#Cas/Reader

[idiot-mushroom]

destiel but they’re doing anything but kissing

[captainswhore]

i am a firm believer that the cod men like a spouse with a bush.... but i'm specifically thinkin about gaz.

he looks really clean- like, really, really clean. he's the type that, when he's home, showers twice a day and likes to feel clean and smell good. brings disposable wipes or baby wipes on missions to feel some semblance of that.

so, of course, when you walk in on him in the bathroom one day and see how squeaky clean he is, trimming his pubes before he hops in the shower, you get self conscious. he asks what's takin you so long in the shower after him because he just wants to cuddle once he's clean and home from a mission. he hears you yell "just a sec!" but puts his ear on the door and hears a "mother fu- how do pornstars do this? is it a regular waxing?" he's pushing the door open to see what the hell you're doing.

he finds you, basically doing the splits in the shower, trying SOOO hard to figure out where to even start to get your bush taken care of.

scoops his arm over the leg you have propped up on the tub, grabs a hold of you wherever you can reach when you start flailing, hears your razor clatter on the floor in your haste to grip onto him, and very (not) carefully, throws you on the bed. before you can even ask him what he's doing, he's got his head shoved in between your legs, takes one of your hands to rest on his head, and goes to TOWN. nothing can pull this man off of you.

"it's a personal preference luv," he says, when he leans back to take a breather from literally drowning in your cum, "that means personal.... i'm all for whatever you're comfortable with... don't change just cause you caught me shavin" and before you can even respond his fingers dig into that special spot inside you, and you cum so hard you basically see stars.

he tries to explain why he doesn't care about body hair on other people again, but he has to say it twice because you can't hear anything over your heartbeat in your ears and the panting you're doing after cummin that hard.

[cruel-as-sin]

take the weight off his shoulders | logan howlett

pt. 2

↳ summary: you're a stripper and old man!logan comes into the club where you work- so you decide to show him a good time.

word count: 3k

song: older | isabel larosa

pairings: old man!logan x fem!stripper!reader

content warnings: 18+ content (MDNI), smut, porn w/o plot, prostitution/strip clubs, age gap (readers age is unspecified but she is an adult), praise kink, gentle sex, striptease and lapdance hehe, size difference, protected p in v, grinding, handjob, lingerie mentioned, the glasses stay on, practice safe sex everyone (lmk if i missed anything!)

↳ a/n: ao3 saw this first and it took way too long for me to move it over to tumblr but. here it is lmao. as i said there old man logan does something CRAZY to me so it was only fitting i wrote about him, enjoy! also this is not proofread so apologies for any mistakes :’)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Logan's not sure why he goes into the club across the street.

Maybe he needs to feel young again. Maybe he's bored. Maybe the adamantium poisoning the rest of him has finally managed to get to his brain and turned his thoughts into some sort of horny, befuddled shit show.

Or maybe, just maybe, he really is just that fucking desperate.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

It's past midnight when he walks through the door. You've been busy all night, but things are finally starting to wind down, the customers that frequent the small establishment slowly trickling out until only a few remain. None of them are your regulars, and given how empty the doorway has been, you're honestly considering calling it a night and going home early. The past few days have been hellish, full of people who didn't do a damn thing to turn you on, and you'd love nothing more than to sink into a warm, cozy bed and drift off to sleep. Tonight, you've been roaming the floor for the past hour without getting anything- everybody is either interested in another one of the workers or entirely fixated on the dancers.

It's not that you don't like your job- you do. Sure, being a stripper isn't the most flattering form of work, but the bills are paid. That's all that really counts these days. Your pride has long since been discarded in favor of earning hefty tips from the sleazy guys who are dumb enough to believe that you'd actually be into them. You put on a good show, of course, but if it weren't for the money? Not a fucking chance.

You like it that way. Hardly any of your clients go beyond the intimacy of a private dance, mainly because you don't let them, reserving that for your favorites. But you haven't met someone who turns you on in a long while, and without the occasional thrill of a real good time from a customer, you're starting to get bored. The days are blurring together, nothing separating the good days from the bad ones, if there even is such a thing anymore.

You're on your way to ask your boss if you can get off early when you hear the bell ring. You groan internally, realizing that you're the only one on the floor who isn't occupied, meaning if this client is interested, they're yours.

Damn it.

So much for an early night.

You're midway through praying to whatever God is out there that this client tips well when you turn and actually lay eyes on them. The moment you do, your mind goes blank, your prayers long forgotten as your thoughts become consumed by him.

He's older- much older. Pushing sixty, at least. It's not inherently a bad thing, but typically the older they are, the more entitled they become.

You're not usually into older men, finding them self-centered, greedy, unable to keep up with your desires; but you're not even ashamed to admit that this stranger could ask you to do just about anything and you'd probably agree in a heartbeat.

The man is tall, big, his muscular form obvious even underneath the suit and tie he wears. His salt and pepper hair is short, accompanied by a scruffy beard you're certain would feel like heaven against your thighs. His tie is loose, his top button undone, and he's got on a pair of dollar-store glasses that he hasn't even pulled the tag off of. There's a weight to him, an exhaustion that seems to have infiltrated the deepest parts of his soul, as if he's seen things you couldn't even begin to fathom- and yet, he's here, seeking some semblance of relief.

Lucky for him, you know exactly how to give it to him.

He looks around like he's lost, the colorful lights and sultry music overwhelming, the center stage where your coworkers get dollar bills thrown at their feet foreign to him. By the time you've made your way over, your legs moving of their own accord, he's turning to leave. "Hey." You call out, and he stops, turning back around to face you.

He's even bigger up close, and his eyes roam over your form almost shamefully before finally meeting your own. "I was just leaving." His voice is rough, a little scratchy, and while you're sure it's supposed to be intimidating, all it does is further fuel the heat pooling between your legs.

"So soon?" You look up at him with a doe-eyed gaze you're well aware makes men weak in the knees.

"I shouldn't be here." He says, but he doesn't walk away from you.

You move a little closer so your breath is fanning across his neck, your voice dripping with suggestion. "I could show you a good time."

"Listen, sweetheart, I've got-"

Sweetheart.

"Let me take care of you." You lean up to whisper in his ear. Your breath is hot against his skin, your mouth tantalizingly close, and you can feel the way he twitches slightly- an exercise of self-control.

A moment passes, two, and he lets out a long breath. "Fuck, darlin'." He reaches out, hesitant to touch, as if he's not sure how this works, doesn’t want to cross some invisible line he hasn’t learned exists. You take his hand, guiding it to your waist, reaching up to put one hand on the back of his neck. "You sure know how to get a guy wrapped around your finger."

In response, you give a coy smile, taking his tie in one hand and giving it a soft tug. He allows you to guide him, pulling him along by the tie you're sure he has a million ideas of what to do with.

You lead him into a private room, pulling the curtain closed behind you, letting his tie slip out of your grasp. His eyes dart around for a moment, but then you're in front of him again, reaching up and sliding his blazer off of his shoulders. You hang it up on the wall, then return, now slowly guiding him backwards and giving him a gentle shove into the leather chair near the wall. He raises an eyebrow as you circle him, leaning in from behind to whisper in his ear. "Just relax." You murmur, letting your lips graze his neck before pulling away. He leans back, eyes following your every move, a stare that feels like it could set you on fire.

You put on a good show for him- dancing, teasing, tantalizingly close, but never touching. Not yet. You can see the hunger in his gaze, the restraint it takes for him not to pull you down into his lap and keep you there. You give him a strip tease, taking off your bra and letting your breasts go free. His eyes roam over you, a murmured word, "Beautiful," leaving his lips, and that makes your already soaked panties drenched.

Then you give him a lap dance- and unlike most of the men you meet, he doesn't touch, doesn't paw at you. Instead he waits, lets you set the pace, doesn't do anything without your permission. Your hands go to his tie, undoing it at a speed you know is killing him, tossing it aside.

Finally, you rest yourself entirely on his lap, and whisper in his ear. "You can touch now, if you want to."

His hands immediately settle on your hips, like they belong there. You grind down against him, feeling him tense beneath you at the friction against his clothed cock. You repeat the motion, relishing in the groan it elicits from him. His grip on your hips tightens slightly, and he begins to guide your motions, pressing you down against his thigh in a way that makes you moan. It's a small, soft sound, but it still makes him smile. “Atta girl, that’s it.” He huffs approvingly. You keep going, feeling yourself almost get lost in the rhythmic movement before you come back to your senses.

Your hands move to the collar of his shirt, slowly beginning to undo the buttons, revealing his toned chest. You only get about halfway down before his hands are gripping your wrists, and your protest dies on your lips when he leans up and kisses you.

He tastes like cigar smoke and whiskey, a blend that should be uncomfortable but is somehow pleasant. His tongue slips into your mouth, tangling with yours as he pulls you closer. By the time he finally pulls away for air, you're dizzy, flushed.

A kiss- almost as personal as a name.

You've never met a man who could make you feel like this- and certainly not without getting all your clothes off first.

His words snap you out of your breathless haze. "Let me touch you, baby." His voice is both a plea and a demand, and who are you to deny him such a request?

A simple nod is all it takes before his hands are on you, roving over your breasts with an appreciative groan. You can't help the way your hips rock against him, and one of his hands goes down to your ass, encouraging you to grind against him again. His other hand rolls your nipple between his thumb and index finger, while his mouth leaves sloppy kisses along your neck, down to your breasts.

You bury your face in his neck, breathing him in. His head comes up from your chest to whisper in your ear as he keeps your hips moving back and forth, his other hand alternating between your breasts. His skin muffles your moans, but you know he won't let you hide those pretty sounds from him forever. "You're so perfect." His words don't exactly do you any favors in the 'keeping your composure' department. "Sweet, pretty thing like you..." He nips at your earlobe, making you gasp softly. "You got no idea what you do to me."

Those words snap you back a little, remind you of your promise to take care of him. You raise your head up, leaning back a little to meet his eyes. "Then show me." Your hands reach down towards his belt, and this time, he doesn't stop you. Instead, his gaze roams over you as you unbuckle it, slowly pull it out of the loops of his pants, toss it aside, letting it join the other discarded articles littering the floor. You undo the buttons, then pull his pants down.

Even through his boxers, you can clearly see the outline of his aching hardness. You gently take him in your palm, running your hand along him through the fabric, watching the way his eyes flutter. Then you adjust yourself so you're grinding on him again, thin layers of clothing the only thing separating the two of you.

You go on like that for a little while, keeping track of every little sound he makes, every hitch of his breath and shudder that goes through his body. Then you lean back, pulling his boxers down, freeing his cock from the confines of his clothing.

Immediately, your mouth waters. He's huge, the biggest you've ever seen, and you find yourself wondering if you even can take him.

You push that thought aside for now, swiping your thumb across his tip, smiling to yourself at the groan that leaves him. You repeat the motion, letting precum gather on your fingers as you begin to move your hand up and down, up and down. You start slow, stroking him gently, then gradually increase your pace. Midway through, you grab a condom with your other hand, keeping eye contact as you open the wrapper with your teeth. You roll it onto him in one smooth motion, earning a startled grunt. His head falls back, his breaths coming unevenly, and it takes him a while before he can manage a coherent sentence.

"Fuck, you treat every guy like this?" Even with all the energy he can muster, the words are still a little short.

Your smile widens, and you lean in to press a kiss against the vein of his throat. "Only the good ones."

His mouth opens, as if to argue with the notion that he's anything good, but your ever-faster movements silence any protests that could have come from him.

You can tell he's getting close, and you slow down, letting him breathe a little slower as you whisper a soft question. "Where do you want me? You want my mouth, you want-"

Your words are cut off by his hand cupping your clothed mound, a gasp escaping you. "I want this." His voice is rough, and this time, it's not a plea. He leans in, his breath hot against your ear as you unconsciously begin to move against his hand, chasing any friction he can give you. "I think it's a little unfair, seeing how I'm all out in the open and you've still got these," His thumb hooks in the waistband of your panties. "Separating me from you, hmm?

You don't even answer, just raise your hips up slightly so he can tug your lingerie down your legs until it falls and hits the floor. Immediately, his gaze lands on your exposed cunt. "Jesus, you're soaked." He murmurs, running his fingers through your slick. You whine as he brushes against your clit, and he chuckles. "Need me that bad, huh?"

"Need you." You whine. You can tell he wants to take it slow, to tease you, and by god do you want to let him- but you're impatient, your own teasing having riled you up too much to do anything but fuck him. Luckily, he picks up on your silent request, raising your hips to hover above his cock. His gaze searches yours, waiting for permission, and you nod. "Fuck me." You say softly, and it takes everything in him not to come completely fucking undone at that sweet tone of voice.

Slowly, painfully slowly, he lowers you down onto him. It burns, in a delicious way you've come to love in your years here. Even with the sheer amount of wetness coming from you, it's still a struggle to make him fit- but he does. When you've finally sank all the way down onto his cock, he lets you breathe for a moment. "You can take it, baby." He murmurs reassuringly- a support and a chance for you to back out. You close your eyes, breathing in and out, resting your face in the crook of his neck again.

Then you start to move.

It takes him by surprise, and you like the grunt that comes from him. For someone of his age, you're sure not much can catch him off guard anymore, so that makes it all the better when you lean back to see the look on his face. He catches your small smirk and returns it with one of his own, letting you move yourself up and down, over and over. Your pace slowly increases as the two of you adjust, and the room is soon filled with soft noises and the sound of flesh against flesh.

It's slow, almost sensual, but despite the circumstances that should have you turning this in another direction, you like it. You feel that familiar coil building in your stomach, your soft whimpers turning to moans now.

"You gonna come for me, baby?"

All you can do is nod, and he rocks his hips up into yours. The way he fills you up is mind-numbing, until you can't think of anything else but him and how fucking good he's making you feel, how badly you need to come undone on his cock.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck-" Your voice takes on a sharp pitch as he thrusts up into you, and your vision goes white for a moment as your orgasm hits you, unending bliss shaking your whole body. He rides out your orgasm for as long as he can, but the tight feeling of your cunt clenching around him soon sends him over the edge too. You can feel him twitching inside you, only prolonging the aftershocks of your own pleasure.

Eventually, you both come down. You're breathing heavily, trying to scramble together any semblance of thought. He stands suddenly, picking you up like you weigh nothing and setting you down on the chair. His cock slips out of you at some point during the process, leaving you feeling empty. You sit there for a moment before opening your eyes, finding him pulling his pants up and buckling his belt. He meets your gaze with a hint of a fond smile, bending over to grab his tie.

You stand up to retrieve your own clothes, pulling them back on while he shoves his arms through the sleeves of his blazer and rifles through his pockets, eventually pulling out his wallet. "Um, how much do I owe you?"

He looks almost embarrassed, and you find it kind of adorable. You flash him a smile, saying words you never thought you'd dare to let pass your lips. "Nothing. It's on me."

Immediately, his eyebrow shoots up. "No, I can't... I can't let you do that, pretty girl."

You shake your head. "I insist. Nobody's ever fucked me like that, and certainly not any of my clients." You see the way your words boost his ego- good. He deserves it. "Besides, if you hadn't showed up, I'd have gone home anyway." You say nonchalantly, taking a few steps over to him. You reach up and put a finger to his lips before he can continue to argue. "It's on the house."

Although he still looks conflicted, he reluctantly nods. "Okay. Next time, then."

Next time.

You feel a thrill run through your body as he brings up the prospect of a next time, and your smile widens. "Next time." You affirm. You step back, letting him be on his way.

He moves towards the curtain, pausing before he goes. "See you around, sweetheart."

And just like that, he's gone.

But you don't miss him- because you know he'll be back.

So when you finally make it home and climb into bed after that warm shower, there's still a fond smile on your face as you drift off to sleep, dreaming of the weary stranger and his wonderful words.

[g8taloadofdisguy]

i want to hold him so bad

[cuntiel]

Castiel kinda looks like marlin from finding Nemo

[meowmilkshake]

Obsession? No... this is devotion — the twisted kind.

[accidentcache]

keigo breeding kink

aughoighdfgs this might get filthy warnings: light choking? pussy slapping (idk what to call it), manhandling, mating press, creme pieeeeeee!!!!! overstim implied, porn without plot, minors dni

what started out as something flirty-- teasing, something more sensual-- turned into something primal the moment you fired back at his teasing with, "fuck a baby into me then."

something snapped. his eyes dilated, and a certain tick formed in his jaw-- you were sitting on top of him, perched over to position yourself to ride him, until that little challenge left your mouth and you were promptly thrown onto your back.

keigo is usually not rough with you. yeah, he'll go a little hard sometimes-- but he's never explicitly rough and mean. degrading.

the minute he has you pinned to the mattress he's forcing your legs apart and ignoring your protests. his hand wraps around your throat-- all five fingers, with his thumb stroking the side of your neck. it's gentle, not enough to cut off circulation, but enough to send a message. it's firm, it lets you know he's not messing around anymore.

his thumb presses firmly down on your clit, unmoving. you squirm under the hold, but the way he has you locked down doesn't allow you to move very much. you're keening for friction-- anything, really-- you're used to this. while it's a bit more forceful than usual, this is the kind of teasing and play that you're used to from him.

when your half lidded gaze meets his, you're startled to see that he's holding back. his fingers flex around the column of your throat and he lets out a shaky exhale of breath when he can feel you physically swallow.

"kei," you murmur, your eyebrows furrow the slightest bit. "you oka--"

"say it again."

the low timbre of his voice sends a dangerous chill down your spine. you feel your entire body grow hot, a fuzzy pull of warmth pooling in your gut. your eyes don't leave his at all.

it's silent until it clicks in your brain. he's calling your bluff.

you don't know what possesses you, but you giggle at him. "do it, keigo. breed me."

keigo turns his head, a low curse leaving his mouth. he then lifts you up by your neck towards him so he can speak his next words directly into your mouth. "i pray to god your birth control fails after i'm done filling you to the brim."

he doesn't let you respond. his fingers move to dig into the plush of your thighs as he pushes them upwards, pinning them to your lower stomach before there's a sharp slap to your exposed cunt. your body jolts, surprised. your hands are reaching for him, nails digging into his forearms and clawing down his biceps-- but he's not listening.

he'll let the fact that he's shocked that you're turned on by this stew in his brain later.

after a couple more taps, a satisfied little coo escapes his lips at the puddle forming under you on the bedsheet. "you're not gonna deny that you're turned on by this, are you, angel?"

fuck, no you're not.

because at this point, tears are pricking at the corners of your eyes. pleas and whines are falling from your lips, begging for something-- him, really-- just wanting and needing him to give you want you want. he knows what you want, and he's fully planning on making you say it out loud, but the way his dick is throbbing takes the wind out of his lungs.

it's on instinct how he moves, fist wrapped around the base of his cock; pumping once, twice and a third time before the head slips past your folds and he hisses at the lack of resistance. your warmth accepts him so easily, so smoothly, he doesn't even realize he's buried to the hilt until your back is arching off of the mattress.

your legs are already trembling. he nudges just the slightest bit further and smirks at the cry that leaves your mouth. that's the spot.

keigo does not care that you're already babbling nonsense. with each thrust he repeatedly prods that sensitive spot inside of you, purring when he feels your walls spazzaming around him. he leans down, his lips mouthing at your ear as he bends you further, causing you to gasp for air with each moan-- his hips continue to push against the plush of your ass.

"that's right," he murmurs, tone seductively low and strained. "give it to me baby, be a good girl and give it to me..."

you know what he wants. who are you to deny him?

the wave of euphoria washes over your entire body and you see stars. the stimulation doesn't stop however, even as you feel keigo empty himself inside of you. his satisfied groans were drowned out by your pornographic moans, growing breathier and raspier when he hooks the back of your knees over his shoulders.

"kei, baby wait--"

"gotta-- fuck-- make sure it sticks, dove," his hands roam up your legs and find purchase on your hips. he catches sight of your dazed expression and glazed over eyes and pats your hip affectionately. the action feels more condescending paired with that stupid smirk that stretches across his lips. he tilts his head, clicking his tongue in mock disappointment.

"what? just giving what you asked for."

© accidentcache do not repost, translate or alter my work without permission. all rights reserved.

[starmocha]

would you still love me if i was a worm? (and other thought-provoking questions) [Sylus/Reader ★ 2100 words ★ Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] In which Sylus answers many meaningful drunken questions at 2 AM. A/N: Why have I been clowning on this man 🗿 lowkey based on this post I made before his release lol

It was rather common for Sylus to be up at 2 AM, since in his particular line of work, businesses were best done in the dead of night when most people would be asleep. It didn’t help that the N109 Zone was shrouded in eternal darkness at all times, so the entire concept of time felt rather meaningless to most citizens.

What truly was uncommon for Sylus was receiving a call from you at this time in the middle of the night when you should be slumbering away like most normal citizens. He stared at his phone screen where “Kitten” was so affectionately featured prominently onscreen along with his favorite photo of you. He swiped his thumb across the screen to answer the curious call. Nothing, however, could have prepared the leader of Onychinus with your desperate plea: “Crow Man, come pick me up, pleasssseeee!”

Sylus raised a brow as he held his cellphone tighter in his hand. “Crow Man?”

“Is this not Ca-Caw Man?”

“…are you drunk, sweetie?”

“Mr. Big Ca-Cawk, please pick me upppp!”

Sylus set his phone down on his desk and leaned back in his seat, already massaging his temple in slow circles. He had lavished you with such sweet pet names, and in your darling little head, you had just affectionately bestowed upon him the nickname…Big Ca-Cawk.

Sylus inhaled sharply.

He knew he let you get away with a lot of mischievous things, but perhaps this might be the one time he needed to put his foot down. He held his phone next to his ear again, hearing you sniffled:

“Caw-Caw, do you not like me anymore?”

Damn. You were good.

Sylus huffed softly, finding your drunken speech pattern rather endearing now. With a soft smile on his face, he spoke low, “Far from the truth, sweetie. Now, give me your address.”

You relayed to him the address of a late-night restaurant you were at in Linkon City.

“Stay safe,” Sylus responded, “I’ll be there in twenty.”

The call ended and Sylus heaved another heavy sigh before he stood up. He walked pass where Mephisto was roosting on his perch, and Sylus mumbled thoughtfully to the mechanical crow, “Maybe I should just assign you to monitor her 24/7 from now on.”

Mephisto tilted his head to the side, clearly confused by his owner’s odd words. He cooed quietly in response, watching as Sylus left.

With no speed limit in the N109 Zone, Sylus breezed through the city on his motorcycle in a matter of less than fifteen minutes. Through Linkon City, the street was mostly vacant, and he managed to avoid many of the cop hiding spots. It took him roughly another ten minutes to finally pulled up to the restaurant you said you were at.

As he parked his motorcycle, he took his helmet off, eyes instantly narrowing in anger when he noticed you were backed into a wall by a couple of sober sleazebags. Sylus started to walk up to you, his temper flaring when he heard your feeble protests:

“No…I don’t like this. Go away...”

“Aww, come on, sweetcheeks, you look like you could use a rest at a motel with us.”

“Yeah, it’d be in bad conscious of us if we leave a cute girl like you hanging around on the street like this—”

Sylus had heard enough. His hand tightened into a fist, and thick, dark tendrils wrapped around the two men’s necks, easily lifting them up and sending them hurtling down the block. When they gotten up, ready to assault their attacker, they were instantly frozen with fear from just a simple sharp glare from Sylus. He merely snapped his fingers and new tendrils shot straight down the block at the two men, the sight enough to send them running away in terror.

How fortunate for them. Sylus had other important things on his mind this particular night, or otherwise, he would have felt no qualms with ridding the world of two lowlifes.

When Sylus turned to look at you, his gaze softened considerably, a look of exasperation settled on his handsome features. He approached you slowly, his voice soft and gentle, “Sweetheart…”

His eyes widened in shock when you flung yourself against him, arms wrapped around his waist tightly. You sniffled softly, “Sy-Sy…”

Sylus regained his composure and he smiled down at your head, his hand rubbing your back soothingly. “So I am Sy-Sy now?”

He waited for you to calm down, speaking gentle, comforting words to ease your fears. When he noticed you appeared calmer, he led you to where he had parked. After handing you a helmet, he made sure your arms were wrapped tightly around his waist again before he took off, heading to your apartment.

Once he had arrived to your apartment building, he led you upstairs to your floor. He watched in amusement as you attempted to open the door, unable to get your thumb aligned correctly with the biometrics.

“Here,” he murmured, grabbing your wrist and guiding your thumb to match up with the small screen.

There was a click.

The door opened.

You stared in absolute awe. “Sy-Sy is so amazing…”

Sylus chuckled as he led you inside. “Sweetie, how much did you drink tonight?”

You shrugged. “It was Tara’s birthday…and it was our 5000th wanderer kill…and it was also pay day…and—”

Sylus immediately cut you off, laughing. “I get it,” he said, leading you to your bathroom to help you wash up, “You had a lot to celebrate today.”

He watched you smiled happily as you splashed some cooling water on your face. He helped you removed your jewelry before leading you to your bedroom. Sylus crossed his arms over his chest as he eyed you up and down in your black bodycon dress.

“Now, while I do appreciate seeing you in this dress,” he said with a teasing lecherous smirk, “I don’t think it’ll be comfortable to wear to bed, right?”

You giggled. “Nope!”

Sylus’ eyes widened, completely unprepared when you decided to shamelessly take the dress off yourself and flung it at a chair in your room. You smiled sweetly at him as you stood there in just your bra and panties.

Sylus covered his face, groaning softly. “This girl…” He took another look at you happily smiling away at him with not a single sober thought in your head. He turned away, mumbling, “Stay put.”

He sighed and walked into your closet, muttering to himself as he searched for some sleepwear for you, “You suck at drinking, sweetheart, and yet you let yourself get this drunk…”

After spending about five minutes of searching for some decent sleepwear, Sylus came back out to find you on the bed laying on your side, half-asleep. Sylus sat down on the edge of the bed next to you. He gently shook your shoulder. “Come on, sweetie, as cute as you look like that, you need to get dressed.”

You mumbled sleepily, and Sylus took it upon himself to help you get dressed in an oversized shirt and some shorts. This task felt rather foreign to him, since he was honestly more used to doing the complete opposite. As if reading his mind, you fell against him giggling again once you were fully dressed. “Are you going to take my bra off, too, Sy-Sy?”

He groaned again, his brain about to explode. “Sweetie, you are testing me.”

You giggled again and batted your eyelashes at him.

He smirked, slipping his hands under your shirt from behind and expertly unhooked your bra, tossing it to the side with your earlier abandoned dress. “It’s a good thing I am such a gentleman who doesn’t like taking advantage of intoxicated women.”

“Sy-Sy is the sweetest,” you agreed solemnly. You leaned up and clumsily kissed him, catching him off-guard for just a few seconds before he chuckled against the kiss, pecking your lips lightly. He pulled away first, amused when he saw your look of disappointment at how quickly the kiss ended.

Sylus pinched your cheek, eliciting a pained yelp that stirred you fully awake. “Next time, you are not allowed to get yourself drunk without me around,” he scolded you firmly, though his facial expression was more gentle than angry.

“But it was pay day…”

One sharp look from Sylus had you clamming up. When he turned away, you let out a soft whine, “Wait…are you leaving me?”

He turned back just in time to see a pout forming on your face. He sighed for what seemed like the umpteenth time that night, giving you a slow shake of his head. He knew he was coddling you too much tonight, but he couldn’t bear to leave you alone in such a disoriented state. “Of course not, sweetie,” he answered with a smile, “I’m just going to turn off the lights.”

Once the lights were out, Sylus made his way back over to the bed. He chuckled in amusement as you scooted to the center, giving the empty space next to you an enthusiastic pat. Sylus climbed into bed, happy when you cuddled up to him.

“Caw-Caw, I have a question…”

“So it’s Caw-Caw again?” he asked bemused, and then muttered more to himself, “I think I’d rather you call me Sy-Sy instead… What is it, sweetie?”

“Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

“Sweetie, I would feed you to Mephisto,” he answered, not missing a single beat.

“Noooo…” you whined at him with tears brimming in your eyes. You weakly pawed at his arm with little fists, pleading, “Don’t feed me to Mephie…”

“Mephie?” he laughed, astonished that now you had taken the liberty of nicknaming his mechanical crow.

“I won’t taste good,” you insisted with a sweet pout.

“Personally, I think you taste divine,” Sylus teased with the double-entendre, but in your drunken state, you didn’t catch the double meaning. You could only sniffle sadly at him. He rubbed your cheek affectionately with the back of his hand, his crimson eyes seemed so bright in the darkness.

“Sy-Sy…”

“Hmm?” Sylus propped himself up on his elbow, his chin cradled in his hand as he peered down at you snuggled up close to him again.

“Where does the light go when you close the fridge door?”

“Drunk you is just full of silly questions, huh?”

You continued, not caring that he didn’t give you an actual answer to your previous inquiry, “Why do we make round pizza, put it in a square box, just to eat it as a triangle?”

Sylus blinked, sighing, feeling at a complete loss for words. “When you are sober, I’ll make sure to look up the answer for you, sweetie.”

“Sy-Sy?”

“What now?”

“Life is soup.”

Sylus raised his brow in complete confusion, not understanding a single damn word out of your mouth now. He didn’t even know how to respond to the odd comment, so he just continued to stare at you, hoping for a follow-up.

“And I am a fork.”

Sylus pulled you into his arms, laying on his back with you on top of him. “Alright, sweetie, it’s time for bed now.”

You giggled, rubbing your face against his soft shirt, inhaling deeply the faint scent of cologne on him. You sighed happily, smelling the familiar comforting, warm and woodsy fragrance on him. “Would you…” You yawned and rubbed your drowsy eyes, “love me if I shrink down to the size of your thumb?”

“Sweetheart, I’ll just have to keep you safe in my pocket.” Sylus brushed the flyaway hair away from your face, his expression tender as he gazed at your sweet, sleepy face resting on top of his chest. Even though he knew by morning, you wouldn’t remember a single thing from this night, Sylus still couldn’t help but voiced his thoughts and feelings aloud.

“I adore you,” he said, hushed, the weight of his words hung heavy in the stillness of the bedroom, “More than you will ever know.”

You yawned again, burrowing deeper into his embrace. “I love you, too, Mr. Big Ca-Cawk.”

Sylus could do nothing but laughed resignedly, his arms wrapped securely around you, holding you close to his body, the soft warmth of you against him was calming. Sylus felt a strange mixture of both happiness and bemusement by your drunk words, knowing your intoxicated state was also your most honest side, revealing to him the depths of your feelings for him. He kissed the top of your head, letting his eyes closed to rest as well, as he murmured, “Sweet dreams, you silly girl.”

[imbadatwrighting]

I never knew a season of a tv show could be so “we’re not gay!” while actively being gay before I watched spn season five

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Can I put in a request where Joaquin and Sam see on the news or get an alert that there is an explosion at reader’s office job (Joaquin’s girlfriend) while she’s there and he panics and rushes over? I don’t know, it was a random story idea I thought of 😂🥰😅

Ven Por Ti

about this: wc: 661 pairing: joaquin torres x f!reader contents: canon typical violence, anxiety, blood mention, explosions, an: this was such a good idea babe, thanks for sending it in!

danny ramirez characters masterlist

Joaquin feels like all the blood is draining from his body. He’s cold all over and frozen in place, his eyes glued to the TV.

The news station keeps playing it—over and over and over. Like there aren’t lives being lost, like the loved ones of the people inside aren’t bleeding and dying.

Sam comes to stand beside. “Joaquin, isn’t that—”

“Her building. It’s her building,” he whispers in disbelief under his breath.

That’s all he says and then he starts moving. Gathering any and everything he might need to extract you and others more quickly than a police force could.

Sam doesn’t ask questions—just throws on his jacket and grabs his gear, falling in sync with Joaquin’s frantic pace. They don’t speak much on the way out, but Joaquin’s knuckles are white around the steering wheel, his jaw locked so tight he can’t feel anything but the pounding of his heart and the echo of your laugh in his ears. The way you smiled at him that morning. The way you kissed his cheek and told him to “have a good day, wings” like it was any other.

But it’s not any other day; today’s the day he might lose you. That day was supposed to be far, far away.

Smoke is visible before they even make it to your block. It plumes into the air like a warning, like grief. Joaquin parks haphazardly on the sidewalk and bolts from the car before it’s even fully stopped. Sam’s at his side as they flash their IDs, muscles coiled and sharp eyes scanning the chaos.

Fire crews and medics and reporters swarm the scene, civilians being dragged out on stretchers, their faces bloodied, clothing charred. It takes everything in Joaquin not to scream your name, to not tear through the rubble like a man possessed.

“Torres—” Sam says, grabbing his arm, trying to keep him from getting himself hurt or arrested for interfering.

But Joaquin rips free, “Necesito encontrarla.” When Sam opens his mouth in rebuttal, Joaquin doubles down. “I have to find her.”

He gets halfway to the wreckage before someone yells his name.

“Joaquin!”

He spins, heart seizing in his chest at the sight of you.

There you are: covered in soot, hair half-singed, a bandage already pressed to your temple. Your hands tremble as you stand with the paramedics, a blanket draped around your shoulders.

He nearly falls over himself trying to get to you as quickly as he can.

Your knees buckle when he pulls you into his arms. You bury your face in his chest, inhaling the clean scent of his shirt, the safety of his being in his arms. His hands cradle your face, run over your limbs like he’s checking for every injury, like if he doesn’t touch you fast enough you might disappear.

“I thought—fuck, I thought you were gone,” he breathes, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I thought I was too,” you whisper, eyes fluttering shut as you let yourself relax further against.

He kisses you like he’s afraid to lose the chance. It’s messy and desperate and too public, but he doesn’t care. His hands shake as he grips you, anchoring himself with the feel of your body in his arms.

“I’ll always come for you,” he assures, voice thick with emotion. “Entiendes? Simpre.”

You nod, your mouth brushing his as you say, “Yo sé, Joaquin.”

Sam hovers nearby, eyes scanning the crowd, giving you two your moment but staying close enough in case Joaquin falls apart.

“You’re okay,” Joaquin murmurs over and over, like if he says it enough, it’ll undo the trauma of the past thirty minutes.

But you’re not okay. Not yet. You’re scared and shaken and sore, and the image of flames crawling up the office walls will probably haunt you forever. But you’re alive. You made it out. And he came for you.

That’s enough in the wake of you believing you could’ve lost it all.

lmk if you’d like to be on the joaquin torres taglist!

sfw joaquin taglist: @magikdarkholme, @plan3t-plut0, @mewmew222, @linnygirl09, @ezhz444, @karmaswitch, @badbishsblog, @glader13, @how2besalty, @happypopcornprincess, @hiireadstuffsometimes, @lisiliely, @spider-steve, @nolita-fairytale, @hrlzy, @faretheeoscar, @giuliahowlett, @abriefnirvana, @fanboyswhore9 , @sidkneeeee, @sophreakingfunny, @heartbreakgirlism, @peachyxlynch, @lomlbuckybarnes, @a-randomscrub, @ajcs150, @glimodejun, @isuckatmath, @arsonhotchner, @sidkneeeee, @galaxywannabe, @retrosabers, @marchingicenotes7, @marroonwitch, @jaebugzz, @that-girl-named-alex, @bxtchboy69, @moonymeloncholymoney, @mischiefmanaged71, @something-random-idk, @dualinstinct, @alevanswrites, @articel1967, @lanoviadestiles, @peacefangirl, @awkwardgiraffe726

[spitefulsatanfics]

𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐥 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞...

— by little devil 🕯️

pairing: castiel x she/her reader (sister!winchester)

relationship: found family, forbidden-ish romance, chaos, overprotective brothers & a confused angel boyfriend

genre: novella-style headcanon list with mini-scenes and dialogue

rating: pg-13 for sibling snark, awkward angel flirting, and Dean making threats with a smile

synopsis: they already call him ‘family.’ but now that he’s dating you? it’s personal.

🕊️ The Softest Beginning, So Quiet You Almost Didn’t Notice

It wasn’t fireworks or trumpet blasts. It was slow, almost painfully gentle. Just Cas looking at you like you mattered.

“You are… important to me,” he says one night. “In ways I do not yet understand.” “Cas, are you trying to say you like me?” “…I believe I do. Quite profoundly.”

You kiss him first. His hands hover at your waist like he's holding the Ark of the Covenant. His grace hums under your skin like a secret.

🔫 Dean Instantly Entering Protective Dad Mode™

“Wait—wait. You’re dating Cas?” “Yes.” “…Like romantically?” “…Yes.” “As in, our Cas?” “Still yes.” “…Give me one reason I shouldn’t shoot him in the trench coat right now.”

Dean has a five-minute existential crisis. He’s not mad—he just doesn’t know where to file this in his brain. Angel. Family friend. Brother figure. Now… boyfriend?

He eventually settles on:

“If he breaks your heart, I break his wings. Fair?”

Fair.

🥲 Sam Playing the Long Game, But Absolutely Making It Weird

Sam’s not overprotective like Dean. He’s worse—he’s strategic.

“So, Cas. What are your intentions with my sister?” “I… intend to cherish her for eternity?” “...Okay but like, emotionally?” “Yes. That’s what eternity is, Sam.” “Right, right. Just checking.”

He once sat Cas down for a three-hour PowerPoint titled "Understanding Human Dating Rituals and Why Not To Hurt My Little Sister." It had transitions. And music.

Cas thanked him earnestly. You have never wanted to sink into the floor more.

🕰️ Trying to Date in Secret and Failing Miserably

You sneak off with Cas for a weekend hunt and come back with a glow.

Dean narrows his eyes.

“You two look suspiciously… happy.” “We killed a werewolf?” “You also braided his hair.” “…Yes. That too.”

The braid betrayal almost gets you grounded. Sam just whispers “you’re brave” as Dean storms off muttering about “angel fingers in your hair.”

🕯️ Castiel Being Ridiculously Formal Because You’re Their Sister

He tries to call you by your first name—but half the time still slips into “Miss Winchester” like he’s meeting your father.

“Cas, you’ve seen me bleed and cry. You can call me Y/N.” “Yes. But... it feels improper now. You are important.”

Once, he showed up to a date night wearing a suit and tie he clearly borrowed from Heaven's idea of prom.

Dean choked on his beer. Sam took photos. You blushed so hard you nearly caught fire.

💌 Wingshields, Everywhere

Castiel doesn’t say “I love you” often. But when his wings curl protectively around you after a rough hunt, that’s what it means.

He'll tuck you beneath them, voice low, heartbeat slow.

“You are safe now. Nothing will touch you while I still breathe.”

(Dean accidentally walked in on this once and backed out slowly like he’d just seen your prom dress fitting.)

☁️ Trying to Be Normal But Accidentally Summoning Grace Mid-Makeout

You once kissed him too hard in the bunker kitchen. The entire room lit up like a dying star.

Dean walked in mid-spark and shouted,

“I SWEAR TO GOD, IF I GET ONE MORE RADIATION BURN—”

Cas blushed. You giggled. The microwave hasn’t worked right since.

🥪 He’s Always Watching Over You—Much to Your Brothers' Distress

“Cas, she went to the grocery store. You don’t need to tail her like a CIA op.” “There have been four incidents of djinn activity in the region. It is only logical I accompany her.” “You’re hovering.” “I am… protecting.” “…You’re also holding her hand.” “That too.”

Sam facepalms. Dean sighs.

You kiss his cheek in the cereal aisle and whisper,

“Thanks for being my angel stalker.” He’s never been more proud.

🧊 Unintentional Heartbreak When He Talks About Forever

One night, Cas traces your face with reverent fingers.

“You are mortal,” he says, almost broken. “And I am not. But I will spend every second you allow me trying to make this life—your life—better.”

You don’t cry until later, curled in his trench coat with your brothers asleep in the next room.

Because angels love like they’ve already mourned the ending. But you love him anyway.

🌟 Dean and Sam Slowly Coming Around (and Grudgingly Supporting You)

“Alright. He’s weird. But he’s your weird.” “Thanks, Dean.” “Still gonna shoot him if he makes you cry.” “Noted.”

And Sam?

“Honestly… he might be the only guy strong enough to handle you and our family.”

Eventually, they stop seeing Castiel as just the trench coat angel.

They start seeing him as the guy who looks at you like you’re made of stars. And that? They can live with.

𓆩🕊️𓆪 He’s your angel, your miracle, your boyfriend with zero concept of sarcasm and an infinite capacity to love.

And no matter how complicated the Winchesters make it— Castiel thinks you’re worth every cosmic complication.

𓆩🕊️𓆪

[wendichester]

I love your writing 🥺 can I request Castiel with his s/o (fem or gn) who will just be sitting in the room with him, each doing their separate thing and she's just like "hey Cas?" "Hm?" "I love you." "I love you too." And then maybe a minute later she says "hey Cas?" "Hm?" "I love you." And she does it a few times and then he gets confused or thinks its cute or something 🤣

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 hey cas?,

pairing. castiel x reader genre. cutie sweet mushie fluff

wordcount. 475

notes. thank you so much for requesting, sweets! this was the cutest thing to write 🩷

It’s quiet in the bunker.

The kind of warm, peaceful quiet you only get after a long day. You're curled up on the couch with a book. Cas is sitting in the armchair, flipping through one of those ancient lore tomes with pages so delicate they crackle. The lamp between you hums softly.

It’s domestic. Cozy. Safe.

You stretch a little, legs tangled in a blanket, and glance over at him.

“Hey, Cas?”

He doesn’t look up. “Hm?”

“I love you.”

He blinks once, then turns his head toward you.

“I love you too,” he says, like it’s the easiest truth in the world.

You grin and go back to your book.

A minute passes. Maybe two.

“Hey, Cas?”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

He glances at you again. This time, his expression softens at the edges. “I love you too.”

Another page turns.

Another beat of quiet.

“Hey, Cas?”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

Now he lowers the book entirely.

His brows pull slightly together, confused, but not in a bad way. Just… puzzled. Like a little kid trying to figure out a riddle.

“I… still love you,” he says, careful. “But—is something wrong?”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Nope.”

He tilts his head. “You’re repeating yourself.”

“I know.”

“…But why?”

You shrug, still smiling. “I just like saying it.”

He stares at you for a moment. Eyes bright. Book forgotten in his lap.

“You do this frequently,” he says. “Say it in the middle of unrelated conversations. Or when I enter a room. Or when we are brushing our teeth.”

“Correct,” you say.

“I used to think it was a warning.”

You choke out a laugh. “A what?”

Cas nods, very serious. “A warning. As if something dangerous was about to happen. Or you’d noticed a demon nearby.”

“Oh my god,” you giggle, pressing a hand over your face.

“But now,” he continues, standing slowly and crossing the room toward you, “I think… you just feel it. And want me to know.”

You peek up at him from behind your hand. “Exactly.”

He kneels in front of you, resting his arms on the cushion near your legs.

“Then I should tell you too,” he murmurs. “Even if we are doing nothing. Even if I’ve said it before.”

You reach out and tug him closer. He leans in willingly.

“I love you,” he whispers.

You kiss his cheek. “Love you more.”

“I doubt that,” he says.

You kiss the other cheek. “Wanna bet?”

Cas smiles. Like actually smiles. That soft, squinty, barely holding back the joy smile that makes your heart do gymnastics.

He nestles into your lap, wings (you’re sure) twitching just under his skin, and you both return to your books.

But ten minutes later—

“Hey, Cas?”

And this time, he says it before you do:

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[cruel-as-sin]

you like to say that you're right | logan howlett

↳ summary: you’re bored when you and logan are about to be on the way home. so, you decide to have a little fun… but the consequences might be worse than you imagined

word count: 4.2k

song: #icanteven | the neighbourhood

pairings: old man!logan x fem!reader

content warnings: 18+ content (MDNI), smut, porn light plot, unprotected p in v (practice safe sex everyone!), established relationship, fingering, mean!logan, bratty reader, orgasm denial, rough sex, a little bondage, spanking (a couple times), predator/prey dynamics if you squint (listen….), possessive!logan, lots of marks and bruises, reader has a serious degradation kink, hair pulling, reader flirts with someone else to piss off logan (plays into their established dynamic), hints of misogyny (not from logan), aftercare, no use of y/n, pet names for reader - baby, sweetheart, whore, brat; consent is key here y’all (lmk if i missed anything!)

↳ a/n: okay so this wasn't supposed to be what i wrote next but i remembered a dream i had like a month ago at this point that started JUST like this does and i couldn't not deliver... so have some insight into the way my feral subconscious mind works lmao

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Logan knows how much you love to push his buttons. But even for you, this is a new level of crazy.

His grip on the steering wheel leaves his knuckles white as he watches you go. Across the parking lot, through the building of some random store. He’s pretty sure he can see some bullshit comic on display in the window.

When he catches you, you are in for it.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Five minutes.

That's how long you have before Logan follows you into the shop and rains down hell upon you.

Your heart has been pounding nonstop since you leaned over to him from the passenger seat of the limo, your eyes flickering past him to the couple on the curb. The girl was trying- and failing- to flirt with him, and even from that distance it was clear he was uninterested.

“You know,” You began. “That girl really can’t take a hint. It’s a little embarrassing.”

His eyes flickered over to you for a moment, narrowing at your tone of voice. “What are you doin’?”

“Nothing.” You said innocently. “I’m just saying, someone ought to go over there and show her how it’s done.”

“She’ll figure it out eventually.” He said dismissively, not buying into whatever scheme you’re trying to plan.

You hummed, leaning in a little further. “Guess it shouldn’t be me though, huh? Since apparently I can’t fucking get any other guys but you.”

Your words were an echo of his own a few days prior, one of the things he’d said when he was balls deep in you. You’d loved it, of course you did. You got off on him being mean to you, because you knew he never meant a word of it. And he told you as much at the end of every night, soft words and gentle kisses lulling you to sleep, wrapped in the safety of his strong arms and sworn promises.

But that didn’t mean you couldn’t use this to have a little fun.

So that’s exactly what you’d planned. His gaze had landed on you again, eyes narrowing further, his tone shifting to more of a warning. “Watch it.”

You’d only gone to this plaza to pick up some medicine for Charles- done. But you didn’t need to be back across the border for a while. So it wouldn’t hurt to, say, go into the bookstore across the street and have a look around.

“I bet I can pull any guy in there.” You said, pointing at the bookstore that rests across the parking lot outside your window.

“Is that so?” He was taking the bait- he couldn’t help it. He always did.

“Mhm. Give me five minutes, and I’ll have one of those poor boys wrapped around my finger.” You giggled. Giggled, as if your boyfriend wasn’t glaring daggers through you.

It was his turn to lean in, whispering in your ear. “If you go in there, sweetheart, I’m gonna make sure you can’t stand for the next week. You got that?”

His threat sent a pang of heat to your core. Sure, maybe this was stupid, because even if you did pull a guy, that would only piss him off more, but that’s why you liked it.

You gave him a coy smile before leaning over to open your door. “Five minutes.” Come and get me.

From the moment you got out of the car, you knew you'd fucked up- because he let you. You could feel his stare burning into you as you closed the door behind you, your heart beating so loud you were certain he'd be able to hear it the entire way through the parking lot.

Your steps were quick, hurried- not panicked, but there was a sense of urgency to your movements. The whole time you were walking through the parking lot, you wondered if this was a mistake, if you should just turn back now, fall to your knees and beg for his forgiveness before this went too far.

But it's too late now. You've already slipped through the door of the small establishment, sealing your fate with the ding of the bell and a click behind you.

The woman behind the counter looks up at you with a polite smile. "Welcome in! Is there anything I can help you find today?"

You return the smile with a slight shake of your head. "No, thank you. I'm just browsing."

She nods. "Let me know if you need any assistance."

You glance around the room, finding what you were looking for- a set of wooden steps, leading down to a basement. You head down slowly, finding the room below filled with comic books, action figures, and all sorts of trinkets.

Truthfully, you'd like to stay and look. But you're not here for that.

Pretty quickly, you spot a guy eyeing up the comic book section, as if he's searching for something in particular. You try the classic trick of wandering around the room appearing confused, wondering if he'll take the bait.

And, of course, he does. For a moment you almost feel bad that you're about to lead him on (and maybe bring down the wrath of your surely very angry boyfriend), but then he opens his mouth and all your regrets fly right out the window.

"What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?" He says as he sidles up next to you. "Oh, you must be looking for a gift for someone, right?"

Yeah. Right. You internally roll your eyes, turning to face him with a wide smile.

"Actually, I was kind of hoping to start reading some comics myself." You admit, pretending to sound a little ashamed about it. "But I don't really know where to start." Your eyes light up, and before he can get out some sort of misogynistic remark, you continue. "You look like you know a lot about this stuff! Do you think you could help me?" You bite your lip in a nervous sort of way and bat your eyelashes at him.

Although he hides it, you can see him short-circuit for a moment, probably not used to so much attention from a pretty girl. I wonder why. But he comes back to his senses. "Of course I can. I'd be happy to help." He begins heading toward a set of shelves, and you follow him. "So many women get lost in this sort of stuff these days. They have no idea where to start, and just end up getting confused. I wouldn't want that to happen to you."

If Logan wasn't t-3 minutes away from storming down the stairwell, you'd punch this guy in the face.

Instead you smile at him like he's the smartest guy in the world. "Yeah, me neither. I was really worried I wouldn't be able to figure out what I wanted." You say with a giggle. "I mean, there's so many of them." You add, gesturing to the long shelves filled with comic books.

Honestly, you don’t even remember what the guy says next, or what you say back. You’re too busy thinking about Logan- he’s the real reason why you’re here, after all.

You know Logan is on his way. He has to be. And knowing that means knowing your punishment is imminent.

It's exhilarating, it's terrifying- but in a good way, in the best way. The hunt, the chase, the lying in wait for him to catch you- it’s one of the most incredible feelings in the world. And you know he loves it too.

The guy off-handedly and quite awkwardly mentions how he goes to a local store nearby for fan meetups, and you enthusiastically tell him you’d love to go with him someday. Blech.

Ding.

Even from down here, you pick up on it. You don't need anything else to know that it's him.

You swallow nervously, trying to keep your heart from jumping out of your throat. This was absolutely a mistake, the kind that was going to leave you begging for mercy the moment you two got home.

...but in for a penny, in for a pound, right?

He's already at the top of the stairwell when you reach out and put your hand on the other man's arm, laughing at whatever joke he'd just made- you hadn't even heard him over the sound of your heart pounding in your ears.

Logan is down the stairs in seconds, a hand wrapping around your arm in an iron grip as he pulls you away from the guy. The guy takes a step back- it doesn’t take a genius to see the fury in Logan’s eyes as he leans down to mutter to you. "Come on. We're leaving."

You pout up at him, tugging lightly against his grip. “But I wanna stay and look at the comic books, baby.” An idea comes to mind, and you can’t suppress your grin. “Plus, I think some of them might have you in them!”

The guy is long gone now, and Logan is not amused by your attempt at a joke, his voice dropping to a tone you know even at your worst moments not to mess with. "Unless you want me to throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of here like the brat you are, move. Now."

Yeah. Okay. You nod, squeaking out an “Mhm!” before he starts pulling you away.

As he drags you up the stairwell, you regain some of your composure and lean towards his ear to whisper. "Relax, baby. We wouldn't want to make a scene."

You're playing with fire and you know it- but he relents, his grip on your arm loosening, his hand instead reaching down to lace with your own, a hold that's just firm enough to remind you of who's in charge here. "Walk." He mutters under his breath, his voice a low, rough tone that sends a chill down your spine.

And so you do, waving a cheerful goodbye at the woman behind the counter and trying to pretend like you're not beading with sweat and dripping with arousal. Logan keeps his hand tightly laced with yours as you walk into the parking lot, opening the car door and giving you a gentle push into the passenger seat before slamming the door on you.

You get a single moment of peace before he comes around to the drivers side, getting in and starting up the car. You put on your seatbelt, knowing you've pushed your luck too far now to disobey him any further.

You open your mouth to speak, to try to diffuse the situation, but the look in his eyes as he drives silences you.

He shakes his head, muttering under his breath. "Had to go and piss me off, didn't you sweetheart?"

"It's not like I actually wanted him." You lean back in your seat, unable to foresee the consequences of your words until it's too late. "He was a misogynistic asshole. I should've punched him in the face." You grumble the last part under your breath, more for yourself than for Logan- but of course, he hears it anyway.

Slowly, he turns, his eyes landing on you.

"But you didn't, did you?"

You swallow, unable to get past the dryness in your throat and attempt to poorly defend yourself before he keeps going.

"No. You made him feel like he was somethin' special, actin' like you'd ever be with anyone but me." He shakes his head again, a chuckle escaping him. "Seems like I need to teach you a lesson."

Before you know it, you're home, the glowing light of sunset coming through the windows. Your pleas die on your lips as he comes to your side of the car, opening the door and dragging you outside and up the sidewalk.

"You know I didn't mean it, Lo-" You whine.

"Stop fuckin' talking." He grabs your jaw, holding it in place, squeezing your cheeks in a little too tightly- but you like it. "Just 'cause you didn't mean it doesn't mean you don't get in trouble, baby. That's not how it works."

Wordlessly, you nod. As best you can, anyway, given his death grip on your chin.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Get inside." He releases you with a rough shove, and you fumble for your keys when you get to the door, some part of your subconscious trying to delay the inevitable- no, trying to draw it out, because you love this feeling.

He follows you in, and he doesn't even have to tell you to head to the bedroom- he just gives a pointed nod towards the hallway, and you obey.

He corners you immediately, his large frame boxing you in against the wall. "You've been a bad, bad girl, sweetheart." One of his hands grips your waist.

"I didn't mean it-" You protest, but your words quickly turn to a sharp whine as he grabs a fistful of your hair, tilting your head back.

"What did I say?" His tone drops lower, a raspy sound that makes heat pool in your gut.

Instead of continuing to argue, you just nod, another gasp escaping you when he tightens his grip and pulls a little harder.

He leans in, his breath fanning across your neck, his teeth scraping your pulse point in the teasing way he knows to be your weakness. His mouth comes up beside your ear, a soft murmur that's by far the gentlest thing you're going to hear until he's done with you. "You remember your safe word, baby?"

You nod, whispering it back to him in confirmation.

"Atta girl." He says approvingly, pulling away and returning his mouth to your throat. His grip on your hair keeps your head back, exposing your neck perfectly to him. He nips and sucks at the skin, leaving marks that won't go away for days- claiming you.

He pulls back for a moment to admire his handiwork. You lean in to kiss him, but a tug at your hair pulls you back, stopping you. "You think you deserve that?”

A frown comes to rest on your face, but you shake your head.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He loosens his grip just a little. “You don’t get my fuckin’ mouth unless I’m puttin’ these on you, you understand?” He leans back in, pausing to murmur against your throat, “Lettin’ everybody know who you belong to.”

You nod in agreement- not like you have much of a choice- and he seems satisfied, nipping at your neck again. When he’s finished- Jesus Christ, you won’t be able to go out for days- he steps away, shrugging his blazer off of his shoulders and draping it atop the dresser.

His eyes are on you, a menacing stare that had you swallowing nervously before he’s even opened his mouth. “Strip.”

You don't hesitate to do as he says. You don't take your time, you don't give him a show- not tonight. You're smart enough not to fuck around now. Your clothes come off quickly- your shirt pulled over your head and tossed to the side, your bra unclasped and landing near the door, your pants and underwear pulled down in one swift motion and left pooled at your feet.

Logan wastes no time, wrapping his arms around your waste and picking you up with ease. He lays you down on the bed, mouth trailing down your body at a tantalizingly slow pace, leaving hickeys at every turn- you don’t even want to think about what you’ll look like tomorrow morning.

Finally, he reaches your thighs, and you inhale sharply as he leaves marks there too. Those always sting the most. Usually, he’d soothe the pain by moving his tongue to your clit, but his mouth strays nowhere near it today.

Instead he leans back, one of his hands trailing down your chest, the other holding you in place. His fingers move down past your clit, immediately heading to the wetness glistening between your folds. He swipes a finger through it, humming approvingly before he slowly works a finger inside you.

No matter how many times he’s filled you up this way, you’re always in awe of how even just one of his fingers can go so deep, please you so well. Your head is thrown back in bliss, and it isn’t long before a second one of his fingers joins the first.

He crooks his fingers up inside you, grinning when he hits that spongy spot that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head. "There we go, that's the spot." You want to thank him, to verbally affirm his claims- but the moans leaving your lips will hopefully be enough to assure him that yes, that is the spot, and oh god please don’t stop.

It’s good, but not enough- and he knows it. He doesn’t touch your clit, doesn’t give you that final push over the edge. Instead he pulls his fingers out, placing them in your mouth. He doesn’t even want to taste you tonight. Obediently, you suck them clean, and he hums in satisfaction as he steps away, beginning to unbutton his shirt.

"Hands and knees, sweetheart." You do as you're told, a shudder going through you at the sound of his belt unbuckling. He roughly grabs your wrists, pinning them behind your back and securing them together with his belt. Moments later, you feel the tip of his cock press against your dripping folds.

You whine, instinctively trying to push back against him. One of his hands goes to your hair, grabbing it and holding you in place, while the other brings down a harsh smack against your ass. "Stay fuckin' put."

Another whine leaves your lips, but you bite your lip and stay still even as he smacks your ass again. "Say it." He growls, not taking your silence as an answer.

You nod furiously. “I’ll be good.” You say through shaky breaths.

“Good.” His hands move down to grip your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh so tightly you're sure you'll be covered in bruises the next morning.

He pushes into you slowly, stretching you out in a way that burns just how you like it. He gives you a moment to adjust- only a moment- before he pulls all the way out and slams back into you.

The pace he sets is nothing short of brutal, and he’s pretty quickly reduced you to a shaking mess. Still, as always, it’s not enough. You need more, you need him, you need-

"Lo-" You gasp, barely able to get out his name.

"Hm?" He seems entirely unbothered, his tone barely changed, as if he’s not currently fucking you senseless.

"I need-”

"What's that, baby?" He hums, thrusting harder. "Speak up, I can't hear you."

You can only respond with a broken moan, your words dying on your lips.

"Guess you must not want it that bad then." You can hear that cocky fucking smirk on his face, can practically see it when you close your eyes.

"Need to cum." You whine, your words slurred and almost incomprehensible.

"Oh, you think I'm gonna let you cum, sweetheart?" He scoffs, the condescension in his tone going straight to the pulse in your core. "After the shit you pulled, you think you earned that?"

“Please-” You beg. “Please, Lo, please, I’m sorry, please let me cum, I’ll be good, I’ll be so good, just let me cum, please, I didn’t mean it, you know I didn’t mean it-” You’ve lost track of what you’re even saying at this point, desperately racking your brain for anything you could say to convince him to let you cum, to move his fingers down to your clit and rub it in those sweet little circles that will have you coming undone in moments. “Lo, baby- Logan, please, I need to cum, please-” Your words die down into nothing but desperation, a few words barely able to be made out amongst the rest of your nonsense.

Surely, he must let you cum now. You’ve (metaphorically) groveled for him, that’s always worked before.

But his hands stay right where they are.

It's a little embarrassing, but you never could cum without pressure on your clit. Logan is the only man you've ever met who hasn't judged you for it, hasn't let it be a blow to his self-esteem- though you're sure in the back of his mind he's made it a personal challenge to do it anyway. Today, it seems he's taking up that challenge- or he's just really, really fucking pissed off. It’s something of a weakness. On occasion, he’s used it against you, but never like this.

It's a lose-lose. Either you cum from his dick alone, and his ego shoots through the roof because you proved him right- or you don't get to cum at all, and he's satisfied that you've learned your lesson.

He's got you backed into a corner, right where he wants you. The corner, in this instance, being the bedsheets your face is now being squished into, your shaky knees threatening to give out as he continues to pound into you relentlessly, one of his hands still grabbing your hips as his other keeps your head firmly against the pillow.

It’s too much but also not enough, overwhelming you beyond comprehension yet you somehow still want more.

And Jesus fucking Christ, you think you might actually cum.

You try to tell him, to warn him, in case he truly doesn’t want to let you, but you can’t form words, let alone sentences. Instead all that comes out are increasingly high-pitched whines and gasps as your knees buckle and he hits spots so deep inside of you, you think you might pass out.

Finally, you manage his name again. “Logan-” You want to tell him, but instead you just keep going, his name falling from your lips like a mantra, a prayer. “Loganloganloganloganlogan-”

“You gonna cum for me, huh?” His thrusts become harsher, somehow impossibly deeper, reducing your prayers to nothing but babbled moans again. You don’t answer him- you can’t, how could you, with the way he’s hammering his cock into you right now?

“Words, baby.” He says sternly, but you both know you’re too far gone. Instead you just nod, pressing your face into the pillow in an attempt to muffle your cries. He grabs your hair, pulling your head up. “Go on. Wanna hear you cum for me. Cum all over my fuckin’ cock, you know you want to. Let everyone know who you fuckin’ belong to, who owns this pussy.”

You don’t think about the consequences this might have for his ego, or the way you’re not going to be able to walk for days, or the fact that maybe your neighbors might actually hear when you scream his name.

“God, you’re such a whore.” He mocks. “Pathetic.”

You aren’t even ashamed when his dirty words are the thing to push you over the edge.

You just let go.

His name rings in your ears as you scream, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train, hard and fast. You can barely hear his grunts through the cloud of ecstasy you’re floating on, “There we go. Knew you could do it, knew you had it in you- fuck, sweetheart-” He growls, and moments later you feel him twitching inside of you as his own bliss hits, causing your orgasm to just keep fucking going.

Eventually, when both of you are done shaking, Logan pulls out of you. He flips you onto your back, his once mean grip now gentle as he wraps his body around yours as you try to breathe. Soft kisses pepper your forehead, your face, your lips, your neck- anywhere and everywhere he can reach, his beard tickling your skin. His hold is firm, grounding, and he murmurs in your ear. "You did so good, sweetheart. Always so good for me." You whine when his hand brushes against one of the hickeys on your thigh. "Shit, sorry." He pulls back, littering your face with more apologies. "Was it too much?"

You're quick to shake your head. "No." A small smile forms on your face. "But I might not be able to walk anytime soon."

He grins back at you. "Told ya."

You nuzzle your face against his chest, breathing him in. He smells like smoke- he always does, but that smell has become comforting to you. The two of you stay like that for a while before he begins to pull away.

"C'mere. Let's get you cleaned up." He grunts, standing up and taking you with him. He sets you down in the bathtub, turning on the water.

"I'm gonna get some water and food for you. What do you want?" The mention of dinner has your stomach growling- but the thought of him leaving upsets you. Not now, not yet. You reach out a hand, grabbing him by the wrist. He looks down at you, quirking an eyebrow. “You want me to stay?"

You can only nod, and he kneels down beside the bathtub. “Alright. I’ll stay.” Your grip on his wrist loosens, and he brings your hand up to his lips to press a soft kiss against your skin. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

True to his word, he stayed by your side for the rest of the night. Bathing you, drying you, carrying you to the bedroom to get dressed, setting you down outside the bathtub while he showered, then back to the bedroom to put his own clothes on. He ordered dinner, even keeping you with him when he grabbed it from the porch. He didn’t leave you alone, not once, and before you knew it you were drifting off to sleep, still nestled in his arms.

tags: @flowersforbucky @thinkinonsense @gewrgia-black @wlwloverwrites @logansbaby @buckybarneswife125 @sweetverine @dilfverines @wchswift @namikyento @lokirogersgirl @nymphoniah @logansdoe @robo-writing @themareverine @atleastpleasetelephone @r0ttedcherubim @logaenhowlett @th3mrskory @pidgeypidge-pidge

(this is the taglist for my logan howlett one-shots. if anyone would like to be added to or removed from this taglist, please let me know!)

[prythianpages]

I’m catching up with work stuff but…I can’t help but think Cassian would be the type to “fight” with your daughter on who gets to cuddle you.

“She’s my mate.”

“She’s my mommy.”

“I loved her first.”

“Well, I love her more,” she’d respond with a pout and cute stomp of her foot.

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yeah-huh.”

And it just ends with all 3 of you cuddling (you in the middle of course.)

[cuntiel]

[womanhopper]

Noises

(With desperate Cas)

AN- I want to write something with a desperate Dean but i can think of anything that will make him seem like him, if that makes sense? SEND REQUEST 🙏

Cas’ jaw was sore and bruised, the bruising was from a fight he got into, but the soreness he had was for an entirely different reason.

You heard his jaw pop as he finally released your poor pearl from his teeth, licking a long and painfully slow stripe up your slit. You were absolutely gone, each orgasm making your thighs constantly squeeze around his head and shake with the rest of your body from sweet overstimulation.

But can you blame the poor, sweet, angel? It was really your fault for thinking you could prance around the kitchen in one of his shirts and his favorite thin, white panties. You always looked absolutely heavenly and divine to him in the pure looking panties, the panties he destroyed you in.

His intentions started innocent with a few kisses along your neck as he wrapped his arms around your stomach, but how could anyone resist you with your soft whines.

“Oh Cas…” you whine out as you leaned your hands on the counter in front of you.

Cas was only encouraged by the way you whined his name, responding with a desperate noise you faintly made out as a moan.

You tried to convince Cas to stop, or at least wait until you were in the privacy of your room where there weren’t prying eyes through open windows, but he could never focus let alone listen when he was so desperate for you.

Cas only responded to you with a disagreeing hum before starting to become more desperate “Please, angel?” He kissed along your shoulder as he slid his hands under your (his) shirt, squeezing the soft skin as he slid them higher up your body.

You sighed at the feeling of his hands caressing you, but you were still persistent to not be watched by those passing by.

“Cas-“ you were cut off with a sharp gasp as he bit softly into your shoulder, effectively silencing you as he cupped both of your tits. “Oh fuck.” you moan out as he pinches your hardened nipples.

Cas kissed the area he had been biting before starting to plead with you, “Please just once? Just let me taste you and I swear i’ll be good.”

You wanted to hold your ground, you really did, but you could never deny him when he was being so desperate, rutting his hips between your thigh. And so you complied, “Fine.”

Only it wasn’t just one taste against the kitchen counter, how could he stop after tasting your sweet release?

AN(pt2)- I wanna write about Cas getting both of you off through your panties, just sliding over your slit while still being under your thin panties that soon become transparent with both of your excitement…