#Chat Imagine

[firephoenix23]

Like I literally have second hand embarrassment for Vox after seeing what Alastor ACTUALLY is like in a rivalry.

Like homie wishes he could be that close to Alastor 😂😂

[gutsby]

Stiff

Pairing: Old!Joel x Reader

Summary: At fifty-nine, Joel isn’t sure his dick can keep up with every day it’s going to take to get you pregnant. He seeks help from Jackson’s local apothecary and gets more than bargained for when that little blue pill kicks in.

Or, your old man wants to knock you up. Viagra helps.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v (obviously 😵‍💫🤙🏼). Breeding kink. Age gap. Peepaw Joel. Blue Pill Joel. Post-apocalyptic-Viagra-dosage-gone-horribly-wrong-and-now-his-dick-won’t-deflate-for-a-day…but it’s OK!

Note: This is the crackfic counterpart/sequel to ‘Make It Stick’

Word count: 2.9k

Forty-five minutes.

Forty-five minutes until his fate was sealed for the night. His pulse would quicken. His head would start to swim, and any last sliver of rational thought would be lost to the ether or the cold, snowy air around him. Joel Miller had to hurry now, because that bite-sized blue pill he’d just taken was in his belly, and if his dick didn’t find its way in you, he was fucked. Or at least huge and swollen and leaking out beads of hot desire the size of golf balls.

Well, maybe that was just his cock.

Joel looked down, scanning his pants.

Yeah…definitely just cock. He walked faster.

At home, he knew he’d find you curled up on the couch, nose in a book. What to Expect When You’re Expecting, if he had to guess. Then, sure enough, you’d lift your eyes and smile—‘Thank goodness you’re back, daddy’—and lift the hem of your night dress just slightly. Spread your legs and beckon him in. It was a nightly routine by now.

You wanted to be knocked up as fast as possible, after all

At almost sixty years old, Joel couldn’t believe he was actually saying these words aloud. But here he was—crawling overtop you on the couch, situating himself between your legs, and pulling his cock out, mumbling:

“Gonna let me put a baby in you tonight?”

You nodded sweetly—eagerly—every time.

Joel knew he could never resist that look. He was as good as finished the first second you let him sink inside your tight, weeping hole, and when he stretched it, he could already tell this was all he would ever want to do. Make you happy, fill you up, give you lots and lots of him.

It was why he’d stopped by the apothecary tonight. Why he’d hesitated only a moment before clearing his throat and asking for a pill like Viagra—Joel knew that the man behind the counter would flash him a wry, knowing grin.

Trouble keepin’ up with that sweet young thing’a yours?

David was a dick.

He wasn’t entirely wrong, either.

Ever since agreeing to start trying for a baby, Joel had become acutely aware of his own physical limitations in that department, and one of them was stamina. He could scarcely fuck twice in the same night without needing a long and rest-intensive breather. You were young and could roll over ready to go in five minutes.

It wasn’t fair to deprive you now on account of his age.

If you wanted his cum, you were getting it, no question.

Not just once, but multiple times. Again and again and—

“Again,” Joel grunted once he’d shot off his last spurt.

Fifty-eight minutes had passed since he’d taken that pill. It had fully kicked in, and his dick was still hard, even after finishing inside you with a sticky, white-hot flood.

You blinked dreamily up at him.

“You mean it, old man?” you teased him lightly.

I’ll show you what I mean, Joel thought to himself before flipping you over on the sofa. He had your hips tilted up and his cock driving back inside your freshly-fucked cunt in no time at all. He felt his spend coating your walls; it let him glide right in. Joel groaned and jerked himself back out, then fucked back in again and again and again.

“Again?”

Your word was exhaled in a laugh.

You stood in front of the bathroom sink, trying to tidy up the insides of your legs and push some more of Joel’s load back in, when you felt a presence at your back.

Stabbing your ass.

You started to turn then, puzzled.

“Bend over,” Joel commanded before you could.

You did as you were told because, frankly, you loved getting fucked wherever your old man wanted it—even if he had broken the sink one time he’d pounded you here.

But there was palpable confusion, too. How in the hell had Joel Miller, certified silver fox and owner of a dick old enough to remember Woodstock and the moon landing, managed to get his dick hard in the five minutes since he’d had you face-down, ass-up on the couch?

Or had his dick gotten soft at all?

You wanted to question him about it, or else give a long, hard look at his uncharacteristically long, hard friend, when the next moment had you gripping the counter. Stretching between the legs as Joel pushed back in.

“There she is,” he murmured affectionately.

Really, you’d never been wetter. Or warmer. Or filled to the brim with more sticky-white spend than you could ever hope to hold inside, it felt like. You bent at the waist and let him have his fill. You closed your eyes and rested your head on your forearms while Joel’s hot, bulbous tip grazed your cervix with dizzying alacrity. A smile crept in.

Whatever this was, you wanted more of it.

His dick was still hard.

Four mind-numbing fucks and another forty-five minutes later, Joel’s cock hadn’t deflated the tiniest bit.

The thing had hammered you so thoroughly he’d nearly destroyed the sink again. You’d whimpered, and whined, and warned him quietly, ‘We just fixed the porcelain, baby,’ and right before he’d painted your walls with his seed, you’d cum for him practically shrieking. Shaking.

Letting him turn you around for a kiss, only to mumble against his mouth with a sleepy, cockdrunk sort of lilt:

“I think you gave me twins.”

Then he’d fucked you in the shower to make it triplets.

Now you were laying out on the bed, truly spent, eyes following him in the semi-darkness of your bedroom after you’d toweled off and collapsed among the pillows.

“What’s gotten into you tonight, Miller?” you breathed.

Joel made it over to the dresser, back turned to you. He rifled through a drawer looking for something extra tight.

“Just missed you is all,” he said, shrugging.

What he needed right now was fabric that was very thick to hide the boner he was sporting. Joel could tell from the way you spoke that you were too tired for round five, and he didn’t want you feeling like you had to go again.

He would be fine.

His dick might not deflate until dawn, but that was okay.

“Wish you missed me like this every day,” you giggled.

When Joel turned around, he was shocked to find you sprawled out on the bed—hands between your legs.

There was a shy smile on your face.

“Baby…” he trailed off, watching your fingers flit through that sticky mess where he’d left it. Where you glistened.

Where you slid your index and middle fingers up and down your slit and drew circles on your clit, eyes shining.

“What? I missed you too,” you said, tone all faux protest.

You had no idea what you did to him when you talked like that. Especially when he was drowning in a state like this.

Hard as a rock.

Throbbing.

Needy.

Scarcely even knowing what he was doing, Joel found himself over by the foot of the bed in a second. Watching your every move with a wild, wipe-open stare he still couldn’t believe you found appealing. He swallowed.

He not only looked perverted, but he felt it, too. It rarely ever left his mind, save for the four or five seconds he spent in ecstasy emptying the contents of his balls inside your cunt, that he was his age, and you were yours. That perhaps the rest of Jackson was right, and he was wrong: he had no business being around a girl like you, much less getting off inside you every night. Was this really what you wanted? A bewildering mixture of guilt, lust, and love all circulated through his skull at that moment, and the longer he spent looking at your fingers, ogling the way you teased them through his cum between your legs, the more he felt certain he was bad.

No one corrupted a thing this sweet and got to call themselves good, anyway, he thought to himself idly.

“I keep gettin’ that…feelin’,” you said under your breath.

Joel’s hand tightened in a fist, and it was then that he realized it was wrapped around his cock. Still watching.

“Yeah, baby? What feelin’?” he returned, almost as quiet.

Still stroking himself up and down, up and down, softly.

You had your legs spread open—knees splayed wider than they’d been before. And your eyes had a tender, placid sheen to them, like they just might cry if they didn’t get release of some kind soon. Then you slowed.

Your touch slipped from your clit to the opaque, sticky globs between your thighs, and that look got even softer.

More desperate.

“Can’t…explain it.” You shook your head, as if pained, and then you sank two fingers inside. Joel could hear the tiny schlick from where he stood, and it almost did him in.

You sucked in a breath and added, “It’s a special feelin’.”

Joel’s fist had already worked its way up to a ridiculous speed. Again, he sensed this might be the worst and most pathetic he’d ever looked, but by the glint in your eyes and the way you kept holding him there, he also knew you weren’t asking him to stop, either. You were needing something else—something he could provide.

Thanks to that one stupid pill.

Joel’s smile was strained as he gripped the edge of the bed, like he was trying to assuage you and him at once.

“Try me, baby. Tell me ‘bout that special feelin’.”

Your middle and ring fingers disappeared inside you.

You whined, “Ain’t fair to say it now. You’re tired, daddy.”

Like hell he was. Joel crawled over the footboard and made his way straight to you, where your body was limp.

His breaths were coming in so fast and his pulse was thrumming so hard that he almost couldn’t hear himself talking. But he ventured to speak as gently as he could.

“I’m wide awake, sweet pea. I’m all ears. Talk to me.”

And if his words didn’t communicate as much, surely the look in his eyes would’ve told you all the rest. Quietly, he slipped his torso between your legs, where you’d inserted a third finger and were moving your hips again. You were fingering yourself, breathing shallow and quick.

“It’s a feelin’ like I wanna be…stuffed…a-and full’a you.”

Joel’s whole body could’ve liquified on the spot. His brain, presently, had all the consistency of a plate of scrambled eggs if he’d had to guess. Feeling his cock swell even bigger and his hips sink lower to yours of their own accord, he had only to grit his teeth and nod his head. He felt the tip of him bump your fingers, and the sensation and the expectation nearly drove him insane.

He mumbled quietly, “Then move your hand.”

You did. You winced again. You looked as though you might be ashamed for wanting him to fill you with his spend, and Joel simply wouldn’t allow that any longer.

Without saying another word, he slid back in.

Your cum and his facilitated the slide, and you opened right up for him. You whimpered, while Joel grunted like an animal. He couldn’t help it; it all felt so fucking primal.

How you could ever feel the need to apologize for wanting more of this was more than he could take.

“Every inch of me,” Joel said, rutting deeper, “is yours.”

He withdrew to the tip, and he could feel strings of arousal linking him to you in a sickeningly sweet way.

You could scarcely even nod, just waiting for him again.

When Joel plunged back in, he heard a feral little cry, and he felt your legs wrap around his waist. He went faster. You fisted the pillow behind your head in one hand, while the other laid flat on his chest, like you were checking for a heartbeat. You could probably hear it thudding a million miles per minute right now. Your hips collided in tandem.

“D— Daddy,” you whimpered.

“That’s it, open up for daddy. Good girl. It’s all yours.”

The sounds his thrusts were making were obscene.

“Every inch?” you breathed, “E-Every drop, too?”

“Every fiber of my fucking being, sweet girl.”

That made you smile, at length. Your hand slid from his chest, down his round belly, straight to a groin that was pounding hard and fast against your own. Joel groaned when he felt your touch sweep inside your legs—right in the space where his cum had come trickling out. You slid your fingers through that mess, then whimpered again.

Then you brought your hand up to your mouth.

You wrapped your lips around your cum-soaked fingers like they were the single sweetest thing, and you sucked.

Joel had no say after seeing that: he had to cum again.

It likely stunned you both—you more than him, by the look that crossed your eyes the second you felt him throb and pulse inside your cunt—but then it kept going.

Rather than stop, or slow down in the slightest, Joel found his hips pistoning faster than they had before. The whole bed frame shook, and your body trembled with every thrust, and the noises between your legs grew even louder; the sound of skin slapping skin was only amplified by the addition of Joel’s hot load in the mix.

The man was operating on impulse. You, through sheer awe and an animalistic need to have every crevice filled. You held him and you grit your teeth, and you let him keep using your body, while you used his. You kissed him.

“Go on, then—make me a daddy. Take my cum, baby,” Joel babbled, brainless, “Make your old man a daddy.”

He couldn’t tell if it were the words or the rhythm or the pleasure that had already been blossoming deep in your gut this whole time, but he felt you fall apart. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist than you had all night, and you screamed his name. Begged for more.

“Cum in me, daddy—pleasepleaseplease just cum, ju—”

And there he went. Again. Flooding your insides with his warmth and letting his cock carve a wild, relentless path through your cunt like it was all the man knew how to do. He filled you up. He felt it leaking down his length with every stab of his hips, and frankly, he didn’t care what he looked like now. You were smiling big, drawing him in for more kisses as he panted and grunted and whimpered like he never had before. He kissed back. Slowed down.

Found himself lost in your mouth as your tongue wove delectably through his own and your hands made their way to his wild, greying hair. You tugged, and he moaned.

He fucked his spend deeper without even meaning to.

All instinct again, it seemed he couldn’t get enough.

Suddenly, he felt a new, strange urge bubble up.

“I-I-I took a pill tonight,” he blurted out, “Know how badly you want this baby, and I wanna give you one.”

Or two. Or twenty. He was barely capable of speech, let alone rational cognition, so he just spoke whatever came to his mind then, still snug inside your legs and panting.

“A pill?” you whispered back.

Joel’s gaze locked with yours.

He felt stupid for it all at once.

“Yeah. Yeah, I just— I know I’m gettin’ on in years, and I probably can’t fuck the way I used to. And you deserve someone who can…Maybe a guy your age, but that—”

“—is the single dumbest thing you have ever said to me,” you finished for him, eyes narrowing swiftly in a scowl.

When Joel tried talking again, you cut him off.

“I don’t care what any guy my age is doing, or could do. I want babies with you, and that includes every part, OK?”

Your look softened momentarily, seeing his lips twitch down—you could probably see he wasn’t believing you.

Then you cradled his face in your palms. You smiled. You brushed his nose with yours, and you kissed him again, and with what little strength you likely had left in your body, you dug your heels in his ass and pulled him deeper. Both of you let out soft, low grunts at the effort.

“If you fucked like this at twenty-five, my body wouldn’t have survived anyway,” you whispered in reassurance. Biting back a laugh as Joel smiled, too, “I like things just the way they are. Just like how I hope you like me, too.”

“No—I love you.” Joel shook his head, almost plaintive.

And for the first time that night, he felt himself soften.

Whether it was the pill wearing off or that first thread of vulnerability stretching out between your body and his, he didn’t really care. He kissed the tip of your nose and was about to say something more, when you cut back in.

“I love you more. And since we’re being honest tonight,” you started quietly, nipping at your bottom lip a second, “I might…need you back at the apothecary tomorrow.”

Joel’s face fell.

“Wh— is something wrong, baby?” His voice was tight.

He hated seeing David, but, of course, he’d go back there in a heartbeat if it meant getting you the medication you needed. His stomach was starting to churn, when you reached up to hold his face again. You shook your head.

“No, no, Joel, I’m fine. But I may need prenatal vitamins.”

Now his eyes were going wide. His cheeks heated under your palms, and his cock twitched inside you, reflexively.

“You mean…” he murmured, unable to finish. Swallowing.

Beneath him, he saw you smile and nod.

He nearly choked hearing what followed:

“I meant to tell you earlier, but…my period’s a little late.”

[rubyarerosies]

to add onto lowkeyartist!sukuna, he most definitely pulls the same nonchalant act when people start speculating if he has a baby now.

After releasing a wedding photo where your face isn’t visble (he does not want you to face the brute force of fans, and you don’t as well) finally giving the public a glimpse of his now wife, he starts uploading his normal covers and new mixes around 3 months after but because you are still the hot topic people notice your absence. You’re out of his videos for a whole year, and people again start to speculate what is going on in Sukuna’s private life.

And because of how tempting the public can be to tease, he goes live again.

Question after question start, most are of you, again. But to make the mood start off hot, he answers questions about the wedding, “how was the wedding? It was good, was a bit nervous cause my wife and I spent months preparing, happy it all went good.”

He edges everyone watching, answering questions about you but not in too much detail, he knows what he’s doing, everyone watching too - he’s not answering the burning question: where are you?

“So, where is she? In the lounge, she’s probably watching,” he replies, trying to remain as relaxed as possible, “Show her to us? Nah, she’s busy right now,”

“Busy with what? My son,” you’re in the other room giggling to yourself, kissing your son’s cheek while his dad keeps up the act of a straight face. You know after it’s over, he’s going to come laugh with you and your new addition about it, like how he did before.

“Can we see him? No,” he laughs, “my wife would kill me if you guys were to ever see him.”

(After the live, he posted a picture of you and your son at the beach. Your son is in your arms and you both are facing away from the camera, he captions it with a heart and the internet buzzes like wildfire having finally caught a glimpse of Sukunas family)

[nottsangel]

— porn link (cw: double vaginal penetration)

ever since that one drunken night where you found yourself in bed with your two friends, mattheo and theo, threesomes have become a regular occurrence— happening about a few times a week. as much as they both try to give you plenty of attention during those moments, you can sense their undeniable and almost intimate closeness from a mile away, despite their insistence that they’re simply close friends.

your suspicions were finally confirmed the moment they asked to try something… specific. usually, the threesomes involved one of them fucking your mouth and the other pounding into your pussy, or sometimes even double penetration with both your ass and cunt filled. however, this time they suggested trying double vaginal penetration— something you hadn’t done before. and while they kept telling you how good it would feel for you, you could see right through their convincing words— this wasn’t about you, it was about them.

the moment they both entered you, a sharp hiss escaped their mouths, gripping your trembling body tightly while struggling to compose themselves. it was an intense sensation they had never experienced before. for once, they weren’t seperated by your thin skin— instead, their pulsating cocks were pressed together, fully surrounded by the warmth of your cunt. both boys were in heaven, swollen lips parted in ecstasy, eyes fluttering shut as they thrust slowly, knowing that if they went any faster, they would cum in an instant.

and after that first time, they crave double vaginal penetration above everything else every time again, completely addicted to the sensation. they claim it’s because your pussy just feels so fucking good that they both can’t get enough of it— but you know better. you know it’s because it’s the only time they can rub their cocks together, using your cunt merely as an excuse to feel each other, skin on skin.

ੈ♡˳

decided to write a lil smth since you guys wanted to see the porn links i send to @rafesthroatbaby in the dms :p

[iheartmonaco]

Calling them "good boy"

🔸inc.: Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Max Verstappen, Daniel Ricciardo, George Russell, Lewis Hamilton, Sebastian Vettel

🔸Gender Neutral reader

🔸masterlist

[sweeturavity]

𝓑𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐅𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑

𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇. . when katsuki finally confessed his “big problem”—his baby fever that had been eating away at him for months— tiny feet and starting a family, you were surprised—but safe to say, you weren’t against it.

katsuki bakugo had a big problem. well, not big enough to cause chaos—though he was no stranger to that—but big enough to keep him up at night, pacing his living room like a restless tiger in a cage. how could a man like him—a grumpier version of any grandmother you’ve ever met, a walking volcano of hot-headedness, and someone who never gave a damn about societal expectations—have this kind of problem?

the thing is, katsuki bakugo was hiding a secret. a deep, dark, unbelievably soft secret. one that not even you, the person closest to him, would suspect. because who in their right mind would guess that the mighty explosion master extraordinaire, was an absolute sucker for babies?

yes, katsuki bakugo had a raging case of baby fever.

it started the moment he began spending more time with you—watching you interact with the world, your gentle care for others, and that warmth you exuded that could melt even his gruff exterior. he never really thought about kids before, much less his own. but then he saw you holding a friend’s baby at a small gathering, cradling the tiny bundle in your arms like they were the most precious thing in the world. the way you smiled down at them, the soft cooing noises you made, and how the baby instantly relaxed against you—it was like a punch straight to his chest.

katsuki swore he felt his heart skip a beat. that tiny human looked so damn peaceful in your arms, and for the first time in his life, he imagined what it might be like to see you holding a child that looked like both of you.

ever since that day, the thought just wouldn’t leave him alone. he’d catch himself staring at families in parks, his sharp eyes zeroing in on chubby cheeks, tiny fingers, and wobbly little steps. he even started tolerating kirishima’s stories about his nieces and nephews, though he’d never admit it out loud.

but here’s the kicker—katsuki bakugo was absolutely mortified about telling you. how does a guy like him, who’s built his entire persona on being tough, independent, and borderline unapproachable, confess that he’s been daydreaming about late-night feedings and toddler tantrums? about a miniature version of himself—or, god forbid, you—running around the house?

so he kept it to himself, bottling up those strange, unfamiliar feelings like he did with most things. but every time he saw you, especially when you were in one of those rare, tender moods, he felt that itch grow stronger. he wanted to tell you. he wanted to share this part of himself with you.

and it didn’t take much longer for you to figure out what was going on with your husband. after all, you knew katsuki bakugo like the back of your hand—every scowl, every grumble, every subtle shift in his demeanor. it was easy to notice when something was off, even when he thought he was being sneaky about it.

you saw how his eyes would linger, softening ever so slightly, whenever a baby was around. at first, you thought it was just a coincidence—a rare moment of katsuki being uncharacteristically quiet. but then it kept happening. whether it was at the park, at a friend’s house, or even in the grocery store, he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away from those chubby-cheeked little ones.

and then there were the baby videos. oh, those damn videos. you remembered the first time you caught him watching one. he’d been sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone with his usual scowl. but when you peeked over his shoulder, you saw it—a ridiculously adorable video of a baby giggling uncontrollably at their dog’s antics.

“seriously, katsuki?” you teased, leaning in closer. “didn’t take you for the ‘cute baby video’ type.”

he practically jumped out of his skin, locking his phone and shoving it into his pocket with a glare. “shut up.” he barked, his ears turning a telltale shade of pink. “it popped up on my feed. stupid algorithm.”

but after that, you started noticing more. how his fingers would hesitate just a second longer when he scrolled past a baby video, or how he’d glance at your phone if you were watching something similar. of course, he’d always roll his eyes and mutter something about how “cringe” and “unnecessary” it was for people to post that kind of shit online.

“what’s the point, huh?” he’d grumble, arms crossed over his chest. “ain’t like anyone cares about random babies.”

but you weren’t fooled. not even for a second. the way his voice softened at the end, the faintest twitch of his lips as if he were fighting back a smile—you knew. katsuki bakugo had a soft spot, and it was big enough to fit every giggling baby and their tiny fingers in it.

and now that you knew, it was just a matter of time before you brought it up. because there was no way you were going to let him keep this adorable little secret to himself.

you decided to wait for the right moment, knowing katsuki would probably combust on the spot if you confronted him too soon. patience wasn’t always your strong suit, but for this, you were willing to bide your time.

that moment came one lazy sunday afternoon. katsuki was sprawled out on the couch, pretending to be interested in whatever action movie was playing on the TV, but you knew better. his phone was resting suspiciously close, and every few minutes, he’d glance at it like it was calling his name.

“you know.” you began casually, sitting down beside him and leaning against his shoulder. “you’ve been acting kinda weird lately.”

he stiffened immediately, a gruff ‘tch’ escaping his lips as he shifted under your weight. “the hell are you talking about? ’m not acting weird.”

“oh, really?” you tilted your head to look up at him, a mischievous glint in your eye. “so, you’re saying you didn’t watch that compilation of babies trying lemons yesterday?”

his eyes widened, just a fraction, before narrowing into his usual glare. “you were spying on me?”

“you were sitting right next to me, katsuki. it’s not spying if you’re practically shoving it in my face.”

he grumbled something under his breath, probably a string of curses about how nosy you were, but you weren’t about to let him squirm out of this.

“you know.” you continued, voice softer now. “it’s okay to admit you like them. babies, i mean.”

his entire body went rigid, and for a moment, you thought he might explode—not in anger, but sheer embarrassment. his ears turned that familiar shade of pink, and he refused to meet your gaze, choosing instead to glare at the TV like it had personally offended him.

“i don’t—” he started, but you cut him off with a gentle laugh.

“katsuki.” you said, reaching for his hand and lacing your fingers with his. “it’s fine. it’s not like you’re some heartless robot. you’re allowed to like cute things, you know. even babies.”

he let out a frustrated sigh, running his free hand through his hair. “it’s not like that.” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “i just. . fuck, i don’t know. ever since you—i mean, we—it’s just been on my mind, okay?”

you blinked, taken aback by his honesty. katsuki bakugo wasn’t the type to bare his soul, but here he was, stumbling over his words, trying to explain something he didn’t fully understand himself.

“on your mind, huh?” you teased gently, though your heart was swelling at his vulnerability. “like. . you’ve been thinking about us? having a baby?”

he groaned, dropping his head back against the couch and covering his face with his arm. “don’t make me say it out loud, idiot.”

you couldn’t help but laugh, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. “you’re such a dork, katsuki. but for the record. . i think you’d be a pretty amazing dad.”

that got his attention. he peeked at you from under his arm, his crimson eyes searching yours for any hint of doubt or teasing. when he didn’t find any, his expression softened, and he let out a quiet, almost relieved breath.

“yeah?” he asked gruffly, like he didn’t quite believe it.

“yeah.” you said firmly, squeezing his hand with a warmth that made his chest ache in the best way. “and, you know, maybe it wouldn’t be the worst idea to start our own family.”

katsuki could feel his heart skip a beat, the words settling over him like a blanket of relief and excitement all at once. he stared at you, wide-eyed and a little stunned, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard.

you were more than happy with his idea.

he didn’t know what he was expecting—maybe teasing, maybe some sarcastic remark to brush off the heavy topic—but this? this genuine, heartfelt agreement? it floored him.

“you— you mean that?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual, almost hesitant.

you smiled at him, your expression so soft and full of love that he thought he might melt right then and there. “of course, i mean it, katsuki. i’ve been thinking about it too, you know. and seeing how you are. . it just makes me feel like we’d be good at this. together.”

his throat felt tight, and he swallowed hard, trying to keep his emotions in check. katsuki bakugo didn’t cry, damn it, but this moment—this you—was doing something to him he couldn’t quite explain.

“yeah, well.” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away, his ears still bright red. “don’t think i’ll be one of those soft-ass dads who lets the kid get away with everything.”

you chuckled, leaning closer and wrapping your arms around his middle. “no, you’ll be the dad who pretends to be all tough but secretly sneaks them sweets when i’m not looking.”

“the hell i will.” he shot back, but the corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk.

you chuckled softly, the sound filling the quiet room as you glanced up at your husband. your eyes met his, and in that moment, they said more than words ever could—full of love, trust, and the unspoken promise of a future you both were starting to dream about together.

katsuki’s crimson gaze softened in a way that was reserved only for you. his calloused hand moved with a gentleness that never failed to surprise you, his fingers slowly tilting your chin up to meet his.

“c’mere.” he murmured, his voice low and rough, but carrying a warmth that made your heart flutter.

before you could reply, his lips brushed against yours, firm yet tender, a kiss that spoke volumes. it wasn’t just a kiss—it was reassurance, excitement, and an unspoken vow all wrapped into one.

you melted into him, your hands sliding up to rest against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palms. it was moments like this that reminded you just how deeply katsuki loved, even if he wasn’t always the best at putting it into words.

slowly, the kiss deepened, the soft tenderness giving way to something more heated, more desperate. katsuki’s hands moved on instinct, his grip firm yet gentle as he guided you onto his lap. the motion was seamless, almost as if it was second nature for him to want you this close, to feel you against him.

his hands found their way to your waist, fingers pressing into your sides in a way that made your breath hitch. it wasn’t calculated—it never was with katsuki. his movements were raw, driven by pure feeling, as if his body knew what he wanted before his mind could catch up.

you tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging lightly, earning a low growl from deep in his chest. the sound sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t help but press yourself closer, your knees bracketing his thighs as you straddled him.

“you’re somethin’ else.” he murmured against your lips, his voice husky and rough as his hands tightened their hold on your waist, pulling you even closer. “always makin’ me feel shit i never thought i’d feel.”

you smiled against his mouth, your own fingers sliding down to trace the sharp lines of his jaw. “maybe i just have that effect on you, katsu.”

“damn right, you do.” he shot back, his lips trailing down your jaw and along the column of your neck, leaving a searing trail in their wake. his breath was hot against your skin, and the way his hands moved—one slipping up to rest against the small of your back, the other holding your hip firmly in place—made your head spin.

the movie playing in the background was long forgotten, the only sounds in the room now the soft gasps escaping your lips and the low, gravelly noises katsuki made as he kissed you like he couldn’t get enough. and truthfully, he couldn’t.

[nymphoniah]

another little thought i had about old man!logan :3

(content/warnings: nsfw, ddlg vibes, reader is in their 20’s)

when you’re walking around with logan, you wouldn’t hold him by the hand, but by his thumb. your hand is tiny enough to wrap around his thumb, and it drives him wild.

“c’mon doll, hold onto me while we cross the street,” logan commands softly, lending out his hand for you to grab.

the finger that leads you around, when you’re doing errands, grocery shopping, walking at the park is the same exact one that brings you weak to your knees.

the same finger that rubs rough circles against your clit, that you suck on when your mouth is feeling empty of his cock. the same finger that he uses to tease your cunt.

“fuckin’ hell,” he hisses out, parting the entrance of your cunt with both of his thumbs, “you’re this soaking wet for your old man, huh?”

he dips one of his thumbs inside, taking in how your cunt absolutely drowns the digit in your arousal. you whimper beneath him, wanting more.

he chuckles at the sight and brings his thumb to his lips cleaning up the mess you made. “my little girl’s so sweet, inside and out,” he coos, making you blush an intense shade of red.

logan dips his thumb one more time back into your cunt, “need you to have a taste, princess,” he whispers into the shell of your ear, “you’re too fuckin’ good for me…”

[baby-yongbok]

Late - Bang Chan Hard Thought

WC - 472

✧ Masterlist ✧

“Baby, baby.” Chris bites his tongues in a futile attempt to suppress another moan. “We’re gonna be late. Shit, we’re already late.” 

You only spare him a doe eyed glance up from where you’re kneeling between his legs. Your lips are stretched around him, lipstick smeared over the lines and your hair frizzy from where his hands have found purchase to keep himself grounded. “You already - fuck, you already made me cum.” 

His sentences are broken into breathy fragments as you bob your head over him. His head is thrown back with another skilled swirl of your tongue while his fingers dig into the blanket you gifted him today. You pull off of him with a lewd pop, taking his throbbing length in your hand.

“Are you complaining about getting head? On your birthday?” You spit down onto the head of his cock, spreading the slick with your palm to mix with his dribbling precum. “I thought you’d like it.” You fake a pout and he groans, bucking his hips into your hand.

“I’m not, I'm not.” His knuckles are white in the soft fabric, his feet are sore from pressing into the soles of his shoes and his cock is sensitive. So much so that the faintest tickle of your exhale has him whining above you. “We have dinner, the guys are waiting.” 

You nod, sticking your tongue out to tease his tip. He watches, stuttering a bit at the start of his sentence. “We have to go.” Chris sucks in an inhale so sharp it could’ve cut him when you welcome his sex back into the warmth of your mouth. 

He groans, ending it in a breathless whine as you sink him back into the warm wet space inch by perfect inch. You take all of him, sinking down until he hits the back of your throat and you choke around his pulsing tip. “Fucking hell.” His hands are in your hair again, fisting the curly tresses to keep you down to the hilt. 

“Look at me.” His request is choked out but coherent and you follow it immediately. Your teary eyes find his and he nearly loses his bearings. “You’re so pretty with a mouth full of my cock.” 

He speaks as though he’s admiring a reminiscent memory. Like he’s imagining every other time he’s ever had you like this, on your knees in a pretty dress in your disheveled bedroom. “We’re already late.” He pulls you up ever so slightly by your hair only to guide you back down at the same pace. A small sigh floats past his parted lips as he watches with furrowed brows. A single tear escapes your lash line and he wipes it away with his thumb while admiring the pretty glisten of your auburn eyes.

“Might as well make me cum again.”

I haven't been able to write ANY birthday posts since Binnie's birthday week but I couldn't let Chan's day go by without trying to do SOMETHING. - Happy Birthday to my first bias and best leader <3

mdni banner made by @anitalenia

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[zziridian]

Mephistopheles: as an exchange student I'd expect better

Mc: my apologies mitochondria

Mephistopheles: WHAT

Mc:??

Mephistopheles: say my name

Mc: mesopotamia

Mephistopheles: nope

Mc: Metropolis

Mephistopheles: try again

Mc: Mumbojumbo? Malarkey?Magazine?Microwave oven?

Mephistopheles: I am leaving

Mc: IM SORRY MOZZARELLA

For the life of me I can't pronounce Mephistopheles

[raekensluver]

ᴍʏ ᴡʜɪᴛᴇ ʙᴏʏ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏɴᴛʜ — ᴀᴜɢᴜsᴛ ᴇᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴ

sᴘᴇɴᴄᴇʀ ʀᴇɪᴅ (ᴍᴀᴛᴛʜᴇᴡ ɢʀᴇʏ ɢᴜʙʟᴇʀ)

[hwa-hyun]

Prompt: “sorry, my social battery ran out:(”

✰ who: skz ot8 x gn!reader

synopsis - bfs skz when you hide away at a social gathering

a/n: thank you so much to @pardyparderson for offering this prompt on a silver platter without even meaning to

cw: there’s a lot of snacking, running out of social battery is literally the plot, mentions of tiresome aunt/uncle in changbin and han one, han one is a teny-tiny bit suggestive?

skz masterlist

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©hwa-hyun: do not copy or republish as your own, reblogs and replies mean the world though 🫶🏼

[wannabemasterofwindintraining]

Morro's not a very good mentor

[achromaticegoist]

this was the last straw until their falling out 😭

what wdym this isnt canon?

(HEAVILY inspired by @huecycles ‘s lancer’s birthday animatic I love their art so much)

[nottsangel]

— porn link.

dating dealer!theo is difficult at times, especially for a girl like you, who requires relatively a lot of attention that he couldn’t always provide given his spontaneous and irregular ‘working’ hours. thankfully for you, he allowed you to join him on his daily adventures. and yes, he was hesitant at first, knowing the dangers of his unusual job, but after all your whining and pleading, he agreed, so now you’re happily accompanying him, going from customer to customer on a busy day. and besides, he prefers to keep an eye on you at all times, knowing it’s easier to protect you with you by his side anyway.

but it was late already, the sun having set hours ago as the eerie moonlight seeps through the blinds of yet another customer’s house. you felt tired, bored, and most of all, suffering from a terrible lack of attention. the chatter between the men goes in one ear and out the other as you sit on theo’s lap, your head resting against his chest while feeling his gun behind the waistband of his pants pressing uncomfortably against your side.

theo, on the other hand, acts as if you are not even in the room, leaving you to sulk as you glare up at him through your eyelashes. he sits back, arms resting relaxed on the couch with his legs wide and his piercing eyes stern and narrowed as he gazes at the men in front of him, a little bag of white powder in one of his hands as he tells them his usual sales pitch. he exudes an air of power, dominance and authority, as his cold and emotionless face is fixed ahead, eyes occasionally darting to the stash of cash on the table.

when the two men momentarily leave the room to discuss further points, you wrap your arms around theo’s neck, trying to get his attention— which is… difficult. “theo, are we almost done? i just— i wanna go home.” you whine for the tenth time that day, clinging to him as you pout and stare at him with your best doe-like eyes. “we’ll be done soon, amore. be a good girl f’me and keep that pretty mouth shut for a little longer, okay? think you can do that?” you nod obediently, yet you let out a defeated sigh. you gaze around the unsettling, dirty room, the awful smell of all kinds of drugs mixed together filling your nostrils as the entire place looks like a mess, and you can’t wait to finally leave.

it’s in the car when he realises that you’re at your limit, as you refuse to talk to him, your arms crossed and an exasperated look on your face. luckily for you, he knows exactly what to do in moments like these. without saying a word, he drags you to the back seat and practically folds you in half with your legs in the air, almost touching the roof of the car, revealing your soaked panties and making you squeal. “okay. i know what’s going on here.”

the same intimidating, power-driven expression doesn’t falter from his handsome face as he rips your black, lace panties apart as if it’s nothing and folds your skirt up, exposing your dripping cunt that has been craving attention all day long. you gaze up at him with desperate eyes, finally about to get what you’ve been yearning for. a gasp escapes you before an abrupt moan slips from your swollen lips as he gives you some well-deserved pussy slaps, evidently relishing your reaction to his touch.

“such a needy fuckin’ slut. can’t even go an hour without some dick, huh?” he growls, practically drooling at the sight of your glistening cunt, feeling himself grow hard as he leans down and suddenly licks your slick arousal, eliciting a choked sob from you. he moans right into your core, never growing weary of your sweet taste, as he pushes your legs further apart, your muscles hurting at the stretch but the pain is quickly overshadowed by his soft lips sucking expertly on your aching clit.

you arch your back at his touch, your hands gripping his brown locks as loud, high-pitched moans escape your mouth and fill the car while he sloppily devours you like it’s his last meal on earth. “so this was all that was needed to get you to shut up? i see.” he murmurs cockily against your cunt as he suddenly slips two fingers in at once, the tip of his digits instantly rubbing against your sweet spot. “next time i’ll make sure to fuck you between every. single. customer, cara mia. gonna make sure you’re dripping with my cum all day long, like the dirty little slut that you are. and i don’t want to hear any fuckin’ complaints, got it?”

ੈ♡˳

reminder: reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated and keep me motivated. ty! ♡

[imasimpforshanks]

one piece characters - how they love you

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ft. Zoro, Sanji, law, ace, Sabo, shanks

A/N: I have risen from the dead to post this!!!! Inspired by a jjk version I saw (cant find it anymore though so all credit to them for the idea!!!) ANYWAYYYYYY here you go. Just some fluff and stuff.

I hope you enjoy and that you are all doing well x

──────────────────────

Zoro loves you simply. instead of grand gestures and loud declarations of love, he whispers quiet reassurances into your head as you drift off to sleep on his chest. he’s attuned to your unspoken needs; he knows when you need space or when you need a hug after a long day. he carries your bags for you without being asked and gives you his jacket when you shiver. in his heart, your presence has become the anchor of his days; without you he feels incomplete.

Sanji loves you passionately. your favorite song, your favorite drink, your favorite meal - he remembers it all. every second of every day is entirely devoted to you and ensuring your needs are met because he’s so overwhelmed by his desire for you. his vocabulary consists of “i love you” and “whatever you say, my dear.” he worships the ground you walk on; sanji loves you like it’s all he’s ever wanted in life.

Law loves you quietly. you see it in the way he’ll prepare your cup of coffee in the morning without being asked. you hear it in the way he hums in acknowledgment while you yap away about anything and everything- your voice soothes his heart. you feel it in his fleeting touches to hands, thigh and small of your back - he’s never been one for public displays of affection. laws love is lowkey and private; but you know it’s there.

Shanks loves you proudly. he takes any, and every, opportunity he can to talk about you to others. he encourages your drunken shenanigans with whistles and cheers of “that’s my girl!”. he holds your hand without hesitation in a crowded room, and challenges anyone who even dares to comment on your relationship, because shanks is fearless in the face of judgement, and certain that his love for you knows no bounds.

Ace loves you unconditionally. for richer for poorer, for better, for worse - no matter what, ace loves you. he has your back, providing you with unwavering support at all times. he would go to the ends of the earth for you. ace loves you unconditionally because that unconditional love is what you’ve shown him.

Sabo loves you effortlessly. it shocks him a little at first - how easy it is to love you. he kisses you just because he can, makes your favourite meal just because he can, gets you a gift just because he can. loving you is second nature to him; so deeply embedded in his every thought and action it’s as if your hearts are one.

[sceletaflores]

where there’s sparks, there’s fire!

pairing: patrick zweig x fem!reader

summary: you can’t tell if patrick hates you as much as you hate him. every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. but he’s only doing all that to piss you off. you think back to tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. you don’t see it. patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special.

—or: patrick zweig is a slut. you can't stand him.

word count: 4.6k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), public sex (doing it in a coat closet lmao), more hate sex, swearing, fighting as foreplay, light choking, light hair pulling, degradation, even more hints of mean!reader cause i really do live for that shit, tashi and reader are cute besties always, porn with a little plot, no use of y/n.

author’s note: i originally wanted to post a tashi fic next but i realized i don't have any like actual full on plot filled patrick works lmao i felt bad neglecting him and my patrick girlies so yeah. once again had literally so much fun writing this, like i hardcore love this niche!!! i ride so hard for it!!! the tashi fic i'm working on also falls into this category lols and yes this is fourth of july themed and it's late shut up i cannot write fast for the life of me...anyway! to the anons who requested something like this, hope you love it! okay bye mwah xoxo.

Patrick Zweig is a huge slut.

Everyone knows that. He doesn't even go to Stanford but he's still somehow managed to sleep with a third of the girls on campus, maybe even more than a few guys too if the rumors going around are true.

You hate him. Hate isn't even a strong enough word. You loathe him. You despise him. You detest him. Pick any other fancy synonym, the point still stands. You just really fucking hate him.

It blows your mind that someone as sweet and angelic as Art would be best friends with someone like him. Someone who's so obnoxious, so arrogant, so crass. Art’s the guy that goes out of his way to protect you from the gross frat bros at parties, only to bring his very own as a plus one.

Sigma Nu throws a rager every year on the fourth, extending invites to those who are still in Stanford for the summer. The women’s tennis team is always invited, and Tashi always ends up convincing you to go. Well, she’s less convincing than she is more forcing you, but it’s basically the same thing to her anyway. She did your makeup and wrestled you into a Hollister dress, vowing to get you laid as she straightened your hair.

Tashi’s almost more invested in your sex life than you are, constantly hand-picking guys on campus for your consideration. She actually offered up Patrick once when you told her you wouldn’t fuck any of the guys on campus at all. The two of you were practicing, she suggested it as casual as ever while returning your serve. You were so shocked you stopped in your tracks, letting the ball fly right past you. She assured you she wouldn’t mind if you did, that what the two of them had was quote “Nothing serious, he’s just a really good fuck.” and that you should “Totally do it. He definitely wants to fuck you, I can tell.” 

You just brushed her off, ignored the way she smirked knowingly at you over the net. Your cheeks burned as you served again, you wrote it off as annoyance. As if you would ever let Patrick Zweig fuck you.

You lost Tashi when she took off to the bathroom, texting you that she’d be a while thanks to a long line outside the door. You were leaning against a wall nursing a half-empty cup of jungle juice when he came up to you. You can’t remember his name, you think it starts with a B. Something like Brandon? Or maybe Brian? One or the other.

He’s Sigma Nu’s secretary, you sit three seats down from him in your economics lecture. Tashi says he has a crush on you, and he’s nice for a frat guy but he’s definitely not your type. He’s been droning on about his upcoming trip to his family's summer house in Cabo for almost ten minutes. You try your best to seem interested, humming and nodding every couple seconds. You’re in the middle of tuning him out when a loud, familiar voice calls out your name. 

“There you are!” Patrick Zweig shouts from a few feet away, ugly American flag patterned flip flops smacking against the ground as he makes his way over to you. He’s wearing a bright red button down and white cargo shorts you scrunch your nose up at. He’s tanner than the last time you saw him, legs long and even more toned. “I’ve been looking everywhere for that pretty face.” He coos sweetly, his hand that isn't holding a bottle of Bud Light comes up to pinch your cheek.

You scoff, smacking his hand off your face. “You found me, so you can go bother someone else now,” you say, rubbing your cheek lightly. “Bye.” You press, waving your hand dismissively when he makes no move to walk away.

Patrick grins, unfazed by your reaction, he steps in even closer. “Yeah, I missed you too,” he says breezily, his breath smells like cheap beer and camel blues. He’s just as tall as you remember. He has tacky blue shutter shades resting on the top of his head. His eyes rake over your body shamelessly, lingering on the low dip of your neckline. “Cute dress.” 

You ignore him, rolling your eyes before turning your attention back towards Brandon/Brian. He’s silent now, eyes flicking between you and Patrick skeptically. “Are you like, together, or something?” 

You laugh loudly, quickly shaking your head ‘No’. Patrick beats you to speaking though, “God no, man.” he says through a laugh, dark curls bouncing as he shakes his head. “I came over here to warn you.” He continues, voice and expression going overly serious like he’s not talking out of his ass.

Brandon/Brian’s brows furrow, clearly confused. “Warn me?” he asks, head tilting to the left slightly. His puka shell necklace makes a small clicking sound as he moves. 

Patrick nods his head gravely, clapping his free hand down on Brandon/Brian's shoulder a little too roughly to be considered friendly, shaking him back and forth like a rag doll. “Yeah, best of luck trying to get inside that snatch, man.” he says earnestly, jerking his head in your direction. “Cause’ she’s really fucking picky–”

You whip your head in his direction to cut him off, grimacing in disgust. “You would say snatch, you sick fuck.” you snap, red solo cup crunching quietly in your hand. Patrick just laughs, dropping his hand from Brandon/Brian’s shoulder. Anger stews inside you the longer he looks at you with that stupid shit-eating smirk on his face. 

You can’t tell if Patrick hates you as much as you hate him. Every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. But he’s only doing all that to piss you off. You think back to Tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. You don’t see it.

Patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special. Sure, he may feel the constant need to be a horn-dog when he’s around you. That doesn’t mean anything. Patrick’s just gross, constantly making crude comments or lame innuendos. What Tashi fails to see is him making sex jokes around you is just another way he can piss you off. It’s not an open invitation into those god-awful shorts. 

Patrick takes a small step back, big hands raising in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Put the claws away,” You try to ignore the way him saying your name in that goddamn infuriating condescending tone makes your cheeks start heating up. Patrick leans his shoulder on the wall next to you, looking down at you with a small grin on his face. “I actually wanted to congratulate you on cracking the top twenty.” He takes a long sip of his beer, head lolling to the side lazily as he swallows. “Lucky number 14.”

You’re not too proud to admit that Patrick is kind of hot, especially in this lighting. He’s objectively a hot guy, and he knows it. All tall and firm looking even in his horrendous outfit. But he’s kind of cute too, in an ass-holey way. His hair's a mess of soft-looking black curls and his ears stick out from his head sort of endearingly. He’s close enough that you can see he’s got a little brown in his eyes, and long lashes. There’s a handful of freckles sprinkled over the bridge of his nose. 

His big, strong nose that looks like it could work wonders between your legs. Or at least that’s what you’ve heard from Jen in your chem lab. Maybe this jungle juice is stronger than you thought.

Patrick's smirk widens, wolfish and dirty like he can see what you’re thinking. “That’s pretty impressive.” he continues, his tone a mix of genuine admiration and teasing. "Especially for someone who's always so...busy." He lets the last word hang in the air, a clear innuendo that makes your blood boil all over again.

"Busy training," you snap back, not willing to let him get under your skin any more than he already has. "Some of us have actual work ethic, Patrick. We put in the hours on the court instead of fucking anything that breathes, you know? So we don’t look like idiots that get their ass handed to them on tour by nobody scrubs."

You can feel the heat start to simmer in your stomach, anger and frustration bubbling beneath the surface as Patrick's presence continues to grate on your nerves. The tension between you is thick, amplified by the chaotic energy of the party swirling around you. You see Brandon/Brian take a long, awkward sip of his beer as he steps away, turning on his heel to quickly disappear into the sea of bodies crowding the living room. You roll your eyes internally, pussy.

Patrick grins, not deterred in the slightest. “You’ve been keeping up with my matches?” His voice is low and pleased sounding, shiny green eyes slowly getting swallowed by the black of his pupils. 

You pause, owlishly blinking up at him in silence. You’ve been caught. Shit.

You can feel the immediate warmth of embarrassment burning hot on your cheeks as you cast your gaze to the floor. “Only when I need to cheer myself up, a losing streak that high is actually laughable.” You mutter to the floor, lightly swirling your drink in your cup. 

Patrick laughs loudly, throwing his head back in amusement. “Still thinking about me though.” he says matter-of-factly, a lazy grin taking over his face.

His audacity sends another wave of anger and embarrassment through you, your grip tightens around your cup. "Only because you make such a spectacle of yourself," you retort sharply. "It's hard not to notice when you're crashing and burning so publicly."

Patrick's grin doesn't falter. If anything, it widens. "I'll take what I can get from you," he says, his tone a blend of amusement and something else that you can't place. "But seriously, congratulations. You deserve it."

His unexpected sincerity throws you off, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. It's rare to see Patrick in a light that isn’t coated in sarcasm or sleaze. You catch a glimpse of something genuine in his expression, something that almost resembles respect, and it confuses you.

It confuses you, and it makes something warm start to burn in your stomach. You can’t afford to feel any warm, fuzzy feelings around a guy like Patrick, not if you don’t want to get majorly fucked over the second he gets bored of you. 

You don’t know how to react so you do what makes sense, you lash out.

“God, will you just fuck off and leave me alone Patrick,” you say, tone over-dramatic and long-suffering as you tip your head up to the ceiling in annoyance. “I’m trying to have fun.” A lie. The party kind of sucked compared to last years. You were planning on talking Tashi into leaving when she came back, but he didn’t need to know that.

Patrick’s cool exterior finally cracks, letting out a quiet huff of disbelief as a frown starts tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Jesus Christ, what the hell is your fucking problem? I’m being sincere.” The playful light in his eyes is gone, replaced by something darker.

You let out a loud laugh, shaking your head in amusement. “Maybe I’d believe that if you weren’t such an ass. I know you too well, Patrick.” You say, tone mean and condescending. You know he’s right, on some level, but that doesn’t stop you. 

Patrick is silent for a beat, eyes boring into yours with an intensity that makes you want to start squirming. He lets out a quiet, bitter laugh, bringing his beer up to his lips to take a long sip. You watch the way his throat moves as he swallows, the way his lips look wrapped around the neck of the bottle. You feel a familiar heat start to pool between your legs, thighs clenching involuntarily as your mind envisions something else his slick, pink lips would look good wrapped around. 

He drops the bottle to his side, finally breaking the silence. “You know, now I do believe you.” he says casually, swiping his tongue over his lips lazily. “You must really not be getting any dick acting like this much of an uptight bitch.”

You reel back in shock, his words hitting you like a punch in the gut. The wave of fury that sweeps through you is almost tangible, your vision narrowing to a tunnel that begins and ends with Patrick’s infuriatingly smug face. “What did you just say?” you ask completely taken aback, voice low and rough. Your hand twitches at your side with the need to throw your drink in his face, anger and embarrassment lapping white hot flames in your stomach. 

Patrick just scoffs, heated gaze not breaking from your own. “You heard me.” He says, jaw set stubbornly. “You need like, emergency dick, or something to chill the fuck out for once.” 

You feel your heart rate spike, your free hand clenching into a tight wrist by your side. “You’re a fucking pig.” your voice shakes with anger, you feel sweaty and hot all over. The heat swirling between your legs is persistent.

Patrick laughs, a loud and infuriating sound. “Come on, we both know you’re fucking begging for someone to give you what you need.” He says like it’s obvious, you clench your fist a little tighter. He takes a step closer, voice dropping down to a whisper meant just for you. “I can help you with that. I can fuck all that bratty shit right out of yo–”

You’re reacting before you can stop yourself, hand flying up to slap him hard across the face. The loud crack pierces through the room, loud enough that a few eyes turn in your direction. Patrick's head snaps to the side, the shades resting on the top of his head fly off. 

Your heart stops, hands shaking with the realization of what you just did. You expect Patrick to flip out, start shouting and threatening to sue you or whatever else it is that rich people do. Time seems to slow down as he turns his head, and when he looks back at you, there's no trace of anger in his eyes. Instead, they're dark with something else entirely— something that makes your stomach flip.

He licks his lips, a slow, deliberate motion, and then he laughs, a low, throaty sound that sends shivers down your spine. A clear hand print grows steadily, red and angry on his cheek. "Fuck." he breathes, his hazy eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat. 

You’re stuck staring at each other for what feels like hours, the music and chatter from the party reduced down to a low hum as you’re caught under Patrick’s heavy gaze.

He drops his beer bottle on the floor carelessly, hand shooting out to grab your wrist tightly and drag you away from the living room. Your cup falls from your grip, splashing down onto the hardwood in a red sticky mess. You fall into step behind him, letting him guide you into the hallway outside the living room before he lurches to a stop in front of a closed door, ripping it open and shoving you inside. Patrick follows quickly, closing the door behind him and bathing the coat closet in darkness. 

It’s a tiny closet, you’re pressed up against too many coats fighting for space on the tiny rack, kicking loose shoes around as you try to find your footing. “Patrick, I–” You start, but you're cut off by a strong hand gripping your forearm and whipping you around. Your back hits the door with a dull thud, you don’t have any time to react before his lips are on yours.

The kiss is the opposite of gentle, Patrick’s lips are almost violent as they move with yours. Your hands tangle in his soft hair, kissing back just as roughly. He hisses into your mouth as you twist the strands in your grip meanly, pressing you into the door harder. His tongue forces its way past your parted lips, claiming your mouth fiercely. He tastes like beer, his fingertips are rough and calloused on your skin, pulling you closer as if he wants to meld into you.

“If you don’t want this, say the word and I’ll stop right now.” He says against your lips, breathless and rumbly. His hands squeeze your hips reassuringly, his own version of sincerity softening the moment.

Yeah fucking right.

“Zweig,” you say slowly, yanking his hair roughly. “If you don’t shut up and fuck me in the next ten seconds, I’ll kill you.”

Patrick grins wildly, surging forward to connect your lips again. Your hands find the buttons of his shirt as the two of you kiss, working them open one by one until you get too frustrated and rip the two half-open sides apart. Buttons clatter onto the floor of the closet, Patrick groans into your mouth, breaking the kiss with a huff. “I liked that shirt, dick. You owe me twenty bucks.”

You’re not listening, eyes trained on the bare skin of his chest as everything seems to slow down for a second. Of course, you’ve seen Patrick shirtless before, when he’s on the court and it’s above ninety or when he’s taking up space in Art’s dorm. This feels different, a completely new situation where it’s actually okay for you to stare at the expanse of his torso. 

You can’t help reaching out to touch him again— running your greedy hands down his chest, his abs, the sharp ‘v’ cut of his hips that makes its way into the waistband of his shorts. Your manicured nails scratch through the dark hair of his happy trail, you can see the muscles in his stomach jump.

“Fuck,” you whisper breathlessly and immediately regret it. He was already insufferable— all you fucking needed was for him to know how you felt right now. How the sight of his barely undressed body is making your pussy soak through your panties.

Patrick doesn’t even gloat, just uses his tight grip on your hips to flip you so you’re pressing onto the door harshly. He impatiently yanks the skirt of your dress up, wasting no time in hooking a finger on the lace of your panties and moving the fabric to the side for easier access.

You hear him pop the button of his shorts open, his zipper following close behind. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.” He says, sliding the thick tip of his cock through your slick lips, brushing himself against your entrance teasingly. “I’m gonna make you think twice about bitching me out ever again.” He seals his promise by grabbing your hair and yanking, causing a surprised whine to fall from your lips. His voice is so patronizing, but you aren’t getting mad like you should be. You’re just getting wetter, getting desperate with the need for him to get inside you right fucking now.

You grit your teeth in frustration, exhaling sharply through your nose. “I hate you.” You hiss, grinding back against his hard cock. You gasp raggedly as he starts to sink himself inside you, not stopping until his hips are flush against your ass. “Shit!” Your hands grip the door so hard you’re scared one of your nails will break. The stretch of him burns in the best way possible. You’d never say it out loud, not wanting to inflate his ego anymore than you probably already have, but he’s definitely the biggest cock you’ve taken. Almost porn-star big.

“I know.” He replies easily, hiking your thigh up with his hand as his hips start to pound mercilessly into the meat of your ass, not even giving you time to get used to the thick stretch of him. The loud smack of skin on skin fills the tiny closet easily, you hope to God the amount of clothes shoved in here somehow muffles the sound. The rough denim of his shorts scratches against your raw skin, adding to the sting of his hips.

Patrick was pounding into you in a way that makes you feel every inch of him. His cock felt impossibly big, filling you up like he was carving a place for himself inside of you. The sting in your pussy at the stretch of him is mind-numbing, you think you’d collapse from how hard your thighs were shaking if he wasn’t practically holding you up.

His big hand grips the sensitive skin of your inner thigh hard enough that it’ll probably be bruised by tomorrow. You distantly hope he’s high up enough that your tennis skirt will cover it, because if not it’ll be a hard thing to talk your way out of.

You throw your head back, a strained moan erupting from your lips. Your nails scratch at the paint on the door's edges, raking small lines down the wall. The loud squelch of your pussy’s overflowing wetness every time he sinks back inside you would be embarrassing if you had the mental capacity to care.

“Fuck yeah, keep making those slutty sounds, baby. Want the whole fucking party to hear how good I’m making you feel on this cock,” he mutters, hiking your leg up higher so he can pound into you deeper.

He drops your thigh, sliding his hand up your body and around your throat. You whine loudly, pushing back into his thrusts harder. Guys have tried the choking thing in the past, but Patrick’s hand is the only one that’s felt right. His long fingers curling around your throat like they belong there.

“Shit, fuck- don’t stop.” you mewl, lips parted in ecstasy. His hand squeezes a little tighter, not enough to cut off your breathing, just enough to get your eyes rolling back into your head as your pussy weeps around the thick length of his cock.

“That’s it, taking my fucking cock like you were made for it,” Patrick grates through a groan, gripping your hips and pulling out from your tight hole to spit on where his cock bumps up against your entrance before plunging back in.  You jolt at the extra wetness, whining at how dirty it is. “So fucking tight— does it hurt, baby?” he asks in a barely breathless voice, laughter edging his tone. “Is my fat cock hurting your tight little pussy?”

“God– shit, yes!” you sob loudly, cheek rubbing against the wood of the door as you nod your head frantically. “Hurts so fucking good.” You stop caring about inflating his ego, letting moans fall freely from your lips as you get closer to the edge.

“Fuck yeah, I’m gonna come,” he grunts, his rhythm growing sloppy and erratic as his muscles tense. He wraps your hair in his other hand, pulling hard enough to make your neck crane back awkwardly. He leans forward, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “I can feel you, fucking clenching up on me so tight,” he whispers, still pounding into you roughly. “I know you’re close. Do it. Come all over my cock like a slut.”

Patrick's hand tightens around your throat as he talks, cutting off your air for just a second. “Patrick!” Your voice sounds weak and strained, your hand coming up to wrap around his wrist desperately.

He pulls out abruptly, dropping your hair from his fist to frantically jerk his cock, burying his face in your neck. You can hear the lewd shlick shlick shlick of your wetness help his hand glide over the skin of his cock quickly. Patrick lets out a loud growl before you feel the sharp bite of his teeth sinking in where your shoulder meets your neck, muffling a loud groan of your name as he sprays hot come over the skin of your lower back and the swell of your ass. 

The feeling of Patrick’s hand wrapped around your throat as his come paints your skin has you catapulting over the edge. Eyes rolling back in your head as your convulsing pussy gushes wet over his spent cock. 

You drag in greedy lungfuls of air, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. “You came first.” You say breathlessly, voice scratchy and hushed. Patrick chuckles against your skin, swatting the tender flesh of your ass lightly. 

“Shut the fuck up.” He mutters half-heartedly, nuzzling his nose in your neck in a way that seems far too intimate for what the two of you just did. You don’t say anything.

Patrick eventually peels himself off your back, but the warmth of his body stays wrapped around you as he starts to gently wipe your skin clean. You’re ready to scold him for using some poor guy's coat as a come-rag, but when you turn your head to glare at him he’s using the inside of his own shirt. You wrinkle your nose, but a tiny smile fights its way onto your lips. So gross, you think with a sort of reluctant fondness.

He leans over to fix your panties back over your puffy, abused pussy. Your thighs continue to shake weakly as you try to stand on your own, still unsteady without Patrick holding you up. He gives you a sweet kiss on the back of your shoulder, smacking his lips loudly. You huff out a tiny laugh, pushing away from the door to face him.

You watch him as he languidly gets re-dressed. He looks well-fucked, his hair and clothes are mess, his face is flushed and sweaty. Your eyes trail down to where he’s buttoning up his atrocious shorts. 

The fabric around the crotch is darkened with your release, wetness soaking the denim around the zipper and front pockets. You gawk at it, a mix of terror and excitement swirling through your stomach. “You can’t go back out like that.” you say to his shorts, shame burning your cheeks. 

Patrick follows your gaze down to his crotch. A pleased smirk plays on his lips when he looks back at you. “I’ll text you later.” Is all he says, zipping his fly and turning towards the door. 

“You don’t have my number.” You say, tugging the skirt of your dress down over your hips. You can slowly feel the horny fog leave your brain, leaving you clear-minded and a little panicked.

He cracks the door open, but before walking out of the closet he looks back at you over his shoulder. “Art’ll give me your number. “ He says casually with a small shrug of his shoulder. You suddenly feel sick, wondering how many other people have heard that line before getting completely ghosted. 

Patrick must see the negative thoughts running through your mind play out on your face. He gives you an actual smile, one that has his eyes crinkling up the tiniest bit at the corners. “Promise.” He says with a reassuring nod, it’s the most sincere you’ve ever seen him. You bite your lip to stop from smiling at the hope blooming in your stomach, nodding back at him slowly. He throws you one last toothy grin before he’s walking out and closing the door behind him.

You sigh contently, staring at the closed door for a few beats before your phone buzzes to life from where it's laying on the floor. You bend over to search for it, blindly rooting around until you see the tiny display light. The ringing stops before you can answer, when you flip the screen up to check your inbox you have seven missed texts and two missed calls.

Four texts and two calls from Art, and just three texts from Tashi.

arty where are you? i’ve been looking for you are you okay? hello???

tash you know you're not invisible right? everyone saw your little show have fun <3

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mini a/n: yes i did change the title leave me lmao love you!