#fuckin underwear it is i guess

[red-mountain-flower]

guys how tf do you draw clothing

im fr about to make this girl nude

[gurorori]

start yer day with gettin' beyond pissed off at an elderly woman who shld b dead alrdy

[salingers]

hayride.

[joel miller x f!reader]. summary: home depot, with your dad’s best friend. warnings: 18+ mdni. age-gap. [f] anal fingering. cream pie. jealousy. language. [f] oral sex. unprotected piv. word count: 2,629. a/n: here’s a03. here’s october's end. <3

A decade’s fleeted, since the last time that Joel Miller’s arcing, bedroom window’s framed your body; You’re nearly an apparition.

Your mere silhouette’s evoking long-neglected memories for Joel; Your private school’s fussy graduation. Whistling, from the bleacher’s humid, metallic plank. Joel’s abruptly blinking away his proud reverie.

Your haphazard, gauzy curtains aren’t proffering any privacy. Your dresser’s girlish; A dust-ladened and weathered wicker. You’re scrounging the half-dozen drawers, sorting teenaged remnants, Joel’s guessing.

It’s arguably morally awry, that he’s guessing at all. You’ve unearthed an ivory-colored pair of panties. You’re sampling the garment’s width, against your clothed waist; Your index finger’s hooking the pliant underwear and slowly stretching. Joel curses, “Fuck’s sake.”

Joel’s denim-clad groin’s growing taut; You’re unbuttoning your pants. His conscience’s hollering, QuitWatchingQuitWatching. Then, Joel’s belatedly swiping his curtain’s panel shut. The plaid, trembling fabric’s punishing him. You’re right there.

─

Your peripheral’s revealing that brown, tartan material’s now obscuring Joel Miller’s looming, perusing shadow.

Your phone’s deeply droning, near plummeting from your nightstand’s uneven, wickered top. You answer, “Hi.”

Dad’s beginning, “Hi, you.” Before, “Room ‘lright?” 

You aimlessly nod, “Yeah. Need ‘t paint it, though.”

The flat, stark white’s reminiscent of an operating room. A scalpel amid your dominant, gloved hand; Your abandoned internship. You’re certainly color-drenching this bland, interim room.

Dad’s conveniently chirping, “Y’know, Joel’s headin’ over ‘t The Home Depot. ‘Jus asked if I needed anythin’ for work.”

You humorously say, “The Home Depot?”

Dad amusedly huffs, “The one ‘n only.” Then, “I’ll dial ‘im back. Tell ‘im ‘t bring ‘ya.”

You’re nervously inquiring, “He won’t mind?”

Dad’s chuckling, “Kid, seriously? ‘S just Joel.”

He hasn’t been just Joel, since his absurdly sexy appearance in Dad’s FaceBook album, dorkily titled, ‘Fishin’ Missions’. Dad’s askew lens, recording Joel’s roughened, veiny hand, sizably surpassing his fish’s ample breadth; His arm’s rind, rugged and sun-freckled.

 That heathered-gray muscle-tee; Hued identically to Joel’s own silvery threads. Accentuating. Your horny musing’s interrupted, when the doorbell’s nostalgic ding’s reverberated. A leadened, salacious feeling’s pin-balling your rib’s conical-shaped cage.

You’re descending the stairway’s carpeted tread. A once-over’s rushedly ensuing, amid the entry way’s gritty mirror. You’re timidly turning the front door’s bulbous knob; Your skin’s avidly warming.

Joel’s gruffing, “Waitin’ on an invitation?”

You’re feignedly snark, “Go ‘head, Miller.” 

Joel’s arousingly large. His belt’s leathered and suppled; Tapering his tender waist. You’re deliriously visualizing biting it. Your teeth’s individualized grooving, engraving Joel’s every-day accessory.

He’s beckoning, “C’mere. Settlin’ in okay?”

Your pulse’s embarrassingly hurried, as Joel’s hugging you. Your nose’s upturned, against his collar’s corduroy lapel; His inherent aroma’s autumnal. A heady medley of burnt cinnamon, earthy hay.

You breathlessly retort, “Y–Yes. ‘Jus fine.”

His beard’s deliciously graying and scruffy; Bristling you. Joel’s inching away; A hand’s kneading your elbow’s point, “Grown. Ain’t ‘ya?”

You’re muttering, “Think anythin’ in my ‘ol dresser’ll fit?”

Joel rasps, “Be fittin’ somethin’ ‘a mine. Talkin’ like that.”

You teasingly tut, “Oh? Promise?”

His jaw’s tightening, “G–Get in my fuckin’ truck, ‘lready.”

─

The retail store’s unmistakingly orange and tan exterior’s materializing onward. Joel’s hushedly threatening, “Got ‘t behave.”

You’re amusedly assuring him, “Me? ‘Course.”

He’s backwardly parking. His arm’s generously imposing against your seat’s cushiony spine, “Lot ‘a clients ‘a mine, in ‘ere.”

His chin’s abutting along his broad, reaching shoulder’s top. Joel’s delectable, lofting nose’s leading his prominent side-profile; His pursed, upper lip’s capped under an impressive, stiff mustache. Your cunt’s pulsating. You need to rabidly rut against Joel Miller’s aging, sun-tinged face.

You’re resignedly sighing, “Fine.”

Joel replies, “Bratty fuckin’ girl.”

His accent’s aggressively Texan; Languid. Syrupy. You’re involuntarily leaking, beyond your underwear’s cottony corral. The archaic radio’s uttering early-seventies Linda Ronstadt, until Joel’s halting the ignition.

You murmur, “Any cute clients?”

Joel’s apparently unimpressed; He’s agitatedly rolling his coffee-shaded eyes. Tutting, “Best be ‘lone, when I find ‘ya.”

You’re unpromisingly shrugging, before evacuating his Ford’s heated interior. Whispering, “See ‘bout that, Miller.”

Your skin’s momentarily rasped, from the atypically frigid, October wind. The store-front’s decorated seasonally. There’s pallets, upon pallets, of pumpkins; A uniformed variety of classic orange and creamy white.

You’re distractedly mulling around carving or painting pumpkins, while Joel’s unexpectedly wrapping his freshly-shedded, heavy chore-coat against you; His hand’s comfortingly scrubbing your shoulder’s taut blade.

Joel’s deeply humming, “Better, darlin’? Hm?”

You’re instantaneously arming the clothing item’s perfectly tenderized sleeves, “M–Much, Joel.”

You’re leaning, subsequently touching his torso’s muscular crest. Joel’s thumbing your collar’s curving bone, “Warm, here?”

You whine, “Yes.”

Joel’s beginning to crane downard, until he’s chinning your shoulder’s trembling shelf. You’re gasping, as he’s fingering your loaner, Carhartt jacket’s bottom button, from behind. His arm’s caging you.

His calloused pinky’s reaching, before flitting your pant’s folded fly, “And, here?” He’s wagering, “Warmer?”

You’re groaning, “Ngh. Y–Yeah.”

Joel carnally scolds, “Filthy fuckin’ girl. A–Askin’ me ‘bout other men? While your pussy’s pre-heatin’ ‘f me?”

His finger nail’s raking your zipper’s aluminum teeth. Joel’s tauntingly whispering, “Ain’t brattin’ much, now.”

You’re begging, “L–Let’s leave.”

He’s instantly moving. You’re incoherently stunned, as Joel’s adopting an orange-colored cart, “Find ‘ya in the paintin’ section?”

You’re spluttering, “J–Joel. ‘S not what I meant.”

Joel’s winking, “Darlin’, I know what ‘ya meant.”

He’s ambling ahead, bypassing the automatic door’s yawning jaw. Your dominant hand’s flexing, electrocuted in palpable pleasure; It’s reminiscent of Mr. Darcy. You’re involuntarily summoning an image of Joel, dressed as the aforementioned aristocrat, participating in Halloween.

Joel’s robust shoulders, heaving against an incompletely unbuttoned, wispy shirt. His chest’s foggy-toned, furling hair. His head’s rain-rustled, curly strands. A high-waisted trouser; Ascending his belly’s delectable slope, whilst canopying his cock’s dilating weight. You know it’s big.

You’re unfocused; Footing the hardware store’s threshold. There’s an assortment of motion-triggered, Halloween decorations erected nearby. You’re curiously setting one, an animatronic ‘Boogeyman’. The creepy distraction’s festively futile. Joel Miller’s still permeating your skull.

─

The paint attendant’s named ‘Ruger’. A gun manufacturer namesake’s befitting, given Ruger’s camouflaged, distressed t-shirt. He’s an Austin, Texas quintessential, twenty-something male; A ‘modernized’ mullet-and-mustache duet? Check. A smothering of ‘patchworked’ tattoos? Check.

He’s flirtatiously greeting, “Sugar. How can I do ‘ya?”

You’re brandishing an array of complimentary paint-swatches, against his counter’s crest, “Do color-matchin’?”

Ruger’s endorsing, “Best ‘round.”

You’re inwardly wincing, but Joel’s abruptly approaching. So, “Ain’t doubt it. Clothes shouldn’t be an issue?”

Your palm’s routing your breast’s pocket; Ruger’s murmuring, “T–That jacket? ‘Moss’ by Carhartt. Got codin’.”

You’re falsely enthusiastic, “Really? You’re the best.”

Ruger tosses an isolated thumb, signaling to his computerized, machine mixer, “Told ‘ya.” Asking, “Color’s goin’ in your bedroom?”

You’re agreeably nodding, “Yep.”

Ruger’s grinning, “Lucky paint.”

You begin, “You? Feelin’ lucky?”

Joel’s reprimanding, “Lucky that I ain’t kill ‘im.” Before, “Passin’ at my girl. Gettin’ paid ‘t do that?”

Ruger’s answering, “N–No, Sir.”

Joel’s deeply repeating, “No.” Then, “Two gallons ‘a Sherwin-Williams. Emerald. Matte finishin’, both of ‘em.”

You’re second-handedly embarrassed and incapable of meeting Ruger’s apologetic, parting peer. Joel’s efficiently emptying his cart’s plastic-composed basin, before rehoming his kindred supplies, upon the check-stand’s laminate surface. You muse, “Emerald’s two-hundred dollars ‘a paint?”

Joel’s genuinely offended, “Ain’t payin’. I’m gettin’ it.”

You’re avidly insisting, “Don’t have ‘t do that, Miller.”

Then, Joel’s rapidly reaching outward; Yanking your belt’s fraying loop. You’re firmly tugged against him. He drawls, “Want ‘t do it.”

His breath’s cinnamony and smoky; An inebriating merging of gum and cigarettes. You dizzyingly respond, “Y–Yeah?”

Joel’s languidly leaning, before brushing his nose’s point against your ear’s lobe, “Yeah.” Whispering, “Paintin’ your bedroom the color ‘a my jacket? What’s that ‘bout, darlin’ girl?”

You’re shyly stammering, “D–‘Dunno.” Accusing, “Sayin’ aloud, ‘my girl’? What’s that ‘bout, Joel?”

Joel’s grinning, “That? Want ‘t find out?”

You’re panting, “Oh?”

His palm’s barreling behind; Stuffing his pant’s pocket. You’re savoring the rattling sound of his key-ring’s recovery. Then, Joel’s rapidly shoving the mixed-metal wad inside your rear-pocket. His bulky hand’s harshly kneading your bottom’s fleshy heft; Your cunt’s thumping.

He demands, “Go ‘head. Right behind ‘ya.”

─

You’re ocularly rummaging around Joel’s unkempt vehicle. American Spirits. Matches. A thrifted, Patsy Cline cassette. Big Red. Coins. A dog-eared, John Steinbeck novel. The sexual suspense’s dampening your sternum; Sticky. Sweaty. You’re beginning to desperately undress.

The Carhartt coat’s discarded. Your flimsy henley’s unbuttoned. Joel’s egressing from Home Depot’s aromatic interior, before pausing at the Garden Center’s check-stand. No way. A hundred-dollar note’s being thrusted, from Joel’s girthy hand, unto the cashier’s gloved palm.

This broad, burly man’s buying you fucking pumpkins. He’s pensively plucking them. His brow’s furrowing; His forehead’s wrinkling. Joel’s literally examining them, heeding any blemished gourds. You’re bewilderedly blinking, as Joel’s palming them, like they’re… Basketballs.

Your waist’s winding, impatiently rutting against his truck’s benched seat; Your pant’s denimed seam, slotting your cunt’s drooly entry.

Then, Joel’s jerking the back-seat’s door ajar. Asking, “Pick ‘em ‘lright? Did ‘ya see?” His scruffy chin’s jutting, at his quartet of pumpkins.

You’re swallowing, “Y–Yep. Thanks, Miller.”

Joel’s gruffing, “C’mon. ‘Course, pretty girl.”

His arm’s effortlessly flexing, tanned and veined, amid transferring his plastic-bagged supplies. Joel’s guessing, “Need ‘t be fucked, in ‘ere?”

You shamelessly moan, “Mhm.”

He’s teasingly whistling, “Yeah? Ain’t far from home, baby.”

You’re grumbling, “T–Too far.”

Joel’s patronizing, “Gettin’ cocked, in ‘ere? ‘S really slutty.”

You sigh, “Don’t care. C’mere.”

The shopping cart’s rapidly returned, before the driver-seat’s groaning under Joel’s jeaned ass, “Needy pussy.” His construction boot’s tamping the brake’s pedal, “Ain’t it? Get ‘t fingerin’. Feed me somethin’ warm.”

Your brassy button’s unhitching; Your toothy zipper’s buzzing. You’re hurriedly shrugging the denimed material downward; Ankling it. His mouth’s prematurely parting. Your underwear’s transparent, flooding in arousal. Joel’s dangerously speeding, departing the feebly-populated parking lot.

He’s feverishly warning, “There’s an empty hay field, ‘round back. Bit ‘a off-roadin’. Yeah?” Directing, “Give ‘em.”

Then, Joel’s toughly tugging your panty’s waist-line. You’re shamelessly obedient; Your fabric restraint’s promptly removed. His beefy, index finger’s impatiently suspended; Pumping. Your pussy’s watering his passenger-seat’s cushioning; Your underwear’s encircling Joel’s commanding digit.

The all-terrain truck’s bumpily impeling, devouring the barren field’s acreage. Eyes involuntarily shutting, Joel’s blindly steering, inbreathing your underwear’s deluged gusset. His nostril’s flaring. His cock’s pitching, prodding below his crotch’s denimed rein; You’re stuffing your pussy’s well.

Joel’s harshly moaning, “Listen ‘t that. Cryin’ fuckin’ hole.”

You’re whimpering, “M–Mm. Ngh.”

He’s greedily ringing your plunging wrist; Yanking. The rapid removal’s obscenely squelchy. Then, Joel’s immediately slurping your index and middle finger’s balmy glaze; Your thumb’s pinning upon his chin’s graying, scratchy underside. The truck’s recklessly slowing.

Joel’s haphazardly parking. The halting, howling tires begin spewing an autumnal confetti; A misting of dry hay and auburn leaves. You’re suddenly hoisting against Joel’s bulging lap; He’s instantaneously hammering, before spitting out your moistened finger’s duet.

And, Joel Miller’s finally kissing you. His groan’s pouring, beyond your esophagus. Licking your mouth’s rippled roof; Siphoning your tongue’s humid pad. Your naked pussy’s pouncing upon Joel’s clad cock. He’s thumbing your cheek-bone’s divot and cupping your jaw-line’s hind; Whimpering.

He’s arousingly exhaling, “Ngh. ‘S fuckin’ tasty.” Then, Joel’s dropping horizontally. Laying, “Fixin’ ‘t guzzle ‘ya.”

His head’s hedging the passenger-side’s door; His boot’s budging the driver-side’s door. You’re drawing upward, as Joel’s guiding you. Your dewy hole’s ramming against Joel’s awaiting face; He’s nosing your clit’s distended mound. Your innard thigh’s twitching, “G–God. Feel fuckin’ good.”

 Arousal’s rigorously sopping Joel’s beard. His mustache’s coated and creamy. Your behind’s leveraging; Ass firmly spreading. Joel’s maneuvering and manhandling you. He’s lapping, nearly pornographically swigging. You’re internally levitating; Your spine’s liquefied, “A–Ahhhh. Joel, Joel.”

Joel’s innocently whispering, “What?” Then, “Asshole’s puckerin’. Need pluggin’?”

You’re deliriously nodding, Yes. His center digit’s tantalizingly traveling below. Brushing your clit’s crest; Scooping your cunt’s slick. Your fluttering, furthest hole’s aching, against Joel’s circling, finger’s pad. He’s beginning to tandemly traverse; Eating. Fingering.

Your stomach’s tightening, as Joel’s knuckling you. His head’s nuzzling; Shaking. His beard’s rigidly whiskering, across your core’s folding, before he’s relentlessly sucking. Your clit’s flickering; You’re blindingly cumming. Joel’s airily humping; His cock’s englarging.

He’s hoarsely speaking, “A–‘Atta girl.” Praising, “Drippin’ inside ‘a my fuckin’ ear?” Sniffling, “Up my fuckin’ nose? Good, wet girl.”

You’re dizzyingly horny, “Miller. PleasePleasePlease.”

Joel’s grinning, “Please?” 

Your puffy pussy’s eagerly lowering, “Yes.” You’re gyrating, against his lap’s ridge, “Fuck. F–Fuck me.”

He’s grunting, “Fuck ‘ya? Fuckin’ slut. Keep beggin’.”

Joel’s leaning upright and sitting upward. Your disoriented shirt’s being tossed away. Licking your throat’s trail; Skimming your nipple’s peak. You’re nakedly stamping atop his torso’s towering mass. Your skin’s goose-bumping, “Ngh. P–Please, Daddy.”

His brow’s amusedly arching, “Y–Yeah?” Demanding, “Who’s.” Thrust. “Your.” Thrust. “Daddy?”

Promising, “You.”

Joel’s approvingly nodding; His driver-side door’s thudding open. His arm’s muscularly solid, whilst effortlessly upholding you. You’re burrowing, at his throat’s protruding, pulsing vein, as he’s regressing vertical. His anterior boot’s pressing upon decaying hay; A gelid gust of wind’s wreathing.

He’s attentively mumbling, “Shiverin’? Let’s warm ‘ya. Hm?”

His beard’s balmy and cunt-scented. You’re being settled, amongst his driver-seat’s aged upholstering. You’re amorously fidgeting, as Joel’s flitting his belt’s metallic prong. The accessory’s yanked from his fading Wranglers, as Joel’s abutting the cushion’s edge; His zipper’s deliciously drawing.

The belt’s noisily plummeting; A leathery slap, against the floor-mat’s rubbery surface. Your waist-line’s eagerly grasped, whilst Joel’s positioning your pussy’s twingeing hole. He’s hissing, during an arousing upheaval, of his cock’s entirety; The seeping tip’s bypassing his belly-button’s nook.

His t-shirt’s becoming translucent, as pre-cum’s dampening it. You’re following the ample shaft’s terse twitching. Blurting, “Need. That.”

Joel’s attractively smug, “This?” He’s robustly swatting his cock, across your clit’s cummy summit, “Think it’ll fit?”

You whimper, “F–Fuckin’ make it.”

He’s lowly whispering, “Dirty fuckin’ mouth.” Then, Joel’s abruptly and aggressively entering, “Go ‘head. Keep mouthin’ off.”

The truck’s boisterously creaking, as Joel’s ruggedly rutting. Your cervix wall’s convulsing, crowning his cock’s head. Your shiny spend’s glossing Joel’s graying, pubic tuft. His groin’s angrily clobbering, striking your cunt’s doused expanse. You’re incoherently stammering, “N–Ngh.”

Joel’s responding, “Can’t hear ‘ya, bratty girl.”

You’re painfully stretching, inside-and-out. His jeaned, lower-portion’s gloriously grating your thigh’s rear. Your right-side leg’s hooking through the steering wheel’s median; Your left-side leg’s perching, against Joel’s widening shoulder’s tier, as he’s weightily falling forward, “Say somethin’?”

Your limb’s achingly pinned vertically; Your body’s contorting, creating an indecent, ninety-degree angle. His focused, sun-wrinkled forehead’s grown moist. His furling, silver-tinged strands begin cascading. The benched seat’s dilapidated stitching’s imprinting, decorating your back’s extent.

Your taint’s repeatedly thwacked, by Joel’s brimming balls. His angle’s hitching, hitting that spot. You’re shrieking, “A–Ah.”

Joel’s accordingly bottoming-out, “Doin’ good. Stretchin’ well. Ain’t it?” His hip’s briskly oscillating, “Good girl. Good pussy.”

You’re shuddering, “D–DaddyDaddyDaddy.”

The pleasure’s pouring. Your cunt’s palpitating; Your spine’s taut. Joel’s resultantly stroking, maintaining his pacing, but drilling harder. He’s licking, crossing your hung jaw-line’s road. His tenderized t-shirt’s feathering, against your exposed nipples, over-sensitively tapering them.

Joel’s rasping, “C’mon. Flood my fuckin’ truck.”

His tone’s arousingly languid. That’s it. You’re breathlessly cumming. Every extremity’s tightening, before blissfully dissolving. Your vision’s brightly impaired. Your climaxing moan’s fractured, as Joel’s ingesting it. His mouth’s restorative, whilst being ruining. You’re whispering, “Flood me.”

He’s whimpering, “Y–Yeah?” A prominent vein’s materializing, against his throat’s girthy rind, “Ain’t wet ‘nough, ‘lready? Greedy hole.”

Then, Joel Miller’s hotly erupting. His length’s flinching. Your fatigued, flittering hole’s wringing him. His aging brow’s bunching; You’re caressing his cinched expression. Your right-side leg’s being removed, amidst the steering wheel’s medial opening. Joel’s comforting, “Hurtin’?”

You’re indifferently shrugging; Joel’s unconvinced. His palm’s expertly massaging your leg’s weary ligament. You’re pathetically sighing, making Joel laugh. He’s kneading your knee-cap’s exhausted muscle, before fingering your calf-tendon’s aspiring knot. You stammer, “T–Thanks, Miller.”

Joel’s questioning, “How ‘bout Lowe’s, ‘morrow?”

You’re grinning, “Sure. If ‘ya sleep-over, tonight.”

[loganspet-inactive-atm]

𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐎𝐖𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓’𝐒 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘.

𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐘 ♡ ૮ › ‹ ྀིა

. . . ─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ─── 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

. . .

When Logan Howlett, your sugar daddy, finally gets his hands on you again, there’s no holding back.

Pairing:

Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

Daddy Kink, Dom! Logan, Sub! Reader, Rough sex, Teasing, Banter, Age gap, Dirty talk, Fingering , Use of pet names, Bimboification, Reader has piercings, Minor Ass spanking, No control, Explicit language, Explicit sexual content, Dog tags, Unprotected Sex (p in v).

Cotton Candy is Readers Nickname meaning docile and approachable

Inspiration nsfw link :3

Half asleep, I can’t shake the thought of him slipping into my bed, so I wrote this .

. . .

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

╭──────────.★..─╮

[You:] I’m booooored.

[Lo:] And?

[You:] And you should entertain me, duh.

[Lo:] Ain’t my problem, princess.

You scowl at your screen.

╰─..★.──────────╯

You roll your eyes, sprawled across the plush sheets of your king-sized bed. Technically, it’s your bed, in your penthouse—but let’s be real. It’s all because of him.

Logan keeps you in luxury, a spoiled little thing in lace and diamonds. He likes you soft, pretty, with a closet full of designer and a credit card you still haven’t hit the limit on. But right now? He’s being a pain in the ass.

Your manicured fingers tap against your phone.

╭──────────.★..─╮

[You:] Umm, actually, it is. You signed up for this so fucking mean. Ugh.

[Lo:] That right? Ain’t mean. Just don’t cater to whiny brats.

You picture him now, probably kicked back in his Chevrolet, cigar clenched between his teeth, jaw tight. He’s never been much for texting—too impatient, too old. You giggle at the thought.

[You:] You literally do tho. My closet says otherwise. What’s wrong, old man?

He leaves you on read for a second, which makes you scowl. You hate when he does that—like he’s got something more important than you. So, naturally, you decide to push.

[Lo:] Keep runnin’ that mouth, Cotton Candy see what happens.

You roll onto your back, twirling a strand of hair around your finger.

[You:] Ooo, scary. What’re you gonna do, Lo? Ground me?

╰─..★.──────────╯

You smirk at your own sass, but when he doesn’t respond immediately, you pout. Logan’s such a grump. He doesn’t chase—not the way men your age do, falling over themselves for a chance with you. But that’s exactly why you love teasing him, making him snap.

A new idea.

You look in your vanity mirror. Your mirror is a dream—glossy lips, untidy hair, barely-there underwear, and something dangling between your tits. His dog tags. You bit your lip. Tits spill out. The cool metal rubs against your pierced nipples, barbell jewelry visible through the exquisite lace the lace he bought. Sliding your phone up, you angle the camera perfectly—pouty, teasing, tits pushed up, You make sure the tags are in focus, resting against your pierced nipples like they belong there. and attached it to a new message.

╭──────────.★..─╮

[You:] Ruin me, daddy. Please?

Delivered. Read.

You smirk.

Three dots appear. Vanish. Appear again. Oh, he’s pissed. The response takes seconds.

[Lo:] You wanna play that game, huh?

Your grin widens. Your stomach flips

[You:] Mmhmm. You get all growly ‘n’ bossy when you’re mad. So hot, Lo.

[Lo:] ‘Lo’? The fuck kinda name is that?

You giggle, twirling a strand of hair again.

[You:] Short for Logan. Duh.

[Lo:] Don’t call me that. I hate it

He loves it

[You:] Aww. Someone’s grumpy. Lemme guess—you’re sittin’ there, puffin’ on one of those nasty cigars, pretendin’ you’re not hard as hell right now.

Three dots appear. Vanish.

You’re kicking your feet.

[You:] C’mon, daddy. Bet you can’t handle me tonight.

Still nothing. Fine. You decide to push harder, slipping your fingers into your lace panties, dragging them low—just enough to tease. Another pic. Another message.

[You:] Bet you won’t do a thing about it.

Delivered. Read.

The response is immediate.

[Lo:] Bet your fuckin’ ass I will. Open the door.

Your breath catches.

Wait—

[You:] …You’re already here?!

[Lo:] Got in the car the second you sent that first pic. Ain’t in the mood for your games, bubs. Open the door, now.

Oh, shit.

You scramble up, heat pooling between your thighs, heart pounding. Your phone vibrates again.

[Lo:] And take those fuckin’ panties off before I get in there. If you’re gonna act like a needy little brat, you’re gonna learn what happens when daddy finally has enough.

Your whole body shivers.

You’re so in trouble.

╰─..★.──────────╯

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

You barely have time to process before there’s a heavy knock at your door. Sharp. Impatient.

Your pulse jumps.

Oh, you really did it this time.

Scrambling off the bed, you toss your phone aside and tug your panties down, just like he ordered. A rush of excitement floods through you—nerves and need tangled together. You love this part, the chase. Pushing him, testing the limits of that patience.

And now? You’re about to see what happens when you finally snap it.

You unlock the door with trembling fingers. The second it swings open.

Big hands. A rough grip. Logan grabs you, one hand fisting your hair, the other bracing against your jaw, forcing your head up to meet his glare.

He smells like cigar smoke and leather, like pine and something dangerous.

“Y’think you’re cute, huh?” His voice is low, thick with something darker than irritation.

Your lips part, but nothing comes out.

Logan’s eyes flick down, and fuck, you swear you see his jaw tighten when he sees his tags between your tits, resting against your soft skin like they were made to be there. back when their little arrangement was still just that—an arrangement. He paid for your apartment, your designer bags, diamond bracelets. You let him grab you by the waist, let him pull you into his lap when the two of you were alone, let him drink in the way you looked in all the things he bought. It was a game, a back-and-forth, push-and-pull. Spoiled you rotten, the perfect little doll for him.

But one night, You saw them. His dog tags. Hanging off the hook in his bedroom like they didn’t belong to him, like they weren’t something personal, something worn close to his heart.

You wanted them so you took them

“Y’just don’t know when to quit, do ya?” He mutters, stepping inside, kicking the door shut behind him.

You give him a slow, syrupy smile. “Not really.”

His nostrils flare.

Then he’s moving—shoving you back against the wall, pinning you there like you belong beneath him. His grip tightens around your chin, thumb pressing against your glossy bottom lip.

“Daddy asked you a question.” His voice is rough, a quiet rasp of warning.

You blink up at him, lashes fluttering. “Which one?”

His expression darkens.

“Brat.”

Oh, you love it when he gets like this—when his rough hands and mean mouth are too much for anyone else, but perfect for you.

“I missed you, Logan” you sigh, tilting your head, giving him a coy smile of yours that drives him wild.

His thumb drags against your lip, just barely dipping between your teeth.

“Yeah? That why you were sendin’ me filthy fuckin’ pictures while I was drivin’?” he growls, his breath hot against your skin. He always loves hearing his name from you—especially when it comes out so sweet, so innocent, even though he knows exactly what’s underneath that pretty, ditzy exterior.

Your grin widens. “Mhm.” you hum, drawing out the sound just enough to drive him wild. “I missed everything about you, Logan”

His thumb presses against your tongue, just enough to make you gasp.

“Everything, huh? Got no patience for your games tonight, sugar. Y’been beggin’ for my attention all fuckin’ week.” He leans in, breath hot against your cheek. “Now you got it.”

“I want you so bad,” you whisper against his lips, your breath coming faster, need building. “Do you want me, Lo?” You whimper, thighs pressing together. Of course he did if he didn’t he wouldn’t be here.

His lips brush against your ear. “What was it you said?” His voice is pure gravel, his grip sliding down your body, over soft curves, possessive and firm. “Bet I won’t do a thing about it?”

A sharp little gasp slips out before you can stop it.

Then his hand grips the inside of your bare thigh. Just enough to sting. Just enough to make you ache.

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

His voice is a growl against your ear, rough like gravel, thick like smoke.

“You really got no shame, do ya? Bubs”

You giggle, all soft and sweet, batting your lashes up at him. “Not when it comes to you, Lo”

Logan exhales sharply through his nose, like he’s trying to keep his shit together. You know that sound. It’s the same one he makes when he’s gripping the steering wheel too tight after you’ve spent the whole car ride teasing him with your pretty little mouth.

His hand is still on your thigh, big and hot, pressing in just enough to remind you who’s in charge. His other hand trails up, fingers catching on the chain of his dog tags—right where they sit between your tits.

You see it then, the way his eyes darken, locked on the cold metal resting against your warm skin.

He loves it.

He hates how much he loves it.

“You think just ‘cause you’re wearin’ these, you get to act like a fuckin’ menace?” His thumb brushes the tags, then trails down, grazing your nipple through the thin lace. The metal is cold against your skin.

You gasp, arching into him. “Mmm. Maybe.”

His grip tightens.

Maybe it’s the pout you give him. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re not wearing panties, just like he told you to. Maybe it’s the way your skin is warm and soft under his rough hands—so delicate compared to him.

Whatever it is, Logan’s patience snaps like a frayed wire.

He fists the chain and tugs. Not enough to hurt, just enough to pull you closer, to make you feel who you belong to.

“You got no fuckin’ idea what you just started, Cotton Candy.”

You shiver, looking up at him through heavy lashes. “Guess you’ll have to show me.”

His nostrils flare.

Then, without another word, he grabs you—lifts you like you weigh nothing and tosses you over his shoulder, one big hand landing a sharp slap against your bare ass.

You squeal, wiggling in his hold.

“Fuck Logan!”

Another spank, harder this time.

“What was that?”

You whimper, pressing your thighs together, breath shuddering. “Daddy.”

His smirk is damn near feral as he starts toward your bedroom.

“That’s what I fuckin’ thought.”

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

Logan kicks the door shut behind him, the sharp click of the lock sliding into place making your stomach tighten.

You’re still slung over his broad shoulder, ass on display, his fingers kneading at your soft flesh like he’s debating whether to spank you again.

He takes his time.

Lets you feel every step—every shift of his powerful frame, every roll of his muscles under your body. It’s dizzying, being manhandled like this, thrown around like you weigh nothing. And fuck, you love it.

“Dunno if you deserve my time tonight, sugar.”

“Daddy,” you whine, squirming in his grip. “You’re being so mean.”

Logan flicks open his lighter with a practiced ease, the small flame illuminating his face for just a moment before he brings the cigar to his lips. The end glows ember-red as he takes a slow drag, cheeks hollowing, the scent of burning tobacco filling the air. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t break eye contact. Just watches you through the curling tendrils of smoke, that sharp-toothed smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

A chuckle. Deep, throaty. Cruel.

“Yeah?” he drawls, voice thick and amused, the cigar bobbing between his teeth as he speaks. His palm finds your ass again, fingers kneading into soft flesh, teasing, taunting. “’Cause I ain’t the one sendin’ pictures, beggin’ to be ruined, huh?”

You pout, not that he can see it. “It was just a little tease.”

You swallow hard, heat curling in your stomach, but Logan just snorts, exhaling a sharp puff of smoke through his nose like he doesn’t believe a damn word out of your mouth.

“Yeah? Keep tellin’ yourself that.”

And then you’re falling.

Your back bounces against the bed as Logan drops you without an ounce of gentleness, and a little oof leaves your lips. But before you can complain, before you can even think about sitting up, he’s already on you—big, warm, and so much, caging you in with that solid body like you’re tiny beneath him.

His knees press into the mattress, one rough hand spreading your thigh open like it’s his to play with. His other arm braces beside your head, keeping you right where he wants you, making you so, so helpless under him. You’re not, of course—you know how to push his buttons, how to whine and get your way.

Logan knows better.

Knows you’re a spoiled, needy gorgeous thing. Knows you love pushing him to his limit just to see how far he’ll take it.

Tonight, you’re fucked.

“You like bein’ a whore, huh? Like makin’ me work for it? Huh, bub?”

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can, his fingers dip between your thighs, sliding through your already-messy slick.

“Damn,” he mutters, voice low, guttural. The rasp in it sends a shiver down your spine. “Drenched for me already, huh?“

Your breath hitches when he slides a thick finger inside, slow at first, teasing. He watches your body react, watches the way you arch and whimper, all pretty and desperate under him.

Your hands curl into the sheets as you whine, bottom lip wobbles “M’not easy.”

Logan just chuckles, dark and knowing. His free hand grips your chin, tilting your face up, forcing you to look at him.

“You sure about that, sweetie?” His fingers press a little deeper, his thumb circling your clit in lazy, unhurried strokes.

“This is mine”

You gasp, back arching, legs spreading instinctively. His touch is firm, practiced—he knows exactly how to unravel you, how to work your body until you’re shaking.

“I-" your voice squealing with delight, the more you cry for him.

“Yeah?” His thumb drags over your pouty bottom lip, like he’s thinking about stuffing it in your mouth.

And then—his fingers speed up.

The shift is sudden, brutal. From slow, teasing drags to deep, fast thrusts, curling just right, fucking you open with rough, unrelenting precision. His palm smacks against your soaked little cunt with every stroke, the sound loud, wet, filthy. The kind of sound that makes your cheeks burn. The kind of rhythm that makes you forget how to think.

Your back arches off the bed, legs trembling, hands fisting the sheets, desperate to grab onto something, anything.

“Oh,” you gasp, nodding eagerly, shivering when he fingers your swollen, desperate cunt. eyes going all glossy and unfocused. “Oh—Logan—” ..★ ..★

Your face burns, but you don’t deny it. Can’t. Not when he’s got you like this—pinned beneath him, fingers buried deep, dragging you toward the edge like it’s nothing.

“Daddy,” you whimper, hands flying to his shoulders, clinging tight, nails digging into muscle like you need to ground yourself.

He hums in approval, lips quirking into a smirk.

“That’s right, baby,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth, teasing. “Say it nice. Show me you deserve it.”

You’re already panting, thighs trembling as the pressure builds, but you force yourself to meet his gaze, batting your lashes. And then his mouth is on yours.

It’s not sweet. Not gentle. Logan kisses like he fights—rough, unrelenting, a clash of heat and dominance that steals the breath from your lungs. His teeth sink into your bottom lip, a sharp nip that sends a jolt of pleasure straight through you. You whimper against his mouth, but that only makes him bite harder, dragging his teeth along the plush curve before soothing the sting with his tongue.

The taste of copper blooms between you.

A growl rumbles from deep in his chest as he licks into your mouth, tasting the blood, tasting you. He groans when his tongue meets the cool metal of your piercing, rolling against it, sucking your tongue into his mouth like he’s starved for it. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, heat pooling low in your belly as the kiss deepens into something messy, desperate.

Your lips are swollen, slick, the faintest trace of blood smeared between them as he finally pulls back, panting, his grip on you still tight, still possessive. His thumb brushes against your bottom lip, smearing the crimson before he shoves his thumb past your lips, pressing down on your tongue.

“Look at you,”

“Please, Daddy,” you breathe, voice dripping with sweet desperation. “Please fuck me. Want you so bad—”

Your words cut off in a gasp when he pulls his fingers out, leaving you empty, aching.

Logan brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean, groaning low in his chest like he’s savoring you.

“Logan… Screw you” you whine, lifting your hips in an attempt to chase the pleasure you crave.

Wrong move.

His palm cracks against your ass, sharp and punishing.

“No,” he commands. “Stay still.”

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

The sound of his belt unbuckling makes your breath hitch. That sharp clink of metal, the slow drag of leather through the loops—it’s enough to have you clenching around nothing.

Logan knows it too. Knows exactly what that does to you.

He smirks, cigar between his teeth, letting his belt fall to the floor with a heavy thud. Then his hands go to his jeans, flicking the button open, dragging the zipper down slow—making you watch, making you wait.

You whimper, shifting under him, body already arching in silent desperation.

“Always so impatient,” he mutters, kicking his jeans off, watching you with those dark, heated eyes. “You know how this goes, sugar.”

Yeah. You do.

Because this isn’t the first time you’ve begged him like this, all messy and desperate, no teasing, no buildup—just pure, aching need.

And Logan’s never been the type to deny you.

You barely get the chance to breathe before he’s gripping your thighs, spreading you open, fitting himself between them.

No warning. No preparation. Just the blunt, thick head of his cock pressing against your slick, dripping entrance, pushing in deep.

You cry out, nails digging into his shoulders, thighs trembling at the stretch.

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

You don’t remember exactly how it happened—how a night of harmless flirting turned into something permanent.

But somewhere between the stolen kisses in the dark and the way he fucked you, Logan decided you were his.

And you loved that.

You loved being spoiled.

Liked being taken care of.

Loved the feeling of his rough hands on your soft skin, the contrast of his calloused fingers slipping expensive jewelry onto you like you were some pretty little doll for him to dress up.

He made sure you had everything.

“You wanna act like a spoiled little thing—” he had rasped once, pinning you against the wall, cigar dangling from his lips.

You had just giggled, chewing your bubblegum, watching his eyes darken when your lips pouted around the pink sweetness.

“I am spoiled, daddy.”

Logan had exhaled, thick smoke curling around you both as he dragged his mouth up your neck, biting at your jaw, his voice a low growl—

“Yeah? Then I better make sure y’know who spoils ya.”

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

Now, with your legs wrapped around his waist, his dog tags bouncing between your tits, his teeth sinking into your neck.

You know.

It burns—God, it burns—but you don’t care. You love it. Love how rough he is, how he takes you, he owns you.

“Fuck,” Logan growls, head dropping to your shoulder, voice thick with need. “So goddamn tight Cotton Candy —”

You whimper, legs wrapping around him, heels digging into his back. “Daddy, please—”

That’s all it takes.

With a low, ragged growl, Logan pulls back—just enough to slam back in, burying himself to the hilt.

Your back arches off the bed, lips parting in a soundless gasp.

He sets a brutal pace, fast and deep, no softness, no hesitation—just pure, unrelenting need.

Each thrust punches the air from your lungs, leaves you gasping, whining, begging.

“Fuckin’ ruined for me,” Logan growls, voice thick with possession. “Ain’t no man ever gonna fuck you like this, baby. You know that, don’t you?”

You nod frantically, babbling out a breathless, “Yes, Daddy—only you, only you—”

Logan grunts in approval, pace punishing now, skin slapping against skin. The bed creaks beneath you, the headboard knocking against the wall, but you don’t care.

All you care about is him. His hands gripping your hips, his breath hot against

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

Logan shifts, gripping your hips, pulling you up until your legs wrap tight around his waist. The new angle makes you see stars ..★ ..★ —his cock pressing impossibly deep, stretching you wide, claiming every inch of you.

Your lingerie—what’s left of it—is already slipping off your shoulders, straps hanging loose, fabric bunched up around your ribs. Logan’s fingers roam up your torso, curling around the delicate lace, and with one sharp tug—

Riiip.

You gasp, eyes wide, body jerking from the sudden tear of fabric against your skin.

“Logan!” you gasp, half-scolding, half-turned on.

He just smirks, watching the shredded lace fall from your body, leaving you completely bare. His voice is rough, teasing as his thumbs skim your nipples. Click—the dog tags hanging between your tits clink together.

“I’ll buy you another one, Cotton Candy,” he murmurs, like it’s nothing. Like he’ll buy you a thousand more just to tear them off again.

Your head falls back against the pillows, shivering as his hands roam, feeling every inch of you like he owns it.

And he does.

Logan leans down, chest pressing flush against yours, his cock hitting deeper—making you gasp. His shirt’s still on, fabric rough against your bare skin, but it doesn’t last long.

One-handed, he tugs it over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him.

God, he’s huge.

Thick and broad, every inch of him veined and solid, muscles shifting beneath his scarred skin as he moves. The happy trail leads down to where he’s buried inside you, disappearing between your trembling thighs.

The cigar still hangs lazily from his lips, the ember burning low. A slow curl of smoke wafts up toward the ceiling.

Logan smirks down at you, rolling his hips slow, grinding against you—making you feel every inch of him.

“Needa fill ya to the brim, bub where you're already sweet and ready for me, is where my cock goes—where my dick belongs." he rasps, voice heavy with lust.

“Oh god…” You gasped, eyes wide, looking down at the way his cock was bulged inside of you.

Your lips part, a shuddering whimper slipping past. “Mm… Lo”

His smirk widens, hand sliding down to grip your throat, thumb brushing your jaw.

“Yeah, sugar,” he mutters, leaning in, breath hot against your lips. “Real deep. Make sure ya feel me all fuckin’ night.”

His mouth crashes against yours, the kiss sloppy, rough, all teeth.

His canines graze your lip before he bites, sharp and deep—just enough to sting, to bruise.

You whimper, fingers tangling in his thick hair, nails scraping against his scalp.

He groans at that, hips snapping forward, cock slamming into you so hard your back arches off the bed.

“That’s my fuckin’ girl,” he growls, licking the blood from your swollen lip.

Then he grabs your hips and fucks you stupid.

─── ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ───

Your brain turns fuzzy, all soft and sweet, floating somewhere between pleasure and delirium.

Logan’s weight keeps you pinned, his body hot, muscles flexing, his hips slamming into you over and over until all you can do is take it.

His cock stretches you impossibly wide, dragging along that sensitive spot inside you with every brutal thrust. Your nails claw at his back, but you’re weak, barely able to hold onto him as your body trembles beneath him.

“D-Daddy—mm—s’too much…” Your voice is all breathy, slurred, almost drunk on him.

Logan just chuckles, that low, gravelly sound rolling through his chest. His cigar’s long gone now—probably crushed somewhere on the nightstand.

“Aww, what’s wrong, baby ?” he drawls, licking up the side of your throat. “My dumb lil’ candy can’t take it?”

Your head lolls back against the pillows, eyes glassy, lips parted. Every thrust punches another little whimper out of you, soft and broken, your thighs trembling around his waist.

He smirks at the way you’re gibbering now, no real words left—just babbling, whining, fists clenching and unclenching against his shoulders.

“C’mon, bubs,” he grunts, voice thick. “One more. Give me one more, yeah?”

You sob, shaking your head, but your body betrays you—your walls fluttering around him, sucking him deeper.

“Fuck—there ya go,” Logan groans, his rhythm stuttering, movements getting erratic. He’s close—real close.

His grip tightens on your hips, his pace turning sloppy, grinding deep until—

He pulls out at the last second, thick ropes of cum spilling across your chest, dripping down your belly.

You gasp, body twitching, still lost in the aftershocks.

Logan groans low in his throat, watching the mess he made, his fingers tracing through the pearly streaks painting your soft skin.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, half outta breath, voice wrecked.

You blink up at him, all fuzzy, pretty, lips swollen from his kisses, breath coming in little gasps.

Logan smirks, brushing a thumb across your cheek.

“Y’look real good like this, baby,”

[starpains]

Imma announce this thing for the last time, using drastic measures:

This what Obi-Wan’s wearing in this thing. And I did my best to make it as close to this as possible.

And it’s the closest I ever got to writing a truly canon-worthy, mercurial Anakin.

Through the Cellar Door (Oneshot)

The party was meant to celebrate his son. Instead, Ben found himself counting wallpaper stripes and reaching for one scotch too many. Where had his life gone so catastrophically wrong?

---

This is my response to two lovely prompts at once. The first one asked for Obi-Wan in a kilt, and the second one for bigwig Obi-Wan getting buggered by Anakin at a family party with his wife nearby. Somehow in my head they worked well together. Second Anon - I took some liberties with your prompt, but I hope overall you'll be happy :).

---

Link to the fic.

If you wanna prompt me, feel free, just read this post first.

[deansbite]

✴ ( ᴗ ᴗ 　BACK STAGE SECRETS !

— CONTAINS 18+ mdni!!! | quickie | pwp | p in v | creampie ( kill me now ) | unprotected sex ( WRAP IT UP YOU FUCKIN' IDIOTS!!!!! ) | public sex | smut smut & more smut

PS > @floralscented @jasvtsc @frosttbitessam @deansbeer @beausling my baes who i think look forward to this. this is ass btw dont mind it its a blurb i wrote in like 30 or ish minutes

— SUMMARY jensen gets horny. ( thats quite literally it )

JENSENS hands travelled down your body. every curve and inch of your skin he could touch was beneath his fingertips. his lips finally came around and wrapped around the exposed skin of your shoulder. his hands went lower and finally settled on your hips. his fingers were curved just a little to get a better grip.

“jen..” you groaned under your breath. he let out a breathy chuckle which tickled the skin of your shoulder. he slowly let go of the area with his plump lips.

ever so gently his hand went up to bend you over the very table he had a conversation at with his co-stars. shit, maybe this was more arousing than you would’ve thought.

“y’sure you’ll be quiet?” he whispered, his bearded chin coming into contact with the very same spot he marked up, the spot that was imensely more sensitive. a whine escaped your lips. “guess not.” his free hand roamed upwards and being used as a gag for you.

“i have t’be on stage soon. can’t be found with my dick all nicely sat in ya can i now?” he asked, but the answer was obvious.

he trapped his bottom lip between his teeth to stifle the moan when he positioned himself properly to your entrance. he drove his hips forward. it was quick-paced but, you knew it was necessary. he let go of his lip and threw his head back, a breathy — yet quiet groan escaping his lips. he was way better at this than you.

because usually.. you needed more prep to get him to fit as well as he did. no matter how many times you’ve been together intimately, he was huge and split you in two.

but, slowly he increased his pace, his belt clanking ever so slightly in the silent room. your hips kept going back and then hitting the edge of the table, probably causing a couple bruises. but it didn’t matter because the pleasure was unbearable. you were sure if jensens hand wasn’t silencing you — you’d be screaming his fucking name.

he probably knew and took advantage of that, inasmuch as he plunged into you much faster and harder, too. “mmf — hmphgh.” you tried to babble outloud, just for you to forget jensens hand.

“i know, baby. just keep quiet f’me and y’can cum soon.” it was like he could read your fucking mind. but it wasn’t like you could give two fucks with jensen fucking you with his expeditious thrusts in and out. the sound of skin against skin finally registered into your mind — and the wet squelch of your pussy.

“oh, fuck” he moaned into your ear, his hips stuttering, his hand — the one that was busy bruising the shit out of your hip, went forward and his index pressed against your clit. causing more stimulation and more muffled nonsense that escaped you.

the coil that was already threatening to snap — did, and you thought you saw stars. as you came down from your high, you noticed the warm liquid that spilled into you drip down your inner thighs onto your underwear which was shoved down your legs just enough to get access to your cunt.

jensen pulled out, tucking himself back into his pants and fastened his belt. then he helped you get ready — grasping the waistband of your pants and pulling them up alongside your underwear.

once you turned around, still hazy with your activities before, jensen pressed his soft lips against yours, just for a second.

“i can’t wait t’ruin ya when we’re alone.” he winked just as he was called on stage, running his hand through his hair and heading toward the door connected to the stage.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

my love if i may request a whiskey with dbf!joel or dbf!bucky with the prompt “i’ve wanted this for so long” and mayhaps if it’s not too much to ask for but some breeding kink👀👉🏻👈🏻

Promises, Promises.

warnings - smut. cursing.

I figured I'd make this dbf!bucky, because i've done a dbf!joel fic for this celebration already. y'all, I read the words dad's best friend and go fucking feral. this one got away from me.

3k celebration post here. 3k masterlist here.

You're the last person Bucky expected to be at his front door at 3am.

"What's wrong, honey?"

"Locked myself out of my goddamn house, and my parents are still on vacation. Can I crash here tonight? Please?"

Who is he to turn down an offer that tempting?

"Course. Come on, it's too cold for you to be stood out here."

The two of you sit down on his couch, settling in to watch some TV.

"Bucky Barnes. Are you watching a romcom?"

He blushes, a slight flush creeping up his cheeks.

"If you tell anyone, I'll kill you. They're my guilty pleasure."

"It makes me like you more, if anything," you grin. He can't help but smile back at you, less embarrassed now.

"Look, my love life is fuckin' terrible. I live vicariously through these cheesy films right now."

"You? Terrible love life? Those two phrases don't usually go in the same sentence."

You're teasing him. Seeing if you can get a rise, hit the right button.

"Oh, shut it. Just because you're on a new date every week."

"I'm... what?"

"Your Dad seems to think you're dating a lot."

You quirk a brow at him, amusement curling at the corners of your lips.

"Is that so?"

"I'm only telling you what I've heard, honey."

He crosses his arms across his chest, biceps threatening to break free from the confines of his t shirt.

"He's wrong."

"Is that so?"

You roll your eyes.

"I have a friend, he's a guy. My Dad automatically assumes we're dating because we hang out. But we're not."

"And why not?"

"I don't know, I guess he's just..." you debate your answer, realising it's now or never. "He's not old enough for me. Not mature enough."

Bucky bites his lip, eyes scanning your face.

"He's your age."

"Exactly. Boys my age don't know shit."

He laughs, but it's dark and low, something brewing beneath the surface.

"You always were too smart for your own good, huh?"

Bucky's thigh is pressing into yours, the warmth from his skin seeping through. His rough fingertips glide across your arm, slow and soft. He's testing the waters.

"I shouldn't want this," he murmurs, barely audible. "Neither should you."

"But I do," you whisper. "So fucking bad."

"Me too."

Bucky grabs the back of your neck, smashing his lips to yours. You grip at his hair, his biceps, his shirt - anything you can get a hold of. You feel like you're dreaming, your filthiest thoughts coming into fruition.

He pulls you into his lap so you're straddling his hips, grinding down and panting into his mouth. You're both breathless, but neither of you want to be the first to pull away.

Bucky rips your shirt over your head, instantly attacking your chest with kisses. He's marking you up, claiming you as his. You should be worried about the repercussions, but you're not.

You pull his shirt off and rake your nails down his front, grinning when he shivers. Suddenly, Bucky stands up, setting you on your feet.

"Strip."

You blink at him, processing.

"Strip, baby. I won't tell you again."

You shimmy your pants down your legs, your underwear going too. Your mouth waters as you watch him undress, admiring the angles and smooth ridges of him. A Greek God.

Bucky stalks over to you and hooks a foot behind your ankle, sending you both flying onto the rug on the floor. He cushions your fall, not letting go of you once. Running two fingers through your wet heat, he groans.

"All for me, pretty girl? What did I do to deserve somethin' this sweet, huh?"

"Need you," you whine. "Please, Buck."

"I've wanted this for so long," he murmurs, lining himself up. "Fuck, you're a dream."

You both gasp as he slides home, your back arching and his jaw falling slack. Bucky rests a hand against the base of your throat, the weight grounding you back down to Earth.

"Need you to move," you choke out. "Fuck, I need it, Buck. Please."

"Oh you need it, do you?" he smirks. "My needy girl."

He snaps his hips into yours in long, careful glides, very aware of the effect he has on you. Before long, his restraint snaps, and his thrusts get harder, quicker, more frantic.

"Gonna fill you up, baby," he's muttering under his breath. "Make you mine. You want that? To have everyone know who you belong to?"

You're nodding rapidly, tears gathering in your eyes, bottom lip caught between your teeth.

"How are we gonna keep this a secret if you're pregnant, huh?"

The thought makes you moan, a breathy, gutteral sound.

"You like that? Want me to make you a mommy? Fuck, I'll give you everything you ask for. I'll buy you a house and knock you up, you'll never want for anything."

His low, honeyed words throw you over the edge, squeezing and clenching around him. Bucky groans, deep and rumbled, the sound vibrating through the both of you. You find your releases together, panting and out of breath.

"House first."

"Huh?" he breathes, raising his head from your chest.

"Buy me a house first. Kids second. Maybe marriage in between."

He laughs, floating and content. You both know he meant what he said, not just a heat of the moment confession.

You stay wrapped up in each other for hours, on the rug in front of the fire.

You'll deal with the repercussions later.

[tojirights]

Pls, I need Alastor and brat taming. 😭

Fem!reader who acts soo cocky around everyone and tells Alastor she isn’t scared of him only for him to respond “you will be.” and he spanks and overstimulates her until she submits to him. The next day she’s walking round the hotel thoroughly avoiding him bc she’s so embarrassed.

a/n: PFFTTT the brat in me is going wild for this one bestie

buy me a coffee?

tags: 18+ smut, nsfw, spanking, slight choking, over stimulation, brat taming, shadow tentacle use, sliiight ass play/double penetration

"dude you're fuckin' scary..." angel physically shudders when alastor rises from the shadows and appears at your side. you raise an eyebrow before laughing at angel. "for real? look at those fluffy ears and little tail! this is scary?" you reach up and boop his ears, which twitch at your touch. he narrows his glare at you, daring you to test him further. "go on, darling. keep belittling me like that and you will know just how scary i am."

you roll your eyes, locking arms with him as he starts to lead you away from angel and the others. "you're all bark, no bite." you continue to prod, poking his cheek with your finger. "stop it." he warns, and his tone is serious, but you just stick your tongue out at him. "i'm not afraid of you, al." you huff with confidence. reaching the door to your room, he pauses. "oh?" his voice cracks through the radio static for a brief moment, and you feel goosebumps rise on your arms. "is that so?"

even though the look in his eyes has you reconsidering your brave behavior, you stand your ground. "yeah, what's so scary about the radio demon, hm? gonna haunt me while the top 20 pop songs play? or i guess you'd only haunt me over some jazz or someth-" your words catch in your throat when alastor's suddenly pushing you against the door to your bedroom, for anyone walking by to see. "you need to learn your place, little one."

with wide eyes, you look up at him. "what are you doing?" you whisper, glancing around the thankfully empty hallway. alastor easily towers over you, caging you against the door. "you should be afraid of me, sweetheart..." he says, low and breathy against your ear. "i think you just need to learn your lesson, that's all." you're about to protest, your hand flat against his chest but then you feel his lips on your skin and you all but melt. "i don't-" you gasp, alastor's teeth scraping against your neck.

"shhh." alastor's hands slide around your body, opening the door and walking you through it. "alastor..." you swallow, about to challenge him more but his hand wraps around your throat before you can. "not another peep until i say so." your mouth opens as alastor pushes you to the bed, but the tug of your pants and underwear stop you. "w-wait!" you scramble, but alastor just chuckles. "not so tough now, are you?"

he rolls your panties up into a ball and in the process, he can feel the wetness your panties have collected. "if you can't handle it, you're more than welcome to admit to me that you are scared, my darling." he teases, but you hold your ground with a glare. "now, as for your punishment... over my knee." he commands, sounding so natural in this demanding tone. you bite your lip, wiggling further onto the mattress and away from him. when he sighs, you can't help but giggle.

but then there's something wrapping around your ankle and sliding you over to alastor's lap. "h-hey wait, no fair!" you whine when you see his shadow tentacle secured around you. alastor chuckles, another tentacle coming up over your mouth. "tap my leg if it's too much." he whispers, and you know he's giving you an out even after your playful disrespect. but your pussy throbs as you're pulled over his leg, bare ass up and ready for him and you're fully invested in this now.

you shudder when alastor's hand rests on your ass before coming down hard on it with a smack. your shriek is mostly muffled by the shadow acting as a gag, especially as the second hit comes faster than expected. wiggling in his lap, you whine against his restraints until you feel something prodding at your pussy and go completely limp as a shadow starts to slowly push inside of you.

eyes wide, you wriggle in his grasp but it only earns you a smack to your other cheek. "just relax, darling. or are you scared?" he pouts above you, watching the way your body reacts to his every touch. his tentacle eases into you, stretching your cunt in such a way that you're seeing stars already. you moan against your gag, jolting when you're hit once again. alastor's large palm rubs the irritated, bright red skin as his tentacle fucks you in slow, languid strokes.

you're certainly not scared, and alastor is well aware of that fact by the way your pussy squelches with every push of his shadow. he can hear how wet you are without even looking. you gasp when you feel yet another tentacle pressing ever so gently against your ass, just prodding the tight muscle but not threating to enter. your head whips around to look at alastor, eyes wide with a tinge of panic, but alastor's smirk is reassuring.

he may be teaching you a lesson here, but he's not a monster and respects your boundaries after all.

"tapping out, my sweet?" he snickers when your wide eyes drop to a glare once again. "that's what i thought." he hums, another smack hitting your abused skin. he's just toying with your ass, the tip of his shadow just barely edging its way in but the pressure itself is enough to start pushing you towards the edge. and when the tentacle slips passed the tight ring of muscle, you can't stop your orgasm from following quickly after.

every nerve in your body rings as waves of pleasure crash over your, your moans barely muffled by alastor's tentacle over your mouth. you swear you've never cum harder ever, and yet alastor doesn't stop. he's still pumping his shadow in and out of your cunt, spreading your wetness all over your inner thighs and even onto his pants. it's almost too much, the fullness of having both holes played with as well as the feeling of being restrained the way you were.

your eyes well up with tears, overwhelmed with the sheer pleasure coursing through your veins and alastor doesn't seem like he's going to be stopping any time soon unless you tap out.

and you're not a bitch, so tapping out is not an option.

alastor's free hand reaches your other cheek and spreads it apart, giving himself a view of the action in front of him. he'd be lying if he said his cock wasn't throbbing at the sight of his shadow pumping in and out of your slick pussy, prodding your tight ass. you feel so exposed, you can feel his eyes burning through you but that only makes you clench harder. alastor gives your cheek another quick smack and you're a goner once more.

shaking, your second orgasm hits you even harder somehow. your whimpers are barely audible, but loud enough to make alastor groan himself. "fuck, hands and knees, now." he breathes, pushing you off of his lap and quickly undoing his pants just enough to free his aching cock. your restraints are removed, giving you free access to move once more, but you also lose the fullness of the tentacles. its not for long though, as alastor lines his cock up with your leaking pussy

as alastor starts to slide his cock inside, one hand finds your hip while the other pushes your head into the mattress. your thighs shake with every thrust, and your pussy aches from the prior intrustion already but you can't help yourself from pushing back on him. you probably seem desperate, cumming twice already and still eager for more, but alastor has you like putty in his hands. "oooh now see, who's a good little slut, hm?" he coos, fucking into you harder.

you whimper into the blanket, still muffled like earlier but more pronounced now and alastor's ears twitch with every moan. he won't soon forget this little interaction, seeing you so needy and obedient. he smacks each cheek, enjoying your pathetic sounding cries as your body begs for a break. "cum again, darling." alastor grunts, hips slamming into yours in quick strokes. you shake your head, protesting the potential, but alastor's shadow sneaks around your body to play with your clit.

"n-no too much-" you pant, both convulsing with every flick of his tentacle. alastor just clicks his tongue to his teeth. "one more, sweetheart. then, maybe you'll have learned your lesson." you feel every thrust of his cock hitting right against your cervix, your head spinning as alastor works to pull another orgasm from you. "f-fuckk al-" you cry out, pussy pulsing around his cock, tears springing free from the overwhelming pleasure.

alastor's orgasm follows quickly behind you, and he chooses to pull out and paint your reddened ass cheeks with his cum. the red skin, in contrast with the milky white of his seed is a sight he won't soon forget. you whimper with each thick rope of cum hitting your skin before you collapse onto the bed.

you dont remember too much after that, but alastor gets you cleaned up and you're asleep within seconds.

the next day, you walk into the kitchen with your head down. "ah! good morning, sunshine!" alastor chirps, sipping from his coffee cup. you feel everyone's eyes on you, but all you can do is stare at the ground. "shut it, asshole..." you mumble on your way to grab a drink yourself. alastor just smirks. "naww, is someone embarrassed?" he pouts, eyes wide and teasing. "im never talking to you again." you threaten, but alastor hums and ignores your weak threat.

because you're crawling into his bed that night, begging for more.

taglist: @downbadforfictionalppl @karolinda007-blog @the-alastor-simp @batmanmonstarr @lilcupnoodlez @cxrsedwxrlds @murdertrampx @sssandychemd @jellibean2018

[hobies-princealbert]

"you wanna guess the colour of my underwear?"~✿

logan "wolverine" howlett x black!reader

there's something about a hairy man with a bad attitude that i can't resist

♡ ° ๑ • ♡ ° ๑ • ♡ ° ๑ • ♡ ° ๑ • ♡ ° ๑ • ♡ °

"the fuck are you on about?"

"oh come on lo, just play along. i'd make me really happy if you did. com' on bubby."

dear god. logan couldn't even begin to understand why you choose NOW to play games with him.

you couldn't possibly be serious. especially now after the way you spent the entire day staring at him like a piece of meat. every glance, stare or shy little gestures, he caught. he knew you were worked up as hell.

it's not like he can't smell the arousal on you either. he's been drowning in that scent all damn day.

he smelt it peak, when he caught you staring at him during his workout. and he offered his arm, which you held onto the entire walk home.

and you were damn near suffocating him when you were sat on his lap watching some b-movie, like the rest of the couch wasn't an option. you thought you were slick with the squirms. and on top of it you had the nerve to give half ass, whispered apologies whenever he grunts cause your ass nudged his crotch.

soon logan decided it was time to put an end to your little charades. he's giving you what you want. he touched you just how you liked it; traced kisses along your jaw, hands firm on your ass, with little praises here and there. so now that he's propped up against the headboard and your straddling his waist, why the fuck do you want him to guess the underwear you got on?

"come on bubby, what do you think? is it that pretty and pink one? or that see-through one? or that thong that shows my little bunny tatt?"

"why the hell i gotta guess for bub? they'll be on the floor in a min or two." logan really didn't want to entertain this, but he knows how sulky you get when he doesn't humor you, so why not? what does he have to lose?

a lot. he had a lot to lose actually. his patience. his humor. and soon his boner, if you stopped grinding against his dick to add to the frustration, and your amusement.

why was this so hard to guess? sure, he's seen your underwear before, but he only thought of it as something to rid of. and the only ones he did remember, weren't the right damn answer. the purple one with little frills? the white lacey one? the orange one with that stupid cat doodle?

thank god you had some mercy on him and gave some hints here and there. "come on baby, i know you can do it. think tokyo." the flash of realization across logan's face had you squirming with delight.

"that black pair with the bow, huh? good choice bub. very fuckin' good choice"

[entitled-fangirl]

Breakfast is ready.

Felix Catton x reader

Summary: The reader feels sick, but Felix is going to make sure she eats breakfast.

Words: 968

Warnings: sickness, cursing

Author's note: This is kind of from an ask but I made it just about breakfast!

Masterlist

................................................................

She woke up to the blinds being opened by the maid, "Breakfast is ready."

She let out a soft groan, sitting up and stretching her arms out. Her hair was a mess, her clothes frumpeld. She looked over to see that Felix's side of the bed was empty and quite cold. He had been out for a while, and she couldn't possibly guess why he would leave her.

She pushed herself to the edge of the bed, standing onto her feet. Her head hurt, perhaps her body becoming ill, but there was no skipping breakfast. Her legs shivered, her now realizing she is only in Felix's shirt and her underwear. 

Running to the dresser, she pulls a pair of slacks. Pulling them on quickly, she throws a jumper over Felix's shirt. She tames her hair just enough to look presentable. But she takes an extra minute in the mirror, looking at the bags under her eyes. How late had they stayed up?

Throwing on a pair of socks to keep her feet warm, she quickly goes downstairs to breakfast.

Entering the dining room, she's greeted with quiet, "Morning"s. Her eyes immediately scan the table, seeing Felix look up at her too. A bright smile comes across his face at the sight of her sleepy form.

She quickly moves to sit next to him. As she sits down, she feels Felix's hand rest on her back, "You alright, angel?" He asks in a low tone.

"I… yeah. I just don't know why you didn't wake me up this morning." Her hand reaches up to her head as the headache comes back.

He lets out a soft laugh, whispering in her ear, "Well, I figured you deserve as much beauty sleep as I could give you. Seemed to work. I mean, look at you this morning. Taking my fuckin breathe away."

A smile graced her face as her cheek turned a shade of pink.

Duncan entered, "Goodmorning. How would you like your eggs?"

She grimaced, her voice coming out still quiet and hoarse from her sleep, "I'm fine, Duncan. I'm not that hung-"

"-She'll have them over easy. Thanks."

Duncan leaves with a nod.

She turned to Felix, "Why did you do that?"

He shrugs, his arm going over the back of her chair, "You need to eat."

She gives a slight pout, "I can't… my head hurts too bad."

His eyebrows furrow, "Did you sleep alright?"

She nods, "I slept fine, Lex."

He doesn't take that for an answer.

"Listen, angel. You think you're getting sick?"

"No. No. I'm alright."

He nods, deciding not to fight about it at the table. A silence ensues for a while before he decides to break it again. "Oh, angel. We were talking about the Shelley biography."

Venetia jumped in, "yeah. Do you know the story about Shelley's doppelgänger?"

She shook her head, stopping once she remembered the headache.

Felix got up from the table, going to the side table.

Venetia continued, "Shelley's housekeeper was cleaning one of the rooms when Shelley walked past the window and waved at her. So, she waved back before she realized that Shelley was in Italy…"

Felix had returned to the table, gently setting the now made plate in front of his angel for her to eat. She looked at him with a slightly disagreeing look, but knew not to fight about it at the table. 

"…And she was on the top floor of the house…"

Felix grimaced at Venetia's story, his hands moving over his girl's ears to keep her from hearing it. If it would freak him out, he knew she shouldn't hear it, "Oh, Vee. Stop, stop, stop. I won't sleep."

But she continued, "…a few hours later, he drowned."

Elspeth gasped, "oh. Oh, that's just given me goosebumps."

Felix took his hands back, considering it safe for his girl to listen again.

Farleigh stared at the paper in front of him, his voice strong and uncaring, "I heard he fucked his sister."

Sir James finally spoke up, "Oh, for God's sake!"

Felix turned, "Jesus, Farleigh…"

Oliver quipped up, "I think that was Byron."

The table went quiet, as if everyone had forgotten that Oliver was there. That quickly turned to small chatter between the adults.

Farleigh looked disgusted but Felix held an amused smile on his face, turning to her to see she had a matching one. He then pointed at her plate, as if telling her to eat it. About that time, Duncan brought out her eggs, setting it next to her other full plate. She let out a sigh, staring at the food. 

Elspeth was brought out of her talk hearing the girl's sigh. "Oh, darling. Is everything alright?"

Her eyes snapped up, her mouth opening to answer, but Felix beat her to it, "she's not feeling well, that's all."

The mother nodded, "Oh, I see. Nasty sickness going around this time of year. Take your time today, darling."

She nodded gratefully, turning back to her plate. The chattering continued and she continued to stare at the plate. Eventually, Felix brushed her arm lightly with his, his voice soft again, "Is something wrong, angel? You really must eat."

She simply stared at the eggs, feeling herself get sick just staring at them. Felix noticed it, immediately moving the plate away, "Duncan. Could I actually get some eggs just… scrambled?"

"Felix, stop."

"No. I want you to be able to eat what's in front of you. Duncan?"

Duncan nodded, taking the plate away quickly. 

She turns to see everyone staring at them. She mutters a quiet, "I'm sorry."

Felix sighs, "Don't be, angel." He kissed the top of her head as she stared at the table in embarrassment. 

Breakfast continued, Felix's arm around the back of her chair the entire time.

...................................................................

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || 141 x reader

[ Chapter 1 ] || [ Chapter 3 ]

Pairing: Soap x Reader || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1K~ cw: a bit of dirty talking/innuendos Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you?

Chapter 2: Johnny

“Oh, hello…” You remarked to yourself as your eyes locked into a stunning pair of blue eyes on your screen, stopping your mindless right-swipping. “...Johnny.”

“You’re 29… A soldier… Scottish… Are you friends with Kyle?” You mused playfully. “Let me guess, you’re a gym bro, aren’t you?” You asked sarcastically as you tapped your finger on the right side, skipping through his pictures. The first one immediately after was him lifting while wearing a weightlifting belt. “Yup… Mandatory gym pic.”

Chuckling to yourself, you snap a screenshot of his profile to the girls as well, sending it quick.

leah: @/mia Whatever good energy you sent its working. second hot guy in the last 5 minutes! mia: i lit a CANDLE for this!!!!! leah: there weren’t any handsome guys like this when i was on tinder?! 😫 UNFAIR. 🙄 you: blow it out then cause this is the 3rd actually. leah: 3rd??? Where’s number 2??? you: didn’t think to snap a screenshot. hasn’t matched me back yet. mia: has he posted a shirtless pic? you: kyle did and this one idk but probably. need to check. leah: Don’t forget to send it over.🥴

Shaking your head and laughing in amusement, you went back to Tinder, checking on ‘Johnny’. The mandatory gym pic was there… a couple of them in fact! And then the mandatory shirtless selfie. Or rather… The mandatory shirtless SELFIES. Plural.

Three of them… The first one was him just straight up wearing just a towel… And the next was him in a kilt… And the next was him with a button-up very much so unbuttoned. 

“Oh, my, Johnny-John-John… You sure know how to woo a bird…” You joked to yourself.

You dragged your finger down to check his bio and immediately frowned. “Of course…” You trailed off with a disappointed frown as you snuck another spring roll into your mouth.

He might be stupidly attractive, but his personality… Gosh, he doesn’t know how to sell himself. Boring, boring, boring. “I work out and like video games!” You quipped mockingly and scoffed a bit.

“Artist.” You remarked when you reached the last of his profile’s tags, spotting that word in the hobby section. “An artist? You?” You asked your phone screen as if Johnny would come alive in it and answer you. 

You’d admit, him calling himself an artist was intriguing enough, but normally that wouldn’t be enough to make you Swipe Right on him… But you’re not under normal circumstances. You promised your friends you’d Swipe Right on everyone so…

Your phone almost dropped out of your hand as soon as the ‘It’s a Match’ screen showed. “Of course… He’s probably swiping right on everyone as well…” Rolling your eyes, you go to click off the screen but accidentally enter DMs.

Johnny: ye have any scottish in you? you: not that i know of. Johnny: would ye like to? 🫦 Johnny: wait. wdym not that ye know of??? Johnny: i was trying to be filthy and now got me curious bonnie

“Fuckin’ hell…” You said as you set down your phone and covered your face before breaking into a fit of giggles.

The fact you had accidentally ruined his pick-up line and succeeded in stumping him got you very, very amused. Okay, maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as boring as you thought.

you: story for another time. you: i walked right into that one tho. good job. Johnny: no ye cant do that Johnny: gotta tell me all about it now you: i mean werent scottish people everywhere in the uk at one point? you: i might be 1/370232103484320th scottish. Johnny: would ye like some MORE scottish in ye then? 🫦 you: solid attempt again. you: if you keep trying you might just get there. Johnny: i intend to dont worry you: soooo… Johnny: so? you: were you wearing underwear under the kilt? Johnny: no Johnny: why want a peek? 😏 you: i’m good you: so ur an artist? Johnny: i am Johnny: ur fast at typing fuck you: what kind? you: keep up then! Johnny: drawing Johnny: im trying 🥴 you: can i see some? Johnny: hanging with my mates difficult to text fast 😤 Johnny: idk if ull be in the mood to see anything after im done with ye you: why? 🤨 Johnny: might be too tired and need to be cuddled to sleep 😏 you: oh fuck off. Johnny: u just cursed me out Johnny: i think m in love 😫 Johnny: gonna tell my mates i just met my spouse 🥴🥴 you: don’t give them any ideas. you: haven’t even agreed to meet up with you. you: haven’t been invited in the first place. Johnny: meet up with me 🙏 Johnny: meet up with me 🙏 Johnny: meet up with me 🙏 Johnny: meet up with me 🙏 Johnny: meet up with me 🙏

Your eyes widened at his enthusiasm and persistence. Okay, he was definitely not boring… It was actually kind of endearing and funny!

you: jc r u copypasting that? Johnny: yes Johnny: are ye going to or not you: can i get back to you on that? Johnny: ill wait for ye you: sure you do that johnny Johnny: ow the sarcasm burns

Concealing a chuckle, you clicked off the DMs page for the second time tonight… but, this time, you closed the app and focused on eating dinner.

Sure, this whole dating app thing was stupid, but at least you were enjoying yourself. 

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IF THE GIF DOESN'T WORK FOR YOU: CLICK HERE

taglist: @daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthoney , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe

[ink-n-shadow]

don't mind me, just writing more pet play!141...😇

𝜗𝜚 pairing: pricegaz x fem!reader 𝜗𝜚 cw: smut (minors—DNI), pet play (are we surprised atp), owner!price, puppy!gaz and reader, brat taming?, bondage, punishment, oral (price!receiving), gaz being an angel

ik i talk a lot about pet play!ghoap x reader and how puppy!soap is a brat and reader is the angel, but what if i talked about pet play!pricegaz x reader, where puppy!gaz is an absolute angel and reader is a brat?

like puppy!kyle is the most obedient boy. he treats every word that owner!price says like it's the word of God itself, never giving any backtalk or second guessing his orders. price wants his cock down someone's throat for an hour? kyle is sitting pretty under his desk just waiting for him. his owner needs somewhere to tap off the ash of his cigars? kyle's more than willing to offer up the skin of his back.

you, on the other hand, are all snarling teeth and whines. following orders isn't easy for you, but that's okay—owner!price knows you just need a firm hand to make you all warm and fuzzy and pliable in his palms.

so it only makes sense that you’re often folded over in the king sized bed you three share, hands cuffed behind your back and resting on your lower back with your ass stuck up in the air. a pair of your underwear is stuffed between your slick lips, forced so deep that the lace tickles the back of your throat, and you’re whining pitifully at the fact that you’re unable to spit it out.

john is sitting off to the side of the bed in one of the plush leather recliners in your bedroom, legs spread to accommodate the way kyle is nestled prettily between his thighs. it's hard to make out all of the details in your tear-slicked vision, the only thing consistent being the bright orange glow of john's cigar each time he takes a puff. the only sounds you can hear over your own sniveling is the gargling of kyle throating his owner's cock and the jingling of the collar he wears (the one that matches the one currently tethered to your throat).

"what's wrong, pup?" john murmurs to you pitifully, head tilting and eyes softening in faux sympathy as he carelessly ashes off the end of his cigar somewhere over kyle’s knelt body. “y’want something? use yer words, then. loud and clear, pet.”

but you know that john knows you can’t, know that he knows he pushed your underwear deep enough in your maw that you can’t even form a syllable around the satin. it makes you whimper petulantly at his condescending words, the handcuffs jingling behind your back in an effort to squirm enough so that you can see kyle’s lips stretched around the thick head of john’s cock.

“no—stay in yer fuckin’ place,” john is quick to scold you into submission, the quirk in his brow more than enough to halt your movements and make you sink back into your folded position once more. “y’wanted to act like a brat, so ‘m treatin’ you like one.”

john’s scolding is interrupted by a ragged gag ripping through kyle’s throat when his owner’s cock slips to far, making him sputter up for a breath with drool and pre-cum slicking down his chin. the sight is enough to make john coo warmly, petting at kyle’s hair with a gentle touch.

“should’ve been a good pup like kyle is—yeah, good boy,” john’s words spill out into a rumbling moan as kyle sinks his mouth back down around his cock, taking him down until the head of his cock is brushing at the back of kyle’s throat. “good pets get rewarded, isn’t that right, pretty boy? tell ‘em what bein’ good’ll get ‘em.”

but with john’s heavy hand on the back of kyle’s neck, all kyle can offer you is a choked moan amidst the slick squelches of his throat being fucked.

[hederasgarden]

More Than You Bargained For

Summary: After winning a bet with Tangerine during game night, you go to collect—only to find you’ve gotten more than you bargained for. Pairing: Tangerine x F!Reader Word Count: 1.7K Rating: 18+ only, explicit sexual content. Oral sex (m and f receiving), use of restraints and dirty talk. A/N: Thank you to @writercole for beta'ing and providing the title. Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Aaron Taylor Johnson Character Masterlist

It’s Friday night, and you’ve got a rare weekend with Tangerine all to yourself. It’s the perfect opportunity to collect on that bet he lost during game night. Especially since you know exactly how your boyfriend gets between assignments—intense and restless with too much energy and nowhere to channel it. And you? You’ve got the perfect solution ready.

“It’s time to pay up,” you announce, striding into the living room and holding up the fuzzy pink cuffs for Tangerine to see.

He’s sprawled out on the couch, one leg casually crossed over the other, his shoes resting on your coffee table. He lifts his eyes from his phone and gives you an incredulous look. "You must be joking, luv."

“Well, a bet’s a bet. Unless, of course, you’re just gonna be a sore loser,” you reply, raising an eyebrow. “Guess I’ll have to tell Lemon he doesn’t need to pay you the money you won in poker after all.”

Tangerine scoffs but gets to his feet. “This is fuckin’ ridiculous,” he mutters, following you into the bedroom.

“Take off your jacket and shoes. You can leave the rest,” you direct sweetly.

Your instructions earn you an arched brow but Tangerine does as you ask, carefully removing his suit jacket, folding it neatly over the chair beside the bed, before he slips off his shoes and socks. He loosens his tie, taking his time as he rolls up his sleeves, fully aware of the effect it has on you. Even with the jacket gone, you can't help but admit he looks damn good in the rest of his blue suit.

“Well?” He asks expectantly.

You gesture for him to get on the bed, amused by the look of sheer annoyance on his face. He allows you to cuff each wrist to the headboard with little resistance, but when you remove the pillow from under his head, he shoots you a disgruntled glare.

"Comfortable?" you ask, loosening the tie of your robe to reveal the lacy lingerie you chose for tonight.

It's sheer, leaving nothing to the imagination. You've forgone the underwear, a fact Tangerine clearly appreciates, if the way he runs his tongue along his lower lip is anything to go by. You approach the bed slowly, letting him drink his fill of you. His face remains impassive as you trail a hand up his leg, fingertips catching on the fine silk fabric. When you reach the crotch of his pants you tease him through the fabric long enough to make him shift and grunt. 

"I’m still wearin’ my suit," Tangerine reminds you when you climb on the bed and straddle his waist. 

"Oh I know," you reply, crawling over his body until you hover over his chest. "I don't need your clothes off for what I plan to do."

He stares directly at your cunt, lips parting as he inhales your scent. Even though he’s seen you naked a hundred times he still looks absolutely mesmerized. It sends a thrill through you, bolstering your confidence. 

"No smart remarks?" You ask. 

Your question seems to jolt him out of his haze and he looks back up at you, ready to deliver a sharp retort no doubt, but the words die as you lower yourself over his face. The muffled groan that rattles in his chest has you shifting forward, grasping the headboard to steady yourself. For one agonizing second, nothing happens, and doubt creeps in, threatening to unsettle you. Then Tangerine drags the flat of his tongue through your center. Your thighs tense and he does it again. 

Together, you find a rhythm that has you both moaning. The two-day stubble on his jaw and his thick mustache rub against the soft skin of your thighs and his nose bumps your clit as you ride his face. Even like this, without the benefit of his fingers or his cock, Tangerine’s talented mouth is working overtime to bring you to the edge. You know if you’re not careful you’ll come too quickly and your fun will be over.

Your hips slow, and you shift back to give him some air. The lower half of his face is shiny and pink, and he stares up at you with lust-blown eyes. It isn’t often you find your boyfriend at a loss for words. 

“What a good boy,” you tease, amused to see his hands curl into fists, muscles straining against the cuffs. They rattle ominously, and for a brief moment, you wonder if the flimsy metal will be able to contain him. “So obedient,” you add.

His eyebrows rise, clearly surprised by the way you speak to him. This wasn’t how things usually played out between the two of you. But you don’t give him a chance to respond, pressing your cunt to his mouth again. It’s killing him not to touch you or be in charge and, for a brief moment, you consider freeing him. You know he’d make you see stars, but then you remember his infuriatingly smug face during game night and decide he could suffer a little longer.

“I’d ask if you can breathe, but I honestly don’t care,” you pant, reaching down to thread your fingers through his thick hair and yank him even closer.

In response Tangerine spears his tongue into your channel and lifts his chin. The action has you gasping and rocking into his mouth as the coil in your belly pulls taunt. You’re closer than you care to admit. Your boyfriend was always good at unraveling you and tonight’s no exception. The resolve to make him suffer and prolong this falters as you surrender yourself to his touch. You come with a silent gasp, your hips moving on instinct to chase the feelings flooding you. Beneath you, Tangerine’s body jolts upward and a deep, almost desperate groan resonates in his chest. Startled, you pull away and stare down at him concerned but he just stares back at you. 

When he shifts again you glance back, shocked to realize what just happened.

“Did you….just come from this?” You question. 

He huffs, licking his lips as he takes in a greedy breath. Despite his effort to seem unaffected, you can see the way he seems to struggle for control. He rolls his eyes and rattles the cuffs. “Gonna let me out?” he asks, his voice edged with impatience.

“Not until you answer me,” you shoot back. 

He stares back at you, lips pressed firmly together. He was a stubborn bastard.

“You really should answer me,” you whisper, shifting down his body until you’re kneeling between his thighs. He watches as you slowly undo his belt and pull his zipper down. He’s not wearing underwear and you reach into his pants, releasing his half hard cock that’s sticky and coated with his release. “If you do, I’ll help clean you up.”

You cup his balls and he inhales sharply but otherwise remains stubbornly silent. The kiss you press to the veiny underside of his cock has him lifting his hips briefly before he seems to regain control of himself. The tendons in his forearms staring as he pulls on the cuffs, irritated when they remain firmly in place. 

“If you’d rather we end this game here…” you threaten, stepping back and placing your foot firmly on the floor.

Tangerine grunts, his body shifting slightly. “I came,” he mutters, his frustration clear.

“Mmm,” you purr, moving back between his legs. You take the head of his cock into the wet heat of your mouth and slowly suck him clean, savoring the salty, tart taste you love. Tangerine groans and tries to push more of his cock into your mouth but you pull away.

“Did you like being tied up?” You ask. 

“No,” he groans. You rub your thumb over the sensitive head and stare down at him. “A little.” He admits. 

“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” You question, pumping his length. “The longer you talk, the longer I’ll keep this up.”

He sighs and stares up at the ceiling briefly. “I didn’ mind it,” he concedes, hissing when you swallow him down to the root. “Fuckin’ hell,” he pants. You make sure to pull back slowly, keeping firm pressure around his cock as it slips past the tight ring of your lips. “I liked it. Havin’ you sit on my face.”

You seal your lips around the head of his cock and suck, tracing your tongue over and through his slit. The choked off inhale he makes has you feeling embolden and you swallow him again, gasping when he bucks into your mouth. He groans your name, a litany of filthy praise falls from his lips as you work his cock in and out of your mouth quickly. You move faster, letting his tip touch the back of your throat and hollowing your cheeks. You watch him through your lashes, loving how he looks completely at your mercy, mouth parted and chest heaving.

Soft little desperate sounds pass his lips as you increase the pace. Your fingers move between your legs to touch yourself. Everything’s still slippery from his mouth and you’re a little overly sensitive but you’re so turned on that it takes so little to have you flying, your own moan adding to Tangerine’s pleasure. He comes again with a loud, drawn-out groan. There’s too much cum for you to swallow although you try your best as you let him push himself deep into your throat. Cum leaks out, dribbling down your chin and onto his expensive suit.  

When you pull back he’s trembling all over. Your throat is sore and you’re covered in a mess of fluids but pride swells your chest. Tangerine stares up at you, sweat dotting his brow. You clear your throat and use your thumb to gather the excess saliva and cum from the corner of your mouth. Surprisingly, he doesn’t resist when you press your thumb between his lips. He sucks and you stare at him, feeling something stir in your belly. 

“Take off the cuffs,” he gristles. “Now.”

For a second you consider denying the request but something in his eyes warns you that’s not the best idea. So you do as he asks, nearly dropping the key at first. Once he’s free you find yourself on your back with him looming over you. He presses his body into yours, his hand around your throat. 

“I hope you had your fun, darlin’,” he whispers, “because now it’s my turn.”

[criswritessometimes]

quick break

contents - kissing, clit play, grinding, if you squint a little degrading and praise, smut

authors note // based off of this post by @fanficfox !! 18+ under break!!

you hear schlatt screaming from his office about rooms he was reviewing on stream. “that’s fuckin’ nasty man! nah we’re taking a break after that, i gotta piss.” he says to his camera as he takes his headphones off and puts them on his desk. he walks out to find you on the sofa, wrapped up in a blanket, playing a game on your ipad. he walks up to the back of the sofa, looking over you, “hey toots, you look comfy.” you smile up at him, “i am, how’s the stream?” schlatt walks around the couch to sit down with you for a minute. it doesn’t take him long for his hands to creep onto your thigh and trace patterns. his eyes look down at the connection, “it’s fine, i guess. i feel like i could be putting my time to better things.” his eyes dart up to yours, then back down, “but it’s fine gotta pay the bills.” you chuckle, “jay, i can always pick up extra shif-” he cuts you off by kissing you. his hand on your thigh moves to your inner thigh and closer to your core as his other hand holds your head by your jaw and neck. “but you look so pretty all comfy like this doll.” he whispers to you as he starts to hover over you to get to you lay down.

you start to feel lightheaded as his fingers begin to rub your folds through your pants, and his mouth starts to leave kisses from your mouth to your neck sucking and pulling on the skin lightly. “hmmm, jay what about stream.” you whimper out. his mouth breaks from your neck as he looks at you and says, “what about ‘em?” at the last word, you feel his hand move to your underwear over the hem. your eyes go wide as he starts to play with your clit. “oh my sweet baby, always so wet after i kiss your neck, yeah?” schlatt whispers in your neck as his hand continues. you throw your head back in pleasure as you hold onto his shoulders, and your legs start to widen. “please jay, please go faster, need more pressure.” you beg him as your hips begin to buck to meet his finger. “but i wanna play with you for a bit longer love.” his voice is dripping in sweetness, as to tell you he’s doing this for you and not because he needs a break. “please baby. need your fingers in me and your tongue on my clit.” you beg out again, trying to plea to get more stimulation. schlatt’s shocked you can still form sentences as his eyebrows jump, “oh wow, we can still make sentences, i guess you can get my fingers.”

his hand moves down slightly as you can feel his pointer and ring finger at your entrance. “so wet for me, so good, doll.” he kisses your jaw as his fingers slowly sink into you. your face relaxes as you can feel each knuckle going in, then out, then in again. schlatt feels your grip release from his shoulder, “yeah, feeling good?” you nod, your teeth holding your lip to hold back your moans. you can feel your orgasm threatening to take over and schlatt notices too. “gonna cum? come on cum all over my fingers, toots. “yeah, please let me cum, please, baby.” you beg him. “aw, so good to ask; go ahead, doll. cum all over my fingers.” he encourages. you let your orgasm tighten and relax your body all at once, your head is thrown back, and your eyes are screwed shut. however, you can hear schlatt unbuckle his belt and the zipper on his jeans. 

right as you're about to look back up at him, “oh shit, i gotta get back to stream.” he scrambles off you, kisses your forehead, and fixes his pants while rushing back to his office. he sits back down as the chat is cheering for his return. he puts his headphones back on, “hey guys, sorry for the long break jambo threw up and i had to clean the couch real quick and throw a blanket in the wash. lets get back to looking at your disgusting rooms.” he eyes the chat as he’s going through the drive.

whaletail: aww poor jambo :(

cashewdeznuts: JAMBOOOO NOOOOO

firefoxy69: wait didnt schlatt say a while a go jambo never throws up??

[abbysbug]

— ellie was the Imposter.

pairing: imposter!ellie x afab!reader

summary: you're a crewmate on the ship and unfortunately stumble upon the imposter's first murder.

content: noncon, fingering (r receiving), degradation, HEAVY blood mention, dead bodies, description of murder, character death, knives, dark!ellie.

a/n: yeah, this is an among us AU, what about it??

You covered your mouth to muffle a scream and your eyes widened in fear. “Holy fuck.”

Ellie Williams, one of the crewmates on the ship, stood over Tommy Miller’s dead body holding a knife. His blood leaked from the multiple stab wounds in his back, creating a large blood puddle surrounding them. Ellie’s uniform and knife were stained with his blood.

She stepped towards you, her grip around her knife tightening. She had a sick, disgusting smile painted across her face.

“You’re going to get caught, you know that, right?” you tried to sound confident, but the shake in your voice ruined that.

“Will I?”

You weren’t going to die, not here, not now. As Ellie continued to stalk toward you, her knife leaving a trail of blood, you frantically searched for an escape. Your eyes landed on the pipe on the other side of the room. If you were able to get it, you would have a chance of fighting back.

Surprising Ellie, you shoved her to the ground and sprinted towards the pipe. You sighed in relief when your fingers wrapped it.

Ellie growled and pulled herself to her feet. “Little bitch.”

You swung the pipe at her when she tried to get closer, just merely missing her. For a few minutes, that cycle repeated, until she was able to grab onto the pipe and pull you towards her.

“I never thought you would be so irritating to kill.” she sneered.

She slammed you into the wall and held her knife to your neck, smearing Tommy’s blood onto your skin. Her other hand held your hip down, pinning you against the wall and herself. 

“I deserve to have a little fun with you before I slit your throat, don’t you think?”

“I think you’re fucking sick.”

Her hand slipped to your waistband, and you thrashed in her hold. She tsked, digging her fingernails into your skin.

“The more you fight, the longer and more painful your death will be.” she dug the tip of the knife into your skin to further her point.

Her knife dragged downwards, staining your once white suit with a red streak. With one quick motion, she sliced the seam of your pants and pushed your underwear to the side. Her bloodied fingers were warm against your skin. 

“Why?” you croaked.

Ellie pouted mockingly, “Uh, because I can?”

Typical sick, twisted answer.

Her knife pressed against your neck again and her lips ghosted yours. One finger pressed into you and your walls clamped around her. You tried not to think about how Tommy’s blood was a perfect lubricant. Her thrusts were slow and teasing; you almost wanted to beg for her to go faster. 

“What, am I not fuckin’ you right or something, baby?” Ellie questioned. “Or are you always this silent?”

“Is this how you normally fuck girls?” you smiled at how that upsetted her. “I guess you’re just bad at-” you choked on your words as Ellie found that sweet, pleasurable spot. Your knees buckled and Ellie was forced to hold you upwards as she slipped another finger inside and relentlessly drilled into you.

“Bad at sex, huh?” she shook her head in disbelief that someone would say that. “Says the bitch that can’t even hold themselves up because I’m fucking them too good.”

She grabbed onto your throat; her knife dug into your skin and she forced you to look at her. She knew you were close from how you desperately clenched around her fingers and moaned louder. 

“Please.” you begged.

“Please, what?”

Maybe if your brain wasn’t so clouded, you would’ve begged for your life. “Please, let me cum.”

Ellie shrugged and her thumb pressed against your clit. The final bit of pleasure you needed. You shuddered against her hold and your head fell against the wall. If Ellie had given you a few extra seconds, you would’ve thanked her. Unfortunately, she sliced your throat, paralysing your vocal cords and making you choke on your own blood. You collapsed to the ground and clawed at your throat. 

“Idiot,” she huffed.

[amen-to-tiddies]

MORE HC'S PLS!!!

| X MALE READER |

| FINDING YOUR USED UNDERWEAR HEADCANNONS | [NSFW]

-> spicy bedroom headcannons <-

Mingi (ATEEZ) - Pathetic, Weak-Willed

He doesn’t mean to find them, really, he doesn’t.

He’s just at your place, chilling, waiting for you to get out of the shower when there they are. Bunched up on the floor, still warm, worn, filthy, smelling like you. Instantly red in the face. His breath catches. His fingers twitch. He should leave it alone, but he can’t help himself.

The second he realizes what he’s holding? His face goes bright red but his cock twitches hard.

He should leave it alone, but he can’t help himself. Before he even realizes it, he’s lifting the boxers to his face and sniffing.

The slut in him can't help but let out a soft, shaky moan. His hips press forward, fingers tightening around the fabric. "F-fuck, that’s" He bites his lip. He’s already hard.

Sitting on the edge of your bed, he starts palming himself through his pants, pressing the fabric right to his face as his body trembles, too lost in the feeling to notice the shower has stopped running.

When you come back in? He’s got that guilty, glazed-over look, knees pressed together, your underwear still clutched in his fingers.

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BIG MATTHEW (KARD) - Dumb, Desperate, Needy

He doesn’t even try to play it cool. The moment he sees them? they're in his big hands.

“Oh shit” His brain short-circuits the moment he realizes what he’s holding.

Stares for a long time, then with one quick movement he presses them right to his face, and groans.

The scent hits him like a truck. His whole body goes hot.

Sucks in a breath through his teeth. His cock twitches in his sweats.

"Fuck, you’re tryna kill me."

He’s already pulling his cock out. Doesn’t even have time to get his pants all the way off before he’s fisting himself with your underwear still clutched in his other hand.

Definitely leaves a mess in them. Doesn’t even think twice. You were gonna do laundry anyway, right?

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San (ATEEZ) - Shameless, Filthy, Possessive Bastard

He doesn’t ‘find’ your underwear... he hunts for them.

Digs through your laundry basket like a man on a mission because he knows what he wants.

When he finally pulls out something used, sweaty, worn-in? He smiles ear to ear.

Rolls his tongue against the inside of his cheek.

Holds it up. Looks at it like he’s appraising it.

"Damn, baby. So fuckin’ messy, huh?"

He’s not just standing there sniffing it he’s palming himself through his pants, rolling his hips, fucking filthy.

Sends you a video. Holds the camera low, cock bulging under his sweats, your underwear pressed up against his face.

"Guess what I found, baby? Hope you weren’t expecting these back clean."

Jerks off into them. Stains them up worse. Then puts them right back where he found them.

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Jay Park - Straight-Up Nasty, Dirty, Freak

Oh, he loves this shit.

He sees them hanging off your hamper and immediately grabs them, rolling them between his fingers.

Checks them. Front, back, inside. Raises an eyebrow when he sees a little stain.

Grins. Tongue peeking between his teeth. "Nasty lil’ thing, huh?"

Presses them to his nose, takes a slow, deep inhale, and groans.

Takes his time. Strokes himself slow. Lets himself get nice and thick before he even thinks about fully jerking off.

Doesn’t put them back.

Next time you see him? He leans in close and pulls a bit of the fabric out of his pocket, just enough for you to recognize your boxers.

smirks against your ear, and whispers "I’m keepin’ these by the way. You’re gonna have to earn ‘em back if you want em''."

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