#he’s not actually stroking hands in any of these

[bewaryofpity]

Hiii please could I request smut #5 for luke hughes please? x

thank you for requesting ! 🩵

5. “Is this ok?” As they stare up at you from in between your legs.

.

When Luke had confessed a week into your relationship that he was inexperienced you were surprised, but when he told you he never even received a blowjob before, you were actually left speechless.

“But you went to college?”

“Yeah, well, I just… I don’t do hook ups. Ever, clearly.” He mumbled defensively. He disliked the thought of sleeping with someone he barely knew, leaving and never seeing each other again. He found it a bit disgusting, especially when his friend flaunted the amount of girls they slept with in a month, and it was even more so when the guys couldn’t remember their names.

It wasn’t something to be ashamed of, and you reminded him every time your kissing would get too heated and he would stiffen under your touch, reassuring him you woundn’t do anything he wasn’t ready for. He wanted to take the next step so badly, be yours more than just calling himself your boyfriend, but all the insecurities would get the best of him and he chickened out every single time. But you were so sweet and understanding you never pushed him, you took your time with him which already made Luke dizzy any other day.

And just like any post game evening, you were sitting on his couch, knees touching his thighs, listening to his rambling about his plays from the game earlier. He looked way too good with his hair still a bit damp, bundled up in a hoodie and sweats, that your hand couldn’t help but move upwards from his bicep to his shoulder, then up in the curls at the back of his head.

His words faltered at your actions and when he turned around to see if you were still listening, you had a hazy smirk on your lips.

“Are you listening?”

“Yeah.” Of course you weren’t, you were absorbed in the feel of his body under your touch, how his muscles clenched as your fingertips traced the veins on his arms.

“What was the las — Oh.” Luke’s mouth hung slightly open as you propped yourself in his lap, your arms circling his neck.

“Keep nerding, baby, it turns me on.”

“R-Really?”

“Mmh.” You hummed, rolling your hips once before leaning in to press a kiss at the corner of his mouth, his surprised expression turning you on even more. Your kiss heated up quickly when you bit at his lip, Luke moaning in your mouth like it was his first time kissing you.

It wasn’t long before Luke felt impatient, needy for more and you could feel it, his pants straining his hard on, his hands gripping tightly at your hips and you knew he was trying to hold himself back. So you placed one more kiss on his soft lips, caressing his cheeks with your thumbs and silently asking if he was alright, if he wanted more now.

Getting off his lap and sitting on your knees on the ground between his legs, you never averted your gaze from his, mindful of every small movement. Your hands stroked his thighs, clenching under your touch, and he parted them more to let you in.

“Is this okay?” You whispered, fingers playing with the strings of his sweatpants. Your eyes grew darker as he nodded eagerly. And you gently pushed his sweats and boxers down to his ankles, removing them completely, his cock standing high, tip red and already leaking.

“Just as pretty as I imagined.” You said, shifting closer in between his legs. He took a sharp inhale at your words, not fully processing what was happening. “Tell me if I ever need to stop.”

“Never… please.” His voice shook, in excitement or anxiety you didn’t know, but after a few pumps of your hand, your lips finally wrapped around his flushed tip, taking him inch by inch in your mouth. And Luke knew then that he was already obsessed with this.

[glystenangel]

bookworm🐛📚

Dom!Toji x Afab!Reader (Oneshot)

tags: 18+ MDNI, established relationship, dom/sub dynamic, toji actually works but irrelevant, outrageous levels of horny, raw sex, penetrative sex, anal, use of vibrators, dirty talk, praise, swearing, multiple orgasms, gettin hit from the backkk, slight edging, aftercare, idk what else

summary: you read smut and toji makes it happen

~ 2.7k words

thanks for reading and enjoy<3

_________________

Waiting for Toji to come home is always a chore.

Luckily, you have some light reading to keep you preoccupied, the most recent addition to your smut collection. Every page flip only turns you on more and more. As you peek over the covers to check the time, you’re certain that you’ll be hopelessly desperate before Toji even makes it home.

He’s twenty minutes late so far, though you know that even if it took him another hour you would forgive him as long as he gave you a thorough enough fucking. You had been living together for a few months already, and when he had initially learned about your literary taste, he demanded you read every sinful line out loud as he mercilessly ate you out. Not only that, but he had made it a point to stop whenever you tripped over any of the words or unwittingly trailed off. The memory pulses your thighs together, and you curse at having remembered the way Toji’s tongue swiped at your tear streaks after.

Memories begin to cloud your mind, only for sudden footsteps in the entryway to put you back on high alert.

“Babydoll, I’m back.” The rich sound of Toji’s voice curls in from the cracked open front door, and the baritone of it instantly makes your heart race.

You spring up from the couch, abandoning your book on the coffee table and rushing to his side with a happy exclamation.

“You’re home.” You wrap your arms around him, and he automatically leans down to gather you in his embrace. The way his gourmand cologne fills your lungs makes you sigh, and you can’t help but pepper eager kisses along his cheekbones in your lusty state. 

“Oh whoa, miss me that much?” His hands cup downwards, and his fingertips knowingly stroke at the wet spot between your thighs.

“What’s up with you? Read something dirty again?”

He tsks at you, but hauls you into his lap as he moves to sit on the couch. 

You nod, and he starts kissing at your neck, the familiar sensation of the scar on the outer corner of his mouth brushing against your throat and causing your breath to hitch.

“Okay, okay. Enough.” He laughs as he pulls away, and when he meets your eyes you already know what he is going to ask you.

“Well? How’d you want it? Show me.”

You lean back and pick up the book from the coffee table, distractedly leafing through the pages as he begins to grope at your body. You’re so sensitive from reading wanton filth that you arch into every heady squeeze and firm pinch.

You hold up the pages for him to see, and he takes them from you, attentively raking his eyes over the text and images. He keeps one hand on your ass, absentmindedly fondling the tender flesh as he reads.

“Doggy style? Can’t say we haven’t tried that one before. A couple of vibrators, okay…And then from the side, but a little more complicated…hm, alright.” 

He loosely holds the book up to the light, then turns it sideways to get a closer look. His thumb digs into the folds of the spine, thoughtful hums leaving him as his eyes study the pages with care. After a moment, his knee starts to bounce, and the agitated motion has your stomach tightening in anticipation.

Toji tosses the book aside once he finishes flipping through a couple more pages and gives you a conspiratory look, “No wonder you’re so excited. How’d you find something so lewd, huh?”

His hands mold around your waist, pushing you further down onto his tented crotch and grinding his hips upwards to stimulate your needy cunt until you’re desperately squirming in his lap.

He bites at your ear, teeth grazing the shell and warm breath gliding along the rising goosebumps on your skin.

“You have a filthier mind than I do. That turns me on so much.”

You yelp when he stands up to carry you to your shared bedroom, still rubbing his clothed hardon against the steadily growing damp stain between your legs. He sets you down, patting your head as a brief signal to wait as he rummages the bedside drawers for all of your sex toys before grabbing a handful and unbiasedly throwing them next to you.

“Alright, where were we?” He leans his palms on your thighs, a mischievous edge to his low tone.

“You were saying you like it dirty.” You place your hands on his chest.

“Is that right?” He doesn’t even wait for your answer, your tongue already reaching for his as he finishes his ask. As you swallow each other’s moans, he pins you down onto the bed and easily tugs off your clothes until you’re trembling with excitement in your soaked underwear.

“Did you wait until I got home or did you touch yourself already? Because last time I caught you…Well, you know how that went, don’t you?” He slowly peels off his shirt and unbuckles his pants, the imprint of his massive cock and its straining against the zipper already making you drool.

“No, you’re the only one who makes me cum Toji. I only want you to.” You vigorously shake your head, grabbing at his well defined sides so that he’ll release his boner faster.

“Oh? So good, maybe I’ll reward you for that. Though I think either way you’ll take whatever I give you, right?”  He finally unsheaths his weighty dick, palming at it with a hand before ripping off your panties.

You let out a gasp when he places it on top of your pussy, digging your nails into his arms as he cages you with his body and starts sliding the girth up and down your sticky entrance. Your slickness leaves strands of precum along every inch of the veiny length, and he reels his hips back to prod the tip against your slippery folds. You stay still, knowing to be patient or he’ll tease you for another hour. 

Toji lifts your chin with an approving smirk, “So fucking cute.”

Then, he flips you over and arranges you to match your smutty reading, with your leaky hole and tight ass lifted in the air. You squeeze your legs together for some temporary gratification, only to throw your head back at Toji pushing his cockhead between your thighs. The fleshy rod of skin gets wrapped in earnest, getting you more and more hungry for his cock inside of you.

In contrast to your desperate whimpers, you can hear Toji calmly humming before the electric buzz of a vibrator pierces the air.

“Alright.” He chuckles, and you involuntarily flinch as he prods the tip of the vibrator against the puckered hole of your ass.

“Come here, don’t run. Doesn’t it feel good?” He swirls it around, the slick lube and the click of buttons on the device making your mind fuzz as he pushes it deeper, “Is it too much?”

You shake your head, rubbing your cheek against the sheets with mindless fervor.

You know this is just the start, and you didn’t have enough tolerance for delayed gratification today.

“Good.” He maneuvers the rest of the vibrator inside of you little by little, letting you suck at the rubber until it plugs your butt with whine inducing shivers.

Toji slides his cock against your folds once more, letting the head kiss at your puffed up clit.

“Goddamn. So wet already.” He grunts, taking his hands off of you.

At the loss of contact, you wriggle your hips in his face with obvious vocal displeasure.

“One sec, princess.” You hear the click of a second vibrator being switched on, and you brace yourself as Toji strategically places it underneath you.

The heavy weight of his hands return to your body, and he slowly guides you downwards. The expected vibrations still cause tingles of pleasure to erupt from your core, and you bounce your hips to hear the sticky sounds of your mess being splattered between your thighs from the vibrator’s rapid movement against your clit.

“Oh, oh…” You weakly whine out the syllable over and over, rolling your hips into every sensation.

“Good?”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you blindly squeeze at the sheets to concentrate on Toji’s question, “Mhm, s-so good.” 

“I’ll just hold you then, we can feel good together like this. I promise.” He whispers, bending down and planting soft kisses along your spine.

Toji then grabs a fistful of your hair and the grip of his fingertips along your scalp makes your eyelashes flutter. A thoughtful hm leaves him, and you feel the curl of his smile against your back when he places another kiss to the skin there. Then, he carefully feeds his cock into your drenched entrance. 

The full feeling unfurls in your stomach, complemented by the vibrators’ administrations and Toji’s hands roaming your pliant curves. Once his hips are completely pressed against your ass, a gasp mixed with relief and contentment escapes you.

“I’m really sorry I kept you waiting, doll.” Toji lifts your hips slightly, and you minutely shake your head in protest at the distance created by the movement, “Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you now.”

He pushes forward again and the searing stretch has you moaning immediately, but you only get noisier when Toji starts quickly thrusting every greedy inch in and out of your leaking slit.  

Every wet smack is echoed by your intensifying mewls as you tighten around him and squirm against the vibrations. Sticky, slick sensations flood your pussy and leave a mess of webbed precum around his cock whenever he draws his hips back.

Toji’s exhilarated grunts don’t help either, especially when he begins to talk you through your heightened arousal.

“It’s exciting, huh? Feels better than reading, doesn’t it? Better than you imagined?”

He grins, tugging your hair in his palm until your tear soaked eyes stop rolling long enough to look at him,  “Eyes here, babydoll. Look at me.”

“I love it when you look at me. I love it, I love it.” He pants, licking his lips and fucking you harder into oblivion, “Love watching you break under me. Gonna break and breed you.”

Your knees wobble beneath the tense arch of your back, but you barely notice as Toji drops your hair and curls his fingers into the bend of skin between your hips and thighs, “Fuck, you’re tightening up. Feels damn good with the vibrations, fuck.”

The swollen head of his dick prods into your womb, and you let out a gasp when it makes you involuntarily buck your hips farther up against Toji’s sweat sheened abs.

The smooth muscle of your pussy squeezes around him, forcing you to see white as he plows deeper inside of you. You can feel his balls squish against your ass, the heavy feel of them making you ache for his cum.

“You feel that? I’m fucking into your cervix. God, I can feel it sucking at the tip of my cock. Can’t wait to fill you up. Gonna fuck you and fill you until you’re cum-dumb.” He swears, fingertips indenting your flesh with need.

“Dirty girl, is this what you like? Being fucked like this?” Toji spanks your ass, and then fiddles with the end of the vibrator still sticking out of it.

He pulls it out and then drives it back in, languidly and then more quickly, “So damn greedy. I like it.”

Toji handles the vibrator with primal delight, harshly gunning it into your ass while maintaining the feverish pump of his cock. You can feel the squish of every sensitive little nerve inside of you, and how good Toji is at fucking each one.

Little fragments of words and exclamations of pleasure manage to escape you, but you know that you’re hardly making any sense. 

You just want to cum.

You repeat the desire over and over in your head, gleefully sucking at Toji’s hardness with your pussy until you’re dripping onto the sheets. 

He gets deeper and faster, expertly dragging his cock through your syrupy walls and hitting every blissfully mind melting spot. 

Your whole body seizes underneath him, and you cry out from the sting of ecstasy flooding your body, the shudders rippling from your center, and from the fact that Toji continues fucking your cunt open.

“Cumming already? Aw, that’s too bad. Cum again. Come on, cum for me again, want it all over my cock. That’s right, oh yeah.”

The consistent gush of fluid keeps you shaking in his hold, and Toji grinds into you with satisfaction.

“You keep cumming-ng.You’re squirting everywhere, must be so happy huh? It’s fun for you, huh? Such a cute slut for me.”

Another excited wail, and more cum bubbles out of your tight hole, seeping around the sides of Toji’s eager cock.

“Perfect, keep slobbering on my cock with your wet little pussy, gonna stuff it all back in.” He’s breathless in his speech, the raspy sounds wrapping around your brain and making you dizzy, “Here, open up. Good.”

The next few groans that fall from his lips are so desperate and hot that your vision blurs, “The best pussy. God, you turn me on. Ugh, I’m losing my mind. Gonna cum.”

His chest is against your back, and every pound of his cock makes the bed rattle beneath you from the force.

He sweeps your hair aside so his lips can brush against the shell of your ear, “Wanna have my babies? Hm? Want my cum inside?” 

“Yes, oh, yes, yes, yes! Toji!” You scream, and a dark, breathless laugh clings to his throat.

“Yeah? So cute.” He kisses your neck, and then hits the ceiling of your pussy with a strained whine.

“Fuck, you’re driving me crazy.” Toji rams into you harder, more impatiently, “I’m- Cumming, fuck!”

The warm, wet rush of his cum fills you to the brim, and you can feel the delicious splatter of it across the plush of your ass and down your thighs.

He pulls you up against his front and starts avidly pumping again, moans spilling out from the feeling of him mixing your cum together in your womb. The continuous buzz of the vibrator and Toji’s enthused bite marks make your shoulders bristle with chills.

“That’s it, that’s- Shit, I’m gonna cum again.” Toji squeezes your perked tits in his warm hands, “But- So are you, right? Cum with me.”

He bounces you off of his hips, harshly pistoning into you and plugging your pussy so nicely and tightly that you can’t deny him anymore.

“Gonna bring you new books. I want to make you cum every goddamn day. Fill you up until your pussy can’t take anymore and you stop whining for cum. You’d love that, wouldn’t you babydoll?”

You nod, unable to speak.

“Yeah? Give me a kiss then.” You can hear the mischievous smirk in his voice, and then on your lips as you climax on his cock again.

He surrenders into the kiss you tug him down for, making satisfied hums into your mouth and slowing his hips to a stop.

Melting into the embrace, you relax into the sheets together and remain wrapped around one other. Toji’s harsh breaths tickle the back of your neck, and the bliss of your orgasm thuds dully within you until Toji briefly rises to clean you up and set aside the vibrators.

When he finishes, he gently nestles you back into his arms and circles every purpling bruise on your body with a reverent sweep of his thumb, “You’re so good.”

He affectionately moves to kiss your shoulder and then hugs you closer, “You sleepy yet? Or…”

The subtle heat of his palms as they glide across your skin have you leaning into every touch.

“No…not sleepy.” You hoarsely mumble.

More from Toji was always exactly what you wanted.

You lift your head, “You’re not sleepy, right Toji?”

The beckoning tone of your voice comes out sweet and seductive. 

Toji licks at the scar on his lip, disguising his growing excitement with an innocent press of his lips to the back of your ear.

“Another round it is. I saw a couple of scenes I liked too…you don’t mind, right?”

_________________

End Notes:

inspired by lady k and the sick man in case u didn't notice lol happy valentine's day yall! :)<3

[sinmartini]

"feels so right but it's just so wrong." // red!clark kent

notes: MDNI 18+ summary: clark kent is usually such a nice guy. what's gotten into him? wc: 1714 warnings: red!clark, face fucking with fingers, implications of oral (m receiving), clark being arrogant, pet names, fem!reader, not proofread.

“You are being so annoying,” Red!Clark told you, rolling his eyes as he tucked himself further into the couch settled in the loft. He had been acting so strange all day, completely unlike the best friend you knew and loved. There was a slight attitude in his tone, irritation radiating off of him, and pelting you with nearly everything that had come out of his mouth. It was almost like you were a human punching bag today; if an unkind thought passed through his head, he was more than willing to say it to you.

“What?” You snapped at him, finally nearing the breaking point. Your eyes pointed up at him, shifting your head in his lap to get a better look at you. It wasn’t uncommon to lay your head on his lap, the rest of your body taking up the other end of the couch. Actually, Clark typically liked it when you two did this together. Even though you were just best friends, there was an intrinsic need for you two to be in touch all the time. Hand holding, platonic cuddling, hugs that lasted a minute too long. Today, though… Today he looked frustrated by the way you were clinging to him, the physical touch he had once loved from you be damned. 

Not only had you just experienced something completely terrible, with Clark swooping in to save you at the last minute yet again, but he was being such a jerk.

“I just never realized how needy and clingy you are. What you did back there was dangerous too. Don’t you have any inkling for self preservation?” Clark’s words were one thing, but his actions were indicative of another as he gently stroked his fingers through your hair. 

Was he wrong? Not really. You were needy and clingy when it came to him, but that’s how it’s always been with the two of you. Hell, he was just as clingy most of the time. That’s what came along with knowing his secret; being one of the only people who actually knew the real Clark Kent. 

“Clark, you know I’d do anything for a story. The Daily Planet isn’t going to promote me if I only write boring headlines. I thought that’s why we work so well together? I can bust a crime ring and you’re always there to swoop in.” You were trying to reason with him now, get to the bottom of what was really going on inside of his head. Ever since this morning, it was like Clark had been stripped from all his inhibitions, most of the qualities that made Clark… Well, Clark, had somehow disappeared.

“Good writers can make a story out of anything,” Clark noted, his fingers still stroking through your hair. “They don’t have to put themselves in constant danger and despair to write a think piece.”

“You don’t think I’m a good writer?” You asked him, trying to lift your head from his thigh, needing to create some space between you and your best friend before he could say something that might kill your spirits all together.

“You could be better,” Clark shrugged, his shoulders lifting and collapsing in one cohesive motion as disinterest flickered across his face. You could tell he was done with the conversation now, dishing out that he didn’t think you were that great at what you do, then ready to move on like you weren’t going to have more questions for him.

It wasn’t often that you cried in front of Clark. On the off chance that you did cry in front of him, it was for good reason, and Clark had never made you cry. Until now. The tears that threatened the corner of your waterline were mortifying, and the more you tried to blink them away, the quicker they began formulating. 

Once more, you tried to move yourself off of his lap, but Clark held you in place. Finally, he looked down at you, his facial expression shifting from disinterest to amusement when he saw the tears spilling down your cheeks. There was no way you could have missed the way his lips curled up, just enough to show he enjoyed the sight of you messy on his lap. And there was absolutely no way to miss the way his eyes shimmered with delight, darkening at the sight of your bottom lip quivering.

“You’re crying? C’mon, it wasn’t that mean,” Clark scoffed as his hand found its way from your hair to your chin, holding your face between his thumb and his forefinger. Vulnerability flooded through you as Clark examined every aspect of your face with such intensity, you wanted to shrink under his gaze.

As you opened your mouth, trying to find the words to let Clark know he had been hurting your feelings all day, it wasn’t just this offhand comment that was contributing to your tears, a small sob released from your chest. The words didn’t come out, only heavier breathing and more tears.

“So fussy,” Clark said, his voice sultry and thick as he gently stroked his pointer finger from your chin to your mouth, placing it between your lips and forcing you to open up. You didn’t know why you were being so compliant with it, but Clark pushed his forefinger and middle finger into your mouth, pressing harshly on the middle of  your tongue and you couldn’t help the moan that stirred. “Let me pacify you.”

Your moans were vibrating off of his fingers as he worked them in and out of your mouth, his gaze fixated on you in a way you had never seen before. It wasn’t just lust that filled it eyes; it was carnal desire, like in this moment he needed you as much as you needed him. At least, that is likely what he wanted you to think.

There was something intrinsically hot about the situation as a whole— you laying there, crying on his lap as he hushed you with his fingers in a way that could be written in an erotica book. Nothing about it felt right, but it didn’t feel wrong either, and you could tell Clark felt the same way by the tent growing underneath his jeans, the length of him pressing against the seat of his pants.

Your mouth salivated at the thought of it, creating more lubricant to slide his fingers in and out of your mouth. His eyes traveled to where you were looking, curious as to what had stopped your tears in their tracks and distracted you. A chuckle, deep from his chest sounded, as he realized how desperate you were for it. Part of him had to know, this whole time, that you wanted him in a way that was less than platonic, right?

“Feels so right but it’s just so wrong,” Clark said, reading your mind as he pushed his fingers in deeper. The tip of his finger hit your gag reflex, causing your head to lurch, but he pushed you back down in his lap. The disinterest that flooded his features less than five minutes ago had completely evaporated, now replaced with sheer and utter amusement.

You were so wet, it was uncomfortable. Your core was dripping with desire, soaking into the cotton of your panties and clinging to you just enough to overwhelm you. With furrowed brows, you tried to talk around Clark’s fingers, and that prior expression of annoyance had returned once more.

“You’re not supposed to be talking, bunny, that’s the point of this. I want you to shut up.” Clark moved his fingers against your tongue once more, pressing and pushing on the insides of your cheeks, carefully grazing the gag reflex every so often in a teasing gesture. He couldn’t help but taunt you, just a bit.

You made a muffled noise, a whine mixed with a moan. Even with his fingers in your mouth, you were still being fussy.

“What?” Clark asked, his tone full of mockery as he offered a sympathetic expression that you knew to be just another one of his taunts. If you weren’t so turned on, you would be trying to figure out what the hell was going on with him, but right now you were too blinded by desire to care— even if that meant Clark was going to mock you the entire time. “You want my cock in your mouth instead? Can’t promise I’ll be nice.”

Your eyes widened and you frantically nodded around his fingers. He didn’t need to see more before he was unbuttoning his pants as you gently lifted your head to allow him to kick them off.

But as soon as Clark’s pants were off, his expression had shifted completely. The mocking expression was now laced with confusion, the evidence of what you were about to get into pressed against the hem of his boxers. 

It was hard for him to look you in the eyes, and you weren��t sure why the sudden shift in demeanor until he asked you, “can you empty out the pockets of my jeans?”

You moved off the couch, picking up his jeans and shuffling through the pockets, feeling silly with the dried tears on your face and Clark’s seeming lack of interest in you now. In the very bottom of his right pocket, there was one ruby earring. You placed it in your palm, showing it to him and that’s when it hit you both.

“Red kryptonite,” Clark said definitively and you thought you could melt right there. His behavior had a reason behind it, yours was driven by pure desire. “I thought it was a ruby earring. I found it at the Talon and was going to turn it into their lost and found.”

“Oh god,” you said, dropping the earring on the floor of the loft. Your feet were moving down the stairs, bolting for the exit before your brain could catch up with you.

Clark stood at the top of the stairs, his half hard dick still swinging in his boxers, “Wait! Let’s talk about this. Please.”

Slowly, with one hand on the door, you turned around to look at him, avoiding looking below the waist. Maybe you two could work things out. In more ways than one.

[muletia]

𝐚 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐩 ✧˖°

that actually catches boobies

[tfp] optimus prime x human!reader 18 + valveplug, mdi!!

summary: optimus discovers boobs

cw: valveplug, breast play, nipple play, oral fixation (optimus) coming untouched, kinda stiff writing (the words weren't wording)

word count: 1300

is this good enough for valentines?

didn't go into the breast feeding kink territory but maybe someday??? who knows

You sit right in front of him, free of clothing but still wearing a bra. With a relaxed, gentle smile, you unhook it, freeing your breasts, baring yourself before him, and Optimus realizes that this must be the human equivalent of showing one’s spark in its beauty and rawness, but also the fragile trust with which you have gifted him. Wants to look you directly in the eyes, to wait for a signal that he can glance downward, but the curiosity of his former self wins out. His optics lower, studying this unfamiliar part of your body. Tries to be chivalrous in this exploration, not wanting you to suddenly change your mind, become scared, and break the trust you’ve extended to him by hiding yourself from his adoration. Optimus wants your comfort. Above all else. Even above his own.

“You are beautiful,” he says, this time looking directly into your eyes. Complimenting your body, but speaking to your soul.

“Oh, thank you,” you reply, suddenly bashful at his deep baritone, proximity, and intimacy. “You are too.” But Optimus lets you take your time, process his words in your mind, and accept them. Only then does he ask:

“May I?”

“Yes.” Because the calm and composure have returned, because there was no other answer.

Gently, with precise care to avoid your apprehensions, he takes your breast in his servo. Soft.

You feel his hesitation on your skin, his fear of squeezing too hard and causing pain. You understand it, but now is not the time for that. You desired his touch; you wanted to feel the pressure of his masculine servos in places reserved only for him, and you wanted to feel it now. To encourage him to explore further, you place your hand on his servo and gently pull it toward yourself.

“You can squeeze them lightly,” you encourage, and only then does he allow himself to press his digits into the plush flesh.

Incomparable softness. Plush, fluffy. Extraordinary. He squeezes again, just to confirm he isn’t dreaming this sensation while awake. Velvety.

“Wondrous,” he whispers, this time caressing your breast out of reverence rather than hesitation. Digits glide over your sensitive skin, occasionally kneading the flesh, still not fully satisfied with the softness it offers. He must have truly been a good mech his entire life if all his decisions had led him to this moment.

“Feels nice, huh? They say this kind of squeezing is relaxing,” you say, trying not to make the experience too strange for him, even though every touch, every stroke teases your warmth, which begs for more stimulation. Optimus squeezes again, and you bite your tongue to stifle a moan. It’s his first time. Don’t be a pervert, you tell yourself, though your body sabotages your good intentions. Your nipples have unknowingly hardened from the exquisite stimulation, brushing against the equally firm but still sensitive servo, which partially pulls away from your breast to explore the previously hidden nub with his thumb. Optimus gently encircles your nipple with his thumb, stroking its base before moving to the tip, where he repeats the same motion, hungrily observing as it stiffens even further, as if demanding something from him.

Feels an unexpected yet irresistible urge to envelop the nipple with his glossa, shocking even himself. “It is,” he admits. Because indeed, it is a pleasant feeling. Unparalleled by any tactile sensation on Cybertron. New, but beautiful. It’s also addictive, because Optimus desires more, as he always does when it comes to you and what you can offer him. “Is this a desired reaction?” he asks, gently kneading your nipple. He wants to conceal it in his intake. To feel it closer, deeper. To find a way to possess you within himself without the connotations of spike buried in valve but equally blissful for you.

Can’t help himself. His processor floods with musings about this unfamiliar sensation, which quickly reaches his glossa, teasing his Cybertronian tongue, and reminding him of its existence. It makes every position in his intake suddenly uncomfortable, begging for movement, pleading for stimuli.

But he must be patient; doesn’t want to pounce on you like a beast, ruining the chance to fulfill his fantasies.

“Mhm,” you hum. “Very.”

He directs his gaze to your face, wanting to ensure you’ll allow him a moment of selfishness, noticing your blush and bitten lip, already understanding that this exquisite pleasure isn’t one-sided. And that makes him even happier than he already is — if that’s even possible. “I am honored that this is equally enjoyable for you. May I?” he asks. And even though you’re not entirely sure what he means or what his intentions are, you allow him, knowing he would never hurt you.

He brings his faceplate closer to your torso and opens his intake, soon enveloping your breast with the warmth of glossa. Wraps it around your nipple, slowly gliding along its entire length, exploring every bump, unevenness, and perfect imperfection.

“Oh God!” you moan, and it affects him like a red rag to a bull.

He discovers the unknown, with every lick realizing that if only you’d let him, he could spend his entire life attached to your breast. He knows that desire is currently driving his primitive thought process, but, Primus, it’s incredible. Shouldn’t be selfish, but can’t stop himself, especially when the symphony of your delicate moans and satisfied murmurs spurs him on.

He circles your areola, each round becoming faster. Wants more. Glossa again runs along the entire length of your nipple, pausing at the tip, which he nudges a few times. And apparently, it’s a bullseye, as he feels your encouraging touch on the top of his helm, just behind the crest. With such encouragement, he repeats the movement, working his glossa continuously to draw even more pleasure from you.

Feels his throbbing spike demanding attention, pressing painfully against the interface panel. A few drops of transfluid have already dripped from the tip, but Optimus prefers to use his free servo to cup your other breast, which he begins to knead gently, repeating the same motions as before. Doesn’t need direct touch on his spike, feeding instead on your pleasure and the sensation of the hardened nipple being worked over by his glossa. That will be enough for him to reach overload; he knows it, because he doesn’t dare ask for your help. This is your time for bliss. And while he always tries to show his adoration for you, this is also your time to be worshipped. Your satisfaction is more than enough — this time, he’s sure of it. Besides, he’s already so, so close to reaching his own climax.

“Optimus!” you gasp, and your voice reaches straight to his spike, which twitches shyly.

He caresses and kneads your breast while his glossa circles your nipple again, soon switching to licking it like a thirsty dog; messy and ravenous. Wants to bring you to overload, wants you to feel good, because only then will he free himself from the growing tension behind his interface panel. So he tries one more tactic. Hungrily sucking on your nipple, occasionally pausing to play with it using his glossa.

“Ah, Optimus!” you cry out.

You climax, and overload rolls through him, still latched onto your nipple. Raises his optics to meet your face and is greeted by a flushed but blissful expression adorned with a serene smile. When your eyes meet his, you gently stroke his helm.

“You did great,” you praise. Only then does his intake release your thoroughly ravished and coolant-slicked breast with a quiet ‘pop.’ The lower part of his faceplate shares the same fate, smeared with Cybertronian saliva, but Optimus doesn’t seem to mind. Nor does he take any action to clean himself, still fixated on your hardened nipples and your entire breast, as he doesn’t release the other one. He gives it one last squeeze and strokes the nipple with his thumb. “Oh? A second round?”

“Please.”

[xoxo-samii]

Thinking about...

Men with big ego's who are actually the whiniest whores ever.

NSFW under cut!!!

It’s not his fault he was blessed by being the greatest.

He has the best face, the best voice, the best body and he’s also the best in bed…

But he’s not the best at praising other people…and that unfortunately includes you.

He’ll always give you backhanded compliments like, “It’s okay..but mines is better!” Or “You look decent next to me..”

So it’s a shocker when he’s moaning and whining like a bitch and starts to praise you!

“Fuck! P-please princess! Doing so g-good, Please let me cum!” He cries out.

His poor dick can’t handle all the mean abuse you were doing! Giving him short and fast strokes and slowly massaging his tip with your other hand. :(

He knocked his head back and continued to let out moans and praises, tears started to pour out his pretty eyes. “Y-you’re amazing! N-ngh. Please please!”

He arched his back as his big muscular tried to touch your hands, you quickly slap them away and stop what you were doing. “N-no! Don’t stop pretty, I was almost done!”

His voice cracking as he’s under you, he ruts his hips up, trying to get any pleasure he could!! he don’t care how desperate and worthless he looked. He needed to cum!! :((

You laughed at his pitiful state and asked him who’s the best, he whined, not wanting to answer but this only made you slap his hips hard. He let out a yelp and started to yap away.

“Y-you baby! Fuckk uhh, y-your the best! The best! Love y-you s’much, so per-perfect!! wanna fuckin’ cum—”

You decided your heard enough and started to stroke him faster, “Ahh f-fuckkk yes! Yes like that! S-so good, ughh.” He shuts his eyes and shouts out incoherents, poor guy was fucked out his mind. :(

You felt his dick twitch indicating he was getting close, “C-cum! m’gonna cum! Don’t st-stop!” He had a strong grip on your arm, his big muscle flexing, beads of sweat rolling off.

You felt like he learned his lesson so you gave him permission to release.

You didn’t have to tell him twice!!

With one last moan, his body started to shake. Cum started to spurt out his tip, “Hnngh~", th-thank you! So f-fuckin gooddd!” the white sticky substance going all over your hands and his stomach.

He continued rutting into your soft hands to ride out his high. You looked at him in awe, his beautiful face flushed a dark red and sweat rolling down his chin. His beautiful locks disheveled and some pieces sticking to his forehead.

“Fuckkkk…” He whimpered out, his dick going limp and so did his body. He tried to catch his breath but was having troubles.

He released your arm and ran his fingers through his hair, “T-that was g-good” he looked you in the eyes.

Lets just say he didn’t get ANY sleep for that night.

KAISER, Sae, TENGEN, Sanemi, DAZAI, Ranpo, GOJO, OIKAWA, ATSUMU, BAKUGO, IZANA, Baji, Sanzu, GRAY, Natsu, (and any of your faves)

[leneires]

knives & confessions suguru geto ᥫ᭡

pair. owner! suguru x cat hybrid! reader | genre. fluff, slight dead dove if you squint, established relationship, suggestive smut, oneshot, hinted sadist & masochist | warning. hinted knife play, one time mention of the word ‘papa’ so block if you don’t like that , very mild dark themes. | 1,006k. words

۶ৎ synopsis. Suguru comes home to a valentine’s day surprise prepared by his one and only sweet girl after long hours of working. ⤿ inspo !

Droopy eyes and a quivering lip. She stares at the sheet of envelope. Draped in the dusty rose of her kissed imprints. Her fur tuft tail twitches. Perked ears hanging low. “Suguru.” she murmurs. The name despite it’s familiarity still feels foreign to her tongue when saying it. She neatly writes the name, a crisp expression tracing the corners of her lips once finished. ‘Suguru Geto’ it displays. Embedded in cursive. What if he were to discard her letter ? laugh at her foolish confession and mock her otherwise. A heap of stickers adornes the envelope. She had taken extra time to dedicate each piece of sticker based on his favorite colors.

However, Suguru & her weren’t alike. He was human. And she wasn't. An eager kitten like her living under his roof did have it’s perks though. He was her doting owner after all. Lavished in his tender kisses nonstop with his coarse hands giving her fluttering ears the scratches she’d oh so love to her heart’s content. She stares at the pint sized polaroid tucked within the envelope. A photograph of her perched atop his lap while her canines, not so sharp nor strong enough to pierce a single barrier of skin. Remains in Suguru’s cheek. Two wide toothy grins exchanged between them as his hand grips her chin, facing the camera. The initials ‘s’ & her's are scribbled at the bottom.

Valentine’s day, an occasion of heartfelt romance. Bouquets and chocolates served for their soulmates, loved one’s included such as a friend or relative. Never has she tried partaking in the tradition. Neither did Suguru. Yet as the years prolong, from being a feline stray wandering around the dumpsters for any scrap of food to being welcomed in his arms for a warm home she’s never asked for nor expected. Her stomach then coils, butterflies erupting at the reminiscencing thought. “Yes. I can surely do this.” She reminds, irked at the fact she’s talking to no one in particular than herself.

As long as it eases her then it’s no big deal. She seals the letter closed & positions it on the handmade bouquet. lilac, his favored color. Making crochet flowers was the closest to an actual one. Embarrassment fuels her. Despite having unlimited access to his credit card, she isn't just a little girl needing his guidance at all times. No matter the amount of times Suguru coddles her daily and coos at her for trying to mirror his way of living. Even though she loves it in secret, a fraction of her independence is still there.

Treading towards the doorway. She hides the bouquet behind her, in a few minutes or seconds. He’d announce his arrival. The rush of excitement blended with her fidgety tail & ears emerges. Three loud knocks are delivered. Followed by an exhausted grunt & a pair of jingling keys.

Her tail wiggles in return. “There’s my girl.” Suguru is quickly dragged by the arm once locking the threshold. Collapsing on the arm chair, straddled by none other than her. Loud purrs resonating in the air while nuzzling her head at the crook of his neck. He strokes her temples , gently shoving a digit on her drooling mouth. Never has she been this clingy, Usually, he‘s accustomed to her meek demeanor. Too cautious of initiating handsy gestures, not unless he does it first. Suguru scoffs at her and gives her tongue a light hearted pinch. “What’s gotten you so worked up huh ?” The drool coating his fingers doesn't faze him when he pulls them away.

“Please close your eyes, promise you won’t open them.” she cages his torso, thighs draped on both sides of the seat with her arms hooked on his shoulders. Suguru rubs circular patterns on her rear that’s only adorned in a sheer skirt, coated in soft pink. One of his favorites too. He hums in response as he follows her instruction. “Anything for you.” His pupils are closed with a prying chuckle.

Her heart drums. Each beat is erratic, irregular. “It’s okay baby.” Suguru pats her head, ruffling her twin braids in reassurance. Flustered, she quietly nods in response. With a relieved sigh slipping pass her lips. She takes a hold of his palm and gives it a squeeze. Suguru opens his eyes. The glimpse of her shaky hands holding a bouquet, handcrafted with a glimpse of an envelope laid at the bottom instantly melts him. His sweet girl, his one and only little girl. Suguru fully knows he’s won the lottery, wholly.

“Do you like it? I—I’m sorry. I just, just…” she takes a deep heavy breath when Suguru stills her trembling ankles, both of his grasps firmly pressed on her knees to lull the wary look on her poor little expression. “I just…like you” she trails off. Her tail freezes, pointed ears rising at the sudden burst of his laughter. Suguru throws his head back and shoots her an amused glance. “You were nervous over a confession ? we’ve been dating for a while now, baby. You really are full of surprises.” he shakes his head at her.

“I like you too.” Suguru places a kiss atop of her head, a polished dagger bundled in a pink bow handed to her. He guides her wavering clutch near his jawline. The steel knife brushing his scarred flesh. “You know what to do.” Suguru taps her temples, urging her to go ahead.

She carves her initial on his skin, her tail eventually snakes around his forearms. Delighted purrs and giggles chiming in the walls when the crimson beads of blood splatters on her temples. “I love you lots papa!” Suguru can’t help but groan at her giddiness. He briskly tugs at her tuft, grip tightening around her limbs when the blade pierces him. He automatically throbs. Fuck.

“Atta girl. I fucking love you more. “ Of course, Suguru also has a surprise prepared, long before Valentine's day started. Except it’s in their bedroom. The visible bulge on his slacks tells enough.

[scoutofmymind]

Momma I request a prompt inspired by a song of your choosing (: I L Y

Couldn’t Make It Any Harder — { Luigi x Reader }

Content: mental health issues, mentions of past trauma, TorturedArtist!Reader, Empath!Luigi, Luigi says “go birds” after flipping off a woman, confused feelings, situationship, reader is just Very Confused in general, angst, eventual romance.

Wc: 5,107

I couldn't make it

Any harder to love me

Oh, one day, believe me

You’ll want someone who makes it easy

This has been floating around in my asks for awhile, and I wasn’t feeling practically inspired by any songs lately until Sabrina released Couldn’t Make It Any Harder and I couldn’t stop thinking about writing it.

This work was done quickly between my other ongoing Luigi projects, so I apologize for any inconsistencies or skipped backstory (you know I’m a backstory bitch) but I simply needed to get this out of my system, and remembered that an anon had asked me to write something based off of a song quite awhile ago!

Also, how could I leave you hanging on Valentine’s Day? Even if I’m posting this at 2 AM….

It's 8:30 AM at your usual coffee spot — that tiny café two blocks from Luigi's apartment where the barista always draws terrible attempts at latte art, and you’re still wearing yesterday's mascara, not because you've been crying, but because you spent the night in your studio, channeling your frustration into a new piece that's all sharp edges and bold strokes.

"I mean, we had a great time!" You're gesturing with your coffee cup, nearly spilling it. "We went to that new gallery opening, and he actually understood my rant about contemporary minimalism. Then dinner, drinks, great conversation — and now? Radio silence. Three days of nothing."

Luigi, sitting across from you, is trying not to smile at how animated you are, his laptop open beside him — he's probably got a Slack channel blowing up with messages from his dev team, but he rushed to meet you for this emergency coffee session, anyway.

The startup's dress code might be casual, but he always manages to look put-together in that effortless way that makes other tech bros look like they're not trying hard enough.

"Maybe I'm just-“ you pause, stirring your coffee aggressively, "too much, you know? Too loud, too passionate, too-"

"Stop," Luigi cuts in, closing his laptop and fixing his gaze on you again, "You're not too anything. You're exactly enough. So don’t even go there with me.” He massages his temples, “Too early for it.”

"I know that," you say firmly, because you do. "That's the thing — I like who I am. I like that I can talk about art for hours. I like that I get excited about things. I like that I feel everything so intensely. I'm not going to make myself smaller just because some guy can't handle it."

"Then don't," Luigi says, and there's something in his voice that makes you look up from the foam disappearing from your cappuccino. "The right person won't want you to."

"Exactly! And you know what? If Jake can't handle a woman who knows what she wants and isn't afraid to say it-“ you trail off, reaching for your sketchbook. You start absent-mindedly drawing on a corner of the page.

“Ugh,” Luigi’s face screws in mock disgust, “His name was Jake?”

Putting down your pen, you lean back in your chair with a frustrated sigh. "But then again, if I'm so great, why does this keep happening? Three first dates in two months, Lu. Three. And they all end the same way."

"You mean with guys who can't handle someone who actually has opinions?" Luigi takes a sip of his coffee, his fingers tapping absently on his closed laptop. A notification buzzes on his phone — probably his team wondering where he is — but he doesn't even glance at it.

"No, see, that's just it," you lean forward, your hands moving expressively as you talk. "They love it at first. They think it's so fascinating and refreshing that I'm 'not like other girls', or whatever." You roll your eyes at the phrase, hating the taste of the words in your mouth. "But then it's like they realize I'm actually serious. That I'm not just putting on some manic pixie dream girl act for their entertainment."

Luigi's mouth quirks up at one corner. "Heaven forbid you be a real person with actual thoughts and feelings."

"Right? And I know — I know I'm not too much," you say, but your voice wavers slightly. You start fidgeting with your rings, a habit Luigi's seen a thousand times when you're wrestling with something in your head. "But sometimes I wonder if-"

"If what?"

"If maybe I should just- you know.. tone it down? Just a little? Just at first?" The words sound wrong coming out of your mouth, and you can see from Luigi's expression that he knows it, too. "No, you're right, forget I said that. That's stupid."

"It is stupid," he agrees, but gently. His eyes catch yours across the table again, his gaze steady and genuine. "Remember that installation you did last month? The one about authenticity?"

"Yeah?"

"What did you tell that bag of bones professor who said it was 'overwhelmingly honest'?"

A smile starts to spread across your face. "I told him that was the whole damn point."

"Exactly." Luigi checks his watch and starts gathering his things — he's definitely late now. "So maybe the problem isn't that you're too overwhelming,” he pats the top of your head, slinging his bag over his shoulder, “maybe they're just underwhelming."

•

You're standing in front of your last piece, forcing a smile that feels like it's splitting your face in half, as another guest explains to you what your own art means.

Behind you, you can hear snippets of conversations that make your skin crawl.

It's a bit... aggressive, isn't it?

Not quite gallery standard... these nepo kids..

Experimental, but perhaps too experimental..

Your hands are shaking, so you clasp them behind your back. You've been doing this grim waltz for two hours — nodding, smiling, explaining yourself over and over to people who look through you rather than at you, and the gallery owner keeps shooting you these looks, these little disappointed glances that make you feel about two inches tall.

You catch Luigi's eye across the room.

He's been watching, you realize, while pretending to be deeply invested in a conversation with some tech entrepreneur who probably thinks art is a good investment opportunity, and he tilts his head slightly — a question.

You shake yours — you’re not okay.

"The brushstrokes here," the current patron is saying, pointing at your most vulnerable piece, "they're rather — well, chaotic. Unorganized. Muddy. It’s strange to see. Was that intentional?"

Something inside you splinters.

"Excuse me," you manage, your voice surprisingly steady for how the room is tunneling, how your fingers begin to tingle, how your lungs have lost the ability to draw in a full breath. "I need some air."

You make it through the gallery, past the whispers and the stares, past the owner who starts to say something about maintaining appearances, past the front desk and around the corner to the back alley.

Then your legs give out.

You're gasping, trying to remember how breathing works, your back against the cold brick wall. The dress — that stupid yellow dress that Luigi said was his favorite — feels too tight. Everything feels too tight.

You tear at your collar, needing air, needing space, needing- "Hey." Luigi's voice, close but not too close. "I'm here."

"I can't-" you choke out. "I can't breathe, I can't-"

"Yes, you can." He moves slowly into your space, hands hovering but not touching. "Look at me. Just look at me. I’m right here. It’s all good.”

You shake your head violently, sliding down the wall. "They're right. They're all right. I'm not- this- This isn't-" Each word feels like it's being ripped from your throat, bloody and raw and dishonest and horrific. They aren’t right. You know they aren’t.

"Bullshit." The sharpness in his voice makes you look up. He's crouched in front of you now, his tie completely undone, his eyes fierce. "They're not right. They're not even close to right. They're looking at fireworks and complaining about the noise. Old fuckin’ bunch’a assholes.”

A sob catches in your throat, half laugh, half cry. "That's a terrible metaphor."

"Made you look at me, though." His voice softens, his hands resting on your clammy shoulders. "Breathe with me, okay? Just breathe."

You try to match his exaggerated breathing, your hands still shaking. "I put everything into this show," you whisper after your second deep breath. "Everything."

"I know."

"And they just- they- they just-“

"I know." He shifts, sitting beside you against the wall, careful to leave space, but still your shoulders bump together. "But. Want to know what I think?"

You turn your head to look at him, makeup probably ruined, dress definitely stained from the alley ground, but you’ve already abandoned ship, you’ve waved your white flag — there’s no use in pretending you haven’t crumbled in a New York alleyway now. "What?"

"I think they're terrified of you."

That startles a real laugh out of you, “What?"

"You heard me." He's looking straight ahead, but there's something fierce in his profile. "You walked in there with your soul on full display, unapologetic and raw and real, and they don't know what to do with that. People like that, they're comfortable with art they can hang in their dining rooms and forget about.” You watch him blink, gathering the words, “Your shit doesn't let them forget. It makes them feel things they don't want to feel."

You nudge him gently, a laugh flaring your nostrils. "That's a lot better than the fireworks metaphor."

Now he does look at you, a small smile playing at his lips, his cheeks blushed crimson from the wine he’d gulped down just to make himself a bit more sociable. "Yeah, well, I've had three glasses of their overpriced wine. I'm feeling poetic."

Another laugh bubbles up, watery but real. You let your head fall against his shoulder, just for a moment. "I don't want to go back in there."

"So we won’t." He doesn't move, letting you lean on him, his head leaning atop yours. "Let's go get real drinks instead. You can tell me all the things you wanted to say to that guy who tried to explain color theory to you."

"God, he was the worst." You straighten up slowly, wiping at your eyes. "Did you see his socks?"

"I was trying not to."

•

You're standing at the open bar, counting the minutes until it's socially acceptable to leave, when Madison — a college friend you haven't seen in years, who always seemed to help herself to open bars beyond her means — sways over.

Her champagne sloshes dangerously close to your dress, but for some reason, you don’t step back.

"Oh my god, it really is you!" Her voice carries just a bit too loud, and you can feel a few heads turning in your direction. "I almost didn't recognize you without, you know-“ she gestures vaguely at all of you, that sick smile still on her blush pink lips. "All the paint and shit all over you.”

You take a long sip of your drink, hoping it would wash away the rising tide of anxiety in your core. "Good to see you too, Mads.”

"So,” She leans in conspiratorially, her breath smelling of booze and mid-tier champagne. “I heard about your gallery show last month. The one at The Maxwell? God, that must have been-“ She trails off, eyes wide with what looks like concern but feels like something else entirely.

Your hand tightens around your glass. "Must have been what?" Your lips tighten into a line, “It was an- an honor to have the opportunity.”

Words your father had always said to you growing up echo in the far depths of your mind; Honor and Integrity.

There’s a humility in it, in accepting such a nightmare as privilege.

"Well, I mean — I saw that article that was going around Instagram. About how you just up and left? In the middle of opening night?" She takes another sip of champagne, watching you over the rim with her big, stupid brown eyes. "Is that true? That you didn't even come back to collect your pieces? God, that's crazy!"

The word crazy hits like a slap, and you can still feel the panic from that night, the walls closing in as people whispered, pointed, discussed your work like it was a car crash they couldn't look away from and did nothing to aid.

"It's not exactly-"

"And after everything with Matt, and then Jason- ugh,” She shakes her head. "I mean, I get it. Using art as therapy. But maybe actual therapy would be — I dunno — you know, beneficial?”

"Madison-"

"I'm just worried about you," she continues, reaching for your arm and her fingers feel like serpents, coiling around your skin, suffocating you. "We all are. First the whole thing with your poor father — god, remember how he used to say you were just too-"

"Don't." Your voice comes out sharper than intended, your brows furrowed at her like she’d backhanded you. “Don’t you fucking say another word.”

Madison almost gasps, clutching her necklace. “See? This is what I mean. All this reactionary stuff. The anger. The intensity. Have you thought about getting help? My therapist says sometimes when we've been through things-"

The garden somehow feels too small, the fairy lights too bright, the music too loud. Across the room, Luigi is trapped in conversation with the bride's uncle, but somehow he must sense something because his eyes find yours, his head tilted at you, his usual question.

Everything okay?

This time, you look away from him.

"I’m going to leave this conversation before-“

"No, wait, listen." Madison's grip on your arm tightens, slithering, sneering, hissing. Fangs, poison. “That show — people were talking about it for weeks. How raw it was. How fucking uncomfortable it made everyone. One of the pieces — the one with all the broken mirrors? Someone said it looked like a cry for help."

You can feel your pulse in your throat. "It wasn't a fucking-“

"And then you just disappeared! Like, who does that, girl? Just leaves their own show? The curator had to pack up your pieces himself. That's what the article said. Is that true?" She may as well have a microphone beneath your trembling lips, taking on the role of some cheap reporter for a local shittalking magazine.

Of course she read the article.

Everyone read the article.

The one that called your work a disturbing glimpse into a clearly troubled mind. The one that suggested your artistic breakdown was inevitable given your history of emotional instability.

It was laughable, truly, and anyone that knew you well enough had known so much to be so very far from the truth.

"I had my reasons," you manage, but your voice sounds distant even to yourself. “I had reason for leaving the way I did.”

"Obviously you did. That's what I'm saying. Maybe if you got some help, you know, dealt with all this and found ways to properly cope-“ She waves her hand vaguely again, like swatting away a pesky fly. "Then maybe you could make art that's more you know.. accessible. Enjoyable. Less-“

"Less me?" The words come out before you can stop them. “Bullshit. You wouldn’t know, Madison. You haven’t seen a single one of my shows, haven’t shown yourself at any of my gallery openings-“ your cheeks burn red hot, your glass of wine discarded and your hands balled into fists. “You’re lucky I don’t fucking pop that smirk right off your-“

"That's not what I-"

“It is exactly what you fucking-“

“No, it’s not! Look at yourself!”

"Hey!” Luigi's voice cuts through the rising panic. He's suddenly there, solid and real. "Sorry to interrupt, but we have that thing that we have to get to-“ he loops his arm around yours, and he swears he can feel the heat radiating off of you, hot and quivering like a volcano deciding if it’s time to erupt just yet or not.

Madison blinks at him, her nostrils flared at the sudden interruption. It seems as though this is exactly the reaction she wanted, and was pissed the show had called curtains so quickly. "What thing?"

"That very important thing," Luigi says firmly, already guiding you away. "Great catching up. Green is not your color. Go Birds.” As he turns you both, he raises his middle finger behind your back — not because you needed defending, but because that's who Luigi is; all sharp edges and fierce loyalty, a guard dog with his teeth bared in your honor, though, you catch the gesture in a reflection, and something warm unfurls in your chest.

Not because you needed saving, but because he'd always take your side, no matter the circumstances. He didn’t need to know why you were barking at this girl he’d never met before — he already knew you had good reason to do it.

You make it to the venue's back garden before your legs give out, and the fairy lights blur through tears you refuse to let fall. "Did you— fuck,” Your voice shakes as you reach to wipe away the tears before they even get the chance to glide down your cheeks. "Did you actually hear what she was saying or just see it?”

"Caught the greatest hits." His jaw is tight, his hand resting on your lower back as he hunches forward, clearly concerned but approaching all of it carefully.

You can’t help but wonder then how many times you’ll find yourselves like this — Luigi rescuing you from yet another mishap, and that alone could become a new reason to feel sorry for yourself.

And him.

"The article." You wrap your arms around yourself. "She read the fucking article."

Ironically, you had originally taken the article well.

Too well, in fact.

You'd invited them all over — Luigi, Anna, Theo — for what you called A Reading of My Professional Obituary. You'd spent all day in the kitchen, channeling your grandmother's stress-cooking legacy; bouillabaisse simmering for hours, Tarte Tatin caramelizing to golden perfection.

The good wine came out, the kind you'd been saving for a real occasion.

Perched in your chair like it was a throne, wine glass dangling from your fingers, you'd performed dramatic readings of the choicest quotes. "Sources close to the artist describe a history of emotional instability," you'd intoned, affecting a pompous art critic voice that had Luigi choking on his wine. "An unsettling collection that seemed less like art and more like a cry for help.”

The evening devolved into a tipsy game of "Guess the Snitch" — everyone taking turns suggesting increasingly ridiculous candidates for the mysterious source. "It was Gabby, in the gallery, with the emotional manipulation!" Theo had declared, wielding his bouillabaisse spoon like a gavel.

But Luigi had watched you through it all — the way your hand shook slightly when pouring wine, how your laugh got a little too loud to be genuine, and how you'd spent three hours making a perfect French dessert like your life depended on proving you weren't falling apart.

"We all did." Luigi reminds you, his voice gentle but firm. "Christ, we turned it into dinner theater. Remember how Anna did that dramatic interpretation of ' the unsettling collection'?" His hand finds your knee, squeezing. "And it was shit. Not only was it shit — it was cowardly. Didn't even have the spine to name you."

You tilt your head back, using the stars as gravity's help against the tears threatening to spill. The fairy lights from the wedding garden blur into little halos. "I know, but — these people, Lu." Your voice catches, and you hate how it betrays you. "They believe it. They're all walking around thinking I'm some unhinged artist who needs to be sedated and locked away from sharp objects." A laugh escapes, but it's wet and hollow. "God, I wish I'd understood what that article would do. I wish-"

But there's no point in wishing.

The damage was done with surgical precision.

They hadn't needed to use your name — everyone knew exactly whose exhibition had opened at Maxwell Gallery on August fifteenth.

Yours.

•

The hotel room feels smaller with each passing hour.

You've mastered a careful choreography — sliding past each other in the narrow spaces, maintaining precise distances on the king bed as you both pretend to watch some mindless cooking show. But sometimes, despite your best efforts, you slip. His hand brushes yours as you both reach for the room service menu, your feet touch under the shared blanket; each accidental contact sends you recoiling like a startled cat, though you used to fall asleep during movie nights without a second thought.

When your knee accidentally bumps his as you shift position, you jerk away so violently you nearly fall off the bed.

"Okay." Luigi mutes the TV, turning to face you. "We need to talk about this."

"About what?" But you know exactly what, can feel heat creeping up your neck and it makes you want to run.

"About how we used to share my twin bed during college when you crashed at my place, but now you act like my skin is fucking toxic." His voice is gentle, but there's an undercurrent of hurt that makes your core ache. "Remember that road trip to Detroit? You slept on my chest the whole way back because the car heater was broken.“ he looks desperate, grasping at the last straws of you. “I feel like we hardly look each other in the eyes now.”

You stare hard at the geometric pattern on the duvet, picking at a loose thread. "Things were different then."

"Were they?" He shifts closer, and you fight the urge to move away. "Or are you just scared they weren't?"

You get up abruptly, needing to put physical space between you and that question, the Chicago night spreading out beyond the window, a constellation of lights blurring through unshed tears; each one feels like a witness to this moment, to your cowardice.

"You know what changed," you say finally, arms crossed tight against your chest like armor. "After Maxwell, after the article, after everything became public consumption — I can't be that person anymore.”

"Why not?" His voice is closer now — he's moved to the edge of the bed, but he doesn't approach further. Giving you space while refusing to let you run.

Very classic Luigi.

A laugh escapes you, bitter and dry. "Because now everyone's watching. Waiting for the next shoe to drop. And you-“ You turn just enough to catch his reflection in the window, superimposed over the city lights. "You're too important to me, Lu.”

"So you'd rather just — what? Keep pretending?" There's frustration in his voice now, raw and real. "We both know that's not sustainable. Not when we used to-“ He trails off, and you recall the many countless nights on his cramped couch, your head on his chest, his heartbeat your lullaby to the most restful sleep you’d ever known.

"Maybe not," you admit quietly. "But it's safer than the alternative."

"Safer for who?"

The question almost knocks you off your feet.

Because he's right — this careful distance isn't protecting him. It's protecting you. From vulnerability. From the possibility of loss. From the terrifying reality that despite everything, despite all your jagged edges and dark corners, he's still here.

Still looking at you like you're something precious instead of precarious.

The silence stretches between you, heavy with all the things you're afraid to say, all the ways you're afraid to need him, and even more terrified of the way he needs you.

Eventually, you turn from the window, facing him. "It can't be simple. I won't let it be." Your voice catches. "I push and I pull and I keep everyone at arm's length until they prove me right by leaving."

Luigi stands slowly, like he's approaching a wild animal. "You've been trying so hard to make it impossible," he says softly. "Creating distance, convincing yourself I'll give up." He takes another step closer. "But loving you has always been the easiest thing I've ever done."

"Don't." The word comes out choked, your hand pressing against his chest in hopes that he’ll back away. "Don't say that when you know how complicated — how- how difficult-"

"Difficult?" He's close enough now that you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes, stood firm but not inching any closer. "You want to talk about difficult? Try watching you date other people. Try sitting across from you at coffee shops for years and watching you cry over them. Try fucking loving you quietly through every gallery opening, every crisis,“ his brows furrow, his nostrils flare, “you don’t get to tell me what loving you is like.”

Your breath catches as he reaches for you.

"You think you're pushing me away?" His voice is barely above a whisper, his hands finally cradling your face, tears dampening your cheeks that blaze with warmth. "I've been yours since that first night you fell asleep on my shoulder during finals week. Everything since then — it's just been waiting."

You clench your jaw, your heart a wild thing against your ribs. This tightrope you and Luigi have been walking for years — this delicate balance of almost-but-not-quite, of maybe-someday-but-not-now — has finally frayed beneath your feet. All those careful steps, those perfectly maintained distances, those nights of pretending your skin didn't burn where he almost touched you.

They’ve led you here, to this hotel room in Chicago, where the fantasy of staying safely suspended between friendship and something more has finally given way to gravity.

And what, you wonder, has Luigi seen in you to make him want to dive deeper into your chaos?

He's already witnessed the 3 AM phone calls when your mind won't quiet, the obsessive cleaning episodes that leave your hands raw and your apartment sterile. He's held you through the tears that come without warning, weathered the anger that burns hot and fast like summer lightning.

You're no manic pixie dream girl — you're the real thing, messy and unpredictable, with a heart that bleeds all over everything it touches.

He's either a storm chaser or a fool, you think.

Some hopeless beast tamer who hasn't realized that some creatures aren't meant to be gentled, that some storms leave nothing but wreckage in their wake.

But that's the thing — to Luigi, you've never been a storm to weather or a beast to tame. He doesn't look at you like you're broken machinery in need of repair, doesn't treat your edges like something to be smoothed away.

Instead, he's spent years matching your pace, stepping back when you needed space, stepping forward when you needed anchor. And now, finally, the weight of all that careful patience has brought him here — raw and honest in this dim hotel room, asking you to either meet him in this space between what you are and what you could be, or lay him to rest.

"Touch me," he says, the words falling soft but heavy in the space between you. His eyes hold yours, steady and sure, "Or let me go.”

The city lights paint his silhouette in gold and shadow, and you realize you've never seen him look so vulnerable, so stripped of the careful composure he always maintains. Your Luigi laid bare — not the patient friend, not the steady shoulder, but a man who's finally reached the end of his endurance.

"What if we break?" The question slips from your lips, small and honest, carrying all the weight of your fears that kept you at such a distance all these years — shattering to pieces, left broken by the man you’d loved the most.

Luigi's eyes soften, and something like a smile — sad and sweet and knowing — tugs at the corner of his lips. "Then we break," he says simply, his thumbs swiping away the tears that slide down your cheeks. "But I'd rather that than spend the rest of my life whole and wondering."

His hands haven’t moved. Patient, steady Luigi, who has never pushed but never fully retreated, either. Who has somehow found this perfect middle ground between staying and going, between asking and waiting.

And maybe that's what finally does it — the realization that he's offering you both beginning and end in the same breath. That he's standing here saying yes to all of it; the possibility of breaking, of shattering, of ending up with nothing but deadly carnage between you.

That he knows exactly what he's asking for, and he's asking anyway.

Your hand moves before you can think yourself out of it again, crossing the space between you like a prayer finally answered. When you cup his face, the scrape of stubble against your palm is both foreign and achingly familiar — like a song you used to know by heart, now half-remembered.

His eyes flutter closed at your touch, and you feel the slight tremor in his jaw, the way he leans into your hand like he's been starving for it.

His breath catches, shaky and soft, and when he speaks, his voice is rough with emotion. "There you are," he whispers against your palm, like he's greeting someone long lost, like you've finally come home after years away. "There you are."

His lips brush your palm once more before he lifts his gaze to yours, eyes dark with something between hope and heartache. "Tell me to pull away," he whispers, voice rough. "Tell me this isn't what you want, and I'll go. I'll understand."

But his body betrays him — the slight tremor still present in his jaw under your touch, the way he's still leaning into your hand like he can't help himself. He's offering you an exit, even now. Steady, selfless Luigi, always making sure you have a way out, even when it's killing him to do so.

And that's what breaks you finally — not his touch or his words, but this endless capacity of his to put your needs first.

To stand here offering everything he has left and the chance to walk away from it.

His hand finds your waist, fingers pressing into soft flesh with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. That small sound seems to undo something in him — his control fractures, and suddenly he's pulling you down to him with a urgency that matches your own, your hands bracing against his chest, feeling the thundering of his heart beneath your palms.

"I've thought about this," he confesses roughly, eyes locked on yours with an intensity that makes heat pool low in your stomach, his thumb tracing a burning path along your hip bone. "Having you like this.”

You can feel the tension coiled in him, the way he's still holding back despite everything. Even now, he's giving you the chance to set the pace, to decide how far this goes. But you're done with hesitation, done with the careful distance you've maintained for so long.

You lean down, letting your lips brush against his ear. "Show me," you whisper, and feel him shudder beneath you. "Show me how you wanted me."

He moves with a swiftness that steals your breath, flipping your positions in one fluid motion. Now he's the one hovering above you, his forearm braced beside your head, other hand still at your waist.

The weight of him, the heat of him so close — it makes your head spin.

"Like this," he breathes, pressing his forehead to yours. "Just like this." He holds you like you’ll run from him — just like he’s watched you run from everything before that doesn’t run from you first.

Your hands find their way to his shoulders, feeling the tension there, the way he's trembling slightly despite his strength. "I'm here," you whisper back, one hand sliding up to cup his cheek. "I'm not going anywhere."

[concretejunglefm]

Oooh, if you're up for writting mutual masturbation also with Noah, I wouldn't mind that at all (not stepbro tho, just Noah lol).

Or if not that, then maybe face sitting with Noah so this request doesn't go to waste muhehe bye

CW: mutual masturbation, dry humping, men whimpering and rambling ig?

NSFW below the cut 🔞 Minors DNI.

Mutual masturbation with best friend!Noah?

The same best friend you have no problem sharing a bed with. It’s not like he’d notice if you started slowly grinding against the pillow you’ve placed between your thighs for comfort, because there’s just a slight dull ache you need to satisfy before you can really fall asleep. You can hear his breathing and it's soft enough to convince you he’s asleep anyway, until…

“What are you doing?” Noah’s voice pierces through the room, causing you to freeze and halt any movement you’re making.

“Nothing.” You lie, hoping he won’t notice it.

“You were rocking the bed.”

Damnit. You thought you had been more discreet, but apparently, that was not the case.

“If you need any help—”

“No, I don’t,” you huff, while he chuckles. It’s not the first time he’s offered, and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to keep declining his offers.

After a moment, you hear him ask, “What do you need?”

You’re hesitant when you roll over and onto your back, a bit tentative because the last time this happened, you both promised it would be the last time. Apparently, that rule has been broken. “You know what…” you mumble.

The light from the TV you’ve left on as a source of light and background noise to help you fall asleep illuminates the room just enough to make out his face. “Okay,” he nods, and this time there’s no witty remark on the tip of his tongue. You watch as he slowly pushes down the covers, exposing his bare, tattooed chest while his hand deliberately sinks deeper beneath them and into his boxers.

You watch the way the covers move above him as he strokes himself, first to full hardness before he begins fisting his cock in the manner he would when he’s alone. That's what you'd asked to see the first time it occurred; a genuine masturbation. You wanted to hear the actual sounds made when someone lets themselves go, nothing fake like in a porn video, and he willingly provided it to you then, just as he was doing now.

You roll onto your front, keeping the pillow tucked between your thighs. You rest your head against the pillow at the top of the bed and continue watching him as your hips roll to grind against the one between your thighs, dragging yourself along it.

Noah is quick to align with your wish; he whimpers and rambles about how much he wants and needs you, even looking down at you as he speaks. While you convince yourself that it’s all part of your fantasy, you can’t help but notice the hint of desperation in his voice, suggesting that this isn’t just for show.

When you know he's reaching closer to his climax, your hips grind harder, and you can’t suppress your moans. Your gaze rises to his face, and you find his eyes already fixed on you, as if he’s utterly captivated by you. You dare to touch him, running your hand across his tattooed chest. With your touch, he finally succumbs to his release, and you’re overwhelmed by a wave of pleasure in that very moment, too. It makes you whine as you buck against the pillow, your nails digging into and scratching across his chest.

Neither of you moves; instead, you bask in the blissful afterglow for a moment longer. Noah’s free hand gently lifts to yours, laid upon his chest, and slowly strokes along your arm. It’s a tender touch, the only one you ever share after a moment like this. Then, you feel the soft press of his lips against your crown as he whispers, “I’ll clean up.” Slipping himself from beneath the covers, he walks over to the bathroom, while you remain in place for a moment longer.

[renflowerwords]

Sorbet Kisses

Sam x (fem) Reader | Happy (early) Valentine's Day!

6.7k words (sorry)

In which Sam asks you on a date, brings you sorbet, and y’all get a little tooooo tipsy at the Saloon. This one gets a little smutty, so MDNI!!! ( I MEAN IT.). Sam is needy and tender and perfect (because, of course, he is). Y/N is older than Sam, but I don’t put actual time frames, so you can insert your age and deduct a few months or years (keep it legal).

⌁₊˚⊹  ⊹˚₊⌁

When you finally finish the farm work for the day, it is well into the evening. The warmth of the baby summer sun beams down on your sweaty skin, coaxing a tan and a heat stroke.

At least everything is done.

It was an impressive feat, truly. You managed to clear out all of your old spring crops and plant your summer crops all in a day’s work. You deserved a good shower, a good leg massage, maybe, and some beer at the tavern. You weren’t truly fond of beer, but it was the start of summer, and sometimes, you can deviate from the norm when you’ve worked hard. Surely, that was the only reason you’d end up at the Saloon tonight. Not because the halo-haired Sam had mailed you an invite the evening before, offering to walk you to the Saloon if you “wanted to relax and spend time with some of the townies.”

Sam was…sweet. Despite his pierced-up, bad-boy exterior, you could tell he was kind and good-mannered. It was your first summer in town, and it was evident that you liked to overwork yourself. Everyone knew you needed a break, besides yourself, that is.

But you knew that his invitation was entirely platonic. It had to be. Sam was a bit younger than you and had his whole life stretched out in front of him, there was no reason for him to be romancing a farmer who had already explored the world a bit and had a solid retirement plan…the farm.

He was always kind to you when you ran into each other in the square and even offered to help out on the farm despite his lack of farm knowledge. He claimed “he had quite a bit of free time,” which you knew was a lie because Jodie always made a point to mention how he was always out and about whenever you’d stop by.

Although you felt a little wrong about it, you had a crush on Sam. It was hard not to, honestly. The first time you met him, he was helping Vincent with homework in their living room. You were just making the rounds, trying to introduce yourself to everyone in town.

“No, Vincent,” he chuckled as he grabbed the eraser and erased an answer Vincent had been working on, his little hands in his hair as he sucked his teeth, making a pointed look at Sam. It was so endearing to see them engage. Jodie was in the kitchen when you peeked your head in, catching them.

“Oh, hi,” Sam said as he made his way up from the couch. “Can we help you?”

You introduced yourself and gave Jodie some parsnips, hoping and praying that she would like them (she did). You chatted with Jodie a bit in the kitchen, and as you left, she had Sam walk you out.

When you made it to the porch, he stretched his hand out to you. “I’m Sam, by the way.”

“I know; your mom gave me the rundown. I’m y/n.” You offered him a small smile and shook his hand.

“Y/n.” he lets your name roll off his tongue, trying it out. “Nice. I like it.”  His hand still in yours.

“Thanks. Um, your mom volunteered your help on the farm. Just thought I’d let you know.” His handshake slows, and he’s just holding your hand for a few seconds before he comes to and pulls it back, slipping it into his blonde hair right after.

“Oh. Well. I’d love to!” Despite his over-eagerness, you could sense the underlying anxiety.

“That’s okay, really. See you around!” With a quick wave, you were heading to the next house. Sam offered a quiet “see you around” to your walking figure.

Throughout the entire spring season, Sam would pop up randomly in an old t-shirt and worn jeans on your front doorstep, or you’d catch him wandering around the property. He always made his presence known and asked if you needed any help, but you usually waved him away. You wanted to start this farm off by yourself. A way of proving you could do it, but you pocketed his eagerness to help whenever you needed some assistance down the line.

His mom just raised him well. So polite to offer to walk and accompany you. You made a mental note to send her some fresh produce when the harvest was done to thank her. Maybe you’d throw something in there for him, too.

                                                       ⌁₊˚⊹  ⊹˚₊⌁

The shower you take is long and very, very needed. The amount of dirt you scrubbed off from your body was shocking at the least and abhorrent at best, but it felt good to see it all wash down the drain. It was just another reminder of how much hard work you had put in on the farm today.

You were giddy with nervous butterflies as you slipped on your white eyelet dress and pulled on your farmer boots. This would be your first outing around the other villagers that was a…casual event. Sure, the Flower Festival was nice, but you didn’t really “know” anybody, so you were secluded in the corner most of the time, and the dance was fun but…awkward. You didn’t know the right steps and were positive you looked like an absolute fool. You were grateful to Maru for letting you dance with her since she seemed like the only viable dance partner (although seeing Harvey dejected on the side made you feel a little bad).

Sam approached you afterward and told you that you had done great, but you just hid into your farmer’s hat (one that you proudly won during the egg festival) and made your way back home, offering him a quiet “I have to go.”

The next few days were spent in the mines, far away from contact with anybody.

I just hope it’s not as awkward.

You fiddle with your farmer’s hat a few times. On or off? On or off? You decide to wear it, leaving it on the kitchen counter for easy access when you leave.

Better to bring it just in case I need another quick escape.

Peeking out the window, you realize you’ve gotten ready way too early; the sun hasn’t even set yet.

Now what?

You wander around your room for a bit, fiddle with your radio, and dance around a bit until you hear a gentle knock at the door.

Whatever butterflies you felt before have all multiplied and are now in panic mode.

You rush to turn off the radio and run to the door.

“Hi,” Sam says as you open the door. To your surprise, he’s holding… ice cream?

He is tall and bright in your doorway and has cleaned up quite nicely. He’s wearing a white T-shirt (something you never really see him in) and jeans that, surprisingly, don’t have any holes in them. He’s wearing his signature black Converse, nearly torn to bits those things. Small black and silver piercings adorn his lips, eyes, and ears, and he presses his tongue to the ring on his bottom lip as he waits for your response. Nervous habit, you guess.

“Hi,” You say, giving a small smile despite your quivering lips and thudding heartbeat. “What’s this?” you gesture to the melting pastel-colored liquid dripping down his hand to his forearm.

“Oh!” he takes his free hand and runs it through his blonde locks before taking a lick at the melted ice cream on his wrist. Your eyes make a quick glance at the action, and something in your belly stirs, but you write it off as the butterflies.

Get it together…

“It’s really hot out today, so I thought I’d bring you some sorbet, but…well, it’s really hot, and it’s quite the trip.” He gestures down to his skateboard, leaning on your porch. You can’t tell if it’s the beginning of a sunburn beaming up his neck or blush, but regardless, it’s endearing.      

“Well… thanks!” You grab the dripping sorbet cone from his hand, carefully maneuvering it to keep it from spilling onto yourself, you only just got clean. “Wanna come in?” you lick at a sorbet-covered finger before reaching his eyes “and clean up?”

Sam stands on your porch quietly for a few seconds, staring straight into your face. You giggle a little and lick at your hand, now promptly covered in sorbet. “Um, before it melts some more?”

This seems to snap him out of whatever trance he’s in. He clears his throat. “Yeah! I mean, yeah, yeah, that’s probably smart.”

You take a few steps back, careful with the melting cone in your hand, and make room for him to enter your cabin.

“Sorry, it’s kind of a mess. Haven’t really had the time clean.” More licks at your palm.

This is pointless, it’s not even edible at this point.

“That’s okay. You look really pretty, by the way.” Sam is still planted in your entryway, seemingly unsure of where to go from there, his eyes darting everywhere in the room beside you.

His compliment sends a flush of heat throughout your whole body.

“Thank you, Sam. The boots aren’t too ‘farmy’? I mean, with the dress?” You gesture with your hands, moving too fast for the melting confection in your hand. The little dollop of half-frozen sorbet slides dramatically out of the cone.

Before you even realize it, Sam is in your bubble, catching the little ball of sorbet in his hands.

“Ah, I'm sorry!” You say, looking down at Sam’s hands, which are getting stickier by the minute. He just chuckles in response.

“It’s okay, really.” He takes the ball of sorbet ice cream and plops it into his mouth before looking back down at you.

“Ow, shot, diu yew wan sum?” He says with a mouth full of sorbet.

You giggle and shake your head, licking the remainder of the sorbet off your fingers and wrist. If you had looked up at any point in your self-grooming, you would have noticed Sam’s heated eyes on you.

“It is really yummy, though; I like sorbet.” You say before looking back up and catching his eyes. He’s pink all over.

“Um, yeah. Yeah, I like it too.” He offers after a beat and then gestures his sticky hands towards the sink. You nod your head and walk over with him.

“Sorry for finishing it off, that was rude.” He says while taking off his rings, now covered in sorbet.

He wore four of them, one on each of his middle fingers, one on his right pointer finger, and the last on his left thumb. He rinses them quickly before placing them on your counter.

“No, it’s okay, really. I enjoyed what I had.” You watch as he lathers his hands with your homemade kale soap before he places it into your open hands.

You both stand there in silence, washing hands and arms. Despite your best wishes, it’s awkward. An odd, homely awkwardness because it’s your kitchen and your sink and your soap, and yet Sam’s presence makes everything feel brand new. He’s standing so close, you can smell the sweat on his skin, and you hate yourself for being a little obsessed with it.

 His arm brushes up against yours as he runs the soapy water over himself.

Despite how simple, the act seems entirely too intimate, and you quickly finish washing your hands and drying them with a dish towel. You needed to get far away from him to quell the butterflies in your gut.

Wow, I definitely like him more than I thought.

Not knowing what to do with yourself, you lean on the backside of your kitchen counter and fiddle with the frayed edges of your farmer hat.

Sam is the first to break the silence.

“I like the boots, actually. I’ve been thinking about getting myself a pair.” He reaches for a kitchen towel and begins drying his arms, turning around and leaning his back on the sink.

He looks so pretty you could faint from this vision of him in your kitchen. His lower abdomen is soaked, and his shirt has become temporarily see-through.  You try so hard not to stare, but you can see a thin stretch of a happy train through his shirt, and you can feel your cheeks get hot.

Oh my God.

“I’m sure you’d look nice in them.” You say, your voice shaky.

Sam smirks. “Not better than you.”

You let out a dry laugh because it’s all you can manage and make an exaggerated nervous look at the clock. 

7:00 pm.

“We should probably head over, yeah?”

Sam clears his throat. “Yeah, yeah, are you ready?” He folds your kitchen towel and starts putting his rings back on as he walks to the front door.

You fiddle with your hat some more.

Better to be safe than sorry.

You go to put the hat on your head, and Sam chuckles from behind you.

“Isn’t it too late to be wearing a hat? The sun’s setting.” His tone is light and jokey, but it still stings a little.

“Oh, it was, ugh, I don’t know, haha.” You quickly make your way towards the door, leaving the hat on the counter.

“Wait, no, what?” Sam moves closer and places a hand on your arm, stopping you in your steps. You look up into his eyes, and his brows are pursed together in confusion and questioning.

“I was using it for ‘protection.” You throw up fake quotation marks and give a light chuckle, deeply embarrassed.

“I’ll protect you.” Sam blurts out, and before you can even respond, he’s quick to correct himself.

“I won’t let you be alone tonight. That’s what I meant. I’ll stay by your side…if you want.”

“Oh, um, okay.” You cringe internally at the entire situation and make your way outside, passing by Sam’s body in the doorway, making a conscious effort not to look at his face. You don’t think you could survive looking into his eyes with only a few inches between you.

I need to get myself together…quickly.

Sam walks out and walks down your steps as you lock up.

“I was thinking I could teach you how to ride?” Sam says as he pulls up his skateboard from the porch.

As you walk down the steps, you shake your head a little, “Not that’s okay, I'd probably just fall over.”

Sam chuckles, “You think I’d let you fall?”

It’s orange outside now, and there is a cool summer breeze that passes by just as you feel the heat crawl up your body again. It’s almost as if nature is helping you chill out. 

“Um, no, I don’t.” You give a little laugh, and Sam reaches his hand out to you, one foot on the board.

“It’ll get us there faster anyways.”

                                                        ⌁₊˚⊹  ⊹˚₊⌁

In the end, it doesn’t.

His best efforts to stabilize you made you a shaky mess, causing you to tumble off the board and into his arms way too many times to count.

Sam’s heavy hands on your waist as he walked alongside you on the board made you dizzy the whole time. The coldness of his rings bled through the thin fabric of your dress, making his touch ten times more intoxicating.

That and the fact that his grip was so tight, your dress kept riding up. At one point, he even made a point to pull it down himself before running alongside you to distract you from the action with speed (which only made your dress hike up again).

“You know, you're not so bad at this,” he says as you approach the cobblestone, slowing down before firmly plucking you off the skateboard.

You flush again because you are both very aware that you could have stepped off the skateboard without hurting yourself, but whatever.

“Well, I have a pretty good teacher.” You say before tugging your dress down...again.

“Why, thank you,” He laughs before he grabs his skateboard and fiddles with it for a bit before adding, “Maybe I could teach you properly, you know, another time?”

It’s a hazy purple-pink outside now, and yet Sam is still haloed by the gentle fading light of the sun. Somehow, the universe just decides to highlight and pedestal him whenever it can, turning every moment that should be normal into a cinematic scene.  

“I’d like that.” You say before turning on your heel and making a slow approach to the Saloon.

It takes a few seconds before you hear the quick shuffle of Sam’s scuffed-up Converse catching up to you, and before you know it, he’s right beside you, arm brushing against yours ever so slightly in your walk.

                                                        ⌁₊˚⊹  ⊹˚₊⌁

When you finally make it to the Saloon, it isn’t as busy as you’d thought it would be. Sam leaves you near the entrance a beat after you enter to say hi to Abigail and Sebastian. You don’t mind his absence, needing a moment to still your beating heart.

You look around the saloon as Sam walks away, turning back every two seconds to check up on you. You lock eyes with Penny, who’s already looking at you by the time you look at her, and she gives you a small wave.

You didn’t know Penny well, but you knew she and Sam were close. You remembered seeing them dance at the flower dance together and a few times after that just around town, but you didn’t really know the extent of their relationship. Surely, if Sam was here with you, that meant that nothing was going on between them, right?

You walk over to her table despite a familiar sick feeling rising in your gut.

“Hi, Penny.” There is a stool at her table, but you remain standing. Sam was gonna come back any minute anyway, and you weren’t too keen on sitting at a table with the both of them for the remainder of the night.

“Y/N! How nice to see you away from the farm, " she says, fiddling with a muffin wrapper on the table. Before you can respond, she adds, “You’re here with Sam?”

“Oh… yeah. He thought I needed some time out and about; I guess everyone thinks that.” You laugh a little and wish you had something to fiddle with as well.

Penny gives a short laugh, “We all just like seeing you around, that’s all.”

You don’t know if you believe her, but before you can respond, her eyes are trailing away from yours to something…no, someone behind you. They seem to soften at whoever she’s looking at, and a few beats later, Sam’s standing right next to you at the table.

“Good evening, Penny.” He says with a goofy smile on his face.

You hear a whistle behind you and turn around to see Sebastian and Abigail peeking around a corner of the Saloon. Abigail is wriggling her eyebrows in your direction, and Seb has a god-awful smirk on his face.

You turn around quickly, looking down at your boots, and can hear Sam clear his throat.

“Hi, Sam. So kind of you to bring our lovely farmer out.” Penny says, her hands on the table.

“About time, right?” He nudges you with his shoulder.

“Yeah, most definitely.” You say, giving them both the warmest smile you could conjure up.

“Now, Miss Penny, if you don’t mind,” he moves behind you and places both hands on your shoulders, gently turning you to the bar, “I’m gonna get our farmer a drink.”

Penny gives a light laugh, but Sam has let go of your arms before you can even say goodbye and is walking ahead of you to the bar.

You look over your shoulder in hopes of giving Penny a wave, but you only catch her orange skirt on the door frame as she leaves the saloon.

                                                        ⌁₊˚⊹  ⊹˚₊⌁

The last time you were at a bar, it was in ZuZu City. What was supposed to be a fun night out with some coworkers ended up with you throwing up in an alleyway and then again in a taxi. One too many cosmopolitans. You miss the feeling a little. Being unknown in a bar, wearing tight shimmery dresses, desire in the air, and shitty expensive drinks with exotic names. You approach Sam at the bar, and despite the lack of patrons, you stand so close your arms touch for the millionth time that night.

At this moment, you can’t help but think about how drastically your life changed in just a year.

The gentle hum of the jukebox playing “Hold You in My Arms” by Ray LaMontagne, the softness of Sam’s skin on yours, the yellow lighting, and beer and wine being the only things on the drink menu. Something about this trumped the feeling of a sleazy dive bar. Sure, there was a desire in the air…but it wasn’t scary. It didn’t prompt you to take three “Green Tea Shots” back-to-back to quell the nerves. It was gentle and promising. You still couldn’t believe this was a part of your life now.

Sam clears his throat to get Gus’s attention and holds up a crinkly twenty-dollar bill. “What can this get us?” His voice comes out shaky.

You get the impression that this isn’t something Sam does often. Well, not the drinking bit, but ordering it at a bar.

Gus raises an eyebrow and takes the bill from Sam’s hands, holding it up to the light and faux inspecting it with a smirk on his face.

Sam sucks his tongue and shakes his head “C’mon Gus.”

“Hey, you can never know with your generation. Two beers?” He raises an eyebrow at the both of you, and you smile back. “Yes, please.”

“And how are you doing, farmer?” Gus goes to pour the beers as the question lingers in the air.

“Good!” you offer enthusiastically. “Summer crops are all planted...So that’s good.”

“That’s…Good?” Gus jokes and places the beers on the bar.

You give a light laugh and take the beer in your hands.

“Thank you, Gus!” Sam adds as he one-handedly grabs his beer, places his free hand on your lower back, and ushers you away from the bar to a table near the jukebox.

“He usually doesn’t give me a hard time.” He leans down and side-whispers into your ear, which causes your brain to short-circuit. All you can do is hum in response.

This might kill me.

He goes to pull out your chair, and when you sit, he pulls the diagonal seat closer to yours before sitting down and smiling at you.

Okay, this will definitely kill me.

“Gus’s beer is the best.” He says before taking a big gulp. You go for a small sip, and he’s right. It is a really good beer. You make a mental note to ask Gus about his technique.

“So…” you offer into the silence.

“So…” Sam says back, chuckling after. “I’m glad you decided to come out tonight.”

“Yeah, me too. My body definitely needed this.” You hold the beer up before taking another drink.

After a few more swallows, the conversation comes easily. Sam talks about work and his dad, but mostly his music.

“Yeah, I’ve got some stuff I'm working on now if you ever wanna stop by and listen.” Another sip.

“At this point, we’ve got like three dates lined up.” You blush as soon as the words leave your mouth, and you're torn between taking another sip or putting the beer down because, clearly, you’ve had enough. You take another sip despite that fact and pull your eyes up to Sam’s.

He’s blushing.

“I guess I just really want to see you.” And with that, he downs the rest of his beer.

This time, the butterflies in your gut don’t stir from anxiety but from something else. Something less tangible and indistinguishable but so, so good.

“Well, then, how can I say no?” You try and fail at finishing the rest of your beer, a piss-poor attempt at mimicking his confidence.

He chuckles, and the sound sends tingles all over your body.

“Okay, but first, I need to know if you like rock music.” He raises an eyebrow.

“Um…” You ponder on the question. You couldn’t say that you listened to rock music often, not recently at least.

“I used to listen to a lot… back in my youth.” You finish off your beer, feeling it in your head and your legs. The butterflies must be boozy, too, now because they have seemingly gone to sleep.

“You say that like you're old or something,” Sam says before getting up from his seat and offering you his hand.

“Technically, I am old, older than you.” You make a one-over look at his ring-clad hand before adding, “What's this?”

“I’m gonna play a song for you. On the jukebox. C’mon.” His fingers beckon for you to get up, so you do because if there’s one thing liquor makes you be, it is obedient.

His rings are cold against your hand as he leads you to the jukebox, and you internally whine at the absence of his touch when he lets you go to fiddle with the options.

“If you know this song, I owe you another beer, and if not…” He raises his eyebrow.

You laugh a little and then get immediately nervous.

Please let me know the song.

The intro to “Take Me Out” by Franz Ferdinand starts playing, and you have to giggle because who on earth doesn’t know this song? Sam looks down at you, and instead of giving him an answer, you start to sing along with the song.

“So if you’re lonely, you know I'm here waiting for you…”

Sam’s face lights up immediately, and he claps his hands.

“Wow, I guess I owe you another beer.”

“Oh, c’mon Sam, everyone knows this song.”

Sam throws his hands up in the air before making his way back to the bar, and this time, it looks like Gus doesn’t give him a hard time. Hell, you even think that you see Gus wink at him as he makes his way back over to you.

“One beer for the pretty farmer.” He says as he hands you a full pint.

“Thank you,” You say before taking a big gulp.

“Do you know any drinking games?” Sam says, now leaning on the jukebox, his face very close to yours. You don’t flush from the proximity, and maybe it’s because of the beer, or maybe it is because, under the yellow light and lenses of damn good beer, Sam is so pretty.

To be honest, Sam was always really pretty, very breathtaking, but now... something made him shine. There was a pull that made you want to lean in and fully dissect every element of his face. Of his being.

You hum lightly as your eyes trace over his face before saying, “It’s not technically a drinking game, but, Never Have I Ever?”

You watch as Sam rolls his eyes before he licks at his lip ring and answers, albeit sarcastically, “No, y/n, I have never played, never have I ever.” Despite his answer, he throws up a ring-clad hand and says, “Can I go first?”

You roll your eyes. “Sure, hit me.”

He juts out his bottom lip in feign thought before he raises his eyebrows as if he’s had a realization.

“What does the winner get?”

You blink at him a few times before shrugging. “What do you want? If you win, that is.”

There seems to be no point to fake think this time as Sam rounds the jukebox machine to get closer to you before leaning in and whispering in your ear, “A kiss.”

You feel warm all over and a little dizzy, but the nerves that usually pulse through your veins when Sam is near are nowhere to be found, just a warm wanting. You want to kiss him.

The idea of faking wrong answers passes through your mind, but you push it down because if you were going to kiss Sam, it would have to be won by him fair and square. And if you won... well, you’d just find another to kiss him.

“Okay. I’ll kiss you.” It comes out quick, and you feel a little embarrassed by the laugh it pulls from Sam.

“Woah, farmer, that’s only when I win.” He winks and puts his hand up again. “You first.” He says, his eyes lazily drawing over your face.

“Hmm, okay. Never have I ever been lost in the mines after curfew.”

Sam blinks at you a few times before slowly putting a finger down, and you fake a gasp.

“Okay, okay, just don’t tell my mom; she’ll freak.”

“Sam, Sam, Sam, I never would have thought.” You say before taking another sip of your beer, it’s almost empty now, and your bottom lip feels numb at the intoxication it brings

                                                      ⌁₊˚⊹  ⊹˚₊⌁

The questions come and go, and by the time it’s almost midnight, you're left with one finger, and Sam is left with two. Most of his questions were farm-related, and you’d be annoyed at the fact that you were losing if you weren’t getting rewarded for your loss. But you are.

“Okay, farmer, you ready for this one?” he wiggles his two fingers, and you giggle, wiggling your one finger back.

“Never have I ever been a farmer in Stardew Valley.”

You roll your eyes for what feels like the millionth time tonight. Not out of actual annoyance, but because Sam is just that good. Knows all the right words, right things to do and say. Knows how to kill the final question in Never Have I Ever.

You put your one finger down, and before you can say anything to memorialize your loss, Sam’s palms are on your neck, and his lips are on yours, wet and needy.

The kiss is over before you even know it, and he’s pulling back, all big-eyed and tender-looking. With his face still within an inch of yours, he smirks and says, “I win.”

You nod dazedly, your eyes still on Sam’s lips.

“You want another?” Sam hiccups and rubs his thumb on your cheek. You nod, and Sam is leaning in, licking at his piercing before you connect again.

Sometime during all of the fuss, you put your glass down and allow your hands to roam over Sam’s arms and down to his biceps. He’s pretty solid, and as you reach to run your hands under his shirt, you hear a loud clearing of the throat at the bar.

In sync, you and Sam pull away from each other and turn to the sound, only to be pleasantly greeted with Gus’s frown.

“Closing up soon. You kids should head home.” He says before making a pointed look at Sam, “Make sure she makes it back home.”

You flush from embarrassment, but Sam grabs your hand, gives a head nod to Gus, and pulls you out of the Saloon before it can seep in.

                                                       ⌁₊˚⊹  ⊹˚₊⌁

Before you can register what’s happening, the boozy feeling in your mind and legs making everything feel wobbly, Sam is pulling you to the side of the saloon, and his lips are on yours again.

He tastes like beer and sorbet and sweat and summer. It’s magical the way Sam kisses. It’s nothing like you’ve ever felt before. To be fair, you’ve never been pressed up against the side of a saloon on a warm summer night kissing the guy of your dreams. Your hands make their way up into his hair, and it’s so soft, so you grip it because it’s angel hair, truly. Sam moans into your mouth and kisses his tongue inside.

He liked that?

You can feel everything, everywhere. The brick wall, Sam’s heavy front, and even heavier mouth. He keeps one hand on your neck, his thumb running up and down, trying to pull you closer than you already are. The other finds its way to your thigh and pulls one of your legs up and around him, slotting himself closer to you.

Oh my gosh, he’s huge.

The pressure of his body is intense and needy and all too much and not enough at the same time.

He pulls back, and even in the dim light that the tavern provides, you can see the need in his eyes and the kissed-out pink on his lips. He’s absolutely angelic. “Is this okay?” he nudges his nose into your neck, peppering it with kisses and sniffs as if he is trying to capture your scent and trap it in his memory.

His hand on your thigh travels higher, hiking your thin white dress up even higher, but he stops right before he hits your panty line, thumbs tracing hesitant circles into your skin.

You can sense he’s waiting for an answer, but the fireflies dancing just behind his head distract you for a second. What did you do in a past life to deserve this? What bug did you save that was an angel in disguise that pardoned you from a life without this kind of pleasure?

 He leaves wet, sloppy kisses down your neck and grinds himself into you, and you can actually feel him. “Y/N?” He looks up, his brows taught with desire. His eyes dart back and forth between yours and your lips, and he looks so needy you can’t even bring yourself to say anything.

You nod your head quickly before grabbing his face and pulling him back into a kiss. Salty and boozy and so intoxicating. Sam is a good kisser. Like really good.

It’s like he studied the right amount of pressure to apply, when to purse his lips into yours, when to swirl his tongue around, and when to pull it back. He even gives your tongue a little suck before pulling back and peppering your lips and cheeks before diving back in again, giving you time to breathe.

Who taught him this?

To shun the thought of Sam kissing literally anybody but you out of your mind, you pull him closer to you (which seems impossible at this point).

Sam lets out probably the sexiest laugh you've ever heard in your life before pulling away from the kiss and biting your lip, using his thumb to soothe the sting that’s left.

The sting is long gone after a few seconds, evaporating into something stronger, but he keeps his thumb there, swiping back and forth at the wetness left from your kiss.

“You like me?” He says as he looks at your lips like he wants to see them say yes. Commit the action to his memory and replay it whenever he gets the chance.  His free hand (free is subjective considering how it was just squeezing and caressing your thigh two seconds ago) travels closer to your panty line, and when he finally reaches it, he snaps it.

You jolt. Everything about this is just too much. You think back to only a few hours later when you couldn’t even fathom the touch of Sam’s arm against yours, and now…well, now things are very different.

Sam laughs into your neck from your reaction and draws his finger in between your skin and the fabric of your panties, which are now thoroughly soaked. It tickles, so you pull away a little, but Sam sucks his tongue and pushes himself closer to you.  

You can’t even focus on the task at hand because the view of your bodies this close together is borderline pornographic, and honestly, if you could take a picture with your eyes, you would.

“Y/N,” he says carefully, almost shyly, using his hand to tilt your chin up to meet his eyes. “Do you?”

At this moment, Sam is everything. Your heart and breath get heavy, and you need to calm yourself down before you combust into a thousand beams of light and never get to feel this again because you’ve become a part of the atmosphere.

Five things you can see?

Sam’s lust-ridden eyes, peering into your soul. 

Sams’s pink cheeks, his even pinker lips.

Fireflies in the distance, glowing in and out. Haloing him.

The moon; full and beaming.

Four things you can touch?

You run your hand up Sam’s arm, which is taut and slightly muscular. It travels up and up to Sam's neck, and he leans into the touch before you fiddle with his earring and then reach into his hair before dragging your hand down to his lips, mimicking his action from before.

Three things you can hear?

The bugs outside are buzzing loudly, but they have nothing on the deep, heavy breaths Sam is taking as you play with his bottom lip. He hums gently before leaning in to kiss you again.

Two things you can smell?

Beer and the summer air at night.  

One thing you can taste?

Sams’s lips finally touch yours again, and you can’t even compute the taste. It just tastes like him. It’s deep and wet and needy and tastes like heaven. You pull back and lick at the piercing on his bottom lip before diving back into his lips. You want to kiss him deeper, but he pulls away and presses his forehead against yours.

“I don’t want-” Sam starts, but you cut him off this time.

“Yes, yes, Sam. I like you.” It comes out needier and breathier than you would have liked, but the look on Sam’s face eases any embarrassment your brain could even come up with to ruin the moment.

“God, you are so pretty,” Sam says before peppering kisses onto your lips. Every time his lips pull away, even though it’s for a millisecond, you long for them, feeling helplessly needy.

 The feeling is heavy in your chest. Need. Want. Desire.

Sam’s hand is going back up to your dress and presses at your clothed heat, pulling the wet fabric to the side before tracing his middle finger through your sex.

“Oh shit you are so we-“

 “AHEM.” You both jolt apart quick to see Gus standing in the now paling light of the Saloon.

“You’d both better get home.” Gus is walking away before either of you can respond. You can see him shaking his head slowly as he walks away.

“Oh, shit.” You say, turning to Sam, giggling.

He’s got a stupid smile plastered on his face as he gets down on one knee, his face at your abdomen, and he’s pulling down and smoothing out your hiked-up dress before leaving a kiss right above your navel and getting back up.

“It’s getting late.” He kicks up his skateboard from the bush he hid it in only hours before. “Feel safe riding home?”

Despite the beer coursing through your veins and the uneasiness that comes with each step, you nod your head. Anything to feel Sam’s heavy hands on your body again.

                                                         ⌁₊˚⊹  ⊹˚₊⌁

The ride back home takes twice as long. Every time you fell off the skateboard, Sam met you with a heated kiss and said, “It’s okay, Y/N. You can try again.” His hands were warmer than ever, steady on your waist, and when your dress began to hike up this time, he didn’t even bother pulling it down, drunk eyes roaming all over your figure.

Eventually, you got the hang of it, riding on the board without his assistance, dress flowing in the wind, a screamed laugh of excitement leaving your lungs.

When the board came to a halt, you turned around expecting to see Sam close at your behind, but he was actually a few ways back, arms crossed, smiling.

                                                       ⌁₊˚⊹  ⊹˚₊⌁

You watch Sam skate off into the moonlight, and when he turns around to wave, wobbling on his board, he has the biggest, dorkiest smile on his face. You don’t realize it, but you do, too.

When he finally rides out of sight, you go back inside but can’t get yourself to let go of the door handle. A part of you wanted to run back outside and call out his name and invite him inside. For what? You couldn’t even answer that question yourself.

[satancopilotsmytardis]

Drabble-A-Thon 3 Prompt 9

Pairing: Shigadabi

Rating: Explicit

Prompt: From @dahvampire Shortly after getting together, Tomura starts to notice that Dabi seems to have some hang ups and discomforts around sex and intimacy. He confronts Dabi and learns about his experiences with past partners. 

Contents: BDSM, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Dacryphilia, Dry Orgasm. 

Dabi is... jumpy. When they first met, Tomura just thought that he was a standoffish asshole, but over time it became more and more obvious that Dabi was so quick to get violent because he is skittish. He's scared of getting hurt so he just lashes out first because, he supposes, it's better to be considered a madman than a coward. 

After Kamino, though, he mellowed with them a lot. He thinks that has to do with the fact that he knows that they took care of him when he had been knocked out. They made sure he was alright in the aftermath too when he was so badly concussed that he couldn't string a sentence together let alone stay on his feet. It's not until they have the PLF that Tomura tries to approach Dabi in any kind of a romantic way. And he's startled by how... nervous that makes the arsonist. It takes him a few days before he comes back and actually gives him a proper response, though Tomura chalks that up to the fact that he didn't want to go in on this halfway and when he, well, he supposes that Toga would say he 'confessed', he had been upfront that he was a dominant and looking to not just have a partner, but also a sub. Still, at least Dabi said 'yes' and he finally gets to have the arsonist in his bed after months of wanting him. 

It's been all of three weeks since then, and Dabi is still so skittish unless he brings him completely out of his mind when he takes him to bed. "One more, beautiful." He murmurs, delighting in the way that Dabi's chest is heaving, how there are little flashes of blue casting light against his teeth and tongue as his kiss-swollen lips fall open to let out those pants, whines, and moans that brought his arousal higher in turn. He's already pulled out of his firefly and wants to drag one more orgasm out of the other man if he can. His fourth of the night if Dabi's body can manage it. He whimpers so cutely as he shakes his head weakly, but his fingers are still clutching at his arms, not signaling him in a way that would actually have him stopping. 

So Tomura presses a kiss that's sweet and soft against his cheek before his hand moves back to his baby's half-hard cock. He keens from how oversensitive he is as he starts to work his hand over him. He teases at the soft skin, rubs his thumb along his ladder, still marveling at the unique texture of the piercings along his length. More kisses along Dabi's neck as he listens to him keen and whine, his his twitching beneath him as he tries to pull away without moving too far from the touch he knows must be a wonderful tangle of agony and bliss on the other's nerves. And he doesn't relent. He strokes him, slowly enough not to risk irritating his skin in a way that will stop this from airing on the side of pleasure. 

He savors the way that bloody tears slip over Dabi's temples as his hips move one more time, trying to retreat, before the next stroke has his balls tightening again. He's already painted his spend over their skin so many times tonight, so Tomura is nearly vibrating with delight when he watches him twitch against his palm, but not even a drop of cum manages to leak out of his baby with the orgasm that must feel like sandpaper beneath his skin. 

"There," He is breathless with his own delight as he lets go of his lover's sore cock that softens rapidly without the continued stimulation. "Such a good boy, you did such a good job." They're both a mess, so he reaches for the nightstand and the body wipes inside so that he can start to clean them up, at least enough so he can get Dabi settled. 

The arsonist has pretty much caught his breath by the time that Tomura is starting to settle again, wanting to pull his firefly close and share in the softness that he sometimes thinks that he can only find when he's let himself be cruel in these distinct ways before. 

And Dabi flinches, starting to sit up the same way he has every other time that they've gone to bed together. 

"Firefly, stay with me." He murmurs, trying to sound sweet and soothing, trying to remind him that he... isn't whatever Dabi had before that made him so nervous about being close with his partners after they've finished fucking. 

Dabi is always quietest after they've slept together, but he lets him reach for him, lets himself be pulled into his chest and back down onto the bed. He's so warm in his arms and Tomura waits for the beat that it always takes for Dabi's breath to shudder in his chest, for the trembling to stop, and for his hands to clutch onto him like now he's terrified of being let go. He tucks his face away and Tomura lets him work through whatever riot of emotion goes through his mind when he's like this. 

It's about half an hour later that he finally chances, "Why do you always want to run off so soon, baby boy? You know that I always want to keep you close, don't you?" 

Dabi doesn't answer immediately, just shrugging weakly against his body, his temperature creeping up a little higher, though Tomura isn't sure if that's nerves or embarrassment. He holds onto him a little tighter and after a second lets out one of those shaky breaths again before he mumbles. "...No one else did." 

Tomura tries not to tense. "What do you mean, sweetheart?" 

He shrugs again, but he does talk more immediately this time. "...Didn't have a lot of people who wanted to touch me in the first place. Most of them didn't want me to stick around once they got off. You're the only one who has ever wanted to get me off, let alone that many times." Dabi snorts, like this is a joke that only the two of them are in on, "Most of them didn't even give me the one before they were throwing my clothes at me." 

Like his heart doesn't squeeze in his chest like the sorrow his lover is choosing to share with him can't possibly wound him when it's so clear that it still hurts Dabi after every encounter. He holds him a little tighter. "I'm never going to send you away like that, firefly." Never going to deny him his orgasms either, at least not until his firefly stops being scared that he's just going to toss him aside at the end of every scene. "I want you right here, so I can show you how much I love getting to be close to you." 

Dabi stiffens slightly in his arms, but Tomura doesn't waver at all. He wants his wildfire to know that he means every word. Dabi stopped flinching when any of the League get into his space too quickly. Tomura is going to show him that he can trust him to take care of him while they're together. He's going to make sure that he expects to be adored and cherished for twice as long as he ever asks his lover to give him his submission. He will scrub away every scuff that that his previous partners have left to tarnish Dabi's view of intimacy. It's the least that Tomura can do to show Dabi how happy he is that he decided to be his. 

Thank you so much for reading! If you would like to participate in the event, consider checking out my Ko-Fi here!

[deepsthroats]

PUSH2START: rafe cameron gets turned on when reader (THEE brand-new hot young singer), went to outer banks to record her next music video, from her smash summer song.

———————————————————————

NOTES: HEAR ME OUT that idea came into me bc i think tyla and drew would make such a hot couple mdjjdjdj…also english is not my first language, so apologies for any mistake!

WARNINGS: male masturbation,erotic fantasy, rafe and his disturbing troughts about fucking reader.

“Jesus..fuckk” rafe’s dirty words sounded more like a curse while stroking himself to the image of your doll-body, tan sun kissed skin and bambi eyes. God, you were just so fuckable- the way ur hips were movin while dancing to “pushin' on my buttons with no hesitation”, -makin rafe actually wanna push all of your buttons deeply…he remembers your foreigner accent calling him:

“Hay Mr. rafey cameron” you said with a big smile, on your way to hug him. He hated how he loved that hug so much, stayin’ a litte longer with his hand on ur waist, squeezing a lil’ bit.

A big popstar like you coming to a small city like outer banks of course kept the place curious. Everyone were looking foward to meet u ever since the media leaked the place you were going to shoot the music video for PUSH2START. But u def didn’t disapointed. Everyone were stunned not only by your unreal beauty, but about how kind and sweet was your personality. You made sure to take pictures with all the fans, talk to them, and even payed some food for the tired fans.

The Cameron family, as the richest clan livin in outer banks, were the ones taking care of the whole musicvideo. The shoots, the recording, the marketing…everything. So, ofcourse rafe cameron would be present. Sarah and Wheezie were having a blash about meeting the most pretty, talented, funny and successful it girl of the time. Mr Rafe, could not care less..i mean, he did in fact not give a fuck about pop divas, so it was just another boring ass event he would have to attend cuz hes ward’s cameron son.

That changed the minute he saw you. WHATTHEFUCK-the only thing that passed by his head. He could not move or speak, cuz all the blood from his body went straight to his cock. He had too many thoughts- all ending up with you screaming his name while he pounded hard into your tight pussy. was a fucking torture to him watch you all day, seeing you with those small jeans, top cropped, showing your belly piercing he desperately wanted to lick, and your pretty legs that we wanted to grab and squeeze.

In fact, he did tried to flirty with you all day. Calling you princess, beauty, doll, honey…tried to keep eye-contact, laying his hands on your body- but you were just naive and innocent. You had this confident hot woman recording the music video, but you also had a very sweet and kinda dorky girl in the behind the scenes. Rafe wanted to get you all for himself, and beat the hell up of any boy who tries to hit on you. All these patetic losers guys could not workship you the way he would. FUCK you were driving him insane and honry as hell.

So, when he got home, his dick hurting for so much time being hard, he opens his phone, and finds the pic he was taking of you. Rafey’s mouth started to salivate just by looking at your wet skin- he wanted so bad to get you like this-. He zoomed at your perfect face, and lowered his hand at his drooling dick, givin a long squeeze. took his pants n brief almost immediatly, he was high by how honry he was.

Cameron felt at his stomach his pink, big cock, leaking precum on the top of it, and slowly started to move. Stroking himself meanwhile movin hips, imagining he was slamming the hell out of you-pushin all of your buttons-felt so goddamn amazing. It was so hard to keep holdin his phone with ur pic w the free hand, so lost in his imagination and burning desire.

“Oh my princess..fuck” he screams when his orgasm hits like a bomb in his body. Cum were all over ur picture from his phone. And one thing he knew- he needs u badly and it must make HASTE.

[muli-wam]

So Pretty

Summary: Takes place in Dr. Stone Season 2 episode 11 where Tsukasa is about to get put in the freezer by senku, but he wants to talk to you one last time.

Cw: use of y/n one time, angst, SPOILERS!! I think that's all

Pairings: Shishio Tsukasa x Fem!reader

A/n: um.... happy valentine's day 🤩🤩

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

"...It's because Mario only thinks he's huge because he ate the mushroom," Senku laughs as he fiddles with tubes and cords connecting to the large freezer.

"He's tripping balls. Ten billion percent tripping," he says as his body tenses.

"Right?"

"Am I right?"

Silence.

"Am I right, Tsukasa?" Senku huffs with a tinge of hurt laced through his tone.

"Senku..." Tsukasa whispers from his resting place on the makeshift stretcher.

"Hm?" Senku hums with his back still facing Tsukasa.

"Can you... Can I talk to y/n? One last time?" Tsukasa mumbles hoarsly.

"Oh, yeah. Sure. Let me go get her," Senku walks out the cave but doesnt make it far because you were lurking around the corner anyway.

You couldn't walk away. You couldn't just leave him there. You had hoped that things could turn out differently. That maybe Senku was able to find a solution to quickly re-petrify Tsukasa so then you guys can easily revive him again.

You knew it wouldn't be that easy. Not in this world, no.

Senku was smart, but there was a ten billion percent chance that he couldn't find a way to turn Tsukasa back to stone in under 4 days. Additionally, no one in your relatively small congregation of people was a surgeon or had remotely any medical experience.

So here you were, sitting on your knees beside Tsukasa as his body slowly but surely gives out.

"So..." you mutter, failing to keep eye contact with him.

"So," he croaks, giving you a weak smile.

"We've officially been dating for 1 week, 14 hours, 17 minutes and... 35 seconds," you say, sounding defeated.

"Heh, you've been counting, pretty girl?" He let's out a faint laugh, not too hard as it physically pains him to let out anymore than that.

A tear falls down you cheek and lands onto the hard stone floor of the cold cave.

"C'mere," Tsukasa says, signaling you with his finger to lay next to him. You slot yourself in an open space next to him, laying on your side.

Tsukasa turns his head so it faces you. "You're so pretty," he smiles softly.

You eyes water even more at the sight of his drooping eyes and dark circles. You bring a hand up to gently cup his face and rest your forehead on his.

"Wish I told you sooner," you cry softly.

His features soften as he watches tears stream down your face.

"It was unavoidable," he whispers.

"But if I told you earlier then maybe we wouldn't be here. You would have never left and we could have all stayed together," you huff.

"You, me, Senku, Taiju and Yuzuriha. Us against the world," you search Tsukasa's eyes for something, half expecting him to jump up and say it was all some prank and he's actually okay. He doesn't.

You told Tsukasa you had feelings for him after the cease fire of the Stone Wars. You had known him before the entire world got turned to stone. He was your best friend and you stuck by him the entire time since his sister was in a coma.

You think you fell for him freshman year of high school but it could have been sooner. All you know is that you fell in love with Shishio Tsukasa and you dont think you could ever stop loving him.

"I know... but the time we did have together was great, no? And I trust..." Tsukasa starts, but pauses to take a breath.

"I trust that Senku will figure out what caused all this, and then I can be with you again." He says.

"I love you," you cry harder.

"I love you too, angel," he kisses your forehead.

"Dont loose yourself because of me, okay? Keep being the smart, amazing girl I've always known." He says.

"Promise?" Tsukasa asks.

"I promise."

You stroke his cheek softly as you bring your head closer to ever so gently kiss him. It was so passionate yet so soft and your head felt like it was floating as your conscience fades away from the world around you, only seeming to focus on him.

When you kissed him for the first time, it felt like romantic picnics in an open meadow. Like eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on a warm spring afternoon as you sit in the grass and watch the clouds pass by.

It felt like coffee shop dates and evening strolls in the park as you held hands and talked about anything and everything. It felt like life was finally just beginning.

It didn't feel like that now.

It feel like your suffocating but taking a breath of fresh air all at once. It felt like the walls were closing in and you were sinking deeper and deeper into the dark abyss of your brain.

You hated goodbyes.

You both finally parted, staring deeply into each others eyes.

"M'so tired," Tsukasa whispered.

"Just let it happen," you smile brokenly.

"M'gonna be right here when you wake up, okay?" You say as your body wracks in shivers.

"Y'so pretty," he whispers once again while smiling. Your heart seems to shatter all over again.

You watch his eyes slowly close, his puples slowly being shadowed by his eyelids.

"So, so pretty," He mumbles one last time before his eyes finally shut, and you feel his once slow but steady pulse come to a stop.

You lay there for a moment, staring at his lifeless face and internally beating yourself up for his death even though you know it wasn't your fault. He and Senku had a mutual agreement on this. And those two, as stubborn as they are, always keep their promises.

And now its your turn to keep yours.

You hear footsteps approach behind you before a voice says, "y'ready?"

You lay there for a few more beats before slowly sitting up, and bringing Tsukasa's arms to cross over his chest.

"I'm ready."

[tardis--dreams]

Some of those doctors make hating oat milk their entire personality. I hate them. Cannot pretend to find them funny or like i give a shit. Fucking pretentious assholes

[beanietopia]

choso has a porn addiction, plain and simple. every morning for him starts with the same: open up twitter, get his bottle of lotion, and scroll through his bookmarks until he can cum. he’s had girlfriends in the past, they all thought his addiction was gross. what girl would ever entertain a guy that jerked off to random girls getting creampied on twitter?

well, you, of course.

he messaged you on a random morning, ‘hey’, was all it said. you happened to have a slight porn addiction of your own, having filled your bookmarks for your own solo sessions. you didn’t realize your messages were open and felt your brow go up as you read his message. a click to his bio and there wasn’t much there, just the year he was born and 🇯🇵. your first instinct was to delete the message, but your curiosity got the best of you. you messaged back, investigated how he found your account, and choso revealed his intentions.

‘are you into the idea of sending some nsfw posts to each other?’

choso used to sext with his ex girlfriends, but none of them wanted to include porn. they found it weird and considered it cheating to look at videos while in a relationship. now here he was, randomly texting a stranger on the internet to get a quick nut. if he wasn’t palming his dick through his shorts right now, he’d actually think he looked a bit pathetic. it wasn’t until you said yes and started sending your bookmarked videos did he realize what he was getting himself into.

freeing his dick from his briefs, he started to stroke himself while imagining himself doing the things in the videos with you. he didn’t know what you looked like, hell, he wasn’t even sure you were who you said you were. but you were just as porn obsessed as he was, and he didn’t think you could get any better until you sent another message.

‘let me suck it while you play video games.’

it’s like you knew the exact words to say to get him off. choso hastily reciprocated, although it had become quite difficult to type with one hand. he confessed on how desperately he wanted to cum in your pussy and how you suck him in so well, not knowing that you too had started pleasuring yourself at the mere thought. it had been a while and you needed some action too, okay? his messages started getting further and further apart until he asked you to send a post he can finish to. bringing yourself back to reality for a quick moment to send him a creampie video, how could you have known his favorite genre? you found yourself soon chasing your own orgasm. the echoes of the moans coming from your phone had blended with yours, and you soon came undone on your fingers. 

once you remembered to look at your phone again, choso had let you know that he had made a mess, followed by a picture of his cum stained hand and torso. when you sent back a picture of your glistening fingers and soiled sheets, choso audibly moaned. what a pervert.

‘fuck, you’re making me hard… is same time tomorrow good with you?’

part 2

--------

uhh welp this is my first piece of work on tumblr LMFAO HEY GUYS! special shoutout to my pookie bears @gojoscinnamonroll @xixflower @takumasimp @webism for encouraging me and AAAAAAAA I HOPE SOMEBODY LIKES THIS,,,, i wanna keep posting on here so lmk what you think :3 ok bye beanie out

[concretejunglefm]

omg i neeeed sub noah being an absolute brat and then getting put in his place 🙏😭

Because someone also requested more milking Noah content, I'm going to combine these two, because what could be a more fitting and beautiful punishment after a day of brattiness from your sweet boy.

CW: smut with mentions of light bondage, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, milking, anal penetration (m receiving), use of toys (wand and a vibe).

Names: pup/puppy, sweet boy, mistress (reader called)

Smut below the cut 🔞 Minors DNI.

Throughout the day, Noah has been acting like a brat, constantly demanding your attention and pouting when he doesn’t get his way. The problem is that nothing seems to be effective as a punishment for him, especially since heaven to him is to be kept between your thighs, waiting for you to be ready to see his face again—without the moody pout. Sometimes, you have to get creative, and other times, it’s the smallest things that can trigger a completely different reaction from him.

Today, you’ve decided to add a new item as your punishment, while Noah is sprawled on the bed, both wrists bound to the headboard, and ankles securely restrained with more—you splurged on a four-poster bed for a reason. As you approach him, you notice his face light up with excitement. You’re proudly displaying yourself in a set of his favorite lingerie, your hands tucked behind your back, but the moment you pull them out, his expression falls. You’re wearing black leather gloves, similar to the ones he wears on stage.

Already, a whine rises in his throat at the realization that he won’t be able to feel you touching him in the way he desires. Apart from your toys that simulate oral sex, any form of a barrier is his greatest enemy, as evident by the various pairs of panties that have been torn off by his teeth and rendered unusable, alone.

This time, there’s nothing Noah can do to prevent him from feeling not your soft touch. As you meet him with the cool, slick leather of the glove, his thighs begin to tremble.

"What's wrong, pup? All bark and no bite now?" A wicked grin spreads across your face, and you can’t help but revel in the way he’s reduced to nothing more than a whining, protesting brat. You understand his desires, but he’s lost that privilege today for being such a brat anyway. Even though he knows that being one often leads to punishments he enjoys, you need to find a way to make him suffer—even if it’s just for a moment.

When you position yourself between his spread thighs, you stroke your gloved hands slowly up and down the inner of them, taking in the sight of him trembling as you do. You deliberately avoid his already hard cock, which twitches as you pass it. You observe how his stomach muscles flex and hear the rise in his breath. You let him savor the sensation of the leather all over his skin, reaching every accessible area until you finally hear him exhale with a soft, pleading sigh. “Please.”

Your eyes gleam with mischief as you tilt your head innocently, smirking at him. “Oh, please what? Sweet boy,” you purr.

“Please, touch me.”

“Oh, but I am, silly,” you tease him, deliberately dragging your hands back down his chest and stomach, lingering there as you sense the struggle he’s having to control his escalating arousal, making you aware of his internal conflict, because all he desires is the actual sensation of your hands touching him.

“No, no, no. Please, mistress, I need to feel your hands.” A soft whine accompanies the word ‘mistress,’ and you let out a low tsk beneath your breath because you know what he’s up to. Noah has a knack for using his words to sway you into giving him what he wants, and now was no different.

“Oh, but sweet boy, you certainly don’t deserve that after today, do you?” You raise an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to respond. Instead, his eyes divert, filled with shame and realization at the consequences of his actions. “And so, you should accept your punishment like a good boy, shouldn’t you?”

Though he nods in response, he still whimpers, and it feels almost cruel of you to deny him this one small thing he desires—your touch. However, you know that he’ll go to any lengths and do anything to feel it again after accepting his punishment.

Reaching for the wand, you switch it on and watch as it hums to life. You maintain a low setting as you position it between his thighs, gradually gliding it along the inner thigh of one leg and down the other, deliberately avoiding his groin area. You relish in watching him squirm as he senses the vibrations, and it triggers an ache between your own thighs, intensifying as you witness his reaction.

Soft pleas are all he can muster, yearning for more from you. As you raise the wand higher, you lower it to press against his taint, observing how his hips rise and he struggles against his restraints, and whimpers begin to escape him as the sensation vibrates against one of his more sensitive areas.

There’s nothing you love more than exploring him, discovering new ways to entice and elevate him. His arousal is so evident that his cock stands erect in front of you, completely untouched yet twitching with every vibration transmitted to it by the wand currently pressed against him. You watch as the tip leaks pre-cum, and in any other situation, you’d swiftly clean it up, either using it as lube along his shaft, sharing it, or keeping it for yourself. However, today, you allow the mess to persist. It’s part of his punishment for your refusal to touch him, knowing that he’ll be begging even more desperately for your touch long before the end.

You observe the way his stomach muscles contract, and your gaze slowly ascends to his face. The faint sheen of sweat already adorns his forehead as he struggles against the initial climax you’re desperately attempting to coax out of him. His eyes are fixed on you, pleading for more pleasure. He can’t utter a sound above his whimpering and you can't help but think of how incredibly beautiful he sounds in this state. It doesn’t take much longer before he finally succumbs to his need, before your gentle coaxing breaks him down. You witness his cock twitching with the first ropes of cum, which cascade over his stomach and roll down his shaft. It's an alluring sight, and as much as you wish to clean him off yourself, you’re only just beginning.

You’ve decided you want to see him looking pretty, covered in cum, and maybe even with bites if you’re feeling generous. He wanted to be a brat, and now you’re going to teach him the consequence of his actions.

You give Noah a brief reprieve before reaching for the next toy you intend to use on him, the prostate massager. You’re aware that he would have preferred your fingers over a toy, and while on any other occasion you’d want to fulfill that wish, you intend to prolong his punishment by making him cum through objects that lack your touch.

You’re generous with the lube, working him slowly open before you finally feel the toy slipping into place and him tightening around it as if to pull it deeply. A soft whine escapes him as you switch it on, and you softly coo, watching him squirm beneath you. Initially, you tease him with the toy, slowly dragging it along his tight, sensitive walls, allowing him to savor the sensation before bringing it directly against his prostate. You see how it causes his cock to jerk and twitch, barely half way through after his initial climax.

When you gaze upon his face, you notice his half-hooded eyes fixed on you, unable to look away as he leans into the delightful torment you’re inflicting upon him. He makes only soft, unintelligible sounds, accompanied by soft whimpers and moans, which intensify as you reintroduce the wand into the mix of pleasure. You press it back against his taint, watching as the duel pleasure propels him to the brink of ecstasy.

This time, as Noah cum's, you swear there’s more than before. Watching as it pools down over his stomach and around the base of his cock, you notice that it coats his shaft even more than before and drips down between his thighs, beneath him. You’re glad you had the foresight to place a towel beneath him, especially since your plan is to go until you’ve drained him completely, or he taps out—he never does.

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

So hybrid bulls and cows are actually separate species in MY fantasy world, not male and female.

So you work on a farm specializing in male cows and bulls, the only woman that’s allowed there due to… how the hybrids behave around any females.

You milk them… but not in the normal way. As the only woman on the farm, you’re the only one they’ll allow to milk their cocks. They produce a special semen that’s a milk alternative, and very yummy!

The cow’s are fine enough, following you around and nuzzling into you, wanting cuddles and extra attention when you’re milking them… they behave so well, blushing and mooing softly, gently moving their hips against your hand as you milk their cocks dry.

The bulls however… are a different story. They’re very territorial and protective over the cow hybrids, who they’ve formed a friendship with. They don’t like most people, and tend to be loners that only come around when it’s milking time.

But your pay is upgraded when the farm owners notice that the bulls have started warming up to you, even starting to treat you like a heifer, keeping you safe and guarding you from the other employees.

It wasn’t a surprise to anyone but you when the bulls started being a bit… too handsy with you. They viewed you as a heifer now… but you were so small compared to any female cow they’d ever seen. A runt, stunted, maybe…

But you had that chubby tummy and plush hips, those plump breasts that would look so pretty full of milk…

Within a month of starting work, you find yourself being bent over by one of the bulls, the cows mooing in distress and trying to comfort you as a fat cock enters your cunt.

“D-don’t be rough with her! She’s little!” one of the cows protests, stroking your hair and cooing softly to you. The bull huffs, hot air hitting the back of your neck as he fucks into you.

“Being as gentle as possible… little thing, couldn’t take me being rough even if I wanted to be…”

Your cunt was stuffed full with cum, several bulls mounting you until you were a blubbering mess. Once the bulls were done, you were surrounded by cows, getting kisses and snuggles… but they wanted to mate as well…

They pressed down on your belly, cum pooling between your legs as they cooed and gently fucked their own seed into you. By the end of the work day, you were spent, curled up in the hay with several cow hybrids as the bulls guarded the door.

You were payed handsomely for your efforts, and offered an even bigger paycheck to let them mount you at least once a week to let out their sexual frustrations.

They became more territorial around you, but when you weren’t in the picture, the bulls were much calmer and didn’t attack anyone that brought out food or came to give them check ups.

And when you became pregnant… well… let’s just say you were tucked away in the barn, living there with the cows and bulls as your belly grew heavy and swollen.

The cows tended to you, making sure you received all the human comforts you wanted along with their endless affections, and the bulls kept you safe.

———————

A/N: omg… ask me more about this concept because… I’m in love

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @screaming-crying-screamingagain @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @chubbumblebee @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @j3llyphisching @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden