Alright It Was About Time I Put Something From What I Actually Draw. Here's An OC That Miiighhttt Or

Marvel Snap

The cupid arrow hitting in the last gif... 💘

NUH UH

Found this on Facebook, so cool!

Hugh Jackman Fic Recs

Patience Wears Thin - @reidsworld smut

Kid? - @not-neverland06

Honey - @bpmiranda smut

This is Ours - @d1stalker smut

Ravish - @l0vergirlsw0rld smut

Old Enough - @bpmiranda smut

In My Head - @bpmiranda smut

Lumberjack Logan - @cyber333angel smut

Professor - @logansdoll

Shy - @loonylupinblack3

Across The Bar - @vivs-fics smut

I'm Not In Love - @imaginedisish smut

Unchained Melody - @imaginedisish smut

We're Dating? - @not-neverland06

Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby - @imaginedisish smut

Always Watching - @bpmiranda smut

Close To You - @imaginedisish smut

Liquid Smooth - @imaginedisish smut

Sweet Like Honey - @bruhstories smut

Broken Promises - @not-neverland06 smut

Not Sweet - @bpmiranda smut

I wanna be yours - @dollfacefantasy smut

Little Red - @lovelybucky1 smut

Room For Rent - @proxima-writes smut

Knuckle Velvet - @ohcaptains smut

Like A Goddamn Prayer - @reidsfilm smut

~•••🌇•••~

Recommended with headphones….🎧

Goooood morning New York City! For the ones that wake up with the birds or feel the need to wake up late, Silver FM is the radio for you. It’s your lovely 6 o’ clock host, with the old music you know and love, like Tears for Fears!

“Everybody Wants To Rule The World” rolled in after that beautiful voice that Peter loves to tune in for every morning as he swings to The Daily Bugle. Silver FM, the one that you were the morning and noon host for, has collaborated with Bugle. And…ever since then, your presence never left Parker’s mind.

He sometimes wondered why was it called “Silver” radio. Maybe because of the old music it tuned in with? Like the 80s and 90s?

Who knows? He’ll know, if he finally speaks a word or two with you about it. It’ll create a subject, something, just to hear that voice speak to him. Seems like the radio station in his spider suit isn’t enough…..

~•••🌇•••~

A/N: HII!! Finally I’m alive. This is a little blabber, a tease to what I’m about to (possibly) create in here. This is a Tom Holland’s Spider-Man headcanon where he isn’t in high school, but as a photographer for The Daily Bugle. It’ll be up to how the story will evolve if the events of the MCU will coincide with this hc. Deciding if it’ll be reader insert or original character too !

Across The Bar

Logan Howlett x Reader

The first time you met Logan. (Can be read as a stand-alone fic, but it is a prequel- of sorts- to my other fic, Baby, Baby. This is set about four months before the events of that fanfiction- when Logan and Y/N met.)

Content warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, smoking, thoughts about and allusions to sex, feral!logan, bit of a perv!logan (?), masturbation (M)

This is considered a mature work of fiction. Minors do not interact. 18+ only.

Smoke rises from the end of the freshly clipped cigar, catching in the warm yellow of the overhead lighting. It rests between his pointer and middle fingers; he brings the cigar up to his lips and takes another puff. The thick, heady scent of nicotine dances through the stagnant air of the bar, He is wrapped in allure, his muscular frame barely hidden by the worn, umber leather jacket that stretches across the wide expanse of his shoulders. Dregs of ice and long forgotten whisky sit in the short glass before him. The stranger rests a heavy hand onto the sticky counter top- dried remnants of drinks passed coagulate on the varnished wooden surface. Logan would grimace at this, usually. Not tonight though. Tonight is different, tonight he saw you. You with the easiest, brightest smile. You, with sparkling eyes he wanted, no- needed to see rolling back into your head as he fucked himself into your cunt. You with the prettiest lips he’d ever seen- lips that he’d do ungodly deeds to see wrapped around his cock.

You captivated him entirely the moment you walked through the door. He had heard you before he saw you. A boisterous laugh ran through your body and echoed through the entire bar, the warm and unapologetic sound captured his attention. Logan turned his head to see you with a rowdy group of people he assumed were your friends. Their laughter seemed dull and faded, their very way of being was muted, insignificant, in comparison to your astounding presence. He decided- he knew, in that moment, that nothing could hold a candle to the all-encompassing glory of you. He feels his old, withered heart do something it hadn’t done in a long time- it clenches. The pang of want resonates from deep within his chest, and it stuns him. Logan didn’t know where this sudden rush of pure feeling came from, but he knew he wanted more of it- he wanted more of the pretty girl at the other end of the bar.

You obviously noticed the beautiful, bearded, brooding, behemoth of a man in the far corner of the room. It’s the first thing your friends comment on after their initial order of tequila shots. An eruption of low whistles and panting and dramatic face fanning breaks out amongst the group of you. Your eyes rake down his form. Sturdy thighs spread open on the oak bar stool, broad shoulders keep the fabric of his jacket taut. He’s hot, there’s no doubt about it.

The stranger clad in leather stares straight ahead, giving you a perfect view of his side profile. He has lush lips that are set in a slight frown. He has tired, hardened eyes. His eyebrows are furrowed. You’d be intimidated by him, if he wasn’t so fucking gorgeous. His beard fluffs at his jaw and tufts of hair curve out above his ears. Without a shadow of a doubt, he is one of the most physically imposing men you’ve ever seen. He’s broad and tall and strong- his biceps fill the sleeves of his jacket; the contours of his back muscles can almost be seen, even under a substantial barrier of leather. His hands rest on the bar, one leaning against an ashtray- a rolled cigar between his fingers, the other is gently splayed across his glass of whisky.

 You notice his fingers, thick and long. Delicious. The veins on his hands protrude in the prettiest way- those hands have been worked. Your mind wanders to if they’d feel good working you, spreading your pussy lips just right, fucking in and out of you… Your daze is quickly ended with the arrival of ten shots on the bar counter. Your tongue darts out of your mouth to lick the salt and suck the lemon, before downing the tequila. A familiar burn runs through you, the heat of the alcohol feeding your ever-growing intrigue toward the man at the opposite end of the bar.

Logan watches as your tongue extends down to lap the lightly sprinkled salt off your hand, he can’t help it. He feels a pang of guilt momentarily because he doesn’t even know you, and yet he couldn’t stop thinking about all the filthy things he wanted to do with you… All the things he wanted to do to you. That feeling, however, is quickly stamped out as your wet tongue makes contact with your skin. All other thoughts dissipate as he sees your painted lips wrap around the slice of lemon in your right hand. His breath catches in his lungs, blood rushes to his cock. He’s lost all decorum; he feels like a young man again. Although he fails to recall, even in his much younger days, exactly when the presence of a woman had this great of an impact on him.

He watches you down the soft amber liquid in one quick motion. You let out a shaky breath though gritted teeth, your features contorting in response to the hard liquor. A dazzling smile finds its way onto your face right as you recovered and, by God, Logan thought he’d been shot. The brightness, the pureness, the innocence of your smile hits him in the chest like a ton of bricks. He feels the air leave his lungs and he thinks to himself that he could live like this- breathless, chest burning, body lit ablaze with need- if it meant he could just see you smile like that at him.

Logan quickly diverts his eyes, forcing his gaze away from the little red dress you have on. Eyes drift down to the beads of condensation that gathered at the bottom of his glass. His hand moves swiftly to pick up the tumbler and Logan gulps down the remainder of his drink, finding a brief reprieve from the swell of emotion he feels. He taps his fingers on the bar twice, signaling his need for a refill.

You rifle through your purse, fishing out a single Marlboro Red and grimacing at your lack of a lighter. You turn to your friend Sara, “Do you have a light for me, S?” Your eyes wide and pleading. She scoffs, pushing a few loose red curls off the curve of her shoulder, “Y/N, babe, ew. You still smoke cigarettes?” Her lip curls up in disgust, not so slightly.

“It’s the correct way to enjoy nicotine.” You shrug, “You’ve all deluded yourselves with those watermelon-fizz-orgasm-kiwi-explosion vapes, but one day you’ll come back to the light. I have faith.” I clutch my fists to my chest and sigh dramatically.

“No babe, I’m fairly sure you’re the delusional one-” Sara tilts her head and fixes her gaze behind me, to the end of the bar with the handsome stranger. The flickering of a flame catches her attention and a smirk creeps up onto her freckled cheeks. “Actually, forget about that.” Her mossy gaze returns to you, and she has a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. “Why don’t you go and ask him for a light?” She nods at Sex On Legs who’s sitting down at the opposing corner of the bar.

You pivot to face his direction, butterflies erupt in your stomach from the mere sight of him, brooding and sexy… so fucking unbelievably sexy. Seriously, he looks like if God conceived the most beautiful man ever and improved him one thousand percent. That face was made for GQ cover shoots, or at least gloomy, brooding men’s cologne ads. He is, indeed, in possession of a lighter. The orange flame that emanates from the small silver contraption fans over the the front of his cigar, the soft glow illuminates his features, and he is somehow, miraculously, even more handsome. ‘Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me!’ Is all that goes through your mind, as you decide to approach him. You try your best to keep your breathing even as the distance between the two of you closes.

Logan hears you approaching, his ears practically pricked up in anticipation as your friend encourages you to come over. He slides his lighter into the pocket of his dark wash jeans and takes another puff of his cigar, almost absentmindedly. When you’re less than a foot away from him, he raises his gaze to your face. Your eyes lock onto his, drinking in the honey, the emerald and liquid gold of his irises. He tilts his head backwards with a sinfully attractive ease and regards you.

Your cigarette is pinched between your thumb and index finger, you raise it slightly, “Hey, uh. Could you do your fellow smoker a solid and lend me your lighter?” You give him an apprehensive smile, and he finds it endearing. Logan nods wordlessly at your request, his eyes never leave your face. He shifts his hips on the bar stool to fish the sought after contraption out of his pocket. Your eyes follow his hand down to his hips and have to stifle the sharp gasp that escapes you upon seeing the sheer girth of his muscular thighs. Logan smirks, a smug bastard through and through. Seeing the effect that he has on you, a wave of desire rolls through his body. He extends his arm to you, the flame of the lighter flickers eagerly. You bring the cigarette to your lips and hover the tip over the flame, sucking in a few breaths to ensure it’s properly lit. You exhale slowly, feeling the familiar sweep of the nicotine tingling down your arms and settling into your fingertips. A lazy smile graces your face, “Thank you, really. You’re a lifesaver…” He retracts his hand, slotting the lighter back into his pocket.

“Logan.” His voice is gravelly and low, it makes your pussy flutter. His lips curl up into a smile, “And you are?”

You tell him your name. He soaks it in, relishes in it. Logan burns it into his mind, the most beautiful name he’s heard for the world’s most radiant woman. Makes sense to him. He mutters out, “Pretty.”

He clears his throat, “So,” He steps down from his chair and stands before you, in all his glory. The deep, musky scent of his cologne floats up and caresses your senses. Fuck, you think to yourself, he looks so yummy, and he smells this fucking good… You want to lick him. You need to lick him. You find it harder than you anticipated to stop thinking about running your tongue up his neck.

“Since I’m already in the business of doing you favors, can I buy you a drink?” Logan enquires, his eyes flit down to your chest occasionally. He should feel bad about how shameless he’s being, but your tits look so fucking pretty in that dress- he finds it hard to even fake remorse.

“How presumptuous of you to assume that lighting my cigarette was an act worthy of the title of ‘favor.’” You tilt your head to the side slightly, an easy smile on your face.

He raises his eyebrows, a playful smirk widening on his perfect lips, “Are you judge, jury and executioner on what constitutes favors, Y/N?”

“Who’s to say I’m not, Logan?” You take another long inhale of your cigarette and bat your eyelashes up at him. A halfhearted scoff leaves his lips. The warmth in his eyes keeps you completely captivated; your knees feel weak under the intensity of his gaze.

“You want the drink or not, pretty girl?” He takes a step closer to you, heat radiates from his chest.

“Of course, I’m not one to refuse handsome strangers giving out favors.”

Logan smiles at you, it is wide and genuine- you don’t fully appreciate just how lucky you are to be on the receiving end of this rare gift. His heart clenches in his chest again when you return his gesture with a bright smile of your own.

Logans fingers twitch, he’d burn the world to be able to touch you. He doesn't think he's ever seen such ethereal beauty in his life before, you wholly and completely captivate him. He is hooked on your every word. He feels completely lost and encompassed by your presence- he needs to swim in all that you are, he'd let it drown him.

As the night progresses, your proximity to each other grows increasingly close. Shoulders touching, knees bumping against each other. His wayward hand that finds its way onto your knee, your fingers that trace lazy patterns on his thigh, conversations that went from obnoxiously loud laughs to hushed words alluding to something more.

His breath fans on your ear, the rumbling timbre of his voice sends chills down your body. He brings his hand up and cups your cheek, his thumb brushes your skin in smooth, soothing movements, “So, pretty girl... will you let me-”

Logan is cut off by the untimely and, slightly inconvenient arrival of your friend Sara. “B-Babe -" She hiccups, as she takes your shoulders and holds them for balance, fully turning you away from Logan. “Babe, I- I don't feel-" She hiccups and sighs frustratedly, "I don't feel good. Can we- will you take me home?”

Your eyebrows furrow in concern for your friend, "Of course, S." You stand up and help Sara into her jacket. “Babe, just give me a second, okay?" You leave her at a booth with a glass of ice water and a prayer that she can hold out until you got back to her apartment.

Logan stands at the bar, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. “Hey. She alright?” He shifts his gaze over to your inebriated friend and gives you a sympathetic smile.

“Oh, y-yeah. I mean- she will be fine. I just need to get her home. I'm sorry, I-” You smile sheepishly and fiddle with one of your rings. “I was having a really- uh- a nice time with you.”

Logan nods, his heart swelling from the confirmation that you enjoyed his company, at least a fraction of the amount he enjoyed yours. “Me too, pretty girl. Let me give you my number- if you're so inclined, you can call me sometime and- and I'd be happy to do you some more favors.” Fuck, could I be any more of a fucking old man than that? What the fuck, Logan. He thinks to himself.

You wave back to him as you're exiting the bar, napkin still clutched in your hand.

You text him a few hours later, after Sara had been fed, showered and put to bed.

The abrupt ding of a notification tone rings out in Logan's bedroom. The white light of his phone provides the littlest bit of illumination. Logans eyes drift over to the message, he sees its you. A satisfied smile makes its way onto his face and he drops his pants, his cock strains against the fabric of his boxers. Logan pants, just the thought of you has him acting crazy. He's a good man- a rational man, he tries to assure himself. His convictions, however, are not stronger than his desire for you.

He sighs, almost saddened at his weakness and sheer lack of backbone when it comes to you. He wraps his hand around his cock and hisses as he squeezes down on it.

He rocks his hips faster and fucks his hand with fervor. He has conjured images of you on your knees for him, images of him on his knees for you. He thinks about how it would feel to push his cock into your wet pussy; how it would feel to pump his cum into you. He grunts, hand tightening around his cock. Logan tenses and spills into his hand, he keeps the same rhythm and brings his other hand down to massage his balls. He lets out a low moan as he rides out his high.

As soon as it's over, an overwhelming guilt plagues him. "What the fuck am I doing?" He mutters to himself, running a clean hand through his hair. He studies the spend on his other hand, regarding the ropes of cum with distain. Logan shuffles into the shower, letting the hot water beat down on his back. His forehead rests against the cold tile of the wall and he sucks in a few deep breaths. He assures himself that it could not possibly get worse than that- perhaps his was all he needed, a quick release. And now that it was over, he'd make sure it didn't happen again.

He had no idea how wrong he was.

Here's the (sort of) part 2 to Baby, Baby. Please let me know what you think! Would yall like it of this was a series?

- Viv xoxo

SAVE ME

~°•🤍•°~

It is weird, indeed, that I miss having my hands cold, fingers purple and shaky breath because of the shattering cold in the middle of december. I miss it 'cause I knew you'd come with yours, to collapse with mine, and warm them under murmured words of love.

Maybe even weirder that I loved your hands cupping my prune cheeks perfectly, as crystal flakes of snow wet my hair. And just how you looked at me,even though I looked horrible in the night...somehow, your blue eyes saw me so magestic, trough a lens.

-

"Even in the night, see? Even here you are beautiful. You're my girl. My beautiful girl."

_

That's how you sang to me. In cold nights of December, after school and after theatre hours on Fridays. I've signed my name across your heart once, and signed it deep. So it remains there, no matter how much you try to change the heart that I wrote it on.

If it is like this, if this is the truth...Then why did you leave? With your heart still bleeding from the blade that I signed myself in..?! You still longed for me when your ego decided for you; that's why you bled.

Now who will kill my grief in the snow, just how Mother Nature soothes the pain of a dead dove by sinking it deep into soil?

Will you let me falter again and again and in the freezing cold, staring from a close distance...yet not moving an inch?

Now I love Winter...because of you. For as long as we were one, together, I loved it. Because it felt just like looking at you, like touching you, like speaking to you. Now's why the cold didn't hurt me, it welcomed me. Why the snow was warm to my palms, like your face was in them. Why the taste of snow was like your lips slick on mine. Why the cascades of winds surrounded me, just.like.your voice...praising me.

-

"Yeah she's..she's just a girl in my class. Her name's ______ or something..."

_

A/N:Okay I know, it's just me blabbering about long lost love (silly me😭) I still cannot let go off sometimes.

~°•🤍•°~

thinking about stripper reader with old man logan.

he came in every week or so — disheveled outfit and hair. he was older, sure — but not in the way most men his age looked. no — the years didn’t wear on him, but whatever he did that day did. his wrinkles weren’t deep, but the bags under his eyes were. his smile lines weren’t permanent, but the distant look in his eyes was. his bones didn’t crack because they were old, but because they were under too much stress. you couldn’t help it — you wanted to take that pain away.

no one wanted to approach him because he seemed to keep to himself — worried he was a creep or something. he was quiet, too — only speaking when he ordered a drink or another after that. he replied in nods or shakes of the head, and his eyes were always on the stage. despite the fact that he tipped well — no one bit.

you were feeling brave that day when you approached him. you kept it simple — black lace teddy, black lace thong, and black heels. hair bouncy with light makeup, hoping to keep the star of the show your eyes and smile. you knew he could see you out of the corner of his eye, and it threatened your confidence — but he had peaked your interest for too long for you to toss and stumble now.

“hey, handsome,” you spoke, keeping your tone light. “need another?”

he didn’t cock his head towards you, keeping his gaze in front. he swirled the small sip of whisky left in his glass, appearing to contemplate your question. after a moment, he responded, “dancers don’t take drink orders, darlin’.”

“no,” you spoke, laughing slightly. you bent at the hips, hoping to be lower than his eye line. “but they don’t when they give private dances — interested?”

“no, thanks.”

his voice was final — and even though you were disappointed, you didn’t want to push it. you stood then, taking a step back. “okay — i’ll send a waitress over.”

after working the room — it was your turn to take one of the side stages. you had your pick of which — but you decided to keep it as far away from the man as possible. if he didn’t want to be bothered, who were you to threaten a good tip? curiosity would not be killing the cat tonight — especially not when there was more money to be made.

a few men had gathered during your set, throwing a few dollar bills here and there as you swung your hips to the music. you had switched into a falls cowboys cheerleader outfit — white shorts, blue top, and white bra. cliche and overdone, but by the look of your tips — you couldn’t care less.

you also couldn’t care less when you noticed a set of eyes on you — the man’s.

he was unashamed in the way he stared at you. he had gotten another round at some point — but wasn’t drinking any of the contents. he simply gripped it tight as he stared at your swaying hips and perfect curves. you bit your lip at the thought of him regretting turning you away, the confidence intoxicating you. before the song ended, you made sure to lock eyes with him — letting you know that this was your stage and your body he was silently and secretly drooling over. when you sent a cheeky wink his way, he shook his head — downing his glass in an instant. you smiled when he stood from his seat, immediately darting for the “vip” lounge in the back that proudly boasted a sign that read “private dances.”

when you made your way into the back room, you were told that a certain someone had specially asked for you. once you made your way back there, you found what you were looking for.

“make me feel young again, darlin’.”

you couldn’t help but smile. he didn’t say it in an insecure way, but in a way that suggested that his day had been too long and too tiring.

“tell me how you like it?”

he didn’t say anything — he just watched you. his eyes never left yours as you flung off your top, exposing your breasts. he drank his entire glass of whisky before you had planted yourself on his thighs. the flesh of your ass was like to pillows, fit for his large hands. he didn’t touch you — but by how hard he gulped, you could tell he wanted to.

“touch me, sugar,” you whispered. “i won’t tell.”

there was hesitation in his eyes, but soon his gaze darkened. restraint had fallen through the cracks, gone and forgotten. was a shame he had already paid for the dance — you would’ve fucked him for free.

now it was time to make it worth his while.

the man beneath you ground your round hips down into his pelvis, groaning at the friction. he hadn’t seen peace or pleasure since never, but it held his facial feature hostage as his nostrils picked up on the scent of your arousal. warm, tangy juices that leaked through the lace in your panties onto the denim of his jeans.

“take off your pants,” you breathed. “i’ll remind you how young you are — if you promise you’ll show me the skill that only comes with age.”

he had you bent over the table, hands behind your back held by his belt. he planted two heavy feet next to each of your ankles, keeping your legs spread and ready for him. his thrusts were hard against the back of your hips as you only had the table’s edge to support you. you felt him repeatedly hit your cervix, wincing at the aggression.

“that’s not the spot, huh, darlin’?” he spat.

you stayed silent — wanting to see how he reacted.

“i can feel it — resistance,” he grunted. “that sweet pussy needs more, doesn’t she?”

his hard, calloused hands rotated your hips so the tip of his cock repeatedly began to smack into the softest and gummiest part of your inner walls. a moan ripped through you like no other — your back arching upwards as your hips desperately tried to meet his thrusts.

“there it is — that’s it, darlin’. come on, fight back.” you could feel the rough skin of his finger tips dig up and into your pelvis, welcoming the pressure. one of his hands moved underneath you — hauling your hips upwards — pressing against your lower abdomen. he could feel the outline of his cock fucking into your womb, stuffing you full. “i can feel how deep your takin’ it, darlin’ — pussy so greedy, ain’t she? — always wantin’ more? those young boys just ain’ it? i’ll take care of her, darlin’…”

you were a whining mess beneath him — practically incoherent. he could hear, smell, feel, taste everything you were feeling. he had every part of you in his hands — completely vulnerable to his mercy and touch. and when your hips started to shake — fighting with him and against him — all he could do was force them down as you took his cock. you whined and whine and whinedwhinedwhined for more until the glam makeup began to melt off your face.

the man watched as your body shook for him — him and only him. you found his wrist, holding onto it for dear life as you tired to anchor yourself. the pleasure was too much, causing your head to spin. you could feel the man rub the skin of your ass tenderly, coaxing you into your orgasm. your womb bloomed for him, wanting to suck him dry and never let him go. his groans were animalistic, filling the room as you begged him to fill your pussy. he smacked your ass once, twice, thrice before he pulled out and painted your back with his cum.

once he pulled out, you were still on your stomach on the table as you tried to catch your breath. he bent down to meet your eyes — a youthful glow on his face — before he pressed a kiss to your lips.

“you just ruined men my own age for me.”

“get your things, doll — takin’ you away from here.”

———

depravity - L xoxo lmk what u think ;)

DA-D-D-D-D-DDAAAAAAMMNNN

⋆｡°✩🌃ִ ࣪✧˖°

LOOOOOOOOOOOOOORDDDDDDD🗣🗣🗣🗣

i can’t quit you baby.