Oh To Be Called Princess By This Logan Howlett…

haii! hope this isn’t weird lol but i’ve always had a super weird/bad relationship with religion and god and your blog has been such a safe place for me to realize that i can always go back to that if i want. you make religion just so NOT scary, so ahhh tysm!!

have a good day and god bless!! :3

i genuinely wish you the best and pray you reach out to Him :,) a lot of people don’t know that you need to follow Jesus, not a religion. obviously, im a catholic christian so going to church is very important to me, but Jesus Himself is the embodiment of pure love, forgiveness, respect, mercy, kindness and compassion. the real religion, if well spoken, its actually meant to spread love, anyone who doesn’t do it right, it’s not a real religious person. The Gospel calls Jesus the good shepherd, the prince of peace and all that’s good. the world can hurt you and religion as well because religion is handled by people, humans that can do wrong, but GOD can never do wrong because He’s perfect and He loves anyone unconditionally!! thank you so much for these kind words buttercream cookie, it means a lot that I can help spread His love!! God bless you SMOOCH!!!

Matthew 11:28-30 says “Come to me, all you who are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light”

1 John 4:8 is one of my favorite verses ever, and it says “Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love”

me because when you babies send me requests you always give me cute compliments and call me bunny girl ily

Do you think John would be the type to wake up with the deep husky, still half asleep type of voice?

oh my goodness gracious absolutely YES

his voice gets even deeper upon waking up, rough and different from the usual confident, commanding tone he carries — it rambles through his chest like the awakening of a earthquake, its coarse, husky and drowsy.

“Mornin’, love,”

oh my gosh, it’s such a warm sound, it sends a flame right through your belly and paints your cheeks red, first thing in the morning.

and when his heavy arm is draped across your waist, caressing your spine with thick, scarred fingers, rasping out your name in that voice?

you definitely cannot fight the urge to slip away from the soft duvets and climb on top of him, both legs swinging on his sides — and that’s the first sun he sees upon waking up, your smile and gentle doe eyes, warmer than any sunlight.

“good morning daddy, did you miss me while you were asleep?” you giggle, playfully, both hands lightly caressing his muscular and hairy torso (dad body dad body dad body)

“yeah doll, was fightin’ the sleep monster to let me see my little bunny,” he chuckles, warmly and deeply.

his voice should be illegal, you always try and tell him that smoking so much is bad for his health, but those cigars have shaped his voice in the most alluring way ever — even his british accent gets thicker, more pronounced, coarse, lethal, it could cut the air around you.

“should try and read my books out loud to me…” you tilt your head, and a glimmer of confident amusement twinkles in his eyes, at the sight of your red, warm cheeks.

“blushing already, sweet thing?”

he sounds like a grizzly bear.

(˶˃ᆺ˂˶) ໒꒰ྀི ∩ ⸝⸝ ∩ ꒱ྀིა

John Price x f!Reader - Daddy kink, age gap, corruption kink

John Price who’s convinced his best friend’s daughter is flirting with him :/

John wasn’t born yesterday. He sees the way you look at him, like you’re some young, dumb thing desperate for an older man to show you how it’s done. But you’re much too naïve to realize the mistake you’ve made inviting him into your bedroom.

The neighborhood barbecue seemed like a good enough place for you to dip your feet into the water, to test his patience and fish for some sort of reaction.

Your eyes linger on his hands when he uncorks a bottle of wine.

Your pulse races when he spreads his legs wider so that your knees touch under the table.

Your fingers fidget when you notice the bulge at the front of his jeans, desperate for something you couldn’t even put into words.

Lucky for you, you won’t have to.

He’d slip his fingers under the hem of your skirt before you’d even think of begging him to do it. He’d just pull the fabric of your panties to the side and expose you right then and there, deft fingers sticky with the slick that’s been leaking from your neglected pussy since the minute he walked in.

All the while, he holds a conversation with your father across the table. Deflowering his best friend’s only daughter with one hand, while he smokes a cigar with the other.

“J-John, I—“ you’d stutter, trying to keep up appearances.

“What? Need me to get ‘ya something, sweetheart?” He’d drawl, quirking his fingers against that one precious spot just so that he can watch the way you jump in your seat.

“I—I need…” you’d flush, sweating, “I need…more.”

John, well, he just smiles, pulling your panties back over your cunt, patting your covered pussy a few times before he stands from his chair.

“More to drink?” He lies, walking towards the house, “‘Course, darling. Thought I saw an extra pitcher back in the fridge…”

Your father’s so busy keeping up with his friends that he hardly notices when you leave a few minutes later. With all the commotion out in the garden, there’s no one in the house to eavesdrop…

Well, that, or see the way that John bends you over the counter in the kitchen, yanking your panties down around your knees just so he can get himself inside your sweet pussy all the faster.

“Fuck, love,” he grunts, wrenching a handful of your hair, “Keep moaning like that, ‘n your father’ll kick me out before we get to finish…”

The slapping of his hips echoes throughout the room, belt buckle jingling where it hangs from his belt loops.

“Mm—No, John—“ you squeal, standing on your tippy toes just to push your ass back up against him all the harder, “Daddy doesn’t know. He—he can’t know…”

“Mm—Fuck, but he will, baby,” John growls, “He fucking will.”

His chest flattens over your back, cock pulsing inside of you when you fall over the edge of another orgasm.

“‘Cause when I’m done with you,” the bristles of his beard tickle your ear as he whispers, “You won’t be callin’ him daddy no more. No.”

His hips push into you hard enough you swear you’ll be left with bruises when he finally fills you up…

“That’s what you’ll be callin’ me.”

I’d love to see the dynamic between the reader and the rest of the boys in the bar.

baby do you read my mind? I was just thinking about this cute idea !

a few days within the beginning of your relationship with sugar daddy!price, you found yourself sitting next to gaz. You’d been able to see their special bond, how price always pat him on the shoulders, called him ‘son’, and you found it adorable :,(

gaz was nice to you, called you ‘cap’s missus’ and didn’t frown upon the fact that you were 21, and than john could have been your actual father, instead of his. He somehow felt responsible for your wellbeing, was expected to be your guard in the shadows. Make sure nothing happened to cap’s little girl.

he was pretty silent must of the time, but not even remotely close as silent as Simon.

Oh, Si. Sweet Simmy, you called him — you found a big brother in him, that’s for sure. You didn’t feel intimidated by him, but rather a tenderness you couldn’t put a finger on. Always so quiet, silent and gloomy looking behind that skull mask.

you always smiled at him, thanked him for helping you with the drinks, and sometimes even hugged him — did he reciprocate the hug? no, did he pull away? no. did he smile underneath his mask and saw you as a little sister to protect? yeees

”simmy, can you please help me open this beer? the costumer’s waiting”

“thank you big brother :)”

but he wasn’t chatty, like jhonny was. Oh gosh, you and johnny were like long lost siblings — bubbly, joyful and sweet. Both raising your arms in a greeting manner upon seeing each other, ready to practically jump on one another and hug. You loveeeed hugging him. price knows he’s your favorite musketeer of his, you’re just so similar!!

“jhonny!!”

“hey lass, did ye bring me cookies today?”

you often sit together and chat like besties, you show him the new book you’ve currently been reading, and he shows you the lil drawings he adorns his notebook with.

all three of them secretly adore you, think captain price was a lucky man to have found a hot young thing, like you, sweet, kind and innocent in the sexiest way.

but they were luckily the only people price wasn’t jealous of, he’d sometimes shout a “need to take an important call with Kate, take care of my missus. Mactavish, no perverted jokes, Gaz, Riley, no letting stray pups in even if she begs you to” like he’s dominating you even indirectly and you just want him sb :,(

but you’ll get that dog someday.

Needd 🧸🧸🧸

You're my favourite bunny <3

-🎀

ohh im flattered ribbonbaby you’re making me blushhh omgosh thank you <33

as if you’re holding the world in your hands

this is me ૮꒰ྀི ⸝⸝․․⸝⸝ ྀི꒱ა

bunny stuffed animal ﹒ 𐙚 ˚ ﹒⟢

i don’t know if you’ve written about this, but I can imagine dbf!john leaning towards you when his rabbit isn’t talking too loudly to be overheard, and tugging on the little loops of her denim skirt to pull her a little closer... and I think there are some sparkles on his clothes from his doll, who found herself some strawberry-scented glitter perfume.

requested by @anattami 🍎

dads best friend!john price and his soft, bunny girl can indulge in each other’s presence with subtle gestures, silent yearning, hidden and lingering touching. especially at a family gathering, or when your dad’s around. if your father invited him over for a barbecue, to have dinner together, dbf!john would have to act distant, like you’re just a little girl, a kid he knows through your father, who happens to be a longtime friend. brooding, detached, like he doesn’t even acknowledge your presence.

but when no one’s looking, he slips into your personal space, looming over you like a damn bodyguard. he notices when you stop talking because whomever you were talking to wasn’t really listening, when you speak quietly not to be overheard. he hooks his rough fingers into the loops of your denim skirt, subtly yet firmly pulling you closer to him, until your back presses against his chest, and your breath hitches. a silent, imperceptible movement that no one seems to notice.

when no one’s looking, dbf!john would lean over the table to grab a beer and subtly lean closer to you while you’re sitting reading a book, in your own little world, to whisper a low, deep “look pretty today, bunny, cute skirt.”

and he definitely doesn’t miss the way you tense your thighs together when he speaks with such a rough, gruff tone. the way your cheeks bloom red, flushing timidly.

or when dbf!john grabs you by the waist to move over, passing by you. squeezes your hips for a short moment, making you almost stumble and pour your iced strawberry juice all over your sundress.

like the old gentleman he is, dbf!price follows you to the garage to help you carry water bottles to the back yard, but those are long forgotten on the bench when he picks you up and effortlessly sits you on the flat table next to the fridge, gets between your parted, sweet thighs and devours your mouth, tongue and lips kissing yours with all the pent up restrain.

you throw your arms around his neck, locking your legs around his waist to pull him closer, whimpering between the rough, heavy kiss. he grunts against your lips, his tongue pushing against yours as he takes as much as he can within the short time he has.

and now, his his dark shirt is littered with sparkling glitters, shining like tiny twinkles that your strawberry glitter perfume roll has left on him — you put some on your wrists and your neck, but now you’ve left a trace of it all over him.

“always a good girl for your old man, mmh, bunny?” he practically growls against your mouth, steady and scarred hands holding you by your waist. “there she is, all f’me,”

you nod, breathless, pink cheeks bright and warm under his hungry gaze. he can only take advantage of these short moments, when no one’s around — you can’t even speak, far too fuzzy and dizzy, shy and looking at him like a lost, delicate bunny with those doe lashes. he needs to be careful, quick. he has to haste, he knows he can’t do these things, he’s not a good man. guilt and desire block his throat and he reluctantly slows the kiss.

it’s like indulging in something he knows he can’t do, he shouldn’t, just for a short moment.

“good girl, doll, my angel, minding her business, always so quiet,” another kiss, heavy, longing, “sweet as sugar. aight, back there, gonna make your pa worry,” he pats your thigh playfully, letting you take a little jump to stand on the floor, brushing down the layers of your skin to recompose yourself, still too red and embarrassed to say anything.

he picks three bottles of water with one arm, winks at you and strolls back to the yard, still smelling like you, vanilla and strawberry.