#Request

[thisdastampdoesnotexist]

[stephreynaart]

Can we please get more of Ford's pet axolotl? I miss him!

Not a one

[fromdove]

ㅤ DOMESTIC FLUFF ✶ PROMPTS . . .

SCENARIOS . . .

i  , sitting on the bathroom counter while their partner gently dries their hair with a towel after a shower, murmuring sleepy compliments

ii  , holding the other steady while they stand on tiptoes to reach a high cabinet, hands resting firmly at their waist

iii  , fixing their collar or hoodie drawstring before they head out

iv  , pressing their cold cheeks against the other’s warm ones and giggling when they flinch from the sudden coolness

v  , tugging the other’s oversized hoodie sleeve back into place when it starts slipping over their hand too far

vi  , pressing a kiss to their shoulder as they pass by in the kitchen, not even thinking about it, just muscle memory

vii  , slipping thick socks onto their partner’s cold feet and pressing a soft kiss to their ankle before pulling the blanket back over them

viii  , pulling the other’s hood up over their head before they leave the house together into the cold

ix  , one cooking, the other perched nearby on the counter, lazily kicking their feet and stealing ingredients from the cutting board

x  , tracing gentle shapes on the other’s back while they lie on top of them

xi  , noticing their partner’s hands are cold and immediately sandwiching them between their own without a word

xii  , brushing their partner’s eyebrows into place with their thumbs while lying face-to-face in bed, just…because

xiii  , sharing headphones in bed, both of them curled under the covers, softly humming along to the same song

xiv  , helping them zip up a dress or jacket from behind and pausing to press a kiss to the back of their neck

xv  , giving their partner's cheeks the gentlest little squish while brushing crumbs off their face after a snack

© fromdove— All rights reserved. Reposting, translation, or modification of these works is strictly prohibited, regardless of whether credit is given.

∿　 　 . `💭` ㆍ

[life-on-our-planet]

Although it was once extinct in the wild the takhi has been successfully reintroduced to its native territory in Central China and Eastern Europe. ©ChornobylWild

[melanch8ly]

req - sevika making her girl squirt for the first time?

hell yeahhh

it starts with you laid over her thigh.

not even fucked, not yet. you’re just in your underwear, hips draped over her lap, her left leg slotted up right between yours. her metal hand rests easy on your lower back. her real one?

it’s already busy between your thighs.

you’d made the mistake of being mouthy earlier. gave her attitude in the hallway, playful at first. but sevika was already buzzed, already lazy from a half-burned blunt. you nudged the hornet’s nest and now you’re here. riding the heavy flex of her thigh, panting into her shoulder while her fingers rub slow, lazy circles over the soaked cotton between your legs.

“mmnh—sev—”

“shh,” she mutters, not even looking at you. her eyes are half-lidded, blunt smoldering in the corner of her mouth. “you talk too much.”

your hips twitch, grinding down instinctively as her thumb presses just right. she doesn’t move fast. doesn’t even press hard. just slow, cruel little strokes while you try to keep from begging.

“c’monnn” you whimper. “please—”

her fingers trail down the front of your panties, tugging them aside with a practiced flick.

wet. soaked. swollen and slick and needy.

her thumb slips between your folds, dragging through the mess.

“you’re drippin’,” she says, voice like smoke. “and i haven’t even started.”

and she hasn’t. not really.

—

you’ve been on her lap for nearly twenty minutes now, hips grinding, legs shaking, mouth open and moaning every few seconds—but she keeps pulling you back. stopping when you get close. slapping your ass or dragging her thumb away right when your thighs clench up.

“sev—sev—i’m close, i’m—!”

“no you’re not.”

a firm grip on your hip. her voice lower now. teasing.

“not yet.”

you’ve come close so many times that your body feels like it’s buzzing, every nerve ending vibrating. your clit’s aching. your cunt’s clenching around nothing, so swollen it’s throbbing. her calloused fingers slide down and toy at your entrance. two thick digits sinking in slowly, lazily, not even curling yet.

“you’re gonna come from just my fingers?” she asks.

you nod, face buried in her neck. “y-yeah—fuck, yes—”

but she doesn’t speed up.

just keeps the pressure slow, cruel, constant. two fingers sliding in and out, dragging against your walls, thumb grazing your clit, but never fast enough to push you over.

and god, you feel it. that sharp build. tight in your gut, curling hard…until it starts to crest—

then she pulls her hand away.

your hips buck, a sob catching in your throat. you’re soaked. you know you’re making a mess on her jeans. your pussy’s twitching, fluttering, practically leaking down her thigh.

“fuck, you’re sensitive today,” she mutters, watching her fingers glisten as she licks them clean. “cute.”

“s-stop—s-stop teasing, please,” you whimper, legs trembling.

“why?” her voice drops, smug and lazy. “you’re fuckin’ squirming, baby. whining like you want me to ruin it.”

her fingers dip again.

two inside, this time curling just right.

your entire body jerks, and she stills, slow grin crawling across her face as your thighs spasm.

“…huh,” she mutters, eyes fixed between your legs. “what was that?”

you can’t even speak. you’re too close. twitching, moaning, your slick leaking down her hand, your cunt clenching so hard her fingers drag deeper on their own.

her thumb brushes just a bit higher,

and something breaks.

you choke on a sound. high, sudden, feral as your whole body jerks. a splash hits her thighs.

sevika freezes.

“…no fuckin’ way.”

her hand stays inside you as your body convulses. hips stuttering, cunt gushing around her fingers, wetness hitting the floor in little droplets.

she watches it all with eyes gone wild.

“holy shit, doll,” she laughs. stunned, low, hungry. “you just fucking—fuck—”

“didn’t know this little cunt could do all that,” she growls, dragging her palm over the mess, coating herself in it. “fucking filthy. look at this”

you try to lift your head, dizzy, drenched, soaked clear through your thighs and hers. and she’s just watching it, mesmerized.

“you ever do that before?” she asks, tilting her head.

you shake yours, weakly. still trembling. “n-no—never—”

her eyebrows rise, and that grin deepens.

“no shit?”

she repositions you so you’re lying on the couch on your back now, legs spread wide on either side of her broad shoulders. she reaches down, runs her fingers through the mess between your legs, slick and wet and dripping off her knuckles.

then she smacks it.

a wet slap right over your swollen, overstimmed pussy, just enough to make your back arch off the bed with a choked cry.

“fuck, that’s hot.”

you gasp, a mix between a sob and a moan, thighs trying to close. she stops them. presses her forearm down against one thigh, spreads you back open, forces you to stay exposed in the wet, sticky aftermath.

“don’t hide,” she murmurs, watching your cunt twitch like it’s hypnotizing. “don’t ever fuckin’ hide from me.”

her hand cups your mound, palm pressing flat, just enough pressure to make you jerk again. she feels the heat, the pulse, the way you clench like your body’s still trying to keep up.

“you squirtin’ for me now, huh?”

another smack—slap!

you cry out. twitch. the mess between your legs grows, warm and slick and leaking.

“look at this pussy, holy shit,” she groans, dragging her fingers over your folds. “gushin’ like a fountain and she don’t even know what hit her.”

“s-sev—i can’t—m’too sensitive—”

“no, you’re not,” she growls, gripping your thigh tight. “you just never had someone make you. but guess what?”

her mouth dips close—hot breath over your cunt.

“you’re gonna do that again,” she says, almost to herself. “fuck the plan. i want that again.”

a lick—slow, filthy, right over the mess.

you shudder. cry out. beg again.

she doesn’t care.

“i’m not stoppin’,” she mutters, tongue dragging back through your folds. “not ‘til you do it again.”

“w-wait—sev—!”

her lips wrap around your clit. she sucks, fingers working lower, two curling deep inside, right at that aching, perfect spot she found the first time.

you jolt, hips snapping, hands scrambling against the sheets. it’s too much, too fast, too—

“ngh—f-fuck—i’m gonna—!”

she pulls back for just a second, eyes glinting, mouth soaked.

“yeah, you are,” she purrs. “you’re gonna soak this whole fuckin’ bed for me.”

and then she dives back in.

sucks your clit, tongue relentless, fingers slamming that spot over and over until your legs start shaking, until your head throws back, until your throat opens and all you can do is scream.

your body snaps. hips kick. thighs spasm.

and then it happens.

warm, sudden, uncontrollable. you gush, pleasure crashing over you like a flood, slick spraying across her hand, her chest, the sheets, your own thighs.

and sevika moans like she’s the one cumming.

like it’s her favorite goddamn sight in the world.

“fuck yeah, baby—just like that. squirt all over me, let it out—good fucking girl—”

you collapse.

limp. shaking. twitching through the aftershocks.

and she’s laughing. low and breathless. hungry.

“told you i’d make it happen again.”

her hand’s still between your legs, rubbing circles, fingers lazy but firm, keeping you on the edge even as you try to escape.

“what?” she smirks. “you thought we were done?”

she leans down, tongue dragging a line from your soaked slit to your navel.

“nah, doll,” she growls. “i want one more.”

a kiss to your inner thigh.

“i wanna see how many times this sweet little cunt can squirt before you pass the fuck out.”

guyss go follow my tiktok @sevikastr4p i just made my first edit 🙏

[blushily]

Princess Vixie (Doodle for Lunarstars)

[addylo]

I agree 💥💥💥💥💥

TheRealSquiddo joined the game

[nebytou]

*Buzzes towards you holding birds in one pair of hands and rocks in another pair*

May we have a Bauhauzzo & Huzzle Mug please? How do you think they met? ^vvv^

Sure!

I know I said I would do simple doodles, but as soon as I got your ask I couldn't get this idea out of my head and and one thing lead to the other!

About the question...

For me they seem like the kind of people that get along when they just meet for the very firts time haha!

I think they also complement the other in a similar way like Thespius and Click Clak. For what is inovation without a question? A problem? A starting point?

And what is history without significant advances? Memories of the past that help us shape our future, by always reinventing itself? Adapting? Innovating?...

(lots of ramble)

[palesweetsdeer]

phantom frater cuddles doodle... bats my eyelashes :( i miss them dearly and i think phantom missed his papa being away on tour and cardi missed his silly ghoul

Oh, Phantom misses his Papa so fucking much you have no idea. But he’s quite happy with providing some cuddles from time to time

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Something New

Main Masterlist - Soldier Boy Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Soldier Boy/Female Reader, fluff, love confessions, loss of virginity, smut (fingering, oral f!receiving, p in v sex, praise kink, dirty talk)

Summary/Warnings: Request from @elle14-blog1! After Ben finds out that you're a virgin, he has a far better reaction than you expected.

Author's Note: I miss my husband. We're gonna fuck raw. Enjoy!

Word Count: 6.1k

You’re stuck. 

There’s this corner, that you’ve backed yourself into. It’s not the worst corner to be in, but it’s a corner all the same. And you can’t seem to find a way out of it, but you’re not sure if you want one. Even as the walls press in, and it becomes painfully clear that there isn’t a way out—you’re either going to die here, or come to life—you’re not really struggling to escape at all. 

Because it’s Ben, that’s hovering over you with a smirk and keeping you trapped here. 

So you don’t want to go anywhere at all. 

Even if this destroys you—it might—you’re going to stay right here pray that when you are ruined, maybe you just won’t be left on the floor. 

You don’t think Ben will leave you on the floor. It’ll shatter a critical and delicate part of you, if he does. And you have no real proof that he won’t. Nothing except for his eyes locked onto yours, the way that the heat radiating from his body is making you a little dizzy, and how there’s not a single hateful thing in his voice as he says your name. 

There’s never anything hateful when Ben says your name. There’s always something that’s not quite soft, but gentle. No spat words, or harsh tone. Even when you’re fighting about something—he killed a guy again, he’s not supposed to do that, but the asshole had been threatening you so he’s going to claim it’s justified—Ben never says your name the way he says Butcher or Homelander.

It could mean nothing at all. 

But in your heart, you’ve twisted it to mean something. Just for yourself. Just to keep the fantasy alive. Feeding the idea that, somehow—in a world full of supes that can match Ben punch for punch—you’re the one he wants.

The soft little human that he always has to jump in front of a bullet for, who puts up with his bullshit because she loves him, and never leaves because he has her on a leash without even knowing it. 

He has no way of knowing. You’re a better actor than he is, by a mile. It’s how you got tangled up in the whole Homelander and Vought mess to begin with. A nobody who can be anybody, and doesn’t flinch when there’s a gun aimed right at her skull. Not a hero, but a useful tool. 

Butcher says you keep the Gov under control by his balls, as well. You don’t argue—any argument with Butcher is pointless—but you know he’s just being a dick. Any control you have over Ben lives in your head, right next to the dream you have where he kisses you and walks you backwards to a bed or wall, confessing his love.

It’s a dream that’s eerily similar to what’s happening right now.

You’re already pressed to a wall, Ben’s just not kissing you. And he’s not confessing his love, but he is keeping a hand on your chin, keeping your gaze trapped on his. Maybe this is a dream. 

You have no idea how to find out. 

Or what you’ll do if it isn’t.

“The capecucked pussy is dead.” Ben mutters, and you take a deep breath. 

“Um, yeah.” You give him a soft smile. “Good job on that.” 

He just grunts, and it’s not like him to not accept a compliment. Last time Hughie told him that he’d taken a good shot, there had been a twenty-minute rant about how of course it was a good shot, he wasn’t some fucking dumbass who’d miss.

Something’s wrong.

“Ben?”

He repeats your name back—his voice is low, and it’s always low, but this feels different—and you take another long breath.

“Why are you here?”

“Because I want to ask you out.”

“Oh.” You blink at him, and then the words sink into your skin. Your heartbeat kicks over a pace, heat rises to maybe every nerve point in your body, and you’re dizzy again. “Oh.”

Ben frowns slightly. “Does that mean yes or no.”

“It- It doesn’t mean anything- I just-“ You try to lean back into the wall, like maybe it will swallow you whole, but there’s nowhere to go. “What?”

“The fuck do you mean what-“

“I- I don’t know what’s happening.” You whisper, and his frown deepens.

“I’m trying to date you. Then marry you, but cumguzzler says we have to date first.”

“Cum-“ You shake your head, and dig your nails into the skin of your arms. There’s a sting. It’s not a dream. “You asked Hughie?”

Ben gives a tight nod, his attention not wavering for a single second. “Answer my damn question, sweetheart.” He pauses, then adds, “Please.”

You’re going insane. Or you’d just died in that last fight, and somehow gotten into heaven. This is real, but it can’t be. You’ve heard more than just rumors about Ben’s sexcapades, and his taste in women, and how he is about relationships overall. And you don’t fit into that. Anywhere. You’re just you. Human. Beautiful, but not desirable. Not to date. Maybe to be touched, but you don’t let anyone touch, because you’re a pathetic romantic that can’t find it in her to be touched and nothing more. 

You’ve almost broken that last part for Ben. Several times. When he’d get extra flirty, and you’d know that’s all it was, but if he’d asked you to spread your legs or get on your knees, you’re not sure you would’ve been able to say no. 

Maybe that’s all this is. He’s just asking for sex, and you’re going to have to tell him no—you’ll get addicted from one hit, and he’ll realize that, despite your job and outward persona, you’re nothing at all—and it’s going to haunt you for the rest of your life.

“Do- are you just asking for sex-“

“No.” His brow furrows. “I am going to fuck you, but not now. Unless you beg for it. Can’t tell the most beautiful girl no if she’s damn whining for my cock.”

You’re going to explode. “So you actually- You want to date?”

“That’s what I goddamn said, doll-“

“Why?”

You can’t stop the question from slipping out. But you can’t understand. Ben can be mean, but he wouldn’t be this cruel—not to you, at least—to make this kind of joke. Yet he doesn’t look like it’s a joke at all. He’s glaring at you like the question is insane, and his words are so firm they sound like gospel. Like they’ve been set in stone for a long, long time before you got to read them. Like there’s no possible way they could ever change, even as the stone is eroded by time, and everything else rots away, Ben will still mean every single thing he says. 

He always does. 

It’s one of the countless reasons you love him. 

And one of the reasons he’s going to tear you apart. 

“The fuck do you mean why.” His voice is almost a growl, and he’s continuing before you can even think of a proper answer. “I fucking love you. I want to marry you, give you the goddamn world, and live a normal, perfect life with you now that all this fucking Homelander shit is over. But I have to fucking date you first, and I’m not goddamn pussy who’s going to wait for you to ask first, so I’m telling your right fucking now.” He leans down, tipping your head back a little further and burning you alive under his gaze. “You’re my fucking life. I love you. If you don’t love me, still say yes because there’s not a goddamn thing I won’t do for you. But if you have to say no, and I’ll wait my whole fucking life for you to say yes.”

“I-“ Another deep breath. You can’t really hear your own voice, over the sound of your heartbeat. “What if I never say yes?”

He rolls his eyes. “Then I’ll wait until I’m damn dead, didn’t you fucking hear me.”

“I- I did.” You whisper, and this can’t be real. 

You’d really like it to be.

“You love me?”

“I’ll fucking die for you. Right now.”

“Oh- Okay.” 

Ben pauses. “What does okay mean.”

You give a weak shrug. “Okay. I love you too. I’ll date you.”

“You-“ Something flashes over Ben’s features, and his whole body tenses above you. “You love me.”

You nod, and he lets out a heavy exhale, rubbing his thumb over your chin, brushing your lower lip.

“Good. That’s fucking good. Alright. Let’s watch a movie.”

“Ben, wait-“ You grab his arm before he can move away, and he stills. “Like a date?”

“No. On your couch.” He grabs your hand in his, raising it up to press a kiss to your knuckles. “I’m courting you fucking right. First date will be next week, when I’ve gotten to make a goddamn plan for it. Right now, we’re watching a movie.”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Courting.”

“What-“ “Old man.” You whisper, your smile growing as Ben rolls his eyes, his mouth twitching slightly.

“Alright, spitfire. Come watch the fucking movie.”

It’s easy to just nod and agree, because you feel like you’re still dreaming. But it’s real.

It’s so fucking real, and you don’t understand how, but it doesn’t matter. Ben tugs you to the couch, and the night passes with you half in his lap and his arms around your body—which doesn’t feel that different from when you’d just have your head on his shoulder, as if nothing’s really changed at all—and this is real.

And time passes. 

And Ben was fucking serious.

Your first date is to a fancy restaurant. He brings you flowers, kisses your cheek and holds your hand, and you spend the whole night in a daze, a little convinced that this is some sort of Cinderella situation, and the spell is going to be broken the moment he drops you back at your apartment. 

But it doesn’t. He doesn’t try to walk you into the bedroom, you don’t have to have the conversation, and Ben leaves you with a kiss on your cheek and nose and everywhere but your mouth—he’s teasing you, the asshole, and you love him but he’s going to get his stupid supe-ass punched—and a promise of a second date, soon.

Soon means the next day. You go to the zoo, because Ben listens more than people give him credit for, and knows you love animals. He buys you a stuffie, and when it starts to rain, he blocks you with his whole massive body, like you’re something so priceless the rain shouldn’t get to even touch you.

You break first.

You kiss him in the car.

You climb onto his lap, grab his face between your hands, and—when his hands tighten on your hips and his gaze becomes hooded and predatory—crash down into him. And this is where you always should have been. Wrapping your arms around Ben’s next and getting lost in the whiskey and smoke taste of him. Moaning when his tongue pushes down your throat, and giggling when you bite his lower lip, and he rolls you over with a groan. Feeling his hands skim up your sides and his boner press on your inner thigh.

You have to break apart there. 

Because the doubt is slowly easing from your mind. He wouldn’t buy you a stuffie if he wasn’t serious. He’d even done it without you asking, just grabbing it off the shelf with a scowl and shoving it into your hands, before kissing the top of your head and grumbling that he loves you again. 

And he does. You really believe that he does. 

But that’s doing to be a problem. The corner only keeps getting tighter. Ben only keeps getting closer. And you don’t know how to tell him the thing. The embarrassing thing. The thing that might make you lose him, whether or not you keep it down or spit it out.  

You’re a virgin.

And you know it shouldn’t be a big deal. It’s just a social construct—a misogynistic one—and you’re more than just that.

But it doesn’t feel like just a social construct. It feels like a curse. Ben’s been with so many people he’s lost count. And he says he loves you, and you believe him, but he’s also Ben. Horny and dramatic and sort of godlike, deserving of someone who can keep up with him and not turn sex into a whole thing. But it has to be a thing, with you. Not just the virgin conversation, but all of it. You want it to mean something, which is childish and pathetic—it’s just sex—but it’s what you want. Have wanted. 

You’ve always wanted it to mean something. For it to be from love, and not just need. 

You’d like it to be with Ben.

But there’s a loud and vicious part of your brain that keeps telling you this is going to be the end of it all. You’ll either tell him, and he’ll decide that’s more trouble than you’re worth—and he’d be right—or you’ll pretend you aren’t and everything will shatter down anyway.

If you just refuse to have sex with him, he’ll give up on you. Get bored of just making out on the couch or in the middle of the street, and move on to someone who can give him what he needs. Or worse, you’ll cave and let him take whatever he wants, but you won’t know how to give anything back, and he’ll leave out of disappointment. 

You don’t want him to leave. Ever. His whole get married, grow old together, be loudly and madly in love until we both fucking die plan sounds perfect. It’s just this one, stupid, embarrassing thing that’s going to make it all fall apart.

It doesn’t help that you know he wants it. That he’s been trying to wait—to make it good, romantic fucking sex—but he keeps getting hard all the time, and you keep feeling an ache grow between your legs whenever he so much as whispers your name in your ears. 

The kissing doesn’t help. 

The kissing is going to kill you. 

He’s so fucking good at it. Time has slipped by so easily—you’re on date number ten—and Ben just keeps getting better at kissing you. He seems to have memorized every single way to draw a needy sound from your lips, and he keeps finding new ways to pull you apart with only his arms caging you to his chest and his mouth never wandering below your collarbone. 

And his mouth. 

His fucking mouth. 

It fits so perfectly against yours. He uses his tongue like a weapon to make you light-headed and soft all over, teasing you by tracing your lips and teeth, the licking over every bruise he sucks on your neck. He bites and kisses and marks you until he’s branded on your skin, and you can taste him every single fucking moment. 

And you do think about it. All the time. Virgin doesn’t mean prude, and too many nights end with your hand between your legs, trying to pretend that it’s Ben’s. Licking your lips, still swollen from his kisses, and imagining the haunting feeling of Ben’s mouth drifting down to your clit. 

It’s barely a crude replica of him even kissing you. It’s all you get. 

Usually.

Usually, Ben stops here. When you’re a panting mess that’s tugging at his hair and trying to grab his mouth back to yours, like maybe it could stick there and you’d never have to chase the phantom of him again. 

But he’s not stopping right now. His fingers on your waist are dipping under your shirt to brush over skin and play with the waistband of your skirt. He’s angled you so your clothed pussy is rubbing right against his thigh, and his kisses are getting dangerously deeper. His hand tangled in your hair is tipped your head back so he can kiss at your throat, and when you moan his name—earning an approving grunt that goes right to your core—Ben shifts you again. 

Right onto his boner, letting your grind against his as his hand wanders up, and brushes on the bottom of your breast.

“Fuck, Ben-“ You gasp, dragging your hands from his hair to plant them on his chest. “Wait.”

He pauses, drawing back with a frown. “You’re not ready.”

It’s not a question. But Ben doesn’t really ask questions. He says that because he knows it’s true, and that rips open your heart a little. He’d been ready. You can feel how ready he is, and you’d like him to show you too, but- 

You can’t.

“Sorry,” you mumble, dropping your brow to his shoulder, and he tenses below you.

“Why the fuck are you sorry.”

You shrug, wrapping your legs fully around his waist. His cock is still pressed against you. Wearing a skirt was a horrible idea. “For making you wait, I think.”

Ben grunts your name, tugging on your hair until you lean back and meet his gaze. 

“Listen.” He mutters, and you couldn’t ignore him if you tried. Not when he’s look at you like this. Like you’re really all he’s ever needed. “I said I’d fucking wait. I goddamn meant it. I’m not some pussy who’s going to fucking run away just because you’re not putting out.”

“But-“ You swallow, scanning over his features. Impossibly handsome. Somehow yours. “You- Do you not care about sex?”

He snorts. “Of course I fucking care about sex, but I care about you more. I’ve banged a million fucking women, none of them ever made my heart feeling like stupid fucking goo. Only you,” he grabs your face between his hands, like he thinks you’re going to try and run. “Can do that. And it would be real damn nice if you’d tell me how to speed it up, or if you’re just not fucking into that or some shit, but I said I love you. That’s fucking that.”

You nod slowly, trying to choose your words right. Trying to make sure you don’t say something stupid, and fuck this up. “You- you wouldn’t care if I wasn’t into it?”

“That’s what I damn said, doll. I’ve got a hand. And a brain. I can take care of myself, if I have to.” He pauses, his brow drawing together and mouth opening, and you shake your head.

“No. You don’t have to.”

He nods, but now he mostly he looks confused. “Then what’s the fucking problem. I can’t fucking do shit it if you don’t tell me-“

“It’s- I’m not-“ You wish he’d let go of your face. He’s holding you so gently, watching you so carefully and reverently, and you’re going to say it. You don’t want to see his expression shift when you say it. 

Ben grunts your name, and it falls out like vomit. 

“I’m a virgin.” You squeak, grabbing his hands over your face. He needs to stay there. You don’t know what you’ll do if he doesn’t. “I- I just never got the chance, not with someone I wanted, and it’s stupid but I don’t want- I mean I want you, but- You’re you, Ben, and I don’t- What if I’m not good.”

Ben’s silent. Too silent. Scanning over you slowly with a tight frown, and this is it, he’s going to leave-

“Nobody’s touched you.” He mutters, his voice suddenly a little hoarse. “Ever.”

“Um,” you take a shaking breath. “This one guy in high school fingered me, but-“

“Did you cum.”

You blink at him. “No?”

“Hm.” His hands tighten slightly. “And you want me.”

“Yes, but, I-“ You try to shift to hide from his attention, and then you feel it.

He’s still hard. Really hard. Pressed right against your core and twitching when you squirm. 

Oh. 

“Ben,” you whisper, and he looks predatory. One of his hands has wandered from your face to your waist. Under your shirt, tracing firm circle on your skin as he holds your gaze. 

“You watched porn, sweetheart?”

Jesus Christ. You give him a small nod, and he hums.

“You know what you like?”

“What I-“

“Hard.” His hand slips out from under your shirt, landing a light hit on your ass that makes you squeak and fall fully over his chest. “Or soft.”

You gape up at him—his muscles flexing as he keeps you pinned against him and his pretty eyes hooded and blown out with lust—and you might be drooling. “Both, I think. But- I don’t want it to hurt-“

“Won’t hurt you.” He grunts. “Never going to hurt you, babydoll, just-“ He grabs your chin again, and your mouth falls open. “Don’t ever think you’re not going to be fucking good. You’re a goddamn angel, and- Fuck-“ He groans, dropping his face to kiss over your neck. “I’m going to fucking ruin you. You’re never going to need anyone else, you’re fucking mine, and-“

He cuts himself off with a groan, crashing his lips back into yours, and if you could feel every bit of this, you’d be sure it was a dream. But he groans down your throat and you feel it throb in your core, and when you bite his upper lip and he ruts against you, it sets of million fireworks everywhere in your body.

Ben pulls back with a wild expression, his voice full of strain. As if he’s physically forcing himself not to move. 

“Ben-“

“Say yes,” he mutters, squeezing your hips. “I’ll make you feel so fucking good, baby, just gotta damn say it-“

“Yes- Ben-“

The word is barely out of your mouth before he’s standing. And this is it. 

You don’t think you’d want it any other way but this. Here. In a shitty apartment with Ben, carrying you to the bed before lowering you down with almost mocking care. 

“Need to prep you,” he mutters, shoving your legs apart as he kneels at the edge of the bed. “Fucking- Christ on a cross, doll.” Two broad fingers drag over your underwear, and a high whine leaves your throat. “So fucking wet for me you’re soaking through your panties, huh. Need it that fucking bad.”

“I- I don’t- Ben-“

He leaves a light slap over your underwear, and you fall flat on your back with a moan. 

“C’mon, pretty girl, just fucking admit how bad you want my cock-“

“So bad,” you moan, and your reward is quick. There’s a ripping sound as Ben tears away your underwear, and you barely get a second to register the cold air before his fingers are rubbing up and down your slit, leaving teasing presses over your clit. 

“Going to slide right in,” he mutters, and you could swear you hear awe in his voice. “Fuck, you’ve just been waiting for me, doll, can’t believe I’m the only motherfucker that’s going to get to feel this pretty pussy squeeze me.”

He shoves a finger into your cunt, pumping slowly, and your back arches off the bed. “Shit- Ben-“

“I know,” he’s teasing you. Leaving soft kisses over your inner thighs that you can’t see, because of the stupid skirt. His voice vibrating against your skin as he gets closer and closer to where you’re aching for him. “You’re going to be a good girl for me, aren’t you. Taking whatever I damn give, letting me show you fucking heaven, letting me fucking wreck you-“

“Yes.” You gasp, fingers curling in the sheets as a second finger joins the first, and one broad, warm hand travels up to palm at your breast. “God, Ben, I- Feels good-“

“Fuck yeah, it does.” His thumb flicks over your clit, and you try to push up on your palms to see him, but he doesn’t give you the chance.

Ben’s lips attach to your clit, right as his fingers crook on a deep, aching and electric spot inside of you, and you fall back down with a gasp. 

He’s too good at this. His tongue is flicking at a rapid pace that’s driving your brain into a needy, dazed frenzy of Ben, pinching your nipple and groaning into your pussy and taking you so high you don’t think you’ll ever come back down, all as his fingers only rub and press on that needy spot. His beard scrapes and tickles on your thighs, and his teeth brush over your clit right as he rolls a nipple between his fingers, and your take a shuddering breath, trying to hold yourself together as the heat builds.

“I- Ben-“ You grab blindly with one hand, and manage to get a fistful of his hair. “Shit, I’m gonna- Ben-“

Your voice is a whine, but he’d pulled away. Sat up with a wide smirk, licking his fingers clean as he holds your gaze.

“Taste like heaven,” he drawls your name, running his thumb up your pussy, pausing to dip inside slightly and smirking as you shiver below him. “That’s right, feels good, doesn’t it.”

You nod a little stupidly, trying to spread your legs wider, and Ben’s grin grows. 

“Want more?”

“Yes,” you whisper, grinding desperately into the air. “More, that’s- Ben-“

His thumb moves to press on your lower lips. “Taste.”

You open for him without thought, sucking every bit of your own arousal as he watches you, and his grin falls into a darkened, starved expression that goes right into your cunt. You don’t ever want him to stop looking at you like that. And you’re not sure what you’re doing—running your tongue on the pad of his thumb as moaning at the sight of him above you—but he likes it, so you double your efforts. It has the intended effect. He groans and pries his thumb away with a popping sound, before ripping off his own shirt and crashing down into you with a bruising force.

This kiss is going to wreck you all on its own. Deep and starved, all the way into the mattress as his hands wander everywhere, helping you shed clothing like even a thin layer of cloth between you is more than he can bear. 

“Want you to cum on my cock, doll,” he grunts, rubbing his hand back over your soaked cunt, and you nod feverishly.

“Oh- Okay- Just-“ You roll your hips against him, scratching at his back as his palm hits your clit. “Need it, Ben, need it now-“

“You really are desperate for it,” he mutters, something like awe creeping into his voice. “Waited too fucking long, didn’t you, baby. Bet you’ve fucked your hand thinking about me-“

“I have,” you whisper, and he groans, planting sloppy kiss down your neck. “Only wanted it to be you, Ben, love you, need you-“

Your words fall into a moan as he gives you another deep kiss, and he speaks against your lips, his thumb on your thumb rubbing shocking soft, small circles.

“I’m clean.” He grunts. “Can’t catch anything. And you’re pure-“

“Don’t say pure, Ben.” You mumble, somehow managing to give him a flat look. “It’s weird- Shit-“

He slaps your pussy again. But it’s with his cock, huge and thick and erect in his hand, and your mouth falls open in a silent moan.

“Keep fucking tell me what to do,” he mutters, staring to rub himself between your pussy lips, and you can only gape at him. “Love how damn bossy you can be, doll, my little fucking spitfire. So smart, such a smart fucking mouth always begging to be stuffed with my cock. Teaching me shit and acting like a pretty fucking angel, when you’ve been thinking about me fucking you stupid. What should I call it,” he lowers his lips to hover over yours, his voice a deep drawl that rolls through your body. “If nobody else has ever touched you but me.”

“Nothing.” Your voice is too soft, but you can’t really think outside of the smell and feel of Ben, everywhere around you. “It- It’s not that big a deal-“

“That why you didn’t tell me?” He counters, brows raised, and you swallow. 

“Yes?”

“For such a good actress, doll, you’re a real bad fucking liar.” He presses a mockingly soft kiss to your lips, chuckling when you try to chase him back up and pinning to you to mattress with a light hand on your throat. “You love me, sweet girl.”

Not a question. “Yes. And you love me.”

“More than fucking anything.” He hisses, pulling your lower lip between your teeth. “And you’re not pure. You’re a smart fucking mouth, and a good fucking cockslut for me, aren’t you. Only me.”

You moan, your back arching off the bed, and he squeezes your throat lightly.

“Answer me, baby-“

“Yes.” You gasp out, grinding into him. “Please, Ben, need you so bad-“

He finally kisses you, slow and deep and long, but his dick remains pressed right outside of your entrance.

“Use your words,” he mutters your name, moving his hand to tangle with yours. “Condom, yes or no.”

“No.” You mumble. “I’m on the pill. For hormone regulation. Want you, Ben, now-“

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream as he starts to push in, and he’s going so slow. Letting you squeeze his hand with a death grip and studying your face for any sign of distresses, going inch by inch until you’re split open on his cock. You’re so full, and he’s bumping at your cervix and pressing on the wired spot, making your gaze cloud with lust and need as he just sits there. Giving you a chance to adjust, kissing over your neck and grunt every time you squeeze around him.

“Need to you relax, babydoll.” He groans when you flutter again, his hips jerking slightly, and you just blink at him. “So fucking tight, feel like goddamn heaven, but- Christ on a fucking cross-“

He bites at your throat as you try to grind against him, silently begging him for more. You can’t really remember any words that aren’t Ben. You don’t need them, because he rises over you with a glower, brushing hair from your face, and you squeeze around him again. On purpose. He needs to move.

“Fuck- You need to stop that-“

You do it again, and his eyes narrow. 

“You want more.”

You nod, grinding down onto his cock, and his eyes flash. 

“Can’t fucking talk?” He drawls, grinning down at you. “Can’t beg for me to fuck you good and damn proper? Already that fucking ruined on my dick when I haven’t fucking moved-“

You whine, squeezing again, and he tenses over you. 

“Blink twice if you’re ready.” He growls, and you obey. Two slow, firm blinks, your fingers curling on his neck, and he pulls almost fully out. 

But he still doesn’t fuck you. 

“Say my name,” he grunts, and it’s a good thing that’s the only thing you can remember how to do. 

“Ben,” You moan, writhing below him. “Ben, Ben-“

One last, impossibly soft and lazy kiss, sucking on your lower lip with a groan, before tracing kisses over your cheeks right to your ear, his breath ghosting over your skin and sending a shive up your spine.

“Good girl,” he mutters, and slams home.

He’s not being harsh. Not even that rough. It’s not slow, but it’s not bed breaking, and it’s fucking perfect. His cock drags and hits every spot deep inside of you, and he keeps muttering low, taunting praise in your ear that you can’t really hear over the sinful sound of your skin slapping together. You can’t think about anything but the feeling of him inside you, his hand in yours and his mouth finding every inch of skin it can reach. Your eyes are already rolling back in your head as his thumb glides back to your clit and you cling to his back, a cockdrunk, fluttering and moaning mess in Ben’s arms. 

“Ben,” you whimper, trying to capture his mouth back onto yours. “Ben-“

“Fucking- Christ and fucking hell, you feel so good,” he ruts deep inside you, and the coil in your gut is building to a snap. “Made to take my cock, be fucked all nice and dumb for me, saying my name-“

You roll your hips to meet his, and he groans. “Ben- I- I’m-“

He leans up, watching you carefully without breaking his pace. “You need more.”

You nod like a bobblehead, somehow dragging the words up from the back of your brain, numb with pleasure. “Need to cum, Ben, please-“

He slams his lips back onto yours, and that’s all you needed to say. Ben’s thumb presses down, his hips shifting slightly to hit just a little deeper, and you almost scream into his mouth. He’s good, so fucking good, his cock is hitting place in you that you didn’t know exist and he’s swallowing your every sound, and his thumb is moving in rapid, harsh circles that drag you right up to the edge as his own pace grows sloppy, and he pinches your clit-

The coil in your but snaps, and pleasure slams into you like a hurricane. Crashing through every single nerve in your body and pulling apart until all you can see it stars behind your eyes and Ben’s handsome, blown out face as he fucks your through your orgasm, kissing you like he wants to drown in your and slamming home with a roar of your name. You can feel him painting your cunt white and hot, and your whole body goes slack as a last, tiny wave of pleasure rushes through your body.

There’s a long moment where you just lie in each other—Ben kissing over your face again and mumbling good girls that make you spasm over his cock again—and you’re not sure you’re going to be able to walk. When Ben pulls out with a groan, you can feel him dripping down your ass and onto the mattress. You’re sore, and feel a little drunk, and you’re not sure what happens now, but that’s why you have Ben.

He kisses slowly down your body, landing back between your thighs, and presses a small, soft kiss over your clit before dragging his finger through the mess of your releases, and grinning up at you and he tastes it, then smears in on your stomach. 

“Fucking gorgeous,” he mutters, his smirk growing as a high sound escapes your chest. “Wait here, doll, need clean that pretty fucking pussy.”

You grumble something that’s likely supposed to be can’t go anywhere, asshat, but Ben just laughs, crawling back over your body to grab your chin and give you another deep kiss. You moan into his mouth, able to taste the cum on his lips, and he pulls back with soft grin. 

“Fucking love you. Don’t you goddamn move, or I’m tying up.”

You flush, a rush darting up your spine at the thought, and Ben’s grin grow. 

“Later, you needy fucking brat. Don’t want to goddamn break you.”

He couldn’t break you. Ever. He’s being so shockingly sweet and gentle, you’re certain everyone would think you were lying if you ever spoke of it. 

But you won’t.

Because this part of Ben is only yours. 

He cleans you up with a wet, warm cloth, presses another kiss to your inner thigh, and carries you to the couch with a blanket while he changes the shits. Then, before you can try and ask to help, you’re being guided to the bathroom with a grumble about needing to fucking piss every time, after. Then it’s back to bed, with Ben’s body curved around yours, his face pressed to the crook of your neck and his arms wrapped around your stomach.

“You feel better, doll.” Ben says into your ear, and against it’s not a question. 

Just the truth. There’s a soft ache between your legs, and you’re going to need to sleep for a thousand years, but it’s done. And Ben stayed. 

“Yeah,” you whisper, rolling over in his arms to bury your face in his chest, and smiling when his hand moves to cradle the back of your head. “I love you,” You mumble into his chest, and he grunts, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Love you too.”

He loves you. 

And you don’t think he’s ever going to give you a reason to doubt that in his life. 

So you’re out of the corner. 

And everything is good. 

End Note: I think I get possessed when I write Ben. This took me three hours. Psychologists fear me.

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[heretolurkbutalasitstaken]

Hello, @doctormusic1. I do take requests. Here are two versions because I don't know what type you wanted.

I put it at the moment it's implied that he says it because he doesn't actually say it.

Doctor Who version of the Destiel meme that I made myself.

[stephreynaart]

Piñata Time, but it failed catastrophically :^)

A different birthday bash

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

hiii, how are u? for the 7k bingo could you do Joel Miller with sex pollen? hope u have a nice day :)

.⋆｡Blooming｡⋆.

7k Follower Bingo

Joel Miller x plus size reader

During patrol, you come across a weird-looking plant and can’t help but to check it out, though you’re not the one that gets in trouble when you touch it

Warnings: sex pollen, SMUT, older man and younger woman (age not specified), unprotected sex, pull-out method, guns, feral!Joel, reader is a tiny bit bratty, mention of spores, dub-can because of sex pollen, some amount of mutual pining/yearning WC: 2k Minors DNI Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

“Rules— you stay close, you stay silent and you-“

“-Run as fast as I can if things go south. Yeah I know Joel. It’s not as if I’ve dealt with this bullshit for almost my whole life.” You rolled your eyes as the older man in front of you shot you a glare that would’ve had anyone else cowering in fear but you just huffed in return. The derelict home that loomed in front of you had been marked by Jackson’s scouts earlier in the week for potential farming equipment given the impressive if not run-down greenhouse at its side.

“Don’t be a smartass.” He grumbled and shouldered his rifle but you caught the twitch of his full lips as he turned away from you and into the doorway of the (hopefully) empty building you were planning on ransacking. His broad shoulders lifted as he shot you one last glance before stepping inside, trusting that you would follow close behind.

“When am I ever not a smartass according to you?” You whined quietly from behind him as the stale air of the building closed in around you. It was obvious that nothing living had passed through here in years, infected or otherwise. A thick layer of dust coated every surface that you passed, muffling the sounds of your footsteps down to dull thumps. 

Joel lifted his left hand from the barrel of his gun, signalling you to go left as he turned to the room on the right. You grunted under your breath at his overabundance of anxiety but obeyed anyway, it would do you no good to argue with the man now. The soft yellow of your flashlight beam cut through the small sideroom, illuminating a workbench and a collection of tools that would be perfect for the farms. 

You holstered your pistol so you could pull the battered backpack off your shoulders, dropping it onto the bench next to a terracotta pot that held a quite impressive flower that looked to be on the edge of blooming. You ignored it for now, instead focusing on shoving seed packets and tools into your bag. Underneath a rusty trowel, a water-logged notebook sat, opened up to pages of now illegible notes. 

The pages crunched with decades of exposure to the elements but it still captured your attention. Blurry images of flowers and plants had you turning page after page, slowly revealing the story of the person that poured so much work into the notebook. It seemed like they were trying to breed some new type of flower, and had eventually succeeded given the still living specimen beside you. The last two pages were stuck together with age, threatening to rip as you attempted to seperate them. You gave up after a couple tries, instead closing the book with care and dropping it into the bag with everything else, you hadn’t noticed the petals beginning to fold out from the large bulb of the plant.

“Clear!” Joel’s voice rang through the house causing you to jolt and drop the backpack.

“Jesus man!” You spun just in time for him to stride through the doorway, a scowl on his face that only seemed to add to his attractiveness. It was his usual look with you; disappointed and annoyed but also somehow a little amused and it never failed to get your heart racing with the way his brows would draw together, his jaw tightening, and his dark eyes practically glowing with frustration. 

“How many times do I have to remind you to say something when you’ve finished checking your bit of a house?” Thick arms barely contained by rolled up sleeves of his flannel crossed over his chest.

“‘Bout twenty more times should do it.” You countered with your own withering look. His frown deepened and his muscles bulged. You swallowed back your drool. “Found some seeds for individual gardens so the community ones aren’t overloaded.” You offered up, reaching back to produce one of the packs you hadn’t picked up yet, but instead your knuckles bumped into the pot, causing it to rock back precariously.

Joel’s arms dropped back down to his sides as the pot righted with a clink. You breathed a sigh of relief but it was short-lived. The heart of the flower opened up, delicate red and black petals stretched outwards revealing a dense ball of pollen that looked like it was going to fall apart with the slightest touch. As if he knew exactly what you were thinking, Joel darted forwards and grabbed your wrist.

“Don’t touch it.” His tone wobbled as he spoke, sending a spark of panic through your lizard brain that you chose to push down.

“I wasn’t gonna. Besides, it’s just a flower, not spores. I doubt a fungus has worked out how to evolve into a flower contained completely inside a pot.” You didn’t sound convincing as the words left your lips but you tried to keep a neutral expression. “The owner of the house was breeding it, probably before the end of the world if his little notebook is anything to go by. It won’t kill us.”

His grip tightened. “You don’t know what it’s going to do. Stop being so innocent.” 

You couldn’t help it, the thought popped into your brain and sprinted out of your mouth before you could even think to stop it: “I bet you’d love that wouldn’t you Miller.” 

You watched as his breath hitched, suddenly at a loss for how to deal with you before his hand loosened and fell to the workbench. The tips of his fingers caught the top edge of the pot, finally toppling it over. The flower’s thin stalk bent with the weight of its head, aiming directly for him. The pollen burst onto the bare skin of his forearm, staining his tanned skin a radioactive yellow before the whole thing clattered to the ground.

There was a beat of silence, then two, then your brain finally kicked into gear.

“Fuck fuck fuck. Joel I’m so sorry I didn’t- fuck!” You scrambled for something, anything, in your bag that could rectify this as fear sprinted through your system. The water bottle in your bag was half-empty, something you were saving for the long walk home, but you splashed it over his arm without a second thought. He tugged his shirt sleeve back down in an attempt to scrub it off his skin.

“Leave!” He turned away from you, his shoulder trembling as he redoubled his effort. Guilt struck you square in the chest.

“I’m not leaving. This is my fault, I need to help you. Don’t- don’t make me go.” You knew better than to try and reach out and touch him, even if your spirit screamed at you to try and comfort the possibly dying man. His breathing began to pick up before he swallowed.

“Then check the book.” His chest rumbled, refusing to look back at you. The pollen wouldn’t budge, even when he stripped the shirt off completely to use as a rag. You forced your gaze away from him and back to your bag.

“Right yeah. I’ll um do that.” The notebook shook as you frantically flipped through the pages, desperately scanning the ancient scrawl for anything that could soothe the blinding fear that had wrapped tightly around you. The final brittle pages ripped as you tore them apart, but the writing remained clear. “What the fuck.” 

Sweat was now beading along Joel’s hairline, his muscles screwed up like his body was preparing itself for something. “Tell me.” His voice was empty, his mind already going to the pistol tucked into your waistband.

“It-“ For probably the first time in your life, words escaped you.

Joel whipped around. His pupils were blown so wide that you couldn’t find a trace of the deep brown of his irises, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. “Tell me!” 

Heat shot through you at the revelation of what exactly was wrong with him, something you could beg on your knees to fix. The notebook dropped back onto the workbench as you reached for the buttons on your shirt. Joel’s eyes follow your movements with deadly precision, his body winding even tighter as your body was revealed.

“It’s an aphrodisiac. Supposed to make you go crazy for sex.” He stepped closer, crowding you against the bench. You could feel the hardness of his cock against your soft stomach, it was huge.

“What. Else.” The air between you had suddenly shifted, no longer was there the simmering undercurrent of tension that may or may not have led anywhere, but there was now a fire growing in ferocity, threatening to consume you entirely if you turned away now. 

You popped open the button of your jeans. “It’ll be in your system for hours, maybe days, if you don’t-“ 

“If I don't, what.” The heat of his body was almost unbearable.

Your eyes dropped down to his lips. “If you don’t fuck it out.” A large hand wrapped around the back of your neck, yanking you into a kiss. Your teeth clacked together painfully while Joel pressed you further into the table. You tugged at his white undershirt, whining into his mouth. 

He ripped himself away from you, looking as crazed as you felt. “Turn around.” He left no room for resistance or questions, already turning your body to the bench. He pulled your jeans and panties over your ass, just far enough for access. 

“Joel-“ You knew he wouldn’t stop, not when you could feel the fever running through him as he pressed himself to the soft fat of your ass and thighs. He fumbled for his belt, hands trembling against you. 

“Tell me to stop. Tell me you don’t want this.” He kissed your shoulders, your neck, anywhere he could reach. You wiggled back into him, blissfully feeling his bare cock finally released from the confines of his jeans and boxers. Wet pre-cum smeared against the tops of your thighs.

“Just be careful, don’t want your heart to give out old man.” The growl that escaped him was entirely inhuman and before you could make another sound, he slammed into you. Your cunt burned with his size, by far bigger than anything you had ever taken before and given the smirk you felt against your shoulder blade, Joel knew it too.

“You’re so fucking tight.” He groaned, his forehead falling to your back as he struggled to control himself. He rolled his hips against your ass, immediately sending a flare of pleasure through you. He took a deep breath and pulled back, letting his cock almost completely leave the warmth of your pussy before he finally succumbed to the pollen.

“This is your fucking fault. Not doing what I tell you.” Your hands scrambled for something to ground yourself as he punched into you.

“‘M sorry!” You cried.

“Fucking driving me crazy with those fucking tight pants and constantly gettin on my nerves.” You tightened around him, pleasure licking at your nerves like nothing you had ever felt before. “You like that? You like knowing you piss me off? Damn fucking brat, I should’ve known.”

You felt him in your throat, stealing any attempt at speaking or even catching your breath. “Shoulda known you just needed to be fucked by a man to get you to listen.” The table bit into your stomach but the pain only sent you higher along with the growling of his voice. Joel thrust downwards, the fat head of his cock hitting your g-spot with each thrust.

“You gonna cum? I can feel it. Do it. Fucking cum.” He snarled into your ear as you shattered beneath him, losing yourself to everything Joel. “Fuck!” He groaned, ripping himself from you only second before he came onto the battered flesh of your ass. 

Your body went limp as his cum began to cool on your skin. “Holy shit Joel. I did not think you had it in you.” You went to turn back around but Joel’s hand returned to your shoulder blade, keeping you still. “What?” 

His cock prodded at your wrecked pussy once more. “We’re nowhere near done.”

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Pedro Pascal 

@nerdieforpedro

[chleem]

hii!

I hope you are doing good :)

could you write something really angsty/hurt

with rafe like she fell for him like really hard and he somehow too but he doesnt want to admit he's scared for a committment so he does date someone else ... i hope this helps the rest is up to you how you want to write it :) really like your writing so It just can be good anyway

Take care of yourself <33

⋆.˚ Warnings: explicit language and scenes, read at own caution

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: really proud of this one! enjoy!

word count: 2.6k

──── 𝜗𝜚 ─────

“What do you like about me, Rafe?”

“Hmm?”

“…what do you like about me?”

“I dunno.”

“C’mon, there has to be something,” you whisper, smiling as you settle more comfortably into his lap, fingers tracing idle patterns on his forearm.

He shifts the wheel slightly, the car crunching over the gravel path toward the beach. The wind rushes in through the open window, cool and salty, mixing with the warmth of your bodies pressed so close they’re almost one. You don’t even care that it’s reckless, sitting in his lap while he’s driving, you just want to be here, with Rafe. 

Rafe licks his lips, his blue eyes focusing on something distant. 

You stare at his Adam’s apple; the way it throbs as he considers his answer. 

“I…I guess I like the way you feel.”

“The way I feel?” You repeat, giggling after, wrapping your arms around his neck, as if you weren’t already pressed close enough. 

“You gonna judge everything I say?”

“Of course not.” 

“Fuck, nevermind-“

“How do I feel, Rafe?”

He swallows, eyes flickering to yours, “like a fresh pack of coke.”

You immediately roll your eyes, biting back a laugh as he bursts into that low, genuine laugh that fills the car. The sound wraps around you like a warm blanket. With his free hand, he reaches up to brush a stray lock of hair out of your face, his fingers lingering.

His laughter dies down, and he licks his lips again, shifting slightly beneath you- reminder that you’re still perched in his lap as he drives.

“Hey- hey.”

“Yeah?”

“What- what about me?”

“What about you?”

“You like me or somethin’?”

“Unfortunately.”

Rafe laughs, “well, your turn; since you like talking so much.”

You sit up straighter, trying not to get into his line of sight since he’s still focused on the road. The car hits a bump in the gravel path, and you jump slightly in your seat. Both of you burst into laughter.

Taking advantage of the pause, you study his features- how the fading light catches the curve of his jaw, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, the soft shadow under his lashes.

You think of his personality: the recklessness, the bravado, the unapologetic edge of it all. The part where everyone knows, and only knows. 

Then there’s the part no one else knows. The part where he’s vulnerable, the nights in August when he’s high or drunk and stressing over things that don’t even make sense. The moments you’ve held him, soothing that restless energy when the world feels too heavy. That part of him that he barely lets surface, but that you’ve come to understand, deep, raw, and unguarded.

And right now, riding shotgun on this gravel path, it feels like maybe, just maybe, he trusts you with it all.

He trusts you. With it all. 

“I love the way you make me feel, Rafe.”

The emphasis lingers on love, and as the word slips from your lips, you realize just how hard you’ve fallen, how completely and utterly you’re caught in this- him.

That maybe, this small summer fling of sixty days, can turn into a relationship. 

The car comes to a rough halt. You slip off slightly, but Rafe catches you fast, pulling you close again. You gasp, heart racing- whether from the sudden stop or the weight of the confession, you’re not sure.

But in his arms, pressed so close, you know one thing for certain; nothing will ever be the same.

Then, you hear Rafe’s laugh echo through the car.

“What? You almost crashed us, you psycho,” you laugh uncertainly, pushing against Rafe’s chest.

He laughs, the sound warm and easy, but when it dies down, his hand slides to the back of your neck.

“come here.”

Before you can say anything, he leans in and kisses you, rough and needy, long enough for you to read it as love. 

——

That was five days ago. 

Five days since that day at the beach; where you were sure you had him in your palms. Lying out in the sun, golden and half-asleep. Running into the salty water with him, laughing like kids, high on the moment. Kissing in the sand, fucking with his hand wrapped around your throat, messy and warm and a little too much, but in the best way.

Going home together and washing the same dirty sand off of each other; his hands roaming over the most private parts of you. 

What the fuck is wrong with him?

You're at the same beach, sitting near a campfire that one of the Kooks threw together to celebrate the end of summer. Smoke curls into the night sky, and laughter spills from the circle of glowing faces.

The log beneath you feels rough and splintered, but you ignore it. You're not here for comfort, or to have fun, you’re just here for Rafe.

The only people around you are his friends, drunk and high already. You try to engage in a conversation with them, but it’s hard when you’re only interested in Rafe. 

It’s been thirty minutes since the party started. Still no sign of him.

You tell yourself this is stupid. You should leave. You should never have come out here, to this party.

And then- headlights. A car pulls up toward the far edge of the beach, parking a little away from the noise. But you know the sound of it. The engine, the headlights, the silhouette behind the wheel.

Rafe.

You try to hold back the smile that’s already blooming, try not to sit up straighter, but your body betrays you.

From far away, you make out that the driver’s side door opens; and he steps out.

…and then the passenger side opens, too.

And that’s when you see her.

She walks around to his side without hesitation, and he waits, for her.

Your heart stumbles a little.

They walk toward the fire, toward his group, and his arm drapes around her shoulders.

You know. You know he’s already fucked her. The way she leans into him, smug and careless, says everything.

You sit still. A part of you wants to run. A part of you wants to scream. But you just sit there, letting the firelight flicker across your face, letting it cast enough glow that he has to see you.

And he does.

Rafe’s eyes flick over, for a split second, and then they move on- just like that. Like you’re a stranger. Like sixty- not sixteen, but sixty days of shared beds, whispered secrets, and messy mornings never happened.

And five days was all it took for him to forget.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

“Rafe! You’re finally here!” someone shouts.

“Yeah, man, what took you so long?”

He shrugs, his voice rough from smoke or disinterest, “got caught up.”

You stare, gaze locked on him, burning into him.

His eyes skirt the fire, skim across his friends, and land anywhere but you.

The girl he’s wrapped around leans into him, laughing at something, maybe nothing. It’s the laugh people use when they want to be seen, when they already know they’ve won. 

You wonder what he told her. You wonder if he used the same words he used on you.

“Well,” one of his friends pipes up, grinning way too hard, “y/n saved you a seat.”

Your stomach turns.

Rafe still doesn’t look at you. Instead, he gives a tight nod, jaw clenched, and reaches for a beer. He cracks it open with the opener nearby, metal scraping against metal with a sharp clink that sounds louder than it should.

His arm slips off the girl beside him as he steps forward, heading straight toward you- because, really, the only seat left on the log is right next to you. You shift slightly, pulse loud in your ears.

He settles down beside you without a word. His thigh brushes against yours, barely, but it might as well be a collision. Your body stiffens, every nerve aware of him.

The girl trails after him a second later, her smile faltering when she sees there’s no space left. She hesitates only briefly before motioning to sit on his lap.

Only, Rafe stops her.

With one hand, he pushes her gently, firmly- to the side. Not rough, but enough to make a statement. She stumbles slightly, groaning in annoyance as she drops onto the sand next to him. In the same motion, she reaches for his hand, linking her fingers through his like she has to claim what’s hers now.

And he lets her.

Your eyes stay forward, fixed on the fire, but your senses are betraying you. His scent, sharp cologne, salt, and the memory of skin on skin- cuts through the campfire smoke, filling your nose. 

What used to make you feel safe now makes you feel sick.

His grip tightens on the beer bottle, knuckles turning white. You let your eyes relax, slow, and you angle your head just slightly toward him.

Around you, the others are too drunk or high to notice the silent war unfolding in this small space between you and Rafe. Or maybe it’s just you and him who know.

Thirty seconds pass.

Your stare haunts the side of his face- catching the curve of his jaw, the tense line of his mouth.

Then, finally, he turns to you.

His blue eyes catch the firelight, flickering. 

He blinks, then licks his lips, eyes flicking briefly to yours- landing on your lips for just a heartbeat.

“Y/n.”

The sound of your name leaves his mouth rough and low, almost like a confession.

You barely hear yourself say it, but the words slip out anyway: “…fuck you.”

Rafe nods, like he expected it. A crooked smile curls at the corner of his mouth as he lifts the beer to his lips, tilting it back without hesitation. His Adam’s apple bobs with every swallow, sharp in the firelight, his throat moving like he’s trying to drown the moment.

“Fuck you, Rafe Cameron,” you say again- louder this time.

He lowers the bottle slowly, his fingers still curled around the neck of it. His eyes meet yours.

“…you already did,” he whispers.

Then he pulls his hand out of the girl’s grasp, raking it through his hair like he needs to shake something loose. She reaches for him again- desperate, but he doesn’t give a single shit.

His eyes stay glued to you, even as his body stays angled toward the fire.

You let out a laugh- quiet, cold, and empty. “I’m going home,” you say, voice sharp with finality.

“You got a ride?”

“You were my ride,” you remind him, the bitterness in your tone undeniable.

“Then you’re not going anywhere.”

“You don’t get to- ”

“You’re not going anywhere, alright?” he snaps, louder now. His voice cuts through the hum of drunken laughter around the fire. Heads turn. A few of his friends go quiet. But Rafe doesn’t care. His voice was for you, and only you.

You lean in, just a little, and point a finger to his chest, poking hard enough for him to feel it through his shirt. “Oh, so now you care about me?” you hiss, low and sharp. “What about her, Rafe?”

He doesn’t answer.

Your finger presses harder. “How does she feel, huh?”

I…I guess I like the way you feel.

His jaw tightens. His mouth parts like he’s about to speak, but the words die before they make it out.

The fire crackles in the silence between you.

You don’t wait for him to find the words; You get up and walk.

Past the flickering light. Past the sea of bottles and voices and the girl still sitting in the sand. The air grows colder with every step. You're steps ahead, almost to the edge of the beach, when you hear it.

“Hey- hey! Y/n!”

You keep walking.

Then a hand wraps around your wrist- fast, harsh, desperate.

“Y/N.”

You whirl around, voice shaking, breath hitched. “Let go of me, Rafe.”

“I’ll- I’ll get you home-”

“Stop-”

“C’mon, let me just-”

“No, Rafe!” you yell, your voice tearing at the sky.

You’re far from the fire now, far enough that no one hears, far enough that the campfire glow is just a faint halo in the distance. Just you and him now.

Your eyes sting, and then the tears fall- silent at first, then not. You pull your wrist from his grasp with everything you’ve got.

“No, Rafe,” you choke out, voice breaking. “Get away from me.”

He just stands there, chewing on his bottom lip, those blue eyes locked into yours like he can hold you in place with just a look.

So you shove him, hard; right in the chest.

And he lets you.

You hit him again, fists balled, and tears pour freely now, your voice low, bitter, aching.

“You fucking asshole,” you whisper. “Coward, aren’t you?”

He doesn’t flinch, or defend himself.

“You must really hate me, huh? To do that, to break me like that- ”

You hit him again, fists useless now, trembling as they fall against him.

And then- he grabs your other wrist. His grip locks you in place.

You stop moving.

But your face crumples. You cry- ugly, open.

“I don’t- don’t hate you. y’know that.”

Your breath hitches, you shake your head. “You do, Rafe. Because why else- why would you-”

“I don’t hate you, y/n.”

“Shut up.”

“I don’t hate you, why would I hate you?”

“Then why are you with her?” you yell, voice splintering.

He falters just for a second. “You don’t understand,” he mutters.

“‘Don’t understand’?” you echo, disbelieving.

“You just don’t-”

“What the hell is there not to understand?”

“You don’t-“

“Then tell me, Rafe!”

“No-”

“Tell me so I can understand. Fucking tell me, Rafe.”

He doesn’t speak.

You scoff, staring into those blue eyes of his. 

“You coward. Do you know how much I like you?” your voice breaks, small and sharp. “No, you don’t. Because you have this- this thing going on with you, I guess. Something- something fucked up about you-” 

Commitment. 

That’s what it is. That’s the word both of you are searching for. But neither of you says it out loud. You can’t; because deep down, you don’t want it to be true. You hope- need- to believe that he’s better than that. That he’s capable of more. 

Rafe reaches for you. 

He pulls you into him, and you don’t fight it. Your body collapses against his chest like it always belonged there. His arms circle you tightly, anchoring you in a way that almost makes you forget everything that’s been said. 

One hand threads gently through your hair, slow and soothing, like he’s trying to undo the damage in the only way he knows how. 

This might just be the most intimate it’s going to get. Just this- your face buried in his chest, your tears soaking into his shirt, and his hand moving through your hair. 

“I’ll get you home, okay?” he murmurs. 

“Okay,” you cry, hugging him back- tight, like it’s the last time. 

And it is. 

Later, sitting in the backseat of his car, you stare out the window in silence. You don’t look at him. You don’t say anything. Neither does he. 

No words are spoken during the ride. 

And no words are ever spoken between you again. 

You’ll bump into Rafe sometimes, here and there, in crowded rooms, beach parties, places that used to feel like yours. His laugh will echo, a sound that haunts you. His scent will pass by and cling to you like something cursed. And the blueness of his eyes will become a color you’ll loathe forever. 

He’ll become a stranger you know too well. And you? You’ll just be a summer fling he forgets by winter. 

Maybe, Rafe will become the person you tell your future kids about when they ask if you’ve ever been in love- or really, who was your first love.

…and that’s just the way life goes, unfortunately.

-------------------------------

"I think I’m in love, but I cant stand fuckin’ relationships"

fear of commitment might just be the worst thing ever

elevator | other

[addylo]

"Oh? I thought it was you in the picture, is it not? "

Shrimpo Alfredo 🍤🍤🍤