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Hi, I'm Jayne and sometimes I write stuff :)
my requests are currently open! i promise i don't bite (unless you want me to) 💌
– tastes so good | Dean Winchester x reader [oneshot] | 18+
on an empty stretch of road, sometimes all a pretty girl wants to do is have a dick in her mouth. dean is more than happy to help her with that.
– bloodhound | Soldier Boy x reader [oneshot] | 18+
you've been miserable for days now, whining and moaning about the cramps in your abdomen. ben would prefer to have you whining and moaning about something else.
– dorothea | Dean Winchester x actress!oc [fic masterlist]
Back at one of his highschools, around sophomore year, Dean thought he'd found 'the one.' Really, he had. Then life went on, and he'd moved away again. Now, he's back in that quiet town, and so is Dorothea
– dorothea | Dean Winchester x actress!oc [fic masterlist]
Back at one of his highschools, around sophomore year, Dean thought he'd found 'the one.' Really, he had. Then life went on, and he'd moved away again. Now, he's back in that quiet town, and so is Dorothea
– Look at us, you and I (back at it again) | Elliot Stabler x Olivia Benson [fic masterlist]
It's been 4 years since Captain Olivia Benson was kidnapped, presumed dead. What will happen when she's been found?
– my tears ricochet | Elliot Stabler x Olivia Benson [part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4]
WATCH OUT some of these are smutty! you've been warned
Supernatural
– Ladies With Experience | Dean Winchester x fem!Reader - by @hintsofhoney
When Dean makes an off-handed comment about "preferring ladies with experience", you try (and fail) to not let it get under your skin. You're a virgin, but you've done just about everything else, and when you talk to Dean about it, he offers to be your first. He's your best friend, and you've been in love with him forever… who are you to deny him? | warnings: smut, first time, virgin!reader, dom/sub dynamics, dom!dean, p in v, oral (female receiving), spanking, fingering, not-so-innocent reader
– pretty baby | Sam Winchester x fem!Reader - by @shypilled
he’s infatuated with you, how could he not? | warnings: lovesick!sammy, brief mention of dean, sugarbaby!reader (kinda), mentions of hunting/training reader and sam’s protectiveness, feminine qualities and traits used so fem!reader, whipped!sam, implied/mentioned intimacy, sweet talk, praise, pet names (pretty girl, sweetheart, baby, angel), mentions of sam thinking reader is out of his league, fashion and style for reader used, p!v w/ creampie, unprotected sex, brief marking kink, gentlemanly sam (of course), and more!
– My Niece is a Goldfish? | Dean Winchester x fem!Reader - by @rainroses45
Imagine when Dean goes to go pick up Sam from college, not only is the news of John being missing brought up but another little surprise was on its way. | warnings: none
– depression | Dean Winchester x fem!Reader - by @bruisedfig
it’s breaking dean’s heart to see you wilting away in his bed, suffering from a depressive episode. | warnings: depression (symptoms, behaviours, thoughts, etc.), non-sexual nudity, angsty fluff, angsty/sad dean, pure comfort, loverboy!dean, depressed!reader, set in the bunker/later seasons (bf!dean x gf!reader)
– Keep Me Warm | Dean Winchester x fem!Reader - by @bettystonewell
Dean’s always saying he wants to go to the beach, but when you finally do, it’s far too cold for little Dean, and nothing’s getting him in that water. Except saving you. | warnings: established relationship, skinny dipping (reader), reader gets dunked by a wave, fluff, whump, hurt/comfort, smut implied - This one’s not for those who are squeamish of the ocean.
– Irreplaceable | Dean Winchester x Reader - by @studiogrimm810
you crashed the impala | warnings: car crash, drunk driver, anxiety of dean being mad, dean NOT being mad, protective dean
– fragile. | Dean Winchester x fem!Reader - by @stxrbxster
you’ve been hunting with sam and dean for a while, and while deans utterly smitten with you, he thinks he's done an exceptional job at hiding his feelings. that is, until you nearly dying on a hunt makes him realize he can’t keep pretending. | warnings: near death experience, ooc dean, dean is implied to be older than the reader but no serious agegap, nicknames such as honey, sweetheart,pretty girl, kid, and baby are used, alchohol use, virgin!reader because im such a sap for first time fics, car sex, drunk sex (only dean is drunk but he's not like wasted), unprotected sex, dom!dean, size kink, creampie, slight aftercare
– Costume | Sam Winchester x fem!Reader - by @sleepyangelkami
you had to dress up as an FBI agent with the winchester brothers. you felt stupid in a costume but luckily for you, sam really liked seeing you in a skirt. | warnings: smut, dom!sam, sub!reader, oral(s!rec), no p!v sex, size kink, praise kink, fingering, slight manipulation, reader lowk flexible, cum eating, messy sex, squirting, (1) use of y/n, petnames, intended lower case
– mean | Sam Winchester x fem!Reader - by @chxrrywines
Sam fucks rlly roughly but he’s really sweet during aftercare bc the idea that sam is rough during but sweet after makes me weak in the knees | warnings: meandom!sam turned soft!sam, oral f!recieving, praise, very mild choking, condescending words, p in v, mild overstimulation, tears, aftercare, fluff
NOTES: based on this ask, I took some creative liberties with the background plot but I think you'll love it
TW: smut, reader is a virgin, definitely manipulative ben but it's in a very delicious way, younger!actress!reader (they're costars), oral + fingering (f receiving), spitting in mouth, fingers in mouth, unprotected sex, coming inside, ben being yucky but also dreamy and perfect
Masterlist
It starts as a studio thing.
A clean, patriotic, Vought film—hero meets heart, Soldier Boy resurrected alongside a fresh-faced darling half his age. The press eats it up. You’re the ingénue; he’s the legend. Every photo op is gold. He keeps his hand at your back, not your waist. He pulls out your chair. He gives the quotes they want.
“She’s a real class act,” he says with a warm smile. “Don’t see much of that anymore.”
He calls you “sweetheart” in interviews, like it’s endearing. Like he’s harmless.
Off-camera, somehow, he’s even better.
Ben doesn’t crudely flirt. He escorts. He walks on the street side of the sidewalk. Orders your dinner before you get the nerve to pick something yourself—but somehow, it’s always what you like. He keeps you close without ever crossing a line. No rumors. No tension. Just steady, quiet confidence that settles somewhere in your chest and stays there.
Sure, he can be a little rough around the edges, but he’s lived through so much—wars, real ones—and there’s something about that kind of survival that earns a little grit.
He doesn’t rush you. Doesn’t push. Not once.
And you? You trust him completely and he’s never, not once, given you a reason to question that trust.
So when he invites you over after a late press run—low voice, light touch, “just dinner, sweetheart. just the two of us.”—you don’t hesitate.
Because it’s Ben. Because he’s been perfect. Because he’s made you feel safe in ways you didn’t know you needed.
And that’s exactly how he planned it.
When he opens the door, you smile—because of course you do.
He’s in a button down, sleeves rolled and collar loose, looking relaxed but sharp. Like someone who always knows where he’s going to end up by the end of the night. His hair’s neat. His smile’s warm. Everything about him says steady.
He greets you like it’s the most normal thing in the world. A hand at the small of your back. A kiss to your temple. The scent of something expensive still clinging to his skin.
Inside, the lights are low. Soft. The place smells like cologne and something expensive. There’s music—crackly, old-fashioned, just loud enough to feel intentional. There’s wine breathing on the counter. Plates already set out on the table. You’re so consumed by taking in the apartment that you hardly even notice that there’s not even food.
Ben doesn’t ask if you’re hungry. Doesn’t ask anything, really.
He just turns toward the hallway, slow and sure, and glances back at you with that same unshakable calm.
“Bedroom’s through here, sweetheart.”
Not a question. Not a command. Just something said with the kind of confidence that’s impossible to challenge.
And you follow—of course you do. He’s probably just giving me a tour, you reason, he wants me to know his space.
Because he’s been nothing but perfect. Because he’s never once made you feel unsafe. Because that voice of his could talk you into anything.
You don’t even realize until later that he never looked to see if you were behind him.
He already knew you would be.
The bedroom’s warm—dimly lit, quiet. Nothing about it feels overt or pornographic. Not yet. Just soft shadows, crisp sheets, and him standing by the bed like this is simply the next part of the evening.
He turns, slow and loose, and crooks two fingers at you with that same easy calm that’s lulled you from the start. “C’mere.”
You smile before you even move. A little laugh slips out of you—nervous, pleased—and you step closer.
He brushes your hair off your shoulder, trails the backs of his fingers down your arm like he’s smoothing out static.
“Y’know, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “I’ve really been enjoying all this time we’ve been spendin’ together.”
You duck your head, grinning. “Yeah?” you say, light and breathy. “Me too. It’s been… really nice.”
His mouth twitches like he knew you’d say that.
“You’re just—” he chuckles softly, shaking his head like he can’t quite believe his luck. “You’re a real rare thing. Classy. Sweet. Soft.”
You laugh again, quieter this time. “You make me sound like a collectible.”
He hums, amused, thumb rubbing slow circles over your knuckles. “Hell, baby,” he says, “I don’t think I’ve met a girl like you in decades.”
Your chest warms at that. You preen without even meaning to, shoulders relaxing as you look up at him through your lashes.
“Well… I don’t know about that,” you say, smiling. “I’m not that special.”
His gaze sharpens—fond, intent.
“Yeah,” he says gently. “You are.”
He steps closer, crowding your space just enough to make your breath hitch. Taller. Broader. Older. But still careful, still gentle in that way that makes you feel precious instead of cornered.
“And when you told me you’d never been with anyone…” His mouth brushes your temple. “Well. That just about drove me insane.”
You laugh, flustered, cheeks heating. “Ben—” you start, embarrassed. “It’s not like it’s a big deal.”
You feel him smile against your skin.
“It is to me,” he says quietly.
You still just a little, heart fluttering, and he feels it immediately.
“Hey,” he murmurs, soothing. “Relax. I’m not gonna hurt you, sweetheart.”
His fingers skim the hem of your blouse, slow enough that it almost tickles. You suck in a breath, half‑laughing again.
“You’re making it sound so serious,” you say softly.
“It is,” he replies, just as soft. “Doesn’t mean it has to be scary.”
He kisses just below your ear, lingering.
“But if you’re gonna give it up to someone,” he adds, voice dropping, “oughta be someone who knows what the fuck he’s doin’, don’t you think?”
Your laugh comes out smaller this time. You nod without quite realizing you are. “I guess,” you murmur, shy but smiling. “You do seem… very confident.”
That does it. He smiles—slow, satisfied.
“That’s my girl.”
Then his fingers are unbuttoning your top, methodical and practiced, brushing every inch of skin he reveals with open reverence. You let him, body buzzing, head light, enjoying the attention too much to question it.
“Don’t worry,” he murmurs again, mouth warm against your collarbone. “I’ll be real good to you.”
And somehow, that makes everything feel inevitable.
It’s not until he has you stripped naked on your hands and knees on the mattress—his own knee nudging your legs apart, his hands gripping your hips like a man who’s waited for this—that something shifts.
His mouth is on you before you can even process it—hot, messy, filthy—and you cry out, twisting in the sheets, your face already flushed and slick with sweat. He groans into you like he’s starved for it.
“Goddamn,” he mutters, “look at this sweet little pussy.”
You whimper. You’ve never heard him talk like that about you before. Not even close.
“So fucking wet for me,” he says, thumb spreading you open while he presses his mouth right back to you, licking deep like it’s his.
You try to speak—maybe a gasp of his name, maybe something uncertain—but the only thing that comes out is a moan, helpless and broken.
He hums against you, pleased. “Told you I’d take care of you, didn’t I?”
Then his fingers slide into your mouth—two of them, sudden and deep, pressing down on your tongue until you start to gag around them.
“Deep breaths, sweetheart,” he drawls, the thumb of his same hand stroking the skin of your jaw.
He doesn’t rush it. Just holds you there, feeling you accommodate him, until your breathing shakily around his fingers, eyes watering, and your lips tentatively begin to close around them
“There you go,” he murmurs, pleased. “Knew you’d figure it out.”
You make a small, helpless sound around his fingers and he laughs quietly, fond.
“Easy,” he coos. “You’re doin’ just fine.”
He pulls his fingers out slowly, slick with your saliva, and before you can even process the loss, his hand slides around your front to rest in between your breasts. He presses you up, his chest to your spine, mouth close to your ear.
His other hand comes around to your jaw, thumb settling at the hinge, tilting your face just enough.
“Open,” he says softly. Not a command—an expectation.
You do.
He spits into your mouth—unhurried, deliberate—watching it land like he’s savoring the moment. His thumb strokes your cheek, grounding, approving.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. “That’s it.”
You gasp, overwhelmed, and he keeps his hand there, steady, making sure you don’t pull away.
“Swallow,” he adds gently. “C’mon now, be good, sweetheart.”
You do, because of course you do.
He smiles against your ear, satisfied.
“See?” he says quietly, guiding you back down to rest your weight on your palms. “Nothin’ to it. You just needed someone to show you.”
You don’t know why your thighs are shaking so hard. You don’t know when he started spanking you, either—sharp, rhythmic cracks to the side of your ass between long, indulgent licks of your pussy—but it’s blurring, all of it. His mouth, his fingers, his voice.
“Why…?” You ask breathlessly, your voice is soft and high pitched and whiny. You’re not even sure what you’re asking about at this point, everything that’s happened since your clothes came off has felt odd and overwhelming and other worldly in the weirdest, best way.
“Because this,” he says between licks, “is what people do when they love each other so very much.”
Another slap. You jolt, whine, clench around nothing.
“And you do love me, don’t cha? I’m so good to you, sweetheart.”
You’re nodding, babbling, your voice wrecked.
“Yes—yes, I love you—”
You don’t even know if you mean it. You think you do, you’ve thought about it an awful thought recently. Ben was like your dream guy–well, you thought he was. You’d even imagined this moment, but you don’t think your imagination ever could have come up with something so… dirty like this is. You thought your first time would be sweet and soft, maybe that it’d even hurt a little bit. There’s nothing sweet or soft about what’s happening right now.
His hand slides up your back, palm splayed between your shoulders, pinning you down.
“Yeah, you do,” he murmurs. “That’s why you’re lettin’ me do all this nasty shit to you.”
You should be humiliated. Heck, you should be alarmed—but you’re not.
Because this is still Ben.
Because his voice is still calm. His hands are still sure. And somewhere in the blur of praise and filth, you believe him.
“That’s my perfect girl,” he says, mouthing over the back of your neck like he’s claiming you. “Honestly, I didn’t think you had it in you. But fuck if you’re not made for this.”
You whine, gasping into the sheets.
“No wonder you never let anyone else get a taste,” he growls, lining himself up behind you now. “You’ve been waiting for me, huh? You knew I’d take such good care of you, no other limp dicked haircut could come close.”
And by the time he’s fucking into you—deep, rough, like he owns every inch of you—you’re so far gone you’d believe anything he tells you.
Even when he says:
“Ain’t nothin’ wrong about this, baby,” he murmurs, breathing heavy at your ear as he drives into you again, rougher now that he’s close. You can almost here the smirk in his voice when he speaks, “this is what true love looks like, afterall.”
Your whole body’s shaking, every nerve lit up and pulled tight. You’re gasping his name, fingers clawing at the sheets as the pressure coils and snaps all at once. It hits you hard—too much, too fast—and you cry out, hips jerking back against him as you come undone around his cock.
“That’s it, baby” he groans, feeling you clamp down, losing whatever control he had left. “Fuck—just like that.”
He doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t slow down. Just fucks you through it, chasing his own end with short, brutal thrusts until his breath stutters and breaks.
“Fuckin’ christ—” he growls, voice wrecked as he spills inside you, pressing deep and staying there, holding you open while it hits him in waves.
For a second, neither of you moves. Just heat and weight and the sound of both of you trying to breathe.
Eventually, he pulls out slow, deliberately, and groans like he’s never felt anything better.
You’re practically limp beneath him, face-down and trembling, your thighs still twitching, breath all hiccupy and uneven. There’s slick everywhere—your inner thighs, the sheets, his lower stomach and dick and thighs—and he just watches his cum drip out of you like it’s the best part of his night.
“Fuckin’ look at that,” he murmurs, dragging two fingers through the mess, rubbing it in with a low whistle. “You made such a pretty mess for me, sweetheart.”
You whimper into the comforter.
Ben laughs—soft, pleased, wrecked in the best way—and slaps your ass once, light, just to feel the bounce.
“Goddamn,” he mutters again, sitting back on his heels. “Didn’t think you’d let me take it that far, to be honest.”
You shift onto your side, stunned, your cheek hot against the cool comforter. “What the hell just happened…?” you breath softly, but your voice is raspy and cracks at the end.
“Hey,” he says, suddenly closer. His palm lands warm against your face, thumb at your jaw, turning your head so he can see you fully. “You alright?”
You blink up at him, wide-eyed, a little slack-jawed. You nod, but it’s faint—a dazed little gesture that barely gets halfway.
Ben coos. Actually coos.
“Aw, there she is. Still in there.”
His thumb strokes over your cheek, his hand big and solid under your chin, holding your face like it’s something delicate.
“You did so good, baby” he says, voice dropping low. “Y’ didn’t cry. Didn’t have to ask me to stop. Just laid there like a good girl and let me take care of you.”
He leans down and kisses your forehead—slow and heavy, like he means it—before flopping back on the bed beside you with a satisfied groan. His cigarettes are already waiting on the nightstand. He lights it in one motion, takes a drag, and exhales toward the ceiling, totally at ease.
“You want one?” he asks, holding it out to you.
You blink again. “I… I don’t smoke.”
“You didn’t fuck either, ‘til tonight,” he says easily, sliding the cigarette back between his lips. “You’re on a roll, why stop now?”
You’re quiet for a while until something crosses your mind and you can’t help but ask, “… is it always like that? Like, for everyone?” You muse absentmindedly, your eyes soft and unfocused
“Yeah, if you’re lucky and find someone who knows shit about sex.” He shrugs, giving your cheek a playful tap. “And you, sweetheart, are the luckiest girl in the fucking world for finding me. You should start buying lotto tickets.”
You laugh—sort of—but it’s more breath than sound. Your whole body still feels like it’s floating. Heavy and light at the same time. He watches you like he knows exactly what you’re feeling.
Then he reaches for the drawer in the nightstand and grabs a small orange pill bottle, rattling it with one hand.
“You need something to help take the edge off?”
Your head lifts, barely. “Something to take the edge off what?” You narrow your eyes at him in confusion.
“Klonopin,” he says slow, clearly amused. “Takes the edge off the comedown. Smoothes it all out, makes everything feel like glitter.”
You blink at him, still trying to catch up. “I don’t do drugs.”
“I know you don’t, sweetheart, but that’s what everyone says at first,” he says, all grin and no shame. “Doesn’t mean you won’t.”
He tosses the bottle back onto the nightstand and picks up a glass of whiskey you hadn’t even noticed was there before—not that you’d exactly had a lot of time to take in his end table decor.
“Last offer,” he winked, “you want a drink?”
You sigh—this you could do—and reach for it, but your hand’s wobbly, so he guides it to your lips and watches while you take two slow sips. Then he pulls it away and downs the rest himself, smirking as he wipes his mouth.
“Atta girl, baby”
He leans back, one arm behind his head, the other reaching out to tug you into his chest like it’s automatic. You go without resistance. You’re too loose and warm and entirely out of your depth.
“You know,” he drawls, bringing his cigarette back to his lips, “I’ve been on my best fuckin’ behavior for you,” he says, smoke curling from his mouth as he speaks. “Since day one.”
You hum, dizzy and relaxed, letting your fingers trace lightly along the edge of his ribs.
“Didn’t lay a hand on you,” he continues. “Barely even let myself flirt. Made myself real fuckin’ tolerable.”
He presses a kiss to your shoulder, then another to your neck.
“You think that was easy for me?”
You don’t answer, and you don’t need to. You’re curled into him, pliant and trusting, and he knows he’s got you.
“Worth it, though,” he mutters against your skin. “You’re so much better than I thought you’d be.”
“Thanks? I think?” You say confused, even more so when he just laughs.
His hand slides down to your hip, not to start anything—just to touch. To feel the body he just wrecked.
He’s still stroking your hip when he shifts, rolls you closer like he’s just getting comfortable. His voice, when he speaks, is soft again—warm and low and perfect, like all that filth never happened.
“Y’know,” he murmurs, kissing your temple, “we look fuckin’ great together.”
You blink up at him, dazed, lips parted like you’re still trying to remember how to breathe.
“Can’t wait to show you off,” he adds, smiling like he means it. “Red carpets. Cameras. America’s fuckin’ sweetheart and her soldier.”
Your cheeks heat, even now. You laugh, breathless and a little shy. “You’re ridiculous.”
He grins. “Maybe. But I’m not wrong.”
There’s a pause. His thumb brushes the swell of your cheekbone.
“So what do you say, sweetheart?” His voice is warm again—sweet, almost bashful, like he didn’t just fuck you into the mattress. “You wanna be my girl? Officially?”
Your lashes flutter. It sounds so simple when he says it. So earnest.
Like you didn’t give him everything already.
You nod slowly, lips parted on a dazed little smile. “Yeah,” you breathe. “Okay.”
Ben grins—beams, really—like he just won the goddamn lottery. His hand squeezes your hip, thumb brushing the dip of your waist like he’s grounding himself in the moment.
“That's perfect, baby,” he murmurs, kissing your shoulder, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. “Knew you would.”
He lets the silence stretch a beat, just long enough for your pulse to settle, your breath to come back, for the ache in your thighs to really bloom.
Then, all easy charm and casual affection, he cuddles you even closer and asks—
“You still hungry?”
You blink, slowly. He’s already reaching for another cigarette from the nightstand like this is totally normal. Like this is just a regular Tuesday.
“Figured we could go out instead, maybe get some steaks,” he says, like it’s nothing. “There’s this little place up the block—old-school joint, real butter-heavy, they know me. You’ll love it.”
You can’t even process it. You’re still leaking him onto his sheets, still raw and sticky and half-drunk on the sound of his voice.
But his tone is light.
"After all, I did ask my girl over for dinner," he winks, "can't let you starve. 'Specially not after how brave you were for me tonight, sweetheart."
His smile is easy. And the way he’s looking at you—like you’re already his everything, like this is routine—makes your stomach flip in that dangerous, fluttery way.
warning: age gap, spank!ng, intercourse, creamp!e, and very soft joel heehee
older boyfriend! joel miller ‧₊˚🌷❀ who offers his thick pinky for your hand to wrap around before you cross the street. you never have to worry about looking both ways with joel there to lead you safely.
older boyfriend! joel miller ‧₊˚🌷❀ who whispers reassurances softly in your ear as tears trickle down your cheeks. the small droplets never reach your chin, thanks to your old man delicately sweeping them away. you're tucked securely in his lap, and his strong arms will keep you there until you're giggling into his chest, his pretty girl's spirits successfully lifted.
older boyfriend! joel miller •₊˚🌷❀ who is stern when he knows you need it. occasionally, you let your brattiness get the best of you, but that's when joel steps in with a firm hand. that can sometimes mean being taken over his knee to set you straight, but he showers you in kisses and aftercare once he's through, always reminding you that you're his best girl.
older boyfriend! joel miller ‧₊˚🌷❀ who spreads you out to feast after your punishment. he uses his tongue to apologize for being so rough as it glides through your soaked folds. your nimble fingers run through his grey curls to hold him in place as you plead for him to fill you up and make you whole.
older boyfriend! joel miller ‧₊˚🌷❀ who flips you over and lifts your rosy ass in the air. he braces a hand on each cheek to spread you open, every precious part of you on display for him. you sigh in relief at the familiar feeling of his tip circling your entrance.
older boyfriend! joel miller ‧₊˚🌷❀ who guides your hands to the headboard as he instructs you to hold on. your hooded eyes linger on the flowers that joel had delicately carved into the light wood. even though he was a gruff and weathered man, he softened himself for you, abandoning his rough exterior in exchange for tender reminders of how much he adored and worshipped you.
older boyfriend! joel miller ‧₊˚🌷❀ who praises you as he sinks his cock into your weeping hole. joel fucks you with deep, thorough strokes that has your pussy clenching greedily. his thumb drags over your clit and expertly circles the swollen bud until you're throwing your head back, begging for release.
older boyfriend! joel miller ‧₊˚🌷❀ who speeds his hips up, intent on hitting that perfect spot inside of you over and over again. joel's balls slap heavily against your sensitive ass, but it only drives your climax closer. you're a whining mess by the time joel grants you your orgasm. it crashes into you, causing you to gasp and writhe under his hold.
older boyfriend! joel miller ‧₊˚🌷❀ who isn't far behind, and soon you're milking his cock. his seed paints your soft, pulsing walls, and he groans into the crevice of your neck, "fuck, baby. you did so good for me."
older boyfriend! joel miller ‧₊˚🌷❀ who coos when he pulls out, inspecting the sight of your gaping hole, releasing his spent. his cock twitches at the visual, but he forces himself to focus on other matters, such as getting you settled. you're far too blissed out in your post-orgasm state to speak or move on your own.
older boyfriend! joel miller ‧₊˚🌷❀ who lays your head against his bare chest. he pulls a blanket tight around your frame, keeping you cozy and warm. as you nod off, joel gazes up at the ceiling and vows to every God above that he will spend the rest of his days pouring his scarred soul into loving you.
I feel like we have all collectively forgotten that ben is a supe and can easily throw a car, so here are some headcannons related to his powers
18+ MDNI
♱ ... soldier boy ... ♱
ben who can lift you up and down his cock without any effort, so even when you’re riding him you’re still his doll
ben who can easily pin you to the wall by your throat and keep you there as long as he pleases—he loves to watch your eyes roll back and your face get nice and red to match the tip of his cock
ben who can fuck you without a table or bed or floor. One hand is supporting your lower back and the other is gripping the back of your neck with your legs thrown over his shoulders, and he loves looking in your eyes when the only thing you’re touching is him. One day he will figure out how to fuck you and support you with just his cock
ben who is indestructible and lets you use his hair as a handle, no matter how much weight it’s supporting. He loves it when you grip it instead of his shoulders when he’s standing up and fucking you
ben who literally doesn’t need to breathe, so when he takes a deep inhale of your pussy it’s for his pleasure
ben who can carry you any way he pleases, so depending on his mood he will tote you around like a koala on his hip or carry you bridal style with one arm, your head comfortably tucked into his neck.
ben who can fuck you by banding one arm around your lower belly and the other around your throat, leaving your legs to swing and dangle as he ruts into you from behind
ben whose skin is indestructible but still sensitive enough to turn to goose flesh at the drag of your nails
ben who can hold your jaw exactly where he wants it, and when you try and shake him off he just grips tighter and slips his index finger in your mouth for you to bite on (which you do, and he loves it)
ben who sits you on his lap and grabs the back of your knees to lift you up and down his thick cock, letting your head loll back on his shoulder as he splits you in half and rubs at your clit
ben who has no refractory period and loves fucking his cum back into you and using it as lube
ben who will hold you just above his cock and won’t let you sink down until you’ve begged enough to satisfy you (or you get wet enough that you drip onto his cock)
ben who would hold you up just by your throat and your asshole if you could take it
One of my head cannons for soldier boy is that he uses his powers to radiate heat from his hands and when his partner/girlfriend is on there period he uses the heat from his hands to give them belly rubs/massages and despite the fact he loves doing it because it always ends in one of three ways
1)They fall asleep on him
2)cuddles
3) They like kinda melt into him
He will NEVER admit it back in the day it was normal for men to be grossed out by there wife/girlfriends periods
