Isabelle @alana69s - Tumblr Blog

Five More Minutes

💌 Fred Weasley x Reader

💭MDNI: Sleepy grinding/dry humping smut, clingy!Fred, playful and needy vibes

—

Morning at the Burrow never comes quietly, but today it’s muffled — distant clatter from the kitchen, someone laughing downstairs, the faint smell of toast drifting up through the crooked house.

Fred doesn’t move.

He’s wrapped around you like he fell asleep mid-cuddle and never bothered to let go, one arm heavy across your waist, face tucked into the crook of your neck. His hair is a mess against your cheek, warm breath ghosting over your skin.

You shift slightly, testing the stiffness in your shoulder.

His grip tightens instantly.

“M’not awake,” he mumbles, voice rough with sleep. “Go back to sleep.”

“You’re crushing me.”

“Worth it.”

You huff a quiet laugh, but you settle again, sinking back into the mattress. He makes a satisfied little sound, something soft and pleased, and noses closer like you’re the pillow he actually wanted all along.

There’s a pause.

Then you feel it — the slow, absentminded way his hips shift forward, pressing closer, like he’s chasing warmth without even realizing it. Not purposeful. Not calculated. Just sleepy instinct.

“Fred,” you whisper.

“Mmm?”

“You’re doing that thing again.”

He goes very still for half a second.

Then, instead of moving away, he drags you closer, leg hooking over yours to keep you pinned there, a lazy grin audible in his voice even with his face still buried in your neck.

“Not awake,” he repeats.

“You are absolutely awake.”

His nose brushes your jaw, lips ghosting the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. “Don’t sound very upset about it.”

You’re not. Not when his hands are wandering now, slow and warm, tracing the line of your waist under the blankets, pulling you flush against him like he can’t stand even an inch of space.

It’s unhurried. Uncoordinated. Soft in that way that only happens when neither of you has fully woken up yet.

Fred hums quietly, pressing a drowsy kiss to your shoulder.

“Missed you,” he murmurs, like he only just realized it.

You turn your head, catching his mouth in a sleepy kiss — slow, messy, all soft lips and warm breath. He smiles into it, hand sliding up your back to hold you there.

“Five more minutes,” he whispers against your lips.

He absolutely does not mean sleep.

Fred’s grin is pure mischief, even half-hidden in your neck.

“What?” he murmurs, feeling the look you're absolutely giving him, and his hips give another slow roll that makes your breath catch. “We’re just … cuddling.”

The lie is so lazy it almost counts as honesty.

You feel him—the unmistakable press of him, hot and insistent through thin sleep-shorts—rocking right against the damp heat of your core. Each lazy rut is unhurried, like he’s savoring every inch of friction, like he’s determined to stay in that hazy place between dream and waking where everything feels too good to stop.

Your fingers find his hair, carding through the soft red mess. “Fred.”

He answers with a drowsy hum, feigning innocence while his palm slides up, warm and sure, under your shirt. He cups your breast, thumb brushing over a sensitive peak, and the sleepy smirk against your throat widens when you gasp.

“Still not doing anything,” he mutters, mouth dragging along your pulse point. The words vibrate over your skin; the next roll of his hips is slower, deeper, dragging a low whine from your chest.

“Liar.”

“Mm-hmm.” He pinches lightly, lips curving when you arch into his hand. “Shouldn’t start name-calling this early, love. Bad manners.”

You try to shift—either away from the teasing or closer to the heat, you’re not sure—but the leg he’s hitched between yours holds you in place, forcing every subtle move to translate into more friction. His next thrust is a little harder, still measured, but need is bleeding through the syrupy pace.

“Fred—”

“Just helping us wake up.” Another lazy rut that makes your thighs tremble. “Feels nice, yeah?”

It does. Too nice. The room is still dim, quilts twisted around your bodies, and each grind lights sparks low in your belly. He cups you more firmly, thumb circling, hips finding an easy rhythm that turns the world into slow, warm pulses of want.

“You gonna let me?” he whispers, finally lifting his head—sleep-ruffled hair, half-lidded eyes, that crooked morning grin. “Let me start your day off right?”

You nod, already breathless.

“Good girl.” His praise is soft, reverent—and the next roll of his hips makes it impossible to keep quiet. Your hand fists in the back of his shirt; his answering groan is pure satisfaction.

He keeps it gentle but relentless: palm kneading your breast, mouth scattering open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, hips rocking until you’re melting against him, every sleepy thrust dragging you closer to the edge. Outside the room, the Burrow creaks awake, but in Fred’s bed the morning belongs only to the two of you—warm fists of sheet, tangled legs, and the steady, needy push of his body into yours like he never plans to let you leave.

Breakfast can wait.

His hand leaves your chest only long enough to tug your sleep–shorts aside—just enough for skin to meet slick heat. The sound he makes is half-groan, half-laugh, all morning-drunk greed.

“Merlin, you’re warm,” he murmurs, rocking forward again so bare, silky friction glides exactly where you both need it. Nothing rushed—just that steady, delicious slide that turns every breath into a shaky little gasp.

You clutch the back of his neck, nails grazing sleep-warm skin. “Fred…”

“I know.” He noses along your cheek, lips brushing your ear. “Feels good, yeah? Give me a minute.” A lazy thrust punctuates the promise, dragging a moan from both of you. “Maybe two.”

A shiver ripples through you when his fingers find your nipple again, rolling gently while his hips keep that slow, rolling push-pull. Each grind sends sparks spiraling low in your belly; each pass of his thumb steals a sharper sound from your throat. Fred laps it up, humming pleased approval, mouth curving against your skin.

“That’s it, sweetheart—there you go.” The praise is husky, slurred with sleep and need. “Knew you’d be this soft for me.”

Your hips answer on instinct, meeting the next rut. The heat coils tight, and Fred’s rhythm falters—just a stutter—before he catches it and groans, forehead pressing to yours.

“Gonna make me embarrass myself,” he breathes, grinning even as his eyes flutter shut. “Can’t be blamed, though… look at you.”

He shifts, hiking your leg higher over his thigh; the angle hits perfectly—pressure sharp, perfect, again, again. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, a soft cry spilled against his mouth. Fred’s breath hitches, the smirk wiped clean by raw need.

“Come for me,” he whispers, voice frayed. “C’mon, let me feel you.”

Two more rolls of his hips, thumb brushing that aching spot just right, and heat snaps—white, sweet, slow-building pleasure washing through you in waves. You clutch him tight as tremors ripple, breath catching on his name. Fred’s curse is a broken rasp; he grinds through your aftershocks, hips stuttering until he follows you over the edge, burying a groan in your shoulder as he shakes apart.

Silence settles—only the soft crackle of the Burrow’s pipes and both your uneven breaths.

Fred noses your temple, lips ghosting a smile. “Best alarm clock I’ve ever had.”

You huff a laugh, boneless and warm, letting him pull you deeper beneath the covers. His arms band around you, greedy even sated.

“Five more minutes?” you mumble.

His chuckle rumbles against your chest. “We’ll make it ten. Mum can live without us a little longer.”

Outside, the day begins, but inside the tangle of quilts and freckled arms, it’s all slow heartbeat, shared heat, and the lazy promise of whatever mischief Fred dreams up next.

•18+ Adults Only

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ladyhelona

Bath Bombed

💌 Fred Weasley x Reader

💭MDNI: Smut, bath sex, fingering, riding in a bath,

A/N: My second Fred fic as promised! I have some other fics I’m writing and I’m trying to catch up on requests!

—

The door clicks shut behind you with a soft echo. The torches along the tiled walls ignite one by one, casting warm golden light over the steam-slicked marble, the stained glass window glowing pale pink and blue in the dark.

It’s quiet. Blessedly so.

You exhale, rolling your shoulders, and make your way to the edge of the enormous bath—deeper than a pool, wide enough to float in. You place the tiny cloth-wrapped bundle on the edge, unwrap it carefully, and drop it into the water.

The effect is instant.

It fizzes, hard and fast, like a firework blooming beneath the surface. The water ripples with color—soft lilac and peach, the scent of bergamot and honeysuckle curling into the air. You step in, sighing as the heat slides up your calves, your thighs, your waist. By the time you sink all the way in, your body is already starting to melt.

This is exactly what you needed.

You lean back against the curved edge, eyes fluttering shut, fingers trailing lazy circles in the warm, shimmering water.

And then—

Click.

The door opens.

Your heart leaps.

You twist toward the entrance, water sloshing around your chest, just in time to see a familiar head of ginger hair slip inside.

Fred Weasley’s grin is wide, easy, and completely unapologetic.

“Well, well,” he says, voice echoing across the room. “Didn’t peg you for the rule-breaking type.”

You scowl, instinctively sinking deeper into the water, bubbles rushing to hide bare skin.

Fred doesn’t move.

Just leans casually against the tiled doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, eyes dragging over every inch of you with zero shame. You know that look. That slow, hungry, absolutely insufferable smirk that says he likes what he sees—and he knows you know it.

“You gonna stand there all night gawking?” you ask, trying to sound irritated.

He hums. “I might. You’re very educational, love. All curves and steam and… look at that—” he gestures loosely toward the water, “—sparkly tits.”

You splash him.

He laughs, dodging it with the grace of someone who clearly deserves worse.

“Alright, alright,” he grins, walking toward the edge of the tub. “Just surprised, is all. You never mentioned you had such a rebellious streak.”

You tilt your head. “Says the boy who’s broken into this bathroom more times than I can count.”

“Ah, but I’m a charming delinquent,” he says, toying with the buttons of his shirt. “You? You’re usually all rules and timetables and ‘let me just study for fifteen more minutes, Fred.’”

You roll your eyes and lean back against the smooth tile, letting the water lap at your collarbones. “Well, maybe I wanted to be alone.”

He shrugs. “And now you’re not.”

Another button undone.

You watch him despite yourself.

He’s slow on purpose—peeling his shirt off, letting it drop to the floor like he’s performing for an audience. Your audience. When his fingers slip down to his belt, your breath catches—just slightly.

Fred notices.

His grin turns downright devilish.

“You sure you want me to join you?” he teases. “You look very cozy all on your own.”

You don’t respond.

You just slide one leg out from beneath the bubbles and rest it along the edge of the bath.

An invitation.

Fred whistles low under his breath. “Merlin, I love you.”

He doesn’t rush, sliding his pants and boxers off with care— because you’re watching.

He steps into the bath like it’s his second home, easing down into the water with a soft hiss of pleasure. “Bloody hell, that’s hot,” he mutters—and then you feel his hands on your ankle.

Still resting where you left it—perched on the edge, glistening with water, slick and soft beneath his fingers.

He lifts it, just slightly. Kisses the inside of your knee.

“I saw what you did there,” he murmurs, voice low. “Stretching that leg out like some kind of temptress.” Another kiss. Higher now.

You scoff, eyes fluttering open. “You’re imagining things.”

“Oh, I don’t think I am.”

He doesn’t stop kissing. Small, damp pecks up your thigh, until the bubbles start to tremble around your waist and your breath’s coming just a little faster.

Then his arms slip around you—strong and sure—and he pulls you gently back into him.

Your spine meets his chest, your head resting against his shoulder, and you melt.

The bath bomb has turned the water a dreamy swirl of lavender and gold, soft foam curling around your arms as his fingers trail across your stomach. Light. Curious. Wandering.

Fred noses into your damp hair, voice barely above a whisper.

“See, when you said you wanted a relaxing evening,” he murmurs, “I didn’t realize it was code for ‘please, Fred, sneak into the Prefects’ bathroom and absolutely ruin me.’”

You laugh softly, trying not to squirm. His hands are gliding lower, just above the swell of your hips. “That’s not what I said.”

“No,” he agrees, lips brushing your ear, “but that’s what you meant.”

One hand settles low on your belly. The other slides beneath your thigh, pulling it gently to drape across his own, spreading you open under the water.

You bite your lip.

“Still want to be alone, love?”

You shake your head.

Fred grins against your neck.

“That’s what I thought.”

Fred’s grip is firm under the water, but slow. Almost reverent. His fingers trace the curve of your thigh where it drapes over his, his other hand resting low on your stomach—thumb brushing soft, idle circles, maddeningly close to where you need him but not quite there.

Your breath hitches.

He hums. “You’re so tense, darling.”

“I wonder why,” you mutter, but your voice is already breathy.

Fred grins against your temple. “Could be anything. Long day? Heavy workload? Or maybe—just maybe—it’s because your boyfriend is currently half-hard under you, thinking about all the things he’s about to do to you in this bath.”

You press your lips together to suppress the sound that threatens to slip out, but it doesn’t help—not when his hand dips lower.

Under the water, the pads of his fingers finally brush between your legs—slow, gentle, exploring like it’s the first time. And when he finds your clit and starts circling, just barely pressing?

You melt.

A soft, broken breath escapes you. Your hips shift without permission. Fred groans, low and quiet.

“Fuck, there she is…”

He keeps his touch feather-light at first. Teasing. Unhurried. You squirm against him, body arching back into his chest, and his mouth finds your shoulder—kissing, nipping, dragging his teeth over damp skin.

“You smell ridiculous, by the way,” he murmurs. “Like something I shouldn’t be allowed to touch.”

“You’re already touching me.”

“Mm. Not enough.”

He sinks two fingers inside you.

The water muffles the motion, but you feel it—deep and slick, the stretch perfect, the curl of his fingers precise. You gasp, head falling back against his shoulder.

“Better?” he asks, voice wrecked and close.

You nod.

He moves—slow at first. Deliberate. The soft slosh of water rising and falling around you as his fingers pump in and out, thumb circling again and again. He’s got you spread wide, pulled open, the warm water licking your skin while he works you open with the kind of patience that makes you ache.

“You’re dripping for me,” he breathes. “Even underwater.”

Fred slows his hand—just slightly. Enough to make you whine.

Not a loud one. Barely a breath. But it’s there, and he hears it.

“Mm. That wasn’t a please, was it?” he whispers, fingers still deep inside you, thumb ghosting over your clit in maddening, lazy circles. “You were so polite in the library. What’s changed, love?”

You try to buck against him, but his grip tightens around your thigh, keeping you pinned wide.

“I could stop,” he muses, pressing a kiss just behind your ear. “You’d hate it, of course. All worked up, nowhere to go. But I’d be happy to sit here, hold you close, let the water do the teasing for me.”

He gives you one more curl of his fingers—exactly right—and your mouth falls open.

Another sound escapes you. Louder this time.

“Hmm?” Fred breathes, grinning now. “That sounded like something. You trying to say something, sweetheart?”

“Fred—” You gasp, half-whimper, head lolling against his shoulder. “Please. Don’t stop.”

He stills his hand.

You could scream.

He chuckles, slow and smug and so infuriating. “That’s more like it.”

Then he starts again.

Faster now. Deeper. His fingers thrusting steady and hard, his thumb relentless. The water ripples with your movement, bubbles clinging to your chest as you writhe in his lap, soaking and helpless and so close.

Fred keeps whispering in your ear, low and filthy. “Gods, listen to you. Those pretty little sounds. You know what they do to me, don’t you?”

You whimper something incoherent. He presses harder.

“Bet if I slid inside you right now, you’d scream.” Another deep pump of his fingers.

Your legs start shaking.

You’re right there—right on the edge, the pleasure cresting so fast it makes you gasp—

“Go on,” Fred murmurs. “Come for me. Let me hear you.”

And you do.

You shatter in his arms with a cry you can’t bite back, trembling and soaked and gone you barely register the splash of water or the way he holds you tighter, murmuring soft praises into your skin.

Fred doesn’t rush you through the aftershock.

He lets you melt against him for a moment—arms around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder, breathing slowing just enough for you to catch your own. The water laps gently against the marble, bubbles popping softly around you.

Then he shifts.

Leans back against the smooth edge of the tub, one arm stretched out along the rim like he owns the place, the other still hooked around your waist to keep you close.

His eyes drag over you. Slow. Appreciative. Filthy.

“Come here,” he murmurs.

You blink, still hazy. “Fred—”

He lifts you easily, guiding you onto his lap, settling you right over him. You feel him—hard again, already lined up, thick and warm beneath you—and you inhale sharply.

“Careful,” you whisper, breathy and wrecked. “If I do that, I’m going to get water everywhere.”

Fred’s smile is lazy. Dangerous.

“So?” he says. “It’s a bath.”

He presses a hand to your lower back, guiding you down inch by inch. Slow. Unforgiving. The stretch makes you whine despite yourself, hands flying to his shoulders as you sink onto him fully.

Water sloshes over the edge.

Fred laughs softly. Softly. Like this is exactly what he wanted.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, eyes locked on your face. “Perfect view.”

You roll your hips experimentally—and immediately gasp.

“Fred,” you breathe, needy and unguarded, voice already wrecked. “You— you feel so good.”

He exhales, head tipping back against the tile. “Yeah?” His hands slide to your hips, steadying you. “Go on, sweetheart. Show me.”

You start moving.

Slow at first—rolling your hips, feeling every inch of him drag inside you. The water makes everything slicker, easier, your body responding without restraint. Your breath stutters, little sounds slipping out of you before you can stop them.

Fred doesn’t interrupt.

He just watches.

Thumbs digging into your hips, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, mouth parted like he’s trying not to lose his mind. Every time you whimper, his grip tightens just a little.

“That’s it,” he says quietly. “Just like that.”

You pick up the pace without realizing it, chasing the way he fills you, the way the water splashes against the marble with every movement. Your head tips back, lips parting as another breathy sound spills out of you.

“I— I can’t—” you whisper, embarrassed and desperate all at once. “Fred, I’m—”

“I know,” he murmurs, sitting up just enough to kiss your throat, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. “You look so pretty like this.”

His hands guide you faster now, meeting every roll of your hips, the water sloshing wildly over the edge of the tub as you come undone on top of him.

And Fred?

He loves every second of it.

Fred’s eyes are glued to you—half-lidded, greedy, like he’s never seen anything so beautiful. The way you move on top of him, water sliding down your skin, cheeks flushed, mouth open with every broken breath?

He’s absolutely gone for it.

Your hands press against his chest, fingers digging in, head thrown back as you grind down harder, faster, chasing that perfect pressure. Every thrust rocks water up over the rim of the bath—everywhere, exactly like you warned. But you don’t care. Neither does he.

His hands move from your hips to your thighs, gripping tightly now, helping you ride him—matching your pace, meeting every roll with a deeper thrust. He’s moaning now too, quiet and ragged, like he’s finally losing his composure.

“Fuck—just like that,” he pants, eyes locked on where your bodies meet beneath the water. “You feel so good, love. Not sure I’ll last.”

You’re not either.

You’re shaking now, thighs trembling, moans coming fast and breathless.

“Fred—” you gasp a moan.

“Come on, darling,” he whispers, hips snapping up to meet you harder. “Come with me. Let me feel it.”

And when you do—when it hits, full-body, sudden and blinding—you bury your face in his neck and cry out his name, clutching at him like you might drown in it. Your whole body clenches, the waves of your orgasm crashing through you.

Fred follows immediately after, cursing under his breath, hips jerking up one last time as he spills into you—deep, hot, hands still holding you tight as he groans against your skin.

You both go still.

Just the sound of your breathing, the water sloshing gently around your legs, and the subtle drip drip drip of bathwater now coating half the tile floor.

You lift your head after a long moment.

Fred’s hair is plastered to his forehead. He looks completely wrecked.

“…You did get water everywhere,” he mutters.

You shoot him a look. “You were the one who said it was a bath.”

He grins. Lazy. Content. Utterly satisfied.

You sigh, raise a shaky arm, and murmur, “Tergeo.”

With a flick of your wand, the spilled water vanishes from the marble, the steam softens, the bath quiets. Even the bubbles reform themselves politely around your waist.

Fred whistles low. “Look at you. Efficient even after a bath-time shag.”

You drop your wand with a roll of your eyes and sink against him again, exhausted, heart still racing.

He presses a kiss to your damp hair.

“Same time next week?” he murmurs.

You don’t answer.

But you are smiling.

luckiibarnes

”Real” Man

notes: hiii lovelies! i don’t have much to say except reqs are open & appreciated💘.

pairing: george weasley x fem!reader

genre: smut, porn w/ plot, angst?? but not really

summary: Draco has the audacity to tell your boyfriend that he isn’t a “real man” after a gryffindor victory. George makes sure to vocalise how funny he finds this as he is pleasuring you later that same evening.

tw’s: Muggleborn Ravenclaw reader (for the plot), cursing, unprotected sex, praise kink, George in general, nicknames (love, sweet baby, pretty girl, sweetheart, lovebug), a little dry humping🤔??, anddd aftercare ofc!

main masterlist

gutsby

Hating Game

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Celebrating your dad’s birthday at the yacht club becomes damn near unbearable when Joel Miller brings a date along too. Jealousy and hate sex ensue.

Warnings: 18+. Food fight turned hatefuck (don’t ask). Cockwarming and semi-public sex on the bridge deck. Oral (m! and f!receiving). Daddy kink. Dirty talk. Age gap. C*mplay. Katoptronophilia. Orgasm denial. One risqué Viagra joke. Drinking games. Descriptions of vomiting. Joel cockwarming you while smoking a cigarette <3

Word count: 12.8k

Read on AO3

"Can ya try that one more time, sweet pea? For daddy?"

You can. Try, anyway. Controlling your tongue while he’s buried so deep inside you is a far harder task than expected, though. Especially when he’s so still.

Joel sees it. Feeling a twinge of pity, he leans over your body and digs his hips even deeper—not thrusting, but still granting a modicum of friction as he takes another drag of his cigarette. The hot, heavy throb of his girth pulses like your own fucking heartbeat, and your eyes roll back.

gutsby

Waiting Game

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel Miller has mastered the art of self-control in all areas except one: not fucking his friend’s daughter. A cross-country road trip home from college takes a hard turn when he’s forced to share a motel room with you.

Warnings: 18+. Protected p-in-v. Praise. Overstimulation. Sweet, possessive, slightly obsessive and pussywhipped Joel. Daddy kink. Drug use. Angst. Accidental creampie. Joel fucking you while on the phone with your father.

Word count: 13.1k

Read on AO3

“You okay, hon? You sound…distracted,” your dad presses. A hint of concern rises from his end of the line.

At length, Joel grips both of your legs and brings them up over his shoulders, and he grins before kissing your ankle and shoving his cock even deeper.

“Yes!” you yelp as you crush the phone to your ear, hoping your father can’t hear any of the filthy sounds down below, “Just a little stretched—I mean stressed out, is all.”

•18+ Adults Only

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riku-riku

wc: 0.848k

contents: jake sully x f!avatar/na'vi!reader, whole fic is based around reader getting off on jake's abs so, f ejaculation, grinding, "riding", jake refers to himself as "daddy" once.

a/n: probs trashy (m sorry), @evanpetersluver thanks for the motivation man, couldn't have done it w/o u.

rosyjn

riding Jake’s thigh… @pandoraslxna’s kinktober day 03!

MDNI!!

warnings: a little overstimulation, praise

"Yeah, just like that.." he coos, holding your hips as you slowly rub your exposed heat on his thigh. You mewl and bite your lip, your slick wetting his skin. "Fuckin' love to see you like this," his hands trail up and down your bare body and his cock stays sprung up.

"Please, let me have it..." you beg, looking down at his erection while you speed up, riding his thigh faster and harder.

"Nah, you gotta cum first, then you can have my cock," he pinches the area around your navel, making you jump for a second before you continue pleasuring yourself, desperately chasing your orgasm on him. Jake is the type to please you. He always made sure that you had a climax, sometimes even several, before he would think about finishing.

"Fuck," you whisper softly, biting your lip to stifle your little noises as you clench around nothing. You're so wet- such a mess for him. He grips your hips tighter, fingers digging into the flesh there. He begins to help you, pushing you back and forth and grinding you onto his muscular thigh. You melt like putty, leaning forward and tucking your head into the crook of his neck. You softly moan into his skin while your hands hold him firmly. As your orgasm comes closer, you squirm.

"Shh," he croons., rubbing the back of your head as you writhe in his embrace. When your climax hits, he grunts as your arousal squirts onto his skin. Your swollen, desperate clit tingles with pleasure. You whisper-moan sweet nothings into Jake's ear.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you-" you whimper, feeling overwhelmed.

"I've got ya," he chuckles. He thinks it's adorable, how you get all flustered whenever you cum.

userparamore

PEDRO PASCAL as CLINT Freaky Tales (2024) | dir. Anna Boden & Ryan Fleck

sceletaflores

HALF YOUR BRAIN JUST AIN’T THERE!

|| pedro masterlist || update blog || inbox || taglist || ao3 ||

｡𖦹°‧➵ PAIR: Joel Miller x babysitter!fem!reader

｡𖦹°‧➵ WC: 11k

｡𖦹°‧➵ CONTAINS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no outbreak au, pov switching, trailer park joel awooga wooga, tommy miller appearance because daddy i love him, joel is kinda sleazy and pervy, large girthy age gap (53/early 20s), and it’s very much brought up, finding joel’s porn drawer because he’s vintage, reader is called jailbait like once, reader is also a little creep lmao, just two freaks coming together praise, masturbation, fingering, brief allusions of fisting, the BAREST hint of ass play, p in v, rough sex, riding, pussy pronouns, spanking, finger sucking (told you i can’t stop), erectile dysfunction? yeah we don’t know what that means in this house because that old man can fuck like he’s twenty, porn with too much fucking plot, no use of y/n.

｡𖦹°‧➵ NAT’S NOTE: i blame tommy gunn for this…and my period for rearing its ugly head and making me act like an animal. i don’t know i guess my brain is just fully rotted, but y’all’s are too so here’s a nice little gift from me to you, i’m lovingly placing this on your dash xoxo. this isn’t really based on manchild sorry for the false advertising babies, i just thought the lyric was super cute and it’s been stuck in my head so yeah here we are lmao. hope y’all love it, mwah!

｡𖦹°‧➵ NAT’S HEADPHONES: Manchild - Sabrina Carpenter

dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics! plus the delicious icon from @iamasaddie!

joel miller needs a babysitter, you’re back in town…

Gruene hasn't changed much. Not really.

xdedgrl

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

•18+ Adults Only

Watch Anya Live on Cam

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.

✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions

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pandoraslxna

Excuse me? 😭😭😭

crovvhaven

Tail

littledes1re

Cherry pie

Pairing: Oldman!joel miller x f!reader

Summary: After countless dates with a boy, you know that next time you’re going to sleep with him. But you’re way too inexperienced. So what better way is there than showing up at Joel Miller’s door with cherry pie in hand, and asking if he’s willing to help you out?

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, smut, oldman!joel, dom!joel, both reader and Joel are kinda unhinged, slight pervy!joel, tiny bit of mean!joel but he is a softie, cheating (also not? bc reader is not together with that boy), inexperienced!reader, girthy age gap! (61 and 24), praise kink, slight degradation, breeding kink (?), oral m!receiving, pinv, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, creampie, fingering, riding, size kink, outbreak, tiny bit of thigh riding

A/N: oh my gosh that old, dirty man is back at it again. I missed him, I hope yall did too😌

Your fingers tapped nervously on the plate beneath the cherry pie. The sweet scent was almost unbearable, but giving up wasn’t an option—not after that time you spent searching for ingredients outside of Jackson.

The sun dipped low behind the trees and it was nearly evening. The timing was perfect for some pie, and you were sure Joel would love it.

sceletaflores

GIVE IT TO HER LIKE A MAN!

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｡𖦹°‧➵ pair: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

｡𖦹°‧➵ wc: 5.1k

｡𖦹°‧➵ contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no outbreak au, no ellie, joel’s pov, swearing, age gap (52/23), semi-public sex (more of a semi-public ALMOST over the pants handjob?), p in v, clothed sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, hair pulling, spit kink, degradation, pussy spanking, creampie, fucking in your childhood bedroom RAAAHHH, one (1) single line about joel wanting to slap you, one (1) single use of the word daddy, erectile dysfunction? we don't know what that means in this house because that old man can fuck like he's twenty, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

｡𖦹°‧➵ nat’s note: hi babies! i'm back! did you miss me? cause i missed you and oh em gee i'm so excited to be rejoining the party. this actually wasn't what i planned on posting but the angsty joel fic is kicking my ass so hard that i had to take a break from it. i just needed to word vomit some raunchy, freak-nasty porn to cleanse my palate! i don’t normally go for the dbf trope but it's just so joel i couldn't not dip my feet in these waters. it's also more like dad's-close-but-distant-acquaintance-joel because in my head that man has little to no friends honestly. hope you love it, mwah!

dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics!

joel gives the best graduation gifts...

Joel isn’t the type to get invited to these kinds of things.

rosyjn

Jealous dilf!jake sully

MDNI CONTENT WARNING

“Hmm, still thinkin’ bout that boy?” He grunts, baring his teeth as his hand wraps around your throat. Your legs are spread wide open, your back is arched while you gasp and moan wildly with Jake’s thrusts.

He’s over you, looking at you with lust and anger in his eyes.

“I- I- jus- mph!” You stutter and pant. Your mind is blank. All you can possibly process is the feeling of his thick cock pumping you full. He gets closer to you, and kisses your forehead while his shaky breath becomes louder.

“He can’t make you feel good like I can. He wont ever be able to fuck you like I can.” He whispers. His face is pressed against yours. “Yeah, that’s right. You’re mine.” His husky voice causes you to clench around him tighter. He grabs your chin and nudges your head, forcing you to look in his eyes. “You. Are. Mine. You hear me?”

“Ah.. yes sir.. yes,” you force out a response, squeezing your eyes closed in a mixture of pleasure and fear.

“Say it back now.” His hand leaves your chin and travels down to grope your body.

“I’m yours.” The arch in your back collapses. Your body is melting for him.

“Good, good girl,” he strokes your breast, then down your torso. “Shh, shh,” he slows his pace. His grunting turns softer. He kisses you deeply on the lips.

“Mmm, Jake..” you murmur against his mouth. His hand comes back to your face. His thick fingers touch your lips.

“Open.” He says. You part them. You hear a soft gurgling noise before he spits. He spits into your mouth. You squeal. He closes your mouth with those thick fingers. He shushes you. “Now swallow.”

You make eye contact with him. Your throat bulges as the glob goes down. He nods in approval.

“You got it?” He asks, tapping your cheek.

“I got it.”

•18+ Adults Only

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riku-riku

wc: 0.848k

contents: jake sully x f!avatar/na'vi!reader, whole fic is based around reader getting off on jake's abs so, f ejaculation, grinding, "riding", jake refers to himself as "daddy" once.

a/n: probs trashy (m sorry), @evanpetersluver thanks for the motivation man, couldn't have done it w/o u.

rosyjn

riding Jake’s thigh… @pandoraslxna’s kinktober day 03!

MDNI!!

warnings: a little overstimulation, praise

"Please, let me have it..." you beg, looking down at his erection while you speed up, riding his thigh faster and harder.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you-" you whimper, feeling overwhelmed.

"I've got ya," he chuckles. He thinks it's adorable, how you get all flustered whenever you cum.

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