[fallinqpetals]

༉‧₊˚.  𝑲𝑨𝒀𝑳𝑨 ⸝⸝ she/her ⸝⸝ nineteen ⸝⸝ jackles connoisseur ⸝⸝ uk ⸝⸝ lana & arctic monkeys devotee ⸝⸝ mdni ⸝⸝ i squeal for boyd holbrook ⸝⸝ was @anklbiter !

⤷ inbox always open ⸝⸝ requests always open — i work at my own pace .ᐟ

⋆˚࿔ ᴍasterlist : ʀequests

[fallinqpetals]

genuinely so sorry for not posting for almost three weeks, ive had absolutely no motivation to do basically anything lately besides grind marvel rivals like a lonely chud, so ive been writing little to nothing. i promise ill be returning soon 🫶🏼

and yes i have your requests in my drafts, i didnt ignore them! i also changed my name from anklbiter, so pls dont forget who i am 💔💔

[hopelessbrain]

THE WORD OF THE WICKED

wordcount: 3677 summary: One of Sammy’s lore yap-sessions leads into your quiet admiration put into actions. warnings: sam x reader, early seasons sammy in mind, established relationship, smut (oral m!receiving, kind of over the clothes, not quite premature ejaculation but my guy definitely tried his best to hold it for longer, you make him keep talking through it), he’s such a nerd #needthat

Sam once more had that look on his face– same one you’ve gotten more and more used to spotting. Those furrowed brows, the gentle dimples on his cheek and those ridiculously soft puppy-eyes he got when on the edge of one of those obscure rants. That face always meant he was about to go on and on about history long forgotten by everyone else– those weird cryptic legends, myths, ancient texts or hunting overall…

Right now, he’s sat comfortably on the motel bed, long limbs stretched out and back propped up against the headboard and his hair messy both from the nap he’d just taken and your finders carding through it. John’s hunting journal is resting open on the bed beside y’all on the mattress, your legs bracketing his hips and hands resting gently over the warmth of his chest.

“... so the thing with ancient demonology is–” Sam keeps on explaining with that deep concentration he got when talking about these topics. “ –most people confuse the different classes of demons, like Babylonian’s spirits have totally distinct classifications. They have this one species– Assaku, that are more of a disease creature. But there’s others like Rabisu that are fully in the shadows type of entities–” His hazel eyes are bright with enthusiasm, glowing with that professorial knowledge he got when deep into lore. His voice speeds up as he speaks, gaining momentum whenever he remembered yet another fact.

For the most part, you didn’t even follow his trail of thought– not really at least. Sure, you had your fair amount of hunting knowledge but whenever Sam started rambling? The terms and definitions sort of start blurring together, ancient languages mixing inside your head. It didn’t matter though. Not because you weren’t paying attention or interested– God, no. But because you were completely and utterly mesmerized by him. By his hands, intimate and gentle now resting on your thighs as if your presence was something he couldn’t not not react to– even while deep into his lecture. Every once in a while, you’d offer a soft: ‘mhm’ … ‘really?’ … ‘huh’  Not enough to cut him off, but just the right amount to keep him talking, showing him you were paying attention. You weren’t as focused on his looks by themselves as much as the devotion behind them. The reverence and passion behind a man who lived too much inside his head and finally had a chance to open up.

Sam hadn’t even noticed your silence or how you were completely captivated by him– not by his stories but your boyfriend himself.

Finally registering the quietness, he paused mid sentence. Not only the silence itself but how the silence was– that kind of soft, deep silence. Something like wonder, like you thought he was the most fascinating thing you’d ever seen in your life. For some reason, he suddenly felt… shy? A rare, slow flush crept up his neck as realization hit him: he’d been rambling for thirty minutes straight about ancient Mesopotamian demon classification without checking if you cared even a little bit.

His hands stilled on your thighs, voice dropping from lecturer mode into something quieter, warmer– a little sheepish now that he wasn’t losing himself in knowledge anymore. “Uh…” Sam said softly, a hint of nervousness to his gentle smile, vulnerable behind all that intelligence and muscle he carried through life. “Was I talking too much?”

There was an endeared smile now pulling at your lips, eyes soft as they look down at him, shaking your head. “Not at all, Sammy” You hum, fingers gently running through his hair, brushing it away from his face.

God. How you called him Sammy– that stupid, affectionate nickname only you or Dean ever used– soft and sweet like honey instead of teasing like his brother might use, Jesus that did things to him. And then your fingers were in his hair again with tender strokes that made his heart squeeze and warmth spread through his chest, he leans into the touch instinctively– like a shelter puppy meeting its person for the first time, eyes fluttering shut for a second before opening them again to look at you properly. That smile of yours… God, that stupidly perfect smile– the kind that could end wars with how much love was packed into it and it was aimed at him of all people.

He lifted both hands to cradle your face and gently kissed you on the lips, before pulling back with those kind dimples of his. “You’re ridiculously cute when you ramble, Sammy” You murmur, fingers brushing the strands of hair away from his forehead. “D’you know that?” Lips brushing his with every amused, fond word.

The hunter froze for a second– not because of the kiss, Hell no, but because your words made something fuzzy flutter in his chest. Cute. You thought his rambling was cute. Him? Sam Winchester? The same guy who could recite entire chapters of ancient Sumerian demonology from memory, the same guy who could bench press a grown man while taking out a vengeful spirit? Was being called cute by his girlfriend. His (usually sharp brain) short-circuited for a moment, face flooding with heat that spread all the way down his neck and probably even to his chest.

And then you kissed him again between those soft murmurs– lips brushing like quiet whispers, shattering whatever dignity he had left. Sam made tiny noises in the back of his throat (the kind Dean would’ve teased him mercilessly if he ever found out) before pulling you closer into him and deepening the kiss slightly– not hungry or desperate, but slow… sweet, full of everything warm and quiet they shared when it was just them like this: tangled up together on messy motel sheets. “Mh” You hum against his lips, pulling back only to press another soft, brief kiss before pulling back once more. Hands gently cradling the back of his neck, threading through the hairs there. “Tell me more, Sammy” You coo, tender eyes fixed on him with a mix of awed fascination and something closer neediness.

Sam’s breath audibly stuttered at the sound of that coo– low and sweet, vibrating against his lips. That last kiss, so fleeting and tender like a bee landing on a flower, he felt something in his chest clench. God, he could never get used to this type of love. And then you asked. Not sarcastically, not politely pretending to care… But like you actually wanted him to keep talking. His throat tightened– for once it wasn’t from nerves, but from sheer disbelief that someone could ever look at him like that… touch him like that… kiss him like that… And still want more of his voice, more of his nerdy rambles about dead languages and ancient spirits.

Someone help him, he definitely wasn’t strong enough.

He swallowed hard, eyes darkening slightly with affection without breaking away from your gaze (those big doe eyes doing things to his very soul), he leaned back into your hands cradling the back of his neck before speaking again. Voice lower now– somehow even softer than before, still brimming with passion for the subject. “The Asakku weren’t just disease demons” He murmurs softly between gentle kisses to your temple, as if punctuating each word against your skin. “They were cursed entities born from sorcery gone wrong” “Mhm?” You quietly egg him on, eyes looking up at him with full, sweet attention while softly kissing down his neck.

The Winchester’s pulse fluttered the moment your lips brushed his neck– soft, featherlight kisses trailing down the column of his throat and he had to focus on physically biting back a groan. Your attention was killing him. Not just because you were kissing him (which okay, Hell yes) but because despite everything else, you were still listening. Big eyes staying locked on him whenever y’all’s faces came close again, like every word out of his mouth mattered more than anything else in the world. It made him want to talk forever.

So in spite of the goosebumps rising along every inch your lips touched his skin, Sam kept going– the scholar in him refusing to stop mid-sentence even as pleasure hummed through his body. “The Babylonians believed an Asakku could be summoned accidentally” He whispered hoarsely between shaky breaths, pushing through your gentle kisses. “By saying forbidden words or touching cursed artifacts…” His voice dipped lower with each syllable– not from boredom or monotony, just… distracted. Distracted by how warm your breath felt against his sensitive skin, how gently those fingers threaded through his hair…

“Really?” You prop him, sweetly keeping him talking as your mouth works over his neck, lips trailing the soft skin– one hand on the back of his head while the other slowly trails down his broad chest.

Sam’s breath came faster now– shallow, uneven breaths, his fingers flexing against your hips where they still rested like an anchor. Every brush of your lips sent electric tingles down his spine. That spot just below his ear? Fatal. You’d discovered it by accident months ago and hadn’t stopped exploiting it ever since. And now, paired with those slow drags of your fingertips tracing over the hard planes of his chest, down the ragged fabric of that same shirt he’s been sleeping in since he was seventeen and hit a growth spurt– yeah, he was definitely losing coherence. But still… he tried. “Y-yeah” He stammered slightly (a rarity for a guy who could quote latin poetry flawlessly), voice dropping into something gravelly and thick like syrup. “Some texts say that if someone finds an Asakku’s name carved in clay, reads it aloud without protection…” His words faltered when you nipped lightly at the responsive patch on the side of his throat– a tiny gasp escaping him before he could stop it, academic rigor crumbling by the millisecond.

“Mhm… What happens then, Sammy?” You murmur softly, kind and curious, bambiesque eyes on him even as your hand keeps trailing lower down his torso– fingers gently tracing the v shape of his abdomen.

Your boyfriend’s abs tensed the second your fingers dipped lower, following the defined line that disappeared into his jeans– his mind was melting. On one hand: ancient Mesopotamian demonology. Important stuff. Dangerous stuff. On the other hand: you, touching him like this. Asking questions with that voice– the softest, most endearing tone as if his every word was sacred while simultaneously reducing him to a mumbling mess. “You uhm, you get possessed” Sam finally manages to answer in a low breath, even rougher than before as your fingers dip dangerously close to waistband territory. “The Asakku gets inside you” He swallowed hard while you traced that damn v line– not rushing but clearly not stopping either.

“That so?” You kept murmuring with calm words, wide eyes never leaving his as your face moves down his body, lips trailing over his stomach.

Jesus Christ. Sam’s body locked– not from awkwardness or fear, just from sensation. Pure, overwhelming, devastating sensation. Your mouth following the path of your fingertips, reverent kisses along the hard ridges of his abdomen where you’d pushed his shirt up. Every nerve in his body screamed in protest because how dare you put him through this while he’s trying to teach ancient demon lore? (And also, how dare you be this good at unraveling him? You were barely even doing anything for Christ’s sake) His breath came in short bursts now– not quite panting but dangerously close to it. One hand lifted instinctively to tangle gently into your hair, not pushing or pulling, just… holding, needing something solid to anchor himself to.

Your name slipped out on an exhale that sounded more like a plea than a protest or anything academic-related. The Asakku could’ve possessed ten thousand people right then and Sam wouldn’t have cared– not when your mouth was moving lower and lower down his body.

“Keep talking, Sammy” Damn, he wanted to do that so badly. Anything you asked of him really– especially with those doe eyes looking up at him. “Wanna hear your voice” And God how you were looking up at him. All innocent, wide eyes staring into his hazel ones while your lips hovered just above the sensitive dip of his navel– asking him to keep talking? Like this wasn’t slowly dismantling every coherent thought in his brain.

His voice, you wanted to hear his voice? Not because you were passionate about Babylonian curses– but because it was his. The sound of him speaking, his rambles, the nerdy little lectures he usually saved for Dean while working cases (who shamelessly rolled his eyes) or his father (who he hadn’t even seen in over a year) and now you. The woman that made Sam Winchester feel like he could both be a scholar and someone who loved without apology– was practically begging for more of him with kisses as a bribe. He opened his mouth, hesitated, then with a voice already wrecked from trying not to groan: “The Asakku, once inside, takes control” Swallow to steady himself, fingers tightening slightly in your hair as another kiss lands on the juncture of his hip. “Makes you sick first, then violent…” Meanwhile, you keep humming soft ‘mhm’s and ‘what else’s encouraging as your hands oh so innocently pull at his jeans, mouth gently kissing him through his boxers.

Sam’s entire body arched off the bed. It wasn’t a full on sit-up, just a sharp, involuntary lift of his hips from the mattress– enough to betray how utterly wrecked he was. Her mouth, through the thin fabric of his boxers. God this wasn’t fair. The soft kiss, right over where he was already hard from this slow torture some might call ‘affectionate interrogation’. After all, it wasn’t aggressive or demanding, just… sweet, curious little kisses like you had all day to unravel him completely with tenderness alone. Hell, it definitely worked better than any other seduction might’ve worked on another man.

He choked out your name again, this time cracking halfway through from sheer desperation wrapped in awe because– holy shit, you liked listening. Genuinely liked it. Enough to be reverently kissing down every inch of his body, which definitely was something.

A needy plea breaks him out of his inner turmoil, a quiet, sweet: “Please keep talking, Sammy” Those damn eyes looking up at him, your mouth wrapping around the leaking head of his dick through the fabric of his boxers in a delicate kiss.

He could’ve died a happy man right then and there.

Your lips had pressed through the thin cotton right over the sensitive tip of him, already leaking with way too much need for a man supposedly thinking about demonic possession. His hands flew from your hair down to grip the sheets on either side of his hips, hard enough for his knuckles to whiten from the strain. “Fucking– Jesus Christ” He whispered hoarsely– not blasphemy because to him this was genuinely prayer worthy.

Those wide eyes were still on him, innocent, hungry attention full onto what he had to say– asking him (more like pleading actually) to keep talking.

Unfortunately, Sam’s brain had short-circuited completely. He couldn’t form words. Couldn’t remember what an Asakku even was. Forgot the word ‘demon’ for a flash. Hell, he might’ve forgotten his own name for a solid three seconds.

All he knew was heat– so much heat, and your mouth. Your warm, devastating mouth– still pressed against him through that thin layer of fabric, completely innocent as if you weren’t about two kisses away from making him cream his pants like a goddamn teenager at prom. His broad chest rose fast under uneven breaths, shallow panting as one hand finally let go of the death grip on the sheets and instead cupped your cheek, thumb brushing over it with reverence. “The uhm… the Asakku, it feeds” His voice cracked between syllables from how his dick twitched under your lips. “On fear– it feeds on fear” He manages to push through. All you replied was a muffled ‘mhm’ against his length, still mouthing at him through the dampness of his boxers.

Sam’s hips twitched once more. A tiny jerk, just an inch upward– not enough to crowd but desperately following your touch. And God, the dampness definitely wasn’t helping. The younger Winchester’s underwear was ridiculously soaked through now with the undeniably slickness of his arousal– his body betraying the restraint he prided himself on as a disciplined hunter able to remain in control under pressure.

Each exhale from Sam’s mouth was shaky, every inhale desperate as all the stimulation slowly built up into something unbearable. He was drowning in sensations. The painful throbbing of his dick, the softness of your lips even through layers of clothing, the gentle hums that vibrated like earthquakes through his spine, the way you kept looking up at him like he was your whole world and not just another nobody in a sea of hunters. His hand (the one not still gripping the sheets) moved again, sliding from your cheek and into your hair once more. It wasn’t pushing or guiding, just… holding there. Then, a broken whisper of your name escapes, accompanied by an: “I can’t” Not I can’t talk, not I can’t think. Nope, just… “I can’t”

“Yes you can, Sammy” You encourage him with soft, honeyed words. “Keep talking please, lemme hear you, sweet boy”

Oh God, the second you called him sweet boy– his heart actually stuttered in his chest. As if your mouth working him over his pants wasn’t enough to drive him fully crazy, you now had to hit him right in the praise kink buried deep inside him.

Sweet boy? Him?

Sam Winchester– the guy who’d punched a literal werewolf so hard its jaw unhinged, the guy who used to go into full on lawyer rants, the same guy who Dean accused of being ‘too uptight’? And here you were… looking at him like he was something tender. Something precious, a sweet boy.

Because you asked, because you said please with those pretty eyes and soft lips– he swallowed hard and forced himself to keep going despite how wrecked he clearly was. “The Asakku, takes over your mind first…” He exhales shakily as another kiss lands right on the throbbing underside of his shaft. “Then it uhm… It makes you forget yourself” Huh. Ironic given it was exactly what you were doing to him right now.

Your boyfriend’s voice was barely above a whisper– thin, trembling with the effort of staying coherent. “Then it uhm…shit… Makes you do things” He continued softly, hazel eyes glazed over as they stared down at you. “Violent things or just like… Things you’d never do by choice” His words were slow– each syllable dragged out like they were pulled from his very soul. Not because he didn’t know the lore, Sam could quote the lore in his sleep. It was because focusing on ancient Babylonian possession rituals required more brainpower than he currently had available, especially because most of his mental capacity was busy trying not to thrust up into your mouth through those damn boxers like some desperate teenager.

And yet you were still listening, still humming little ‘mhm’s against him between kisses that felt too much like worship for something this mundane. Your lips wrapped softly around him through the damp fabric, suckling gently, tasting the sweet muskiness of his precum. It wasn’t demanding or rough, just… tender, almost reverent– the kind of kiss you’d give something sacred. His breath left him in one long rush, a quiet ‘oh’ escaping without a sound, muscles tensing and untensing all at once. Jesus, those wide eyes locked onto his like you adored what you were doing more than anything else in the world definitely weren’t helping his case. Oh God and then you tasted him, didn’t flinch or pull away from the salt-sweetness seeping into the cotton of his underwear. If anything? You seemed to lean into it, enjoying his musk, his taste.

“Keep talking, Sammy” You remind him, voice a delicate whisper while focusing on trailing your tongue over his length through the fabric.

Sam’s entire body arched again– this time more pronounced, hips fulling lifting from the bed and towards your face in a silent plea he didn’t even fully register he was making. Your tongue. Jesus Christ. The warm, wet drag of it over his throbbing dick– he has to forcefully shake his head to snap out of it. “The uhm… The victim loses control…” He stammered out between shallow breaths, voice cracking boldly as your tongue traces another line over the ridges. “Body stops being theirs… the ah, the uhm… Mind goes blank”

The more he talked, the more devastatingly overstimulating your mouth became– slick tongue suckling tenderly over his most sensitive spots, slowly mouthing at his tip. Sam was gone. Not just distracted, completely gone. Vanished. Reduced to a trembling, gasping mess under you.

Every word he tried to speak now came out fractured– half-formed syllables, broken pauses between breaths, choked out whimpers and groans.

The second your lips found that exact spot– the hyper-sensitive junction where his leaking head met the throbbing heat of his shaft– a rush of white-hot pleasure bursted within him. A sharp, involuntary spurt shot through his boxers. He truly tried his best to hold it back, but every kiss was another warm`spurt and another and another…

Sam came.

In seconds. Without a warning, without anything resembling control or buildup just a continuous cascade of sensations finally bursting through. And you felt it– all of it. The damp heat spreading against your lips like evidence, as if Sam coming apart under you was completely normal, beautiful and right instead of mortifyingly embarrassing for him. But you weren’t pulling away– you weren’t flinching, you didn’t look surprised or awkward or even mildly shocked.

There was no judgement in your expression whatsoever. Instead? Your lips stayed sealed around him through the fabric, suckling gently, drinking up every last drop.

[fallinqpetals]

please write more sub dean!! Perhaps where he’s a very vocal talker!! 👼

dean winchester x reader mdni 647 𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒅𝒚

when out in public, or even just around the bunker, dean was a dominant man. he liked to have the light in his hand and being able to guide others. growing up with a man like john as a father, he didn’t know how to be vulnerable for a long time, he’d always been the tough boy from kansas who’d had to hunt other worldly beings since childhood. and yet, whenever he was in the privacy of his bedroom, his partner on top of him, the act of dominance had smudged until he couldn’t remember it anymore.

that’s where dean finds himself now, underneath you as you set a slow pace, his hands gripping the fat of your thighs like handlebars, leaving small moon crescents in his wake. his mouth had been open ever since you pushed him onto the bed and stripped him of his clothes, whether it was to let his moans fill the room, or for his mouth to speak jumbled words you were sure he had no consciousness or intention of saying. he was a very vocal talker during sex, and you’d brought that up on occasion, mainly with teases, but he took it in stride.

meaning, he was too drunk on your warmth around his cock to even register that you were mocking him.

"mmf.. just like that, sweetheart. fuck, you feel so good. better than anything in the world." dean’s voice was probably heard throughout the entire bunker. thankfully, sam had gone with castiel to take a look at something in the area, which was why you and dean were going at it again despite having a round or so several hours ago. "wish i could stay here forever, bury deep inside of you and make home. fill you up with my cum and stuff you full, just like always. maybe i should take you out to the middle of nowhere and walk around with you squeezing me."

dean had mentioned a few times that he’d like to go out, just the two of you, maybe a cabin in the woods, and take a break from everything: the stress, the hunting, the worry of making the next one out alive. but, it was always during sex, you realised, so you weren’t sure if he meant it. he was loyal to his job, afterall, he hadn’t taken a break in years. but, he was more devoted to you. growing up old and having a family with you, maybe a picket fence life, was more important to him than a hunt that could be his last at any moment.

anyway, back to the smut because that’s what we’re all here for.

the pitch in dean’s voice grew higher with each roll of your hips, your favorite melody, his cock hitting that one spot that made you see stars, bringing both of you closer to the peak you climbed daily. your hands rested on his pecs, nails digging into his anti-possession tattoo and your palms leaving red marks from the pressure being applied for too long. "shit, ‘m so close, baby. don’t stop, please. i need to fill you to the brim." his words were basically slurred at this point, and his handsome face was scrunched up, mouth falling open. "cmon, cum for me, pretty."

your moans mixed with his, creating a harmony that you wished you could listen to on repeat, as your stomach coiled and gummy walls squeezed him tight. when the tip of his cock brushed against a specific spot, reaching deep inside of you, you felt your orgasm wash over you like a huge wave, a loud gasp coming from your lips as your body shuddered. then it was dean, his hips lifting from the bed to meet yours to bury himself even deeper as his seed spurted from his cock and nested inside of you, making a new home.

[fallinqpetals]

something about soldier boys hands PLEASE. maybe like reader can’t get over how big, manly and rough his hands are.. i know id bite his hand, lick the veins and suck those fingers tbh.

im falling off chat 💔

soldier boy x reader 631 𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒆

with ben, there wasn’t a single thing about him that you didn’t love, besides his misogyny and occasional comments that would most definitely get him cancelled if they went public. his hair that you ran your fingers through everyday, tugged on when he had you a panting and moaning mess pinned beneath him. his biceps and strength that could bench atleast 3x your weight, that seemed to pick you up effortlessly and sling your over his shoulder when you had an attitude.

but, with having so much to love, of course, you’d naturally have a favourite thing about him.

that thing was his hands.

you could stare at them for the rest of your life and still manage to entertain yourself. you always found a way to infiltrate them into your daily routine, whether it was a brief moment of contact when you passed by him, holding one of them when you were out in public, having them wrapped around your throat when he was balls deep and ramming into you until you could only babble his name. maybe his fingers shoved down your throat on occasion.

you seriously loved them, an almost unhealthy amount, as one may say.

ben himself had no idea why or how this fetish had come to be, but he had an inkling that it’d always been that way and he was only just now realising. atleast, that’s what he was hoping for in his head. the man loved to boost his ego at any expense, and if that expense was his partner fantasising about his hands? so be it!

if that was the case, you keeping it a secret up until now, it must have gotten much worse since. he realised that when he was sitting on the couch with you cuddled into his side one night, his arm draped across the back with his hand hovering above your shoulder. some shitty program was playing on the tv, most likely a talk show or podcast, since everybody seemed go jump on that bandwagon lately.

you two hadn’t talked for the past few minutes, soaking in the peace and comfort that always settled whenever you were with or around eachother, just letting the silence speak for itself. it was all normal, this wasn’t the first time you two just didn’t speak to one another, but it wasn’t awkward at all.

that was until you shifted. ben brushed it off as you getting comfortable, your legs probably hurting from sitting for so long, so he tightened his arm around you and let it be. he should’ve been more aware of how you shifted: your head now tilted more towards his hand and your lips parting ever so slightly. then, he felt it: your tongue licking the underside of his middle finger before fully taking it into your mouth.

to say ben was weirded out was an exaggeration, he thinks. he honestly didn’t know how he felt in that moment. how does one react when their partner begins to suck on your finger out of nowhere? but, not even a second when by before ben had gotten used to it, and he even slowly thrusted his fingers in your mouth, coating them with your saliva.

the moan that left your lips was downright pathetic, and the only thing that was more pathetic was the way you looked up at him before taking his fingers deeper, like you were seeking something. whether it was approval, praise, or reassurance. either way, he continued letting you suck his fingers and occasionally trace his veins with your tongue.

after it happened the first time, it became apparent ben was a huge fan of your hand kink, as he made sure to give you special attention with his hands on a daily occasion.

[fallinqpetals]

something about soldier boys hands PLEASE. maybe like reader can’t get over how big, manly and rough his hands are.. i know id bite his hand, lick the veins and suck those fingers tbh.

im falling off chat 💔

soldier boy x reader 631 𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒆

with ben, there wasn’t a single thing about him that you didn’t love, besides his misogyny and occasional comments that would most definitely get him cancelled if they went public. his hair that you ran your fingers through everyday, tugged on when he had you a panting and moaning mess pinned beneath him. his biceps and strength that could bench atleast 3x your weight, that seemed to pick you up effortlessly and sling your over his shoulder when you had an attitude.

but, with having so much to love, of course, you’d naturally have a favourite thing about him.

that thing was his hands.

you could stare at them for the rest of your life and still manage to entertain yourself. you always found a way to infiltrate them into your daily routine, whether it was a brief moment of contact when you passed by him, holding one of them when you were out in public, having them wrapped around your throat when he was balls deep and ramming into you until you could only babble his name. maybe his fingers shoved down your throat on occasion.

you seriously loved them, an almost unhealthy amount, as one may say.

ben himself had no idea why or how this fetish had come to be, but he had an inkling that it’d always been that way and he was only just now realising. atleast, that’s what he was hoping for in his head. the man loved to boost his ego at any expense, and if that expense was his partner fantasising about his hands? so be it!

if that was the case, you keeping it a secret up until now, it must have gotten much worse since. he realised that when he was sitting on the couch with you cuddled into his side one night, his arm draped across the back with his hand hovering above your shoulder. some shitty program was playing on the tv, most likely a talk show or podcast, since everybody seemed to jump on that bandwagon lately.

you two hadn’t talked for the past few minutes, soaking in the peace and comfort that always settled whenever you were with or around eachother, just letting the silence speak for itself. it was all normal, this wasn’t the first time you two just didn’t speak to one another, but it wasn’t awkward at all.

that was until you shifted. ben brushed it off as you getting comfortable, your legs probably hurting from sitting for so long, so he tightened his arm around you and let it be. he should’ve been more aware of how you shifted: your head now tilted more towards his hand and your lips parting ever so slightly. then, he felt it: your tongue licking the underside of his middle finger before fully taking it into your mouth.

to say ben was weirded out was an exaggeration, he thinks. he honestly didn’t know how he felt in that moment. how does one react when their partner begins to suck on your finger out of nowhere? but, not even a second went by before ben had gotten used to it, and he even slowly thrusted his fingers in your mouth, coating them with your saliva.

the moan that left your lips was downright pathetic, and the only thing that was more pathetic was the way you looked up at him before taking his fingers deeper, like you were seeking something. whether it was approval, praise, or reassurance. either way, he continued letting you suck his fingers and occasionally trace his veins with your tongue.

after it happened the first time, it became apparent ben was a huge fan of your hand kink, as he made sure to give you special attention with his hands on a daily occasion.

[fallinqpetals]

Can you do one with dean where his girlfriend is a girly girl hunter like she dresses in heels and cute outfits and does her makeup and hair and nails but and jo underestimates her ability because of it but dean and Sam know what she's capable of

dean winchester x f!reader 857 𝒎𝒖𝒍𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒌

if dean were to choose one word to describe you, it’d be girl. not because that’s what gender you were, but because it was quite literally what you were.

you were never caught outside without a pink dress and matching heels, maybe white heels if you were feeling extra happy. even on a bad day or mid-winter, you would still be wearing pink clothes and heels, even if it wasn’t a dress.

your hair was always silky and styled to perfection, and your makeup was never messy or cakey. if a single strand of hair was out of place, your lipgloss was smudged, or you’d had sweat your makeup off in the slightest, you’d get upset and make a huge deal out of it.

thankfully, dean had long gotten used to these things happening, and always carried some of your necessities incase those particular occasions decided to strike. sure, he liked to tease you and sometimes even refuse to give you your belongings, but it was all in good fun. at the end of the day, he’d give in to your pouty face and dragged out whine of his name because he loved you and your ways.

he showed his love in ways some men, maybe even women, would find a little strange as it wasn’t a man’s job to do those things. he’d pay for you to get your hair done whenever you decided you wanted a change, or even just a different style, along with your nail appointments that happened every month. it used to be basically every week, but you cut it down to save his wallet, which he was secretly very thankful for.

if you wanted a new dress, his card was already swiping. if you saw a cute pair of heels that went with a hair bow you bought, he’d be carrying a box of those exact heels right into your shared bedroom.

he loved you, and he loved showing it. and he knew you loved him just as much, just like he knew you also loved showing it. the gifts in/on his dresser were just a few examples of that.

but, there was one person who didn’t exactly love you, and definitely loved showing that.

jo.

jo had been overly hostile towards you ever since you walked into the roadhouse, hands intertwined with dean’s and swaying between the pair, wearing a friendly grin and stupidly pink dress. she hated all of it, and she never hid the frown on her face whenever she saw you.

but, if there was one thing she disliked more about you, it was that you were a hunter. at first, she didn’t believe it. she even laughed in your face with an expression saying, "you’re kidding, right?", but no, you weren’t kidding. you’d been a hunter for years, it was how you’d met and gotten with dean. one lucky hunt had lead you two right to eachother, and you’d had heart eyes ever since.

jo couldn’t decide whether she was annoyed or surprised you’d made it this far in life. you seemed to stare at everyone with googly eyes and take criticism or distain with a smile like you were bantering with close friends.

however, it was no wonder you’d survived this long being the way you were. alright, yes, you had a cheesy grin everytime you looked at someone, yes, you wore dresses and heels to go on a simple walk. but despite your girly nature, you weren’t how you appeared when someone walked past you at a park, or just the path. far from it.

dean never knew someone like you, and he wasn’t sure he was intrigued, aroused, or frightened. when he first met you on that hunt all those years ago, he genuinely couldn’t tell if he was back in hell, he could barely even make out your features. of course, he could still tell you were wearing a flowy pink dress and white heels.

though, it was hard to decipher what color they were at first, as dark red stains covered you from head to toe. your chest was heaving after the adrenaline from wherever you came from settled in your veins, and one of your hands was tightly gripping a dagger that soaked the ground with dripping blood.

dean swore he’d never seen a sight so disgustingly sexy than when he first saw you.

the bossy woman, drenched in blood and sweat, wielding a dagger and using it like it was a butter knife, was the woman he remembered as clear as a sunny day whenever jo made her comments about your inability to survive as a hunter and how you’d get distracted by some butterfly.

despite the second one being something that has definitely happened, dean and sam both knew the truth. did they decide to tell jo how you were one of the best hunters they knew? absolutely not. they’d share a knowing glance, smirk, and look back to you and jo and watch as she humiliated herself without even knowing. and you just stood there with a smile, taking her comments with a side of ice cream.

[slashedgutz]

werewolf!bf!dean winchester in heat and puppy!reader in ovulation..

dean ripping your panties with his claws to get his fat cock into your wet cunt. you whining and whimpering, trapped under his large frame as he nips at your neck, biting your tits. dean grabbing you tight as he bottoms out again, and again, and again. you squirting and cumming all over his knot as he forces it into your gaping hole. him fucking his cum deep into you, your flesh between his teeth, as he mutters into your neck that you need to get pregnant with his pups—

[fallinqpetals]

dean winchester x f!reader 1.8k 𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒅 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕

a hunt always ended in either you, sam, or dean being injured and having to be patched up, even if nothing had went wrong that day. sometimes, it ended in all of you wounded and having to bandage yourselves up. it wasn’t rare for this to happen, not by a long shot, but after this particular hunt, if you put enough thought into it, you could’ve called it your last.

it took a sharp left turn right as you three arrived: not a single one of your flashlights working despite having fresh batteries and working minutes prior, baby’s engine had spluttered and cut out when she pulled up to the curb, and there’d been noises or things moving in every room. to say you were all paranoid was a kind way to put it.

then, when it came to actually hunting whatever thing it was, you swore you saw the lights to the pearly gates and god personally calling your name. you got fucked up, badly. you sprained your ankle midway, causing you to lose your balance numerous times and miss your shots, you’d been thrown against something tough every time you blinked, and when you saw your arm being twisted at a gruesome angle, you felt sick bubble in your throat before being forced back down.

your screams were still echoing in your brain.

yet, despite everything that happened to you, it seemed dean had it 5x worse. when you looked at him for the first time after everything, you genuinely thought he was dead at first glance, he looked like he took a blood bath and fell asleep halfway through. in your chest you felt your heart begin to crumble at the sight of him, and your eyes suddenly felt too wet compared to mere seconds beforehand.

you dismissed everything around you and headed straight for the man laying on the ground in, mainly his own, blood. your attention was so focused on dean you could’ve missed sam’s interference if he hadn’t crouched infront of you and offered to help bring dean to the car.

sam was messed up in his own way too, perhaps not as bad as you or dean, but still more injured than usual. he’d stayed mostly out of the crossfire, and he was the one who had ended the hunt and killed the thing after them. he was always the brains of the group, no matter what situation he was thrown into.

it took a while to get dean seated in the backseat of the impala, with you limping and dean’s weighed being shared between you and sam, but it was a huge relief when the doors shut behind you. you sat in the back with dean, sam sitting upfront in the drivers seat and someone obviously had to drive them home.

the ride back consisted of dean slumped against you, heavy pants leaving both of your mouths, the radio remaining off as everyone’s minds stayed fixated on what just happened.

hours later, the trio arrived back at the bunker, taking a little longer to get dean out of the car and inside as the exhaustion had settled in everyone’s bones, slowing their paces tremendously.

sam had retreated to his room once they got inside, probably to shower, sleep for a full night for once, which left you to tend to your and dean’s injuries. it wasn’t strange for this to happen, as dean would rather have you patch him up instead of anyone else, even himself. claimed you did it best and he’d just make it worse.

you knew he was lying, he’d been trained for hunting since his childhood years, so of course he knew how to handle his injuries, no matter how minor or major they were it could’ve been a broken wrist and he’d somehow never go to the hospital. but, you let him get away with him most days, allowing him to soak in the comfort it gave him when you took care of him.

but, with you now alone with dean, it meant you had to drag him to his room all by yourself, no sam to help you out on this one, which made you groan internally and have to hide your eye roll behind a blink. "cmon, de. let’s get you settled," you murmured with a less than enthusiastic tone, hoping that he would meet you halfway and atleast use his legs. and he did, although much slower than you would have appreciated.

you gave him a free pass as he was injured and probably drained of all energy, which you could relate to at that moment. with dean’s minor help, you managed to trudge your way through the bunker and in the direction of his room, each step followed by a groan from his lips and a quiet apology from yours. you didn’t mean to cause him more pain, but you couldn’t exactly get him to his room without putting pressure on some part of his body.

after a few minutes, you pushed open the door to dean’s room, your other hand guiding him across the room to his bed. gently, you lowered him down on the soft sheets, making sure he was comfortable, before heading to the bathroom where the medkit and other necessities for his injuries were. you heard him grumble something under his breath then cuss, and you presumed he shifted and got smacked in the face by his body wincing at the sudden movement.

when you returned to his bedroom, you shook your head at the sight of his bloodied form half-asleep ontop of his sheets, yet said nothing and walked over to him, sitting on the edge of his bed once you reached it. you grabbed a wet washcloth and began to wipe at his skin, staining the cloth an almost dried out pink colour, like a red marker that was left uncapped for so long.

now that the adrenaline from the hunt and focus to get out without trouble had mainly worn off, the disbelief and almost angry-like emotion began settling in your veins, causing you to scrub at his skin a little too rough. you only let up when he winced, maybe you’d ran the cloth over a wound too hard, making you mutter a soft apology. but, even then, there were still faint red marks left by your angry touch.

".. i can’t believe you, dean. you’re a fucking idiot." your voice finally broke the silent atmosphere, startling both you and dean, yet you couldn’t stop now that the silence couldn’t be rekindled. "you could’ve died back there. i don’t know if you realise that or not. but, maybe you have, since you haven’t spoken since we left that place."

there were a few moments of nothing, just heavy breathing from dean’s end and angry huffs from yours. you expected him to snap back with a defensive, ridiculous excuse, maybe something along the lines of, "well, i didn’t. alright? and besides, we all could’ve died. don’t just blame me", yet it never came. instead, you were met with a voice that didn’t sound like his, that reminded you that he wasn’t just the arrogant asshole who thought he could one up everyone at everything.

"yeah, i know.. ‘m sorry."

the words came out soft, laced with guilt and shame, perhaps a hint of resignation. it was so sincere that it made you pause from your aggressive cleaning and just stare, blinking several times as if to think back to what just happened, before taking the risk of looking at his face. and you shouldn’t have.

those green orbs stared back at you, saying a thousand things his mouth wouldn’t allow. you saw the way his jaw clenched, fingers of his shaky hands twitched, lashes fluttered as the exhaustion grew harder to ignore.

you hated this — the sudden vulnerability — it made you feel like a complete asshole for being upset with him mere minutes ago, even if you had a valid reason to be mad. on the other hand, you loved it at the same time.

dean was never one to be sentimental, preferring to be the one who controlled situations, the one getting could rely on for anything. and here he was, admitting he was an idiot for nearly getting himself killed, and even throwing in a genuine apology when he was called out for his mistake.

but you made him feel like that, and it warmed your heart. you got his tough facade crack, allowed him to be comfortable enough to admit his wrongdoings while you, reminder, the only person he let, take care of his bloodied and injured form. and that hit you harder than anything else could.

a quiet sigh left your lips as you took away the cloth from his skin, leaving him feeling cold, evident by the shiver that coursed through his limbs and the goosebumps that ran down his bare arms. "dean—" you began, but his voice cut you off before you could finish your sentence.

"i know, sweetheart. i’m an idiot who threw himself in the crossfire and paid the consequences. i’m sorry, truly. i promise, it’ll never happen again.." despite his point already being across, he continued on for several moments, his apologies quickly turning into straight rambling. you couldn’t make out what he was saying for most of it, but you let him say what he wanted to anyway, just to show him you were listening.

but you quickly grew tired of his words never stopping flowing from his mouth, despite trying your best to be patient. then, after a minute or so, you decided to return the favor of cutting of the other’s sentences, although differently to dean’s approach minutes prior. the distance between you was abruptly shortened before nonexistent, your lips meeting his in a sudden kiss.

it took dean off guard, evident by the way his body stiffened and hands clung to the sheets like a frightened chameleon trying to blend in with nature. it took several seconds for him to react, which was only initiated when he felt you begin to pull back, his still slightly shaky hands reaching to grasp your hips. because you tried to pull away, he automatically deepened the kiss so you couldn’t, lips remaining moving in sync and tongues tangling like salsa.

none of you could tell where one ended and the other began at this point, dean’s hands pulling you closer until you were hovering over his lap in a straddle position, although you didn’t lower further, reminding yourself you were both still heavily injured. with your hands roaming his chest through his shirt, feeling the soft muscles beneath, you finally managed to pull back, leaving behind a thick strand of spit connecting your lips.

the trail broke as the distance between your face’s grew, your tongue made an entrance to collect the saliva on your lower lip, before bringing it into the warmth of your mouth and allowing it to mix with you own saliva. dean let out a groan at the sight and shifted beneath you, probably to adjust the bulge forming in his pants.

"alright, let’s get you all patched up, tough guy."

[fallinqpetals]

Sam Winchester giving (f)reader a pelvic massage… can just imagine his big body between your legs with your highs on his hips as he massages you cus you have bad pains down in your tum tum…

sam winchester x f!reader 708 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒖𝒓

the bed sheets were soft beneath you, cold against the skin of your lower back from where your shirt was bunched up around your waist. it’d been hours and the pains in your abdomen had showed no signs of showing mercy, even doubling down and making home in your stomach no matter what you tried to do. paracetamol seemed to intensify the pain, a heating pad didn’t work and just burned against your skin, and a nice salt bath made your limbs feel tingly and uncomfortable.

with every solution being met with rejection from your body, you had long given up and laid on your bed, sulking and mentally begging for your cramps to let up even just a little. you knew you’d get little to no sleep later in the night, especially if they seemed to be getting worse with each passing moment, although, you also knew that thinking about it was making it worse. did you care at that moment? no. in hindsight, should you have? absolutely.

the hours passed as slow as a snail heading to texas from kansas; one you were tearing up, two you were throwing your pillows across the room, three you were humming to yourself, four you felt like you were about to run for world domination. you were the most bored you ever had been, which was pretty hard to top considering the endless days you had spent travelling in dean’s impala. only the lord knew how many times you had cussed him out for putting you in those situations.

speaking of the man above, apparently he, not the cramps, took mercy on you, finishing up your boyfriend’s hunt earlier than expected and sending him back home to end what felt like your demise.

you hadn’t even realised he was back until he was literally standing infront of you, snapping you out of your staring contest with the ceiling, your eyes meeting his as they stared back at you. his brow raised as he took notice of your slight pout that you thought you were being subtle with. newsflash, trying to do anything subtle to a man who hunts monsters for a being was like trying to catch santa under the tree when you were a kid: it wasn’t possible, but you tried anyway.

"what’s that look for? something happen while i was gone?" there was that hint of concern in his voice when he spoke, like he obviously knew something was wrong, but he was still yet to find out what, and that only made his lips curve into a frown. he hated seeing you upset, and it made him feel even worse when he had no idea what the cause was or how he could help you through it.

you let out a drawn out sigh, shifting against the sheets and resting your hands atop your stomach, absently applying pressure to hit that one spot, only for the pains to mock you and move to another spot. "my stomach hurts, and literally nothing will make them go away." you whined, your lips drawing deeper into a pout as your eyes looked up at him, silently begging for him to do something like he always did.

a smile took over his features when you told him your reasoning, his shoulders slumping in relief now that he knew what he could do to help you and lift your mood. without a word, he stripped off his shirt and settled between your legs, his head resting heavy on your chest as his hands roamed down to your belly once he let you adjust to get comfortable with his weight now draped ontop of you. his palms made home on your lower abdomen, the skin to skin contact heating them up and applying that heat that was just right.

moments of silence went by as you both let the domestic and calming position drift over like a warm blanket. he let his thumbs gently caress the soft skin of your stomach, giving you that extra sense of comfort, while your hands had made their way to the back of his head, simply resting there with the occasional scratch to his scalp or play of the long strands that seeped through your fingers.

[fallinqpetals]

Ok I have to ask because the amount of incest/Daddy stuff OK BACK TO THE POINT, but can I request Soldier Boy x reader smut where basically soldier boy retired or after season 3 explosion is hiding away with reader basically starting a new life. New chapter he wants a baby, and basically use of daddy kink BUT instead of the babygirl stuff he calls reader mommy as a replacement because they wanna be parents.

Anyway love your work, keep slaying, and anyone who read this far and cares for the weird incest things please touch grass a bit, PEACE OUT

mommy dearest ⪩ ⪨ ꠹

pairing : soldier boy x afab!reader

summary : just months after retiring , it seems ben’s new fixation is getting you pregnant. one specific night leads you to discover a new secret kink , one you could get very used to. (takes a little while to get to the actual request, i couldn’t help myself).

warnings : fluff in the first half , smut , mommy / pregnancy kink 💦 , cowgirl , i guess ooc ben , sub!ben , dom!reader , slight embarrassment at one part , dirty talk , kissing , very lazy dialogue because i can't write it , good boy mention.

quick a/n: all requests are in the process of being written, im just a slow writer so it’s taking me a while to get through them all !

When Ben met you a year ago, catching sight of you walking down the busy streets, the first time he saw you he had to take a double glance before saying ‘woah’ out loud like he had saw something unbelievable. Which, in some case, he did. Your beauty was on another level, and your smile could hypnotize anyone who crossed your path. He knew he had to have you, no matter what.

Sure, he didn’t stop pestering you until you gave up, agreeing to a date that ended with the hope of another, but if someone told him he’d retire and hang up his legacy as Soldier Boy to move to a quieter part of the city with that exact same girl he now called the love of his life, he’d have laughed in their face and called them a fucking idiot. Yet that’s exactly what happened, because somewhere in those months of trying to win you over, the lines of love and lust blurred and he found himself desperate for you until you became his.

Right after the events of being stabbed in the back yet again by people he associated himself with, because he’d absolutely not call those fuckers his friends, Soldier Boy disappeared from the face of the earth, so everyone naturally, and gladly, assumed he was dead and never to be seen again. But you knew better, as later that day of the betrayal, you opened your front door and found yourself staring into the eyes of a familiar face. One look at his face told you everything; this wasn’t Soldier Boy, the man who tore through people without second thought, feared by many.

This was Ben; the man who took you on several dates and pulled your chair out for you at restaurants, reenacted that one spaghetti scene from lady and the tramp and made you laugh as he almost pouted when you pulled back before the kiss. The man who wasn’t the monster he was painted out to be by society, who was still just that young boy looking for attention and someone to care for him.

That was the night everything changed for the better, the night that Ben confessed his love for you and begged for you to move away with him, away from the bullshit that you could potentially get tangled up in. He couldn’t have that. He’d been looking for a reason for decades, and finally he had it, so he would do everything in his power to keep you in his arms and never let anything harm you.

The move had gone smoothly, with only a handful of times when Ben would snap at the movers for taking the piss out of him and his time just so they’d move quicker. But, even then, you knew it was a much different approach to how he would’ve handled it all those months ago, when he was only looked at with hate or lust. He was dialling back the emotions he used to be unable to control, just for you.

And you liked loved this rebrand, that now he didn’t look over when someone yelled ‘Soldier Boy’, he’d keep on walking when girls gave him ‘fuck me eyes’ and just rolled his own eyes when they’d whine at his ignorance. It was more authentic than the man that was on TV screens, and you’d gladly never watch TV again because he had been handed to you by the gods and made yours, something you woke up everyday and looked forward to.

Now, with you two settled in a lovely house on the outskirts of the city and Ben’s devotion to you only growing stronger everyday he looked into your eyes, the topic of kids had came up so many times you couldn’t keep count anymore. It seemed every conversation began with something simple, and somewhere in between it would turn into;

"So.. When is it time to have kids?"

"You’d look fuckin’ amazing pregnant."

"Have I ever told you that the house would look better with some little shits runnin’ around?"

And yes, he had told you that the place would apparently look better with kids in it, he just worded it differently every time so you wouldn’t question it as much. But, hey, it worked.

It wasn’t that you were opposed to the idea of having children, especially with someone as pretty, as you’d called him from time to time, as Ben. It was far from it. You were willing to bear his children, birth them and give him the family he’d always wished for, it was just you’d never went through that process, so you were a little hesitant and worried of what would come with the positive pregnancy test when it came to that day.

Yet, not a single one of those thoughts were swimming around your mind when you were straddling Ben’s lap one night, hands tangled in the messy locks of his short hair and tugging lightly, drawing soft groans from his lips that were connected to yours. While your tongues danced around eachother and collected spit from one another, his own hands were gripping your waist for stability as you bounced on his cock, the tip bruising your walls with each bounce.

He couldn't even remember how he ended up beneath you, when he was the one who had pounced on you first, but was he complaining? Absolutely not, not when your pussy was clenching around him in sync with his grunts. He was so pussy-drunk he didn't even realise the words, or rather word, he slurred out as your walls fluttered around his sensitive cock and he drew closer to his peak. "Fuck, mommy, don't stop. 'M so close."

That single word had you frozen, hips stilling and lips pulling away from his, ignoring the string of saliva to focus your attention on him. The sudden stop had him almost whining until he caught himself, and only then did it dawn on him what he said. The realisation made him want to curl in on himself and hide under the sheets, hide from your smirking face and eyes that glistened with something akin to arousal and arrogance.

"Mommy, huh?"

The smugness in your tone lead to his cheeks flushing and eyes darting away from yours, suddenly heavily interested in the wallpaper you had chosen months prior to match the colors of the random shit he bought. "Just hurry up and-" He didn't finish the conjunction before you covered his mouth with one of your hands with a click of your tongue and shake of your head, making his brows furrow and gaze return to yours. When his eyes met yours, he instantly recognized the look you were giving him and he knew exactly what you were waiting for.

With a resigned sigh and smirk that was hidden by your hand over his mouth, he gave a slow roll of his hips. "Please, mommy? Can you keep ridin' me like a pornstar?"

You rolled your eyes at his compliment, knowing he could never say anything without there being a dirty ass innuendo or reference to something sex related. "Good boy." And when you began to roll your hips against his, you wish you had an audio recorder for the sweet moans and murmurs of your name that fell from his lips and floated in the air of the stuffy bedroom. You began picking up the pace when you felt his fingers dig into the meaty flesh of your hips, your own fingers holding onto his shoulders to steady yourself. "Such a good boy for mommy, baby."

Fuck, he now knew how you felt when he called you that, because hearing you refer to yourself as mommy made his face scrunch like he smelt something foul and "fuck" spill from his lips without a breath, giving a lazy thrust upwards before the only thing spilling was his seed inside of your warm cunt. You followed shortly after, his thumb rubbing your clit giving you the final push.

You collapsed ontop of his chest with a tired moan that could be mistaken for a sigh, face buried in the crook of his neck, as you both tried to catch your breath, his hands caressing your waist, something he knew soothed you after sex. It took a few minutes until you finally gathered a thought and opened your mouth, and Ben knew what you were going to say before you even spoke when he caught a glimpse of the teasing smirk on your lips, so he braced himself.

"So.. Mommy, huh?"

"Don't you start, doll. It just slipped out, seemed natural given what we talked about."

And, sure, it might have slipped out. Doesn't mean it didn't stick, though, as everytime you two had sex from then on, there'd be atleast a round or two where you'd be on top and he'd be a mess beneath you, that one word being the only thing he could say between jumbled and incoherent words.

ALSO, incest fics are fucking weird!! stop romanticising sexual encounters with family members, fiction or not. yes im talking to wincest fans and other fandoms that do this. and tag ur fucking posts correctly too 😭

[requiem01r]

[witchsamlizzie]

Leon Kennedy is aged like a fine wine.

[fallinqpetals]

I wanna hear your thoughts on frennemies with Dean Winchester. like just imagine the tension and competitiveness between you two, always trying to one up each other and refusing to admit they have even a milliliter of admiration for each other’s skills as hunters.

you push me back, i’ll push you back harder ⋆˚࿔

pairing : dean winchester x reader

summary : everything between you two was a competition , especially hunts , which makes you both try to one-up the other every time , only making your admiration for eachother grow stronger.

warnings : mention of violence/blood , cutesy little drabble ( i think it’s a drabble ).

YES the title was inspired by that one victorious song 🐌

i feel like dean would definitely be the one to start the rivalry and set the standard pretty high as a way to test your ability as a hunter and how well you really were at your job. it’d start as a joke but when you actually did one up him, he’d become defensive and immediately try to kill whatever you were hunting with a flourish, not that it’d end well. if he got hurt, but finished the job without a flourish, and you teased him, his ego would be bruised and he’d try to find a reason it didn’t go to plan.

yet, after that first time, it become almost like a routine; one of you would make a bet with nothing but confidence and arrogance on the line and the other would agree without hesitation. if dean killed a vampire by smugly decapitating it from behind, you’d kill another by throwing an axe and chopping it’s head clean off from the mere force without breaking a sweat. with the feeling of needing to be the better one came other feelings each time the other did something infuriatingly impressive.

admiration. respect. approval.

once the whole hunt was over and you’d both be back at the bunker, maybe bloody from the cuts scattered on your skin and bruised from being thrown around like a barbie doll, the silence would be loud. not heavy or full of tension, but peaceful, something you two don’t get very often in this line of work. the quiet was like a blessing and curse all at once. on one hand, it was nice to have a little break to calm down and enjoy the feeling of being safe. but on the other hand, it gave you both too much time to think.

one look at dean would tell you everything, as would be opposite. sure, you both had your moments, mainly on hunts, but you deeply cared about eachother, and it showed more than you wanted it to; the lingering glances in the impala on the way back home, subtle brushes against arms when walking into a diner, sitting too close wherever you are, the silent “are you okay?” in your eyes when you look at eachother.

during hunts, the respect for one another would grow each time you saw eachother’s ability to do god’s work and save millions of people you didn’t even know. even sam had noticed the competition between you both, yet he’d always roll his eyes and head off on his own to gather information when you two would “playfully” bicker, although it was obviously not just playful banter and you two were just hiding your ego behind half-hearted insults.

would either of you ever admit the other meant everything to them, or the amount of reverence you had for eachother? absolutely not. but that’s okay, because no words would ever be able to describe how much you value and idolize dean, and no words would capture the fascination in dean’s eyes when he’d watch you in your glory.

[fallinqpetals]

i wanna write something so baddd, whether it’s a one shot, drabble, or just headcannons, but my mind is literally shooting blanks 💔

i have some stuff in the drafts but they’re half finished, so i wanna write something in the mean time, maybe even write about someone new. if anyone wants to request anything, please do 🫶🏼i’m so desperate i’ll write anything atp. or, literally just ask me stuff.

requestsss ! ⋆⭒˚.⋆

can’t promise they will be finished and posted the same day you request, but i’ll try to get them out as soon as i can!

(please don’t be scared to request or ask 🫂🫂)

[spoiledmilks]

The deer watching over you.

[notyournamenotyours]

Take your incest/rape kinks or fantasies off of this app and into the notes app. Can’t find a normal Leon Kennedy fan fic without seeing ts. Just cause u get off on it doesn’t mean it doesn’t trigger anyone else babe you’re disgusting, a creep, and weirdo go to twt or pornhub they would very much appreciate you there!!! Get therapy too you’re weird asf and a potential predator too.