#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.

[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)

[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. 

[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..

[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.

[almostempty]

Cargo

(joel x f!reader, din x f!reader, frankie x f!reader) | wc: 4.9k | other fics | Ao3

summary: smuggler!joel finds you and brings you to his partner in crime, with a side of gratuitous smut and a special guest along the way (full spoiler summary under the warnings/tags) 

note: this is for my lovely @auterdelabre, and it was inspired by the line you wrote when i joked about joel using “cargo” as a pet name (and a couple other things i had to mix in there) 

extra note: i hope this can bring a lil distraction in light of the heavy reality of today, fuck fascists – just don’t fuck them

warnings/tags: mdni explicit, smut, smuggler!joel, dubcon, oral, piv, degradation, ‘whore’ and one (1) ‘slut’, truly pwp - like the plot is just p, pls let me know if i missed anything important, weds warnings: doin’ it/fillin’ it up unprotected with no consequences bc it’s fiction and in the words of Wu-Tang Clan’s Ol’ Dirty Bastard in Shimmy Shimmy Ya - Ooooh, Baby, I like it raw; f!reader is able-bodied–this time this bish has hair that joel can worm his fingers into, no y/n, likely many mistakes bc i yam who i yam 

FULL SPOILER SUMMARY: crackfic crossover: star wars smuggler!joel finds you and y’all fuck, he brings you to his partner dark!din and y’all fuck, but surprise! smuggler!joel and dark!din were your co-stars for your independent porn. your bf, Frankie (who played the Mandalorian), is just so turned on watching you edit the video that…you guessed it! y’all fuck) 

The clear water rushes downstream, rippling around your legs as you step toward the bank and the soft grass. The sunlight filtering through the forest canopy makes the surface of the stream sparkle like glitter. But, you. You are the star of the scene. 

You glow like you’re a creature drawn from the sun and the soil, from the woods and the water. Crystal-clear droplets of water race along your skin, rolling over your curves and dripping back into the current to flow down, down, down to another body of water. 

You appear meditative, attuned to nature's tranquility, disregarding the universe's relentlessly unjust chaos. The ugliness and the violence. The balance. The dark. 

Joel lurks in the trees, waiting to make his presence known. Holding out for an opportunity to strike. He creeps out of the treeline with deft precision, like a shadow. You’re only partially dressed, still bent over your bag, searching for something when he gets close.  

“Don’t think you’ll need to worry about that anymore.” 

He’s not loud, but his gruff voice still disturbs the serenity. A jarring interruption to the leaves rustling in the breeze and the birdsongs echoing above. You take one long breath before you look him in the eye. Dropping your bag, you raise your hands in surrender. 

You have nothing. No weapons, no defense, no chance of getting far if he’s tracked you down already. “How did you find me?” You square your shoulders, standing your ground despite your disadvantaged position. 

“It’s my job,” he replies simply. 

He circles around you slowly, appraising you, eyes roaming over your exposed skin. Your tight shorts and thin undershirt don’t leave much for him to imagine, but you refuse to shrink or hide. You assess him yourself, and realization spreads across your face. You mutter his name aloud. Joel. 

He pauses just behind you and hooks a finger under the thin strap along your shoulder, teasing down the skin before snapping it like a rubber band. You stifle a wince. Just because he has you alone and barely dressed in the wilderness doesn’t mean you intend to give easily. You keep your chin raised in a proudly defiant stance. 

Joel chuckles dangerously at you, stepping closer. He rests his large palms atop your shoulders. It would be a sweet portrait of the two of you if it weren’t for the reality of the circumstance. Instead, his body is oppressive, so broad compared to you that it’s like you’re caged in, locked in a gravitational pull towards him, despite being in the open air. 

Your distaste for his presence has your body rigid and tense. You’re holding your breath as he leers at your body over your shoulder. His fingers dig into the flesh over the ridge of your clavicle like the claws of a predator ready to fly you away or tear you apart. 

“Are you going to come along willingly now?” he asks. The bass of his voice sends a shiver down your spine despite his furnace of a chest radiating into your back. The question hangs ominously between you. The or left unsaid. 

You swallow slowly, muttering an agreement and turning so you’re face to face. Your eyes dart across his features, and it’s strangely intimate. Something heavy in the closeness of your mouths, the shared breaths you take. His humanity is so apparent. You could reach out to trace every line of his face, but his stoic expression morphs into something sinister.

“That’s too bad,” he tuts, disappointed, “I was hoping you’d put up a fight.” 

You scowl, shifting your weight to lean away from him. He laughs harshly at your response. It’s a grating, barking sound, baring his teeth. 

You’re still thinking about what he was hoping for as he binds your wrists together, but he’s not revealing anything else. He grabs your upper arm and begins leading you toward the dense trees. You stumble, adjusting to his pace and trying to find your stride. 

“Where are you taking me?” you complain, trying to jerk your arm out of his grip, but he’s latched on tight. He’s unfazed by your attempt to break away from him as if it’s a natural part of his day-to-day to wrestle with an unwilling companion. 

It’s an exertion to keep up with him; he moves with purpose and little regard for you. Unaware of the small branches and shoots of new growth in the forest whip at your face, arms, and ankles. Uncaring that they obstruct your vision as you let him lead. 

You take his strength, size, and foul-tempered look apparent from his profile. You follow half a step behind, visibly less enthused about his single-minded pursuit. 

“Not far.” He’s blunt. Unhelpful. Answering you without a glance in your direction. 

“What do you want with me?”

“That’s not my decision,” he shrugs as if he isn’t talking about what happens to your life. Not wasting a word to ease your panic. 

“Who sent you?” Fear cracks through your voice. Ugly and raw. 

“Don’t know.” 

He’s so short with you. Brutish and rushed. Trudging along indifferent to your world crashing down. 

“You don’t know?” There’s an edge to your tone, frustration apparent. Joel shoots you a scathing look. He has a handsome face, but his dark eyes show no kindness. 

“Don’t know. Don’t care.” He turns away, looking forward as you make your way along. 

He moves confidently, like a force of nature. Twigs snap under his boots as he creates his path without regard for the destruction. 

“Then what’s in it for you? Why not just let me go?” You press sulkily. 

“I get paid for delivering you, not making decisions, sweet thing.” 

His response is gross and detached. Sweet thing. The pet name drips with sarcasm. You’re just an object. You scoff at him. 

“You’re despicable,” you cut under your breath as you weave through the underbrush. Disgust warps your features as you make your way along.

“Watch it,” Joel snaps. A low tolerance threshold. Fitting for a surly smuggler. 

“It’s true,” you snap right back. He doesn’t take it lightly, stopping and yanking you around roughly so you’re facing him again. 

“You’re heartless,” you jab, “scum. You don’t care about anything but your own profit.” 

Fed up, he backs you into the nearest tree. The bark digs into your shoulder blades. His hand grips your throat menacingly. His face is so close to yours. The deep line between his brows, the depth of his dark eyes, and his plush lower lips are all you can see. 

“Keep it up,” he goads. His fingers are merely a threat, resting along your arteries. Tempting you to talk back. “We both know you aren’t innocent,” he adds. 

You snarl at that, arguing that he doesn’t know the first thing about you, but he only grins darkly. 

Joel enjoys the way you detest him. He also enjoys the sight of you pinned under his hand. The way it only takes one to have you helplessly trapped. You’re still muttering insults at him, but he’s ignoring your words. He’s too interested in the arch in your spine tilting you towards him. The rising and falling as your breath is shallow and quick. 

Your thin top is still damp from your dip in the water, and from his point of view, it’s a scene that deserves to be photographed. You seem so delicate in contrast to him. His wide palm covering your throat, his vascular forearm so masculine against your supple skin. You look at him through your lashes, your eyes narrow and scornful, but his eyes trail down as your voice trails off. 

Joel has a perfect view of your hard nipples under the thin material of your shirt. The fabric clings to you like you’re in a wet t-shirt contest, and the longer he stares, the more he starts to lose his sense of urgency in taking you anywhere.

“What?” you interrupt his ogling, forcing your features into a disapproving glower to overcompensate for the breathlessness. 

He’s amused by your contempt and disobedience. He can tell there’s a struggle forming beneath the surface. The twitch between your brows where they threaten to saddle in pleasure if he applies the right pressure. The lust flickering behind your eyes. The disdain tugging at the corners of your frown only makes his blood run hotter. 

“You think you’re better than me,” His voice drops, sinfully low. You stare blankly, not arguing. “You think you’re special,” he continues cruelly. 

“You aren’t.” His fingers squeeze along just the sides of your neck; playing god with you, he restricts the blood pumping through your arteries. “No, sweet thing, you’re just another runaway whore with a bad attitude. That sure as hell doesn’t make you special.”

“I’m not a whore.” You spit his words back in his face. 

“No?” He mocks, tilting his head and dragging his eyes over your frame. His lecherous gaze highlights your compromising position. You’re on display for him, at his mercy, alone. It all comes into focus as your throat runs dry. “Could’ve fooled me.” He lifts the pressure off your neck, and the blood rushes to your head. 

Your gasp switches into a tight frown. His cocky smirk only widens. 

“Argue all you want, but your body doesn’t lie,” he coos arrogantly. 

“Can feel your pulse beating faster,” his fingers massage deliberately at your neck. You steel your breathing, eyes searching for something on his face to focus on. Something to ground you. But he leans in close, his breath hot along your ear. “So desperate,” he inhales deeply like he’s cataloging your scent, “just for me?” 

His other hand traces the angle of your jaw. 

“Maybe that’s just a human response to being pinned to a tree in the middle of nowhere by a smuggler,” you hiss. 

“Maybe.” He releases you, and you stagger forward at the sudden loss of support. Losing your balance and unable to steady yourself with your hands bound, you’re toppling forward to your knees as Joel half catches you—stopping you from landing with your face in the dirt. 

He shakes his head at you in disbelief. Every time you move, you pose just to tempt him. Here you are on your knees, glowing in the soft light as you tilt your face up at him. The fear that flitters over your face twists into something else. Something that makes you both pause. 

Joel moves first, resting a hand on your cheek. Reflexively, your lips part, and he can’t stop slipping his thumb into your mouth. You try to recalibrate, reversing the involuntary responses, but he’s already seen them. The way your breath hitched and the way your eyes darkened. 

He raises a brow slightly, entertained by how easy it is to read the signs. “It’s too late to hide it.” He pulls his thumb back, dragging it slowly over your bottom lip and down to your chin, leaving a trail of saliva that catches the light and glistens. “You think I can’t see how bad you want it?” 

You shake your head lightly in defiance, murmuring that he’s wrong and dropping your gaze. You’re sat at eye level with his belt and his one hand with the thumb hooked on a belt loop. You study every ridge of his hand, the scars along his knuckles, the sun-tanned brown skin. 

The bulge highlighted by his fitted jeans catches your attention, and you look back up to meet his eyes.  

Joel slips his hand past your face, fingers weaving into your hair, cupping the back of your head. He doesn’t add much pressure, and you don’t have to lean far to rest your cheek along the worn denim on his upper thigh. 

“Yeah,” he growls above you, “take it out.” 

You move hurriedly, dissolving your denial. It’s easy work to unbuckle his belt and pop open the button of his jeans, even with your wrists bound. You wet your lips unconsciously as you tug the band of his boxers down until his cock springs free. Only half-hard, it hangs imposing and proud. So close to your face, you can see the tiniest twitch as he responds to your warm breath fanning over his skin. 

“Get to it,” he orders. 

You blink up at him, resistance fading on the tip of your tongue. “Or get up so we can get a move on; doesn’t matter to me.” he challenges. You curl your fingers around the base of his shaft. It’s smooth and hot under your fingertips. Experimentally, you run your tongue along the underside. His fingers tighten their grip in your hair. 

You open wide, laying your tongue out flat, and he guides you. Joel’s eyes are glued to your mouth as he slides his cock past your lips. You stare back, studying every expression that crosses his face. His hard eyes don’t soften, but you could swear his blinking slows. The hint of a snarl deepens as he picks up the pace. 

Using you. Fucking your wet mouth until he’s pressing into the back of your throat, seeking more. 

Your eyes tear up, but he doesn’t stop, and you don’t resist. 

You quickly acclimate, working in rhythm, breathing, taking it all. When your eyelids flutter shut and a moan buzzes in your throat, Joel laughs darkly. “If you aren’t a whore,” he pauses to make a throaty noise that spears right to your core, “why do you take my cock down your throat just like one?” 

You choke at his assertion, and he pulls out of your mouth, leaving you gasping for air. 

“Not a very good one, I guess,” he says flatly, yet with a particularly pleased expression still faintly etched in the lines of his face. You wipe the spit coating your chin onto the back of your hands. 

He doesn’t reach for you again; instead, he takes his cock in his own hand. Impatient. Slick with your saliva, he strokes himself lewdly, grunting with pleasure as he flicks his wrist. 

“You’re deranged,” you mutter, voice hoarse. 

He doesn’t like that. He moves without a word, shoving you forward onto your elbows and knees. He holds you down against the soft grass with one hand as the other crudely pulls your shorts down. He runs his palm along the curve of your spine, over the contour of your ass. Both hands grip the back of your knees, readjusting you to his liking. 

Then he takes his time. 

Kneading your ass and thighs, landing one firm smack on that has you jolting forward, cheek pressing flat into the grass. The sharp sensation disorients you and leaves you sucking in air. 

Joel is undisturbed by your reactions. He takes both of his thumbs to spread you open wider, revealing the glossy sheen of your core. Your cunt drips, slick and swollen for him. 

“You think I’m so despicable,” his gravelly voice makes your mind fuzzy, “how come you’re so fuckin’ wet for me?” 

You can only manage to whine into the ground, pushing back towards him. “You don’t move,” he says harshly, one wide palm gripping your hip to hold you still. When the blunt head of his cock glides along your seam, you let out a broken moan. His fingers dig into your soft flesh in warning. 

He pauses, with his tip resting at the core of your throbbing pussy, to marvel at the visual before sinking into you. You gasp at the overwhelming sensation of being filled so completely. You don’t have time to adjust before he’s pulling back and slamming into you again. He drags against every nerve inside of you, intensifying every motion. 

Joel isn’t gentle. He holds you firmly and uses your body, fucking into you with rough thrusts that make your thighs tremble. “Take it,” he grunts, pounding into you deeply until his hips meet your bare thighs. 

It’s all wet noises, heaving breathing, and skin slapping against skin. He watches the plush curves of your ass ripple as he drives into you harder and faster. The force of his movement pulls sharp, ragged cries from you as he fucks you so hard it pushes the air out of your lungs. 

“This is all you get.” Joel groans behind you, curling over you with his broad frame. Your bodies are sweaty where your naked skin slips against each other, and you writhe against him, mouth hanging open and eyes rolling back as he fucks deeply into you. 

“You’re nothing to me,” he snarls, punctuated with his hips snapping into you brutally. “Just fuckin’ cargo.” 

“Shit,” he mutters, hips stuttering as you whimper. “You like that. Can feel you clenching around me,” he keeps talking. You’re mindless beneath him. A winded, drooling mess. “Ain’t even worth the hassle to deliver. Better use taking my cock,” he grunts, hips canting more erratically until he stills, pulsing inside of you with a throaty groan. 

You’re boneless, propped up on shaky knees as he pulls out and watches his come leak out of you for a moment. Then he’s crassly yanking your shorts up and ordering you to stand. You’re wobbly when you get back to your feet, and he huffs at you agitatedly. “Figure out how to walk, or I’ll drag your ass the rest of the way.” 

You can’t say how long it takes before you reach your destination. Everything was a blur as you clumsily trotted along, outpaced by Joel’s long stride. You’re breathing loudly through your mouth, a sheen of sweat between your shoulder blades and on your chest. Joel, apparently well-conditioned for the cardio, is frustratingly collected. He holds you tightly as he opens the door and pushes you inside. 

He jerks you towards a makeshift seat on a crate and raps a fist against the wall behind you. You can hear heavy footsteps. Joel ignores you as you try to read his expression. In seconds, the fully armored Mandalorian enters the room. 

He moves swiftly, barely glancing in your direction as Joel meets him on the far side of the room. 

“You were delayed,” the Mandalorian remarks in his modulated voice, his tone unrevealing. Joel steps in closer, muttering in a hushed tone that you can’t pick up. Something makes the Mandalorian laugh abrasively. His voice cracks through the air, fraught with a hazardous edge. 

You sit still, chest tight, as the helmet swivels towards you. Expressionless metal, he gives nothing away. Harsh lights beat down on your damp skin, making it hard to stay still. 

Joel is menacing, but this guy is impossible to read. The Mandalorian stalks towards you like a predator. 

Joel leaves the room, presumably off to shower, pulling his shirt over his head as he walks away. 

“Let’s see then,” the Mandalorian commands as he approaches. 

“See what?”

He pulls you to your feet, a gloved hand jerking your head side to side as he examines you. 

He steps forward, and you back away in synchronized steps until your heel hits something. The Mandalorian has you trapped between the cold wall and his cold metal armor. 

He removes the cuffs that bind your hands, tossing them aside, drawing a confused look from you. Instead, with one hand, he pins both your wrists above your head, causing your legs to spread instinctively. You squeeze your eyes shut as if you can control yourself without looking. 

“He said you’re not worth the fuel to return.” The Mandalorian gestures toward the direction Joel disappeared in with just a subtle tilt of his head. “That you’re a distraction and a whore.” 

“Then let me go.” 

“No.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t say more. He watches you. He is still and statuesque, whereas you’re so human. In the thick air, your breathing sounds too loud. Your heart beats too violently. Your limbs tremble too weakly. You give away so much, just with your body, your face, your eyes. 

“What do you want with me?” 

“I ask the questions,” he negates coolly. 

He squeezes your jaw tightly, “Is it your mouth?” His fingers squish the insides of your cheeks against your teeth. 

“No…it can’t be this needy cunt, hmm?” 

You’re shuddering, soft, and pliant. Warm, flesh and blood. You can’t form a response for him, even when he releases your jaw. Your gape at him with wide eyes and wet lips. 

Then, unceremoniously, he’s shoving his hand into your leggings. Wedging his thick fingers between your slippery, swollen folds. He growls like an animal beneath the helmet.

“You’re soaked,” he says. “Getting fucked full of Joel’s cock wasn’t enough?” He pulls his hand out, letting the band of your leggings snap against your belly. You stare back. Your body trembles lightly, arms straining in his grip. 

“Answer me,” he orders quietly. 

It’s soft. Your throat is still hoarse. “No.” 

Then he’s groping at you with an intensity that makes you writhe against the cool steel wall. 

He pinches at your strained nipples, rolling them between his fingers and making you bite your own lip to distract from the twisted pain and pleasure he’s unleashing on you. You can’t keep back all the noises, though, and he pauses when you moan and arch into his hand. 

“You’re not a whore,” he decides and he wedges his thigh between your legs. You roll along the ridged plate of armor, needily grinding against him. 

Without warning, the Mandalorian tears your top off of your body like a starved animal. Primal and desperate, but with precision. A tremor runs through you at the exposure and ferocity, making you gasp. 

“No. You like this too much to be whore.” He drops your hands and they fly to his shoulders. You wrap your legs around his waist and he carries you across the room dropping you onto the bed. 

He pulls your leggings down, tossing them to the floor. You’re breathing so heavily, anticipating his next move. He pulls his cock out of his pants and you can’t take your eyes off of it. The only part of him exposed aside from his hand. The only glimpse of the true man beneath the metal. 

He taps his drooling head on your clit and you make a hungry sound, spreading your legs wide to make room for him. With a firm grip, he guides himself through your throbbing folds and into your hot, wet cunt. 

You groan as he meets the end of you. Your walls flutter around him as he splits you open, and then he starts to rock in and out and you keen. “Shut up,” he growls and covers your mouth with his palm. 

He saws into you relentlessly and you choke down your cries of pleasure. “Listen to how wet you are,” he mutters. “Such a filthy slut.” Your body jolts with every thrust, breasts bouncing and legs shaking as he keeps your mouth covered. 

“You think she can take us both?” 

You strain under the Mandalorian’s hand trying to turn your head and Joel moves in closer. 

“She’s just cargo,” Joel muses darkly, “she’ll take what we give.” 

…….

You pause the video on your laptop, freezing the scene just as it cuts back to your reaction to Joel. The fucked out smile in your eyes apparent, even with your mouth covered. 

You whip your head over to look at your boyfriend lounging next to you on the sofa. Your brow is furrowed critically, and he can see the wheels turning in your mind. His eyes, though, are clouded with lust. 

“Would’ve been better if we could’ve made a set that looked like the Razor Crest,” you grumble. You chew on your bottom lip as you consider the rest of your critique. 

“Do you think I should’ve kept in more of the dialogue between you and Joel? And the continuity with your gloves—do you really think it’s not that noticeable?” 

“Baby,” Frankie mutters in his thick, husky voice. “I don’t think anyone is worried about the plot or the fucking gloves.” 

You sigh deeply at that, returning to your video editing software with irritation. “You’re just saying that because you aren’t worried about those things,” you admonish him, continuing with your work. 

You play another clip of the scene that the two of you shot. Hearing your moaning and whimpering for him through the laptop speakers drives him fucking crazy. He’s pretty sure he could wear a banana suit and people would still happily pay to watch you get railed by him. 

“I’m not just saying that,” he argues, deciding to hold back on the banana comment. 

“Come here. It’s late, take a break.” He can practically hear your eyes roll as you ignore him and continue poring over details that only you would notice. He doesn’t have much patience left, already desperately turned on both from the video you made and from how sexy you look next to him. So focused. In your element. 

He lowers his voice into that rumbly, bassy register that he knows you can’t resist. “Are you going to make me repeat myself?” Your head swivels, and he gives you a dark glare with a gleam in his eye. He can see the feisty remark swirling on the tip of your tongue. “Come here,” he orders. 

You close the laptop, pushing it towards the middle of the coffee table. “Are you going to punish me?” you murmur, crawling onto his lap slowly. “I can get the helmet back out,” you joke with a playful smirk before you curl into him, pressing soft kisses along his warm neck. 

“Fuck,” he huffs, “I should punish you.” He grabs your hips, guiding you closer to where he wants you. You gasp at the same time as he groans when your core rubs against the long ridge of his erection. “You feel that?” he growls lowly. The friction and heat between you radiates up his spine and down to his toes. “You feel how hard you make me?” he asks. 

“Yes.” You grind against him. He feels huge through his soft sweats. You roll your hips, savoring the pressure of his hard cock teasing you. It sends sparks from your cunt to your nipples, lighting up your nerves. He slips one hand under the oversized t-shirt you’re wearing–his t-shirt– to palm your tits and pinch at your nipples as if he could read your mind or, rather, your body. 

“That’s how hard every jerkoff that watches us is gonna be.” 

His statement makes you giggle softly against his neck. “Yeah?” you ask breathily. 

“Yeah,” he confirms before capturing your lips with a hungry kiss that makes you moan into his mouth. You melt into each other on the sofa. Tongues sliding against each other, hips rocking against each other, and hearts beating against each other through your ribcages. 

He cradles you in his arms as he shifts. Releasing you once you’re flat beneath him on the sofa, “They’ll never know what it’s like to feel your sweet cunt come around their cock, though.” He says as he lifts your legs, sliding off your soaked panties before spreading you open. 

You can only hum in agreement, entranced by the sight of him pushing down his sweatpants. He’s lost in you. The desire in your eyes and the arousal shining on the folds of your core. You wrap your legs around him, hitching one knee up high to give him deeper access. 

“Please,” you groan. He teases you with the wide head of his cock, nudging at your clit as he coats himself in the fresh wave of slick flooding around him. 

“Please, what?” 

“Please, fuck me. Now.” 

A warm puff of air comes out of his nose. Amused with your impatience. But when he starts to feed himself into you slowly, it’s no longer funny. He’s possessed by the same urgency. Gripped by the plush heat of your cunt as you stretch around him. When he’s fully seated, hips flush to your pelvis, his cock throbs inside of you, and you dig your fingernails into the musculature of his shoulders. Silently demanding more, so he moves. 

He fucks into you with a fervor made of possession and pride. Filling you so deeply that it’s like he’s connected to your soul, slotted perfectly into the heart of your cunt. Every ridge of him designed to caress every nerve inside of you. But beyond fitting together physically, he knows exactly what you want. 

He snaps his hips harder. Faster. With a force that makes your eyelids heavy and your head bob limply as he drives into you with such strength that it makes you mindless with pleasure. He gives and gives. And you take and take. You cry out his name when he finds the perfect angle to launch you into a euphoric orgasm. It’s not long before he’s coming, too, stuffing you full and deep as your walls constrict and contract around him. 

Time feels fuzzy as you lay together. Sticky but satisfied. His arm and leg thrown over you weigh heavily as he relaxes. He could drift off like this, and he’s about to say so when he catches that look on your face. You just figured something out. 

“What are you plotting?” he asks in a sleepy voice. 

“I’ve got an idea for our next video.” 

“Yeah?”

“Do you still have those zip ties?” 

pls let me know if enjoyed or hated any of it <3

Dividers by @cyberangel-graphics

ty: to @gothcsz for reminding me that pwp is pwp when i spent days getting hung up on some unnecessary details, and to @magneticecstasy for an idea that didn’t make it in, but will not leave my brain now 

gen tags for some babes: 

@lovely-vamp-princess

@gothcsz

@auteurdelabre

@adoreyouusugar

@swankyorange

@itwasntimethatdidit40

@ivoryandflame

@magneticecstasy

[amathslutsguidetofandom]

Bucky is supposed to be training for an upcoming mission, but you decide to go to the Avengers Compound to distract him and he has a different mission on his mind🥵🤤❤️‍🔥

Not Until I Say So

PAIRINGS: James "Bucky" Barnes x Girlfriend!Reader

WARNINGS: Degrading (Calling reader a 'slut'), spanking, roughhousing, edging, p in v, unprotected sex (my dears, please wrap your man's sausage before you go riding), Oral sex (f receiving), squirting. (If I've missed anything, please feel free to let me know 😊)

WORD COUNT: 1,277

*not proof-read*

ENJOY!

You can hear the grunts before you can see the man creating them.

The compound isn’t as busy than usual; you think it’s because of the week-long Easter break Tony put into action.

But that isn’t your worry now; your main focus is to visit your man.

Pushing open the doors of the gym, you see Bucky bench pressing at least 450 pounds. You don’t want to interrupt him, so you sit patiently on the bench next to him and the machine. When he does finish, he lets out a huff, and it makes your knees go a little weak.

“Hey, babe,” you smile sweetly and walk over to him.

He turns at the sound of your voice, and the frown on his face vanishes, replaced by an upside-down smile. “Doll,” he smiles, but then makes a motion for you to not hug him, “I’m all drenched in sweat, sugar. After a shower, yeah?”

You slightly pout, “I don’t mind the sweat.” Bucky chuckles and raises a brow at you, “yeah?”

You nod and smooth out the crinkles of your skirt.

The skirt you purposefully picked to wear today.

You were, according to Bucky’s words, a ‘good girl’.

You wanted to do something that was so out of the ordinary that it would make Bucky go speechless.

Little did he know, you were going commando.

“Oh, I brought you a lil’ something,” you turn and face your back to him. Smirking, you bend over as slowly as you can and reach for your purse.

You look through it and pretend as if you can’t find the object you had in mind, “I swear it was right here.” Your heart beats faster when you hear Bucky let out a low growl.

“What do we have here, doll,” you can feel him walk behind you. Before you can get a word in or even move, Bucky’s hands are on your hips, locking you in place.

You gasp as you feel his hips make contact with your bare ass.

You slightly shudder at the feeling of his hard-on grinding against your slit.

“Bucky,” you whisper.

You boyfriend chuckles, “what is it, doll?” He caresses the back of your thighs, “You’re the one who came in here, bringing in this surprise with you.”

You nod, unable to speak as you feel your cunt grow wetter with his grinding.

“Is this what my good girl does, sugar?” He tut’s his tongue and completely lets go of you. You stand straighter in confusion and turn back to face him.

You’re met with his smirk and hungry stare. “Showers. Two minutes,” is all he says to you before turning and heading in that direction.

------- It’s been five minutes.

You’re really pushing it.

You push open the door to the showers, and your immediately being pushed up against the door.

“Lemme show you how bad you been today, princess,” he whispers against your ear, before turning you around and shoving you up the door. “First, no underwear and then making me wait. Oh, you’ve been bad,” he drops an octave when he says the finishing word.

“Sweater. Off. Now,” he growls, still fully clothed. You quickly take off your sweater and toss it somewhere before you place your palms flat on the door and shimmy your ass out to him.

“Fuck me, doll,” he growls and grabs your hips, then he flips up your skirt. “Such a lil’ slut, just begging to be fucked,” he drags his clothed, hard, cock up and down your opening.

You moan at the feeling of him nearly protruding your entrance, you reach for the hem of your skirt, wanting to take it off.

But Bucky slaps your arm away. “Oh no, princess. Skirt stays on,” he smacks your ass playfully before grabbing a handful and jiggling it hard.

You whine at the feeling, your pussy growing needier and needier as seconds go by.

“Bucky, baby, please. I need you,” you whisper, cheek flush against the wooden door.

Bucky chuckles at your neediness, before getting on his knees.

You hear his knees hit the tiled floor, and your eyes light up in anticipation.

“Spread ‘em wider for me, princess,” Bucky whispers against your ass. You shift your ankles so you’re bent and spread wider for him.

You don’t see it, but Bucky looks at you like you’re a three-course meal. His hungry stare would burn you if it could.

Bucky smacks and grabs your ass before shoving his face between your thighs and licking a thick stripe up your slit.

You jaw drops and your mouth forms an ‘O’ shape as you moan loudly as the feeling of his thick tongue. Soon he swirls his tongue over your little button, making your legs quake at the sensation.

You hear his lewd licks, and moan softly as you feel the vibrations of his groans through your cunt. “God, Bucky don’t stop please,” you whine and push your ass back, pressing it further onto his face.

Bucky starts kitten licking at your entrance, you voice grows higher and higher. “Fuck, Buck! I’m going to come,” you squeeze your eyes shut as you feel your orgasm start to approach. And just as it was about to wash over you, Bucky pulls away.

He spits at your cunt and wipes it all over with his finger. “Oh no, doll. You’re coming on my cock, not on my tongue. That is, if I let you,” he says lowly before standing back up.

“Gotta teach my doll on how to behave, since she’s not really good at following instructions. Isn’t that right, slut?” You shouldn’t be turned on by the way he degrades you, but you really can’t help the way you moan loudly at his words.

Bucky unbuttons and unzips his trousers before shoving them down to his thighs. “Oh you like that, don’t you? You like it when I call you a slut, huh?” Bucky lines himself with your entrance, and just slams in.

You wail, and hit the door with your fist. Your pain is mixed with pleasure, and you swear to the heavens it’s the best feeling you ever felt, “Jesus, Bucky. Yes!” Bucky starts thrusting into you like an animal, whispering dirty things into your ear.

Which each sentence, your closer and closer to your high. “Fuck! Gripping me like a vice, doll,” he brings his hand down on your ass, a red welt marking its place. You whine at the sensation the burn mixing in well with your euphoria.

Suddenly Bucky stops, and you think you just might cry. “No. Bucky, please. I-,” you beg, you need the release. Bucky chuckles and shakes his head, “like I said, doll. You don’t come, until I say so.”

He keeps his word.

You think he edges you for hours, you beg and beg until your voice is horse from all the moaning and whining.

Soon, you're flush with how pent-up you are.

And finally, Bucky tells you to let go.

“Go ahead, princess. Come f’me,” he growls against the nape of your neck.

And you let the orgasm wash over you so hard, you make a mess everywhere.

On Bucky’s clothes, on your skirt, even the floor.

You’re high takes you so far, that you start seeing black.

But before you can go, Bucky’s already holding on to you.

“Right here, doll. M’right here,” he helps you sit on a nearby bench, and helps you clean yourself up.

Bucky comes to stand in front of you and crouches to your level, he places a gentle kiss on your lips before looking you back in the eye.

“Learnt your lesson, doll?”

💌💌💌

@sergeantbarnessdoll , here it is my love!!!

This is very sloppily written, lol😅😅😅

Lemme know what you lovelies think!!!

Till' then

Stay Coquette-y,

Anya 🫶🏽🕊️🎀

[leaentries]

shield | nico hischier

summary: nico is very protective of his girl, so when someone hurts her, he takes it personally.

warnings: protective nico, physical harassment, swearing, slight violent themes

wc: 1.6k+

a/n: another 3am nico fic 🕺 this one’s a lil bit heavier than most of my nico fics, but don’t worry! i have some new spicy things coming up!

the captain’s girl masterlist

The bar was jammed. Sweaty bodies pressed into every corner of the bricked building, the heat almost unbearable. A door in the back, propped open was your only solace, serving nicely with the winter air wafting in. Although, despite the sticky air and stench of beer, you couldn’t be happier.

You stood by Nico’s side, practically glued to him, not that he would complain. Nico loved the feeling of your body against his, it brought him comfort knowing you were safely tucked away from the world. He was over the moon, still riding the high of tonight’s win. It was a solid win too. Nico got out with a 3-point night, his ego soaring.

Now, you would never admit this sober, but you loved when he got cocky. The way his body demeanor would change and he would have a special swagger in his step. The sexy smirk that never seemed to leave his face every time his gleaming eyes would settle down to yours. It was almost embarrassing the grasp this man had on you, but you loved every second of it. 

His dark shirt clung tightly to his sweaty body, the heat around you two making a visible impression. 

You sat next to him at a table with some of the team, celebrating their win. Seeing the wide smile on Nico’s face made you want to take everything bad in the world and toss it away. That way Nico could smile forever. 

His arm rested on your thigh, corded with thick veins, squeezed slightly, just as reassurance. You squeezed his hand back. 

“You know, I still can’t believe that Merc just left like that! I was in the middle of talking too. What an ass.”

You looked over to where Jack’s voice echoed. His annoyed face set on where Dawson was talking to some girl near the bar. You felt a chuckle rise in your throat, causing you to shove your face into Nico’s arm in an attempt to smother it. 

Nico looked down at you with amused eyes, “What’s so funny, schatzi?”

You let out a breath, shaking your head, “Nothing much, Neeks. Just Jacky.” 

Nico glanced over his shoulder at Jack, who was still complaining to his, very bored, little brother. He nodded his head slowly in understanding. When he turned back to the table, he noticed your tired eyes. 

“You tired, pretty? You’ve been awfully quiet.” 

This was true, but only because you enjoyed watching Nico so much. To you, that was more entertaining than talking. 

“Yep, I’m all good!” You gave him a big smile. Nico searched your eyes for any insincerity but failed to find any. Accepting your answer, he turned back to Holtz, engaging in a spirited conversation about certain plays during the game. 

After half an hour or so, your drink had finally run out, your empty cup now urging to be filled. You nudged Nico’s arm, gaining his attention. 

“I’m gonna go get a refill,” You shook your empty cup, proving your point. 

His brows furrowed, “Want me to come with you?” His eyes flickered to the large number of people, “It’s a bit crowded over by the bar.” 

You smiled at his concern, but denied his request, “No thank you, baby. I’ll be fine.” 

He hesitantly agreed, placing a kiss on your temple and a quick, “Be careful,” as you left. 

Shimmying your way through the dense population proved to be a lot harder than you originally anticipated, getting bumped back and forth violently. By the time you had reached the bar, you could have sworn you had whiplash.

Quickly flagging down a bartender, you ordered your drink and secured a spot to wait. You bit the inside of your cheek, suddenly feeling uncomfortable by the obvious male gazes from every direction. You could only hope that one didn’t have the balls to approach you, but alas, luck wasn’t on your side tonight. 

A lean man, of about 5’8, approached you, clearly too inebriated to be thinking correctly. His scruff was patchy and gross, the tell-tail signs of a failed attempt at growing a beard. His red shirt loosely hung on his body, beer wetting the sides of it. At least, you hoped it was beer. He stumbled into the slot beside you, almost on top of you. 

“Hey, sexy. What’s your name?” His voice was grating, not a sultry tone to be heard. You found yourself repulsed by his presence, now desperately wishing Nico had come with you.

“None of your business, but thanks for asking.” You gave him a snide smile, hoping he would take the very obvious hint that you weren’t interested. 

“Whoa, attitude, missy. I just asked your name.”

“And I don’t care.” You rolled your eyes, the strange man not making an effort to leave.

“Damn, if you’re this feisty all the time, I know a much better way to put that mouth to use.”  

Fear pitted deep in your stomach at the dark look on the man’s face. Needing toi escape, you tried to make a move to leave, but he blocked your way, now caging you to the bar top. Your breath picked up in a panic, frantically searching for someone to help. It was far too loud to call for anyone and everyone around you was already preoccupied with their own conversations. 

Deciding to fight back, you lifted your arm to slap the man who was rapidly approaching you. His hand came up to grip your arm harshly, drawing a hiss from your lips as pain spiked through your wrist. Tears sprung in your eyes as you tried your hardest to free yourself from the man’s body. You felt helpless as your voice died in your throat, shutting your eyes tightly.

You prepared yourself for the worst until you felt the man’s weight abruptly leave. Your eyes shot open, seeing a blur of the man get thrown to the ground. The familiar figure of your boyfriend towered over the cowering stranger. 

Nico reached down, gripping the man’s collar, dragging him to his feet, and slamming him against the nearest wall. 

“What the fuck, do you think you’re doing?” Nico’s eyes were ablaze with fury, a hard look resting on his once-happy face. 

“I-I don’t know man,” The stranger was gasping, obviously terrified of the much larger man holding him to the wall, “I was just trying to get some pussy, like every other guy in the bar.” His meek words only fueled Nico’s anger. 

“Don’t you ever fucking touch my woman like that again. Don’t ever touch any woman like that. You’re a fucking pussy.” Nico’s voice was laced with disgust as he spat at the man. Holtz and Jack rushed over, attempting to pull Nico away. He dropped the guy, worry for you now seeping into his clouded mind. 

Nico was by your side within seconds, pulling your shaking form into his arms. He tucked you under his chin, tightly holding you, “It’s okay, schatzi,” He brought up a hand to cradle your head, “You’re okay. I’m here now, Nico’s here.” 

You let out a slight sob, your arms recoiling into your body as you gingerly held your bruising wrist. Nico pulled away, eyes desperately raking your body to determine the cause of your pain. Once his eyes settled on your wrist, he held out his hand, silently asking to inspect the damage.

Nico felt a new wave of anger take over his body, now practically shaking as he tried his hardest to not go beat the shit out of the guy. The man had hurt you. Hurt his girl. If it were up to Nico, that guy wouldn’t be breathing right now, but fortunately for the stranger, murder is illegal. Nico carefully guided your body to the exit, not bothering to bid goodbyes. 

Only once the two of you hit the cold parking lot and the adrenaline started to wear off, did you fully begin to comprehend the severity of what had happened. A fresh batch of tears formed in your eyes,  sobs rapidly pouring from your lips. Your body shook with the pure force of the cries that pierced their way through Nico’s chest.

He immediately pulled you tightly into his body, making sure to be mindful of your wrist. Nico felt his own tears well up in his eyes at your pain. He hated that he couldn’t help you, but he hated even more that he was in the building when it happened and didn’t get to you soon enough.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” Nico sniffed, “It’s all my fault this happened.” 

You shook your head against his chest, slightly pulling away to look into his deeply saddened eyes, “No, don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself for something you couldn’t control.” 

“I knew I should have gone with you. If I was there then he wouldn’t have hurt you.” He looked away biting his lip as he tried not to cry. His broken voice stabbed your heart. It was gut-wrenching to see Nico blame himself for what that man did. 

“Stop, Nico. It was not your fault,” You held his face gently, forcing him to meet your eyes, “Please, stop blaming yourself. I chose to go by myself, that’s not on you.” He opened his mouth to protest, but you were too quick, “Don’t say anything else. Please, for me? Stop.” 

He nodded slowly as tears silently slid down his cheeks. Nico reached up, carefully cradling your wrist that was near his face, leaning to place a sweet kiss on the black and blue splotches.

 “Let me get you home, schatzi. Wanna take care of you.”