[kissthigh]

GIRL — 05’, straight, she / her ❤︎ beau arlen’s gf 🍨

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ 18+ MDNI: nsfw content + taboo kinks self-insert fics + character fics ۶ৎ

‎ㅤㅤㅤ 𓂃 send any fic requests / questions via ‘ask me anything’

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤlinks: spotify + ao3 + pinterest 🍒

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤfind all of my work here: masterlist ♡｡༝

[kissthigh]

i don’t think i’ll be posting mom’s bf pt3 today because i haven’t been feeling the best the last 2 days, and I wanna make sure that the fic is long and actually good for u guys </3 i’ll still post 2 one shots today, but i’m holding off on the longer one just because i want it to be well done!! i hope u guys understand 🤍🤍🧁🧁

[kissthigh]

Girl I am BEGGIBG YOU pls can u do a med play one like omg I j saw a TikTok that was like “this is very unprofessional of me but I j can’t refuse a patient in need” and I was like I KNOW U WOULD EAT THIS FIC UP IF U WROTE IT PLEASEEEE🥹🥹🥹

i had a perverted twisted idea for medplay where the user is like really really really horny (????) and doesn’t know why so she goes to the doctor and he’s like Might As Well Help 🤷‍♀️ after running tests BUT IDKKK it would be almost fantasy cause I’d make up some illness but I’m just a freak 😭😭😭 lord save me

[kissthigh]

posting two fics at the same time so you can pee all over your bf and then can have phone sex w beau arlen.. why isn’t this my life

[kissthigh]

Callin' Him ୨ৎ

Summary: One night, you decide to call up Beau Arlen, your dad’s best friend, because you miss him while you’re at college. The conversation quickly turns different.  ♡ warnings: NSFW, MDNI, 18+, smut, phone-sex, dbf!beau arlen, age gap, descriptions of sex, virgin!user, teasing, beau has a thing for uniforms ahaha, guided masturbation (f + m), talking you through it, user is 23, no mentions of y/n, reader-insert. wc: 2.4k | i miss writing for him. So much.

“Why’re you callin’ me, sweetheart?”

The voice is quiet over the line, just a smooth Southern accent that rings in your ears. You grin to yourself, biting your lip, shifting your hips against your dorm room bed, and you gaze at the ceiling of the empty room.

Your roommate was gone for the weekend, finally, leaving you alone to do whatever you wanted, and your mind had drifted to one idea only: calling Beau Arlen, your dad’s best friend, who was only a couple hundred miles away because you’re currently shipped off to college. 

“I don’t know… I miss you,” you admit quietly to him, listening to him sigh to himself. “It’s been weeks since I last saw you… won’t see you until the holidays,” you mumble, holding your phone close to your ear.

Beau’s sitting at the desk in his office, rubbing his hand over his scruff, his green eyes scanning over unfinished paperwork. He was working a late shift and stopped the minute your name appeared on his phone, your father’s name in brackets beside it. He sighed and answered, knowing you were probably up to no good. 

“Miss me, huh?” he asks, leaning back in the leather chair, glancing out of the glass windows, and out at the rest of the station; empty, all of the employees had already gone home.

“Yeah…” you nod despite the fact he can’t see it, and you shift against your bed again. “Why? You don’t miss me?” you ask, and he can hear the smile curled into your lips. 

“‘Course I miss you, sweetheart,” Beau sighs, resting his free hand on his thigh. “Jus’ don’t know why you’re callin’ me so late,” he shakes his head, his tongue poking into his cheek.

“I just told you, I miss you,” you laugh softly, and you lift one leg out of boredom, gazing at your black tights. “It’s weird being away from home,” you explain further, listening to the silence.

“I know,” he drawls quietly, shifting his hips. “What’re you doin’ over there?”

“Just… in my bed,” you shrug, groaning when you adjust against the blankets. “My roommate left for the weekend; it’s all boring,” you mumble, and he’s tipping his head back.

Beau is trying to act like he can’t hear the soft ruffling of the bedsheets and blankets, or the way you breathe heavier, the soft grunts and groans when you roll around slightly. He sighs.

“Why ain’t you call your daddy? Friends?” Beau questions, his lips drawling into a thin line, waiting for your excuse.

“Wanted to talk to you instead,” you admit, biting your lip, and he goes quiet.

“Over your friends, huh?” Beau asks, and you can hear the smile in his voice now. “Real sweet of you, darlin’,” he grins, gazing down at his lap, blinking at the zipper of his jeans.

“Mhm, real sweet,” you reply softly, turning your head to gaze at the dorm door, then back up at the ceiling. “My uniform isn’t comfy,” you tell him, shifting your hips against the bed, sighing.

Beau swallows hard.

Your uniform? His head drifts to an area he doesn’t want to think about right now: the skirt you’re probably wearing, the white button-up, the black tights. He reaches down, pressing his hand down against the front of his jeans, his palm lightly brushing his denim.

“Wearin’ a uniform?” he chuckles, shaking his head. “What? You goin’ to some private school?”

“I am,” you mumble, biting your lip. “You know my daddy… wants the best for me, even if that’s spending a couple grand at some private school where I’m forced into a uniform at almost twenty-four,” you giggle, and he laughs along, nodding.

“What’s it look like?” Beau asks quietly, his free hand sliding up to scratch his beard instead. “Can’t be too bad, sweetheart,” he drawls, brushing off the perverted curiosity as a genuine concern about how your body feels wrapped up in nylon and cotton.

“Oh, it’s bad,” you laugh, gazing down at the silly uniform you’re still in. “Plaid skirt, white button-up, tights, a tie…” You drawl out, and you hear him sigh, and you smile.

“Huh,” he mumbles across the line, looking at his lap again. “And you’re still in it?” he asks, his eyes focused on his zipper, feeling how hard he is getting behind it.

“Yeah,” you whisper, like it’s a secret. “Finished my last lecture like forty minutes ago… just crashed when I got back to my room,” you explain, nodding.

Beau is experiencing every emotion right now: guilt, confusion, and arousal. He’s trying his hardest not to picture you right now; sprawled out on your bed, your skirt riding up, your legs covered in the sheer tights, and how exhausted you must be, how he should be there, relieving all of that stress from exams and studying.

“Must be an exhausted girl,” he drawls out, tipping his head back when he realizes that unfortunate sexual tone slipping through. “Workin’ your ass off all day,” he adds, his hand sliding back down to the front of his jeans.

“Mhm, I am,” you agree, and you look down at the pleats on your skirt. “I know you’re working hard too… being a sheriff and all,” you add, knowing how much that stupid man loved praise.

Beau chuckles. “Yeah, workin’ real hard, sweetheart.”

There’s a pause, and you shift again, and he hears it over the static line; the shuffling, the brushing, the soft breaths and sighs when you adjust your body. And he’s hard. He hates himself a lot right now.

“Maybe you could come here, at some point,” you offer, breathing in. “Like… you know, could show you my campus,” you explain, and he squints.

“Where am I gonna stay, darlin’?” Beau asks, swinging the leather office chair back and forth. “Can’t be stayin’ with you in your room,” he adds, and god, you wish he could.

“Motel,” you mumble, looking at the clock. “I could stay there, too,” you add, holding your breath.

There’s another pause at the thought; you and Beau staying at a motel together, doing god knows what—maybe indulging in the fantasies you’ve both been having about each other since you last saw each other. 

“Yeah,” Beau mumbles, swallowing hard. “Maybe.”

“Why maybe?” You ask quietly, lifting your hips. “I want to see you,” you whisper, like someone else is listening over the line.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he whispers and shakes his head, clicking his tongue. “What’re we gonna do in that motel room, huh? Talk?” He asks, and you giggle.

“Yeah,” you say innocently, crossing your legs. “We can talk,” you agree, and he rubs his hand over his beard again.

“We ain’t gonna be talkin’ in that motel,” Beau shakes his head, sighing heavily. 

“What will we be doing then?” You ask, shifting your hips, feeling that dull ache growing between your thighs, and he’s already lightly palming himself through his jeans.

“Fuckin’,” he says plainly, that Texan drawl suddenly coming out thicker, and your eyes widen, your lips parting in surprise. He was always so blunt, but right now it hit harder.

“Really?” You ask quietly, biting your lip. “You wanna take my virginity?” You question, swallowing hard. 

You hear Beau curse under his breath, clearly reacting to the thought of taking your virginity in some seedy motel; your soft body beneath him, the soft whines and cries that he’d hear from you. He looks at the office door again. 

“Yeah, baby,” he mumbles, blinking slowly, trying not to groan over the line as he palms himself. “I’ll take your virginity,” he agrees, licking his lips.

You go quiet now and squeeze your thighs together, your eyes shutting at the thought; his strong body, all of those thick muscles on top of you, sweaty and warm, his longer, shaggy hair, those green eyes. God, you’ve never wanted a man this bad, not in your life.

“Please,” is all you whisper over the line, and it hits him in the gut, and he presses down harder, the heel of his palm driving into the front of his jeans.

“I’ll fuck you, sweetheart,” Beau groans out, his hand lightly working now, focusing on soothing that ache. “You’ll like it too; moanin’ and whinin’, trustin’ me,” he tells you, and you almost whine. 

Your eyes stay shut as you slide your hand down your stomach, bypassing the waistband of your skirt and sliding down. If only he knew what yoy were up to.

“You ain’t even on birth control, or nothin’,” he shakes his head, that risk and thrill making his own eyes close. “Would be such... a risk, sweetheart, Jesus Christ,” he mumbles, shaking his head again.

“I don’t care,” you whisper, sliding your hand down, gently cupping yourself through your cotton underwear. “Beau… Beau, I don’t care,” you whine into the line, and he already knows what you’re doing.

“You touchin’ yourself, ain’t you?” Beau suddenly asks, and all you can do is whine in response—his body goes still, and he groans, his own thick thighs squeezing together. 

He listens to your soft breaths as you rub the heel of your palm against your clit through your underwear, and he’s doing the same action, just through his denim jeans. It’s the hottest thing ever, and you both barely know what you’re doing right now. 

“Touchin’ yourself to my voice, ain’t that the sweetest thing ever,” he lightly teases, and you tip your head back, not moaning, just letting out a heavy breath. “Think about what I can really do to you.”

You are; that’s all your mind can think about: his body against yours, his thrusts, his relentless hips, all of it wrapped up in the heat of a motel room on a weekend. You’re getting off more than you’d like to, and you rut in your hand, lightly grinding.

“Bendin’ you over… holdin’ that pretty hair, maybe makin’ you look in the mirror—heard the way you were talkin’ about yourself, how you don’t think you’re pretty or nothin’. I’d show you how pretty you are,” Beau rambles on, and you whimper, swallowing back hard.

You don’t know how it’s possible, but you’re already close—it’s a feeling that’s so foreign; feeling good, because of your hand and Beau’s voice. You’re used to trying to think of him, trying to picture hands and fingers, and the way he’d speak to you, and he’s doing it right, over the fucking phone. 

“You’d look so fuckin’ pretty; exhausted and sweatin’, that soft skin, glistenin’, your hair a mess… you ain’t know how much I think about you, baby,” he continues, feeling himself just getting close to you. “Can feel you… hear you, sweetheart; that voice, those whines, I’d make you feel so good,” he promises, and you feel dizzy.

Beau just hearing your soft whines and gasps over the line is enough to get him going, the thought of you in your uniform, squirming around, lightly begging him to keep going without asking. He’d do everything for you.

It’s his best friend’s daughter he’s speaking to with that sharp voice, all deep and drawn out, and the fact he knows you’re doing yourself too. It’s all too much for the both of you.

“Tell me how you’re touchin’ yourself,” Beau lightly commands, his eyes closing, and he pants. “C’mon, darlin’,” he encourages, his hips pathetically bucking into his palm.

“Just… through… through my underwear,” you whisper and nod, trying to hold the phone to your ear still. “With… with my palm, just my palm,” you babble, and the thought makes him curse.

“Two fingers, baby,” he tells you, trying to picture it in his head. “Slide ’em in that underwear, against your clit, sweetheart… slow circles, baby, nothin’ too quick,” he directs, and you groan, nodding, head tipped back.

You do exactly what he says; your fingers slide beyond the waistband of your underwear, right into the front of them, placing the pads of your fingers against your bare clit, no friction or restraint from the fabric. You moan softly, moving in the slow circles, just like he asked.

“Yeah? Feelin’ good, ain’t you? Movin’ those little fingers against your body, good girl,” Beau mumbles, listening to the soft sound of your breaths picking up, along with the moans. “All wet, too? Bet you are, thinkin’ about me stuffin’ you with my cock.”

“Mhm… mhm, really… wet,” you admit, nodding quickly, your back curling and arching off the bed. “Please, Beau,” you plead, and he knows what you want; you wanna hear his thoughts, what he’s thinking, what he wants, what he’d do to you.

“Oh, darlin’,” he groans, still palming himself through his jeans, his eyes closed. “Jus’ wish I was there to fuck you right now… against that bed of yours,” he tells you, imagining how obscene it would be to do in a god damn dorm room. 

Your fingers are moving quickly, using his words to help strengthen your imagination, and you’re basking in it more than you’d like to; it’s all much for you, and you’re shifting your hips around, helplessly grinding into the tips of your fingers.

“I’d cum in you too,” Beau adds on, grunting when he realizes his words were syncing up with what was going on his jeans right now. “Fill up that stomach… stretchin’ you out, forcin’ it all in you, god,” he moans, feeling himself spill into his boxers, right in the middle of his fucking office.

“Please… please cum in me,” is all you plead, right before you feel it. You finish, just as quickly as he does.

It’s in your underwear too, all over the soft fabric, and right into your skirt and glistening on your fingertips. You’re both panting over the line, breaths in sync like you’re actually together, touching and talking to each other. You don’t speak; neither of you do. It’s just a silent acknowledgement of how both of you are just as pathetic for each other.

That silence hangs, both of you staring up at the ceiling in the empty rooms, wondering what the fuck happened.

[kissthigh]

Making a Mess ୨ৎ

Summary: After a long day working outside, you and your boyfriend relax on the couch. He has another idea, though, and it’s humiliating. ♡ warnings: NSFW, MDNI, 18+, smut, no sex, thigh riding, thigh humping, piss kink, you pee on your bf i'm sorry, teasing, mock sympathy, condescending mean bf, pet names (sweetheart, baby, doll), age gap, older!bf, no mentions of y/n, reader insert, user is 21+. wc: 2.3k | by far... the most requested kink on my page, and every time, the request said "im sorry" at the end... when i love it <33 oops

The television hums quietly in the background, a soft thrum in the living room, and an orange glow emanates from the lamp flicked on at the side table. Night had finally fallen.

The day was long; spent in the blazing heat, your body glistening in sweat as you helped your boyfriend with a few chores outside–he did most of them, and you sat and observed, sipping on the lemonade he’d refill when you asked polietely enough, even if it meant he had to stop working on the truck, or had to pause in the middle of mowing the damn lawn. You were an audience member at most.

And now the two of you were relaxed on the couch, doing more than just watching television; your lips against his, his hand on your thigh and hip, keeping you balanced on the thigh you straddle. He’s all cigarettes and beer, and you’re the sweet cherry chapstick and lemonade smeared across your lips, the occasional sour taste of sunscreen that his him smiling.

“Tastin’ real silly, baby,” he murmurs into your lips, peeling back and gazing at you, his hand cupping your face, thumb against your cheek. “Sweet girl,” he whispers, his roving over your face.

You grin, teeth and all, and he smiles too at the sight of you; all soft and eager, wanting nothing more than to indulge in the sexual fantasies you’ve had all day. It’s hard not to when he’s all muscle and sweaty, leaned over a car, working on it with those big hands that hold you so carefully. His gaze sweeps over your body.

“Hot out today, wasn’t it?” he asks with a light tilt of his head, his one hand still holding your hip, gently squeezing it. “Don’t want my baby gettin’ heat stroke,” he mumbles, shaking his head.

“Had lemonade,” you respond with a little nod, lips parted in this needy awe he recognizes. “Really sour.” You grin, adjusting your hips on his thigh, and he nods slowly.

His hand lightly drifts away from your hip and up to just below your waist, his thumb dipping below the soft cotton of your shirt, and he moves it along your lower stomach, gazing at you. The oscillating fan in the corner hums, a light buzz and a brush of breeze, soothing the heat on your skin and the warmth pooling between your thighs.

His thumb presses lightly, a little pressure against you, and he notices the way your eyes flutter, your nose scrunching up at the feeling. He quirks his head to the side, grinning.

“What’s that, baby?” he asks quietly, gazing down at where his thumb rests, just shy of your bladder. “You okay?” he questions, playing dumb, his lips still curled into a smile.

“Uh-huh,” you breathe out and nod, trying to ignore the unfortunate pressure, regretting the constant sips of lemonade you had drunk on the porch when you were mindlessly watching him in the summer heat. It was catching up to you now, and he noticed.

He clicks his tongue and stares at you, lightly tapping his thumb against your bare stomach. 

“How bout’ you grind for me, yeah?” he requests softly, and you swallow hard, cheeks filling with a nervous warmth. “On my thigh, sweetheart, your favourite.”

Grinding on his thigh was nothing new; you always did it, mindlessly rocking back and forth when he teased you for being needy, and you basked in the glory of it all; his condescending words and lack of sympathy. He fed into it, always did, but you knew his intentions were elsewhere now that he was aware of the pressure in your bladder, and how simple stimulation usually made that unfortunate feeling grow. 

“I… I don’t know,” you whisper and shake your head, gulping. “I kind of… need to go,” you nod hesitantly, shamefully looking away from him, and his eyes darken.

“Where do you need to go, baby?” he asks, playing dumb again, and he presses his thumb against you again. It’s on purpose. “More important than me?”

“Just… upstairs,” you tell him, leaving out where you’d even be going; the washroom, to relieve yourself. “Only be a few seconds, I promise,” you plead, nodding.

“And where upstairs, sweet girl? Can’t be so vague with me,” he coos and shakes his head, both of his hands now fixated on your hips, squeezing. He stares and waits for an answer, but you don’t speak; you just look away.

Silence fills the living room, and he continues to apply that gentle pressure on your bladder, and he focuses on helping you grind, encouraging, guiding your hips to move on his thigh, and you shake your head, whimpering. It only takes a few seconds before you give in and move against him, small, hesitant rocks. 

“There we go, baby,” he coos, watching your hips move against your thigh, and you can feel that feeling that you always get confused with: needing to cum, and needing to piss, a combination he teased you for over and over. Except you knew what it was this time. 

You shake your head, reaching down to lightly hold his forearm, feeling your face growing feverish, though the fan soothed the feeling. Barely.

“No—no… m’gonna… need to go upstairs,” you babble softly and shake your head. “Please—m’will be quick,” you promise again, swallowing hard, his hands forcing you to rock back and forth.

“But you feel so good, don’t you, baby?” He whispers, feeling your hand lightly wrapped around his muscular forearm. “Don’t wanna stop now, sweetheart… gonna ruin it all for you, and me,” he mumbles, shaking his head. 

You whimper, feeling that pressure building in your stomach, and you know it’s not from needing to finish. It’s deeper than that, and it tingles when he presses his thumb into you again, applying a light weight to your bladder. Your lips part, and you make a soft noise.

“Oh, darlin’,” he shakes his head, encouraging you to grind, even through the clash of emotions. “Poor baby… needin’ to piss, mhm? That's why you wanted to go?”

You nod quickly, hoping his sympathy would overrule the desire to tease and mock you. But you already know that’s not even a rule in his book.

“You’re gonna hold it for me, baby,” he lightly commands, nodding. “Gonna be strong, yeah? Hold it all in your tummy for me, sweetheart,” he teases, licking his lips. 

You whine and shake your head, tipping it back in frustration. A soft stream of needy sounds leaves your mouth, and he tilts his head to the side, blinking at that face you’re making—it’s the most innocent thing he’s seen, knowing how embarrassed you are right now.

“Aww, baby girl,” he coos, sliding his hand up your body and to gently cup your face, feeling your warm cheeks. “Feelin’ embarrassed, hm? Can’t even hold it in anymore… sweetheart, you’re a big girl,” he mocks. 

You look away from him, tugging your face free from his grip, and he swipes his tongue over his teeth, watching the way you squirm against his thigh, keeping up the pace still. It’s the most amusing thing he’s seen in a minute; you squirming around, fighting against the natural urge and the artificial one he’s currently forcing you to feel despite you shaking your head, refusing to give in. You’re already giving in, and he’s smiling.

“I’m–I’m serious–” you groan out, shaking your head in mild frustration, lightly squeezing your thigh around his. “I don’t want to–”

“And what makes you think I’m not serious?” he counters, leaning closer to you, his nose almost brushing yours. “Be a good girl for me, that’s all I’m asking,” he whispers, leaving a gentle kiss to yours, quick and slow.

He pulls back and stares at those wide eyes, the urgency in them with the twist of embarrassment and humiliation–all of his favourite things. He slowly moves his hand, fully flattening it over your bare stomach, and he watches the way you refuse to look at him.

“Gonna have to put you on the floor again, baby? Just like an untrained puppy?” he hangs the idea over your head, his eyebrows furrowing. “Look at me,” he tuts, and you slowly draw your eyes back to him.

“Please–” you whimper, your hips stuttering as they move back and forth, hesitant rolls that leave you unsatisfied and embarrassed; that stupid pressure, it’s getting worse, and it only builds the more he taunts and mocks, and the way he’s purposely pushing onto your bladder now.

“You know,” he clicks his tongue, a firm press of his palm following suit. “If you were really that desperate… you would’ve pissed on me by now, sweetheart,” he teases, and you shake your head.

“No–no… I-I won’t,” you refuse, and you squeeze your thighs around his once more, a gentle clench. “I can’t, I can’t,” you almost cry softly, and he shushes you, shaking his head.

“You can,” he mumbles, nodding. “Be a messy girl, baby… and then you can clean it up all for me,” he grins, watching the fear flash behind your eyes.

“Stop,” you whine, softly begging him to stop tormenting you.

“Could be fixed in five seconds,” he shoots, easing off the pressure for relief, just to press hard. “Just gotta clean up after yourself, yeah? Maybe lick it off my lap, hm? Poor couch too, baby… not even being considerate of anything,” he shakes his head again, forcing you to feel guilty for even considering it, pissing on him.

“I won’t–” you mumble out, pursing your lips, your hips still rocking back and forth.

“You can,” he drawls out again, pushing the heel of his palm closer to your bladder. “Can be pathetic if you really want… selfish, gettin’ my clothes all wet and ruined with your piss because you can’t even control yourself anymore,” he whispers, blinking.

The words are sharp on his tongue, a condescending tone that’s coaxing you into doing what he says, all while making you feel guilty for even considering it, too. You squeeze your eyes shut harder and shake your head, chest heaving.

“Workin’ yourself up makes it only worse, sweetheart,” he whispers, pressing into your stomach a bit harder, applying enough force to have your eyes fluttering. “Doesn’t it, hm? Squirming even more now, right? All that pressure bugging you?” he murmurs, and you pant, shaking your head.

“No… no, I’m fine,” you lie and shake your head again, trying to stop your hips from moving, but they keep going, and he’s only keeping his palm pressed against your abdomen harder.

“Hmm…” he drawls quietly, his eyes gazing at your sweaty form, and closed eyes, and an idea flashes in his head.

He slowly pulls his hand away from your stomach, only to ball it into a fist, and he goes back, lightly pushing his knuckles where his palm once was–it’s firmer, harder, applying that solid feeling that makes you yelp. It’s not a punch, but he could if he wanted to.

You cry out softly the second you feel the tiniest drop release from you, barely there, but still enough relief for you to struggle to keep holding it in. He feels it, the slight warmth, and clicks his tongue.

“Holding it in real good, aren’t you, baby?” he asks, though he knows you aren't. “All in here, mhm… doing it real well for me,” he coos, applying even more pressure with his strong fist.

He knows you’re fighting against every urge, and even then, you still couldn’t hold it back–it was on purpose, making you feel good but then guilty, making you feel relieved and then not at all. The consistent clashing was what made you struggle, and he’s smiling through it all.

“Oh, doll,” he whispers when he notices the helpless look on your face. “Really gonna wet yourself, aren’t you? All over my lap… my jeans, in your shorts, and underwear…” he shakes his head, and you swallow hard.

“I’m…. I’m sorry,” you whimper, already succumbing to the feeling, and he watches your cheeks flush pink, all while he feels it; the dampness spreading over his thigh.

Instead of keeping his fist against your stomach, he flattens his palm out, lightly rubbing in slow circles as you piss in your jeans, and all onto his thigh, tears streaming down your cheeks in humiliation, and he can only smile.

“Good girl, sweetheart,” he murmurs, glancing down at the wet mark at the front of your shorts, and the way it bleeds onto his own. “Just couldn’t hold it in anymore, could you?”

“I’m sorry…. I’m so sorry,” you whine, feeling the uncomfortable wetness in your shorts, all warm, just like the tears that pour from your eyes.

“You’re not sorry, doll; you didn’t even try,” he whispers and shakes his head, still rubbing in those gentle circles. “Just wanted relief, yeah? Didn’t even think about wetting yourself, or how I’m gonna make you sit in it for the rest of the night,” he adds, lifting his hand from your hip to run through your hair.

“Please don’t,” you whine and shake your head again, sniffling through the tears.

“Tomorrow, too,” he tells you, pushing a strand behind your ear. “Gonna make you sit in your damp panties, mhm… maybe make you do it again before we go out tomorrow,” he raises his eyebrows, watching your face drop.

“No… no, no,” you tip your head back in frustration, trying to ignore how wet your pants are.

“How will you ever learn things, baby? I can’t let you get away with being this filthy and selfish, can I?” he tics his head to the side, acting like he wasn’t the one convincing you the entire time.

“You–you told me to,” you lift a hand and wipe your tears, squirming on his damp thigh.

“Told you what would happen if you did too, didn’t I? I know you listen well; you just don’t care,” he mumbles, sliding his hand down to cradle the side of your neck. “Now, how about you clean it up, mhm? Use that mouth of yours instead of whining.”

[kissthigh]

Will you be releasing a part 3 for mom’s boyfriend? 🥹

yes! probably tomorrow <3

[kissthigh]

older man who makes u ride his thigh ignoring how embarrassed u are and u lowkey piss a little on him WHO FUCKINF SAID YHAT WHO FUCKINF SAID YHAT

did you hack my google docs

[kissthigh]

also shout out to the request about pathetic older bf who 🤤🤤🤤😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 hahahahaha🤤🤤🤤🤤oh just give me a second. u shocked me out of my writer’s block last night i wanna post THREE TIMES TODAY

[kissthigh]

His Gun ୨ৎ

Summary: making out with Dean after a hunt isn’t unusual, but when his gun accidentally brushes your thigh during the little session, you both get an idea. ♡ warnings: NSFW, MDNI, 18+, smut, gunplay, he uses a gun to fuck you i'm sorry, mentions of violence (potential trigger warning), degradation, mock-sympathy, praise, pet names (sweetheart, baby), dean trying to make u scared, no mentions of y/n, reader insert. wc: 1.9k | thank u to the lovely person who requested this <3 i have no issue writing any freaky fantasies u guys have... enjoy!!!

The motel was as dingy as ever; the lights buzzed above you and Dean, and there was an unmistakable scent of cleaning chemicals oozing from the crevices of the bathroom, still lingering with the scent of sex and the last occupant who clearly chain-smoked their entire stay.

The stressed frame of the bed groans beneath you and Dean’s weight, a soft creak each time he adjusts his position between your thighs; they’re parted, and he’s between them, your dress already hiked up, and his eager hands search the soft surface of them.

Sam wasn’t with you two–finally. After a long hunt, he had disappeared into the night, brushing off the blood-sucking ritual with Ruby as research, but Dean couldn’t care, not when you were at his disposal; soft and warm, lying against the motel bed, begging for any ounce of attention. The demon situation could wait, and he would force it to.

Dean is on top of you, lightly mouthing at your neck, and your head is tipped back, melting into the stiff blankets and sheets. You’re already moaning softly, the noises slipping past your lips like they’re trained to do that–this had become such a routine that your body almost prepared for when he slid between your thighs, and ached when he wasn’t.

A hand leaves your thigh, and you swallow hard, your chest heaving at the absent touch. You feel it again, though, accompanied by the coldness of metal this time, a touch that has your back arching off the bed in surprise. It was his gun in his hand.

Dean was casually removing it from the back pocket of his jeans, realizing it wasn’t needed right now, not when the only weapon in this entire room was you–your body you used against him at times, the sweet persuasion of your words when you wanted him to go against Sammy. He loved it, and hated it.

“Dean,” you mumble softly, the temperature change making your skin prick with goosebumps, and he notices it–what the cold metal did to you.

“Yeah?” he mumbles, his voice gruff as he pulls back slightly, swallowing hard and gazing at you with those sharp, green eyes. He notices the new look in your eyes, the way they’re blown out and wide.

“Keep… keep it there,” you nod, chest heaving, and he slowly lowers his gaze. “Please.”

It’s the tip of the gun, lightly pressing into your thigh, his hand tightly gripping it. He looks back up at you, and those soft lips apart in surprise at what you were asking for; his gun against your body, and he grips it a little tighter, not even questioning the light command.

Dean goes back to gently kissing at your neck, his nose nuzzling its way against you, and he starts to slowly drag his gun up your thigh, and your eyes widen at the gesture. The firm metal moves along your body, pressing into the soft skin, and he nudges it slightly, applying pleasure.

“My gun gettin’ you off?” he groans into your neck, breathing into your ear. “You that much of a whore now?” he asks quietly, and you whimper, letting him press the tip of it against you even harder, and he’s pushing the tip of it into your skin.

Dean slowly moves the gun over your thigh, letting the tip of it press against your inner thigh now, and that’s when you moan softly. The contrast of your warm thighs and the cold metal makes you gasp, and he’s smirking, licking below your ear.

“Yeah… yeah, this makin’ you excited, baby?” he lightly taunts, drifting the weapon further up your inner thigh, letting it drag. “Gettin’ wet over the thought, aren’t you?”

You nod, your hand resting against the nape of his neck, squeezing gently. He keeps his head buried in your neck, all while his gun travels, the coldness making your entire body prick and squirm, and he’s loving it more than he should.

“Never knew you were this filthy,” Dean drawls out, and that’s when you feel him nudge the tip of it against the front of your underwear; it’s solid, a hard piece of metal pressing to your clit, and he taps it. 

Your eyes widen at the feeling, and you tip your head back even further; he uses the access to your neck as leverage; he’s pressing kisses all over it, all while lightly circling the gun, moving the weapon in circles against your clit, and he flicks the safety off. You hear the click and gasp.

“Scared I’m gonna hurt you, baby?” he coos quietly, letting it click again, and you breathe out in relief. “You like it though… the thought of me hurtin’ you,” he whispers.

You whimper once again, the soft sound fizzling into a moan the more he focuses on using the gun, keeping up the circles, the slight tease he makes when he flicks a piece of it, hearing that clicking sound that forces a rush of adrenaline through your body. You’ve never felt this before, and you can’t help but bathe in the odd twist of pleasure and fear.

Dean uses the gun to nudge aside your underwear, and you feel the coldness of it against your folds now. It lightly presses there, the metal now roving over the slick, the tip of it glistening, and you groan out, your eyes falling shut at the feeling. He lets it flick again, and you’re not even sure if the safety is on or off, or if it’s loaded or not, or if he’s getting off as much as you are right now, and that’s why he can feel your thighs trembling.

“Shakin’ like a scared fawn, sweetheart,” Dean teases, gently kissing you by your ear. “Poor thing has no idea what I can do to her right now,” he taunts, slowly pushing the tip of the gun through your folds, dragging it down, letting it move through the sensitive skin.

You can’t hide the arousal that’s pulsing through you, not when the gun is moving so swiftly through your folds, easily gliding through the slick that gathers, showing him that everything in you wants that. He smiles again, kissing your cheek.

“Want me to fuck you with it, don’t you?” Dean asks, the deepness settling in the back of his throat, a low gravel in the quiet motel. “Would make you a happy thing, wouldn’t it? Bein’ stuffed with somethin’ I own,” he coos, and you can hear the grin in his voice.

You squirm, and he only pushes the gun against you a bit more, and your eyes flutter the second it nudges your entrance. Your body is warm, blood pumping through you, and the gun’s temperature makes you whimper, a sudden shock to your system that makes you clench just the tip of it in.

“Baby’s that eager, huh?” Dean murmurs, feeling the way your body is practically begging for it now. “Tryin’ put it in further… don’t be so dirty,” he taunts, nuzzling his nose against the temple of your head. 

He slowly urges it further into you, letting your body adjust to the foreign shape—you’re used to his fingers, his cock that he stuffs into you, the occasional toy when he wants to make you frustrated, but never something as foreign as this; his gun, the thing he uses to kill, to protect you and Sam, and now it’s sliding inside of you.

“Ah, ah,” Dean mumbles and shakes his head, lightly keeping it halfway in. “No cryin’ from you, okay?”

You sniffle, not even realizing that he had noticed the glassy eyes and parted lips, the way your body was so needy but confused at the same time. Your feelings were clashing, and Dean was slowly pushing it in further, bit by bit.

“Takin’ it better than I thought,” he murmurs, letting it settle inside of you, just the barrel. “This lil’ body of yours, best fuckin’ thing ever, you know that?” He grins, and you whimper, hesitantly nodding. 

Dean lets it slowly move, just a slight thrusting motion, barely doing it, having some grace for you.

“She takes everythin’ from me; don’t know if it’s her bein’ greedy, or a whore, or both,” he mumbles, feeling how easily you adapt to the weapon, how you clench and shift your hips. “Makes me wanna tie you up, and jus’ see what you can take, baby.”

Dean continues to keep it lightly moving, a back-and-forth motion, speeding up just a bit. His eyes focus on yours; the flutter, the faint tears streaming down the corners of them and bleeding into the pillow. He knows it’s overwhelming, but he also knows how badly you want it, and how well you’re taking it.

“Sammy won’t even know,” he whispers, suddenly dangling the secrecy of the idea. “Gonna see me usin’ it, killin’ people with it… cleanin’ it, touchin’ it… no fuckin’ clue it’s been inside you, this pretty body of yours.”

You whine and your back arches off the bed, a gentle curve as you feel yourself getting frustratingly close. You almost want to tell him to stop, knowing the rein of power he’ll have once he sees you cum, just from his gun.

“Makin’ you cum all over this thing,” Dean whispers, focusing a bit more on getting you close, rather than just toying with you. “Maybe… you won’t even get to,” he adds, and you hear another click of his thumb; safety on or off, you don’t know. You whimper.

He keeps it going inside of you now; solid thrusts, making sure you’re comfortable while also making sure you take it. He cares, but he doesn’t—he knows if you had any authority over anything, nothing you’d want would truly happen. It takes him to get you to do things you like. Like getting fucked with his gun.

“I’m—I’m close,” you whisper out, your chest heaving and your moans shallow. 

“Yeah? Gonna make a mess on my gun?” Dean taunts, like you’re doing a disservice. “Gonna have to clean it too, baby… always cleanin’ it when I’m finished.”

And then you finish. It’s warm and all-consuming, a flush over the gun and down your thighs, and he smiles watching your face contort and twist. It’s amusing to him that a gun has the effect as his cock, getting you off in a few minutes, and he basks in the power he has over you.

Dean slowly pulls the gun out of you, and you shift your hips around the bed, squirming and covered in sweat. He lifts it in the air and hovers a little further from you, letting you see it; glistening and warm now, your body heat and walls making it slightly heated. Your cheeks are pink.

“C’mon, clean it, as any gun owner would,” he tells you and holds it to your mouth, waiting for your tongue to slide out and lap it up.

Your lips part, and you lick it, tasting the sweetness and the slick that covers it, and you stare at him as he does; he even nudges the tip of it at your lips at one point, like he’s urging you to suck on it. He pulls back after a minute, reaching with his other hand.

“Wanna know a secret, baby?” He asks calmly, sitting back and up away from you, the gun clicking.

Dean unloads it with a soft noise, and a singular bullet dips out and drops between your thighs. He grins. 

[kissthigh]

okay here are answers to my my most asked questions right now: yes, mom’s bf pt3 will be posted soon!! yes, i will write about beau again, dbf & other stuff too!! yes, i will make ur older!bf meaner, and yes, i will include that one… kink people keep asking about ever since i vaguely mentioned it in a fic hahaha 👀 I hope this gives some of you some answers 🧘‍♀️ always send in a questions.. and if it’s rlly important, never be shy to dm me <333 trust me u cannot outfreak me lol i’ll post later!!

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Are we still going to get one shots of sweet dbf Beau Arlen? 🥹

of course!! that’s dada and i don’t use that word lightly

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i’ve had this dean x soldier boy x user fan fic in my head and i don’t know how crazy it would be to write it

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Helpin' You ୨ৎ

Summary: Your periods have never been easy, and your boyfriend knows exactly how to make you feel better. ♡ warnings: NSFW, MDNI, 18+, smut, unprotected sex, period sex, gentle sex, lots of praise, lots of mock sympathy, condescending bf hehe, pet names (baby, sweetheart), nipple + breast play, mentions of pregnancy, breeding kink, mentions of blood, older!bf, no mentions of y/n, reader-insert. wc: 2.4k | this isnt freaky this is just how it should be (only if ur comfy)... enjoy <3

The pain was unbearable; that twisting in your abdomen, the painful cramps that came in waves and wouldn’t settle until you were five pills deep and in the fetal position, all while trying to breathe through them. It was that time of your month, and all your boyfriend could do was watch.

“Baby,” he whispers, gently rubbing your back, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You been like this all day?” he asks, his hand sliding up, rubbing right at the base of your neck.

He had just gotten off work, still in his denim jeans and plaid button-up, hair messy and sweaty, and you were curled in a ball, nodding, groaning quietly when another wave of cramps hit. He knew you never took it well–you couldn’t even explain to him the pain you were in; the cramps, the headache, the tender breasts, the mood swings, the up-and-down emotions, the bloating, and trying to act like you weren’t uncomfortable all the time. He sighs.

“You takin’ your pills, yeah?” he asks quietly, knowing you did, and he gazes at your tired form. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he mumbles, leaning down to gently kiss the top of your head and pat your back before standing up.

You immediately whine when he pulls back, curling further into yourself, and he gazes down at you. He wipes the sweat from his forehead, clenching his jaw and gazing around the bedroom. The window is cracked open, and the soft crickets distract him.

“Just gonna get undressed, baby, I’ll give you cuddles,” he reassures, his fingers swiftly working out his belt, and then his pants, and then his shirt slides off next. He carefully climbs into bed, this time behind you, letting your back press to his chest, his hands sliding down to rest against your stomach.

They don’t fully go away, but the gentle pressure of his warm hands and the way his chin hooks over your shoulder, placing gentle kisses on your jaw, help soothe them. Until it doesn't.

You let out a soft whine, and he closes his eyes, listening to the painful sound in the bedroom. He rubs your lower stomach in slow circles, his hand sliding up your oversized tee to ease the cramping, and it almost helps. Almost.

“I know, sweetheart,” he whispers, kissing up to your ear. “Just breathe through them for me, deep breaths…” he coos quietly, and you hesitantly nod, trying your best not to whine and tell him it’s hopeless.

“It hurts, too much,” you whine, squirming, never feeling comfortable. “Everything does…”

“I know, baby,” he coos again, lightly kissing your ear now. “Just gotta let the pills settle in, and then you’ll feel good,” he nods, nudging his nose to beneath your ear.

You shakily breathe in and then breathe out, focusing on aligning your breaths with your boyfriend’s, all while trying to ignore the discomfort in your stomach and between your thighs. You shake your head in frustration, tipping it back and against his shoulder.

“It’s not working–I can’t wait longer; it hurts too much.” You shake your head again, and his lips part at how helpless you are; you squirm around, trying your best to find a position that relieves that unfortunate ache of the cramps, but it’s not working.

“Hey… hey, I got you,” he whispers again, nodding slowly. “What if I help you, baby?”

“You can’t,” you whine softly, shaking your head. “Just… just gotta get through,” you add on, but groan shortly after in pain. His heart breaks, but he knows what to do.

“I can though,” he reminds you, lightly kissing at your jaw now. “You trust me, baby.”

“No, you can’t,” you groan out frustration, shaking your head again. “It’s fine… just don’t stop,” you tell him quietly, not wanting him to stop the gentle rub against your stomach.

“Listen,” he whispers, lightly kissing at your neck, and then to your jaw. “Wanna help you, nothing about it… is gross, sweetheart,” he reminds you, his thumb dipping into the waistband of your underwear, and you squirm.

“That’s—that’s so gross, I don’t want you to,” you whimper, squeezing your thighs together.

“Baby, it’s your body,” he mumbles, letting his hand fully slide in, his thumb rubbing against your pelvis. “Nothing about it could ever be gross to me,” he reassures, tapping his thumb.

You groan when another wave settles in, and he stares at you when he pulls back slightly, blinking. He knows how bad your cramps are, how they’ve always been like this, and he can’t watch you struggle, especially when he knows there’s something he can do.

“Darlin’...” he whispers, sliding his hand from out of your underwear, lightly resting it against your hip, and he’s urging you to roll onto your back. “Come on… let me take care of you; you just gotta lie there for me,” he mumbles, and you lazily roll onto your back, groaning again.

“It’s… so gross,” you whisper, watching him effortlessly switch positions, helping your legs bend and spread, and he nudges his way between them. “You’re not gonna like it…”

“Not gonna like making my girl feel good?” he asks with a raise of his eyebrows, slowly settling between your thighs. “You’re crazy,” he laughs, and you nervously laugh too.

He stares down between your thighs and up at you, fingers lightly hooking into your underwear, and you tip your head back, eyes closing in embarrassment. You barely can look at yourself during this time of the month, and here he is, basking in all of it.

“Baby, look at me,” he whispers, sliding further between your thighs, rubbing one. “Why’re you getting shy on me?”

“What do you mean, why?” You practically whine, gently biting your lip, groaning the second another wave of cramps hit, and he’s glancing down.

“It’s nothing to me, sweetheart,” he shakes his head, leaning down to kiss your stomach, his hands sliding up your shirt, lifting it. “Natural, normal…”

He lightly kisses your stomach before moving down, kissing at your pelvis, then slowly to your inner thighs, placing warm lips against them. You moan quietly, head tipping back in awe at the feeling—you can’t believe he’s doing this right now.

“Just want those cramps to stop bugging you,” he whispers and nods, lightly kissing up your thighs, avoiding the place you’re most insecure about. 

“Not there—“ you whimper, trying to close your thighs, all out of embarrassment. “Please… just… not there.”

“Relax,” he shakes his head, lightly kissing up back your thigh and to your hip. “Won’t do anything that makes you uncomfortable,” he promises, kissing back up your stomach.

You nod a little and let your legs fall open more, and he slides his hand up, gently massaging your inner thigh, all while kissing upwards. You whimper again, and he glances up. 

“Can’t believe you think blood fazes me,” he almost laughs and shakes his head, slowly pulling back, hovering above you. “Baby, it’s you.” He says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You groan again at the uncomfortable pain in your abdomen, and he can feel himself straining against his boxers—ever since he heard that first little moan, and saw the sight of your bare body, all soft and warm, even if he knew how insecure you were over the blood. 

He carefully tugs down his boxers next, pulling himself out, and he’s hard already, throbbing. You glance down, gulping. You know your body is a little more sensitive right now; all tender, aching right where he’ll be prodding at, and you tip your head back at the minute you feel him nudge his tip against your entrance.

“Baby, relax,” he coos, noticing the knit in your brows, and the way you’re bracing yourself. “Gonna be real slow with you, okay? Not gross, nothing,” he reminds you.

You nod a little, and he slowly begins to push in. You moan, and he slides in easier than usual, and you try to ignore the reason why. It feels good though; your body relaxing at the pressure, and the increased blood flow has you slightly more aroused, and your jaw goes slack.

“Feels so good, baby,” he groans out and nods, finally going in fully, and settling right there. “Feel good for you too, yeah?” He asks.

“Mhm,” you nod hesitantly, trying to ignore what he’s obviously seeing, and merely focusing on how good it feels to have him inside of you right now.

“Good… good girl,” he whispers, slowly beginning to thrust; lightly pumping in and out, keeping it slow and steady, and you reach out, grabbing his bare shoulder. So firm, all muscle.

He notices you’re more sensitive, and he smiles—your lips are open, and strings of sweet sounds slip, and you’re already clenching around him. You don’t know much about anatomy, but being more sensitive right now makes sense, and it shows in the way you squeeze his shoulder, moaning a little louder with each rock. 

“So pretty,” he coos softly, his hand lightly reaching down to grasp yours, holding it near your head, and the other one slides down to splay across your stomach.

His thumb rubs at your navel, a few gentle strokes, and he stares at you; eyes fluttering, and your lip bitten, holding back pretty sounds, your mind elsewhere. It’s like he’s not even doing this when you’re on your period anymore—it feels a lot better than the usual sex, somehow. 

“So warm, all in here,” he whispers, nodding slowly, focusing on giving you gentle strokes. “Mmm… maybe need to fill you, baby… never feel these cramps again, yeah?” He murmurs, tilting his head to the side.

You moan at his words, gently squeezing his hand when he threatens the idea of getting you pregnant. The idea itself is getting him a bit more riled up, and he has to hold back from rutting into you like an animal. 

“Wouldn’t be like this… if you were all filled with me, baby, would it?” He asks, the front of his hips meeting yours, and you can feel him pressing deeper. “Would look so pretty like that, too,” he whispers, groaning.

He continues to rub your stomach, soothing the cramps that persist, but as you feel yourself getting closer, they slowly vanish and twist into more pleasure. You know you’ll feel full relief when it hits, and you get to cum, but all you can focus on now is your boyfriend’s deep voice, and how gentle his hands are this time.

“Poor girl… aching all day, and you thought I couldn’t do anything,” he hums and shakes his head, pushing in deeper than it's possible. “Meanwhile… look at you, baby… all dumbed out, feeling better, aren’t you?”

The hand that held yours finds your breast now, cupping it beneath your t-shirt, lightly squeezing and massaging. You whimper at the feeling–they’re sensitive, tender, and he’s gently with the way his thumb flicks over your nipple.

You moan again, your back arching off the bed, a curve he can’t help but admire, and he slides his hand away from the swell, his hand drifting to support the bend of your hips. He knows it feels better that way, and he gazes at your face again.

“Just needed me to come take care of you,” he coos quietly, leaning down to brush his lips to yours. “Needed me to fuck you, yeah?”

His words are only lolling you more into a blissed-out state, and he can tell by the way your jaw goes slack when he speaks to you so crudely, but your body reacts more than you do.

“Keeping my girl all full,” he mumbles, lightly pressing into your stomach. “Can you believe, baby… this was all you needed? Me?” He asks, and that twisted, condescending tone has you nodding in response, whimpering.

“Gonna feel even better when I let you cum, sweet girl,” he whispers, keeping you arched with that hand beneath your lower back. “I’ll let you cum, too… not gonna make my poor, aching baby wait,” he shakes his head, watching you squirm and writhe.

It’s building, and you’re groaning now, feeling that knot twist and grow, all because of the constant thrust of his hips, and how quietly he’s speaking to you. He gets you into headspaces like this easily; all drooly and whiny, all blissed out and dumb. And he loves it, more than anything.

“Recognize that face you’re making,” he taunts slightly, and you whimper again, biting your lip. “Feels all tight in there, yeah? You feel tight, sweetheart,” he whispers.

“M’gonna—-gonna cum,” you pant out heavily, and he keeps going; doesn’t speed up nor slow down, he keeps the exact pace, that same movement that got you here in the first place.

“Now,” he whispers, but you know it’s not permission. “I know your daddy taught you manners, sweet girl… tell me the magic word,” he taunts with a light grin, and you hold your breath, holding back.

“Please—please, can… can I cum?” You breathe out, and he almost laughs at the urgency on that face that was once denying him of this.

“Mhm… cum,” he tells you, and you do.

It feels better than it ever did. All of the tension leaves at once, and the endorphins that release suddenly soothe that dull ache, and you’re moaning and whining, shaking your head at just how good it all feels. You ride out of the intense feeling that has your cheeks flushed and your chest heaving, and he’s lightly speeding up, helping you through it, all while focusing on his high.

He chases it just as quickly, and it shows how hard he was holding back. He cums with a groan, all inside of you, purposely pumping you full and keeping you that way; he refuses to pull out, leaving him buried, all deep and pressing inside of you. He rubs your stomach again, panting.

“Atta girl… there we go, baby,” he mumbles, staring at your glistening face. “Mmm… feel better, yeah? Your little body feeling good?” He asks quietly.

“Mhm… good,” you babble out, swallowing hard and catching your breath.

“And all you needed was my cock, baby,” he teases, dangling the idea over your head. “My cock… stuffed all in here, making all those aches go away, hm?” He adds on, and you whine.

He’s always been condescending, but it slips out more when he’s proving you right—especially over sex of all things.

“Listen to me next time, sweetheart,” he reminds you, tapping your abdomen. “I know your body better than you do.”

[kissthigh]

You're whole page and the fun community you created have made me realize how happy I am to be a girl who can enjoy little things like this :)

THIS IS SOOO SWEET <33 i always see tiktoks saying “peak is being a teenage girl and reading fan fics all night in the summer” and it’s like…. i am 21…. and do the same </3 i’m glad i made a place where adults can still indulge in all of that fun fantasy fan fic stuff because it truly never gets any less fun!!! ♥️♥️

[kissthigh]

thinking about my camera roll if i had an older boyfriend pleassseeeee <///3 ughhhh

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everyone say “lock in” so i can start doing drabbles for scene requests i get because i’m currently stuck in a loop where i want to write entire fics with plots and all that just for little scenes omg