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this damn movie really sucked me right back into my MJ phase FUCK HE WAS BEAUTIFUL 😭😭😭😭

joseph andrew starkey… what a MAN!

superbulge strikes again….plz i’m beggin bruise my cheeks and/or cervix thx <333333

drunk art donaldson head canons !! this is my first anon , im so happy someone considered giving me an idea :))

♡ art would most definitely end up sobbing in your arms once hes completely hammered, probably overthinking the fact that your angry with the way he acts when hes drunk.

♡ drunk art would definitely be sentimental, calling people “the best friends i’ve ever had” and maybe even tearing up a little as he recounts old memories. he’d feel things deeply and get a little emotional about his relationships.

♡ art isn’t the one to normally take photos, unless it was with you. he’d suddenly want to capture the moment. cue a bunch of blurry, random selfies that make no sense the next day, often with people half-out of the frame.

♡ art might admit things he wouldn’t normally share when sober. he might open up about his insecurities or his regrets, revealing a more vulnerable side of himself that you normally never get to see.

♡ art might feel compelled to apologize for random things, even ones he didn’t do. he’d go on tangents, apologizing for past, present, and even hypothetical future mistakes, to make sure no one’s offended.

♡ art would be the type to spend way too long drafting texts while drunk. he’d read them over and over, trying to make sure they’re grammatically perfect and polite. it’d take him 10 minutes to send a single message saying “Hi.”

♡ oddly enough, drunk art might go on a cleaning spree, tidying up the bar counter, reorganizing tables, or even offering to clean up after his friends. he’d tell everyone it “helps him focus.”

♡ at the end of the night, art would give a dramatic speech about how much everyone means to him. he’d insist on saying goodbye to each person individually, with heartfelt words of appreciation..

♡ art might get a little teary-eyed over tiny things, like a kind gesture from a friend or even a song that’s playing in the background. he’d try to hold it in but probably wouldn’t succeed, leading to a few heartfelt cries.

♡ drunk art would occasionally drift off, staring into space with a pensive expression. when someone asks what he’s thinking about, he’d give a deep answer like “how strange it is to be a person?”

♡ art would start asking things like, “you really love me, right?” or “are you happy with me?” he’d get unusually insecure, needing little reminders that you feel the same way.

♡ art would get dramatic, staring into your eyes and asking, “what did I do to deserve someone like you?” he’d be so sincere that you’d probably have to stop him from getting teary-eyed again.

♡ as the night goes on, art might get drowsy but keeps trying to tell you sweet things—only to trail off mid-sentence and eventually fall asleep, leaving you smiling at his attempts.

clark kent fucking you in a delicious headlock blurb       

clark kent is, without a doubt and zero argument, a big man. broad shoulders that strain against every button down, hands that cover almost the entire expanse of your lower back—capable and strong ones, a tad bit shy and always polite, thighs like steel that pin you in place before you even think about moving. try as he might to fold himself smaller, to soften his edges and fade into the background like his ma raised him to—mindful, considerate, never in the way—clark can’t help it. he takes up space. his size announces him before his voice ever does, though he naturally tempers it with stammered apologies and the kind of gentle smiles that almost make you forget just how much room he commands.

so when you floated the idea of being bent over the kitchen island—his cock buried to the hilt, his impossibly huge arm cinched around your throat in a headlock—he was… startled, to put it mildly. clark’s spent a lifetime taking pride in good manners. always referring back to what he was raised with: careful hands, gentle voice, good manners. he knows his strength can overwhelm; it isn’t bad, but it demands considerate restraint if he’s going to do right by people.

so why does this feel so ruinously good?

why does the give of your body under his hold light up something deep and hungry in him, make “be careful” melt into “hold still” on his tongue? why did it feel so sinfully good to not be careful with you? to hold you there and feel your pussy flutter around him every time his forearm tightened? the manners said be gentle; the way you moaned said harder. and when you nodded—breath hot, eyes glassy—he gave in, grip unyielding, hips snapping, all that carefulness burning off until the only thing left was the slick, brutal rhythm of him using every inch of space he takes up to ruin you just how you asked.

all of manners to the wind with the heat of your pulse against his forearm, the shock of your gasp, making his self-control fray into threads—until all he can think is yes, like that, take me, take all of me?

and it’s no help that every slick, relentless pump of his cock bullying your pussy into another—second? third? you’ve lost count of your orgasms—rips the sense right out of you. your body just melts, pliant and dumb against him, every nerve buzzing with the sharp edge of overstimulation. drool spills past your parted lips, pooling at the corner of your mouth before sliding down in a hot, glossy trail over the thickness of his flexed arm. it streaks his muscle, glistening, mixing with the sweat already there, and clark watches it with a guttural sound—like he wants to lick it up, like he wants to mark you with every mess you make.

and when your lashes flutter, eyes rolling back as another wave crests and breaks, he only tightens his hold, fucking you through it. because if it makes you shudder and clench around him like this—if it wrings those broken little sounds from your throat—then there’s no way it can be wrong. not when it feels this good.

cw : fingering, coming untouched (18+)

—

art donaldson is an empathetic lover.

he feels what you feel, regardless of how much stimulation his own body is getting. just watching you melt and sink into a milky bath of pleasure is enough to have his head swimming and his cock swelling. it’s more than enough.

so he’s perfectly content with laying you down in bed every night after he’s stripped you bare, your skin a canvas for his lips and teeth and tongue, and hovering above you while he begins thumbing your bundle of nerves. when your brow pinches up and you let out a soft squeal, his brow pinches too. he mimics your body involuntarily—reflexively. his jaw slacks when your lips part, and he starts to moan with you. his breathing syncing with yours as he rocks into the inside of his zipper.

he slides two of his fingers into you soon after and begins curling them upwards to play with that warm, spongy spot nestled in your walls. he keens when your back arches up and he leans forward to press his face into your neck. his free hand cups the back of your head.

“are you gonna come for me?” he whimpers, “i want you to come, baby.. you’re so wet f’me..”

and a nod from you is all that it takes for him to start properly abusing your g-spot, pushing his digits in to their knuckles as he feels your hole convulse around his touch. gushes of your essence fill his palm and he wants nothing more than to pause and drink it, slurping and lapping it from the bowl of his touch like a man dying of thirst, but he knows you’re close. he can wait.

your trembling hips begin to stutter and grind against his movements as he uses his thumb to resume playing with your sensitive bud, circling it under his fingerprint. his gut is brimming with thrums of heat just from smelling and hearing and touching you like this.

fuck, it’s always enough.

he nips at your neck, and then he hears your strangled cry echo out into the room just before he feels you clamp down on him. your hands scramble for the back of his tee shirt and fist it as you find your release; hot, exhausting, overwhelming, almost too much. he’s hit with his own not a moment later.

“oh god—“ he whines, his pelvis jumping as his dick twitches and gushes in his clothing, his fingers relentlessly working you through your climax.

art keeps it up until you’re boneless and shaky on the sheets, your body only moving to jerk with overstimulation when his touch swipes over your spent clit. he loves pulling back to watch you revel in the afterglow. you’re something straight out of a poem. an ocean after a hurricane. a field after the first kiss of rain in months. a volcano after eruption; suffocating smoke and impossible heat.

he moves his free hand from your head to your stomach, caressing down it as he pulls back from your core. shushes you tenderly when you whimper from the emptiness.

he’s fine with doing this every night, and he never asks for anything in return.

why?

because it’s all he wants.

p ☆rnstar!artrick . ݁₊ ⊹ . 📽.ᐟ

˙✧˖°📸⋆｡˚ where art is actually in the biz but beloved by women bc all his content caters to female pleasure. and he does those whimper audios. patrick just runs an extremely successful nasty twitter account. perhaps the panty-wetting collab of the century?

Jack “The Narrator” x Tyler Durden x male reader

Relationship headcanons I guess?

I love this gif,,,, whys he wearing his pants like that? who does he want to grab his hips like that, men???

Tyler is a real person in this universe, cuz it’s easier to write.

wallpaper section ⊹ tyler durden, fight club 18+ nsfw content. unprotected sex. big dick! tyler. slightly unrealistic! cervix fucking. tummy bulge. creampie. smoking.

i feel like tyler would be the type to have dirty pictures of you as his wallpaper. he doesn’t let anybody just hold his phone or even see it. probably the only person who’s seen the pictures are you and jack, maybe even a random guy who asks tyler what time it is, tyler flashes his phone at the man, completely forgets what’s his wallpaper, until the man is wide eyed. after remembering he will smirk hard as fuck and say something sly like “she’s pretty isn’t she?”

anyways, let’s get into what these pictures are, my love.

bent over the sink, you’re leaning over the sink as you wash your face with nothing on but a bra and underwear after tyler just fucked you silly. he’s standing in the doorway of the bathroom and just can’t help but touch. so he slides his way into the bathroom and pushing his clothed lower half onto your ass. you are quick to stand just to find him grinning hard in the mirror. “you don’t have anything better to do?” you ask, and he shakes his head, hands on your hips. “nope,” he said before pulling his phone from his pants.

confused, you keep looking at him in the mirror until he pushes your back with his hand, signaling you to bend over, which you do. before he puts some of his weight onto your back and wraps his hand onto your jaw. “smile nice and big for me,” he whispers in your ear, making you shiver. you do as he says and he snaps a picture.

fucked out, legs pushed up to your chest, eyes rolling in the back of your head as his cock bullies your poor cervix. “come on, baby. look at me,” he grins, using his free hand that wasn’t holding your lags to your chest to lightly slap your face to get your attention to him. soon, your eyes settled in their right place, your lids still hung low from how cock drunk you were. “god, you are so fucking pretty, baby. such a fucking whore,” tyler says before spotting his phone close by. “hold your legs for me,” he said and you do so, barely. he quickly grabs his phone and begins to snap picture after picture.

tummy bulge, add on to fucked out phone already in both hands, tyler cannot handle how good you felt. he could barely keep himself upright without holding onto something so he choose your waist. he removes one hand from his phone and moves the other to your waist and his thumb pushes onto your stomach as he’s trying to keep himself steady. as his thumb is pushing onto your stomach he feels himself moving in and out of you. the feeling feeling on his thumb makes him look down to see himself puncturing your tummy. he could only groan and take a quick picture.

ride, it was the first time tyler let you ride him. normally he liked to be in control of the pace during but after you begging for so long he let you have it. he lit himself a cigarette and placed it between his lips before says, “take your seat.” and you do so. as the pleasures build in the stomach, moans slipping from your mouth, all of a sudden you feel tyler place his hands on your hips firmly. you look down at him just to see a playful grin on his face. “what?” you chuckled nervously, chest rising and falling. he only tilts his head to the side, grin growing. “wait,” he said before grabbing his phone from the bedside table.

“what are you doing?” you asked, as he starts taking pictures of you. “i can’t take pictures of you?” he asks with a sly grin and you shake your head before grabbing the phone from him. “no. not right now,” you said, leaning down to place a kiss on his lips.

creampie, doggy was his favorite position. he got to see how everything move and clench. it made him cum for fastest too. but anyways! he gripped your hips as he smashed his hips into your ass. his cock reached places that made your head dizzy and cloudy. you clawed at the bed sheets below as he watches your pussy suck him in every thrust. a white ring forms at the base of his cock. “fuck, baby,” he says, slamming his hips harder into your ass. he moves his eyes around the bed trying to find his phone just to spot it on the bedside table.