junie. 18. any prns.(she/they are my fav) part time writer (when i have the time). scene girl w a love for 2014 soft girl tumblr. pretty fast writer (i'd like to think). music obsessed. fashion lover. i luv my boyfriend! send me ur requests!
MDNI: if you do, i'm not responsible for anything you read or see on this page! i will block you if you are under 18
rules | masterlist | commissions
you can find me on AO3 and Wattpad as well!
request queue: 7 (requests are paused until i post them love u guys <3)
rules: shuffle your on repeat playlist and post the first ten songs. then tag ten people
sylvia said - john cale
butterfly dance - kevin ayers
dog eat dog - weird al
the boy in the bubble - paul simon
hanky panky nohow - john cale
the air conditioned nightmare - mr bungle
kings lead hat - brian eno
land - patti smith
paris 1919 - john cale
brazil - geoff and maria muldaur
mmmm tags tags tags
@lottieno9 @applemelodies @junecast-moonfast @murdoczasylum @navybluedell and if i forgot you and you want to do it just say i tagged you. i don’t want to tag 10 people cuz of potential overlap
IFORGOT TO DO THIS SAWWY
1. what i got - sublime
2. bumpin bumpin - kreayshawn
3. smelyalata - never shout never
4. carapherneila - ptv
5. if you cant hang - sleeping with sirens
6. jamba - tyler the creator
7. neon kitchen - devon hendryx
8. november has come - gorillaz
9. garbage - tyler the creator
10. gucci gucci - kreayshawn
tags (i dont have many moots sigh) : @thecrazierthebetter @whatsup-vagisil @grapesurprise
PINKKKKk I LOVE PINK (my hair is pink, my desk is pink, my walls are pink, my bed is pink, pink.pink.pink.pink.pink)
tags : @thecrazierthebetter @whatsup-vagisil @ilovebammargera
i can! i just gotten used to first person over the years. like, idk if yall remember old wattpad where they would be like "i throw my hair in a messy bun," but i used to love those. i, personally, wasnt a big fan of 3rd and 2nd person stories. i just felt like it wasnt me that was the main character. i'm okay with 2nd person now though; 1st is just more natural for me when i write lol if you request a writing, just lmk if you want a specific perspective!
hi i'm here to kindly request my beloved cowboy johnny knoxville x reader.... i would die
save a horse - country!johnny knoxville x reader
word count: 3.5K
tw: teasing, multiple orgasms, riding, petnames, i know nothing about truck sigh, daddy kink, belt/rope play, probs more but i dont wanna read it again bc im a fat lazy chud, MDNI
not proofread or edited!
The afternoon sun sits low and gold over the pasture, the Tennessee night rising in. I watch him from the porch steps, one boot propped on the rail, a sweating bottle of Bud Light balanced on my knee.
He's got his head under the hood of that Chevy he's been nursing back to life for the better part of a year, denim shirt tied off at the waist, sleeves rolled to the elbow, forearms streaked with grease.
He's supposed to have the weekend off. I made sure of it. Planned a quiet two days with my husband, maybe a ride out to the creek, maybe nothing at all but his hands on my hips and the sheets twisted around our legs.
Instead, he's got a wrench in his fist and his whole torso half-buried in the guts of that stupid truck.
I finish my beer, set the bottle on the porch rail, and walk across the gravel barefoot. The stones are warm from the day, still holding heat. I stop a few feet from the truck, cross my arms, and lean against the front fender.
"Pretty sure day off means doing something useless. Fishing. Napping. Chasing your wife around the house."
He pulls his head out from under the hood, squinting one eye against the low sun. That grin spreads slow, lazy, like honey off a spoon. Grease smeared across his cheekbone. Hair a mess. He reaches for the rag hanging out of his back pocket and wipes his hands.
"Is that an offer, darlin'?"
"It was an observation." I step closer, hook my fingers into his belt loop, tug him toward me. "You been out here since breakfast. That truck ain't going anywhere."
"She's been stubborn." He tips his chin at the engine. "Got a stuck bolt on the manifold, been fightin' me all damn day."
"Maybe she just wants your attention."
Johnny laughs, low and warm. He cups the back of my neck, pulls me in, and kisses my forehead, quick, distracted, already glancing back at the open hood.
"I'll be in before dark," he says. "Promise."
I hold his eyes for a beat. He means it. He also means he'll be out here until the bolt gives or the light dies, whichever comes first.
I thumb the grease off his jaw and let him go.
Inside, the dishes from breakfast are still in the sink. Half-dried egg yolks stuck to plates, coffee rings on the counter. I run the water hot, let it steam, and scrub until my hands prune. The kitchen windows face the driveway, and I can see him out there, bent over the engine block.
I dry my hands and move to the living room. Sweep the hardwood. Fold the throw blankets. Fluff the pillows that I know he doesn't give a damn about, but I do, because this house is ours and I like it to look like someone gives a shit.
The sun keeps dropping. He keeps working.
I'm standing at the bedroom window with a dust rag in my hand when I catch myself staring again. He's got his whiskey now, a mason jar of amber, sitting on the truck's front bumper. He takes a pull between turns of the wrench, and I watch the way his throat moves when he swallows, the way his bicep flexes when he puts his weight into the tool.
And something hot and stupid twists in my chest.
Not anger. Something younger. Brattier.
Jealousy. Over a goddamn truck.
I drop the rag on the dresser and head for the shower.
The water runs hard and hot, and I stand under it until my skin pinkens. I wash the day off, the gravel dust, the faint smell of the grill I lit for lunch, the cling of dish soap on my hands. I scrub my hair, condition it, stand there longer than I need to, letting the heat soak into my shoulders.
When I step out, steam billows around me. I wrap my hair in a towel and cover my body with another one. I step to the closet, still half-resentful, half-thinking about just crawling into bed and making him come find me. Nothing. I turn around and dig through the dresser drawers.
That's when I see it.
At the back of the bottom drawer, folded in tissue paper. White and pale pink, delicate as spun sugar. The lingerie I wore on our wedding night. Lace cups, silk ties, little satin bows at the shoulders. A garter belt I'd nearly forgotten about, the same shade of dusty rose.
I pull it out and the tissue crinkles. It smells faintly of cedar, from the drawer. But underneath it, I remember the way he looked at me that night. The way his hands shook when he undid the first ribbon.
I dry off fast. Rub lotion into my legs. Slip the babydoll over my head and let the silk settle against my skin. It still fits. Ties at the ribs, lace grazing my thighs. The garter belt snaps around my waist. I don't bother with stockings, just the bare skin and the white elastic against my hips.
I catch my reflection in the mirror and something shy flickers through my chest. I look like I did four years ago. Nervous. Wanting. A little bit terrified of what he does to me.
I brush my hair loose. Fluff the ends. Take a breath.
And then I walk down the stairs.
The living room windows face the driveway floor-to-ceiling glass I curse every summer when the sun bakes the house, but right now they're perfect. The last of the sunset bleeds orange through the panes. I can see him out there, one hip propped against the truck, wiping down his tools with that rag, finally packing it in.
He's about to head for the porch steps when I step up to the window.
I tap my knuckle against the glass. Three quick raps.
He looks up.
And he freezes.
I don't move. I stand there in the full light of the dying sun, wearing nothing but that white and pink silk, the lace casting thin shadows across my thighs. My arms hang at my sides. My hair is still damp at the ends.
Johnny straightens. The rag falls out of his hand. He stares at me through the glass like he's never seen a woman before in his life.
Then he moves.
Four long strides across the gravel. His boots hit the porch steps hard. The screen door slams.
I hear him cross the living room, boots on hardwood, heavy, fast. "Darlin'—"
I giggle. I can't help it. It bubbles out of me, girlish and stupid, and I turn and run.
I'm fast, but I'm barefoot and laughing, and I trip on the corner of the rug at the bottom of the stairs. Catch myself on the banister. Scramble up, two at a time, heart hammering, his footsteps right behind me, his voice rumbling my name.
I make it to the bedroom door, and I'm about to shut it when his hand slaps flat against the wood and shoves it open.
I stumble backward onto the bed, still laughing, breathless.
He stands in the doorway. Frame fills it. Chest heaving. Grease still on his forearms. That look in his eyes, dark, hungry, pinned right on me.
"Well now, sugar," he says, voice low. "You got my attention."
The laughter dies in my throat. My thighs press together without me telling them to.
He steps inside and closes the door behind him.
"Bed. Middle. On your knees."
I scramble.
The mattress dips under my weight as I settle onto my knees, hands resting on my thighs, silk pooling around my hips. I keep my eyes down because I know he likes that, and because right now, looking at him straight on would make me forget how to breathe.
I hear him move. The creak of the floorboards, the jingle of his belt buckle. Then the slide of leather through denim loops.
My stomach tightens.
"Look at you," he says, and his voice has gone rough, the way it does when the switch flips. "All dressed up like an angel, waiting in our bed."
I risk a glance up. He's holding the belt in both hands, doubled over. Dark leather, well-worn, the silver buckle catching the last light through the curtains.
"Johnny-"
"Who's that?" he says softly.
I swallow. "Daddy."
"Good girl." He steps closer, runs the leather strap through his palm once, slow. "Tell me what you were thinking, standing in that window."
"I wanted you to see me."
"I saw you." He stops at the edge of the bed, looking down at me. "Nearly dropped me in the gravel."
I bite my lip. "I was jealous."
"Jealous of what?"
"The truck," I say it quieter than I meant to. "You spent all day with your hands on her, and I wanted them on me."
Something shifts in his face. The teasing edge softens, just a fraction. He reaches out and hooks a finger under the satin bow at my shoulder, tugging the ribbon loose.
"Babydoll," he says, like he's tasting the word. "This what you wore when you married me?"
"Yes."
"Thought so." He pulls the other ribbon. The bodice loosens, silk sliding down one shoulder. "I remember taking this off you. Took my time. Undid every little bow."
"I remember."
"You called me Daddy that night, too." His thumb brushes my collarbone. "Right before you came on my tongue."
Heat floods my cheeks. I drop my gaze again.
"Hands out," he says.
I lift them. He wraps the belt around my wrists, not loose, not tight enough to hurt, but snug. He pulls the end through the buckle, cinching it once. Then he takes my bound wrists and presses them flat to the mattress above my head.
"There." He holds them down with one hand and looks at me. "Queen of the house, all tied up for me."
"The belt's dirty," I whisper.
"So am I, sweetheart." He leans down and kisses me - slow, deep, thorough. I taste whiskey and salt and him. "You got a problem with that?"
"No, Daddy."
He pulls back, runs his thumb across my bottom lip, watches the way it trembles under his touch.
"That's my good girl," he says, and he reaches for the ribbons at my ribs. "Now let me unwrap you proper."
He does. Slow as the first time. Each satin bow, each tiny knot at my shoulder and hip and spine. The babydoll falls open and he pushes it off my shoulders, lets it pool around my waist on the bed. The garter belt stays.
He sits back on his heels, still fully dressed - boots, worn jeans, the unbuttoned denim shirt hanging off his shoulders. He looks at me like I'm something he almost didn't believe existed until he opened the drawer.
"Perfect," he says. "My perfect doll."
I should say something back. I can't. My throat is too tight.
He undoes his belt from around my wrists - quick with the buckle - and guides my hands down to his jeans.
"Unbutton me, darlin'."
My fingers fumble with the brass button, the zipper. He's hard underneath, straining against the cotton of his boxer briefs. I pull him out slow, wrap my hand around the warm weight of him, and he hisses through his teeth.
"Look at that," he murmurs. "Sweet little hands. Soft. Gonna take such good care of me."
I stroke him once, twice, learning the feel of him all over again. He lets me for a minute, breathing going shallow, one hand braced on the headboard behind me.
Then he catches my wrist.
"That's enough of that." His voice is rougher now. "Lay back."
He gets off the bed long enough to shuck the shirt, the boots, the jeans. I watch. I always watch. The broad shoulders, the chest I've mapped with my mouth a hundred times, the trail of hair low on his belly. He moves like a man who's never been unsure of his body a day in his life.
He finds the coil of rope on the top shelf of the closet - we keep it for... occasions. He brings it back to the bed, climbs over me, and I feel the rough fibers drag across my hip.
"Hands," he says.
I reach up. He wraps the rope around my wrists, this time with care — two loops, a cinch, a knot I can't work loose. Then he runs the tail up to the headboard, loops it around the iron spindle, ties it off.
I tug. The rope holds. My arms stretch above me, the silk of the babydoll still bunched around my waist, my chest bare to the cooling air and his eyes.
"Colour?" he asks.
"Green," I whisper.
"Good." He runs a hand down my ribs, over the curve of my hip, across the lace top of the garter belt. "You tell me if that changes."
"I will."
He settles between my thighs, pushing them apart with his knees. I'm already wet - have been since I saw him stop in his tracks at the window - and when he runs his palm up my inner thigh, his thumb brushing where I need him most, I gasp.
"That's my baby." He presses two fingers against me, not entering, just pressure through the slick. "This all for me?"
"Always."
He dips a finger inside. I arch off the mattress, pulling against the rope. He pumps slow, watching my face, reading every micro-shift in my expression.
"Look at you," he says. "Tied up in my bed, dripping for me, wearing nothing but my rings and that little lace belt. You're the prettiest thing I've ever seen, you know that?"
"Thank you, Daddy."
"That's my angel."
He works me open slow - crooked fingers, steady rhythm, the heel of his hand pressing against my clit on every stroke. I'm already close, embarrassingly close, and he knows it. He's got that look on his face, the one that says he's counting every twitch and flutter.
"Don't you cum yet," he says softly.
I whimper.
"I said not yet." He pulls his fingers out slowly, deliberately, and brings them to my mouth. "Clean 'em."
I part my lips. Taste myself on his skin. Hold his eyes while I do it.
He kisses me after, deep and claiming, and I feel him shift his weight, feel the head of his cock press against my entrance. He doesn't push in. Just rests there, letting me feel the impossible pressure of it.
"Look at me," he says. I do.
"Who do you belong to?"
"You."
"Say my name."
"Johnny."
"Good." He pushes inside - one long, slow thrust that steals the air from my lungs. "My sensitive baby.." He teases.
He sets a pace. Deep and punishing and perfect. My bound wrists pull against the headboard, the rope rough against my skin, and every time the angle changes he hits that spot inside me that makes my vision blur. I gasp, trying to tell him that he's hitting the perfect spot.
"Yeah," he breathes. "Right there. I know that sound, sugar. I know your body better than I know my own."
I'm babbling. I don't even know what. His name. Please. Don't stop. I love you. It all tumbles out between moans and broken breaths.
He reaches down and presses his thumb against my clit, circles it once, and that's it.
I came with my back bowing off the mattress, a cry torn out of my throat, the rope pulling taut as I clench around him. He keeps moving through it, fucking me through the aftershocks, growling low in his chest.
"Aww," he murmurs. "Pretty little thing, coming apart on my cock. Look at you."
He pulls out before he finishes. Flips me onto my stomach with one hand on my hip, pushes my knees forward, and I feel the head of him press against me from behind. His chest covers my back. His mouth finds my ear.
"One more," he says. "Give me one more, darlin', and I'll fill you up."
He drives into me from behind, and I'm so sensitive I nearly scream. The angle is deeper, meaner, and I bury my face in the mattress, moaning into the sheets while he fucks into me with that steady, relentless rhythm.
"I love this," he says against my shoulder. "I love coming home to you. I love that you get jealous over a truck. I love that you put this little thing on and stood in the window like you were waiting for me to come claim you."
I'm trembling. The second orgasm builds faster than the first, a crest I can't hold back even if I wanted to.
"Johnny!"
"That's it, sugar. Let go. Let go for me."
I do. I came, again, with his name on my lips, shaking, the rope biting into my wrists, my whole body given over to him.
He follows a second later - a groan, a curse, his hips pressing flush against mine as he empties into me, hot and deep.
I was still trembling, face buried in the sheets, when he pulled out and sat back against the headboard, untying the restraints from the headboard. He kept the rope tied to my wrist.
"Up, darlin'," he said, voice gravel-rough. "You're not done."
He patted his thigh. His cock stood thick and flushed against his stomach, slick from me, still hard and demanding.
I crawled over on shaky limbs. "Johnny..."
"You're gonna ride me." He gripped my hips and helped me straddle him, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his waist. "You wanted my hands on you instead of that truck? Then take what you want. Work yourself on my cock like a good girl."
The silk of the ruined lingerie pooled around my waist, the garter belt still snug on my hips. I wrapped my hand around his thick length, stroking once, twice, before lining him up. The broad head pressed against my soaked entrance.
"Slow at first," he murmured, thumbs stroking my hipbones. "Let me feel every inch disappear inside you." I sank down.
A long, broken moan tore from my throat as he stretched me open, the angle so deep in this position that my eyes fluttered shut. I kept going until my ass met his thighs and he was buried deep inside. My hands clenched, nails digging into my palms.
"Fuck, that's it," Johnny groaned, head tipping back against the headboard. His hands flexed on my hips. "Look at you... sittin' pretty on Daddy's cock. So full."
I braced my bound wrists on his chest and started moving - slow rolls of my hips at first, grinding in tight circles so my clit rubbed against his pelvis with every motion. The drag of him inside me was exquisite, every ridge and vein stroking places that made my thighs tremble.
Johnny's eyes stayed locked on where we were joined, watching his cock disappear inside me again and again. "Faster, sugar. Bounce on it. Show me how bad you needed this."
I planted my feet and began to ride him properly - lifting until just the head remained inside me, then dropping down hard. The wet slap of skin filled the room. My tits bounced with every thrust, nipples tight in the cooling air. Sweat slicked between us.
He sat up straighter, one arm banding around my back to pull me flush against his chest. The new angle made him hit even deeper. His mouth latched onto my nipple, sucking hard, teeth grazing just enough to make me cry out.
"Harder, darlin'," he growled against my skin. "Fuck me like you mean it. This pussy is mine - ride it like you own it."
I wrapped my arms around his neck and rode him desperately, hips slamming down, grinding on every stroke. My thighs burned, but the pleasure was sharper, tighter, winding fast in my belly. Johnny's hand slipped between us, thumb finding my swollen clit and rubbing firm, relentless circles.
"Fuck!" I gasped, nails digging into his shoulders.
"That's my good girl. Come on my cock again. Let me feel you squeeze me."
The orgasm hit like a freight train. I cried out, walls fluttering and clamping down around him as waves of pleasure crashed through me. My rhythm faltered, but Johnny took over - thrusting up into me from below with deep, powerful strokes, fucking me through it while I shook and moaned.
He kept me there, riding out every aftershock, until I was limp and whimpering against his neck. Only then did he flip us, pinning me beneath him for a few final, brutal thrusts before pulling out and spilling hot across my stomach and the remains of the white silk with a guttural groan of my name.
We collapsed together, tangled and sweaty, breathing hard. Johnny pressed lazy kisses along my jaw, my throat, my collarbone, tasting the mess he'd made of me.
We stayed like that for a long moment. His weight on my back. His breath hot against my neck. We began to relax, our bodies started to decompress - the crickets outside, the creak of the house settling, the distant low of a cow from the pasture.
He reaches up and unties my wrists. I bring my arms down slow, the blood rushing back into my hands. He rubs the red marks on my skin with his thumb, gentle, reverent.
I roll onto my side, and he pulls me against his chest, tucking me into the curve of his body.
"Hey," I murmur.
"Yeah?"
"I guess you could say I saved a horse today"
He laughs, low and rumbly, his arm tightening around my waist.
"You did, honey. You saved a horse," He presses a kiss to my hair. "And rode a cowboy."
guys im behind in school by like 2 weeks why do i have to do this why cant i just sit in my pink room and write fanfictions about 50 year old men for the rest of my life this sucks
4 inches isn’t bad 5 inches isn’t bad you guys just haven’t had sex or seen a real penis there i said it 😭😭😭 like 4 inches is plenty stop dogging on johnny for being a average dude and not some r34 art piece 😭😭😭😭
okay for no pain, no gain, i think im going to post a new chapter about once a weekish? give or take. im going to start proofreading and editing it, so when i post it im not scared or freaking out after lol ill post a heads-up the day before it posts :)
ps to those who requested stuff, im working on them i swearsy
