdrawing your hand. Instead, your fingers intentionally brushed the bulge that was already visible under his jeans.

“Don't you want to?”, you asked in a low voice, almost innocent.

Dean let out a low growl, closing his eyes for a second.

“It's not that”, he said through gritted teeth. “Of course I want to, damn it, but it's wrong. You're Bobby's daughter. If he finds out…”.

“He won't find out”, you whispered, leaning closer to him. “Afterwards we'll forget about everything. Just… let me make it up to you”, 

The silence stretched between you. You could see the internal war on his face: guilt, desire, loyalty to your father clashing violently against what he really wanted.

Finally, Dean released your wrist. His hand fell onto the seat, surrendering.

“Fuck…”, he murmured, leaning back a little against the seat. “Do whatever you want”.

A victorious smile appeared on your lips upon hearing his words. Dean Winchester, the man who always seemed untouchable, had just surrendered to you. Without wasting another second, you leaned over him, lowering your head to his lap.

You freed him from his boxers and paused for a moment to look at him. He was bigger and thicker than you had imagined. For a second you felt a slight nervousness, but the excitement was much stronger. You wrapped your hand around him, feeling his heat and how hard he was, and started stroking him slowly up and down.

Dean let out a low growl, one hand resting on your hair, not pushing, just holding you.

You lowered your head and ran your tongue along his entire length, from base to tip, savoring him. Then you took him into your mouth, little by little, feeling how he filled you. It was an intense sensation, but you continued, moving your head with a slow rhythm at first.

“Am I doing it right?”, you asked in a whisper, pulling away for barely a second, with shiny lips.

“Fuck, yes…”, Dean responded in a hoarse voice, breathing with difficulty. “You're doing it too well, princess”.

His words filled you with confidence and excitement. You smiled around him and continued with more enthusiasm, going deeper, using your hand on the part you couldn't reach with your mouth. Your movements became faster, wetter. The obscene sounds you made filled the inside of the car along with Dean's deep growls.

He tightened his fingers in your hair, but never forced you. He just accompanied you, murmuring between his teeth.

“Like that… shit, just like that…”.

You felt powerful. Every time he moaned or cursed under his breath, you continued with more enthusiasm, sucking and licking with devotion. His hips began to move slightly upward, seeking more friction.

It didn't take long. His breathing became ragged and his hand closed tighter in your hair.

“I'm going to…”, he tried to warn you.

You didn't pull away. You kept him in your mouth as he came with a long, hoarse moan, feeling him spill down your throat. You swallowed everything, without stopping to look at him.

When you finished, you slowly sat up, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. Dean looked at you with half-closed eyes, still catching his breath. His expression was a mix of pleasure, surprise, and something deeper.

“You're the most beautiful thing I've seen in my fucking life…”, he murmured, almost with reverence.

You didn't give him time to say more. You moved closer and kissed him, Dean responded instantly, one large hand holding the back of your neck while his mouth devoured yours hungrily.

Without separating from your lips, Dean grabbed you by the waist and easily sat you on his lap. The steering wheel pressed a little against your back, but you didn't care. You laughed softly against his mouth.

“This doesn't have to be known by my dad either…”, you whispered, biting his lower lip.

Dean let out a low, hoarse laugh, his hands lowering to your hips, pressing you against him.

“Definitely not”, he replied, kissing you again, slower this time.

You settled better on him, feeling how his body was still hot and sensitive beneath you. His hands moved up your back, slipping under your shirt, caressing your skin with calloused fingers while you continued kissing.

“Dean… can we go further?”, you whispered against his mouth.

He stayed still for a second, his hands still on your hips. His green gaze darkened.

“Are you sure?”, he asked in a deep voice. “I don't have anything here to take care of you, princess. No condom or anything”.

“I don't care”, you responded without hesitation, rubbing slowly against him. “I want to feel you. Everything. Nothing between us”.

Dean let out a shaky sigh, clearly fighting his own desire.

“Fuck… you're killing me”, he murmured. Still, he pressed you tighter against him. “If at any moment you want to stop, just say so”.

You nodded and settled better on his legs. You lowered a hand between you, guiding him toward your entrance. You were very wet, but you still felt the pressure as his thick head started to open you.

“It's… big”, you gasped, biting your lip.

“Relax”, Dean whispered against your neck, kissing you softly while one of his hands lowered to caress your clit to help you. “Breathe. You're made for me… you're going to take it all”. 

Little by little, inch by inch, you sank down onto him. The sensation was intense, almost overwhelming. You felt how he stretched you inside, filling you completely. When you were finally fully seated, with him buried to the hilt, you let out a long, trembling moan.

You smiled, resting your forehead against his.

“I've waited so long for this…”, you confessed in a low voice.

Dean smiled, that crooked, sexy smile you loved so much, and kissed you hard.

“Me too, baby… even though I shouldn't admit it”.

He started moving you with his hands on your hips, guiding the rhythm. You went up and down slowly at first, getting used to his size. Every time you lowered, you felt how he filled you completely, brushing that sensitive spot inside you. Soon you started moving on your own, faster, deeper.

“Like that… good girl”, Dean growled, biting your neck.

The heat inside the car was suffocating. Without stopping riding him, you took off your shirt over your head and threw it to the back seat. Dean helped you unhook your bra, freeing your breasts. His large hands covered them instantly, squeezing them, pinching your nipples while you continued riding him harder.

Completely naked on top of him, with your skin shining with sweat, you felt exposed, vulnerable, and terribly aroused. Dean couldn't stop looking at you.

“You're fucking perfect…”, he murmured.

The pleasure grew quickly, each deep thrust making you moan louder.

You started practically crying out his name, your voice broken by the pleasure.

“Dean… Dean!”, you moaned over and over, almost sobbing as you moved desperately on him.

He hugged you against his chest, one hand on your back and the other on your hip, thrusting into you with strength and precision. The sound of skin against skin, your moans and his deep growls filled the entire car.

“Like that, princess… let me hear you”, he whispered in your ear, picking up the pace.

The rhythm became wilder. Dean held your hips firmly, thrusting up from below while you moved on top of him desperately. Sweat pearled your naked skin and steam fogged up the Impala's windows. Every time you lowered, he thrust up hard, hitting deep inside you.

You were close, very close.

Dean was too. His breathing was ragged, his muscles tense, and his grip on your waist increasingly firm.

“Princess… I'm going to pull out”, he growled, trying to control himself.

“No”, you gasped, pressing tighter against him, moving faster. “Don't pull out. I want to feel all of you”.

“Fuck, it's risky…”, he tried to reason, though his voice sounded broken by pleasure. “We're not being careful”.

“I don't care”, you moaned against his neck, biting him softly. “I want you to cum inside. Please, Dean…”.

He let out a deep growl, almost defeated, and hugged you tighter. He no longer tried to pull out. Instead, he started fucking you with more intensity, as if he could no longer contain himself.

Pleasure hit you like a wave. You came hard, screaming his name as your inner walls squeezed him rhythmically. Dean followed just a few seconds later. With a long, hoarse moan, he buried himself to the hilt and came inside you, filling you with pulsing heat.

He kept moving slowly, prolonging both of your orgasms until you both trembled.

When you finally stopped, you stayed on top of him, completely naked, with your head resting on his shoulder and his member still inside you. His arms wrapped around you tightly, one hand slowly caressing your back as you both tried to catch your breath.

Neither of you spoke for a long minute. All you could hear was heavy breathing and the Impala's engine still running.

Finally, you lifted your head and looked him in the eyes.

“I don't want this to be the last time…”, you whispered, almost afraid of his response.

Dean watched you in silence for a moment, then smiled softly, a tired but sincere smile, and brushed a damp strand of hair from your face.

“It's not going to be the last time”, he responded in a hoarse voice, kissing you tenderly on the lips. “Not after this”.

He kissed you again, slower, deeper, as if sealing a silent promise.

After a few more minutes hugging each other, catching your breath and sharing lazy kisses, Dean gave you a soft pat on the ass.

“Come on, princess. We have to get you fixed up before someone sees you like this”.

He helped you put your clothes back on between low laughs and stolen kisses. You dressed quickly, though your legs were still trembling a bit. Dean adjusted his jeans and belt, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He looked at you sideways with a smile.

“You're a mess”, he murmured, but his tone was affectionate.

“Your fault”, you replied, leaning in to kiss him once more.

The rest of the drive to your house passed in comfortable silence. Dean drove with one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh, gently caressing it with his thumb. Every now and then he looked at you and smiled, as if he still couldn't believe what had just happened.

When the car stopped in front of your house, he turned off the engine and turned toward you.

“See you tomorrow”, he said in a low voice. “Your parents invited me to dinner”.

You smiled, moved closer, and gave him a slow, deep kiss, holding his face with both hands.

“I can't wait”, you whispered against his lips.

Dean returned the kiss with the same intensity, as if he wanted to memorize your taste. When you finally separated, you got out of the car and closed the door carefully.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

You pretend you don’t know, but he’s not that good at hiding it. Your underwear doesn’t just grow legs and walk off by itself. Before you were dating, Dean used to steal it used, clenching your panties in one fist and beating his cock with the other. He’d smell that little wet spot and moan your name against the fabric, the arousal and need in his chest just managing to outweigh the shame. Once you’re together, you start just passing them into his hands without a word. The day you let him eat you out through your panties, then keep them after? One of the best of his life.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Dean’s the first to call himself a whore, as if it doesn’t bother him in the slightest. And it didn’t used to. Sex was for fun, to feel good, to forget about the pain and—for once in his damn life—do something useful for someone else. But after you, it’s different. The experience was just practice, just building up to this. To knowing exactly what women like, exactly what makes them feel good, and using his mastery to turn you into a pretty little puddle beneath him. He’s a champion, and you’re quickly the only game he wants to play.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

There isn’t really a position Dean doesn’t like—he can make anything feel good, and he takes pride in it—but his favorite position soars above the rest of the already high standard. When he’s got you in his lap, brows pressed together, mouth slack and easy to kiss, it’s close to heaven. Your boobs bounce and push against his chest, your ass wiggles in his massive palms, and your cunt hugs his cock just right at the angle. You can ride him until you get whiny, and he can pin you down and fuck up like an animal, watching your face go slack with pleasure, your eyes glazing over and tiny moans of his name falling from swollen lips. You cling to him, and he holds on back, keeping you just as close as you’ll allow.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Dean lets you set the tone, every time. He’s just happy to be there, and he can make anything work. If you need to be treated like lace, he’s serious and gentle, murmuring low praise and worshiping every inch of your body. If you fall into bed after a date or climb on top of him in the middle of a movie, he’ll tease and joke until you’re whining and glaring at him under lidded, glossy eyes. His shit eating grin won’t fall until you’re screaming his name, and it turns smug and proud. He knows you love it, when it’s easy. He loves it too.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He tries to stay groomed, but life on the road makes it hard. Even when he gets to settle in the bunker for a week or two, shaving isn’t very high on the list of priorities. He does his face because a beard is hard to maintain, and basic maintenance around his cock to keep it clean, but not much else. The look of the tool doesn’t matter much. He knows how to use it right either way.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

When it was just hookups, he sometimes wouldn’t even bother to learn the right name to moan. It wasn’t about being vulnerable or romantic, it was about being a fleeting, passing ship that lent another some warmth. A shadow of intimacy, to stead over the gap in his chest from sinking too deep. But then he had you, and even when you’re play fighting before sex or giggling while he fingers you stupid, there’s a thin layer of adoration under every single kiss and touch. It’s rawer and sharper in the dead of night, when he cradles you in his lap and presses his face against your neck, or folds himself over your body and drives in with slow, torturous thrusts. He’ll never say it allowed, but that’s how he loves you. With a real good show and undying attention, whether the sex is rough or slow or quick in the bathroom, it’s all just to be close to you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Sam used to joke about him taking long showers, but he had no idea. Dean tries to ignore his cock when it gets demanding—when you’d bend over in a skirt or brush past him in the hall—but he started feeling like a teenager with no damn control, and he’d storm into the bathroom to care of himself, quickly and brutally. It gets better after you start dating, but sometimes you have to be apart. Then old habits return, and he finds himself kicking Sammy out of the motel room just so he can pull out a picture of you and jerk himself off.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

There are more of them than he cares to count, but three stand out above the rest. There the only three that can still make Dean, of all men, blush. 

Cockwarming until the sun comes up. Holding you around him until you’re dripping and wiggling and whining his name, until he’s so hard it hurts and ends up just rutting into you like a dog. It’s not the filthiness of the act that gets him, but the intimacy of it. You’re so close he can’t tell where he stops and you end, and it makes him so dizzy he almost loses control. He’d trade a life to keep you like that all the time. Soft and completely, totally his.

The first time you call him sir, he almost feels something in him shift. He’d always said he didn’t get that kind of shit—sex was supposed to be give and take, not just a girl doing everything for him—but then he had you below him, babbling the word by sheer accident, and his cock twitched like it had been jumpstarted. He liked it. He liked it too much. He’d follow you like a dog to the end of the earth, but right here, when he was making you feel good, he was the one in charge. He had a handle over the situation, you trusted him to be in charge of you like this, and that tiny whimper of sir made him lose his goddamn mind.

And the breeding kink he tries to hide. He’s not trying to baby trap you, or reduce you to just a body for him to knock up, but the idea of it makes his mouth water. Fucking you so good a little bit of him sticks. Forcing his cum into you until you’re stuffed up, your eyes rolling back in your head from the pleasure. Making you round and glowing with his baby, letting the whole world know just how well he treated you. You notice it, because you always do, and son of a bitch, you encourage him. You let him press his hand flat on your stomach so he can feel his cum spurting into your heat, you cling to his shoulders and moan when he asks if you like it, and he can’t help it. He wants you good and bred. He wants you to be his.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He wouldn’t call himself an exhibitionist, but there aren’t many places he won’t do it. As long as it’s not a crime and you’re comfortable, the bathroom in a police station is as good to go as the kitchen in the bunker. However, there’s nothing he loves more than his bed. A good mattress, the sheets sticking to your skin, the smell of you all around him, it’s almost enough to get him hard all on it’s own.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

The list is so long, he stopped trying to understand it a long time ago. There are the simple things—your mouth around a banana, the curve of your ass, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, when you get mouthy and bratty and he wants to drag you over his knee or pin your to the wall—but then there’s… other stuff. The time you shoved him and spat in his face after a fight, and he was seconds from splaying you out on the table, squeezing your jaw with one hand and fingering you with the other, all while rutting against your leg like an animal, kissing away the drool when dribbled down your chin. The other time you drove baby for five seconds, and he made you pull over so he could eat you out in the backseat. He’s starting to think it might just be you. He doesn’t really care, either way.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

When he was younger, Dean would try anything once. The benefit of that is that now he knows what he really doesn’t love. He doesn’t get piss stuff or age play, but he doesn’t count himself one to judge. The one time he let a girl tie him up, he ripped his hands out of the bonds and had a knot in the top of his chest for a week after. Life is hard enough as it is, and as fun as a lot of that kind of stuff looks, there can be too many deep, serrated scars in him for it to feel good.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

While he’ll never say no to getting some head, the only sight better than you on your knees with his cock in your mouth is you flat on your back, grabbing at anything you can reach as he tongue fucks you into oblivion. He thinks he could live and die between your legs, your pussy gushing on his face and his name falling from your lips. And he’s good at it. He knows he’s good at it. He’ll shoot you a wink before he kisses his way down your body, because he knows you’re never even try to resist him. Once he convinced you to sit on his face, and he’d never known anything closer to heaven.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He can read and match the tone well,  depending on what you want. When he’s rough, he bullies his cock into your like a drill, making the bed creak and tears spring into your eyes from the almost overwhelming pleasure of being fucked over and over and over like some sweet little doll. When he’s slow, he’s slow, taking his time to make your feel every thrust, every kiss, every brush of his fingers over your clit. But even when he’s slow, he drives into you with the force of a man falling into a black hole. He can’t help himself. The way your gummy walls squeeze him just feels too good, to not make them clench and flutter around him.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

If you’d let him, Dean would just fill the whole day with quickies. Wake up and fuck you between the sheets, get breakfast then have a second meal between your thighs, interview a few vics and cradle your head while he drive, pulling off to the side when you suck his cock a little too well, and his vision starts to go blurry. Sometimes he’ll spend a whole day teasing you, just to try and get you to start it. It’s a great victory, if you drag him into a supply closet to bang one out. It’s all he’s ever wanted in the world.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Anything once really did teach him to know what he liked, so at this point it’s more indulging any risks you’d want to take. He knows his lines, and he’s more than willing to help you find yours. If you shyly ask him to tie you up or wrap a hand around your throat or fist you, he’d have to be a madman to tell you no.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Even at his age, Dean counts himself impressive. He might not be pulling the day long marathons he did in his twenties, but he can go the whole night if he keeps the focus on your pleasure, which he finds easy to do. If you make him cum in your mouth or hands, he’ll dedicate as long as he needs to teaching you a few lessons and opening you up, before he’s hard and ready to go again. Once he’s in you, though, he’s no chump. He can hold himself off for over an hour on the best of nights. Sure, there were the few cases when you were just too soft and pretty and he couldn’t stop himself, but you found it hot anyway. The loss of control, just from looking at you, you’d never felt more beautiful. And it wasn’t like he didn’t make it worth your time.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He’s tried a few toys on himself, but they’re all complicated, and he lives with his damn brother. Knowing each other’s porn habits is bad enough, the idea of sex toys getting exposed makes him feel a little sex. He’s got a perfectly good hand, and a hot girlfriend, and that’s all he’s never going to need. If you want him to pull out that vibrator you keep in your nightstand, though, he’s never going to protest. Watching you come apart—your thighs rolling against the head of the toy and your mouth hanging open—is always too good an opportunity to pass up. The toy might be the one giving you the pleasure, but Dean’s the one holding it. He’s the person you’re crying for when you cum, and he usually gets to fuck your already swollen pussy after. Doesn’t get much better than that.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Some might call him a monster. And the some is you. You didn’t know how much you could get worked up, until Dean came around and showed you. Through the day he’ll make you flush with little comments, then trace his fingers over your inner thigh in the car, making you flush and pant before he just kisses your cheek and walks away. And you thought that was bad, until he actually got his hands on you, and you learned how much the asshole loves edging. Getting you so wet and flustered your almost sobbing for him, whispering dirty praise until your face is burning, somehow keeping you on the edge with teasing touches, even as his cock drives right into that gummy spot inside of you. He says you’re too adorable not to tease. You roll your eyes, but never ask him to stop. It’s always, just a little, too good.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

The mouth on him should be worthy of a lawsuit. Between the moaning and grunting, the strangled, rumbling sound he makes when he pushes himself inside of you, and the deep, filthy dirty talk, you think you might just be able to cum from his voice. It’s not fair, but Dean doesn’t play fair, and you don’t want him to. One day, when you’re brave, you’ll ask him to test the theory. He’ll oblige, and you’ll certainly end up right.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Dean’s never in it for himself. If his partner wants him to hand over control, he’ll do it, but it’s never going to be what he prefers. He spends every day of his life begging for the people he loves to listen to him, for once in their damn lives. He’s got a grip over his own world, even if his hands shake on the worst of nights. It’s not liberating for him to be degraded in sex when all he’s known is bruises and spit from the people who were supposed to love him. He wants to be trusted more than he’s ever going to be able to say, to be the only person you turn to for pleasure, to take his hands and mouth and body and have them feel safe for just one, one fucking person. He might be in control during sex, but it’s still all about you, and that’s exactly how he likes it.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He doesn’t get his confidence from nowhere. For a while—before you—it was sort of the only kind of confidence he had. Dean didn’t count himself for much, but no one could deny their own eyes. The size of him is one thing—long enough to hit spots you didn’t know you had, veiny and uncut and almost pretty—but the girth- It makes your mouth fall open, the first time you see it. You’re not sure you can stretch that wide, and when Dean tells you that you will, sweetheart, you almost roll your eyes. But, damn him, he’s right. You mold around that thick, big cock like a glove, and feel him in every inch of your body.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

If anything, he only gets worse with age. In his younger days, fucking was something he could work himself up to almost any day of the week, even if he wasn’t sure he wanted to an hour ago. A pretty girl and a good drink, the engine could get itself going. Then you came along and made him feel things, and then he let you get close and start making him eat well and drink water and go for stupid walks, and suddenly there isn’t a second that’s enough. If life didn’t get in the way, he’d never let you leave the bed.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He’ll push through the exhaustion for some proper aftercare, but the moment he’s sure you’re good, Dean’s out like a stone. He doesn’t sleep well under any other circumstance, but you work him hard, then let him use you like a human body pillow, and he finds the closest thing he knows to peace, right there, with you in his arms.

✦Dean Masterlist - Main Masterlist - read on AO3!✦

✦Author's Note: i think about him. all the time <3✦

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Most of Ben’s dirty secrets aren’t exactly… secret. He’s tried to fuck you in front of the team multiple times, he always tells you to moan his name loud enough that they’ll hear, and if he can get away with it he’ll make you walk around with his cum dripping out of your cunt. He proudly declared that you gave him your panties to keep, and tell you like it’s romantic that he only jerks off to the thought of you now. If anything, the deepest secret he holds is that he does find it romantic. That he’s capable of that now, with you, and he wants nothing more than to just… be near you. Without sex. To love and touch you like some boring, normal pussy. Maybe a little sex. He’ll probably be able to talk you into it.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Body count rivaling Genghis Khan. He got around in his day, and it’s taught him to know every body almost like he knows his own. You have to give him a rule, that he’s not allowed to say that he did this position with Princess Diana, because you don’t really want to hear it. You just want to see him do the position. He rolls his eyes and calls you a brat, and you smile and say he loves it, and damn him, he does. He loves that he got all that experience, too. Real easy for you to benefit, from all that hard work.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Ben can brag about his past and throw around your panties all he wants, you always get to know the truth. That at the end of it, he’s just a romantic old man who wants to do missionary. He likes being fully wrapped around you, likes how easy it is to manhandle you, like how your eyes roll back and your nails dig into his bicep as you get the air fucked straight out of you. He likes that he can kiss you, open-mouthed and sloppy, and that he can push your knees to your chest and turn it into a mating press, giving him easy access to your swollen, sensitive clit. You only tease him about it a little. The sex is too good to do anything else.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He’s more serious with you, than he ever was with anyone else. Especially at the start, when this was something that mattered, and he’d never had that, and for the first time in a hundred years there was a fist in his gut that was trying to hold onto something. That clenched hard enough to make him sick, that made him paranoid and tense, because what if he lost you. He fucked you like it was a job. Like that would prove his dedication to this, to you, without him having to say it. Over time, he relaxed. Jokes get cracked, and the teasing gets insatiable, and you can’t go a day without something suggestive that makes you laugh, then moan as his hand presses between your thighs.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Ben didn’t bother grooming until you. His actions and face and body spoke for themselves. Whatever was going on down there was what you got, and you’d better be fucking happy with it. And you were. You are. But he saw you taking care of your bush and got curious what the fuck you were doing, and you explained that it was still hair, it needed to be washed, and now he does that for you, then makes you clean him. He gets cocky, his hand in your hair as you lean down, and doesn’t bother to stop himself from getting hard while you touch him. It usually ends with you pressed against shower tiles. You never complain about that either.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He’ll deny it to the ends of the earth and over God’s ballsack, but he’s more romantic than you would’ve ever guessed. Once he learns what that strange, warm feeling he got when he looked at you was, he’s committed to it. It’s annoying, but nice, and he really fucking loves nice things. Just like he loves you. And there’s nothing better than whispering that against your skin, or fucking you nice and slow and loving until you’re sobbing, then making you admit that you love him back.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

If it was a sport, he’d take gold. And silver, and bronze. If someone were to take a blacklight to his bedroom it would look like a crime scene, especially before you got together. He doesn’t deny himself, ever, and that meant stomping away at seemingly random points during the day, just to jerk himself off and moan your name to the walls. Once he did it in a Chili’s bathroom, just because you smiled at him. Not his best moment, but real far from his fucking worst. And you deserve to be worshipped like that, enough that he can’t even control himself. He counts it as romantic, and you never admit it, but you kind of think it is too.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Ben walks a fine line between an exhibitionist and overly possessive. He marks your neck up with hickies and parades you around like his most prized thing, but gets narrow eyed and rigid when people watch for too long. He wants you to scream his name loud enough for everyone to hear, but clenches his jaw at the idea of fucking where someone might actually walk in and see you naked. He records a video of you and puts it in a safe. Fucks you in a bathroom with the door locked, puts you in his shirt and nothing else, but barks at anyone who’s gaze lingers on your legs. You’re his to worship and adore, not some other nosy fucking pussy’s.

He’s only a fucking man. A man who wants things he won’t talk about, like kids and a simple fucking life. If he could he’d knock you up for the rest of your fucking lives, keep your tits swollen and belly round with his kid. Making them is the fun part, breeding you like you’re begging for it—and you are—and then a few times after to make sure it sticks. Then you get all glowy and gorgeous, beaming and fucking Ben’s. Everyone knows it, from that swell of your stomach, and you get so horny you give him a run for his damn money. Perfect.

Pet names are cute, but detached before you. Doll for most women, sweetheart if he’s trying to piss them off, and not much else. But you, you get kid and darling and babydoll and pretty girl falling from his lips without thought. And then there’s the shit you call him. Benjamin when he’s in trouble—which is fucking hot—and Benny when you’re extra fucking needy. If you’re desperate enough he gets sir, and if he fucks you just right, he can pull a daddy from your swollen lips. You flush and get embarrassed and deny it later, but he knows what he fucking heard. And he’s going to get you to say it again.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

As much as Ben loves the bed, or the shower, or the table or the counter or the floor or the dresser, there’s something about the wall and the couch that make him feral. If he’s got you against the wall, he can pin you with your hands over your head and his arm cradling you against him, and he gets to make your whole body bounce with every thrust. Maybe he can even drag you off the wall, and just fuck you standing in the center of the room, his arms the only thing keeping you up right. On the other side of that is the couch. Bending you over it and smacking your ass, pushing you down until you’re limp and dangling forward, stupid moans falling from your lips as he fucks you dumb and pretty. Completely at his mercy, and happy about it.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

It would be quicker to list the things that don’t get him going. Sometimes it’s the way you said a word, a look you gaze him, the way you squeezed his hands or glared at him all hot, and now he needs to be inside of you or he’s going to go fucking insane. Once you screamed about a spider, he killed it, and suddenly you were being fucked into the sofa. More times than you can count he just wants to. No foreplay or real motivation besides seeing you, and deciding you really needed a good fuck.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He makes the list clear, when you get together. He’s tried damn near everything, and he won’t be pissing, shitting, or getting cucked. You can get on top, but he’s in control. You can try and tie him up, but he’s just going to break out of it and fuck you like you deserve. Giving up control isn’t really something he knows how to do, let alone tolerate after Russia. He spent too long in a box, and he’s not fucking letting anyone get one over on him again. You tell him that’s shell-shock. He rolls his eyes and tells you to hire a shrink about it. You do, because you’re the only one who can get away with it. You might be able to get away with anything, around him. He likes finding out.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Of course he prefers fucking receiving, he told you once. Getting a girl with nice lips and a warm mouth around him, fucking her face until she’s choking and still begging for more, nothing fucking better. Of course, your mouth is another story. Almost brings him to his fucking knees, when you get going. He’s broken the kitchen counter three times, to the point that you just leave it wrecked and tell him to grab there. And then he gets between your legs, and works out how all those men he thought were pussies could get off on just this. Tastes like fucking Heaven, gets you gushing and screaming and squirming for him, opens you up like nothing fucking else. You get caught in his beard and he refuses to wash it out. You cum on his face and he rolls on his back, pinning you down until your body gives out and you fold over him like a toy, trembling with the pleasure he’s devoured out of you.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

There aren’t many ways Ben doesn’t like it, but slow and rough is always going to take the cake. Pulling almost all the way out of you before slamming back in, watching your eyes roll back and hearing that perfect little whine. You milk his cock whenever he drives against your g-spot and beg him to go faster, but he holds the pace. Not like there’s much you can do about it, limp and mindless under him. Eventually he’ll take mercy and start to fuck you like you’ve earned, the brutal pace turning into micro thrusts when he falls over the edge with a groan.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

You have to limit him. There are too many times where he’s pulled you into a closet or dragged you off to bed with guests over, just to pull one more out of your greedy little pussy. And you know you’re always going to let him, even when he shouldn’t. Three a day, you tell him, but that quickly becomes four, then five, then six, and then you give up all together. It’s as if he gets energy fucking you. It’s almost scientifically amazing, and it feels like fucking heaven, so there are worse quirks for a boyfriend to have.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

There isn’t something Ben hasn’t done. If risks are being taken, it’s you, trusting him when he says he’s got some shit you’ll like. You believe him—he’s good at knowing about that, and it would scare you how good he was if it wasn’t deeply helpful—and trust him, because he’s your Ben. He’d never hurt you. One time, you do try to suggest something he might not have done, and he laughs in your face and calls you cute. He’s been slinging cock like a gun before your grandparents were alive. You tell him he’s never allowed to say slinging cock again.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Once, you made a bet with him that you could take it until he was out. It was one of the best and worst choices of your life. He came about thirty times, you came so much you stopped counting—and can’t even remember what number made you give up—and it only ended because Ben started to get worried that you would go into sex hibernation. You told him that wasn’t a thing, and tried to tease him that he was just out. He’d been rock hard when he stopped. You have a feeling that he could’ve done that all over again ten times and still be ready for round one thousand, but he let you have the win. It’s the only kind you have, in the sheets.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

At first, he’s offended by the idea that a fucking robot could get you off better than he could. He still is a little offended. If you use your vibrator, he also gets a shot at it, to remind you which is better at knowing you and your body. But then you show him remote control vibrators, and he turns into a monster. He shoves it into your hand and orders you to put it in, and when you laugh you end up pinned to the mattress and kissed everywhere while he slides it in himself. Ben becomes obsessed with it. Making you glare at him while your thighs shake, smelling your arousal, knowing that you’re probably going to climb him like a fucking tree the second you’re alone. Maybe before, if he does this shit right.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Ben has a talent. A gift, even, and it’s going to ruin your fucking life. He thinks of working you up like a sport, trying to you right up to the edge of screaming before he pulls you into his lap and makes you fall apart with a single, light touch. It’s even more fun then, because you’re sensitive after you cum. And that’s just how Ben fucking likes you. Wet and needy and sensitive, all his to ruin however he likes. You thank him after, and he feels about a million feet fucking tall.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He doesn’t see any point in trying to keep quiet. Sex is meant to be loud and raw. Skin slapping on skin, hands grabbing and moans being forced out of your throat for him to swallow. He dirty talks you loud enough for it to be heard through the walls, and groans you name loud enough to be heard from space. He’s proud of it. The way you get all turned on by his moaning, then adorably embarrassed when the team tells you they could hear .

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Ben really fucking loves cock warming. Sitting you on his lap for no reason at all, burying himself in your hot little cunt, and just keeping you there until he’s had his fill. You get so fucking whiny and gorgeous, calling him names when he won’t move and then pleading and sweet talking him when that shit doesn’t work. He gets drunk on it, how you flutter and pulse around his rock hard cock, looking at him with those glossy eyes and whimpering his name. Sometimes he shoves a book into your hands and makes you read it, because you’re always trying to get him to fucking read. When you’re gasping for air and leaking down his thighs, he’ll give in and fuck you. Then, the next week, he’ll do it all fucking over again.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Horsecock. World ending. Tree trunk thick and uncut. Next question.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Of Ben’s many experiments on your body, one of your favorite quickly grows to be somnophilia, simply because he’s a fucking dog. You know he has self control, and he’ll never make you do anything you don’t want to, but he gets twitchy when he’s been pent up too long. And for Ben, too long is about twelve hours. You could give him a whole night before you went on a work trip, and he’d spam call you until you landed and picked up, demanding that you come back now. He’d spend the rest of his life fucking you, if he was allowed. Sometimes he tries to talk you into that, and you flush, because you’d be more “up for it” than you want to admit.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Ben doesn’t sleep much, after Russia. Been asleep too fucking long, he grunts, and you don’t push. But you notice—like you always do—that the rule doesn’t really apply to you. You wake up in the middle of the night, still where you passed out. Held against his chest like a child’s blanket, cradled like a baby bird, both of you bare as the day you were born and completely at peace. His lips brushing your brow and breathing steady. It’s beautiful to see. Almost sacred. You brush the hair from his eyes and kiss his nose. His eyes flutter sometimes, and you just stare at each other in the dark. You press your chin to his chest, and his mouth twitches into something like a smile. You both fall back asleep, and don’t speak of it in the morning. But—just like always—it will happen again.

✦Soldier Boy Masterlist - Main Masterlist - read on aO3✦

✦Author's Note: i need him in a way that's concerning to feminism✦