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it doesn’t matter if it was rough, slow, quick, emotional, or downright feral, he’s still checking in. he’s the type to brush your hair out of your face while your chest is still heaving. he cups your jaw and whispers, “you okay, baby?” with that raspy, post-orgasm voice. he won’t stop touching you, but not particularly in a sexy way. like, lovey-dovey touches. his palm on your thigh. his fingers lacing with yours. that kinda thing.

sam’s also super intuitive. if you’re the talky type after sex? he’s gonna lie there and listen to you ramble and giggle with you like you’re both drunk off each other. if you go quiet? he’ll pull you to his chest and just breathe with you, run his fingers down your spine. let the silence feel safe.

lowkey, he’s a clean-up king too. grabs a towel, helps you wipe down, maybe even carries you to the bathroom if you’re too wobbly. you just KNOW he’s the kind to whisper “i’ll be right back, don’t move” before slipping out of bed to get you water or a snack.

and let’s not forget, he’s always gonna be overthinking. even if everything went perfectly, sam’s still gonna be laying there like, was i too rough? did i make them feel good? do they still like me? so if you curl into him, praise him a little, you can feel his body relax as if you just unclenched every knot in his soul.

B = BODY PART..

sam’s favorite part of himself? his hips.

this man is so unaware of how lethal he is until you’re under him, and suddenly that slow, deep roll of his hips becomes his favorite weapon. sam doesn’t walk around thinking he’s sexy, but the second he sees the way you react to the way he fucks, the way you grab his waist, beg for more, whimper when he grinds deep and doesn’t let up?

that’s when it clicks.

and it turns into obsession. he’ll hold your legs open and grind slow, steady, deep, not just to get himself off, but to feel you fall apart. it makes him feel powerful. like you were made for him and he was made to fit into you just right.

however, when it comes to you… your stomach.

soft or toned, flat or plush, he’s obsessed. the gentle curve of it. the way it twitches when he runs his fingers low. the way it stretches when you arch. he’ll pull your shirt up just to kiss it. slide his palm over it slowly while you’re laying together. during sex, he’ll rest his hand there, right under your ribs like he’s holding all of you together while he fucks you open.

and if you’re insecure about it, beware, sam’s the guy who will not shut up about how beautiful you are. “don’t hide from me, baby,” he’ll whisper, lips hot against your skin. “you know how crazy you make me?” and then he’ll show you. with his mouth, with his hands and most importantly, with his cock.

C = CUM..

okay, he’s is not some careless, casual spur-of-the-moment guy when it comes to this, nah. when sam finishes, it’s a whole experience. he’s in his feelings about it. his soul is involved.

where he likes to finish? sam’s a deep finish kinda man. he wants to come inside. always. that doesn’t mean he does every time (he respects boundaries 1000%) but he’s obsessed with the idea of being inside you while he fills you up. it does something to his brain. you’d feel his hips shudder and he’d bury himself all the way in, holding you still, letting out this low, broken groan.

if you let him? that whole “dripping out of you” thing after? he stares at it. literally lays there between your legs and just watches it slowly spill out while you whine and try to close your thighs. he’ll spread you open again and mutter something like, “god, look at that… made you take all of it.”

how he cums? LOUD. sam does not cum quietly. all that control, all that restraint, gone. he’s whimpering, panting, moaning into your neck or your shoulder or your fucking mouth if you’re kissing when it happens. it’s deep, it’s needy, and it’s so goddamn personal.

also, i just have to mention his breeding kink. sorry. sorry but NOT sorry. that man does not casually cum in someone, he breeds. he fucks you like he’s trying to own you. doesn’t even mean he wants babies, necessarily (though that fantasy might linger in his brain on bad days when he wants a life he thinks he doesn’t deserve) but it’s the claiming. the act. the feeling of “i gave you everything i had.” that gets to him. hard.

D = DIRTY SECRET..

sam winchester’s dirty secret? he fantasizes about being corrupted.

yeah, i said it. it’s not even about you being some evil little seductress or whatever, it’s about him not having to be good for once. he grew up being the “responsible one,” the “good son,” the guy who overthinks every moral choice. but in the dark, behind closed doors? he dreams of letting go. of someone dragging the sin out of him, teasing it out, making him beg for things he’d never say out loud.

in his head, it’s always messy. shameful. hot.

he pictures you tugging his hair while he’s on his knees. telling him he like being used. he does. he fucking does. he likes the idea of you riding him until he’s whimpering. scratching your nails down his chest while he stutters apologies for how fast he came. of you pulling him in by his dog tag or his belt loop and saying, “c’mon, sammy. be bad for me.”

he’ll never admit this to you. ever. he plays it cool. maybe a little dominant, a little protective. but behind his eyes, he’s imagining what it’d feel like to lose it. to fall apart under you. to be the one who’s teased, overstimmed, punished a little. he wants to feel like doesn’t have to hold it together anymore.

and the dirtiest part of all? he touches himself to the thought of you ruining him. he’ll come fast. embarrassingly fast. and then hate himself a little for how bad he wants it.

E = EXPERIENCE..

this is not a “yes or no” question per say.

sam hasn’t slept with as many people as dean, not even close. his number isn’t low-low, but it’s definitely selective. he’s never been the one-night stand guy unless he’s in a full-on emotional spiral (see, post ruby, soulless sam era, or when he’s trying to shut his feelings down). he doesn’t fuck just to fuck. that’s never been his vibe. but when he does fuck?

he means it.

sam’s got emotional experience. he listens to your body. he feels everything, and that makes him dangerous in bed, not ‘cause he’s reckless, but because he’s so focused. he’s a fast learner, a people pleaser, and painfully observant. you gasp a little louder when he sucks there? that’s now in the rotation. your legs twitch when he angles his hips just right? he will not stop until you’re begging.

soo does he know what he’s doing? too fucking well. and he doesn’t brag about it. doesn’t have to. he’s experimental, but only if you are too. he’s not scared to try new things, wants to explore. communicates really well. that whole stanford brain? it’s in the bedroom too. he analyzes what makes you tick.

and don’t even get me started on his stamina. that man can go multiple rounds and still have the audacity to ask, “you okay to go again?” while your legs are shaking. long fingers, long tongue, long everything. and he uses all of it.

but what makes it even hotter? that little rookie edge that never fully goes away. he’s not cocky like dean, he gets flustered sometimes when you praise him. looks down at you with those big brown eyes like he can’t believe you’re moaning his name like that. he still blushes if you say something filthy.

F = FAVORITE POSITION(S)..

1. MISSIONARY. BUT.. i’m talking feral missionary. let’s get this straight, sam loves eye contact. he wants to watch you fall apart, wants to see every flutter of your lashes, every little twitch of your mouth when you moan his name. he’s a romantic. a bit of a control freak. so missionary? when he’s deep inside you, his hands pinning your wrists into the mattress, sweat dripping down his neck, his forehead against yours while pounding into you? yeah. that’s peak sam winchester.

that skin-on-skin closeness is everything to him. he loves the intimacy. loves the grip he’s got on you. loves that he can thrust slow or hard or hold you still and grind into you while you gasp like he’s in your lungs. he livesss for your reactions.

2. YOU ON TOP, FACING HIM (COWGIRL). again, sam likes seeing your body, your expressions, your hands on his chest. but, now you’re in control. you set the pace. and he LOVES that. he’ll put his hands on your waist, let you ride him until he’s groaning through gritted teeth, whispering things like, “fuck, just like that… keep going, baby…”

but if you get tired, he flips the script. grabs your hips, starts thrusting up into you while you whimper, overwhelmed. he lives for that whiny, fucked-out look you give him when he takes control back just enough.

3. FROM BEHIND, BUT.. make it emotional. this is like, on the bed, both of you half-naked, bodies tangled. he’s kneeling behind you, one hand in your hair, the other gripping your waist or rubbing slow circles over your clit. deep, controlled strokes while he leans in to kiss your shoulder, whisper in your ear, “you feel so fucking good… you take me so well, sweetheart.”

if he’s feeling unhinged, he’ll hold you by the throat and fuck into you like he needs it. but afterward? he’ll press kisses down your spine like he’s sorry for ever letting go like that. because that’s sam. gentle and a freak.

G = GOOFY..

sam is serious in the sheets… most of the time.

he’s focused, he’s got a fucking mission, to worship you, ruin you, and make you feel so good you forget your own name. especially if he’s in a soft or angsty headspace? he takes sex seriously. every moan, every stroke, every look feels like a fucking prayer.

BUT…

he has a very chaotic goofy side that only comes out when he’s really comfortable with you. like if you’ve been fucking for a while, there’s trust, there’s closeness, there’s banter… THEN it starts.

to give out a few examples, he’ll chuckle when your stomach growls mid-foreplay and be like, “we should’ve eaten first…” while still pulling your panties down, or he’ll groan dramatically when he realizes he forgot a condom again like, “okay this is the fourth time this week, i swear i’m not doing it on purpose..” if you make a stupid joke while you’re on top of him, he’ll laugh, but then thrust up suddenly and say, “still funny?” with that smug fucking face.

and oh the post-nut giggles? oooh he gets them. not every time, but if it was extra messy or especially intense, he’ll bury his face in your neck and laugh like, “jesus christ, what the hell did we just do.” it’s sweet. and it’s sexy as fuck.

H = HAIR..

let’s start with the obvious, yes, the carpet matches the damn drapes. brown. thick. yeah. he’s not fully shaved, he’s neatly groomed down there. enough that it’s never in the way, never too wild, but still super sam. you pull his pants down and you’re greeted with trimmed hair, a big cock, and the scent of his skin and it’s just so real. so raw. you’re instantly feral.

chest hair? OH MY GOD. YES. it’s there. it’s fine but it’s still enough to feel when you’re lying on him after sex. a little patch between his pecs, trailing down his stomach in a v-line of sin. that happy trail™, it leads straight down and you follow it with your lips every time like it’s ritual.

facial hair? depends on the era, obviously. sometimes he shaves. sometimes he’s stubbly. but when he’s got that little beard scruff going on? oh yeah. you feel it burn your thighs when he’s going down on you. you feel it drag along your neck when he kisses your collarbone. you tell him not to shave and he listens. every time.

I = INTIMACY..

like i already said, sex with sam is emotionally based. and that’s what makes it so intense. sam’s the kind of lover where even if it starts rough, needy, desperate, somewhere in the middle of it always turns into something deeper on a personal level.

he looks at you like you hung the fucking moon.

when he’s inside you, it’s like the whole world disappears. nothing else matters except the way you’re holding onto him, moaning into his mouth, whispering his name like it’s the only word you remember. he’s so connected. he makes you feel like you’re the only person who has ever touched him.

kissing? always. he has to kiss you during sex. even if it’s messy, even if you’re turned away or on top, he’ll find your lips. he’ll guide your face to his with shaking fingers, panting against your mouth like he needs it more than air.

he says the sweetest things, too. especially when you’re not expecting it. it hits harder because he means every single fucking word.

and the thing is? he can rail you into the mattress and still make you feel like you’re the center of his universe. that’s the duality. he holds your heart while he ruins your body. because for him, intimacy is everything. not some accidental side effect, it’s the whole reason he’s there.

J = JACK OFF..

first of all, how often? sam pretends he doesn’t do it much. he’ll act busy, always reading lore, training, being the world’s biggest buzzkill, but behind closed doors, he’s so fucking down bad it’s unreal.

if he’s around you and can’t have you? it’s a big (no pun intended) problem. he’ll lock himself in the bunker’s bathroom after seeing you walk around in one of his hoodies with no pants on, cheeks red, muttering to himself like, “fucking hell, get it together, sam.”

and then… yeah. the pants come off. fast.

when? at night. in the shower. when he’s on a hunt and misses you so bad he can’t sleep. when you send him a voice message that wasn’t even hot or something, but your voice alone has him rock fucking hard. and sometimes, middle of the day, unexpectedly. you laugh a certain way, bite your lip, literally anything. yeah. he’ll be hard for hours and finally give in when he’s alone.

sometimes he leans back against the wall and imagines you straddling him, fingers digging into his shoulders while you whisper in his ear. other times he gets on his knees in the shower and pictures you standing over him, telling him what to do. either way, he finishes hard. with a groan he tries to muffle.

and afterward? he’s so ashamed. full hands-over-his-face, “god, what’s wrong with me” energy. but it never stops him from doing it again the next night.

K = KINK(S)..

1. PRAISE KINK. sam needs to hear how good he’s making you feel. he craves that validation. “you’re the only one who makes me feel like this.” he’ll literally start panting harder, fucking deeper, the second you whimper that shit. he never grew up being told he was good enough. so in bed? it wrecks him. he’ll mutter little broken replies too, all breathless, “yeah? i got you, baby… s’only me, right?” (YES IT’S ONLY YOU SAMUEL.)

2. OVERSTIMULATION KINK. he’s lowkey addicted to watching you come over and over again. the first orgasm is just the beginning. he’ll use his fingers, his tongue, his cock… and he doesn’t stop until you’re shaking, pulling at him, whimpering that it’s “too much.” but he’s so sweet about it. he whispers, “you can do it, baby… gimme one more. just one more.” and when you cry for him? that’s when he praises you even more, calls you his good girl, pretty thing, perfect angel while he works you through it with those perfect fucking fingers.

3. LIGHT DARCYPHILIA. hear me out, if you ever cry during sex, (from the pleasure of it or from being so emotionally overwhelmed, mayhaps.) he goes into full teddy bear mode. whispers your name over and over. kisses your tears. tells you how beautiful you are, how you feel so good, how he has you. he’s never felt anything like that before, and it makes the orgasm hit harder. for both of you.

4. HAIR PULLING (ESPECIALLY HIS). if you tug his hair when you’re on top or while he’s between your legs, his hips will stutter. he’ll let out this rough, low, “fuck- do that again.” and he loves to gently pull your hair too. mostly to make you look up at him while he fucks you. to get that eye contact he’s obsessed with, to see your face while he ruins you.

L = LOCATION..

1. HIS BED. this is his main HQ for sex. why? because it’s safe, private. cozy. he can take his time, strip you slowly, light a candle or two if he’s feeling it. the sheets are always warm. his pillow smells like him. there’s usually a lore book or journal half-open on the nightstand that he shoves aside to pull you underneath him. he’ll fuck you into the mattress like it’s the last time every single time.

2. THE IMPALA. he tries to not do this often because dean would literally murder him if he found out, but when you’re both desperate on a hunt, there’s only one room available at a shitty motel and you don’t wanna traumatize dean? yeah. that backseat becomes your whole universe. you straddle him, bouncing in his lap with your panties shoved to the side, and he’s gripping your hips like his life depends on it. one hand braced on the ceiling, the other shoved up your shirt, and he’s groaning your name like a prayer. everything’s cramped and sweaty and messy and ughhh. yeah.

3. MOTEL ROOMS. you step into a cheap, flickering-light motel room and the second the door locks, sam turns into a different man. he doesn’t care about taking it slow, he wants you. against the wall. on the desk. on that creaky-ass bed with the ugly blanket bunched up under your knees. he loves fucking you in front of the mirror there, too. one hand in your hair, the other on your waist while he watches you both move. and god forbid the shower’s working. that’s where he gets especially filthy, pressing you to the wall, sucking water off your skin, fucking you under the spray until it runs cold.

4. LIBRARY TABLES IN THE BUNKER. you’re sitting in his lap. trying to “study.” his laptop’s open. his eyes are locked on your neck. and before you can even flip a page, his hand is sliding under your skirt. he eats you out on top of lore, bends you over old books, moans your name into the crook of your shoulder while he fills you from behind. you’re panting. he’s groaning. pages are fluttering off the desk. afterwards he marks the page and says, “we’ll come back to that later.”

M = MOTIVATION..

1. YOUR VOICE. soft. whiny. teasing. sleepy. anything. you could just be reading off a menu, and he’ll suddenly be thinking about your lips around his cock. you moan a little too loud during a stretch? “goddamn it…” he’s hard. and now he has to figure out how to not fuck you into the kitchen counter.

2. YOUR BRATTY BEHAVIOR. sam doesn’t know how to handle it when you talk back. he just gives you that look. that “are you sure you wanna start this?” look. and the second you smirk or sass him again, you’re pinned to the mattress in 0.4 seconds with his hand on your throat and his voice in your ear, “you’ve got a mouth on you tonight, huh?”

3. NEEDING HIM. you curl into his lap and whimper “sammy, please?” he gets this overwhelmed, aching urgency to take care of you. to fuck you slow, kiss every part of you like he’s trying to fix something inside you. because what turns him on most isn’t just sex. it’s that you trust him. that you want him. that you’re so fucking trusting with him and no one else gets that.

4. FEAR OF LOSING CONTROL. oh yeah. sam’s biggest turn-on is that moment where he realizes he can’t not have you. it’s psychological, a little dark. that feeling like, if he doesn’t touch you, fuck you, hear you fall apart for him, he might lose his mind. it’s what makes the sex rougher, it makes him whisper “mine.” it’s what makes him finish so deep and so desperate that he can’t even open his eyes for a second afterward.

N = NO..

anything non-consensual, degrading, or humiliating. even in roleplay, even in dirty talk, no means no. period. sam’s not into anything that makes you feel small. he’s obsessed with you, babe. he’d never be able to look you in the eye after calling you names or slapping you across the face. he doesn’t even like it when you say you’re not good enough.

also, public sex where you could actually get caught. he’ll bend you over in a secluded spot, sure. he’ll pull you into the backseat on a lonely road. but the second there’s even a chance of someone seeing you? absolutely not. not even a little exhibitionism. not his thing. it makes him tense. he’s so protective, and the thought of you being exposed, humiliated, or seen like that by some random asshole makes his stomach twist. he wants your body to be just for him.

pet play, daddy kink, or calling you baby girl is a big no for him, too. it’s just not his language. it makes him feel weird. he’s not into calling himself “daddy.” or calling you “baby girl.” he’ll call you baby, sweetheart, angel, his girl, but nothing that gives off weird power dynamic vibes. especially not the kind that messes with your innocence or infantilizes you. that shit makes him uncomfortable.

and meaningless sex. maybe he could’ve in his soulless era. maybe during some fucked-up grief spiral post jess or post ruby. but normally? if he doesn’t care about you, he’s not hard. he’s not mentally or emotionally there. he’s an intimacy guy. he needs that trust.

O = ORAL..

let’s start with the only thing that matters, sam loves going down on you more than he loves himself. no exaggeration. that man lives between your thighs. you sit on his face and it’s like home sweet home. he’ll literally moan into your pussy, his big hands gripping your thighs like they’re sacred.

he’s slow at first, torturously slow. draws lazy circles with his tongue, looks up at you through those ridiculous lashes while you twitch. he’s obsessed. keeps his mouth on you the whole time, staring up at you with that ruined, messy face like he wants to see your soul leave your body.

and oh my god, he talks. you grind on his tongue and he’s saying shit like, “that’s it… tastes so fucking good… look at you.”

he eats pussy like he’s starving. and when you cum, he doesn’t back off. he locks you down and rides it out, tongue still working you while your legs shake around his shoulders and you’re whining his name like a prayer. if you push at his head, he growls, “uh-uh. one more. gimme one more.”

and yes, he jerks off to the memory of it later. one hand wrapped around his cock while he thinks about the way you screamed when he sucked on your clit. degenerate. oh my god who said that??…

now let’s talk receiving.

he loves it. he’s just not needy about it, never ask for it, but the second your hand brushes his thigh, he spreads his legs a little wider, eyes locked on you like, are you sure? are you really gonna do this right now? and when you drop to your knees his head tips back. he moans like you just saved his life.

there’s definitely a few times he accidentally finished faster than he wanted to and blushed for the rest of the day. but he’ll make it up to you. oh baby. he’ll drag you onto the bed and make you cum twice with his mouth before you can even breathe.

P = PACE..

his default pace is slow, sensual. he moves with full strokes, hips grinding slow, keeping his forehead against yours or his mouth on your neck. every thrust has weight has meaning. he needs to feel all of you, how your body grips him, how your breath catches when he rolls his hips just right, how your thighs tremble when he doesn’t pull back all the way and instead just grinds into your spot again and again and again, “that feel good, baby? yeah? that’s it. let me take my time.” sam wants to witness you falling apart. he wants to be right there, eye-to-eye, panting into your mouth while you gasp and squirm under him.

but oh, when he gets desperate…

it happens when he’s been holding back for too long. on a hunt, or when he’s been jealous, or if you tease him all day and act innocent. suddenly you’re bent over the desk, hands braced, and sam’s behind you pounding into you so hard the books fall off the shelf. he’s gripping your hips, his voice tight, low, groaning things like, “this what you wanted? hm? couldn’t wait five minutes?” he’s not always vocal, but when the pace picks up, he’s feral. he curses, says your name like it’s the only word he knows. you’re not walking straight tomorrow if he’s in one of those moods.

Q = QUICKIE..

he’ll pretend he doesn’t like them. sam will act all rational, “i’d rather wait till we’re alone… i don’t want to rush anything… it’s better when we have time…” but deep down??

that man is a fucking liar.

because when he’s hard, when he’s needy, when you press up against him in the hallway and whisper “five minutes. please, sammy.” he’s already unzipping his jeans.

it doesn’t happen super often. sam doesn’t crave them as much, but when they do happen it’s because he’s so overwhelmed by you he can’t think straight. when you wear something provocative, grind on him and stuff like that. suddenly he’s grabbing your hand, dragging you into the nearest room, locking the door like, “okay. bend over. now.”

how he feels after? lowkey guilty. but not for long. he wipes you down with his shirt sleeve and kisses your forehead like it was a sacred act. he always promises to make it up to you that night.

R = RISK..

public stuff / getting caught? like i said. NOPE. IMMEDIATE SHUTDOWN. sam is not into getting caught. he will risk your back being blown out in a gas station bathroom, sure, but he needs control.

but for example, fucking you with the bunker door unlocked while dean’s asleep down the hall? yes. that kind of “you have to stay quiet” risk is alright. he gets off on the idea that he’s the only one who knows how ruined you look under him, it’s secret.

HOWEVER, THERES A FEW RISQUÉ THINGS HE WOULD DO, LIKE..

⭑ letting you tie him up. (nervous at first, but goes feral once he trusts you. he begs so pretty.)

⭑ phone sex in the middle of a hunt. (voice all low and strained while he jerks off in a motel bathroom.)

⭑ letting you suck him off while he’s on the phone with someone. (pretty self explanatory.)

S = STAMINA..

first round energy?? foreplay for a solid 20 minutes minimum. fingering you slow, teasing kisses down your body, tongue between your thighs until you’re a sobbing mess and he’s still calm as hell, like, “one more before i even touch you, yeah?”

then when he finally slides in, it’s slow. he doesn’t like to rush. he doesn’t even care if he finishes right away, his entire goal is to make you cum at least twice before he even thinks about pulling out.

but when he gets close, he lasts. like… too long. you’re still on round one, shaking, nails clawed into his back, and he’s still going with sweat dripping off his jaw and his voice all raspy like, “almost there, baby… just hold on for me a little longer.” like no. sir. i can’t. i physically cannot take any more. and yet you do, because he holds you through every stroke and tells you how good you are the entire time.

multiple rounds?? YES. ABSOLUTELY. CONSISTENTLY. he’ll go two rounds minimum on a regular night. if you’re both worked up or he’s been gone for a while… three, okay, four.

his recovery time is quick, too. man’s metabolism is on crack. give him 10-15 minutes and a sip of water and he’s ready again, hard against your thigh while he kisses your shoulder and whispers “can i?” all it takes is a praise session. a little pillow talk about how fucking perfect you are. and he’s back in action.

T = TOYS..

YES. sam owns toys. he just keeps them very private. hidden in a locked drawer in his bunker room, tucked under layers of boring-ass lore books, so dean never even thinks about touching it. he doesn’t have a million flashy things. his collection is intentional. a little sleek, intimidating. and all designed to make you scream.

on you? oh babe. that’s his favorite. he uses toys like a study tool. he’s learning your body from scratch.

like, a vibrating bullet while he fucks you? he watches your face while he turns it higher. moans softly when your back arches. he’ll hold it against your clit and stay buried inside you, whispering, “come on, baby. let it go. i’ve got you.” he does not move until you’ve cum twice. he livess for how soaked it makes you.

on himself? he doesn’t usually need them… but for you?? he’ll do anything.

you ask him to try a cock ring? he nods, already flushed. you want to ride him while controlling the vibrator against his dick? he’s breathless, trying not to bust instantly just from how filthy it looks. and handcuffs?? don’t even get him started. you cuff him up one time, sit on his face, and he’ll be ruined for the rest of his life.

U = UNFAIR..

first of all, he’ll spend hours making you squirm just because he loves seeing that pretty little tension in your jaw. you whimper, he smirks. you roll your hips toward him, he backs away. and when you pout and beg, “you’re so cute when you’re needy, baby.” AND THEN DOESN’T EVEN TOUCH YOU.

thinking about physical teasing, he’s a literal terrorist. he’ll touch everywhere but where you need. kiss your thighs. suck your neck. drag his fingers up your stomach and stop right before your clit, just to hear you whimper.

one of his favorite moves is holding the base of his cock, rubbing the tip through your folds for what feels like forever, grinning at how messy and needy you get. AUGHGGSGG.

V = VOLUME..

sam is a moaner… the first time you go down on him? he gasps, whimpers, whines. his hand tangles in your hair and he’s trying so hard to hold it together, but that first swirl of your tongue? he chokes out a guttural “fuck, baby…” and it just keeps going from there.

he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. he gets so wrapped up in the moment, so into you, that his brain just shuts off and all that’s left is raw sound.

OH AND when he goes down on you? he moans into your pussy like it’s his job. every single one of his desperate little grunts are just as much for your pleasure as his own. he gets off on your sounds. groans louder the louder you get.

however, sam is the loudest when he cums. if it’s one of those long, slow, emotional kind of finishes, he’ll whimper. full-on, breathless, high-pitched whimpers. and he collapses on top of you, still murmuring, “so fucking good… jesus… i love you so much…”

W = WILD CARD..

sam has a very specific, deeply repressed kink for being caught jerking off. AND LISTEN. he doesn’t want to want it. it goes against everything he thinks he is. but somewhere in the deep dark crevices of that messed-up stanford dropout brain of his, there’s a wire that got twisted. a part of him that lives for the shame of it.

he has a whole-ass fantasy of you walking in on him. not in a hot, “oops babe caught you” way. no!!! he wants it messy. he wants to be red-faced, panting, fist wrapped tight around his cock, back hunched, completely wrecked, sweaty hair sticking to his face and his mouth hanging open like a desperate animal.

and then the door creaks. and you’re standing there. watching. “oh my god, sam?” he freezes, hands still. “fuck, i thought you were asleep, shit-” he scrambles for a blanket but it’s too late. you’ve already seen everything. and instead of looking disgusted, you tilt your head and give him a look. and that’s it. that’s the fantasy. that look you give him. that sick little thrill that comes with being caught with his guard down, not in control. it makes him cum so hard he blacks out.

realistically? he’d NEVER bring it up. too mortified. too wholesome on the surface. he WANTS to be humiliated, but only by you. don’t be fooled though. he’s still your good boy. even when he’s trembling with guilt and cum all over his hand.

X = X-RAY..

YOU better listen carefully because im about to get real fucking specific out here.

let’s not even lie about it, this man is hung. “why is that shit still growing??” kind of way.

soft? it’s still intimidating. you accidentally brush his thigh and think it’s a wallet or a knife but no, ma’am. it’s the holy weapon. hard? you’re staring at it like, “okay. that’s gonna hurt. and i want it to.”

we’re talking like 8.5 inches BUT HE FUCKS LIKE IT’S TWELVE. because he knows how to use it. it curves just slightly up and hits your g-spot like he’s got a goddamn degree in it. a little too wide to comfortably deepthroat without tears but you still do it like a patriot!!

when it comes to girth, this is where he’s unreasonable. thick. like genuinely. your hand doesn’t close all the way around it and the first time he slides in.

⭑ tip? pink. a little swollen when he’s worked up.

⭑ shaft? a couple veins, nothing too crazy, but one nasty one that runs up the underside and THROBS when he’s close.

⭑ curve? slight, upward, aka DESTROYER OF WORLDS.

⭑ balls? big. warm. hang low when he’s relaxed. he’ll literally grunt if you play with them too long like an old man getting up from a recliner.

oh, and i imagine he’s got that silky skin but steel underneath kind of vibe. when you jerk him off, it’s smooth as hell but you can feel how rock hard he is. sometimes when he’s super turned on, it jumps in your hand. it literally twitches just from the sight of you.

overall vibe check? (…yes im doing this.) that dick has the audacity to look polite and wholesome and then ruin your cervix like it’s personal. it didn’t ask for permission, it gave a gentle kiss and then wrecked your shit for hours. the kind of cock that ends friendships, starts wars, and has you sitting there the next morning with shaky legs and a religious awakening.

Y = YEARNING..

i feel like i may be repeating myself, (that’s what i get for caring way too much just to write one paragraph for each headcanon.) sam’s sex drive is pretty high, but it’s rooted in emotion. when he loves you, he’s in it, he wants you all. the. time. in ways that go way beyond just “i’m horny” and straight into “i need to be inside you to feel like a person again.”

it’s the longing that kills him. he could go days without touching you and still be craving you like he’s starving. just seeing you laugh across the bunker, feeling your hand brush his thigh under the table? he’s hard, aching. he has to excuse himself to the hallway to take a few deep breaths.

he’s SO emotionally attached to sex. he jerks off just thinking about your moans. not your tits. not even the way you ride him. just the sound you make when you whimper his name. i gotta drive that point home.

Z = ZZZ..

it depends on the type of sex.

if it’s a full-blown, body-shaking, filthy, 3 round, “i’m gonna wreck you” session? that man is out like a fucking light. he rolls over, panting like he just ran 15 miles, wraps one massive arm around your waist, and just… collapses.

if it’s slow and emotional? he stays awake a little longer. just to soak it in. you’re all pressed against his chest, sticky and glowing, and he’s whispering shit like, “that was everything.” he strokes your hair while you fall asleep first. he tucks the blanket around your shoulders and passes out with his mouth slightly open against your hair. probably drooling a little. would lick it up ngl.

but if you’re not okay? shaky? sensitive? just need aftercare?? sam will stay up all night. no matter what. cleans you up real gentle, makes sure you’re warm, gets you water, and pulls you into his chest.

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۶ৎ wanna be tagged too?.. don't be shy! @ taglist.

you didn't know what to expect when your boyfriend, david, called you to spend sunday lunch at his father's house.

"it's just a lunch, love," he said, shrugging his shoulders like it was no big deal. "he's gonna cook something, it's no big deal. i wanted you guys to get to know each other."

so you accepted the invitation.

"he's very... quiet," david warned when you got out of the car. "don't be scared. hm— if he makes any comment you don't like, tell me."

you nodded, your heart racing a little. you were always nervous with parents. parents, in the plural, 'cause your own was never very present. there was something in older men that put you in a state of alert: desire to please, to be seen, to hear that you were a good girl.

david opened the gate and entered the house without knocking. "dad? we're here."

the living room was large, with dark leather sofas and an off fireplace. in an armchair leaning near the window, a man looked up from a newspaper.

ben.

david's dad was different from what you imagined. brown hair with some gray strands, well trimmed beard, strong arms squeezing the black t-shirt he wore.

"hello, darling," he said, his voice deep and soft at the same time. he got up, and you realized that he was taller than he appeared sitting. "david talks a lot 'bout you."

you smiled, trying not to show the chill in your spine that that evaluating look, but not intrusive, caused you. "hi, sir. it's a pleasure to meet you."

"ben," he corrected, extending his hand. his palm was hot, his fingers long, his grip firm but not overwhelming.

you nodded, keeping the sensation of his touch on your hand long after letting go.

"i'm going there to check the food," david announced, already walking to the back of the house. "dad, don't scare her."

ben gave a low laugh, those honey-colored eyes never leaving your face. "don't believe any of the things he said 'bout me."

you laughed unintentionally, a silly, nervous laugh, and looked at the floor. "he said that y—you are quiet, actually."

"just that?" he asked, sitting back in the armchair and pointing to the sofa next to him.

"hm... actually, yes," you said, settling down carefully, adjusting the dress on your knees.

the corner of ben's mouth rose in an almost smile.

"my son knows a lot 'bout me, then." he crossed one leg over the other, resting his chin on his hand, and you felt the weight of his attention as if you were the only interesting thing in the room.

"you're beautiful," he said, and the compliment fell so natural that it took you a second to understand. "david didn't lie 'bout it."

your cheeks warmed up. "oh— thank you."

"how old are you, daughter?"

the word came outta his mouth with such crushing naturalness. you froze, feelin’ the blood drain from your face before rushin’ back in a burning heat to your cheeks. daughter. that word, said in that raspy, authoritative voice, hit every single daddy issue you ever had right on the head. you just stood there, kinda spacey, tryna process how a stranger could leave you this shaken with just one word.

"nineteen," you finally managed to get out, your voice a lil higher than usual.

he let out a short sigh, almost a huff of a laugh. "nineteen, hm? guess i’m gonna have another kid to look after 'round here, then." he said, gettin' up from the couch and noddin' for you to stand up too.

you opened your mouth to protest, to say you were a grown woman and didn't need a sitter, but ben laughed again. it was a deep, comfy, and terribly attractive sound.

"relax, i’m just messin’ with you," he said, steppin' aside to let you pass, but keepin' his eyes locked on yours. "i know how to take real good care of my son, sunshine. i’ll know how to take real good care of you, too."

he didn't wait for your answer, just pointed to the kitchen with a nod, but the promise in those words kept echoin' in your mind. the way he said he’d "look after" you. it hurt—in a confusing, bittersweet way—to hear that from someone who wasn't your dad.

late afternoon, when the sun was already low, you offered to help clear the plates. david went to get more ice. in the kitchen, while you were lathering up a sponge, ben came in behind you.

"leave that," he said, stoppin' by your side, too close for comfort, too close to be a coincidence. "david can do it later."

"i don't mind," you muttered, scrubbin' a plate.

ben leaned against the counter next to you, arms crossed. "he's lucky, you know?"

"who? david?"

"david, yeah." ben’s gaze dropped to your neck, where a strand of hair had escaped your clip. "girls like you are rare."

you stopped washin' the glass, feelin' your heart beat so loud you were sure he could hear it. "girls like me?"

"david talked a lot 'bout you. he said you were a shy girl, but extremely polite and sweet." he grabbed a dish towel and held it out to you. "i see that in you."

you dried your hands on the towel, fingers shakin' a bit. ben didn't take his eyes off you.

"if i had a daughter," he said, low, like it was a secret, "i'd want her to be just like you."

you held your breath.

you looked into his eyes and felt somethin' strange open up in your chest. it wasn't attraction, not exactly. it was more like recognition. like he’d seen somethin' in you that no one—not your father, not david—had noticed before.

"thank you," you whispered, out of breath.

he smiled. a small, intimate smile.

"come on," he said, pullin' away from the counter and placin' a light hand on your back, guidin' you back to the living room.

and his palm, even through the thin fabric of your dress, left a warm trail.

˚꩜⋆

every time you went to spend the weekend there, it was the same old story. david’d pick ya up, y'all would order some food, but at some point he’d always get distracted — hoppin' in the shower for a long soak or gettin' stuck on some call. and it was always durin' those moments that ben would show up.

one saturday afternoon, you were in the kitchen sippin' some juice while david was upstairs in the bathroom. ben walked into the room with that presence that just seemed to make the walls shrink. he caught your eye and gave ya that smirk that always made your stomach do flips.

"why are you in here alone?" he asked.

you felt your cheeks burn instantly, looking down at the glass in your hand. "david’s... finishing up his shower, mr. ben."

"told you to call me ben, kiddo." he took a step closer, the scent of his cologne getting stronger. he noticed how you gripped the glass, the way you avoided his eyes out of pure nerves.

ben thought your shyness was the most adorable thing ever. he saw how flustered you got around him, but he didn't call you out on it; he just leaned against the counter, chatting about how your week had been. he was so attentive, so focused on every word you said, that for a sec you almost forgot david was even upstairs.

one time david felt sick and couldn't drive you home. you felt bad for not being able to look after him, but you had to get back.

"my dad’ll take you, babe... i'm so sorry," david mumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow.

you felt that instant knot in your stomach. the idea of being trapped in a car for twenty minutes with ben was terrifying.

you went downstairs and found him already with the car keys in his hand.

"ready to go, kid? the boy can’t even stand up straight." he said, opening the door for you.

the beginning of the ride was buried in heavy silence. you stared fixedly out the window, hands clutching your backpack straps on your lap, feeling the scent of tobacco and mint fill the space. you were dying of embarrassment, not knowing what to say.

"you don't gotta be so shy," he said, his raspy voice breaking the silence. he didn't take his eyes off the road, but you saw the corner of his mouth twitch up. "i don't bite. unless you forget your seatbelt."

you bit your lip nervously, apologizing before clicking the belt into place. slowly, he started picking up conversations with you. he asked what you thought of the house, if david was treating you right, and his tone was so paternal and calm that you started to relax.

"what about your studies? david says you always got your nose in a book. what’s your major?"

"psychology," you replied, and before you knew it, you were talking about the theories you were studying, how the internships were exhausting but worth it.

ben listened with absolute attention. he didn't interrupt, just let out an "hm" or asked a smart question that showed he was actually interested. it was different from talking to david, who sometimes got distracted mid-explanation. ben seemed to want to soak up every word.

when the car finally pulled up in front of your house, he didn't unlock the doors right away. he killed the engine, and the silence of the empty street made the atmosphere heavy again, but in a more intimate way.

"you're a very smart girl, your parents must be real proud of you," he commented, turning his body in the seat to face you.

you found yourself telling him about your parents, how your relationship with your dad was a bit distant and how you missed your mom, who passed away when you were a teen. you talked more than you intended, lulled by the dim light of the dashboard and his understanding gaze.

he let out a low sigh and reached out. you expected a friendly pat on the shoulder, but he slid his large, calloused fingers across your cheek, wiping away a tear you hadn't even noticed had fallen. his thumb stroked your skin so slowly it made your heart skip a beat.

"i'm sorry about that, my girl," he said, his voice sounding like dark velvet. "a man who has a daughter like you and chooses to be distant... he has no idea what he's missing. it's a waste. and your mom, i'm sure she’d be proud of the amazing girl you are."

you looked down, feeling your face flush, but he wouldn't let you hide. he leaned in closer, invading your personal space, and held your chin gently but with a firmness that said he was in control.

"look at me," he ordered softly. you obeyed, meeting those green eyes that now seemed even more intense. "if things ever get too tough... if you feel like you got no one to talk to or if you just want a place to cry without having to explain anything to anyone, you don't gotta be ashamed to come find me, you get it? i'm here for that. you don't have to be strong all the time."

"thanks, ben. really... i needed to hear that," you replied, giving a shy smile, feeling your face heat up from his attention.

"no need to thank me, kid. david's lucky to have you, and i'm glad you're part of our lives now," he said in a low, calm voice. he backed off a bit, putting his hand back on the wheel and unlocking the doors with a soft click. "get some rest, kiddo. i want you well."

"goodnight, ben." you said, grabbing your bag and opening the door.

you stepped out of the car with shaky legs, but with a warm feeling in your chest. ben stayed there watching you leave with a protective gaze.

˚꩜⋆

the fight was ugly.

it didn't start out ugly, it just started outta nowhere, like it always did. you were in the kitchen, washin' the dinner dishes, when your father walked in with that heavy, draggin' step. the smell of booze got there before he did.

"you think this is a hotel or somethin'?" he asked, his voice slurred, eyes bloodshot.

"i'm washin' the dishes, dad."

"washin' the dishes." he laughed, a nasty, sharp sound. "washin' the dishes in my house, eatin' my food, and you still think you can go out with that kid the whole weekend?"

you turned off the faucet, fingers white from squeezin' the sponge so hard. "david isn't a kid."

"he's not a kid?" your father yelled, his spit landin' on your arm. "that playboy? you think he's not gonna dump you?"

it hurt. 'cause your father knew exactly where to strike.

"he likes me," you said, voice tremblin'. "he respects me."

"respect?" your father stepped closer, so close you could smell the beer on his breath. "respect is what you don't have for me, you ungrateful girl. i spend all day workin', i come home and you're gone, don't even leave a plate of food—"

"you only come home drunk!" you exploded, and that was the last straw.

your father's hand flew.

it wasn't an open slap, it was his fist, clenched, hittin' your shoulder and shovin' you against the counter. the edge of the sink hit your ribs and you let out a muffled scream, eyes burnin' with tears.

"get outta my sight," he spat, kickin' a chair that was in his way. "go to your room, get lost, i don't wanna look at your face."

you didn't wait to hear it twice.

you ran to your room, that tiny little space in the back with a mattress on the floor and your clothes piled on a plastic chair, and closed the door. locked it. pressed your back against the wood like it could hold the whole world out.

the tears came in waves.

and the only person who came to mind was david.

you grabbed your phone with shakin' fingers, found his name on the list, and hit "call" before you could think.

he picked up on the second ring. "babe? everything okay?"

you tried to speak, but only a choked sound came out, half-sob, half-gasp.

"babe?" his voice changed, sounded alarmed. "what's wrong? what happened?

"my dad," you managed to choke out. "we fought. he hit me— i can't stay here, david, i can't—"

"calm down, calm down, breathe." david spoke fast, but steady. you heard noise in the background, him movin' around, probably already grabbin' his keys.

"i'm comin' to get you."

"david, it's two in the mornin'—"

"fuck it. i'm comin' to get you. thirty minutes, tops. just don't open the door for him, lock yourself in and wait."

you sobbed, relieved. "okay. okay."

"everything's gonna be fine. wait for me."

he hung up.

you packed your stuff in the dark, eyes swollen and breathin' still shaky. one backpack. two, actually. the biggest ones you had. pants, shirts, jackets, and an old teddy bear you'd kept since you were a kid.

and when you heard the engine on the street, you almost cried again.

david was in the car, passenger door open, face lit up by the interior light. he ran out when he saw you crossin' the sidewalk with the bags, grabbed 'em from your hands, and tossed 'em in the back seat.

"get in," he said, kissin' your head. "get in, babe."

you got in.

the drive was silent. david drove with one hand on the wheel and the other on your knee, squeezin' it every now and then, like he was sayin' i'm here. you stared out the window, tears dryin' on your face, body tired, mind empty.

when you got to the big house with the dark doors, it was already past three in the mornin'.

"it's okay," david said, turnin' off the car. "you can stay here as long as you want, babe."

"thank you," you whispered, it was all you could say.

he carried the bags, opened the door quietly, and led you through the dark hallways to the bedroom. queen bed, white sheets, a window lookin' out at the backyard.

"bathroom's right there," he pointed toward the end of the hall. "i'll go get you a clean towel."

you nodded, lettin' your backpacks drop to the floor.

"take a shower," david said, comin' over and holdin' your face in his hands. his thumbs brushed your cheeks, wipin' away the last of the moisture. "it'll make you feel better. i'm gonna make you somethin' to eat."

"thank you," you repeated.

david gave a sad smile. "go on, take your shower."

the bathroom was big and cold. white tiles, a bathtub you didn't have the nerve to use, a showerhead with water pressure so good it almost hurt. you let the hot water run over your back for a long time, watchin' the soap suds disappear down the drain.

when you came out, wrapped in a fluffy towel that smelled like fabric softener, your fingers were wrinkled and your eyes still burned.

you put on some old shorts and a baggy t-shirt, lazily rubbed some lotion on your legs, and walked back to the room, draggin' your feet.

the mattress was soft. way too soft.

david hadn't come back yet, but you didn't go lookin' for him either.

you curled up, pullin' the white duvet up to your chin, and suddenly the tears were back. not the loud crying, you’d spent all of that already. these were silent tears, streamin' down your temples and soakin' the pillow, while your body shook from exhaustion and sadness.

my dad pushed me. my dad hates me. i don't have a home, i don't have anything.

you buried your face in the pillow and cried quietly, so quietly, so no one would hear.

you didn't hear the footsteps.

didn't hear the door open.

you only realized you weren't alone anymore when a deep, familiar voice said:

"darling? i didn't know you were comin' over today."

you looked up with teary eyes, and there he was.

ben.

he was wearin' a black shirt and sweatpants, his hair messy like he’d just rolled outta bed. he must’ve gone to sleep early, he had no idea you’d be there.

"ben," you tried to smile, but your lip trembled and more tears fell. "sorry, i— we didn't wanna wake you up, david said—"

"david didn't wake me," ben said, walkin' into the room. "i wasn't sleepin'." he stopped by the bed, his green eyes scannin' your puffy face, your red nose, your thin arms holdin' that duvet like a lifeline.

"what happened?" he asked, sittin' on the edge of the bed. the mattress sank under his weight.

you tried to hold back the sob. you failed.

"my dad," you managed to say, your voice comin' out in pieces. "we fought. he was drunk—he's always drunk—and i talked back, and he hit me—and i couldn't stay there, he was gonna... he never did that before, but tonight he looked so... so..."

you couldn't finish.

ben didn't say a word.

he just made a slow, careful move, like someone approachin' a scared animal, and reached out to touch your shoulder.

the same shoulder your father had hit.

you groaned in pain, flinchin' away.

ben's eyes narrowed. "he hurt you there?"

"it's nothin'," you lied, wipin' your cheeks with the back of your hand. "just a scare."

ben didn't believe it. you could see it in his face. but he didn't push, at least not now. instead, he shifted, gettin' comfortable on the bed and openin' his arms.

"come here," he said. his voice was low, a command and a comfort all at once. "come here, doll."

you went.

you didn't think 'bout it. not 'bout the fact that ben was your boyfriend's father, or the fact that you were alone in a dark room at three-thirty in the mornin'. you just went, like a kid runnin' to someone’s lap after a nightmare.

ben’s chest was warm and firm.

he wrapped his whole self 'round you, one arm on your back, his hand in your loose hair. you felt his beard brush against your forehead, his breath calm and deep.

"it's okay," he murmured, his mouth close to your hair. "it's okay, little one. you're safe now."

you cried on his shoulder. not that ugly, desperate way, just small cries, muffled sobs, like you were afraid of bein' too much trouble.

ben didn't let you pull away.

"let it out," he said, his hand movin' up and down your back in slow motions. "go ahead and cry, little girl. i'm right here. i ain't goin' anywhere."

and then you just crumbled in his lap, cryin' non-stop. a while passed, and then your cryin' turned into just sniffles.

when the tears finally dried up, you stayed nestled against him, not havin' the heart to move away.

ben didn't seem to be in a hurry. his thumb drew lazy circles on the shoulder that wasn't hurt, his other hand restin' on your waist.

"you can stay here as long as you want," he said, after a long silence. his voice was a husky whisper. "don't gotta worry 'bout a thing. i'm gonna take care of you."

you looked up, eyes still watery, and met his. even in the dark, they glowed.

"why are you..." you started, and then corrected yourself, embarrassed. "why are you bein' so good to me?"

the corner of ben’s mouth quirked up. he tilted his head, studyin' your face like he was memorizin' every detail.

"because you deserve it. you deserve the better, little girl," he said simply. and then, he kissed your forehead. his lips stayed there for a second, two, three. when he pulled away, the spot where his lips touched was burnin' hot.

"get some rest now," he ordered, gettin' up slowly.

he adjusted the duvet over you, pullin' it to your chin, and fixed the pillow behind your head with a gentleness that hurt. "if you need anythin', my room is the first one down the hall. knock on the door, doesn't matter what time it is."

"ben," you called out, when he was already at the door.

he turned. "yeah?"

"...thank you."

the smile he gave you was small. "sleep tight."

the door closed with a soft click.

you lay there, wrapped in the smell of softener and the leftover warmth of ben’s body, and for the first time that night, your heart didn't ache anymore.

you were asleep when you felt david lay down beside you, kissin' your cheek.

he put an arm 'round your waist, fallin' asleep right after.

˚꩜⋆

at first, it was weird.

you’d wake up every mornin' in david’s room and take a few seconds to remember where you were.

the ceiling was different, the silence was different, even the smell of the pillow was different. david slept by your side every night, his heavy arm 'round your waist, warm breath in your hair, and that helped. he was your safety net in that new place.

but you walked on eggshells. you were scared of makin' noise, scared of takin' up too much space, scared of bein' a bother. but david always said "make yourself at home," and ben, even though he was quiet, never complained 'bout you bein' there.

slowly, you got used to it.

you found out where the towels were, the silverware, the sugar. you learned the rhythm of the house—david leavin' early, ben workin' in his office, the afternoon silence broken only by the tick-tock of the living room clock. and you started to let your guard down.

your college was online. your job too. so every mornin' you’d stay in the room, or at the kitchen table when you wanted company, with your laptop on and headphones in, crushin' classes and tasks.

ben respected your space. sometimes he’d walk by and leave a glass of juice next to your computer without sayin' a word. you’d thank him with a smile, he’d nod, and you’d both go back to what you were doin'.

but in the afternoons and at night, you were free.

and that’s when you’d start wanderin' through the house.

most of your free time was spent with ben.

it wasn't planned, it just happened. david only came back late, usually after eight, so it was just the two of you at home for hours. and ben, little by little, started comin' out of his office more.

at first, it was just an afternoon snack.

you’d make some coffee, fix a sandwich, and knock on the office door askin' if he wanted any.

you helped out 'round the house too.

not 'cause anyone asked, but 'cause you wanted to.

you’d wash the lunch dishes, sweep the living room, fold the towels in the hallway closet. at first ben would say "you don't have to," but then he stopped.

"you're really good at this," he commented once, watchin' you bake a chocolate cake.

it was a routine. a routine that, bit by bit, made you start feelin' at home.

you weren't walkin' on eggshells anymore.

you already knew where to put the dish towel. you knew what time ben liked his coffee. you knew he didn't like noise after lunch, but didn't mind chattin' durin' the afternoon.

you knew things 'bout him.

and he, slowly, started knowin' things 'bout you too.

˚꩜⋆

vibe in the room, which was all sweet just ten minutes ago, had turned sour. david was sittin' on the edge of the bed, his back to you, hands restin' on his knees. you were curled up on the opposite corner, tuggin' at the hem of your shirt, feelin' that familiar, uncomfortable knot in your stomach.

"i'm not pressurin' you, i just... i don't get it, you know?" he said, his voice carryin' a hint of frustration he was tryna hide, but failin'. "we’ve been together for months. i thought we were past this whole insecurity phase."

"it's not insecurity, david. i’m just not ready yet. i already told you that," you answered, your voice comin' out quieter than you meant it to. you hated havin' to justify somethin' that was your right.

he turned to look at you, and his face didn't have that usual sweetness. "yeah, i know. you told me. and i accepted it, didn't i? but feels like we never get anywhere. we start kissin', things heat up, and then all of a sudden, you freeze. you don't even let me touch you. feels like you're scared of me."

"i'm not scared of you!" you snapped, feelin' your eyes sting. "i just... i need time. why’s it so hard to respect that without turnin' it into a fight?"

"cause i'm a man, and i love you, and i wanna be close to you like that!" he shot back, gettin' up and pacin' back and forth in the cramped bedroom. "sometimes it feels like you're punishin' me for somethin' i don't even know about."

you felt a pang of guilt, even though you knew you weren't wrong. that was the thing about fights with david; he didn't do it out of malice, but his persistence left you exhausted.

"i'm not punishin' you, david. i just want it to be special, without feelin' pressured," you whispered, lookin' down at your feet.

"fine." he let out a heavy sigh and stopped pacin', runnin' a hand through his hair all nervous-like. "i'm goin' downstairs to get some water. need to cool my head before i say somethin' stupid."

he walked outta the room without lookin' at you, closin' the door a lil harder than necessary. the silence left behind was heavy. you lay back on the bed, starin' at the ceilin', feelin' lonely even though you were at your boyfriend's house.

you knew david loved you, but moments like this made you wonder if he really got you, or if he was just waitin' for the moment you'd finally "give in" so things could be easy for him again.

˚꩜⋆

ben was the safe harbor your dad never was.

and maybe that’s why it hurt so much to remember your real dad.

it was tuesday. david didn't work durin' the day 'cause he’d taken the night shift. you spent the day together, and when night came, you were alone in the room.

it wasn't like it was news. you were used to sleepin' alone—david slept like a rock, but at least he was there, occupyin' the other side of the bed, the blanket pulled to his side, his heavy breathin' fillin' the silence. but on nights when he was gone, the room felt bigger. emptier. quieter.

you curled up under the duvet, grabbed your phone, and without thinkin', opened facebook.

your father’s profile.

this time there was somethin' new, besides the three old photos he had.

a blurry photo of a bar, your dad arm in arm with a woman you’d never seen before. she wore a low-cut dress, a wide smile, blonde hair. another one. all the same.

the tears came before you could control 'em, and you bit your lips to keep from sobbin'.

one month.

your dad hadn't called.

he hadn't texted. he hadn't looked for you.

and you knew, deep down, really deep down, that it was stupid to wait. he’d never been there. never asked how your day was, never went to a parent-teacher meetin', never remembered your birthday without bein' reminded. he didn't even know what college you were in, fuck.

but a part of you, that tiny little part that still believed in happy endin's, still hoped.

maybe he cares. maybe he misses me. maybe he’s changed.

he hadn't changed. he never would.

you buried your face in the pillow and let the cryin' run wild, real quiet.

the sobs escaped ugly, choked up, you covered your mouth 'cause you didn't want anyone to hear.

how embarrassin'.

you’d already cried in ben’s lap once. the first night you got here. and you promised yourself it wouldn't happen again.

not again. he’s gonna think you're needy. that you're a problem. a burden.

you didn't hear the footsteps in the hallway.

didn't hear the bedroom door open.

you only realized you weren't alone anymore when a deep, familiar voice cut through the silence.

"darling?"

you looked up with teary eyes, findin' ben.

"what happened?" he asked, walkin' into the room. his voice soft, worried.

"nothin'," you lied, wipin' your cheeks with the back of your hand. "it's nothin', ben. you can go back."

he didn't go back.

ben sat on the edge of the bed. the mattress sank under his weight, and you felt the heat of his body even through the duvet.

"ben..." you tried, lip tremblin'.

"i'm not leavin'." his voice was firm, but sweet. "you can cry, you can talk, you can stay silent. but i'm not leavin'."

that broke somethin' inside you.

the tears came back hard, but this time you couldn't hold the sobs. the ugly, desperate cryin' you’d been holdin' back for years, ever since your mom died, since the first glass of beer your dad put to his lips, since all your dad’s girlfriends who treated you bad, all the absences, all the times you needed a father and he wasn't there.

ben didn't say a word.

he just moved.

he sat better on the bed, openin' his legs, and pulled you in. he didn't ask, didn't seek permission, he just put his hands on your arms, lifted you from the pillow and brought you to his lap like you were a rag doll, like you were a child.

"come here," he murmured, adjustin' you against his chest. your head tucked into his shoulder, your legs hung off one side, and his arms wrapped all the way 'round you, one on your back, the other under your knees.

"i'm sorry," you whispered against his shoulder. "i'm sorry, ben. i didn't wanna be a problem."

"you're not a problem."

"i am. you already had to comfort me once. now again. i cry over everythin', i'm..."

"you're what?" he interrupted, voice steady.

"a child," you answered, and you hated the sound of that word. "a needy child who keeps causin' trouble."

ben pulled you back slightly, just enough to look at your face. his eyes were dark, serious. his hand held your chin, tiltin' your face up so you couldn't look away.

"listen to me," he said, every word heavy. "you're not a problem. you're not a child. you're not causin' trouble. you're a girl who had a shitty father and i'm gonna take care of you as many times as it takes. you understand?"

your lip trembled.

"i asked if you understand."

"i understand," you whispered.

he pulled you back to his chest, hand in your hair, kisses on your forehead—one, two, three.

he started rockin' you. slowly. a soft, rhythmic sway, like he was cradlin' a baby. in a way, he was. cradlin' his little baby. you.

his hand went up and down your back in long motions, and you felt his lips on your forehead, in your hair.

"shhh," he went, his voice deep and low, almost a lullaby. "shhh, baby. it's okay."

you cried harder, but it wasn't that desperate cryin' from before. it was a cry of relief, of feelin' safe, of finally bein' held by someone who wasn't gonna let go.

you lost track of how long you’d been cryin', but your head was already throbbin'.

"calm down, please," he asked after a while, and there was an urgency in his voice. "calm down, doll. i'm right here."

the kisses didn't stop. forehead, hair, temple. small, light, never-endin'. like he could kiss your tears away.

and it worked.

slowly, the cryin' died down. the sobs spaced out, the tears dried up, and your body stopped shakin'.

you stayed nestled against him, nose buried in his neck, breathin' in the woody scent of his cologne, feelin' the heat of his body warm you from the inside.

"there you go," he whispered, his hand still movin' over your back. "there you go, baby. it's over."

he didn't stop rockin' you.

you felt his hand reach for your face, his fingers brushin' away the strands of hair that’d stuck to your wet cheeks.

the touch was so delicate it hurt—no one had ever touched you like that. with so much patience. with so much care.

"come on," ben said, and you felt him tilt his head, tryin' to catch your eyes. "come on, tell me what happened, hm?"

you looked up slowly.

ben’s eyes were dark in the shadows, but not dark with malice—dark with worry. he ran his thumb over your cheekbone, wipin' away the last bit of moisture, and then kissed the tip of your nose.

the gesture was so fatherly, so sweet, that your heart did a somersault.

"you can talk," he encouraged. "whatever it is. i won't judge."

you took a deep breath.

"my dad," you started, voice still crackin'. "he hasn't looked for me."

ben waited.

"it's been a month, ben. a month since i left home. and he hasn't called, hasn't texted, hasn't even asked if i'm alive." your eyes filled up again, but you blinked hard, holdin' it back.

"baby..."

"i just wanted him to be a good person, you know?" you let it out, and now the words were comin' like a flood. "i just wanted him to care. my mom died when i was real little, i barely remember her. and since then, it was just him. but he was never... he was never there."

your voice broke.

"he was always workin', or drinkin', or with some different girlfriend. i spent birthdays alone. christmas alone. one time, when i turned fifteen, he completely forgot. only remembered three days later and gave me five dollars to buy a treat at the store."

ben squeezed you against his chest.

"he had a girlfriend who lived with us for a year," you went on, 'cause once you started you couldn't stop. "she was horrible to me. called me a nuisance, useless, said i was takin' up space that wasn't mine. he never defended me. never. he’d stay quiet, or leave the house, or pretend he didn't hear."

"i think he hates me," you whispered. "or at least... he doesn't like me. not the way a dad should."

silence fell.

ben didn't say a word for a long moment. he just kept holdin' you, one hand in your hair, the other on your back, his body a shelter from the world outside.

when he finally spoke, his voice was deeper than usual.

"you didn't deserve to go through that, sweetheart."

you looked up.

he was lookin' at you with an expression you’d never seen before—it wasn't just pity, it wasn't common sympathy. it was somethin' deeper, darker, more like outrage.

"you're too good of a girl for this world," he said, each word heavy and measured. "too good to have grown up like that. too good to have been treated like you didn't matter."

"ben..."

"no." he pulled you closer, his forehead restin' against yours. "you haven't heard this your whole life, so i'm gonna say it now: you matter. you’ve always mattered. and your father is a son of a bitch for not seein' that in you."

he wanted to erase your father from the world, for fuck's sake. he would’ve raised you better. if he could, he’d go back in time, to the day you were born, and steal you for himself. he’d take care of you. he’d be your father. a father that’d be so good to you.

the tears came back, but this time they were sweet.

ben held your face between his hands, thumbs brushin' over your cheekbones, wipin' away the last of the tears. his eyes were so close you could see the exact shade of his irises.

"am i a better daddy than him, little girl?" he asked.

the question came low, almost hesitant—which was weird, 'cause ben never hesitated. like he was askin' permission to take a place that wasn't his. like he was offerin' somethin' you didn't even know you needed.

the words came out before you could even think.

"y—yes daddy.”

you didn't even feel ashamed, not in that moment, not with him holdin' you like that, not after everythin' you’d poured out.

ben closed his eyes for a second. when he opened 'em, they looked darker, deeper. there was somethin' there you couldn't name—somethin' that left him momentarily disarmed.

"i’ve always wanted a little girl only mine to take care of," he said, his voice husky.

you nestled your head on his shoulder, feelin' the soft fabric of his shirt against your cheek. his scent. his heat. the way his chest rose and fell slowly, like he was controllin' his breathin' so he wouldn't scare you.

the kiss he pressed to your forehead lasted longer this time.

"so now you got a real dad," he said against your skin. "one who won't forget you. one who won't choose booze or women over you. one who'll be here, whenever you need."

a low, whiny moan escaped your throat as you snuggled even deeper into his lap. the exhaustion from cryin' weighed on your eyes, your whole body was limp, surrendered. you didn't care 'bout anything else.

didn't care that he was your boyfriend’s dad. didn't care how vulnerable you were.

he started to plant kisses along the edge of your jaw, light touches, almost innocent. but when he felt you shiver all over, ben repeated the gesture a little lower, on your neck. his lips went back to your neck, firmer this time. you moved again, hips trackin' a slow circle in his lap, and a low moan escaped your throat.

"dad..." you called out, not knowin' what you were askin' for.

"i'm right here, doll," he answered, voice raspy. his hand dropped from your back to your waist, squeezin'. "i'm right here."

he kept kissin' you—shoulders, collarbone, the line of your neckline. and while he kissed you, his hands started feelin' your body. slowly. like he was learnin' every curve, every inch.

"i'm gonna take such good care of you," he murmured between kisses. "so good. you're never gonna have to leave here. never gonna need anyone else."

"daddy i—..."

"you're gonna stay here with me. i'm gonna protect you. i'm gonna give you everythin' you need." his hand squeezed your hip, pullin' you against him. you felt the hard bulge under his sweatpants and moaned louder. "only daddy knows what's good for you. only daddy."

his hands ran down your back, moved to your ass, and squeezed. you rubbed against his lap in a move that wasn't innocent anymore—it was instinctive, desperate, your body beggin' for somethin' you couldn't name.

"this... this has gotta be our little secret," he said, his mouth near your ear, voice deep. "just ours. david can't know. never."

"just ours," you repeated, breathless.

"promise?"

"i promise, dad."

his hands squeezed harder. you were moanin' softly, eyes closed, face buried in his neck. your body was movin' on its own now—grindin', rubbin', beggin' for more without you havin' to say a word.

"daddy..." you called, your voice whiny. "daddy... i..."

that’s when the tears came back.

they weren't tears of sadness. they were tears of frustration, of confusion, of a pleasure you didn't know how to reach. your body was shakin', your eyes wellin' up, and a quiet sob escaped along with the moans.

ben stopped immediately.

"does it hurt?" he asked, pullin' back to look into your eyes. "am i hurtin' you, sweetheart?"

you shook your head, but the tears kept fallin'.

"what is it, then?" he insisted, worry clear in his voice. "talk to me."

your face burned with shame. the answer was right there, on the tip of your tongue, but it felt so wrong,

so childish.

"baby girl," he called out, firm. "speak."

"it... it hurts," you managed to say, your voice barely a whisper.

"where?"

you pointed between your legs. "in my... in my pussy."

silence fell.

you saw ben's expression shift, that worry turning into something else, something darker. his jaw tightened, his eyes grew heavy, and it took him a second to respond. when he spoke, his voice was way too controlled.

"has david ever touched you there?" he asked.

you shook your head, your face on fire.

"never?"

"never, dad.”

ben closed his eyes for a moment. you watched his chest rise and fall in a deep breath, saw his knuckles turn white from how hard he was gripping your waist. when he opened his eyes again, his mind was made up.

"what you're feeling," he said, his voice deep, "is your body asking for attention. and only daddy can give you that attention. only me."

he tilted his head and left a kiss on your cheek. soft. almost innocent, after everything.

"only daddy can touch you here," he said, his hand sliding down to press against your pussy over your panties. you moaned, your hips arching up. "only daddy can make this ache go away. you understand?"

"i understand, daddy."

"but this has to be our secret. you can't tell david. never."

"i won't tell," you promised.

ben squeezed your hips hard, his fingers digging into your skin.

"because if you do," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "i'm gonna have to spank this little butt. you understand?"

fear tightened in your chest. you had never seen ben like this—serious, threatening. but something about that tone, about that dark look in his eyes, made your body react in a way you didn't expect. heat spread through your stomach, and you felt yourself pulse.

"yes, daddy," you whispered.

"good girl." his expression softened, and he kissed your forehead. "now, take off your clothes. get on the bed."

you slid off his lap with shaky legs. you took off your shirt. took off your shorts. took off your panties, feeling his eyes burning holes in your back. you laid down on your back against the dark sheets, naked, exposed, your heart beating so hard you were sure he could hear it.

ben knelt between your legs on the bed.

his hand slid down your body slowly, starting at your neck, moving down your chest, stopping at your breasts. his thumbs brushed against your nipples, and you moaned, arching your back.

"sensitive," he noted. "you like that, love?"

"yes," you whispered.

he leaned in and sucked on one of your nipples. his mouth was warm, his tongue circling, his teeth grazing. you moaned louder, your fingers clawing at the sheets.

"shhh," he said, switching to the other breast. "don't be so loud, sweetheart."

his hand moved down.

it passed your stomach, circled your belly button, and reached your pussy. he ran his fingers over the top, just grazing it, and you already moaned, your hips rising on their own.

he rubbed your clit with his thumb—slow, firm circles that made your eyes close and your mouth hang open in a needy moan.

"so wet," he murmured, his fingers sliding through your slick.

your body had no control anymore. your hips moved on their own, following the circles his thumb was drawing. you were wet, so wet, and you could hear the obscene sound of his finger sliding against your pussy.

"daddy... daddy..." you called out, not even knowing what you wanted.

"i'm here, baby. i'm here."

he moved lower. his middle finger pressed against your opening, and you felt him slide inside. you arched your entire back, a scream trapped in your throat.

"so tight," he said, his eyes fixed on the expression on your face. "your body belongs only to daddy, doesn't it? i can do whatever i want with you?"

"y—yes," you managed to say.

"yes what, darling?"

"yes, daddy... you can do whatever you want with me."

he pushed a second finger in.

the pain came fast—a sharp sting that made your eyes water. your body tried to pull away, but ben's free hand gripped your hip firmly.

"shh," he hushed, his fingers staying still inside you. "shh, baby doll. let yourself get used to it."

"it hurts, daddy..."

"it'll pass. trust me."

he waited. the seconds felt like hours. slowly, the pain began to fade, giving way to a full pressure, a feeling of being completely open.

"you okay?" he asked.

"mhm... yes" you whispered.

he started moving his fingers, slow at first, then faster. the sound was obscene, wet, and you moaned along with it, eyes closed, mouth open.

"look at me," he ordered.

you opened your eyes. ben was staring at you with an expression you’d never seen before.

"you're so beautiful like this," he said, his fingers picking up the pace. "so lovely. did you know i dreamed about this?"

"you did, dad?"

"every night. since the moment you moved into this house." he curled his fingers inside you, and you let out a cry. "imagining what it’d be like to hear you moan. to see you naked in my bed. to feel you squeezing my fingers like this."

his words were dirty, wrong, and you felt every single one of them like a physical touch.

"you're mine now," he continued, his fingers never stopping. "my little doll. my baby. no one else touches you here. only me. only daddy."

"daddy... i—"

the orgasm hit like a wave, making you scream. your entire body clamped down around his fingers, your legs shaking, eyes filling with tears.

ben pulled his fingers out slowly, brought them to his mouth, and sucked them clean.

"you're so sweet, my baby," he said, his eyes locked on yours.

he leaned in and kissed your forehead.

the touch of his lips was soft, a long kiss that left a warm trail on your skin. he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his eyes soft, almost tender.

"did you like it?" he asked, his voice deep and low.

you felt your face burn. the orgasm he’d just given you was still echoing through your body, the tremors still running down your legs—the feeling of being completely unraveled by a hand that had barely even tried.

"mhm yes, dad," you whispered, your voice shy, almost inaudible.

a smile spread across his face, that smile you loved, the one that made you feel approved, accepted, loved. you smiled back, sheepishly, your cheeks so hot they felt like they were on fire.

and then the shame hit.

you covered your face with your hands, hiding, peeking through the gaps in your fingers. you heard him laugh—a low, pleasant sound.

"you're shy now?" he asked, amused. "after everything we just did?"

"i am," you admitted, your voice muffled by your hands. "don't look at me."

he gently grabbed your wrists and pulled your hands away from your face. your eyes met again, and you felt butterflies in your stomach.

"it's okay," he murmured. "i'm gonna take care of you, kiddo.”

you nodded, relaxing a little.

and then he moved.

his hand went down to his pants, fingers pullin' his hard cock out.

the air left your lungs.

huge. way too big. much bigger than you’d ever imagined.

your body reacted before your brain could. you tried to sit up, tried to scramble away, tried to snap your legs shut—all at once, a desperate, messy move like someone tryin' to escape a predator.

"not like that," ben said, his voice firm. his hand gripped your hip with force, stoppin' you from recullin'. "don't run from me."

he positioned himself right between your legs. his cock pressed against your entrance, already wet and open from his fingers. you let out a low, shaky sob, lookin' up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. you wanted him, you really did, but his size was terrifying.

"d-daddy... it’s too big... it’s gonna hurt," you whispered, your voice tremblin' like a leaf.

ben gripped your chin, forcin' you to look at him as he lined himself up. "i know it’s gonna hurt, baby girl."

without sayin' another word, he shoved his cock into your pussy. you gasped, a sharp cry caught in your throat as he forced himself in, stretchin' you to a point you didn't think was possible. tears blurred your vision, spillin' down your face as you tried to push against his chest.

"stop... please, daddy, it hurts too much," you choked out between sobs, shakin' under his weight.

he didn't stop. he leaned in closer, his warm breath against your ear as he started to move—slow and heavy, ignorin' your whimpers. "you don't want your boyfriend findin' out about this, hm? imagine how upset david would be with you, little one. you’re such a bad girl for bein' here, aren’t you?"

he slapped your thigh, the sound crackin' in the quiet room. "you want to make daddy proud, don’t you? then take it. take all of it and stay quiet for me, you little slut."

you bit your lip until it bled, clawin' at the sheets as he picked up the pace, his movements turnin' brutal and relentless. you couldn't even ask him to stop anymore; you were too busy tryin' to breathe while he showed you exactly who was in charge.

as the rhythm became more insane, you felt the rest of your strength fade away. your fingers, which had been clawin’ at the sheets, were only tremblin' now, and your lungs felt way too small for the air you were tryin’ to find. ben noticed. he felt the exact moment you stopped fightin' the pain and just gave in to his weight, leavin' your body limp and vulnerable under his power.

he slowed down, but he didn't stop; instead, he leaned in, buryin' his face in your neck and givin' you soft, almost devoted little kisses on your sweaty skin.

"shhh, it’s alright, my little doll... daddy’s here," he whispered against your ear, his voice sweet as honey now, while his thick cock kept stretchin' your tight pussy without a shred of mercy. "look at how you’re just givin' in to me... so quiet, so obedient. this is how i like to see you."

every thrust now was slow, deep, and calculated, made to hurt and fill you up completely. you felt that abusive pressure deep inside, a fullness that felt almost impossible, but he kept goin’, ignorin’ the fact that you were at your physical limit. he didn't care if it hurt; actually, he seemed to savor the way your body reacted to every invasive move.

"you’re so perfect, y'know? so tight for daddy," he murmured, givin' you a tiny kiss on the tip of your nose 'fore bitin' your earlobe. "i know it hurts a lil bit, my love, but this is how daddy teaches you to be strong. you like me takin’ care of you like this, don't you? you like bein’ ben’s precious lil girl."

you let out a choked sob, tears flowin' freely now, as he kept abusin' your sensitivity with a cruel calm. the contrast between the sweet talk and what he was doin' to your body down there was too much to process. he was breakin’ you.

he didn't stop lookin' at you, green eyes fixed on your face, studyin' every reaction, every shiver. ben seemed to be relishin' the state you were in—completely disarmed and surrendered.

he brought one hand up, calloused fingers tracin' the line of your jaw 'fore, without warnin', deliverin' a sharp slap to your cheek. the sound cracked through the room, and your skin burned instantly. you gasped, eyes wide as pleasure and shock mixed together, makin' your pussy tighten hard around him.

"that’s it... look at you," he murmured, his voice husky and full of dark satisfaction. he gave you another slap, a bit firmer this time. "you like this, don’t you, kid? you like feelin' daddy’s hand on your face while i use you like this?"

you tried to find your breath, face burnin' under his touch and your whole body vibratin'. "i... mmm... i like it, daddy," you whispered, voice breakin', hands grabbin' his broad shoulders.

he let out a low chuckle, a vibration you felt in your very bones, and leaned in to bite your neck, right on that sensitive spot.

he hissed, his thrusts gettin' shorter and faster, focused on makin' you lose your senses. he leaned in even closer, lips brushin' the tip of your ear. "i'm gonna keep you exactly like this, darlin'," he hissed, teeth grazin' your lobe. "i'm gonna possess you every single night while that boy sleeps soundly in the room next door. i'll fill you up so many times you'll forget anyone else ever touched you. you want that, don't you? want to be daddy's secret lil toy?"

you couldn't even think straight anymore. the pleasure, the pain, and his crushin' weight were just too much. "yes... yes, please, daddy," you whimpered, fingers diggin' into the muscles of his arms. "whatever you want."

he let out a dark, satisfied chuckle, his hand squeezin' your neck just a lil bit as he possessed you with one final, deep thrust. he stopped right there, buried to the hilt, his body rigid and tremblin'.

"i'm gonna cum inside you, baby girl," he growled, eyes locked on yours, lookin' for any sign of hesitation. "you want this, baby? want to stay full of daddy's cum? tell me."

"yes," you choked out between sobs, archin' your back to meet him, your walls squeezin' him in a desperate plea. "please... fill me up, daddy. i want it... i want all of you."

ben didn't wait another second. he let out a low, husky groan as he pressed himself against you, comin' all inside you in a hot, overwhelm'n wave. you clamped your pussy 'round his cock with every bit of strength you had left, walls twitchin' in violent spasms that seemed to want to suck out every single drop of what he was givin' you. he groaned raspy against your neck, pinnin' you to the mattress with the raw weight of his body.

ben stayed there for a long time, buried deep, feelin' your shivers fade away bit by bit. his breath was heavy and hot against your skin. slowly, he pushed up onto his elbows, but didn't pull outta you, keepin' that abusive fullness that made your head spin. he reached out, big calloused fingers brushin' away the sweaty strands of hair stuck to your forehead with an unexpected gentleness.

"you alright, kiddo?" he asked, his voice droppin' to that velvety, protective tone that made your heart race.

"yeah... i'm okay, daddy," you whispered, voice almost gone, lookin' at him with eyes shinin' with adoration and exhaustion.

a smirk of pure triumph and pride spread across his face. "fuck, daughter... i'm so proud of you, my love. you got no idea how happy you made daddy today," he murmured, caressin' your cheek. "you were such a brave girl, took it all without askin' to stop once. you were perfect for me, way better than i even imagined you'd be. you were born to be mine, doll."

you just nodded, feelin' a comfortin' warmth from his praise, and answered with a quiet "ok," too weak to say anythin' else. you wrapped your arms 'round his neck, hidin' your face in that curve between his shoulder and ear, and tangled your legs around his strong ones, lockin' him there. the move made you feel his cock, still inside, rub against the bottom of your sensitive pussy, and a whimpery moan escaped your lips.

"i'm tired, daddy... mhmhmm," you murmured, lazily rubbin' against his broad chest, seekin' the comfort of skin-to-skin now that the storm had passed.

he let out a low, vibratin' laugh, findin' your mood amusin'. "i bet you are, lil girl. daddy went hard on you," he said, start'n to slowly pull out. the sound of slick skin part'n made you let out a tiny sigh of discomfort from the sudden emptiness.

ben sat back on the bed and just watched the sight of his cum drippin’ out of your swollen, throbbin’ pussy. he smirked, grabbin’ his own cock—still half-hard—and lighty tappin' the tip against your clit. the shock of sensitivity was instant; you jumped, squirmin’ all over the sheets and lettin’ out a gasp of surprise.

he laughed at your reaction, findin’ the way you tried to dodge his touch adorable. "you real sensitive down there, kid? look at you shake," he teased affectionately before grabbin' your arms and pullin’ you on top of him.

now you were sittin' in his lap, legs wide around his waist. you leaned forward and kissed his mouth with a sweet shyness, a long press that contrasted with all the aggression from before.

when you pulled back just a few millimeters, still feelin' his warm breath on your skin, ben looked down at your body. he ran his hand over your thighs, feelin’ his cum still leakin' out. he let out a low chuckle, feelin’ the weight of your body completely relax against his. his gaze dropped again to your legs, watchin' the white trail messin' up the sheets and your skin.

"fuck, look at the state i left you in, little one," he murmured, runnin' his hand over it and smearin' the warm liquid with his thumb, watchin’ you shiver at the touch. "you’re all covered in cum... daddy’s gonna have to give you a bath, isn't he? can't have you sleepin' all dirty like this."

you just let out a sleepy murmur, closin’ your eyes as you felt his kisses all over your face. the idea of bein' carried by him, of havin’ his hands takin’ care of you under the warm water after everythin’ he’d done, felt like heaven.

"come here," he said, pickin' you up with impressive ease, like you weighed nothin’. you wrapped your arms 'round his neck, hidin' your face in his chest as he walked toward the bathroom. "i’m gonna wash you up, my love, just relax."

you nodded against his skin, feelin' completely protected as the sound of the shower started to echo.

the world outside vanished.

there was no david. no guilt. no tomorrow. there was only the touch of ben’s hands, washin’ the mess he’d made off your body, fingers passin’ delicately over your skin. you were on the edge of passin’ out, totally vulnerable and at his mercy.