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18🪽 she/her

[angel1withacigarette]

🚬 Welcome to my blog (18+ !!) ⊹˖꒰ঌ ໒꒱

18 ♡ she/her ♡ bisexual ♡ soldier boy's doll ♡

• mainly writing smut • Posting fics and reposting stuff • Requests and asks are open!

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[angel1withacigarette]

Vape pod burnt, the vape shop is closed. I’m actually killing myself guys!!! 😂😂😂😂😂

[angel1withacigarette]

hiii i asked earlier how you get your text in a nice color and all and you gave me this link:

for me the link doesn't work anymore do u have any alternative links or tool to use? sorry for bugging you

Yes!! I found out today it crashed. Idk when, but I found a new one!!

[dollislvt]

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ jensen in a hoodie>>>>

[brotherfucker69]

I want soldier boy to fuck me in a chokehold

[angel1withacigarette]

Red, white, Blue is in the sky; Summer's in the air, baby; heaven's in your eyes

☆4th of July special: An AU in which you're Butcher's daughter and Soldier boy is his best friend who's a retired soldier

pairing: dbf!soldier boy x f!butcher’s daughter!reader

warnings: suggestive content, large age gap, soft ben, dry humping, thigh riding, orgasm denial, ben with sort of morals for once!!

4th of July, American flags, warm air at night. smell of the grill in your background, sound of the laughter of your dad and his friends. You're sipping Coca-Cola, laughing with everyone; one of your dad's friends, his best friend to be exact, Benjamin, is walking over to you and sitting next to you in a white plastic chair.

"You've grown up, kid; I remember when you were a tiny little baby in nappies. You've grown into a beautiful woman." He chuckles and ruffles your hair. "Thank you." You say with a smile and warmth spreading in your cheeks.

Ben. Ben.

He's a charmer; he's a few years older than your dad, but ever since you've become a teenager, you've had a little crush. Now that you're older, an adult, it's gotten a bit stronger. A dirty little secret.

"Y'know, Ben, you don't look so bad yourself. You look amazing for your age, and you served in the military. You're like the coolest person ever."

"Don't flatter me, doll." He ruffles your hair again. "I'm an old man now." He chuckles. "Hey, now, don't ruffle my hair like that. Do you know how long I spent doing it?!" You say with a lighthearted tone, almost joking but with truth.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. You girls with your pretty hair and pretty paint on your face..." He pinches your cheek. "How's college doing ya? You study and do good?"

"Yeah, I get good grades; 'm doing well." He smiles and clicks his tongue. "That's my girl."

"Oi!! Ben!! The neighbourhood's starting up the fireworks soon. You got em?"

"Yeah!! They're in my truck!! I'll go get em!" Ben stands up and motions his fingers, initiating that you come with him. You get up and follow him. As you strut up to him and walk next to him, you match his walking pace.

Without saying anything, he grabs your hand and intertwines your hand with his, just like he used to when you were a little girl.

"Hey, don't fireworks like scare you or something? You were in the military." You fuck around while giggling, trying to annoy him.

"Jesus Christ, kid, you're all grown up now, but you still ask those dumbass questions. Still a little ditz." …

"You're lucky you're cute." He presses his lips against the top of your head, and that fills you with warmth.

You finally reach the truck, and he opens the trunk, grabbing the two white plastic bags with fireworks and shutting the trunk right after.

"We've got bout 15 minutes. Wanna sit in my truck for a bit? A little peace and quiet?" You immediately walk over to the passenger seat as Ben opens the car with a button on the car keys.

You open the car doors and get in; Ben follows after, sitting in the driver's seat and setting the bags on the car floor. He turns some music on at a lower volume. "All She Wrote" by Firehouse

"You and your vintage music again, huh?" you tease. "Vintage??! That's the '90s kid—that's not—" "That's 36 years." "It is."

"Yeah, whatever. I guess I am old." He rolls his eyes at you. "And really good-looking for your age," you say with a flirty tone. "Don't start sweetheart—"

"Start what??" You play dumb. "You know exactly what. I've noticed how you're lookin' at me. I'm older than your dad. Don't." He sounds tense.

"But you feel it too. I know you do," you protest, sounding a bit desperate. "Kid, I'm supposed to be responsible; I'm older than your damn father. I changed your diapers when you were a kid. You're not getting what you want. I'm sorry."

"Oh come on, I'm an adult—" Ben cuts you off immediately. "And I've watched you grow up; just cuz you're an adult doesn't mean you're not dumb and young anymore."

"I'm sorry, sweetie; I'll have to break your heart. I gotta be responsible; besides, your dad would kill me."

"Not if he doesn't find out; don't be responsible."

He grabs your face with both his hands and presses his forehead against yours; he kisses the tip of your nose. "No." He whispers gently in a definitive tone. "'m sorry doll."

"Ben, please," you plead, voice trembling and full of desperation. "I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry for hurtin' you but some things gotta be the way they are."

"Look— if you weren't my buddy's daughter—maybe, just maybe—"

"Just a kiss, just a kiss, and I'll stop bugging," you plead. Ben exhales. "Okay..."

Ben leans in and kisses your lips, your hands go on his shoulders, and you're desperately kissing him, and that kiss lingers; it turns hungry and messy. Ben shifts you into his lap; he grabs your hips and pulls away from the kiss.

"See, this is what I'm talking about. I don't wanna take advantage of you." You don't respond and kiss him again, and Ben loses control and starts moving your hips back and forth over his crotch. You can feel him harden, and the moment he feels it, he shifts you to the side on his thigh and guides you to ride his thigh.

You whimper quietly; you let out soft moans and huffs of pleasure, and it drives him crazy. You feel yourself getting close pretty quickly, and Ben's hands grip your hips tighter to still you and stop you from moving.

"Enough, sweetie; I'm sorry. Look— we gotta get back. If he had time, I'd let this happen, but this is too risky. I'm sorry." You whine out in need and denial, unsatisfied and left hanging. "How 'bout I stay over and show you a whole another kinda Fourth of July if you're good and quiet, hmm?"

authors note: Happy 4th of July to those who celebrate!! Lowkey getting a fomo. Enjoy the drabble!!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚

masterlist ·˚ ༘༘⋆ˎˊ˗ ·˚ ༘༘⋆ˎˊ˗ taglist:

✩‧₊˚─────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─────˚₊‧✩

@legalmente-loca-blog @inadoves @suckitands33 @daughterbubs @sb-bitch @soldierboyscherryangeldoll @angelicentity98 @emeraldseagrave @ladykitana90 @artemys-ackles @tellybearryyyy

[cowboylike-dean]

dean winchester one shot

🩶 the b word

summary: dean lets a specific word slip out for the first time, causing his flustered state and your delight

─────────｡ ₊°༺❤︎༻°₊ ｡────────

Dean and you were sitting in the bunker kitchen late at night, leftovers of the takeout he brought on the table while Dean shamelessly kept reaching over to steal food from your plate after already finishing his own.

You smacked his hand away for what had to be the fifth time.

“Dean”

“What?” He said, unbothered by your smack, reaching out again.

“You have your own food”

“Had” He corrected “Past tense”

“That sounds like a you problem”

Dean groaned dramatically like you’d deeply wounded him “Wow. Cold”

You snorted and pulled your plate farther away.

That only encouraged him.

Next thing you knew, Dean was literally leaning across the table trying to snatch a fry while you blocked him with your arm, laughing.

“Stop stealing my food!”

“Sharing is caring, sweetheart”

“I already shared enough. You are robbing me now”

Dean managed to steal another fry and looked at you with a triumphant grin.

You narrow your eyes at him “You’re annoying”

“You love me anyway” He says smugly.

You snort “Questionable choice on my part”

Dean grinned lazily, green eyes bright with amusement. Then, because apparently annoying you was like a hobby to him, he reached for one of your onion rings.

You slapped his hand again “Seriously, why do you always think you’re entitled to my food?”

Dean scoffed dramatically like the answer was obvious.

“‘Cause I’m your boyfriend” He said easily, chewing “It’s literally my right”

Silence.

Dean blinked, and then his eyes widened a bit when realization hit him.

Oh.

Oh, he said it out loud.

You two had never really cared much about labels. You were together. Committed. You both knew exactly what you were to each other, and everyone around you two knew it too. There was never any doubt about that. But neither of you really said words like ‘boyfriend’ or ‘girlfriend’.

Until now that he said it.

You blinked back at him. Then slowly, your mouth turned into a playful grin.

“Did you just use the b word?”

Dean immediately got flustered. Not dramatically, but enough that the tips of his ears turned red while he grabbed his beer and tried very hard to look casual.

“No”

“You did” You chuckle “Boyfriend”

Dean rolled his eyes dramatically “Yeah, alright” He grumbled “What about it?”

“You’ve never called yourself that before”

“Okay, first of all” He said “You’re enjoying this way too much” He points a finger at you defensively.

“A little” You say with a soft laugh “I mean, you called yourself my boyfriend” You repeat with a grin.

“Because I am” He said back instantly “We’ve been exclusive since forever, you live in my bunker, you ride shotgun in my Baby. I’m just stating facts here. Don't make it weird"

“I’m not making it weird” You laughed “I just think it was cute”

“It’s not cute”

“You said it so naturally too” You grin.

He rolled his eyes, pretending to be annoyed.

“Look, I’m regularly risking my life for you and driving you around while you criticize my music choices…”

“I do not criticize your music choices”

“…So I think I’ve earned my boyfriend status” He finished.

“Mhm” You laughed again before adding teasingly “So should I start looking for matching outfits now?”

“Shut up” Dean groaned immediately.

“You started this, boyfriend”

He suddenly grabbed your wrist, tugged you closer and kissed you to shut you up.

You let out a muffled laugh against his lips.

“Conversation’s over” He muttered against your mouth.

When he pulled away slightly, you were still grinning.

Dean narrowed his eyes “You’re annoying”

“And you’re my boyfriend” You repeated with a grin yet again.

He groaned dramatically.

“I’m never saying words again”

thank you for reading and interacting<3

[milleniumpire]

I’m 100% taking credit for all the faux Sam and Dean requests, ever since I sent my ask it feels like they’ve been non stopppp. Never ever complaining about that. I have more ideas.

Lil sis r who finally got to sit in the passenger seat (Sam’s seat) and is soooo happy, screaming Deans music at the top of her lungs, cuddling into her big brother as much as she can while he drives, and eventually just neeeeding to suck his dick cause the motel is still soooo far away. Maybe Sammy wakes up or just gets a lil jealous/feels left out so r has to climb into the back so Sammy can fuck her to sleep so she’s no more trouble… mmmmmm yes

- 🌌

And god bless you for that it is all I have been thinking about

I am SO obsessed with this idea, but... have we considered the idea that you're sitting in the passenger seat on sam's lap? Getting all needy for dean, listening to his deep, rumbly voice singing along with his tapes, the way he smiles at you when you join in, and sam's content to just watch you two bond (he can feel your hot cunt through his jeans; he's exactly where he wants to be). What starts as you holding dean's hand turns into your head on his shoulder, and then you're drifting down to mouth at his bulge. It's way too tempting, the way he's chubbing up from your cute little giggles and shy glances. He might protest a little at first, saying that you only have to wait a couple more hours for the motel, but hearing that it's going to be hours only makes you want to double down. You unbutton his jeans, freeing his hardening cock, immediately wrapping your lips around the head, sucking and moaning with delight at the fact that he let you take exactly what you want. Dean stays steady on the wheel, his left hand in charge of the car while his right threads through your hair. You're in a little bit of an awkward position; you're twisted at the waist so your head can mouth at dean's cock while your feet stay at the bottom of your seat. San's just enjoying the view, content for you to tease him with the smacks and moans coming from your full mouth. He's just sitting there, absolutely thrilled with his view, but when you start grinding on him? You're asking for him to step in. He slides his hand down the back of your pants, only stopping when he's palming your cunt with his fingers resting on your clit.

"Fuck, baby. You like sucking on dean, huh? Your little pussy is soaked."

You hummed in agreement, the throbbing in your cunt making itself more known each time the head of dean's cock hit the back of your throat.

"She really that wet?" Dean asked, the question fully directed at sam.

"Yeah. Don't know how she hasn't snuck her hand down there yet with how warm she is."

"Hear that baby? So needy you can't even think to take care of yourself." His hand carded through your hair in approval, the gentle scratches against your scalp making you rest your cheek against his thigh.

You nodded, your lids feeling heavier with each pass of dean's fingers. Sam wasn't helping, his warm hand cupping your cunt in a way that felt more safe than sexual.

"Look at that. Get a little cock in her mouth and she calms right down. Thought I was gonna have to sit her on my lap with my fingers in her mouth to put her down for a nap."

Your hips pitched forward in a needy grind at the suggestion, and the soft sound of their laughter made your cheeks burn.

"Can't even decide what she wants," dean said, still petting at your head. "Needy little thing just wants as much of her brothers inside her mouth as she can fit."

[wendichester]

⋆｡ ˚ war crimes in the name of pranks

summary ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ after dean’s pranked you one too many times, you decide you’ve had enough and go all in. pairing ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ dean winchester x reader ( gn ) ft. sammy wordcount ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ 2094 genre ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ deeply unserious warnings ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ prank war, sam trying not to die laughing

notes ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ ִ❀໋ consider supporting my work .ᐟ gif cred. to @/seriously-dude-what-the-hell

dean winchester is a dick.

that’s not an insult anymore. it’s a fact, filed neatly beside other undeniable truths, such as salt burns ghosts, vampires need their heads removed, and sam gets that tight little forehead wrinkle when he’s two seconds away from pretending he’s not judging everyone in the room.

dean being a dick is, unfortunately, also kind of your fault.

you worked hard to get him to trust you. months of hunts, patched-up injuries, late-night diner coffee, standing shoulder to shoulder in graveyards while ugly things crawled out of darker corners than neither of you wanted to talk about. you earned the version of him that doesn’t flinch when you reach across him for the weapons bag, the version that tosses you the impala keys without acting like he’s handing over his firstborn child, the version that grins too openly when you insult him back.

and what do you get for all that patience? intimacy? vulnerability? a tender breakthrough? no.

you get a plastic spider in your boot at six in the morning. you get a fake bloody hand in your duffel. you get your shampoo replaced with dish soap, your favorite jacket hung from the motel ceiling fan, and one deeply traumatic morning where every single pair of your socks had been dampened just enough to make you question the mercy of god.

dean thinks this is love language.

you think he needs consequences.

sam knows something is coming before dean does, because sam has survival instincts and dean has whatever the opposite of that is. he watches you from the motel table while dean’s in the shower, your expression calm as you hide the supplies back inside your bag: green food coloring, red hair dye, a bottle of body wash you found in a sad little drugstore clearance bin labeled classic musk, and one large box you have been guarding for three towns.

sam lowers his laptop screen by an inch. “should i ask?”

“no.”

“is anyone going to the hospital?”

“emotionally, maybe.”

he looks at the box. “is that for the car?”

you smile.

sam closes his eyes for a second. “i don’t want to know.”

“correct.”

the setup takes precision, spite, and the kind of quiet focus usually reserved for summoning rituals or assembling ikea furniture without crying. you’d inject the toothpaste with enough green coloring to make the inside of the tube look cursed, swap dean’s shampoo for a violent red rinse that promises temporary color in letters so cheerful they feel legally suspicious, and replaced his body wash with the elderly musk gel that carries the aggressive aura of mothballs, dusty church pews, and a man named eugene who owns three cardigans.

then comes baby.

you move fast in the parking lot, heart beating with the kind of joy that feels criminal. hello kitty steering wheel cover first. pink seat covers next. matching floor mats. a soft blanket stretched across the backseat. tiny headrest bows. one dangling charm from the rearview mirror that swings innocently in the dark, completely unaware it’s about to become the focal point of dean’s psychological collapse.

when you get back inside, sam is sitting exactly where you left him, hands folded beneath his chin.

“i’m not involved,” he says immediately.

“you’re a witness.”

“witnesses can be killed.”

“then maybe keep the poker face.”

he makes a strangled sound and goes back to pretending to read.

dean emerges from the bathroom twenty minutes later with a towel around his waist, red hair, green teeth, and the full confidence of a man who hasn’t yet processed that he looks like christmas tree coming to life. the red is not subtle. it clings to the short spikes of his hair in damp, furious streaks, especially near his temples, where it has taken on a cherry-cough-syrup intensity that makes your soul leave your body for one beautiful second.

his teeth are worse.

bright green. radioactive. cartoon-villain green.

you stare.

sam makes one tiny noise from the table and immediately turns it into a cough so violent it almost deserves an emmy.

dean narrows his eyes at both of you. “what?”

your mouth trembles. “nothing.”

“why are you looking at me weird?”

“i’m just admiring,” you say, voice thin with restraint, “your commitment to personal grooming.”

dean points at you with the hand holding his shaving kit. “don’t start. i have a date.”

that nearly ends you.

sam’s shoulders start shaking.

dean looks at him. “you got a problem?”

sam presses his lips together so hard they almost disappear. “nope.”

dean accepts this too easily. he tosses the shaving kit onto his duffel and keeps moving around the room, utterly unaware that every step sends that tragic old-man body wash clouding behind him. he gets dressed anyway. jeans, boots, dark shirt, leather jacket. somehow, horribly, he still has the posture of a man who thinks he can pull this off.

you sit on the edge of your bed with both hands folded in your lap, nails digging into your palms.

“so,” you manage. “big night?”

“absolutely,” dean checks himself in the mirror, then stops. properly stops. his face goes still in that dangerous little way that means his brain has finally caught up to his reflection, and for one beautiful second, the whole motel room holds its breath.

sam sinks lower behind his laptop.

dean leans closer to the mirror, lips parting just enough to reveal the green. bright. wet. horrifying. his eyes move up to his hair next. red. aggressively red. not cute copper, not sexy auburn, not even passable under bad motel lighting. just red in the way emergency exits are red. in the way cough syrup stains your tongue red. in the way warnings are red.

you press your lips together so hard they hurt.

dean turns slowly. “you.”

you blink, angelic. “me?”

“don’t me me!” he points at his own mouth. “why do i look like i ate a glow stick?”

sam makes a noise so high and strangled that it barely sounds human.

dean whips his head toward him. “you knew?”

sam’s face is pure suffering. “i didn’t know about the teeth.”

“but you knew something.”

sam looks at you, then at dean, then back at his laptop with the dead-eyed survival instinct of a man who has spent his whole life between two disasters and learned to choose silence when necessary. “i wasn’t part of it.”

you finally lose the fight and smile. big. bright. no shame.

dean stares at you for another second, furious, hair red, teeth green, and somehow still carrying the wounded dignity of a man betrayed by his own kingdom.

“rookie work.”

you blink. “excuse me?”

“rookie,” he says again, rummaging through a duffel with unnecessary aggression. “you think this is my first rodeo? food coloring in toothpaste? hair dye in shampoo? come on. i practically invented bathroom warfare.”

“you invented bathroom warfare?”

“ask sam about the nair incident.”

sam closes his eyes. “please don’t.”

dean disappears back into the bathroom with all the purpose of a man going to war. water starts running. drawers open and slam. something clatters into the sink. you hear him muttering to himself, low and offended, and then—“sammy! i’m using your toothpaste.”

“why mine?”

“because mine’s been violated.”

you snort so hard you nearly choke. you sit on the edge of the bed, swinging one foot lightly, joy humming through your whole body.

the bathroom door opens again ten minutes later, and the worst thing happens.

dean looks good. of course he does. idiot. absolute curse of a man. the green is gone from his teeth, scrubbed clean by sam’s betrayed toothpaste and probably half a bottle of mouthwash. his hair is still red, but damp and pushed back now, the color settling into something annoyingly intentional under the yellow motel light. it should look ridiculous. it sort of does. but dean has the unbearable confidence to make even bad decisions look styled.

he steps out, jacket on, boots tied, jaw tilted in that way that says he knows he has recovered far too well. “see?” he says, spreading his arms. “still hot.”

you hate that you agree. deeply. personally.

dean catches the tiny shift in your face and grins. “oh, don’t look so disappointed. you made me hotter.”

“your hair looks like a traffic cone.”

“a sexy traffic cone.”

“those don’t exist.”

“i’m making history.” he checks himself in the mirror one last time, turns his head left and right, then nods with disgusting self-satisfaction. “yeah. date’s still happening.”

you keep smiling too much.

dean notices.

his eyes narrow. “what?”

“nothing.”

“no.” he points at you. “that’s not nothing. that’s your evil face.”

you fold your hands in your lap, sweet as a hymn. “have fun tonight.”

dean studies you for another second, suspicion flickering over his face, but ego wins. he grabs his keys from the table, twirls them once around his finger, and heads for the door.

“don’t wait up,” he says.

“wouldn’t dream of it.”

he leaves. the door shuts.

for two seconds, there’s silence.

sam slowly looks at you.

you look back at him.

outside, dean’s boots crunch across the gravel parking lot. there’s the faint jingle of keys. a pause. another step. then—“SON OF A BITCH!”

you’re already laughing by the time the door flies open again.

dean storms in with the kind of rage usually reserved for demons, betrayal, and people who put dents in baby’s doors. his face is red now too, almost matching his hair, which feels thematically excellent. he points toward the parking lot with a shaking hand.

“m-my car.”

you gasp, delighted. “is something wrong with baby?”

“do not call her baby right now.”

“why? she’s dressed so cute.”

“she has bows on her headrests.”

“yes.”

“pink floor mats.”

“mhm.”

“a hello kitty steering wheel cover.”

“limited edition.”

dean stares at you as if you’ve personally rewritten the laws of nature just to hurt him. “my car looks like it got stolen by a twelve-year-old.”

sam makes the mistake of laughing. not much. just one sharp little burst he tries to smother immediately with a cough.

dean turns on him. “oh, you think this is funny?”

sam’s eyes are wet. “no.”

“you’re crying.”

you lose it again, falling back against the mattress while dean glares at both of you, his date forgotten, his dignity in ruins, his red hair glowing under the cheap motel light. for a second, he holds onto the anger. really tries. you can see him fighting for it, clinging to the righteous fury of a man whose soulmate-on-wheels has been degraded by pink polyester and cute cats.

then his mouth twitches. “i’m homicidal.”

“you’re smiling homicidally.”

that breaks him.

dean laughs, sudden and rough, one hand bracing against the doorframe like even he can’t believe how badly he’s been played. the green teeth are gone, which is a shame, but the red hair and the old-man body wash still do plenty of work. he laughs until sam finally gives up pretending to cough and just laughs too, shoulders shaking over the table.

“okay,” dean says eventually, pointing at you. “truce.”

“no.”

his smile drops. “no?”

“beg.”

“i will absolutely not beg.”

you lift your eyebrows. dean glances toward the parking lot. you can almost see him picturing baby sitting out there in all her hello kitty glory, exposed to the public, vulnerable to witnesses, one stray pedestrian away from permanent humiliation.

his jaw works. his pride takes a knee. “please,” he says tightly, “remove the tiny cat cult from my car.”

you beam. “and?”

“and…” he exhales through his nose, already planning murder behind his eyes. “i’ll stop pranking you.”

sam snorts again.

dean does not look away from you. “temporarily.”

“there it is.”

“i’m honest.”

“you’re a menace.”

“you started car crimes.”

“you put a rubber finger in my cereal.”

“that was funny.”

“so is baby’s soft era.”

his grin comes back slowly, dangerous and warm at the same time. “enjoy it while you can.”

you should be scared. honestly, you are a little. dean winchester with a wounded ego, and red hair is not a safe man. but he’s laughing, and sam’s still wiping at his eyes, and for once the motel room holds nothing sharp or haunted or waiting to kill you. *just this—*dean looking ridiculous and happy and too fond of you to hide it properly.

“worth it,” you say.

his eyes linger for half a second longer than the joke needs. “yeah,” he says, quieter under the laughter. “we’ll see.”

ꔛ. all works ; writing guidelines ; writing schedule.

[unicornlover729161]

𝐸𝑥𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑑𝑜𝑛’𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓

Dean / Sam Winchester (not like together tho) W/c: 310

You guys know what trend this is I hope 🙏🏻

masterlist | my AO3 account | more of „supernatural“

„No you’re doing good, everyone needs a little practice don’t worry.“ Dean says while teaching you how to use the new gun he got you.

or

„Fuck you’re doing so good baby, letting me use you however I fucking want. God you’re so perfect.“ he says while fucking into you from behind, just like he’d done for the last two hours.

„You really got no shame in you huh?“ Sam scoffs at your words after you admit to sleeping around in college quite a lot while the three of you were sitting right next to a group of people in a diner.

or

„You really don’t feel any shame huh.“ he says while having you tell him all your dirty fantasies while he pounds into you. Coaxing the words out of you with this oh so condescending praise.

„Thats actually kinda pathetic.“ Dean laughs at you the first time you told him and Sam that you didn’t have your drivers license because you failed the test like three times and then just gave up.

or

„God you’re so fucking pathetic, crying cus it’s „too much“. You always go on about how you can take it n all but now you’re a crying fucking mess.“ he says while having to slow down cus you were literally crying bout him being so big.

„No don’t cry- everything’s fine. No one got actually hurt okay.“ Sam says, trying to calm you down after you and him almost got killed while trying to get information out of a demon.

or

„Shh baby don’t cry. I’ve got you.“ he coos after letting his hand come down on your ass for the tenth time. He’s got you laying in his arms now, stroking your hair and planting kissed all over your hair and forehead even tho he was the one hurting you just a few moments ago.“

taglist: @needjoekeery @jason-vs-crowbar @iloveneilperry @eidbcgduiajxbsu @rubyrubydoo09 @romydolly

[ntionalnthem]

on my wedding day i'll be telling my husband he's the most handsome guy i've ever laid eyes on. I'll be lying.

[favouritsm]

── BOY BLUE

summary: headcannons with drabbles about dom!soldier boy

tags/cw: teasing . pet names . daddy kink . p in v . somnophilia . cnc . thigh riding . praise . breeding kink . choking

notes: gahhhh he’s so lana coded

dom!soldier boy who teases you until you’re shaking

“f-fuck! please, just put it in,” you whine, back arching. he scoffs, his fingers circling your folds with an agonizing lightness. “soon, doll.”

dom!soldier boy who likes when you call him daddy

his hips snap into yours, thrusting into you deep. your eyes roll back in pure pleasure. “that’s it, doll. daddy’ll treat you, won’t he?” he grunts as he bottoms out in you, his bottom lip between his teeth. you moan, “y-yes—fuck! please, daddy,” your back arches into his chest. “that’s it, sweetheart. just like that.”

dom!soldier boy who likes putting it in while you’re asleep

his hand slid down your sleeping frame, infatuated with how delicate you looked as you slumbered. you looked so innocent like this, he couldn’t help it when he started to grind against you softly. unfortunately, him being greedy, he pulled down his boxers and moved your underwear to the side. you were semi-wet, which was more than enough for him. he slowly pushed his tip in, which earned a soft sigh from your lips. he began to thrust in and out at a steady pace, noticing your breath picking up. unknowingly, you had started to shift and grind in your sleep, probably thinking it was just a wet dream. “yeah, that’s it, doll,” he grunted behind you.

dom!soldier boy who makes you ride his thigh

your hole clenched around nothing as you ground back and forth on his clothed thigh. the jean material against your bare flesh filled you with delicious friction, to which made your jaw slack in a whine. your arms flung around ben’s shoulders, gripping onto him. “good girl,” he murmured, his hands gripping your cheeks. “just like… that.”

dom!soldier boy who wants to breed you

“gonna fill you up,” he groans, thrusting into you. his hand grips your throat firmly. your head fell back at his roughness. he pushed himself so deep into you, you couldn’t breathe. “gonna make you so full,” he squeezed your neck, “gonna be throwin’ up cum after i’m fuckin’ done.”

masterlist | requests: open ⋆.˚

[andromeda-graphics]

hihi, i love your works so much, you’re so talented

do you think you could make some deer/doe dividers? and maybe a tv girl divider for lovers rock??

if not that’s totally fine!!

𝗗𝗜𝗩𝗜𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗦 ➜ 𝗔𝗡𝗜𝗠𝗔𝗟𝗦 ➜ 𝗗𝗘𝗘𝗥

MASTERLIST ⟡ KO-FI

Ugh I lowkey loved making these. Hope you like them too!! And if you'd like those TV Girl dividers, feel free to send a separate request for them!!

credit isn't required to use but is appreciated along with liking and reblogging!!

[godsfaith]

soldier boy / ben who gets so worked up when he fucks you that sometimes his chest starts to glow… !

your cunt feels so good practically swallowing his cock that he just cant hold himself back! he pins all his weight onto you and slams into your pussy until the rooms filled with squelches and whimpers!! slick dribbles from your hole spraying onto his balls while ben groans into your ear calling you a “messy lil’ slut” and “dirty girl, ya like me pummelling you into the bed?” when your eyes roll back!!

as soon as bens close his pace becomes erratic chasing his own high- his eyes squeeze shut and his chest starts to glow showing the living bomb thats killed hundreds!! you should be scared but bens fucking you soooo good so instead your digging your heels into his ass to get him deeper inside you..

as soon as he stutters inside you, his thick hot cum painting your insides- the buildup fades away leaving ben panting into your neck and your legs shaking around his waist from fear and pleasure.

“almost got ya that time, didn’t i?” he’d say nonchalantly while pulling out and rolling over to light a joint- tucking you into his side and slipping the blunt between your lips to calm your nerves.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ♡

[cumkissed]

no because wife swap soldier boy is actually unwell levels of hot. like he goes into it thinking it’s gonna be some bullshit publicity stunt, just two weeks of pretending to care about some soft little suburban wife with cameras in his face, and then he meets you.

you’re not even trying to impress him. that’s what pisses him off first. you don’t fawn, don’t giggle, don’t ask to touch the suit. you just look him up and down like he’s another loud man taking up space in your kitchen and go, “rules are on the fridge, ben.”

and he’s instantly ruined.

because at first he’s arrogant about it. he thinks you’re playing hard to get. thinks you’re doing the good wife act for the cameras, all polite smiles and clipped answers while your husband is off living in ben’s house with his actual wife. but then the cameras shut off for the night, and you’re still like that. calm. unimpressed. standing barefoot in the kitchen in your little sleep shorts, pouring yourself water while he leans against the counter and stares at your legs like he’s forgotten every commandment he’s ever ignored.

he starts breaking rules just to see what you’ll do.

walks around shirtless. takes up the whole couch. calls you sweetheart in that low, gravelly voice. stands too close when you’re cooking, big hands braced on either side of the counter behind you, his chest almost touching your back while he murmurs, “your husband let you boss him around like this too?”

and you don’t even turn around. you just say, “only when he’s smart.”

ben laughs, but it’s not funny to him anymore. not really. because he’s hard in his sweats and you’re pretending you don’t notice, and he knows you do. he knows by the way your hand hesitates on the knife. by the way your thighs press together when he leans in close enough for his beard to brush your ear.

by day five, he’s fucking unbearable.

he watches you fold laundry like it’s porn. watches you bend over the dryer and mutters something filthy under his breath. catches himself staring at your panties in the basket for too long. he starts finding excuses to touch you. hand on your lower back when he moves past you. fingers brushing your hip when he reaches into the cupboard. thumb dragging over your wrist when he hands you your coffee.

and then one night, after a fake dinner for the cameras where he plays your temporary husband a little too well, he follows you upstairs.

you tell him, “ben, the cameras are off.”

he says, “good.”

then he kisses you like he’s been starving for it.

not sweet. not gentle. not polite reality-tv fake-marriage shit. he backs you into the bedroom door and kisses you with one hand around your jaw and the other gripping your waist so hard you gasp into his mouth. he likes that. he likes hearing you lose that calm little voice. likes feeling you grab his shirt like you’re angry at yourself for wanting him.

“there she is,” he mutters, mouth dragging down your neck. “knew you weren’t as well-behaved as you looked.”

[angel1withacigarette]

quiet,bookish,college student reader & neighbour Soldier Boy who moves into the apartment across from yours after he left the seven and vought forever (takes place after s5, let’s not talk about THAT ending i can’t stop crying istg, BURN THAT FUCKING BOXXJXJXJXJ💔)

Also making this into a full fic. Do we want smut? I’m thinking about making this into few parts

[angel1withacigarette]

I’m starting this yall, mommy’s back!!!

[pistolblondie]

cw: minors dni! 18+ only (this is smutty!!)

at first, ben despised the idea of anything pr related. he let it slide when vought started to go hollywood and he became more of a heart throb than a hero. but, a pr relationship was a lot.

until they told ben the truth.

you were made just for him.

miss merica. ben never saw anything more beautiful in red, white and blue.

and you were nothing but america's sweetheart. all bright smiles and soft words— perched right next to soldier boy in front of dozens of cameras— talking about how honored you were to be standing there with vought. with ben.

he learned to love having you next to him. his pretty little arm candy. america's favorite couple.

but it took him a while to get you to stand next to him so pretty.

"ohhh–b-soldier boy!" you couldn't feel anything but ben. his huge arms were pinning you down completely.

your eyes were blurring so much that the green in ben's suit was taking over your vision and his tongue was taking over everything else.

you could lie and say you were shocked you ended up with soldier boy in your bedroom at vought tower. but really, it was inevitable.

you knew you really wanted each other when he started practically living with you. sleeping in your bed, changing in your green room— he refused to eat a meal without you.

and you knew it was more real than you realized when clara started looking at you like you took her favorite toy.

because really, you did.

ben's eyes were shut while his mouth was sucking in anything your pussy had to give him. he'd been doing this for a while— almost an hour now.

he pulled back from your soaked cunt to hit his heavy palm against it. you jolted at the sensation and whined up at him.

he grinned at your reaction with that stupid soldier boy smile. he was rubbing your clit now to sooth you from the smack and simultaneously keeping you on edge.

he laughed at you before leaning back down and getting ready to dive in again.

"come on doll, i wanna see how sweet america's sweetheart can really get."

notes: 🙈