canine

any/all 19 yume/writing/variety spn / the boys / xmen

[chaoticcaninee]

⋆˚꩜.ᐟ canine / pj | any/all, 19, gemini — soldier boy's lap pet — jack of all trades — junkyard dog — bone biter

⋆˚꩜.ᐟ inbox and requests are open, drop me a line <3 masterlist — mdni, graphic content is afoot on this blog. standard dni list, don't give me a reason to not like you and we're cool.

© chaoticcaninee || do not steal, copy, modify, or reupload my writing.

[chaoticcaninee]

˚⟡˖ ࣪soldier boy .. period comfort

who? soldier boy / f!reader content warnings? mentions of periods, tooth rotting fluff, caretaker ben (he's trying), implied established relationship word count? 630 (originally counted characters and not words, whoops!) peanut gallery? this is mostly a self indulgent post tbh, also we're ignoring how radiation works for this one LMAO

you knew it was coming before he did. you were extra sore, you slept in longer than usual, you didn't like being too far from him for too long, so on and so on. he chalked it up to you catching a cold or something, and didn't ask questions. well, he wasn't gonna ask questions, until today. you'd been holed up in your shared room all day, curled in a tight ball on the bed in an effort to ignore your cramps. newsflash, it hasn't been working all that well. when he finally came into the room after a particularly long and irritating meeting with the seven, you relaxed fractionally. "doll," he murmured, circling the bed to sit on the edge next to you. "have you even moved yet?" you shook your head, nose scrunching in pain when you shifted. he noticed, because of course he did. "y'wanna tell me what's botherin' you? or am i supposed to just guess," he huffed, brushing some hair from your face. "'s embarrassing," you whined, but you leaned into his touch all the same. "i've fucked you over a balcony, i'm pretty sure—" he started, but stopped with a grin when you shot him a look. "i can handle it." you huffed, chewing at your lip like you were weighing your options. he wasn't gonna drop it, and you were hurting too much to really care. "period cramps, okay? been in bed cause 'm on my period," you mumble, looking away sheepishly. his face did something complicated, before returning back to normal. he'd been around since the forties, killed people with his bare hands, and you really thought he'd get squeamish about a period? "i'll be fine, i shouldn't have even told you—" you start, but he shakes his head and holds up a finger before padding out of the room. cool, you've grossed him out and he's gonna leave and- he comes back in with your favorite water bottle and a handful of advil, as well as a fluffier blanket than what was on the bed. now it's your turn to make a face. "what's all that for?" you murmur, watching him from the bed. "what, you think you're the first to start bleedin'? i've been around the block, sweetheart." he grunts, moving over to you and helping you sit up. you take the water and the painkillers, and he drapes the blanket around you when you settle back down in the bed. "can you lay with me?" you hum, looking up at him with those stupidly convincing puppy eyes that you pull whenever you want something. he lets out a soft rumble of a chuckle, toeing off his boots before climbing into the bed next to you. he pulls you against him, a hand splayed over your stomach, his chest pressed firm against your back. you relax into his grip, your muscles already unwinding themselves. now, you'd have been happy with just cuddling, but he had a better idea. you feel his palm start to warm up, and it doesn't occur to you what he's doing until he starts moving it over your lower stomach, right where the cramps had been the worst. you make a soft noise of relief, eyelids fluttering when the warmth spread over your skin. you glanced down for a moment, watching the dull glow under the blanket that radiated from his hand. you shifted closer to him, if that was even possible, until you were nestled fully in his arms. "feel better?" he murmured, words slightly muffled from his head being tucked against the crook of your neck. "so much better," you breathed, your breathing already starting to even out. "too good to me," "nah," he hummed, pressing a kiss into your neck. "just love you."

© chaoticcaninee || do not steal, copy, modify, or reupload my writing.

[stanislavdedolubov]

I came across a photo on TikTok and couldn't resist redrawing it because I found it unfathomably hilarious when I imagined adult Homelander instead of little John. The way he acted with Ben in season 5 absolutely sent me into a giggle fit — he's such a baby 😭😭 The way he literally regresses into a child around his ancient asshole of a dad made me fall in love with their duo.

POV: you're the greatest superhero in history, but your dad still carries you home after a tantrum at the supermarket 🥺🥺

[shitedits]

[mikanseinic]

“how to recognize AI in fanfic” — hey so this is another not-gentle reminder that AI stole from us. it’s using OUR words and OUR sentences and OUR styles.

writing “long” paragraphs is not a sign of AI — it’s a common narrative choice many writers make both in fanfiction and in traditionally published novels, and AI stole it from us.

using an em dash is not a sign of AI. it’s a stylistic sentence choice that’s been an option in place of commas and semicolons for a very long time, and AI stole it from us.

long sentence structures are not a sign of AI, but are yet another stylistic choice writers often make to create a cadence and tone that mimics the flow of poetry, and AI stole it from us.

“YA narrative breaks”? i don’t even know what the fuck this means, but i can guarantee that AI stole it from us.

italics are once again a stylistic choice that many writers love to use to create emphasis, and it’s a more stylistically acceptable and traditional form of emphasis than bold or underline text. oh, and just to be extra clear: AI STOLE IT FROM US.

stop creating fandom witch hunts over AI when you know fuck all about what it means to sit and write a story, and to spend hours fiddling with sentence structure and dialogue to get the exact right tone. writers will stop writing out of fear that their work “sounds like AI” — IT DOESNT! AI STOLE FROM US! AI SOUNDS LIKE US! — and after a while, all that will be available on AO3 is shitty AI-generated fanfiction.

because yeah, people are going to continue to use AI to write fanfiction whether you “call them out” or not. but making a laughable thread on X that uses asinine criteria is not going to fix that problem. it will just push the real writers out because people will accuse them of using AI when they haven’t, and they will (rightfully) stop writing for spaces that attack them.

anyway. fuck ai.

[aseafullofstars]

ai takes everything it 'knows' from real human authors. do not be part of the reason it threatens to take writing from real human authors.

[samwspn]

do y'all ever get a feeling you're gonna combust?

[chaoticcaninee]

yeah usually when i see soldier bo— 💥💥💥💥

[frijolebean]

Idk write who's pov this😭

[spitefulsatanfics]

❝𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐋’𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐗 𝐀𝐁𝐂𝐒❞

Castiel x Female Hunter!Reader Rating: 18+ (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT)

⚠️ Warnings: Graphic sexual content, virgin!Cas, possessiveness, praise, oral (fem receiving especially), deep emotional intimacy, wing kink, overstimulation, angelic strength play, slight cockwarming, slight jealousy kink, worship kink, soul-deep connection, celestial-level obsession, biblical metaphors and imagery, awkward but loving dominance, slow burn, first times, and lots of intense eye contact

❝𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑳𝒐𝒓𝒅, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒔𝒊𝒏 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖.❞

— Castiel, with his forehead pressed to yours, voice wrecked by the weight of wanting.

🜛 A — Adoration

No one adores like Castiel.

To him, you are holy. He touches you like he’s worried you’ll shatter. Like you’re something fragile, rare, divine.

His hands tremble the first time they graze your bare skin. He stares like your body rewrites the laws of Heaven. Every gasp you make is catalogued, memorized, treasured.

🜛 B — Body Worship

He doesn’t understand shame. Only awe.

He kisses every inch of you like it’s sacred text. Lingers on scars, freckles, stretch marks. Runs reverent hands down your thighs like he's mapping out constellations.

“You are…” he murmurs, breathless, “...a miracle.”

🜛 C — Curiosity

He asks questions. So many.

“What does this do?” “Do you like this pressure?” “Why do you make that sound when I touch you here?”

He's a scholar of your pleasure. He takes mental notes. Studies reactions. Adjusts technique. And when he finds something that makes you arch and moan?

He obsesses.

🜛 D — Desperation

The first time he takes you, it’s not perfect — it’s overwhelming.

He’s shaking. Panting. Completely undone. His grace pulses wild, his eyes almost glowing. He thrusts like he can’t believe you’re letting him do this.

Like he might die if you tell him to stop.

He won’t last long — not that time. But the second? Third? Fourth? He makes damn sure you do.

🜛 E — Eye Contact

Castiel stares — always.

Deep, intense, searching. Like he’s not just looking at your face but your soul. Especially when he’s buried inside you, whispering your name like it's the only word he knows.

“Look at me,” he says softly. “Please. I want to see you.”

🜛 F — First Times

He’s a virgin, but he’s not clueless.

Still — it’s adorable how awkward he is. The asking. The fumbles. The wide eyes when you undress.

But the moment he’s inside you? It clicks. And his instincts take over in the most dangerous, devastating way.

Slow. Deep. Careful — but possessive.

🜛 G — Graceplay

You don’t even know what to call it — but sometimes, he lets you feel his grace while you’re together.

A soft pulse down your spine. A whisper of celestial heat where his hands are. Like static. Like lightning. Like worship.

It floods you. Cradles you. Fuses with your soul until you're glowing with it.

He doesn’t do it often — but when he does, it’s divine.

🜛 H — Hands

Big. Rough. Incredibly gentle.

He loves using his fingers — loves watching them disappear inside you. Watches your face. Adjusts the angle with a tilt of his wrist that makes you sob.

He whispers your name with every thrust of his knuckles, memorizing the way you fall apart around his palm.

🜛 I — Intimacy

Sex isn’t separate from love for Castiel. It is love.

He touches you like a man long starved. Kisses you until his lips bruise. Buries his face in your shoulder and moans your name like it’s prayer, confession, and absolution in one.

🜛 J — Jealousy

He’s awkward about it. Doesn’t quite know how to say what he feels.

But his eyes darken. His jaw tics. His hand finds your waist and tightens.

And later, in bed, he holds you down and shows you — slowly, thoroughly — that you belong to him.

“You are mine,” he whispers. “And I am yours.”

🜛 K — Kinks

Yes. The angel has kinks. Big ones:

Praise kink (both giving and receiving)

Wing kink (more on that later)

Ownership/possessiveness

Oral obsession

Soul-deep bonding

Cockwarming (intimacy-heavy)

Sensory control (via grace)

Desperate first-time energy

🜛 L — Learning

He wants to try everything with you.

Toys? Positions? Roleplay? He’s curious, eager, and so attentive. He takes your pleasure personally — like every orgasm you give him is a divine mission.

And he learns fast.

🜛 M — Marking

He doesn’t understand the human instinct at first — but then?

He loves it.

Your nails in his back. His teeth on your throat. Hickeys blooming like violets under your collarbone. His grace shimmering under your skin.

You glow with him. And he wants the world to see.

🜛 N — Need

This man is starving for you.

He doesn't know how to ask. Doesn’t know how to pace himself.

So when it hits? It hits.

He pins you to the mattress, growling your name, face buried in your neck, and takes. Asks permission. But when you give it?

He devours.

🜛 O — Oral Fixation

He wants to please you — and oral is where he shines.

He studies you. Watches your thighs twitch. Tracks your breathing.

And when he finds that perfect rhythm?

He stays there. Murmuring “Don’t run. Please. Let me give this to you.”

🜛 P — Praise

You call him good and he melts.

It’s new. Raw. Earth-shattering.

“Is this... what you like?” “Yes, Cas.” “You’re pleased?” “God yes. Please keep going.” “I — yes. I will. I promise.”

And the pride in his voice when he hears you cry his name?

He’s ruined.

🜛 Q — Quiet Desperation

He’s not loud. He suffers.

Little groans. Whispered prayers. A low, aching "Please..." when he’s close, trembling, trying to hold back.

It makes it so much worse. Or better.

🜛 R — Ritual

He remembers. Everything.

The exact way you like to be touched. Your favorite aftercare lotion. How you shiver when he kisses your inner knee.

To him, sex is sacred. And he treats it like liturgy.

🜛 S — Soulbond

He doesn’t just love you — he knows you.

In every thrust. Every kiss. Every exhale.

He feels you through his grace. Wraps your souls together until you’re not sure where he ends and you begin.

🜛 T — Teasing

He doesn’t even mean to tease. He’s accidental torture.

That soft, rough voice. That intense eye contact. The way he holds perfectly still while inside you — like cockwarming is natural.

Like patience is foreplay.

And when he does tease you on purpose?

You break.

🜛 U — Understanding

Your body. Your fears. Your trauma. Your limits.

He sees all of it. And honors it.

There is nothing he wouldn’t wait for. Nothing he wouldn’t learn. Nothing he wouldn’t adapt to just to make you feel safe.

🜛 V — Voyeurism

He adores watching you touch yourself.

Not because he’s jealous. But because it wrecks him — seeing your need for him with your hand between your legs and his name on your tongue.

He’ll join. Or he’ll watch, grace pulsing under his skin, fists clenched with restraint.

🜛 W — Wings

His wings — invisible to most — become visible to you.

Especially during intense pleasure.

They pulse. They flare. They wrap around you like a second skin.

And the first time you reach out to touch them?

He screams. Falls apart. Begging.

🜛 X — eXcessive Devotion

Call it simping. Call it celestial obsession.

Whatever you call it — he is devoted. Will drop Heaven for you. Will sacrifice anything to keep you.

And in bed? That desperation becomes worship.

He never gets enough. Never wants to.

🜛 Y — Yearning

Centuries. Millennia.

That’s how long Castiel longed for connection — and now he has you.

And he aches for you. When you’re gone. When you’re near. When he’s inside you and still not close enough.

It’s biblical.

🜛 Z — Zzz / Sleeping Together

He doesn’t sleep. But he lies with you.

Watches you. Memorizes your breathing. Strokes your hair. Presses grace-light kisses to your bare shoulder while you sleep — his arms wrapped tight around you like you’re his heaven.

Because you are.

𝑾𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒏 𝒃𝒚: 𝑳𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝑫𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒍 ♡ | Date written and published: 2025™

[samwspn]

ꔫ  ࣪ ˖ ♡ s1 dean winchester moodboard

dedicating this one to my bestfriend @wintrynightz ♡

[cumkissed]

❛ 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐄 ❜

01 . ⠀⠀ ˚ ﹒ ૮ ⠀⠀⠀━╋⠀⠀𖤝 summary :: ben finally gives into your filthy little request, dragging you to the bathroom and letting you hold him while he pisses, turning your drunken begging into something humiliating, intimate, and mean || 1.4k

02 . ⠀⠀ ˚ ﹒ ૮ ⠀⠀⠀━╋⠀⠀𖤝 content warnings :: fem!reader . drunk!reader . watersports / piss kink . degradation . humiliation . rough handling . hair pulling . bathroom setting . power imbalance . mean dom!ben . oral fixation

navigation . kofi

thinking of soldier boy finally letting you hold his cock while he takes a piss, because you’d been begging for it all night with flushed cheeks, glossy eyes, and that drunk little smile he kept pretending made him sick.

you’d followed him from the couch like a needy shadow, grabbing at his sleeve, his belt, the waistband of his jeans, anything you could get your fingers on while he kept telling you to quit acting like a damn embarrassment.

every time he shrugged you off, you came right back, softer and more desperate, mumbling his name like it was the only word you had left. ben looked down at you with open contempt, but the way his mouth twitched gave him away. he liked you like this far too much.

“ben,” you whined, clinging to his shirt as he stood up, your voice sweet and slurred around the edges. “please. you said I could ask.” he paused at that, slow and deliberate, turning his head just enough to look at you over his shoulder.

his eyes dragged down your face, over your pout, over the way your thighs pressed together like you were already making a mess of yourself. “you’re really gonna beg for it in my living room?” he asked, voice flat and cruel. “christ, sweetheart, you’ve got no shame at all.”

you shook your head too quickly, giggling because he sounded so disgusted, and that only made the heat in your stomach worse. “please,” you said again, softer this time, fingers curling in the hem of his shirt.

“I’ll be good. I just wanna hold it.” ben stared at you for a long second, then let out a rough, humorless laugh. “that’s the problem,” he muttered. “you think being good means getting on your knees and acting like a nasty little freak.”

then his hand was in your hair, not gentle, not sweet, but controlled enough that it made your whole body go loose with delight. he grabbed a fistful near the roots and tugged, dragging you up from where you’d been half-sitting, half-kneeling against the couch.

you stumbled after him with a breathless little laugh, both hands flying to his wrist even though you didn’t try to stop him. “move,” he snapped, pulling you down the hall toward the bathroom. “you wanna act like bathroom trash, I’ll put you where you belong.”

by the time he shoved the bathroom door open, your cheeks were burning and your pussy was already wet, slick gathering between your thighs from nothing but his hand in your hair and his voice cutting you apart. he pushed you inside ahead of him, then shut the door hard enough to make you jump.

when you looked back at him, smiling all drunk and dazed, ben’s expression twisted with mean amusement. “look at you,” he said, stepping closer. “getting wet because I dragged you around like an idiot. you’re easier than a goddamn light switch.”

you should’ve been embarrassed, but all you did was press your thighs together again, chasing the ache he’d put there. “I like it,” you whispered, looking up at him with too much honesty in your face. ben scoffed and caught your jaw in one hand, squeezing your cheeks until your lips parted.

“yeah, I know you do,” he said. “that’s what makes it pathetic. pretty little head full of nothing but dick and humiliation.” your breath hitched, and his eyes sharpened. “don’t make that noise unless you want me to give you something to whine about.”

he stood in front of the toilet and looked down at you expectantly, broad and smug and mean as hell. “knees,” he ordered, and you dropped so fast he laughed.

the tile was cold beneath you, but your body was blazing, your hands already reaching for his belt before he could tell you twice. “look at that,” he muttered, watching your fingers fumble over the buckle. “desperate little thing can barely work a belt, but she’s sure she deserves my cock in her hand.”

your fingers shook as you unbuckled him, the leather scraping through the metal while you tried not to smile too hard. ben noticed anyway and curled his fingers tighter in your hair, forcing your head back just enough to make you meet his eyes. “what are you grinning at?” he asked harshly.

“you proud of yourself? proud to be on your knees begging to hold my dick while I take a piss?” you nodded, breathless and warm, and whispered, “yes.” his laugh was ugly and pleased. “of course you are. filthy little bathroom slut.”

you got his jeans open slowly, button first, then zipper, tugging them down enough with clumsy, eager hands. when you pulled his cock free, your breath caught, because even soft he was big, thick and heavy in your palm, warm enough to make your fingers curl instinctively around him.

ben’s eyes dropped to your hand, then back to your face, and his mouth curved in that cruel way that made your stomach flip. “there it is,” he said. “one handful and you go stupid.” you swallowed hard, staring at him, your pussy clenching around nothing because he wasn’t wrong.

he covered your hand with his and adjusted your grip himself, forcing your fingers around the base of him exactly how he wanted. “hold it right,” he said, voice low and rough. “don’t sit there pawing at me like some drunk little idiot.”

you nodded quickly, but your thumb brushed over him anyway, unable to help yourself, and his hand snapped back into your hair. “don’t get greedy,” he warned. “you begged to hold it, not worship it.”

your eyes flicked up to his, wet and adoring. “can’t help it,” you whispered, and ben’s jaw tightened like that answer did something dangerous to him.

then he turned toward the toilet, your hand still wrapped around him, and finally started to piss. the first hot stream hit the water with a filthy, steady sound that made your whole body throb, the pale gold arc splashing into the bowl while you held him still.

it was obscene how intimate it felt, how your mouth went dry and your pussy got wetter, slick and needy between your thighs just from being trusted with something so gross and private.

you stared, hypnotized, your cheek brushing his thigh, and ben tugged your hair until you looked up. “don’t act shy now,” he said. “you begged for this like a spoiled little pervert.”

you moaned softly before you could stop yourself, the sound small and helpless beneath the splash of him still going. ben’s eyes darkened, and his lip curled. “you’re actually turned on,” he said, like he wanted to shame you until you melted into the floor.

“kneeling beside a toilet, holding my cock while I piss, and your cunt’s probably dripping through your panties.” you nodded because lying would’ve been pointless, and the confession made your face burn even hotter. “say it,” he snapped. “say what you are.” your voice came out tiny and sweet. “I’m your filthy little problem.”

when he finished, droplets clung to the tip of his cock, wet and shining, and he shifted like he was going to shake them off. you stopped him before he could, both hands coming up to turn him back toward your face, eager enough that his brows lifted.

ben stared down at you with disgusted delight, already understanding before you even opened your mouth. “no,” he said, voice rough. “you’re not that fucking nasty.” but you were already leaning in, tongue out, eyes locked on his like he hung the moon.

you licked him clean immediately, dragging your tongue over the wet head of his cock and moaning at the taste, shameless and happy and ruined. ben’s hand slammed against the sink for balance while the other tightened hard in your hair, his breath leaving him in a low curse.

you looked up at him the whole time, drunk and glowing, swallowing down the humiliation like it was affection, like his cruelty was something sacred. “jesus christ,” he muttered, staring at you like he didn’t know whether to laugh or ruin you.

then his grip pulled your head back, forcing your mouth away just enough for him to see your smile. “goddamn,” he said, cruel and almost fond. “you really are the nastiest thing I’ve ever owned.”

after he called you the nastiest thing he’d ever owned, you giggled, breathless and bright-eyed, like the insult had landed somewhere soft inside you instead of hurting. your cheek pressed against his thigh again, your mouth still wet, your hand still curled around him like you couldn’t bear to let go.

“next time,” you whispered, looking up at him with that ruined little smile, “you can do it in my mouth.”

© CUMKISSED ♡ | EST. JUNE 2026 ˎˊ˗ all original content found here belongs to me. canon material belongs to its respective owners. don't repost it, don't feed it to ai, don't translate it, don't archive it elsewhere, and definitely don't pretend you wrote it. ♡

[chaoticcaninee]

⋆˚꩜.ᐟ soldier boy who is a huge fucking freak.

who? fem!reader / soldier boy (mostly explicit if i'm being real), brief mention of the boys (frenchie + butcher) content warnings? intox play, drugs, no mention of y/n, dub con, fingering, oral (f!receiving), dirty talk, teasing, praise and degredation kink, size kink, dry humping, finger sucking, begging, manhandling, overstimulation, creampie, rough sex, edging, squirting, dacryphilia word count? 2.5k because i went off on this one peanut gallery? ahhhh this was so fun to write also first public fic WAHOO

soldier boy who absolutely adores intox play. he likes you sober, sure, but when you're so fucked up you can barely form words? that's his shit right there.

"doll, c'mere." he rumbled one night, beckoning you over to the couch he was sitting on, patting the cushion next to him.

and you did, mostly because you were in charge of him while the rest of the boys had gone out to do god knows what. butcher promised they wouldn't be too long, but that was nearly three hours ago. knowing him, they wouldn't be back 'til the ass crack of dawn anyway. you didn't know whether that was a good or bad thing just yet.

"mm?" you hummed, sitting down on the couch next to him. in the background, some rerun of a shitty western played quietly. it was all that ever played when he got the remote.

"wanna try somethin'," he murmured, low and slow. he palms around on the side table before finding what he was looking for, which was a baggie. nearly full of white powder.

"oh, i don't—" you started, a flush already starting to creep up your neck from the implication. "i don't do.. drugs."

it was a half truth. the worst you'd ever done was weed, and it was more trouble than what it was worth. frenchie had talked you into smoking with him once, and you nearly threw up from how hard you coughed. he laughed, because he's an asshole, and tossed you a bottle of water all the same. that was months ago.

"relax, it ain't gonna bite you." he chuckled, eying you before turning his attention back to the baggie. he licked his finger, just his index, before dipping it into the powder.

you wanted to object, to tell him to knock it off and find something that didn't involve you to do like you'd done a million times before. but you just watched him, eyes darting from his fingers to his face.

"open," he grunted, but waited all of three seconds before his other hand caught your jaw, fingers pressing into your cheeks to force your mouth open himself. you made a surprised squeal, a hand flying up to his wrist to try and push him away.

he just ignored it, opting to swipe the finger dusted in coke along your gums, before letting you go.

"ben, what the fuck—" you spluttered, but the powder was already dissolving into the soft tissue of your gums. you wanted to be mad, to cuss him out and.. well, you aren't entirely sure what you wanted to do, now that you think about it.

you can feel your face go numb in record time, vision snapping into focus at the same time. okay, you could totally deal with this. probably. your heart fluttered against your ribcage, but you elected to ignore it.

"you can't just shove your fingers in my mouth like that," you huffed, though it lacked any real heat. hard to put venom in your voice when you're hyper aware of every little thing in the room at the moment.

"can't i?" he drawled, flashing that shit-eating grin that made you want to punch him. "cause i'm pretty sure i just did."

god, it was fucking hot in here all of a sudden. you shifted against the couch, trying to focus on the TV, your leg bouncing in time with your heartbeat. he watched from the corner of his eye, gauging your high.

"somethin' wrong? y'look a little wired, kid," he hummed, cocking his head to look at you. his gaze raked over you, taking in all the little newfound mannerisms.

"don't—" you hissed, shooting him a glare. all it did was make his grin sharpen. "don't fucking start."

the words came out a little more breathless than intended. you were trying your best to keep it together, because you knew he was doing this for his own benefit, but it was quickly spinning out of your control. story of your life, though.

he just holds his hands up in surrender, turning his attention back to the TV. you're thankful, because it buys you time to get a grip on the situation. despite you trying to just focus on the TV and let the coke wear off, your eyes dart to the baggie on the coffee table.

he notices, because of fucking course he does. he just grins.

"want some more?" he asks, like he's offering you literally anything else.

you should say no. hell, you want to say no, but your face is so fucking numb and your brain isn't working—

"yeah," you nod, scooting closer to him now.

instead of him licking his fingers, he jerks his head toward you.

"open," he murmurs, and you do. he slides his index finger past your lips, and you run your tongue along the pad. you don't break eye contact with him, either. "atta girl." he grins, before removing his finger.

you almost whine at the loss of contact, but he's quick in his actions. dips his finger in the powder, brings it back up to your mouth, and this time you don't need to be asked. you suck the dust off his finger, pupils blown the size of saturn. when you decide there's nothing else left, you pull off with a wet pop.

you barely realize your proximity until he's practically nose to nose with you, and you don't push him away either. in his mind, that's enough of a yes for him. his lips crash against yours, teeth nearly clacking together from the force of it, all tongue and heat. your hands find his hair, tangling in the brown strands and tugging him closer.

"knew you'd come around," he grinned against your mouth, rough palms sliding under your shirt and pushing you down until your back meets the couch cushions under you. "shame i had'ta get you all high first."

he slots a knee between your thighs, knocking them open enough for him to angle it against your cunt. it'd been hot in the motel, so you were wearing loose shorts. lucky him. the sensation made your vision swim at the corners, hips rutting against his knee before you could stop yourself.

"ben— fuck, 'm not-" you rasp, still trying to defend yourself, but it breaks into a moan when your hips roll up against his knee. everything feels like too much and not enough at the same time, and you can't find it in you to say no.

"sure you ain't, baby. that why you're humpin' my knee like a fuckin' mutt?" he sneers, driving his knee harder against you. you let out a loud moan in response, and suddenly you can't find the words to argue anymore.

and then he pulls away. you whine in protest, looking at him through bleary eyes, already missing the contact. he doesn't stay gone long, though, his fingers hooking in the waistband of your shorts and panties before giving a little tug.

"hips up," he commands, and you listen. he yanks the clothing down and tosses it aside, leaving you in nothing but a shirt, fully exposed from the waist down.

his hand replaces his knee, and you're almost certain you're gonna die. there's no warning, no easing you into it either. his index finger slides in, then his middle. your back arches clean off the couch with a loud moan, which only drives his fingers deeper. he grins, before starting a pace that makes you nearly crawl up the wall.

"ben- 's too much, slow— slow down," you manage to choke out, but he either doesn't hear you or doesn't care. you're pretty sure that when you do come, it's gonna give you a heart attack. or at least it feels like it.

"you can take it, honey. bet you could take a lot more'n that, too," he rasps, dropping his head to the crook of your neck, sucking a mark that you're sure will be deep purple when you check it in the morning.

when his fingers crook against you just right, brushing up against a spot that makes your head swim, you know you're fucked. you're so close that it hurts, and right when you're about to come—

he pulls his fingers out. you make a frustrated noise, barely aware of the fact you're already tearing up. it's not your fault, really; you're high out of your mind, and he's doing nothing but playing games. anyone else would do the same.

"shhh, gonna give ya somethin' better, don't worry," he murmurs, sweet to the point of condescension. he shifts over you, only stopping when his head is situated between your thighs.

his arms wrap around your thighs, keeping you held in place as he licks a stripe up your cunt, slow and methodical. you're lucky he's pinning you against the couch, or else you would've shot right off of it. he makes a low noise of satisfaction, before his mouth suctions around your clit, tongue lapping at you like a starved man.

you swear you can see stars in your peripheral.

"ohmygod—" you yelp, hands flying down to bury themselves in his hair, if only to give yourself something to anchor onto. you don't tug or press his face closer, just holding. "fuuuck- ben, please, i'm— jesus christ-"

this time, he doesn't pull away. you come in record time, your back arching off the couch, thighs threatening to clamp around his head if it weren't for his arms keeping you open. he works you through it, before pulling away with that shit eating— well, pussy eating, in this case— grin.

"see, was that so hard, sugar?" he rumbles, dragging his knuckles against your slick cunt just to watch you squirm.

you feel his hands grab at your hips, and your position changes. this time, you're on your stomach, and he drags your hips up to force you up on your knees. you hear his belt buckle click open, then a zipper. despite your better judgement, you throw a look over your shoulder, and you freeze.

he's got a hand wrapped around his cock, giving a few harsh tugs because he knows you're watching. that's the least of your concern, at the moment. the majority of your concern lies in his size. he's thick and huge and there's no fucking way you're gonna be able to fit him—

but then he's sliding his tip between the lips of your cunt, not quite pushing in just yet, instead rolling his hips forward until his tip nudges against your clit. you give a broken moan at the feeling, and any protest about his size dies on your tongue.

the problem is, he keeps doing it. by the third time, you're begging.

"ben, please- mm- quit teasin' 'n fuck me already—" you plead, and clearly that's what he was looking for, because he pulls back at that.

you're half scared he's not gonna fuck you at all until he's pushing inside, and you're certain you're gonna die. the stretch makes you nearly sob, entirely too much for your already oversensitive body. it makes no difference to him, though, because he doesn't stop until he's bottomed out, his hips pressed firm against your ass.

"fuuuck— so goddamn tight like this, could stay like this forever," he groans, a hand kneading at the fat of your ass before raising, coming back down with a harsh slap. "fuckin' made to take cock, aren't you, doll?"

you give a weak noise of agreement, and he takes that opportunity to pull out just enough to make you think he's done, before slamming back in. it punches a moan out of you, fingers digging into the fabric of the couch cushion below you just to have something to hold.

his pace is nothing short of brutal. the pain of him stretching you open dies down after a few good snaps of his hips, but the tears don't stop. you're overstimulated six ways to sunday, and already rapidly approaching your second orgasm of the night.

"ben- ben, i can't- fuck, please-" you babble, not even fully sure of what you're asking for. maybe to come, maybe for him to slow the fuck down and give you time to breathe, who's to say.

"you can, and you will," he growls behind you, your words earning you another sharp slap on the ass. you yelp, but he ignores it and shifts to find a new angle.

and god help him, he does. his hand wraps up and around your throat, pulling you up against his chest, the scruff of his beard brushing against your cheek. this position makes it feel like he's this close to hitting your lungs, and makes him hit just right against your g spot.

"don't cry, just let me make y'feel good," he murmurs, his voice like syrup in your ears despite him pounding into you like he hates your guts.

"please- please, ben, 's too much- fuck—" you whimper, but then his fingers are rubbing tight circles into your clit, and you're gone.

you tighten up around him, your body going taut as a wire, and you actually squirt. since when could you even do that? you don't have time to think about it because he shoves your head down into the couch cushions, his pace picking up and fucking you through it, like he's chasing his own orgasm now.

"fuck— there y'go, sweetheart, takin' it so fuckin' well," he rasps, and judging by the fact his movements are losing rhythm, he's not far behind you.

"gonna fill you up proper, doll- shit— " he groans, and he gets three good strokes before his hips stutter against yours, cock twitching as he finally comes inside you.

he stays like that for a while, letting you catch your breath while he does the same. when he finally does pulls out, you go slack against the couch, feeling his cum drip down between your thighs. he gives a breathless chuckle, patting your hip before standing up.

"did so good f'me, pretty girl," he murmurs, crouching down beside you to get a better look at you. "you still with me, sweet thing?"

you give a soft noise of acknowledgement, eyes cracking open enough to look at him. your face is streaked with tears, your hair is a fucking mess, and you're pretty sure you could sleep for a month after this.

ben's not domestic, not in the slightest. but he's also not a total asshole, contrary to popular belief. he lifts you up off the couch, shifting your weight in his arms until he's sure he won't drop you, and deposits you in his bed in the room over. he's wordless as he pulls the covers over you, just enough to make sure nobody sees you naked if they walk in.

"sleep it off, princess. you'll be fine in the mornin'."

and then he was gone, and you promptly fell asleep.

© chaoticcaninee || do not steal, copy, modify, or reupload my writing.

[dreher59]

⋆˙ Goth divider and png for collages 𖤐

[suupersonic]

⏝ི ▦ metallic dividers

© suupersonic . . . cr if use (tags pls) °｡⋆⸜(˙꒳​˙ )

[chaoticcaninee]

masterlist . . .

the boys —

soldier boy ⤷ one shot ; intox play ; f!reader ; smut ⤷ one shot ; period comfort ; f!reader ; fluff ⤷

supernatural —

dean winchester ⤷ ⤷ ⤷

. . .

sam winchester ⤷ ⤷ ⤷

. . .

castiel novak ⤷ ⤷ ⤷

© chaoticcaninee || do not steal, copy, modify, or reupload my writing. div creds: @kthice

[softpawpup]

⋱ ― ♱ . STAR DIVIDERS ♱

made some star dividers !!! decided to do some dreamy colors to match the vibe of the stars :3 some purple, blue, yellow, black and white tehe i will definitely work my way up to making more complex ones but i like these kinda simple ones for now

[firefly-graphics]

Red Hearts & Stars Dividers

Please like and reblog if you use or save.

Requested by @sparklesmolwarriorprincess​​

Requests are OPEN!

Dividers List

[kthice]

𓈒 ͜ ︵ ݂ ׁ random dividers

*rainbow div from @sweetestpeacreates *credits are appreciated ty!!most of them are made by me and others are collected from pinterest*