#shimmying my lil HANDS

[jazzzzzzhands]

Manifesting him IRL!!! Into my room!! I just know he will appreciate my decor!! He is being so so patient, while I draw him in! (based on a Dream I had)

[cybersteal]

I swear to god these chaps are going to be the fucking death of me. Bless @pinkyjulien and his big big brain.

[issues-oclock]

So I over the last few months I've made multiple ocs for casino cups/ lil lucifer but then recently realized that the system of what happens to people when they die in canon wouldn't allow what happened in said ocs plotlines to happen so uh....Anyone interested in an Au? (the only thing that really changes is the system of what happens to someone after they die and the system of hells society). Cus these lil buggers have been trying to burst from my head for a while now and I want to talk about them.

[deansbeer]

✷ ◟ LAZY DAYS & LOADED TENSION ৎ᠀

library introduction minors do NOT interact!

SYNOPSIS. a lazy day with dean takes an unexpected turn when the tension ignites into an intense, passionate moment between you.

WARNING(S). heated make out session | f!reader | grinding | telepathic!reader | playful banter | ass squeezing (?) | domestic fluff | best friends to lovers / idiots in love trope | reader's a HUGE britney spears fan | older!dean | movie date | mentions of the DEAN CAVE | mentions of a gun | filthy semi-smut.

KARI'S 🗒️ NOTES. this was all heavily inspired by bree's & nat's lil monster <3 who i oh so love sososo much❗️get ready for some actual smut between these two on dean's bday (JAN 24) so for the next three days u will only be getting the cutesy awkward stuff (except for this one).

it's a lazy day in the bunker, one of those rare moments where the world outside seems to pause, letting you all take a breath. sam had gone out for his usual morning run, leaving dean behind, who you know is likely at the table cleaning his guns. bolt is curled up in his crate by your nightstand, fast asleep, his little nose twitching occasionally as he dreams.

you, on the other hand, are in your own little world. britney spears' gimme more is blasting through your earbuds, taking you somewhere far from the dimly lit bunker. your feet are bare, toenails painted a soft baby pink, and you're swaying to the music as you tidy up your cluttered room. you're wearing light blue high-waisted mom jeans, slightly loose around the ankles but hugging your hips perfectly, and a white baby tee with nothing underneath. the cool air in the room makes it so your nipples peek through the thin fabric, but you don't care—it's just you, after all.

your hair is set in pink plastic rollers, bouncing slightly as you move around, shimmying your hips to the beat of the song. you're lost in the lyrics, mouthing along as you pick up bottles of hair products, tossing them into a little basket by your tiny vanity.

the door to your room is open, but you don't think much of it. it's just dean here, and he's doing his own thing. you spin around slightly, half-dancing as you grab another bottle of mousse from your bed, when you feel it—a slight rub against your hip.

your body freezes, your heart jumping into your throat. instinct kicks in immediately, and you yank the earbuds out of your ears, the sound of britney's voice cutting off abruptly. your hand flies to the drawer of your tiny vanity where dean's gun sits, the weight of it familiar in your hands as you whip around, aiming it at whoever—or whatever—is behind you.

"whoa, whoa! easy there, sweetheart!"

the voice is low and familiar, and it takes you a second to realize it's dean. his hands are up in mock surrender, a calm look on his face as he steps closer, gently lowering the gun in your trembling hand.

"dean!" you scold, your voice coming out in a mix of relief and irritation. "what the fuck? you scared the crap out of me!"

he smirks, clearly amused by your reaction, though there's a softness in his eyes that lets you know he didn't mean to startle you. "sorry. didn't think you'd pull a gun on me."

you huff, setting the weapon on your vanity as you glare at him. "what do you want?"

he shrugs, leaning casually against the vanity like he doesn't have a care in the world. "finished cleaning my guns. thought we could watch a movie or something."

you cross your arms, raising an eyebrow at him. "you interrupted my britney spears concert for a movie?"

he chuckles at that, the sound low and warm. "yeah, well, figured you could use a break from… whatever this is." he gestures vaguely to the rollers in your hair and the half-empty bottles of hair and makeup products scattered around your room.

you roll your eyes but can't help the small smile that tugs at your lips. "fine, but give me a minute. i need to take these out and clean up."

"don't take too long," he says, pushing off the vanity and heading out the door and over to the dean cave.

once he's gone, you shake your head in amusement, pulling the rollers out one by one. your hair falls into soft, bouncy curls, the kind that make you feel like you've stepped straight out of an '80s movie. you run your fingers through them, fluffing them up a bit as you glance at yourself in the mirror. satisfied, you clean up the rest of the mess in your room before heading out, walking barefoot down the hall toward the dean cave.

you walk on your tiptoes, your curls bouncing with each step as you run a hand through them, feeling lighter than you have in days. when you step into the dean cave, you stop short, your mouth falling open slightly.

dean has gone all out.

the coffee table is covered in snacks—your favorite peanut m&ms, kettle corn popcorn, and a glass of wine poured into one of the fancy glasses you love so much. there's beer for him, of course, and a few of his own snacks off to the side. the couch has been replaced with a new, large u-shaped one, big enough for the two of you to sprawl out comfortably.

he's already sitting there, legs propped up on the coffee table, a beer in one hand and a bowl of popcorn in his lap. his other arm is draped casually across the back of the couch, and when he sees you standing in the doorway, his lips curl into a smug smirk.

"what do you think?" he asks, his voice teasing but with an undertone of pride.

you shake your head, a giddy laugh escaping your lips as you walk over to him. "you really know how to spoil a girl, winchester."

"only the best for you, sweetheart," he says, his tone half-joking but his eyes soft as they follow your movements.

you sit down beside him, tucking your legs underneath you as you reach for your glass of wine. the two of you settle in, the movie starting up on the screen as you sip your drink and munch on popcorn.

a few minutes in, you realize you've unconsciously gravitated toward him, your shoulder brushing against his as you lean against the couch. his arm stays where it is, draped across the back, his fingers just barely grazing your shoulder.

and then, somehow, everything shifts.

you're not sure how it happens, but one moment you're watching the movie, and the next you're straddling him, your fingers tangled in his flannel as his hands grip your hips.

his lips crash against yours, the kiss messy and desperate, all teeth and tongue as the two of you lose yourselves in each other. your hands roam over his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his t-shirt, while his hands slide down to your ass, squeezing firmly as you grind against him.

the friction is almost too much, denim against denim creating a delicious pressure that has you moaning into his mouth. his tongue tangles with yours, the kiss growing more heated by the second, and you can feel the slight scruff of his beard scraping against your skin in a way that only makes you want him more.

your breathing is heavy, your lips swollen as you pull back for a moment, but his hands keep you in place, his grip firm but not rough.

"you're so beautiful, baby, so fucking gorgeous," he murmurs, his voice low and rough with desire.

you don't respond—not with words, at least. instead, you crash your lips against his again, pouring everything you’ve been holding back into the kiss.

saliva drips down your chins from the intensity of it all, but neither of you care. all that matters is this moment, the weight of his hands on your body, the taste of him on your tongue, and the way he's making you feel like you're the only thing in the world that matters.

and for now, that's enough.

SPECIAL TAGS. @titsout4jackles @floralscented @aileenunfiltered @deanswidow @lacydollette @fallbhind @beausling @figthoughts @frosttbitessam @bluestrd @florchids @ultravi0lence14 @starzify @honeyryewhiskey @bluemerakis @deansbite @lustagel @rafespreciosa @jasvtsc @voidsuites . . . ☆

[chelseeebe]

the weirdo next door

18+. mdni. smut. weirdo pervy neighbour eddie pls don’t read if it’s not your thing🫢

day five of spooky week! your neighbour is a creep but why do you kind of like it?

a/n: kinda short lil blurb tonight because seven fics is a lot for my pea brain

₊˚🕯️♱‧₊˚.

it was no secret that the guy in the apartment across from you was a bit of a creep. 

he wasn’t exactly slick with his peeping, nor did he really care. you’d often catch him gazing gormless out of his window and into yours. 

he was cute, in a freaky sort of way. 

he’s staring now, mouth hung open as you creep in from your night out. still dressed in the tight pink corset and bunny ears, a pervs dream, no doubt. 

some days you’d entertain it, putting on an extravagant show before the pulling the curtain shut, leaving the rest to his strange imagination.

but tonight the alcohol is coursing through your veins, clouding your better judgement, making you do things you’d never ever do. 

you start first with your boots, bending over to unzip and kick them off, holding eye contact as your fingers trailed back up to your thighs, lifting the hem of your skirt ever-so-slightly.

his shoulders tense, his hand twitching to touch something, to touch you. 

the corset comes next, popping the clasps one by one, relishing in the way that even from across buildings, you could see his chest rapidly rise and fall. fingers now creeping over to his sweatpants and the bulge now forming. 

you turn before it’s completely off, tossing the corset or the ground before slipping into a t-shirt. his eyes are wide when you spin back around, hand now dipped under the waistband of his sweatpants. 

it’s truly disgusting. anybody of sane mind would call the cops or beat his ass, but you loved it. took great pleasure in getting a man you’d never met to cum without ever once touching you. 

you shimmy out of the skirt, stepping out of the fabric only to bend down, revealing your sheer choice of panties to him, folding the skirt ridiculously slow. 

he’s harshly biting down onto his lip, fist pumping slow through the fabric of his sweats, jaw slack as you’re sure noises are spilling out. 

you sit on the edge of the bed, illuminated by the orange glow of your lamp, making intense eye contact with the weirdo next door. creeping your hand upwards to your shirt, slipping under to graze over your waist, landing on your breast with a soft grope. 

he’s not ashamed, rigorously fisting his dick with heavy-lidded eyes and a soft bite to his lip. you want him to touch you, to crawl over to your building and break his way inside. 

your other hand moves downward, over your panties as your legs fall apart, half-heartedly rubbing your aching clit with a soft huff. he’s still watching intently, closer to the window than before. 

your eyes droop shut as your head lulls backwards, the intensity of your pleasure only growing with every circle of your fingers. “oh.. fuck,” slipping your fingers into your soaked underwear, desperate for something more. 

the pleasure between your thighs sends your body reeling, leaning back against the mattress with your fingers running circles around your clit. eyes flickering open to find the room opposite barren, dark and quiet. 

he’s gone. 

stopping you in your tracks, encapsulated in the sudden lonely darkness. removing your hand from your thighs, the heat of embarrassment creeping onto your cheeks right the way up to the tips of your ears. 

deciding that crawling into bed to hide would be far better than ever facing that window again. the curtain would simply have to stay closed forevermore. 

quickly pulling the blanket up and over your exposed body, stomach twisting in utter shame. maybe this was too far for him? much preferring to watch in silence than have you perform for him.

it’s silent, the tick of your clock echoes from the kitchen only to be interrupted by a scuffle outside the door, snapping your scarlet face in the direction of the noise. 

the door clicks open, spiking your heartbeat as it creaks. 

whatever it is, it’s inside. feeling their way around your dark apartment, trying to find you.

footsteps trundle up the hall, slow and heavy. stopping just before your bedroom door. 

your heart leaps into your mouth when the handle turns downward, eerily opening like there was nothing or no one on the other side.

the dark figure appears in your eyesight with a heaving chest and an obvious bulge in his pants.

it’s not a monster, it’s him.

the boy from the window now lurking in your doorway, inching toward the bed, his hands twitching by his sides, grabbing at the fabric of his sweatpants.

“you keep the key under your doormat,” he shrugs, as if this were the most nonchalant meeting in the world. 

the creases in your sheets. the missing panties and misplaced bras all made sense now. 

you wet your parched lips, breathless almost as you regain enough courage to speak

“hi.”

[buckyalpine]

Imagine shy beefy Bucky being the little spoon. He feels like he should be the one cuddling you since he’s so much bigger but he loves when you hold him instead.

However.

There’s this one thing you do that always makes him blush and flustered and he just doesn’t understand it.

You love rubbing his tummy.

You hold him from behind, peeking over his shoulder because you love how peaceful he looks when he sleeps. You know he's not actually asleep because his abs are still tensed, worried over how you'd feel with the beefiness that covers his muscular body.

He’s self conscious when your hand slips under his shirt, rubbing his soft but firm tummy up and down; his skin is so warm and you love how plush he is. He’s still getting used to the fact that he isn’t as trim as before. Not that he’s unfit. Quite the opposite. He’s a thick hunk of muscle mass. You can feel the iron like hardness that runs under his skin whenever you're pressed against him. He's so large and perfect to snuggle up with; your grabby little hands love finding their way to his stomach.

"Doll-" He whispers with pink dusted cheeks, holding your wrist away when you sneak over his waist, stroking your skin, "Doll, I- I'm not-" He struggles to get the words out, embarrassed he's not lean like Steve, "Baby, I-

“Shhh, I love you like this” you coo, kissing his shoulder. He shrugs, still not believing you. You tell him how much you adore him every time but he can't help but think back to the time where he was pure muscle without any pudge.

"Sweetheart, you don't have to pretend, I wish I was-"

You shake your head, pressing your lips to his to stop his spiral.

"But you're my big boy" You pout, shuffling over till your straddling him, forcing him to lay back. You huff, pulling his shirt up exposing him, shimmying your hips down so you can curl up on top of his bare torso like a little kitten. You let out a content sigh, pressing your face into his stomach, peppering kisses all over before peering up at him.

"I love your body so much baby" You say sincerely, kissing just below his belly button again for emphasis. "You're so warm and soft and strong, my perfect bear"

Bucky can't help but melt over the way you melt into him, your smaller form using him as a pillow to your hearts content. If you liked him like this, always kneading away at him or trying to burrow yourself into him, who was he to say no?

Cause imagine how fucking hot he'd be when he finally embraces how good he looks with a lil beef. Imagine he stops trying to cover up with large hoodies and henley's. He works out shirtless more.

You're not the only one who drools over him anymore.

All the other trainees can't help but swoon whenever they see him at the punching back or pumping with weights. You have to claw them off him from trying to climb up his legs, desperate to have Sargent Barnes carry them with one arm with ease.

Even the other Avengers can't help but cat call at him because he looks fine af.

Sometime he lets his hair out or ties it half up along with his scruffy cheeks and Tony's taken to calling him a man slut for walking around like that.

"Tony, I don't think thats what slut mean-

"I know what it means. You're telling me he's flaunting all that around and he doesn't know he's hot while doing it? He doesn't know he's getting all this attention?"

Bucky snickers to himself while you coo over your handsome boyfriend, wrapped around him like a koala while the others watch in amusement, your hands skimming all over his body and scratching his beard.

"See? Told you you're perfect like this, big boy"

Imagine he knows you find comfort in him and he no longer feels conscious over it. Whenever your sad and in need of cuddles, he holds you nice and close, usually sans clothing, all skin to skin contact.

He knows you're a little pervert and he'll give into your puppy like eyes, sometimes letting his towel drop after a shower while you grin, shamelessly watching him.

"You're staring again, you little creep" Bucky snorted while applying lotion, dropping his hands when he felt yours paw at his back to take over.

"Just a creep for you, handsome" You quip before continuing your journey exploring his body, moving your hand to his front, deciding to wrap around his co-

Anyway, I love this beefieee babieeee

[mistyorchid]

White Lipgloss

Logan Howlett x mutant fem!reader

summary: Your lips are chapped after an intense mission in the heat. Logan is more than willing to help. warnings: MDNI, no use of y/n, smut, age gap, student/professor, reader is 21+, praise kink, pet names (doll, bub, sweet girl, baby), size kink, oral (male!receiving), mention of exhibitionism, cum play. wc: 790

Pink, cherry-flavored oasis. Gleaming with your natural spit or a sickeningly sweet gloss. Logan compared your usual appearance to the pouty pair that was frowning in his direction.

"What, somethin' on my face?" You asked, slightly annoyed by Logan's persistent stare.

Before walking towards you with a snarky grin, he waited for the rest of the team to head inside the mansion.

It was no secret that you both celebrated after successful missions. The thick wood walls were no match for whatever sex symphony you were composing.

Logan stood with a hand on his hip, jutting out his right leg to assume the position of a smug boyfriend. He always distributed his weight when standing, like his dick weighed five pounds. Cocky motherfucker.

Lightly tracing your bottom lip with his index finger, he vaguely explained, "Nothing's on your face. Actually, you're missing a 'lil something. . ."

Your eyes widened at the sudden contact. The team completed the mission without any injuries, and that only meant one thing. Logan was celebrating where anyone could see you.

Swiftly removing his hand, you hissed, "Inside. Now. I don't want Charles to write us up again."

Logan chuckled, reasoning, "It was only one time. How could I have known that Dr. Phil would stray from his usual route? All he saw was his star student inspecting and repairing the frayed belt fibers of a respected member of faculty. You know how Charles gets when I'm not business casual."

Before Logan had the chance to embarrass you further, you wrapped an arm around his waist and instantly traveled to your room, placing a hand behind his neck to prevent whiplash.

It was Logan's turn to use his mutation. Unsheathing his claws, Logan gestured towards the band t-shirt you were wearing.

With an argumentative snarl, you shook your head. "No way in hell I'm letting you tear my favorite shirt. It's vintage."

Raising his eyebrows, Logan quipped, "But, doll . . . I'm vintage."

You slowly removed the shirt, haphazardly tossing it onto the floor. Wearing tennis skirts during missions wasn't standard protocol, but Logan accidentally shredded your uniform. He was burning holes with his eyes into the delicate fabric, watching you shimmy them down your leg.

Logan stopped you from undressing fully. "Keep it on. I love seeing you on your knees in this skirt," he whispered.

Taking the hint, you kneeled on the floor. Thankfully, a rug softened the impact.

"No hands. No sucking. Just need your eyes on me, bub." Logan hastily stripped out of his uniform, spending extra time on the zipper leading to his half-hard cock.

Placing the palms of your hands on your thighs, you arched your back, pushing your tits forward. "Since you mentioned it, my lips are feeling a bit parched . . ." you teased.

Logan spit into his open palm and languidly stroked himself. A bead of precum bubbled at the tip. Catching the way your eyes widened, Logan warned you not to taste him . . . not yet.

"Sorry, doll. How's this, I'll tell you what I'm thinkin' of." Logan picked up the pace, tugging his cock with more vigor. "The first night we 'ran in' to each other in the kitchen, you were on my mind so much I thought I dreamed of your presence."

Logan's breathing labored. Furrowing his eyebrows, he paused momentarily to spit again onto the head. "I fantasized about fucking you on the counter top. Knocking over the fruit basket and the beers I just finished . . ."

His hips stuttered. With a sharp inhale, Logan continued, "We went back to bed without so much as a handshake. I could smell that you wanted it. Caught you staring at my ass when I turned to close the fridge. Jerked my cock to the sight of your glossy lips until sunrise."

"I fucking love you, bub. Wanna give you everything," he panted, signalling his release. "My sweet, sweet girl."

Heart warming at his praise, you opened your mouth, tongue outstretched to accept his generous load.

"I love you too, Logan," you professed.

His hips frantically stuttered with pulses of cum, heavily streaking your face. "Oh, fuck . . ." Logan cursed, slapping his cock on the soft expanse of your tongue.

Stepping backward just enough to leave the tip bobbing against your chin, Logan grasped his softening cock and started smearing his cum on your eager lips.

After a couple passes, he focused on applying it like he would a real tube of lip gloss. "That's my girl, so good for me," Logan admired. His cum crudely dripped down your chin.

You slowly licked off the cum Logan applied, which prompted a confused brow arch from your drained boyfriend.

With a shy smirk, you teased, "Guess I need you to retouch my lip gloss, baby."

[brunchable]

To the Windowww, To the Wall | Bucky Barnes x f!reader.

Pairings: Stay-at-home Bucky Barnes x f!Reader. Themes: funny? Bucky being a sad puppy that you had to leave him. Summary: You had to leave for a few days, leaving Bucky alone by himself. See, Bucky doesn't know what to do without you around and he finds a way to keep himself entertained. A/N: Totally not inspired by Sebastian's singing clips.

Bucky leaned against the doorframe, blue eyes tracing the car that slowly backed out of the driveway. He tried to keep his expression neutral—really, he did—but the moment you waved at him through the window with a sheepish smile, his mouth curved down into the most pitiful pout.

“Call me as soon as you get there,” he called out, voice loud enough to carry over the crunch of gravel. “And text me when you’re at the hotel, okay? I wanna know you’re safe.”

“I will, I will,” you promised, shaking your head at his intensity. “It’s only two days, Bucky. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He gave you a half-hearted wave as the car pulled away, standing there long after the taillights disappeared down the street. With a defeated sigh, Bucky trudged back into the house, the place already feeling too empty without you. He stared at the closed door, then sighed dramatically.

“Hey, Google,” he called, slumping onto the couch, staring at the ceiling with a forlorn expression. “Play something… uplifting.”

The house assistant processed the request before responding cheerfully, “Sure. Playing ‘Take On Me’ by a-ha.” The iconic 80s tune burst through the speakers, and Bucky groaned, already reaching for the bottle of red wine you’d left on the counter.

“Take on me, huh?” he muttered to himself, rolling his eyes as he unscrewed the cap. He poured a dangerously generous glass, filled it nearly to the rim, and took a long gulp. “Whatever, let’s do this.”

The song picked up tempo, and before Bucky knew it, his foot was tapping against the hardwood floor. He took another sip—more like a gulp—and suddenly, it wasn’t so bad. He could be alone for two days. He was fine. Totally fine.

“Take on meeeee!” he belted, raising his glass in salute to the empty room, swaying with the music. He spun on his heel, shuffling over to the kitchen, letting his voice warble with mock sincerity, “Take me onnnnn!”

Feeling the buzz of wine, the song swapped to “Hungry Eyes” next, holding his glass like a delicate flower. He glanced at his reflection in the kitchen window, grinning at how absolutely ridiculous he looked.

“Hungry eyes…” He set the glass on the coffee table, swaying his hips with exaggerated movements that definitely didn’t match the beat. 

“One look at you and I can’t disguise…” His voice faltered as he noticed just how lonely the living room seemed without you. He grabbed the bottle again and poured himself another glass. 

Screw it, he thought. If he couldn’t be with you, he could at least dance away the emptiness.

He threw himself onto the couch, raising his glass high above his head as the final chords faded. 

“Google,” he shouted, half-expecting the AI to be annoyed by his demands, “play ‘Get Low’ by Lil Jon & The East Side Boyz.’”

The house assistant complied, and the second the familiar booming beat and crunk vocals hit, Bucky perked up, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“To the windowwww to the wall!” he sang, throwing his hands up and letting his hips sway. The buzz of the wine, coupled with the absurdity of dancing alone in their living room, made him throw caution—and dignity—to the wind.

He got up, spinning in place like he was at a crowded club instead of a silent, empty house. Bucky shimmied to the center of the living room, red wine sloshing dangerously close to the rim as he started to get into the groove.

“Til the sweat drop down my balls! Til all you bitches crawl!” he bellowed, bounced to the beat. Pretending to taunt an invisible person with gun fingers.

He leaned forward, a playful grin stretching across his face as he started lowering himself closer to the ground, hips rolling in tight circles. “Ahh skeet skeet motherfuckuhhh” he growled, then laughed at how ridiculous he sounded.

He jumped back up, still swaying his hips in rhythm to the chorus, then decided—because why the hell not?—to try his best attempt at Lil Jon’s vocal growl. “Ahh skeet skeet goddamn!”

Feeling a surge of confidence, Bucky planted his feet, rolling his shoulders back. “Get low, get low, get low, get low!” he sang, then reached out to slap the air like he was hitting someone’s backside.

He burst out laughing at his own antics but kept moving, thrusting his hips forward and back with exaggerated flair. 

“To the windowww, to the wall!” he shouted, holding the final word until his voice cracked.

Glancing over his shoulder, his hips swinging from side to side. He brought his hands to his hips, then began moving in small, tight circles, thrusting forward with more energy than was probably necessary. He was completely lost in the rhythm, the absurdity of it all driving away the loneliness—at least temporarily.

“Drop that ass, aye, shake it fast, aye,

pop that ass to the left and the right, aye!” 

“Now back, back, back it up!” he sang, doing a quick little shuffle steps backward, “Now, stop! Then wiggle with it.” He reached out with one hand, smacking the air as if it were someone’s backside again, then immediately snapped his hips forward with a grin.

He didn’t even notice when the front door creaked open.

“What the hell… are you doing?” Your voice cut through the blaring music, startling Bucky so badly that he nearly dropped the glass. He whipped around, his face flushing a deep shade of crimson.

You stood at the doorway, arms crossed, eyebrows raised in a look of pure amusement. He blinked once, then twice, his stance frozen in mid-thrust as if he’d been caught in the middle of a crime.

“I… I thought you left,” he stammered, wide eyes darting to the door and back to you. He stared at you for a second longer, then glanced down at himself—knees bent, hands hovering in the air like he was about to grab something. “This… this isn’t what it looks like.”

You blinked, glancing from his face to his ridiculous dance stance and then back up. “It looks like you’re dancing to ‘Get Low’ and smacking an invisible ass.”

Bucky opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, he straightened up with as much dignity as he could muster and cleared his throat, smoothing his shirt like it would somehow erase the last few minutes of embarrassing dancing.

“Um…” He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, I… missed you.”

“I was gone for ten minutes,” you pointed out, stifling a laugh as you stepped closer.

Bucky shrugged, eyes darting around the room like he could somehow come up with a reasonable excuse for what you just walked in on. 

“Yeah, but… it felt longer.”

You shook your head, a fond smile tugging at your lips as you reached up to cup his cheek. 

“Well, I’m here for a little while longer… I guess we can share a drink.” Your grin widened as you glanced around the mess of the living room. “And maybe, if you’re nice enough, I’ll join you for one last dance before I go.”

His face lit up immediately, his grin matching yours. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

He pulled you into his arms, the ridiculous music still blaring as he spun you around the room, your laughter blending perfectly with the beat.

When the song changed to a new beat, you pulled away, raising a brow as you glanced at him. “How about I show you some real moves?”

Bucky’s grin widened as he stepped back, giving you space. “Prove it.”

With that, you took a deep breath and started moving, your body flowing smoothly with the rhythm. You rolled your hips, your arms swaying in sync, and when the beat dropped, you dipped low, popping back up in a fluid wave that left Bucky staring, mouth slightly agape.

“Damn,” he muttered, shaking his head with a disbelieving laugh. “I had no idea.”

You laughed softly, giving him a playful shrug. “I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve.”

Bucky’s gaze softened as he took a step forward, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” you replied, stepping back before he could pull you close again. “But, I really do need to go.”

His face fell slightly, but he nodded, understanding. “Alright.”

“Don’t worry,” you said, giving him a warm smile. “I’ll be back.”

Before he could respond, you backed up a few steps and—making sure his eyes were still glued to you—you dropped low again, this time adding a playful shake as you swayed back up, your movements teasing.

Bucky choked on a laugh, his hand flying to his mouth as he watched you with an almost comically wide-eyed stare. “That’s just unfair.”

You blew him a kiss. “See you later, Bucky.”

And with a quick, last little shimmy, you were out the door, leaving him standing there, a goofy grin plastered on his face as he shook his head, wondering how the hell he got so lucky.

[moremaybank]

there's something so delicious about pervy bsf!rafe preying on you when he hasn't gotten laid in awhile (18+)﹐Ꮺ

"what's wrong, rafey?"

the question comes out soft, your hand trailing up his firm bicep before curling around the expanse of it. your nails stroke at his smooth skin in comfort. you're so sweet, the way you're always doting on him. always picking up on his mood changes and burning to fix whatever's bothering him.

so sweet.

he offers you a shrug, his eyes peering off into the distance. "jus' all wound up. s'been awhile since i've had some typa stress relief."

your brows furrow, but then you come to realize what kind of stress relief he's talking about. you aren't sure if that sort of thing falls under best friend duties, but that same part of you that lives to make rafe happy goes off like an alarm. you need to help him out.

"can i help you, then?"

he arches a brow, but at the same time, he's pleased. pleased because all it took was one sentence to set his plan in motion. you'f fallen into his trap so cutely, just as he'd hoped.

"you sure you know what you're gettin' yourself into?" he asks, hands reaching out to grab your waist. he pulls you closer, cheek nuzzling against yours as he lowers his lips to your ear. "not sure that pretty little pussy can take all of me."

"i can," you assure him. "just wanna help you out."

"mm, yeah? you sure?" he hums. he presses a kiss to your temple. "don't wanna hurt my sweet girl. how could i when she's so good for me?"

you turn around, your back now toward him as you shimmy your little skirt up your hips, letting it pool around your waist. your fingers toy with the thong you're wearing, pulling at it in the back to let rafe know that you're ready for him.

"don't care if it hurts."

"no? you don't?" his fingers take over for you, tugging your panties to the side so he can get a view of your tight little holes. he presses up against your back momentarily, allowing him to dip down and kiss your clothed shoulder. then you hear the sound of his zipper coming undone, followed by the sound of him spitting onto his palm. he spreads it over his length and positions himself at your entrance. the tortured gasp you let out when rafe's thick cock slides into you, stretching your cunt out wide is enough to make him twitch inside you.

"just want you happy, rafey."

your walls clench around his base and he lets out a guttural groan. "makin' me real happy, doll. so cute, keepin' my cock nice 'n tight in that pretty lil' pussy. now hold onto the counter for daddy."

he watches your hands latch onto the edge of the kitchen countertop, and he smiles. you're getting ready for him. you know where this is going and you're showing rafe that he has complete reign over you.

rafe's palm smooths over your beck, bending you further over the cold marble. "there we go, baby. thaaat's it. stay right there for me."

the angle allows him to slide into you deeper, and he soon starts to move roughly. he can't help it. not when your walls are all slimy and welcoming for him. his hips smack into your ass mercilessly, and you find yourself wondering how you've gone so long without letting him take you to cloud nine.

"rafe," you breathe out shakily. "can feel you deeper. s-so deep, daddy."

"but you like it, yeah? like when daddy fills your guts?"

he doesn't even really have to ask. he knows you do. he can tell by the way you fuck him back like your life depends on it, little moans and cries spilling from your lips.

"mhm— yeah. feels so good," you slur.

"yeah...know it does. know it does, baby. s'cause you're so wet for me. get so wet thinkin' 'bout helpin' daddy, huh?"

you nod furiously, rising onto the tips of your toes as you feel your high coming on. "yes. yes!"

he bends his head down, kissing at your spine. "my favourite girl, lettin' me use her pussy when i need it so bad. you're my good girl, yeah?"

"y-yours, rafey. all yours."

"yeah, mhm. know you are," he affirms, fucking into you hard. "all fuckin' mine. whenever i want, right?"

"whenever you want."

and by the way you tremble as you fall over the edge, he knows it's a promise.

whenever. he. wants.

concepts ; concepts (ii)

[screwitbaby]

naive

hamzahthefantastic x reader (fic)

day 4/7

[part 5]

summary: part 4 of my short story naive! the four of you go to the club and while the couple are still fighting, you and hamzah act on your feelings a lil more. but it can only go so well for so long…

contains: SFW content, some kissing and touchy touchy ;)

w/c: 2.5k-ish

a/n: i couldn’t let you guys go into the new year without updating this story. im the worst but tysm for the support yall are so sweet i could cry xxxx enjoy!!!<3 read the a/n at the end if u care to know more

~

The couple's bad mood was not simply slept off and it's ruining your vibe.

You and Mandy are getting ready in their en suite bathroom while Hamzah and Martin speak in hushed tones in the bedroom. The bathroom door is open, and every so often you look at the space over your shoulder in the mirror and make eye contact with Martin from the bed. He looks away immediately, not at all subtle. It's like a game at this point, seeing how many times you can catch him in the act.

"Is he gonna do this all night," you mumble, applying your mascara after yet another match of eye-tag.

"We could just close the door," Mandy offers. She pays no mind to the childish behavior behind you, straightening her hair without sparing him a single glance.

"You're so right," you say and get up to shut it yourself.

Once your makeup is pretty much done, you decide to start getting dressed. You turn the music on her speaker up and give yourself a once-over in the mirror, holding different outfits beside your body to see what you want to wear for the night.

"I don't know what to wear. Wanna match?" you ask, placing your chin on top of her head to stop her movements. She nearly clamps your neck with the straightener. "Hey!"

"Sure," she laughs. "Grab my suitcase, please."

You put your clothes back down and step out of the bathroom to bring her suitcase in. You shimmy it out of its place by the TV stand, not missing the way the boys go completely silent until you're gone.

"Top zipper, the satin blue dress," Mandy instructs.

You hand it to her and sit by your own bag of clothes to rummage through it. You find a top and skirt set in a similar baby blue color then hold it up for her to see.

"Yes, no, yes?"

"Yes, definitely."

You apply your lip combo and take a few silly photos in the mirror with Mandy, your made up faces clashing with your baggy tees. One of the better photos are posted on your Instagram story for fun. When you finally get changed—you guys had a dance break to some y2k club classics—you put your heels on and realize you need a little pregame.

When you walk into the bedroom this time, the boys are leaned against the headboard and on their phones, mindlessly scrolling. You go by Martin's side of the bed and poke him repeatedly until he looks up.

"Do you happen to have the penjamin on you?"

"That depends," he says, putting his hand in his pocket. "What's the magic word?"

You roll your eyes. "Please?"

He pulls the little device out of his pocket and presents it to you in his palm. When you go to grab it, he makes a fist and holds it above his head.

"Please who?"

"I'm not calling you Daddy," you scoff, prying his fingers open and snatching the pen from his grasp. He barely puts up a fight. "That's Hamzah's job."

At the mention of his name, Hamzah looks up and seems like he's about to say something to retaliate but freezes. His gaze drags down your figure and you blush.

"Maybe it's not his job," Martin says smugly, "since you made him speechless."

Hamzah snaps out of it and elbows his friend in the side.

“It would be your girlfriend's job if you weren't being petty right now."

You wince at the sullen expression that washes over Martin's face.

"Right."

All you can do is watch as he clambers off the bed and walks out of the room. You lean against the wall and slide the balcony door open with a sigh.

"He can't seriously be that mad," Hamzah says. "I was kidding."

"He can dish it, but he can't take it," you say, too used to his behavior. "And he's extra sensitive right now, so."

"Well, they better not ruin our night with that stuff." Hamzah crosses his arms.

"I won't let them."

"Yeah?" Hamzah snorts. "What're you gonna do about it?"

"Um." You take a hit and blow the smoke outside. "I'll think of something if I need to step in."

Hamzah laughs at your empty threat and you smile. You take another hit before offering the dab pen to him.

"I have a feeling I should be sober for tonight."

"Boring," you sing out. "It'll be fine. C'mon, feel my peer pressure."

You wiggle your fingers at him and he shakes his head, laughing lightly. When he silently puts his hand out a few seconds later, you cheer. The room fills with the loud music from Mandy's speaker as he takes his first hit.

"So," you begin, already feeling slightly heady. "What were you guys whispering about earlier?"

"I shouldn't say."

"Really?"

He nods. "It was partly about their fight. Partly the trip. And you."

"Me?" You point at yourself with raised eyebrows.

"Yeah." He shrugs. "I can't divulge the details."

"That's bullshit."

"I never ask what you guys say about me."

"Hey—I don't—what?" you stutter, unable to come up with a defense.

"C'mon," he says, tilting his head. "I'm not that oblivious."

Your eyes narrow. You've never once considered that this cupid thing Martin was pulling on you could have gone both ways. You don't know if you're relieved for him stepping in to push his friend closer to you, or annoyed that he's even meddling in this whole thing. It makes you wonder if Martin knows what happened by the time he and Mandy returned to the beach last night.

"Speaking of details." You clear your throat. "Do you even know what club we're going to?"

Your attempt at changing the topic is weak, but as per usual, Hamzah rolls with it to save you any embarrassment.

"No clue. Martin keeps his trip itinerary locked in his notes."

The conversation devolves into a bunch of what if's about the night and jokes that are only funny because you guys are high. When Mandy finally comes to join and sees the state of you two, you offer her a hit.

"What? No drinks?" She frowns.

"Hotel alcohol is like twenty bucks a pop! This is the next best thing."

"Ugh, fine. Give it."

With the three of you thoroughly blitzed, you collect Martin from the living room couch and make your way out of the hotel. He doesn't speak for a majority of the walk, and you think that's the longest you've ever heard him be quiet in a group setting.

Despite it being nearly 10 P.M., the air is pretty humid and forgiving on your exposed skin. The other thing about it being so late already, is that the club is absolutely chock-full of people when you enter. The dance floor of strangers are nearly toe to toe in proximity, and you wrap your arm with Mandy's to avoid getting separated in the crowd. The boys immediately beeline to the bar for drinks, but you don't let that stop your journey. You maneuver your way to the front of the stage and only let go of each other once you've found a bit of space to dance in.

The DJ nods at the two of you and you turn to raise your eyebrows suggestively at Mandy, who pushes your shoulder and continues dancing. You get lost in the beat, swaying and bouncing with the vibrations traveling through your limbs. The strobe lights illuminate your sweaty skin and you swear the energy in the room has you feeling higher. You begin grinding on each other and throw your heads back to laugh, trying to catch your breaths in between a multitude of bodies.

"Hey!" Mandy places her arms around your shoulders to catch your attention and you take it as a sign to grind on her. "I'm going to grab drinks.”

"No!" You turn and put your hands over hers. "Don't go!"

"I'll be right back!" She grins and squeezes you before letting go to disappear into the crowd.

Alone, you turn back to the stage and throw your hands in the air. You close your eyes for a moment, the pounding beats making a home in your brain. You're sure your ears will be ringing when you leave.

You wonder if Martin's drunk himself into a coma yet and knowing him, you know how easy that could be. You only hope this outing tonight doesn't make him do anything he regrets. Then you remember he’s a twenty-five year old man and you’re worrying about him while you’re supposed to be having fun. So, you shut your brain off and let the beat carry you.

When Mandy's back, she has two drinks in hand and Hamzah in tow. She hands you a cocktail and you graciously sip from your first alcoholic drink of the night.

"Where's Martin?" you ask.

"Bar!" she shouts over the music.

You shake your head. "Make up and make out already!"

She jabs your side and you giggle, swatting her hand away. Hamzah's doing something reminiscent of a frat flick, looking slightly out of it. You assume he's already done some shots and is way more intoxicated. So, being an empath, you finish your drink to get closer to his level. When you're done, you hand the empty cup to Mandy and wink at her. Your hand envelops Hamzah's and you pull him deeper in the crowd so you can dance together.

"I don't—I can't dance," he complains, nearly tripping over his own feet.

"C'mon, it's easy!"

You begin by swaying your hips, raising his hand in yours to guide him into a rhythm. He tries to follow along, shuffling around like a newborn deer. It's a funny sight, but you don't want him to stop if you tease him, so you bite back your amused smile. He slowly gets less self-conscious and continues on in his own way with the flow of the music, even twirling you around once or twice, laughing all the way as you narrowly avoid knocking into people. His eyes never leave you, like he's constantly thinking of his next move to impress you.

After letting him freestyle some more, you pull him close and wrap your arms around his shoulders. He falters at the change in pace and his hands fall at your hips. Your hands rest at the nape of his neck and he shivers at the way your fingertips grace his skin. The rapid strobe lights nearly blind you, but you hold eye contact.

"Was that so bad?" you ask, tilting your head to the side.

"Yes," he says sarcastically. "I hate dancing."

"But I like your dancing."

You sway with him, careful not to step on his toes in your heels. Close up, you can nearly feel his breath on your face. You take a moment to admire his eyelashes and the way his eyes are slightly bloodshot, willing him to break the eye contact. He leans in closer.

"I like your dancing more."

You can't help but grin. His expression mimics yours.

"Yeah, well," you start, bringing your thumb up to trace the side of his jaw, "I like you."

He ducks down and captures your lips in a kiss. It takes you by surprise. You hadn't spoken a word about your kiss since last night, and you were beginning to think you made a mistake by acting on your impulses. Evidently, he doesn't seem to mind it as much as you'd worried.

The tip of his nose presses against your cheek as he shifts his head to deepen the kiss. Though the room is warm, this makes you hotter than any amount of dancing could've done. His palms squeeze your hips and your fingers rise to play with his curls. They're soft to the touch, just as you suspected. You tug lightly as the kiss gets more insatiable.

"Ouch," he mumbles against your lips, barely loud enough to hear. You snicker and tug it again, making him pull away. "I said ouch."

"I know," you laugh out. "Sorry."

"That funny?" he questions. You nod, grinning at his playful irritation. "See how you like it."

His hand trails up your back until his fingers are at your scalp and he gently pulls on your roots. Your head moves back with his action and your lips part, exhaling a shaky breath. His eyes widen. He does it again. You reach up to kiss him again.

It's hotter this time, in both senses of the word. Your skin goes alight with a blaze even the coldest shower couldn't reduce. You drape your wrists over his shoulders, your beaded bracelet pressing into him the same way his is imprinting into the sliver of bare skin below your top.

Realizing you’re standing in place in the midst of a lively dance floor, you break from the kiss and turn so your back is against his front. You pull his arms around your shoulders and sway, deliberately pressing yourself against him. You enjoy hearing the way his breath hitches next to your ear, always needing to find a new way to tease him. You know if you could have it your way without seeming too desperate too soon, you’d be doing more than just dancing.

“I like you, too,” he says, clutching you closer to him. “I forgot to say.”

You turn your head and nearly kiss his cheek because of how cute he is. “Thanks for clearing that up.”

“And I really like your dancing.”

His suggestive words spur you into grinding on him more, anything to get a reaction out of him, and it works every time. The two of you keep going this way until your thighs are burning and you’re out of breath. If it weren’t for the visual reminder, you would’ve forgotten that you came here with other people.

A couple feet away, you spot two familiar heads weeding through the crowd and slowly drawing nearer. You step away from Hamzah, who looks at you with an unreadable expression on his face. Before you can explain yourself, you come face-to-face with Mandy. Martin stops a bit away.

“Can we leave?” she rushes out.

Her mascara is running and her nose is red. Martin looks disgruntled, his eyes never staying in one place as he scans through the crowd. You grab her hand and nod. The four of you spot the nearest exit and leave promptly.

“What happened?” you ask once you’re out in the open. “Are you okay?”

“Can I stay in your room tonight?” Her eyes stay on the ground.

Your heart drops. “Of course.”

The walk back to the hotel is uneasy and fast-paced. The boys walk behind the two of you and you can hear Martin’s one word answers to everything Hamzah says to him. Your heels click and clack, barely providing a distraction from the hundreds of questions swarming your mind.

~

a/n: ooo we’re getting angsty. im so sorry this took so long and if u feel that it wasn’t worth the wait, the truth is ive been so sick recently like never before in my life and i haven’t felt a lick of motivation to write. ive had to rewrite these chapters so many times that its actually affecting me mentally because i wanna make u guys happy while actually enjoying writing. i promise u won’t have to wait this long ever again, but doing this story is making me realize i prefer writing short form stuff way more than stories like this because it’s simply less stress and fits my writing style more. thanks again for all the support and kind words, u guys have really warmed my heart and i hope u know that even tho this is fanfiction and it may seem silly, it’s really a labor of love and im so grateful that u actually like what i put out there. im so so so touched and i rlly love u guys, even if i don’t know u. parasocial virtual hugs to u all xoxoxo tysm. <3

[saintslewis]

𝐢𝐟 𝐰𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 | 𝐋𝐇𝟒𝟒

- drabble.

pairing: sir lewis hamilton x black! fem reader

summary: reader will never let the paddock forget who Lewis Hamilton is.

warnings: cussing.

saint’s team radio 🪩: this is just a lil something. I was pissed tf off yesterday because of some lewis “fans” and i will never miss an opportunity to let ppl know who my goat is 🫦. enjoy

ps, i’m not adding actual reporter’s names for this so i made up random names.

taglist: @mauvecherie-writes @perfecttrashface @non-stop-imagines @emjayewrites @purplelewlew @hopefulromantic1 @motheroffae @exotic-iris13 @httpsserene @queenshikongo3 @greedyjudge2 @cocobutterqwueen

-

The tag from your denim jacket had been irritating you since the second you put it on but you chose to forget about it, often adjusting it with your nails or a little shimmy of your shoulders.

Holding the mic from Sky Sports F1 wasn’t all too odd for you, the broadcast team only handing it to you when talking about Lewis and his achievements. Your support for the Stevenage driver was strong, often being as labelled as biased but you couldn’t care less. The support was mutual between the two of you, usually lingering on the line of friendship but doubt and time was always against you.

Your sunglasses sat on your braided head with a bored expression on your face, just wanting to get this segment over with so that you could go back to your individual blogging and interviews. Standing patiently in front of the cameras while other reporters ran around unorganised, you played with your beaded ‘44’ bracelet.

“My goodness, Y/n! I have no clue how you are so calm, this is always so hard!” One of them exclaimed, laughing in the process. “Not to mention the outfit! You look like you could go to a party!” Another laughed, her smile faltering when your eyes snapped to her, expression never changing.

After a while, the segment began and off the reporters went on a scripted tangent about other teams before getting to the main topic; Lewis. “Now, onto a different subject, Lewis Hamilton’s performance in that car has been nothing short of a…disaster if I could say.” Jimmy said, deciding to look at you as he spoke. Almost as if he was challenging you.

“For a specific race weekend or overall? His teammate, George is doing significantly better. I don’t know what’s wrong with him, it’s like he doesn’t know how to drive.” Jennifer spoke, poorly making an attempt of a joke.

“I’m not too sure why you’re speaking as if he is a rookie. You lot can see that Mercedes hasn’t been doing well as a collective yet you’re targeting one driver who has brought then 8 constructer titles rather than the other who has one win.” Lifting your mic, you spoke with a clear voice, never stuttering.

Frank shook his head and tried to chuckle. “Look Y/n. We understand he’s your boyfriend or whatever but we need to be factual here. What Ferrari has done is a mistake by signing him. I mean, there needs to be more space for others and he’s taking up space.”

“And Alonso’s dusty ass doesn’t need to leave? Using my support for Lewis to try and justify your dislike for him is unprofessional. I have no clue how you have the gumption to say all this.” You responded, still not moving from your spot.

The other 4 reporters stared at you in shock along with other people stopping in the paddock, surrounding the space just in front of the official f1 hospitality suite.

“There’s no need to use aggressive language, Y/n.” Jennifer lifted her hand to place on your shoulder but you moved away in time. “Aggressive for who?” You challenged, tilting your head.

It had gotten quite. “The viewers. It’s not a lie, Lewis is just not good anymore. He needs to make space.” One of them spoke up but you couldn’t be bothered to listen to anyone else other than Frank, your eyes trained on him.

“What? We need to speak with the producers, having an independent journalist was a mistake.” Frank smirked.

“You can take your opinion and shove it up your ass. Thanks for having me, Sky Sports F1.” You turned to the camera to blow a kiss then you gave the mic you were holding to whoever would catch it.

Walking away from the set, you knew what you did was undeniably unprofessional but those people had always had a vendetta against Lewis and any reporter/journalist who support him. Breathing out, you sashayed your way through the paddock with people staring as your braids glided in the slight breeze.

The buzz of your phone shook you out of your racing mind, a little gasp escaping your mouth as you read the notification from instagram.

lewishamilton no joke, that was the best thing i’ve ever seen. glad we have that interview together in 5 minutes :)

You first looked around the paddock after reading that message but you figured that he watched it live just like everyone else did. Your anger for that segment had clouded your thoughts so much, you forgot about the interview you were supposed to have with the champion.

Rushing to the large luxurious paddock club, you received all types of looks from those who either clearly watched the broadcast live or they’re looking at your outfit, although the latter was made up in your mind.

Luckily, he hadn’t arrived to the designated room you booked to have the interview with him but as soon as you got your phone out to record and your notes, the screams and excitement were heard from outside the door and a smile couldn’t help but sneak on your face.

You have only interviewed him three times in your entire career but every time you did so, he never wanted it to end, always trying to make it longer by asking his own questions to you or just sharing a laugh.

With security opening the door for him, he entered the room and spotted you with a smile on his face. He entered alone in the mercedes shirt already on. No words needed to spoken by either of you, Lewis opening his arms for a hug to greet you. Once in his embrace, you thought it’d be quick but to your surprise, it lasted a few moments longer.

“Hi Y/n.” Lewis spoke, a hand still on your shoulder. You took a quick breath and immediately relaxed on the spot. “Hey Lewis.”

“Your response to Sky was insane but I liked it.” He chuckled, sitting across from you with his legs open and a ring clad hand sat comfortably on his lap.

You didn’t want to show him how the sight affected you especially when your emotions are sky high so you remained calm on the outside. “It’s just…I’m pretty sure I lost my job just now because of how I reacted.” You sighed out, flicking a few braids back.

“Some of them had said worse things so you’re okay.” Lewis responded, his tone wasn’t all too sure but he just wanted to lift your mood. “Yeah but I’m black. They used micro aggressions too.” You couldn’t help but chuckle at everything once recalling back to that moment.

“I heard. I’ll have a word with Sky.” He reassured you. “Oooh okay, Sir.” You joked, masking how the reassurance made your stomach flutter. You’d like to think he was openly flirting with you but you quickly put that thought at the back of your mind.

“I just don’t want those people to forget who you are, you know? I’m sure you hear this all the time. You know what you’re doing and you’re the best at it. I wanna remind the people who the goat is.” You rambled a bit, noticing his smile growing as he listened to you.

“You’re too kind, really. I know what I am, it’s just a little tough right now.” He shrugged as he fully leaned back into his seat. “If you need me to fight anybody in your team, let me know.” You winked, flashing a comical smile that made Lewis laugh.

Giving you a once over, Lewis leaned forward and rested his tatted arms on his knees. “You look good today. You always do but today…phenomenal.” He spoke, his voice noticeably relaxed. “Don’t make me blush, Sir.” You smiled, failing terribly at hiding your feeling.

“That nickname, Y/n,” He chuckled. “Is that door locked?” He asked. All you had to do was nod at the man and Lewis smirked, licking his lips in the process.

“C’mere.”

saint’s notes 🪩: slightly rushed, george pissed me off, hope you enjoyed. bye. <3

[celestialprincesse]

Could you do a poly 141! If you’re comfortable with it! I’d prefer fluffy poly 141. Or if you’re not comfortable! Maybe Ghoap or just ghost x reader fluff! I’m not that big of a smut fan when it comes to cod, these poor military men just need a hug

with lots of love - 🩰

FERAL FOR POLY 141 FE RAL FERAL FERAL can u tell that I like this dynamic just a lil bit ( a totally normal amount )

You're pottering around the kitchen when the boys come home from the gym, said boys not including a very sullen Johnny who threw his knee out last week leading you to promptly issue a very firm bed rest order, swatting your tea towel at him when he'd attempted to slip out this morning with his gym bag.

Kyle is on you immediately to see what you're whipping up, whilst John goes off to shower and Simon goes to bring in more logs for the slowly dwindling fire. You attempt to shoo Kyle away as he and Johnny sidle up to your back, nipping at your neck or toying with your hair - making your cooking far more difficult. You successfully manage to shoo Johnny away with a spoonful of creme brûlée stuffed into his open mouth, whilst Kyle sticks at your side like a limpet, whinging about how he'd missed you at the gym and that the boys are all so testosterone-y, which you promptly shut up with a gentle kiss to his waiting lips. With the first lot of grumbling military men out of your hair, you seek Simon out where he smokes on the porch, a steaming mug of earl grey in one hand and a brownie in the other. He promptly moves his cigarette to his other hand so that he can scoop you up against his side, resting his chin against the crown of your head, breathing in the smell of your shampoo and perfume appreciatively. You yourself give an appreciative hum at the warmth of his presence, your wellies and pyjama shorts not doing very much against the chilly morning outside the cozy confines of home.

"How's Johnny?" He rumbles into your hair, pulling back momentarily to take a drag from his cigarette before sidling back up to you. "A pain in the ass." You huff fondly back, unable to hide the pity in your voice for the normally eternally energetic Scotsman. "Cabin fever's got him practically bouncing off the walls." "And you? Are you doing okay, birdie?" "M' just happy to have all my boys home and safe." The sound of your voice melts into the quiet birdsong and the eternally soothing sound of Simon's slightly raspy breathing from the deviated septum he'd managed to get after breaking his nose a few years back.

The sound of the door swinging open doesn't disrupt you and Simon from your shared moment of peace, John coming out with one of his cigars hanging between his lips, free hand snaking around your waist as he leans against the porch. Quickly you notice the phone balanced between his ear and shoulder, and his expression focussed intently on what the person on the other end is saying. John puffs away at his cigar, fidgeting absently with the waistband of your shorts whilst you and Simon chat away about nothing, careful not to let your voices be heard by whoever John's on the phone to.

Growing sick of the cold, you give Simon and John kisses respectively before retreating inside where Kyle and Johnny have settled on the couch, playstation controllers in hand and a video game shown on the large flatscreen Johnny'd insisted you all bought when you moved in together. You're quick to shimmy up beside Johnny, settling your head on his lap, soothed by the sound of he and Kyle talking about the game, John and Simon soon joining the three of you. Simon squishes between Kyle and Johnny in order to play with your hair and chat to you about your day, whilst John gathers your legs up and plops them into his lap, tracing patterns across the bare skin of your calves as he reads something on his phone.

You eventually find yourself dozing off in spite of the ruckus around you, only waking at midday when you're coaxed off of the couch by Kyle who carries your tired body to the simple dining room where the others are laying the table, diligently having taken the large piece of meat you'd been slow roasting all morning from the oven, placed in the middle of the table.

The boys thank you as you all tuck into the hearty, late lunch you'd prepared, laughter and chatter filling the cozy room, gratitude palpable amongst you.

[vashwoo]

additional feature

pairing: vash the stampede x afab! fem!reader content: smut (MDNI!) cw: questionable usage of this man's prosthetic fingers, c.lit play, tristamp coded vash because of the arm color but the others can have some coochie as a treat a/n: been in my notes app for forever. i cannot believe my first fic in awhile is smut and it's even my first trigun fic. ashamed. shaking out the dust and sand from my brain just like vash shakin' out the sand from his arm.

brad is a genius and knew the blonde would gunk up his masterpiece with sand at some point... so he provided a neat lil feature to help shimmy out the granules from the tiny crevices!

On the desert planet that was Noman’s Land, sand was a cruel devil for mechanical bits and bobs. Constantly eroding the cheap lacquers and choking up the gears in more intricate machinations made being an engineer a more annoying task. Hence why Brad, genius that he is, had equipped the blonde gunman’s arm with a little special something to rid the little granules from the intricate joints that made up the malachite arm. 

“This is the annoying part; gets... so… gritty– Eep!”

The blonde man squawks as he flails his left arm around, jerkily stretching his lithe fingers. The dual suns’ rays reflect off of the flat planes of his limb, occasionally blinding you as you watched him fumble around. Speckles fell from the crevices as he slapped his other hand against the jewel toned forearm, but the grimace on his face told you that it wasn’t quite fixed yet. Before you could offer to helpfully brush it down with a random paintbrush you picked up from the previous town, he fiddled with something at his inner bicep and the teal arm buzzed to life. 

Sand granules vibrated and seemingly shimmied out of the tighter spaces of his arm and fingers, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he happily wiggled his digits again. A clear lack of stuttered arcs in their movements told you the sand battle was won. 

Distantly, the others in your ragtag group argued about the lack of water and supplies for the next few hours, but your brain wanted nothing to do with that conversation. In fact, the mechanical whirring of his arm mimicked the static of your empty skull. Not a single thought was between your eyes at that moment.

Words died in the back of your throat and were replaced with absolutely salacious thoughts. Those thoughts raced through your mind and the blood pumped wildly in your ears (and between your legs). You fiddled with your fingers nervously as you cleared your throat to grab the blonde's attention.

“Say, Vash,” you coughed, and his eyes darted to yours in interest at the awkward tone you’ve suddenly adopted, “I’ve got an… idea.”

Those big blue eyes blinked owlishly at you as he curiously tilted his head. 

“What’s up, Mayfly?”

As soon as the group stumbled into town, divvied up the keys, and parted ways, the door of your motel room was barricaded by a splintered chair because the lock didn’t live up to its namesake. 

“Curious about this, huh?” Vash’s teasing murmur against the shell of your ear snapped your attention back to the present. “Were you wondering how it would feel… against… your–”

The tip of his cool, jade finger floated down and graced the swollen bud between your legs. Before you could snap a little jab in his direction, the droning mechanism whirred to life again, except this time, Vash wasn’t trying to rid himself of sand. With a yelp, you curled in on yourself, plush thighs caging the broad man’s hands. Your body jerked and he laughed breathlessly, cooing as his flesh-and-blood hand pried your legs apart. This man was teasing you! Turning the buzzing fingers on and off? How cruel–

“So lewd of you,” he cooed your name, delighted by your body’s honest reactions.

Tease. Bastard. Where’d this confidence come from? 

He tenderly pressed chapped lips against the back of your neck, pecking you three times over. When you embarrassingly squirmed against him and curled in again, he fussed. “M-Mayfly, don’t hide,” he breathes, his voice laced with poorly masked desperation. Your attention was taken and you ceased your squirming at the breathlessness of the man holding you. “Just wanna make you feel good.” 

For Vash the Stampede, succumbing to hedonism was a transgression against his moral code. Yet, when it comes to his precious Mayfly, your happiness and pleasure were equally his own, and he was a selfish sinner learning to indulge. 

He would never come to you with this... idea. But he won’t lie that it came to mind once. 

Well, twice. 

Okay, maybe a few times before the two of you had become entangled in each other.

For every stuttered gasp you released, he mirrored it. For every choked moan you bit back, his hips bucked in response to wordlessly beg you to let go in his arms. 

It made you wonder who was going to finish first. It made him wonder why he took this long to do this. It was all for you, after all. Your pleasure was his.

The gunman’s ragged back rested against the chilled wall of the dim motel room, pulling you taut against his warmth. He protected your back from pressing uncomfortably against the metal over his heart, shifting your body to lean on the rightmost side of his chest. His soft hair tickled you at times, constantly adding ammo to the reasons to squirm in his lap.

Vash’s touch was grounding, yet it also sent you straight for the clouds. His initial hesitant ministrations were gaining confidence the more you sang for him and arched so prettily in his grasp; his index and middle fingers moved at a languid pace, playing you like a seasoned musician performing their magnum opus.  

At the start, he expressed concern over the idea of using his arm’s ugly, brutish, and utilitarian functions on your soft body. He sputtered in surprise when you first mentioned it earlier in the day; he had frantically gestured to his shining arm, babbling and asking you to confirm what he thought you had said. Crimson heat rose to his ears and it was not from the suns beating down on his neck.

Vash was certainly surprised by your proposal, but again, it wasn’t necessarily the first time it came to his mind.

Even as the two of you first settled against the musty sheets on the mattress, his hesitation spoke volumes with the way his fingers ghosted your core. After much coaxing and promises to stop him if it hurt, he finally, cautiously, pressed his strong fingers where you needed them most. The jade fingers weren’t vibrating though. Only when you complained with a whined cry of his name did he turn it on with bated breath.

Well, Vash quickly learned the tremoring metal was not too much against your core, and hearing your stuttered gasps? The practiced gunman was delighted to find out his body could serve you even better than before.

Currently, each time your legs twitch inwards, he’d whine with pouted disagreement and sweet talk your body to open back up to his touch by nudging your thighs apart again. His petulant huff raced past your ear and your attention would wrap around his next words. “So wet, Mayfly,” he breathed, awe lacing his voice. “Is it that good? Am I doing okay?”

Genuinely, Vash wanted to be nice, so he stopped his flicked motions to let you answer. His fingers rested on your clit, but didn’t cease the vibrations. With trembling, yet practiced fingers steadily pulsing against you, your head flew back onto his shoulder as you choked out your pleasure, “S-so good, Vash!” 

Oh god, you sounded wrecked and beautiful to this man’s ears. The man always loved how his name was uttered from your lips. Your compliment held an unsaid cry for him to continue, so he hummed happily as his fingers sped up their strides, flicking up and down, and occasionally chasing well-practiced circles. The vibrations from his hand seemed to amp up in strength and your hands flew to his strong legs, digging your nails into his skin. His hand was suddenly drenched and his breath caught at the back of his throat. 

His loving pace faltered for a beat at the sting of your grip as he groaned, mindlessly nuzzling the back of your neck with his nose. The crescent marks on his legs would never scar like the others on his body because you’d never harm him in such a way, but a ruined part of his mind prayed you did. Vash’s free hand trailed up from your tummy to cup one of your breasts to gently toy with the swollen nubs, pulling you close against his body. 

“You’re so wet,” he moans brokenly and gingerly nips at the juncture of your neck. His fingers were starting to clumsily slip from the slick drowning his fingers, but he was determined to be so good and do well. That’s all the Humanoid Typhoon ever wanted to be for you, after all. If he was blessed to touch an angel and make her sing with his erred hands, the least he would do was give her a glimpse of heaven, right? 

“A-are you getting close, Mayfly? Can feel her throbbin’ f’me…” he slurs, his fingers working overtime as he flicked and massaged you. You wailed softly as he seemed to establish a steady rhythm after your sudden deluge from earlier. Before he can moan out yet another nose-bleeding-inducing whimper, your hand shoots out and halts all of his progress. You yank his arm away and a confused ‘bwuh?’ slips from the blonde angel in the room. Before he can protest, you awkwardly crane your head around and stare him down; his voice, worry, and confusion fizzle away at the dazed gaze you grace him with. 

Although the room was dim this late at night, the lantern illuminated your silhouette well; every curve on your body was highlighted by the warm light. Your chest heaved as you caught your breath from his little onslaught of pleasure.

‘Wow.’

You laughed; did he say that aloud? 

Kind of embarrassing, but–

Desperate want painted your pretty little face as you pant at him. His grip on your body loosened as he felt your legs twitch, letting you rearrange the two of you however the hell you wanted. 

He’d follow you anywhere. 

When you lifted yourself from his body to shakily turn and face him, a hum bubbled in his throat before your fingers coyly traveled down your front, spreading yourself under his gaze. His cerulean eyes had followed your fingers’ dance and he swallowed dryly. 

Wet.

So wet. 

He did that. 

Your thighs were quivering as you balanced yourself on your knees, and if he stared hard enough and long enough, he was sure he’d see you drip onto the sheets. 

What a waste that would be, though.

Dumbly, his jaw slackens he stares at your lower half glistening with the obvious sign of your love for him. Distantly, his left hand continued to buzz against your flesh and you laughed at the tickling sensation as you placed your hands on his tense shoulders to steady yourself.

His brain was going to short circuit like the very first time you allowed him to even see an inch of your bare skin. The hardworking pink thing in his skull cheered over and over as his eyes continued to glaze over at the gift in front of him.

Your plump lips were mouthing salacious words down at him but were only partially registering in his clouded brain. 

Something about ‘being inside’ and ‘finishing together’–

His wide eyes snapped back up to yours when you planted your hips firmly against his. Oh god, his pants were so ruined but he didn’t care. Not when you were looking down at him with all the love in your eyes as you sighed out his name in bliss.

It sounded so pretty from your lips. 

The Humanoid Typhoon felt dizzy, oh so dizzy…

You purred when his hands shakily found their home on your hips, “c’mon Plant boy. Let’s get those pants off of you, huh?” 

Vash the Stampede had never clumsily unbuckled his ruined pants so fast in his life. Can’t blame the guy though. His pretty litte Mayfly laughing and sitting on his lap made it really difficult. 

[fungateshortcakes]

Personal attention ASMR

Don't ask questions just run with it

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

Summary: You use Logan as your ASMR model

Wordcount: 2.4k (this was supposed to be a drabble what happened)

Warnings/tags: none, english is not my first language, fluff, established relationship, reader is gender neutral but is described to wear acrylic nails, sharp or dull challenge, hair brushing, face tracing, nail tapping, face masks, implied that reader wifes Logan up in the future lol

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

The cozy glow of a string of fairylights illuminated Logan as he sat in his armchair, a beer in hand, watching you fiddle with your - what did you call it? - ASMR setup? You struggled to get your camera into the right position on your tripod without knocking off the little hypersensitive microphones that extended from each side.

Logan sat there with an amused smile, but as his eyes wandered over the coffee table that was packed with various tools he couldn't name, facemasks that ran too pink and glittery for his liking- in that moment he thought, why the hell had he agreed to this? Your damned puppy eyes and sweet kisses, that's why.

"You're seriously gon' make me do this?" he asked you, standing up from his seat to stretch. "You agreed to it" you pouted before laughing. "Do I have to let you sign something next time?"

Logan rolled his eyes playfully at your words, shaking his head and lifting his hands dismissively "Nah, I'm kiddin'. I'll do it. But just cause it's you" he replied, helping you connect everything. You gave his rugged cheek a biiig kiss "You're the best boyfriend ever"

Logan chuckled and gave you back some sloppy, over the top kisses to your own cheeks until you were grossed out giggling. "I won't take the blame if your lil' fans don't like it though"

You shook your head. "I am sure they will love it. And you have nothing to worry about except being relaxed and looking pretty. I'll handle the rest" you teased him, smoothing out the thick neutral grey coloured blanket on your carpet in front of the couch, adding a matching pillow for Logan to rest his head on.

He shimmied into position on the ground so he looked directly into the camera hanging over his face. You made sure that his face was entirely in frame, fiddling with the contrast controls of the camera. The warm light from the fireplace contoured the left side of his face while the cold fairylights illuminated the right side of it, creating a interesting and aesthetical pleasing scene. This was gonna be great!

After everything was tuned to perfection, you knelt down over Logans head so you had all the access to his face that you needed. You had even gotten new acrylic nails for the occasion!

You rubbed your hands together "So, one of the most important rules of ASMR is no talking, only whispering. Okay? We want the ambience to be nice and peaceful" you explained excitedly to him. You knew that Logan knew what he was getting into - somewhat. The concept of ASMR wasn't too foreign to him. That comes with having a better half that does ASMR content for a living, but you still wanted to make sure.

Logan scoffed, snorting "Right. Peaceful. That's me"

You slapped his chest, shooting him a mocking glare in the process. "Shush now. I want to start" Logan blew a rasberry at you but quickly settled down after you switched on the camera for recording.

You showed your freshly manicured nails into the camera, tapping the crisp acrylic before slightly scraping them over Logans face "Welcome to another personal attention ASMR. My model for today is my beautiful boyfriend. He was kind enough to be of assistance" you whispered into the microphones, your voice soft and quiet.

Logan huffed at your words, only a small smile playing at his lips but he chose to not say anything and let you work. "We will be starting by tracing his face." you cooed gently, tapping the tips of your nails against his cheek with your left hand while your right hand mimicked the movements off-screen on a wooden board "Oh yeah, forgot to mention, he is a lumberjack, so he is more wood than man" you giggled into the mic, making Logans eyes roll at the corniness. But he couldn't deny that it felt nice.

You drew tingly patterns on his face, each sounding like scratching across crisp wood. You poked three dots under his eyes, drew an x on his forhead over and over again, traced over his frownlines and trailed your nail over his face in a continous line until you gently proded at his lips, making it sound like you knocked on them. He gave the tip of your nail a brief kiss, making you sigh out a smile into the mic. You tapped his face a few more times until you decided to switch up the trigger.

"Next, we will be playing a very popular little game" you spoke in a shushed tone, creating a bit of anticipation before you showed the camera two tools. One was a make-up brush, the other a kind of metal dermaroller with rotating spikes. You brought the tools to Logans head after you parted his hair to your liking "I'm going to touch your scalp with different textures. One is dull-" you started to explain, dragging the soft bristles of your brush over his head "-and the other one is going to be sharp like this" you ended, dragging the spiky roller across. "You feel the difference?" Logan nodded at your question, a low grumble sounding in the back of his throat.

"Good. I want you to tell me which one you feel, sharp or dull. Close your eyes for me, baby" you cooed quitely, humming as Logan did as he was told.

You angled his head a bit to have easier access, taking your time to part his hair neatly in a different location than before until you were ready to start. You stippled the brush against his head, waiting for an answer. "Dull" he whispered and for a second, you felt your chest tighten with joy. He was actually playing along and taking this seriously, it warmed your heart. When you said he was the best boyfriend, you meant it.

You switched the tool, drawing a line with the spike roller from the back all the way in front to his hairline, picking it up again and waiting for his reaction. "Sharp" he murmured and wow, his voice was very relaxing like this. You always found his voice soothing, but his deep whispers were another level. "Very good" you praised and a little proud smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. You decided to use the sharp roller again, letting it hit his skin only shortly before stopping. "Sharp" he replied, enjoying the way the tool made strong tingles errupt from the very top of his head all the way down his back. This was nice.

Your fingers raked through his hair, choosing another part of his head to part. You swiped the tip of your brush over him next, nodding as he whispered "Dull" to you in a hushed voice. You took your time to admire his face for a moment. It wasn’t tense nor taught, the usual frown line between his brows smoothed out and barely visible.

Another stipple of your brush "Dull", another turn of your roller "Sharp".

If you asked Logan, you could do this forever. He would prefer to be completely silent, though. And for you to only use the spiky tool.

To tease him a bit, you used both the brush and the dermaroller at the same time, softly giggling at the way his nose scrunched a bit in confusion. "Come again?" he whispered, a gruffness in his tone. You did, watching him lose faith in himself. As you repeated it the third time, he cracked open an eye and tried to keep his reaction as quiet as he could as to not mess up the video "That ain't fair, sugar" he said a little louder than intended, making you softly giggle into the microphone.

You put your stuff away, ready to move onto the next trigger. Your nails found his coarse beard, scratching along the thick mutton chops in circles while you explained what you were going to do next. "Now that we have messed up his hair quite a bit, I think it’s time for a bit of hair brushing" you whispered, cooing at the way Logan purred almost like a cat as you played with his beard. You kept that in mind for next time.

You sat back and got a neat brush, showing it off to the camera, tapping your nails against the plastic backside a little, before letting your fingers glide over the bristles slowly, softly whispering "bruushhh, bruushhh" over and over again.

When you started, Logan fought the urge to roll his eyes into the back of his head. Your slow strokes just hit the spot, tingles and shivers exploding on his head. If the little spike tool felt like heaven already, then this was absolute nirvana. Now this was something you could do for the rest of his life.

Your gentle whispers of brushing fell on deaf ears as Logan tried not to hum at the feeling of the bristles scratching over his scalp. You combed through his whole head of hair multiple times, changing out the brushes and combs from time to time to not make it boring for the viewers and to give Logan different sensations.

When you were done, you settled on scratching his scalp with your nails instead, both hands under his head, massaging in deep circles. "Oh wow" Logan couldn’t help but murmur, closing his eyes for a second to stop them from trying to roll back. You could practically see the shudder that went through him at that, his mouth slightly agape.

As you stopped to get your next pieces of equipment, Logans eyes fluttered open, darting around as if he had just randomly woken up in the middle of nowhere, completely disoriented. It was cute.

"Last but not least, I have some face masks prepared for him." you muttered, presenting the camera a glittery, foaming face mask, swirling a brush through the bowl it was in, the soft crackling of the bubbles being picked up by the mic.

"But first, we will lightly prep his skin. Close your eyes for me, love" you whispered to Logan who gladly let his eyes flutter shut. You used a clear face primer, putting it on his face in little droplets all over before moving to get your sparkly water globes. You turned the globes in your hand, a satisfying glug glug glug emitting from them, iridescent glitter swirling inside. You brought them together at the bottom ever so gently as to not make them break over Logans face, a sound you either loved or hated coming from them as they bounced off of each other quickly.

Then you let the round, bulbous sides glide over Logans face to spread the primer and work it into his skin. At first he slightly jumped from the sudden coldness, but it didn’t take long for him to ease into it as the bulbs warmed up.

You were swiping the smooth globes over his skin effortlessly, removing the puffiness from under his eyes, massaging his cheeks in circular motions and easing any kind of headache as you glid over his forhead and temples. He could really really get used to this.

Like with everything else, you ended this treatment far too soon for his liking. And if he didn't know any better, he would actually start to protest.

The next thing he knew, he felt something cold and gel-like being pressed to his under eyes. Nurishing eye patches - sparkling, probably. Then he heard you rub your hands together, before your palms landed on his cheeks. The foam on your hands crackled loudly at the contact, the bubbles bursting and popping on his skin. You massaged it in, cooeing and making sounds with your mouth. His head lolled a little, too relaxed and sleepy for his own good. But he wasn't about to fall asleep, nuh uh, he wouldn’t fall asleep because of some ASMR stuff.

By the time your hands were back on his scalp to let the foam mask really sink in before washing it off, he was gone. Out like a light

At first, you hadn't even noticed, mindlessly scratching and massaging his head thoroughly with your nails and admiring his relaxed face, thinking about how lucky you were to have him. You had boyfriends before that laughed in your face when you asked them to be part of a video. When they realised you weren't joking, they got mad and lashed out, telling you that not even over their dead body would they sit there like a dumbass and have you whispering weird bulshit in their ear. You were disappointed, a simple no would have done it. But they were angry like it was something deeply personal. Not Logan though, he was a sweetheart.

He acted like he didn't want to, that he was only doing this because you batted your eyelashes at him, but deep down you knew he liked doing these things for you, seeing you so happy and excited was enough. If he was truly against it, he wouldn’t be in this position right now.

You liked to think he was secretly actually enjoying this - imagine your face as you realised he had fallen dead asleep, softly snoring as you wiped the foam mask off his face ever so gently as to not wake him up. "He has fallen asleep, guys" you whispered into the mic, the giddy smile could be heard from your voice even though your face wasn’t visible. You couldn't believe it. Your big, beefy teddy bear of a boyfriend fell asleep because of a little pampering.

You cooed softly, rubbing the last oil treatment onto his skin, being extra careful and gentle with him. "If you liked this video, leave a like, consider following my channel and leave a comment if you want to see more boyfriend content" you said in a hushed voice, coddling the face of your sleeping boyfriend. "See you next time, lovelies!" you whispered, booping Logans nose before switching off the camera.

Your boyfriend continued to snooze even after that, laying there unbothered with a glowy face. And it that moment you knew, maybe it was time. Just maybe, a few videos later, you could welcome your fans to another ASMR video with your husband.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

This idea came to me so randomly, i hope you guys still like it. Let me know in the comments please and leave a like, reblog if you want <3 I love to see it🎀

[thegnomelord]

Missing You

CW: NSFW, sub bottom Soap, dom top Reader, phone sex, masturbation, dirty talk, edging, sex toy, dom/sub. Quick and rough but that's how the horny strikes.

Like always, asks/requests are open :Dd

You've been gone on a mission for nearly a month now, and Soap doesn't know what to do with himself. Even when you text him sporadically to tell him you're alive, sometimes he feels like a housewife, stuck awake late at night wondering if you'll return to him as a pair of dog tags.

And even later at night he can't help thinking of what you'll do to him when you come back, ravage him until he's drooling and his brain is leaking from his ears.

As days turn to weeks he finds himself trying and trying to jerk off to no avail. No matter how much he tries he can't seem to get himself off while you're away; he could fuck his cock into his fist until his skin's rubbed raw and his balls are so full they feel like they'll explode but nothing ever comes out. His body is just so used to having your body over his and your scent in his nose and just your presence near that it can't cum without it.

Pure need breeds desperation and has him finding himself at your door in the middle of the night. It's locked, but he has the key. He's quick to shimmy his way inside, a happy little sigh escaping him when he huddles underneath the covers and your scent invades his nose. A stuttered breath leaves him as he gropes his stiff cock underneath his shorts, burying his nose into your pillow and breathing in deep until his lungs are full of you and his brain is buzzing nicely.

He tries to get himself off like that, doesn't take him much to stroke himself to full mast but even surrounded by your scent he can't cum. It's like there's a blockage at the base of his cock that's not letting anything put pre-cum out while he humps his fist until tears prickle his eyes.

A thought pops into his mind and without even thinking he's fishing his phone from his pocket and dialing your number without thinking of what time of the day is on your end. Holding the phone in one hand and cock in the other he nibbles on his lip as he waits for you to pick up. Hopes you will pick up.

"Johnny?" Your voice is slurred with sleep, giving it a deep base rumble that sends a nice shiver down spine.

"Bonnie..." He breathes out and bites his lip to hold back a groan, cock twitching in reaction from just your voice. "Fuck, ah missed yea."

You hum, still half asleep. "Missed you too Johnny. How have you been?"

"Good." He breathes out, worrying his lip between his teeth as he strokes himself. "Just been mighty bored since you left lil' ol' me alone."

You can hair faint shuffling on the other end, but not his usual chatter. Normally when you call each other Soap will prattle on and on for as he can, but this time he is strangely silent save for his shuddered breath. "Soap... where are you?"

He freezes and sucks in a breath, "In yeh room."

"Johnny." The way you say his name sends a shiver down his spine and he begins stroking himself again, pinching and squeezing the head of his poor cock in the same way you do. "Did you miss me this much?"

"No shite." A small sound escapes him, a mixture of a curse and something more animalistic. "Ah try 'an wank off but every time I try it's-" A familiar hellish feeling in his balls, like something close to pain but not quite, has him cutting his sentence short.

"Poor boy," You coo, "Can't cum without me there, can you? Got you so trained to cum with my cock up your ass you can't do it without something nice and big stretching you out, hmm?"

Your words have embarrassment flooding his system and a small stream of pre leaking from his red angry tip, "'S your fault, fockin' wanker." He curses, burying his head into your pillow while quickly stroking his cock. He'd be embarrassed about what your voice does to him if he wasn't so damn horny. "Fix yer mess."

"Want to cum so badly don't you?" You stall just for a second, your mind birthing a devious idea. "Alright sweetheart, check under the bed for me."

Your request confuses him. "What for?" Still, he's a good boy, he does as he's told no matter how much it hurts to let go of his dick. Even just the sheets rubbing against his poor dick has him whimpering from overstimulation, but he manages to reach beneath your bed and finds a small discrete box.

"Just a gift for you." Your smirk carries over the phone and you can just imagine his expression when when he opens the box.

Inside the box is a dildo. It's firm in his hand as he picks it up, heat pools in his stomach as he recognizes the tip he'd spend hours suckling on, as he traces each realistic vein with his fingers the same way he'd do with his tongue, as he rubs the silicone balls like he'd worship the actual ones; It's molded from your actual dick.

"Oh you sick fuck." He breathes out, but there's not a single hint of disgust in his breathless voice. "Did yea make it so's yea could fock yourself?"

"Funny." Your two share a small chuckle, "If you're not careful I'll make one of yours and lock the real thing away. Not like you use it much."

He never knows if you're serious or kidding but the subtle threat in your tone has his dick throbbing all the same. He manages an indignant "Oi!" before his voice pitters out when he finds your second surprise.

"Thought you'd want something to remember me by." You can't hide your amusement when he finds your underwear. After you'd caught him masturbating with his face shoved in a pair of your underwear he'd nicked, you'd gone out of your way to wear one pair each time you went to the gym and didn't wash it.

"Oh bile yer heid." He huffs but he's already rolling on his side with your underwear pressed close to his nose. He breathes in deep until he can taste the heavy tang of your musk on his tongue, arousal burning hot in his veins.

"I'll take it you like it." You chuckle, "Go on sweetheart, you know what to do."

"Aye." He shuffles until shimmy his shorts off, having not even bothered with wearing boxers. He shifts so his knees are close to his chest, the phone pressed between his ear and the pillow so he can use both hands. "C'mon, keep yappin'. Need tah hear yea." He feels so high-strung begging like this, but it just makes heat burn hotter in his cock when he brings the silicone dildo to his puckered hole that's already wet from when he'd tried to finger himself to an orgasm.

"Oh, sweetheart," With your voice ringing in his ear and your scent in his nose and the weight of your sheets over his half naked body he almost feels like you're right there. If he closes his eyes he imagine it's your cock poke against his hole and your body swallowing his. "Let me guess, you're already wet huh?"

"Know me so well." He breathes out and slowly pushes the dildo against his hole until the head finally slips past the ring of muscle. He's rougher than you'd be but his body is so desperate to feel you that the cock slips in easily, his walls clenching greedily around every familiar vein.

You croon praises in his ear as he sets a deep and fast pace, biting your underwear between his teeth to muffle his pathetic mewls while pounding his hole. But it's not enough, even with every single one of his senses full of you it's not enough. His arm's starting to cramp the longer he fucks himself, twisting and angling the dildo in a desperate attempt to catch his prostate, his hips twitching back to when he bottoms out so he can feel the fake balls slap against his own.

"Shit- It's not enough, fock, please." He shifts his head just enough to beg, huffing in your scent.

"What's wrong Soap, can't fuck yourself like I can?" He groans at your words, biting the wet fabric of your underwear again when he finally manages to graze his prostate. His cock's leaking like a faucet, easing the glide of his fingers when he grabs it to stroke himself until he's whining from the stimulation coming from both ends.

His balls ache and fire burns in his stomach every time he bottoms out, his thighs shaking with the need to cum. "Nae, you fock me so good-" He pants, pleas both in English and Gaelic falling from his lips until you can barely understand anything aside from pure need.

"Go on Johnny, you can cum."

Your permission is all it takes for him to tip over the edge, hole spasming around the dildo and cum spurting like a firehose from his cock and his sight going white. Weeks upon weeks of unresolved tension all escaping him as waves of euphoria pulse through him, leaving him shaking from his orgasm.

"There you go, good boy." Your voice brings him back from the peaks of heaven, his breathing heavy and uncoordinated. "How do you feel?"

"Fockin' perfect." He slurs and has just enough strength to slip the fake cock from his hole and toss it somewhere on the floor. "Felt like ah was ready ta blow." A loud yawn leaves him and his eyes feel heavy when he hears your voice again.

"Get some sleep Johnny, I'll be back by the time you wake up."

"I'll hold yea to it." A dumb little smile tugs on his lips and he nuzzles his head into your pillow, drifting off to sleep.

[heeheeswifey]

personal trainer! heeseung headcannons

MDNI!!

personal trainer? He was just horny.

big thanks to ml @jakesangel for helping me write this, mwah

personal trainer!heeseung who always made you start with stretching, his big hands all over your body.

personal trainer!heeseung who was fixing your form, his fingers deftly pressing against your wet cunt.

personal trainer!heeseung who took every opportunity to have his dick on your ass.

personal trainer!heeseung who kept forcing your back into a deeper arch, rubbing his dick on you.

personal trainer!heeseung who turned the ac off just to make you take your shirt off, leaving you in a skimpy bra.

personal trainer!heeseung who praised you every time you had your ass in the air, convincing you that you finally did something right.

personal trainer!heeseung who says 'my finger slipped!' when he pushed his thumb against your cunt.

personal trainer!heeseung who pretends to fix the weights around your ankles, taking a whiff of your pussy, eyes rolling into the back of his head.

personal trainer!heeseung who thought you were oblivious to what he was doing.

"yeahhh....yeahh, just a little lower, doll." He says, dick print now pressing against your cunt, for the nth time during the session. "Heeseung..stop it.." you whisper to him, as you feel your hips involuntarily bucking against his cock. whatever was about to happen, you wanted it to happen so bad.. "Stop what..?" Heeseung breathes out, erection straining against the sweatpants he wore. "P-please...ts’ not a part your job.." you whine out, a wet patch now staining your leggings. "would you look at that..you want it, don't you?" he questions, a cheeky smile spread across his features. Covering his pointer and middle finger,he presses them against your covered clit. "oh...hnngh..!~" you mewl, cheek pressed up against the thin yoga mat you had. "ts' okay, let it out...only we're gonna know about this, doll." he tells you, shimmying down your leggings. You let out a loud moan once he has his cock slipping inbetween your folds, leaking tip slipping In and out your aching hole. "f-fine...be quick with it.." you sigh, clit pulsing and walls clenching around nothing. "So fucking ..tight..oh!~" he whines, bottoming out into your little cunt, as you bite your lips, tongue lolling out of your mouth as he pounded your figure in to the yoga mat. he pulled on your ponytail, his chest now flush against your back. "Fuck- fuckfuckfuckfuckfuuck!~" you mewl, mascara dripping down your cheeks as you were being fucked dumb. Literally. "your so fucking sexy..can't believe how long I waited..just fuckin- ahn~ fisting myself to the thought of this lil' pussy..!" He breathes out, eyes rolling into the back of his head.he bit your neck, feeling you clench down harder on him, oh he just knew that this wasn't gonna be a one time thing. "this pussy's so good...are you sure that y're not a virgin?" he breathes, licking and biting at your neck, free hand rubbing your clit messily. "Heeseung...oh!~ mmnf- I'm cumming..oh my goddd!~" you say, clenching around his cock repeatedly, drenching it completely in your cum. "fucking hell- haah~" he whimpers lowly, before cumming inside your wet cunt. pulling out slowly, heeseung takes your cheeks, placing a wet kiss on your lips before pushing back in, ready for round two. "Calm down, baby." Who knows when he's gonna get his fill..