#its so bad the heat is getting to me faster and I think I maybe having hot flashes too

[bitchapalooza]

The little voice in my head is telling me to see a doctor and regulate these pms symptoms and tell them how erratic my hormones levels drop and rise before my cycle starts and how that effects my day to day especially at work, but the bigger voice in my head is telling me I’m a disgusting faker with a disgusting body and I’ll never be a real man, if I’m put on birth control or whatever else I’ll only look more like a woman and I’ll be trapped as a woman, a miserable woman who only dreams of a dirt nap and a new life where I’m reborn as a man. Can something just hit the earth already and eradicate us all already?

[ndls]

i keep opening discord to say something and my anxiety takes over and i instantly close the app again . maybe its more than just anxiety . over and over and over . open , hesitate , close , wait . rinse , repeat . rinse , repeat .

[threadbearsweater]

one warm day is all i really need | arthur morgan

When you find yourself taken in by a gang of outlaws, the last thing you expect is to grow sweet on one of them- and have the feelings reciprocated. Arthur Morgan doesn't have time for romantic nonsense, but a few memebers of the gang want to make sure that he gets to indulge in his obvious affection toward you. Tags: 3.9k words, an unlikely romance, meddling gang members (with the purest of intentions, one might suppose); female reader, alcohol use, smoking, emotional smut. A repost from a (regretfully) deactivated blog.

Arthur first notices your eyes on him one evening around the campfire at Shady Belle. He won’t accuse you of staring– Lord knows he’s been known to look at you with the same foolish grin you’re wearing now– but he tips his hat to acknowledge you. The heat in your cheeks is suddenly warmer than what the fire has already provided; your grin only grows until your teeth are showing, and you duck your head into your shoulder to hide. Arthur takes a long swig from his whiskey bottle and grimaces as it goes down. He hasn't had a drop of anything in days, and the burn takes a little while to grow numb to now.

“Think she's sweet on you, Morgan,” Sean says in his Irish lilt, giving Arthur an elbow in the ribs.

“Naw, she's lookin’ at you,” Arthur deflects, though he hopes he's wrong. He thinks he knows.

“She told me last week to keep my eyes on my own work,” Sean continues. “I really don't think it's me she wants, Arthur.”

You turn to whisper something to Sadie, who laughs out loud with her face tilted toward the stars. You dare a glance back at Arthur, who is, in fact, looking at you.

Maybe there's some truth to what Mary Beth told you yesterday.

“Arthur's been awful quiet lately.”

The sun shines through the trees and dapples the table where you're seated with bright spots of pale yellow. It's your third round of dominoes with Mary-Beth, and she's whooping your ass, as usual. You don't know how she does it, but each game you play, you're a little more privy to her prowess.

“You think so? I don't know him as well as you.” You hope it isn't obvious that your heart started beating a little faster at the mention of his name. It leaves you breathless.

“Oh yeah,” Mary-Beth continues. “He's been scratchin’ away in that journal of his a lot more, too.” She leans closer, conspiratorial, her eyes twinkling with the gossip she's about to share. “Karen said he went to town twice last week to have a hot bath. If you knew Arthur like I know Arthur, why…you'd know that's highly out of character for him.”

“But you said he'd been quiet. Is that unusual for him, too?”

She hums and purses her lips. “Well you see, Arthur isn't usually a man of many words on a good day. But it's been real bad lately. He don't even give John a hard time like usual.”

You ponder the dominoes for a moment and then make your move. It doesn't earn you any points, but at least you didn't have to draw. “What do you think the problem is?” you ask, nonchalant as possible.

Mary-Beth smiles. Big and bright and sparkling. “Oh, it's not a problem at all.” She lowers her voice and cups her hand to her mouth. “Arthur's in love.”

You gasp, then giggle behind your hand, and Mary-Beth follows suit. Hosea looks on and shakes his head, so you quiet down, reaching across to grab Mary-Beth's hands. “Who do you think it is?”

Her cheeks are tinted pink, and she looks around to make sure there aren't any ears to hear. Word travels fast around camp if one isn't prudent. “I think it's you.”

A thunderstorm rips through Shady Belle a little over a week later. Your little tent that you share with Sadie is ripped straight off its supports in a terrible gust of wind, and you and the others hightail it inside the house to take cover just as it begins to hail. There's quite a ruckus as everyone huddles inside, windblown and rain-soaked. A few of the men hold up lanterns to illuminate the darkness while you watch the lightning and feel the thunder shake the old bones of the house.

“Everyone just calm down,” Dutch calls, descending the stairs, wearing some ridiculous robe with his arms spread wide. “Are we really gonna let a little old thunderstorm keep us from getting a good night's sleep?”

“Says the man with a bed inside the house,” Arthur bites, rounding the corner from what used to be the kitchen, holding a lantern up high in front of him. “Dutch, you better allow these ladies to take cover in here for tonight, or I'll–”

“Or you'll what, Mister Morgan? Pray tell, what kind of man do you take me for?” Dutch's eyes are fiery as he stares Arthur down; a display of dominance. A veritable cockfight.

Arthur's jaw twitches, but he doesn't back down. “The kind of man I should hope would have some goddamn respect for his family.”

There's a tense moment or two where everyone is quiet, then Dutch relents. “Fine, fine! But I expect everyone out there pitching in to clean up in the morning.” He points at Arthur and raises his voice again. “That includes the other man with a bed inside the house,” he sneers.

Arthur shakes his head, then looks away only to catch sight of you, shivering in your wet undergarments, huddled close to Mary-Beth for what little warmth the two of you can share. For a minute, he forgets to breathe, then composes himself enough to cross the room.

“Come on in here. Get yourself warm and dry by the fire.” His hand on your elbow is rough but warm as he leads you toward the fireplace. You nod and look back at Mary-Beth, who shoos you away with a flick of her wrist and a wink; you notice that her teeth are chattering. Despite the humidity that hangs heavy in the air, the temperature has turned chilly with the storm.

Arms crossed over your bosom to preserve any shred of modesty you might have left, you allow yourself to be led away by Arthur. Dutch and some of the others head upstairs while Charles and Javier keep watch from the front porch.

“You alright?” Arthur asks. He covers your shoulders with one of his heavy winter coats, and you pull it around you, grateful for the weight and warmth of it. Another clap of thunder shakes the house and you jump. Arthur chuckles.

“You laughin’ at me?” you quip, placing your palms flat in the direction of the fireplace. You don't even bother to hide the grin you feel curling on your lips.

“No madam, I am not,” Arthur says earnestly, taking a seat beside you on the old wooden crate he's set up as a makeshift bench.

“Then just what do you find so funny, Mister Morgan?”

He scratches the back of his neck, looking into the flames. “Aw, I dunno. I'm sorry. It's just that you're…”

You bump him with your hip, unable to stop the giggles that bubble up from your chest. “I'm what?” you pry.

There's a clatter of something falling on the front porch, and Arthur uses it as a good excuse to get out of this hole he's dug for himself. “I better go see what's going on out there. Charles might need my help.”

“I'm what, Arthur?!” you call, to no avail. He's gone before he can see the proverbial hearts in your eyes.

The saloon in Rhodes is a little nicer than the ones you visited in Valentine, though it's a far cry from the ones you used to frequent in Saint Denis. Still, when Sadie and the other girls decide that it's high time you have a little fun in town, you throw on your best dress and let Karen curl your hair and even apply a little of the makeup you snagged from a homestead up north. For the first time in months, you feel like a proper woman. There isn't time to be melancholy about the past, though, when the boys start whistling and cat-calling upon the sight of you and the other girls.

“Aw, knock it off!” Sadie hollers. She's decided to dress up a little tonight, too, much to everyone's surprise. But she hikes up her skirts to hop into the wagon, calling for the rest of you all to hurry it up. “I've got a bottle of rum with my name on it that's waiting for me to come drink her all down!”

You catch the sunset on the way to town. It's dazzling over the meadows, all golden light and warm, blazing oranges and reds that settle into a brilliant pink by the time your reach the main road into Rhodes. You wish you could see Arthur's eyes, but he's got a handle on the reins next to Charles in the front of the wagon. You've seen him watching the sunset before; he always looks so peaceful those evenings at camp, and you often wonder what he thinks about in those few minutes before the horizon is painted in pastel hues.

Karen starts singing a song that everyone eventually joins, and before you know it, you're pulling up in front of the Rhodes Parlour House. You can already hear the piano and a few voices from outside; the sound of it stirs something in your soul that makes you long for the familiarity of home, but you quickly shove it aside in favor of the company of your new family.

“Madam.” Arthur's voice brings you out of your thoughts and back into the present, where he waits at the back of the wagon with his hand extended to you. You beam at him, and he feels dizzy. And when your soft hand fits into his, he straightens his knees so they don't buckle and betray him.

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” you say, lifting the hem of your skirts to step out onto the dirt road.

Arthur leans in, dangerously close to your ear. You can smell the whisky and cigarettes on his breath, along with the faint tang of gunpowder and hair pomade. “You sure do look nice in that dress.”

You demure and fan yourself with your hand. “Just how much have you had to drink already tonight?” you giggle.

“Ahh, just a little nip to take the edge off.”

“Mm-hm. Sure, Arthur. Whatever you say.”

The night starts off relatively calm, as most nights do. You and the other girls find an empty table to sit and pick up on the town gossip, and the men start a hand of poker. It grows loud and crowded sometime around midnight, and it's hard to have a conversation without shouting over the din of voices, the clink of glass bottles, and the slow drag ragtime music from the piano. The ambiance is charming and lighthearted, and there are even a few couples drunkenly dancing on the porch.

You push back in your chair and find that when you stand, you're a little more wobbly than you thought you would be. The alcohol has loosened you more than you realize, and you grip the table for support until you feel a firm arm around your waist. “Whoa there.”

It's Arthur, who has won the last round of poker and has come to check in on you and the other ladies. You're pulled tight against his chest for one fleeting moment, and you look up into his eyes. He, too, seems drunk, with his eyes gleaming and drooping at the corners, his smile easy and his cheeks flushed.

“My knight in shining armor,” you slur, pretending to faint in his embrace. He only pulls you tighter against him, both of his broad hands splayed across your back. You laugh, and he smiles.

“You weren't getting another drink, were ya?” he questions with a raise of his brow.

“‘m thirsty,” you whine, lifting your empty glass entirely too close to his face. It knocks against his nose, which sends you into another fit of laughter.

Arthur takes your wrist– gentle but firm– and lowers the glass away. “Think you need to drink something that's not whiskey,” he drawls. You can't help but watch the way his lips form around the words; the slip of his tongue between his teeth, the way his mouth turns up into the hint of a smile when you pout. Before you can think too long and hard about it, you lunge forward and kiss him. Hard and clumsy and impulsive. You don't give him time to react. You're far too involved in the kiss to notice, but the girls at the table behind you have all gone silent. Arthur slides his hand along the side of your face and presses his fingers upon the nape of your neck, kissing you back like he really means it. (He really does.)

You pull back suddenly, breathless and reeling, swiping the back of your hand over your mouth. You're still held firm in his embrace, but the playfulness in his gaze has been replaced with an intensity that makes your knees weak all over again.

“What'd ya do that for?” he asks.

“Could ask you the same thing.”

“Well, you started it.”

“And you finished it.”

“Oh, I ain't finished with you, yet.”

“That a promise or a threat?” Your pulse is thumping wildly in your ears.

“Ya know, they got rooms upstairs for that!” Sadie shouts. There's a ripple of laughter across the table. Arthur's hand on your cheek feels like a brand, his arm about your waist an anchor. The rest of the room comes back to you in a woozy blur, and you look around, a little lovestruck and a whole lot drunk. Arthur's lips at your temple make your eyes flutter shut, and the room fades to black as tIt'weight of you slumps against him. He staggers only slightly, but holds you firm, chuckling softly.

“It's a promise,” he whispers.

You come to some hours later. Your mouth is dry as the desert, your head feels like lead, your skin broken out in a cold, uncomfortable sweat. At some point, it seems you were covered with a downy soft blanket, and the pillow at your head is much more fluffy than the makeshift one you made out of a bedroll at camp. At first, you think you're dreaming. Then, you wonder very briefly if you're back at your childhood home in Saint Denis. You almost call out to your mother when you hear a soft snore from the other side of your bed.

The room spins when you turn your head, and you rub your eyes until Arthur comes into focus. He's sprawled in an armchair a few feet away. His arms are crossed over his chest while his chin is tucked into his chest. Off to the side, you spy his boots; his big toe pokes through a hole in his sock and you smile at how vulnerable he looks.

“Arthur,” you whisper, shifting slightly as you pull the blanket up around your chin.

He grunts and lifts his head slowly. He frowns a little at first, but when he focuses on you lying there, so close he could reach out and kiss you again like he did last night, there's a slow, easy smile that spreads across his face.

“Hey there, party girl. You feeling alright?”

You could kick yourself for all the giggling you've done around him lately, but you can't help it. He brings out something giddy and downright foolish inside you, so you toss a pillow at him and bury your face in the sheets.

“Aw, come on now. I'm just messin’ with ya.” He leans forward and rubs your head affectionately. “I'd say you were feeling pretty good last night.”

It's in that moment a white-hot jolt of sheer panic shoots down your spine. Quickly, you check to make sure you're still wearing clothes. Aside from your breasts being a little lopsided in the confines of your bodice, you're relieved to find that your dress is still intact and– more importantly– on your body. You dare another peek at Arthur and notice that his shirt is unbuttoned down to the middle of his chest and he's discarded his vest somewhere, but he, too, is fully clothed. Thank the good Lord above.

You must've said that last part aloud, because Arthur laughs. “Don't worry, nothing happened. Though it weren't for lack of tryin’ on your part,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “Thought I was gonna have to lock you in here like some feral cat till you settled down.”

Oh. Oh Lord. You try to recall what happened that led you to this room, but all that comes to mind is a lot of loud conversation, some dancing, a spilled drink across Sadie's lap, and Arthur's hand on the side of your cheek. “Oh…”

Now you remember it in vivid detail.

“Didn't know you cared for me like that,” he says. It's earnest and tender, a few shades less intense than the kiss you now recall, the one where it felt like he wanted to eat you alive right there in the middle of the saloon. Now, he thumbs your cheek and looks at you so fondly you swear your heart jumps right up in your throat. “I mean, I'd been hoping. Wasn't sure you was looking for a romance.” He huffs a short sigh, frustrated with himself. “Aw, hell, what am I saying? ‘Course you weren't. You're just looking to survive, just like the rest of us, and here I–”

“Shut up,” you say, taking hold of his hand and tugging him closer. He resists until you pull even harder, watching the fire in your eyes blaze to life. “You talk too much, Yankee.”

“I ain't no damn–”

“Kiss me.”

He's over you in an instant; you're pressed flat against the bed, completely and totally at his mercy. This kiss feels different than the drunken one last night. It's sober and honest, if not a little hesitant, as if he's holding himself back from devouring you wholly. The warmth of his body against yours takes your breath away. Or maybe it's the way his tongue laves heavy into your mouth, unashamed of how badly he craves the taste of you. You grip his hair at the roots and tug him down to kiss him harder, lifting your upper body to meet him until he presses down, his chest flush with yours.

Things get heated quickly.

His mouth moves across your cheek, down your neck, and he groans against your skin, rutting his cock against your thigh. You fleetingly wish that he had managed to get you out of that dress before he presumably tucked you into bed and passed out in that chair, because there’s a whole lot of fabric between you and him that really pisses you off right now. Arthur must feel much the same, because he’s bunching your skirts up past your knees while you’re fumbling with his belt buckle, desperate to feel him against you, inside you. It’s clumsy and crazed, rushed and rough, but you manage somehow to shuck off every last bit of your clothes and his until you’re breathless and so, so eager beneath him.

“Need you now,” you whine. You feel insane. Dizzy and dehydrated, impossibly turned on, every nerve ending on fire when his callused hands grip the fat of your thighs and open you to him.

“Greedy little thing, ain’t ya?” One of his hands slips between your legs to find you wet and swollen. He presses the pad of his thumb against your clit and pushes a finger inside you; the sound you make nearly has him finishing there on the sheets, so he wastes no time in getting himself as close to you as humanly possible.

“Never wanted something so bad,” he murmurs into the dip of your shoulder. He wants all of you– all at once– wants to fuse his hands against your skin and sink himself into you so deep that it would be impossible to tell where he ends and you begin. The heat from his body takes away what little breath you have left, his mouth on each part of your body building the buzz in your chest until you feel like you might just burst open. You grabbed at each other like it was the first and last time you might have this opportunity, as if you wanted more than what the other of you was able to give.

Considering the kind of life you’ve both led so far, it’s a good possibility that you might never get to do this again.

“Give it to me,” you plead, opening yourself further to him, fingers wrapped firm around the base of his cock. “Please.”

Arthur Morgan is a man of incredible strength and self restraint, except when it comes to a woman like you.

There’s nothing gentle about the way he takes you. It’s primal, sweaty, filthy, rough. Arthur pushes as far inside you as he can go, then pushes further when you beg for more. He cups your knees with slick palms and presses you open as far as you can bend; you tug roughly at his hair and bite down on his shoulder when the pleasure builds to a blinding ferocity. The wooden bedframe knocks angrily against the wall with each thrust, but you can’t bring yourself to care if anyone hears. You can’t focus on anything beyond the feeling of him filling you with every stroke of his cock, of the taut, corded muscle in his back and shoulders as you grapple to hang on as tight as you can. Your orgasm hits your hard and fast, and he encourages you through it, taking his time to give you long, controlled strokes. It’s as pleasurable for him as it is for you. “‘Atta girl,” he rasps, lips moving against your ear. Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle your cries, but he pulls it away and threads his fingers with yours, pressing it onto the pillow. “I wanna hear it.”

Your moans are what drive him over the edge.

He buries his face against the side of your neck, panting heavily as he comes, driving into you so hard that you can almost feel the mattress beneath you begin to sag under the weight. You cradle his head in your hands and link your legs around his waist, boneless and languid in the aftermath of your own pleasure. When he moves, you move with him, riding out the waves together until you’re both too tired to move another muscle.

Neither of you speak for a while. He lies on his back with an arm around your shoulders while you curl against him, tuned into his heartbeat and swirling little patterns into the hair on his chest. It’s comforting to feel him next to you, to watch his chest rise and fall as he steadies his breathing, to soak up the warmth of his skin against yours.

You’re the first to break the silence. “Did everyone else go back to camp last night?”

Arthur nods slowly. “Something tells me they planned all this.”

“Planned it? You mean…” You lift your arm slowly and flick your wrist to acknowledge the room you’re laying in. “This?” You lift your chin and grin at him. “Or getting us together?”

“Room was paid for before I even had a chance to ask if they had one,” he explains. “Think it was Mrs. Adler.”

You vaguely recall her shouting something about a room after you kissed Arthur last night, and you shake your head. “You complaining?”

He turns to his side, draping an arm across your hip. “Me? Never.” You’re suddenly pressed beneath him once again; from the looks of it, you won’t be getting out of this bed anytime soon. “Specially when I’ve got you here to help me keep warm.”

[amkyor]

hi!! is there any possibility for you to do the opposite of the mha guys getting slapped? like the boys accidentally hurt the reader when arguing, whether it be slamming a door and their hand gets caught orrr a shove that was a little too strong ya know? you obv dont have to but if you did, the same guys in the original one would be perfect!

MHA GUYS REACT TO...

READER GETTING HURT WHILE ARGUING ᡣ𐭩

Katsuki Bakugo ᡣ𐭩

The sound of the iron sizzling as it glided over fabric filled the small apartment.

You stood by the ironing board, focused on smoothing out the creases in one of Bakugo’s button-up shirts.

The room was warm, and the tension was palpable. The argument between you and Bakugo had started as a simple disagreement but quickly escalated into a heated exchange.

“Why do you always have to be so stubborn?” you snapped, your voice cutting through the hum of the iron.

Bakugo stood a few feet away, arms crossed, his signature scowl etched deep on his face.

“I’m stubborn? You’re the one who never listens!” he shot back, his tone sharp and defensive.

You glared at him, the iron in your hand moving a little faster than before.

The argument continued, words flying back and forth. Neither of you were willing to back down, each too caught up in your emotions to see the situation clearly.

“I don’t understand why you have to make everything so damn difficult!” Bakugo growled, throwing his hands up in frustration.

“I’m making things difficult? You’re impossible!” You fired back, your voice rising.

In your frustration, you weren’t paying attention to the iron. As you adjusted the shirt on the board, your hand slipped, and the edge of the hot iron made contact with your skin.

A sharp, searing pain shot through your hand, and you let out a yelp, dropping the iron onto the board.

“Shit!” You cried, cradling your hand.

Bakugo’s eyes widened, and the anger in his face was instantly replaced with concern.

He crossed the room in two strides, his hands reaching for yours. “What the hell happened?” he demanded, his voice laced with worry.

“I burned myself,” you hissed through clenched teeth, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

The pain was sharp and intense, and you could already see the angry red mark forming on your skin.

“Let me see,” Bakugo said, his tone softer now. He gently took your hand in his, inspecting the burn. His fingers were surprisingly gentle as they brushed over your skin.

“It’s not that bad,” you mumbled, trying to downplay the situation despite the pain.

“Don’t be stupid,” he snapped, though there was no heat in his words. “Stay here.”

Bakugo disappeared into the kitchen and returned moments later with a bowl of cool water and a clean towel.

He carefully guided you to sit down on the bed, setting the bowl on the bedside table.

Without saying a word, he dipped the towel in the water and gently pressed it against the burn on your hand.

“Hold this,” he instructed, his voice gruff but steady. You obeyed, wincing slightly as the cool towel soothed the searing pain.

Bakugo crouched in front of you, his crimson eyes scanning your face for any signs of discomfort.

His concern was evident, though he tried to mask it with his usual tough demeanor.

“You need to be more careful,” he muttered, his gaze flicking down to your hand. “What were you thinking, waving that damn thing around while yelling at me?”

You shot him a glare, though it lacked its usual intensity. “I wasn’t waving it around. I was ironing your shirt, remember? The one you claimed I ruined in the first place.”

He sighed, running a hand through his spiky blond hair. “Yeah, well… maybe I shouldn’t have said that. I was pissed.”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised by his admission. “Was that... an apology?”

“Don’t push it,” he grumbled, though the corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly.

You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh despite the lingering pain. “You’re impossible, Katsuki.”

“And you’re reckless,” he shot back, but his tone was softer now. He stood up and disappeared into the bathroom, returning with a small first-aid kit.

Sitting beside you on the bed, he opened the kit and pulled out a tube of burn ointment.

“This is gonna sting a little,” he warned, taking your hand in his. His touch was careful, almost hesitant, as he applied the ointment to the burn.

His thumb brushed against your uninjured skin, his movements uncharacteristically tender.

You watched him in silence, your earlier anger fading away. It was moments like these that reminded you of how deeply he cared, even if he had a strange way of showing it.

“Thanks,” you said softly, breaking the silence.

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “Don’t thank me. Just don’t be stupid next time.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled nonetheless. “I’ll try. But maybe you could help by not being so infuriating all the time.”

“Tch. You’re one to talk,” he muttered, though there was no real bite in his words.

After wrapping a loose bandage around your hand, his shoulders relaxed as he leaned back against the bed, supporting himself with his palms.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The tension from earlier had melted away, replaced by a comfortable silence.

Bakugo turned his head to look at you, his fiery red eyes softer than usual.

“Sorry, by the way,” he said quietly, almost as if the words pained him to say. “For snapping at you earlier.”

Your eyes widened slightly in surprise. “Wow. Two apologies in one day? Who are you, and what have you done with Katsuki Bakugo?”

“Don’t get used to it,” he grumbled, looking away to hide the faint blush creeping up his cheeks.

You laughed, leaning over to rest your head on his shoulder. “I’ll take what I can get.”

He didn’t push you away. Instead, he reached over with his unoccupied hand and rested it lightly on your knee, a subtle gesture of reassurance.

As the two of you sat there, the earlier argument felt like a distant memory.

Bakugo might have been rough around the edges, but moments like these reminded you why you loved him—and why, no matter how heated things got, you’d always find your way back to each other.

Shoto Todoroki ᡣ𐭩

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────────

The kitchen was quiet except for the rhythmic sound of a knife slicing through strawberries.

You stood at the counter, focused on your task, carefully cutting the fruit into even pieces. The tension in the air was thick, a result of the argument that had been brewing for the past twenty minutes.

Shoto leaned against the opposite counter, his arms crossed, his face unreadable.

His heterochromatic eyes were sharp, and his usually calm demeanor was laced with irritation.

“I don’t understand why you can’t just listen to reason,” he said, his voice steady but cold.

You didn’t look up, your hands working methodically.

“And I don’t understand why you always have to be so detached about everything,” you shot back, frustration creeping into your tone.

“I’m not detached. I’m just trying to be logical,” he replied, his gaze unwavering.

“Logical doesn’t always mean right, Shoto,” you said, finally looking up to meet his eyes. “Sometimes, emotions matter too.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not saying they don’t. But this isn’t about emotions. It’s about—”

“Don’t,” you interrupted, your voice sharp. “Don’t dismiss how I feel. You always do that.”

His expression faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered. “I’m not dismissing you. I’m trying to have a conversation, but you’re being unreasonable.”

The words stung, and in your frustration, your grip on the knife tightened.

Your hand slipped, and before you realized what had happened, the blade nicked your finger.

“Ah!” You yelped, dropping the knife onto the cutting board and clutching your hand.

Blood welled up from the cut, and the pain was sharp and immediate.

Shoto’s eyes widened, the irritation in his expression instantly replaced with concern.

He was at your side in a heartbeat, his movements swift and precise.

“Let me see,” he said, reaching for your hand.

“It’s fine,” you muttered, trying to pull away, but he gently but firmly held your wrist.

“It’s not fine,” he said, his voice softer now. His thumb brushed against your uninjured fingers as he inspected the cut. “You’re bleeding.”

He guided you to the sink, turning on the faucet and holding your hand under the cool water.

The silence between you was heavy, but it wasn’t the same tense silence as before. This one was filled with unspoken worry and regret.

“You need to be more careful,” he said quietly, his eyes focused on your hand.

You let out a small, bitter laugh. “Ironic, isn’t it? We wouldn’t even be in this situation if we weren’t arguing.”

He didn’t respond immediately, but you saw his jaw tighten. After a moment, he turned off the water and reached for a clean towel, wrapping it around your hand.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden apology. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, meeting your gaze. “I shouldn’t have dismissed your feelings. You were right.”

The sincerity in his eyes made your chest tighten. You looked up at him for a moment, his eyebrows furrowed, and his eyes narrowed.

You hesitated for a moment before looking away from his strong gaze. “I… I’m sorry too,” you said softly. “I shouldn’t have let my frustration get the better of me.”

He nodded, his expression softening. “Let me bandage this properly.”

Without waiting for your response, he led you to the bathroom, where he carefully cleaned and dressed the wound.

His touch was gentle, and the concentration on his face reminded you of why you loved him—his quiet care, his attention to detail.

When he was done, he looked at you, his eyes filled with something unspoken. “I hate seeing you hurt,” he admitted.

You smiled faintly, reaching up to cup his cheek with your uninjured hand. “And I hate fighting with you.”

He leaned into your touch, his hand covering yours. “Let’s try to handle things better next time. No more strawberries during arguments.”

You laughed softly, the tension finally breaking. “Deal.”

He kissed your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment. “Come on. Let’s finish making those strawberries together.”

And just like that, the kitchen felt a little warmer, and the argument felt like a distant memory.

Izuku Midoriya ᡣ𐭩

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────────

Izuku Midoriya stood in the middle of the kitchen, his arms crossed, and his expression was unusually tense.

The air between you was thick with frustration, the kind of tension that turned casual conversations into heated arguments.

“I just don’t get why you didn’t tell me,” Izuku said, his voice louder than it usually was.

“You shouldn’t have to handle things on your own when I’m right here!”

You sighed, turning away from him as you wiped down the counter, trying to keep your focus on the task at hand. “I didn’t think it was a big deal, Izuku. I didn’t want to worry you over something so small.”

“Small?” he repeated, his green eyes wide and incredulous. “You were stressed out, overworking yourself, and you didn’t think I needed to know?”

You glanced at him, your jaw tight. “I was handling it just fine. Not everything needs to be a team effort, okay? I’m allowed to deal with things on my own sometimes.”

Izuku’s fists clenched at his sides, but he took a deep breath, clearly trying to steady himself.

“But we’re a team. That’s the point of being together, isn’t it? Supporting each other?”

You could feel your own temper rising, and you turned toward the fridge, needing a moment to compose yourself. “I’m not saying we’re not a team, Izuku. I’m just saying I didn’t need help with this.”

Your words hung in the air as you opened the fridge, reaching in for a carton of eggs to finish preparing dinner.

The argument still buzzed in the back of your mind, and your movements were quicker and less careful than usual.

As you grabbed the eggs and swung the fridge door shut, your finger got caught between the heavy door and its frame.

A sharp, searing pain shot through your hand, and you yelped, dropping the carton of eggs onto the floor.

The sound of the eggs cracking was muffled by your hiss of pain, and you instinctively clutched your injured hand, tears springing to your eyes.

“Ah, crap!” you muttered, trying to shake off the pain.

Izuku was at your side in an instant, his earlier frustration completely replaced by concern. “Are you okay? Let me see!”

“It’s fine, Izuku,” you said, wincing as you tried to wave him off.

“It’s not fine,” he insisted gently but firmly taking your hand.

His fingers were warm and careful as he inspected the injury. The skin around your finger was already red and swelling slightly.

“Why were you moving so fast?” he asked, his tone softer but still laced with worry.

“Because we were arguing, and I wasn’t paying attention,” you admitted, feeling a pang of guilt as you looked at the mess of broken eggs on the floor.

Izuku sighed, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he held your hand. “This is exactly what I mean. You don’t have to keep everything bottled up and push yourself like this.”

You glanced up at him, his emerald eyes filled with concern and just a hint of exasperation. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“I know,” he interrupted gently. “I know you didn’t mean to. But I hate seeing you like this—hurt, stressed, or trying to carry everything on your own. It’s not fair to you, and it’s not fair to us.”

His words hit you harder than you expected, and you felt your shoulders slump. “I’m sorry,” you said quietly. “I wasn’t trying to shut you out. I just didn’t want to add to your plate.”

Izuku shook his head, a small, rueful smile tugging at his lips. “That’s what I’m here for—to share the plate. Even if it’s overflowing, it’s better than you carrying it all by yourself.”

You managed a small laugh despite the lingering ache in your hand. “You and your metaphors.”

He smiled wider, his thumb tracing soothing circles over your knuckles. “Come on. Let’s clean up this mess and get some ice on your finger.”

Together, you cleaned up the broken eggs, Izuku insisting on doing most of the work while you held your injured hand under cool running water.

When the floor was spotless again, he led you to the couch, sat you down, and disappeared into the kitchen to grab a bag of frozen peas to use as an ice pack.

When he returned, he crouched in front of you, carefully placing the makeshift ice pack against your finger. “There. Keep this on for a while, okay?”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Thank you, Izuku. For everything.”

He looked up at you, his eyes soft. “Always.”

As he sat beside you, one arm slipping around your shoulders, the argument felt like a distant memory.

The only thing that mattered now was the quiet understanding that you didn’t have to face anything alone.

Eijiro Kirishima ᡣ𐭩

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────────

The sun had long set, leaving the apartment illuminated by warm overhead lights.

Dinner dishes were still on the table, and the faint scent of grilled chicken lingered in the air.

You were on your way to the kitchen, carrying the plates from the table, your footsteps brisk. Behind you, Kirishima’s voice followed, sharp with frustration.

“I’m just saying you could’ve told me before making the plans!” he said, his tone a mix of exasperation and hurt.

You turned your head slightly, your own irritation bubbling over. “I didn’t think it would be a big deal, Eijiro! It’s just a dinner with some friends!”

“Yeah, friends I barely know,” he shot back, following you into the kitchen. “You know I like to plan things. I hate feeling blindsided like this!”

The plates clinked loudly as you set them on the counter, your movements a little too forceful. “It’s one night! You don’t have to go if it’s such a problem!”

Kirishima ran a hand through his hair, his usually soft expression hardened by the argument. “That’s not the point, and you know it. Why do you always do this? Make decisions without even talking to me?”

You spun around to face him, your hands gesturing wildly. “Because not everything needs a full-blown discussion, Eijiro! Sometimes, I just want to do something without overthinking it for hours!”

The tension in the room was thick, your words bouncing off each other like sparks flying in a forge. Neither of you were backing down, your voices overlapping in a heated exchange.

As you turned to grab something from the counter, your hip collided with the edge of the kitchen island. Hard.

The sharp pain took you by surprise, and you let out a yelp, instinctively clutching your side.

The impact sent a dull ache radiating through your hip, and you stumbled slightly, leaning against the counter for support.

Kirishima’s anger evaporated in an instant, replaced by concern. “Babe, are you okay?” he asked, rushing to your side.

You winced, blinking back tears of pain. “I’m fine,” you muttered, though your voice wavered.

“Let me see,” he said, his hands hovering near your waist as if unsure whether to touch you.

“It’s nothing, Eijiro,” you insisted, though the way you clutched your hip betrayed your words.

“Don’t give me that,” he said, his voice softer now. “You’re in pain. Sit down, please.”

Reluctantly, you allowed him to guide you to one of the kitchen chairs.

His hands were gentle as he helped you sit, his worry evident in the furrow of his brows.

“Where did you hit it?” he asked, crouching in front of you.

You hesitated before lifting the hem of your shirt slightly to reveal the reddening spot on your hip.

Kirishima winced at the sight, his expression softening even more.

“That looks like it hurts,” he said, his voice filled with guilt. “I’ll get some ice.”

He stood quickly, rummaging through the freezer until he found an ice pack.

Wrapping it in a towel, he returned to your side, kneeling in front of you as he gently pressed the ice pack to your hip.

You hissed at the sudden cold but didn’t pull away, the pain already beginning to dull. “Thanks,” you said quietly, avoiding his gaze.

Kirishima sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice thick with regret. “I didn’t mean to get so worked up. I just… I hate fighting with you.”

You looked down at him, his crimson eyes filled with sincerity. “I’m sorry too,” you admitted. “I should’ve talked to you about the dinner. I wasn’t trying to upset you.”

He shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I overreacted. I know you weren’t trying to. I just… I like being included, you know?”

“I get it,” you said, reaching out to brush a hand through his hair. “And I’ll try to be better about that. I promise.”

Kirishima leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly. “And I’ll try not to blow up over little things. We’re a team, right?”

“Always,” you said, a smile finally breaking through the tension.

He stood, helping you to your feet as well. “Come on,” he said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Let’s get you comfortable on the couch. I’ll clean up the kitchen tonight.”

You laughed softly, leaning into him as he guided you out of the kitchen. “You’re really trying to make up for this, huh?”

“Damn right I am,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I screwed up, and I’m not letting you think for a second that I don’t care.”

As you settled onto the couch, Kirishima brought you a blanket and a glass of water before sitting beside you, his hand resting gently on your leg.

The earlier argument felt like a distant memory, replaced by the warmth of his care and the quiet understanding that no matter how heated things got, you’d always find your way back to each other.

Denki Kaminari ᡣ𐭩

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────────

The evening had started off normally enough. You and Denki were at home, trying to enjoy some downtime after a long week.

The living room was dimly lit, the faint hum of the TV filling the silence as you moved around, trying to organize the tangled mess of chargers and wires behind the entertainment stand.

Denki sat on the couch, scrolling through his phone, his usual carefree demeanor noticeably absent.

A small disagreement earlier in the day had left a lingering tension between the two of you, and neither had made the move to resolve it.

“You’ve got too many things plugged in back there,” Denki said, breaking the silence.

You sighed, crouched behind the TV as you worked to untangle the mess. “I know, Denki. That’s why I’m fixing it.”

“It’s not just about fixing it,” he shot back, his voice sharper than usual. “You’re always leaving it like that, and it’s dangerous. I’ve told you a hundred times.”

You rolled your eyes, the frustration bubbling up. “I don’t need a lecture right now. I’m handling it, okay?”

His phone landed on the coffee table with a thud, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Handling it? That’s what you always say. But you never actually—”

“Can you not right now?” You interrupted, turning your head to glare at him. “I said I’ve got it under control.”

Denki scoffed, running a hand through his messy blond hair. “Yeah, sure. You’re so ‘in control’ that you’re probably going to end up shocking yourself.”

Your temper flared at his sarcasm. “At least I’m doing something instead of sitting there complaining!”

The tension in the room thickened, your voices rising as the argument escalated.

You were so focused on getting the last charger plugged in and proving a point that you didn’t notice the faint crackle of static building up in the air.

“Maybe if you actually listened—” Denki started, but his words were cut off by your sudden yelp.

A sharp jolt of electricity shot through your fingers as you plugged in the charger, making you jump back and wince in pain. “Ow!”

Denki was on his feet in an instant, his earlier anger replaced with concern. “What happened?” he asked, rushing to your side.

You cradled your hand, your face twisted in discomfort. “I got shocked,” you muttered, trying to shake off the stinging sensation.

“I told you!” Denki exclaimed, though his voice was more panicked than accusatory. “That’s why I said it’s dangerous!”

You shot him a glare, still cradling your hand. “This isn’t the time to say ‘I told you so,’ Denki!”

His expression softened as he crouched beside you, gently taking your hand in his. “Let me see,” he said, his voice quieter now.

You hesitated but allowed him to examine your fingers. His touch was gentle, his thumb brushing over the spot where the jolt had hit.

“It doesn’t look bad,” he said, his golden eyes scanning your hand for any signs of burns. “Does it still hurt?”

“A little,” you admitted, your earlier anger fading as you saw the genuine worry on his face.

Denki let out a breath, his shoulders sagging in relief. “You scared me,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

You blinked, taken aback by his sudden vulnerability. “I’m fine, Denki. It’s just a little shock.”

“Yeah, but it could’ve been worse,” he said, his brow furrowed. “I shouldn’t have let you do that by yourself. I should’ve just helped instead of being a jerk about it.”

You sighed, the weight of the argument finally settling over you. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you, either,” you admitted. “I was just frustrated, and I took it out on you.”

Denki’s lips quirked into a small smile, his usual lightheartedness beginning to return. “We’re both pretty good at being stubborn, huh?”

You chuckled softly, nodding. “Yeah, we are.”

He stood, offering you his hand to help you up. “Come on. Let’s take a break from this mess. I’ll get you some ice for your hand, and then we can figure it out together.”

You took his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. “Thanks, Denki.”

As the two of you walked to the kitchen, the tension between you began to ease.

Denki rummaged through the freezer, pulling out an ice pack and wrapping it in a towel before handing it to you.

“Here,” he said, his grin more playful now. “And for the record, you look cute when you’re stubborn.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “You’re lucky I love you, idiot.”

Denki laughed, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “Love you too, spark plug.”

The argument was forgotten, replaced by the warmth of your shared laughter and the promise to face things together, no matter how tangled or messy they might be.

FANFIC RECOMMENDATION ᡣ𐭩

Adult Bakugo x Female Reader Fanfic

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

heartless- clark kent

thinking abour red red kryptonite clark teasing you and making you ride his thigh to get off... mmm

this is smutty so you have been warned

“I don't know why you keep squirming around like that angel. It's not gonna let you cum any faster.” Clark chuckled as you pouted upon your pedestal- his denim clothed thigh, struggling to get any form of friction to quell the heat that puddled between your legs.

It had been over an hour of this, of you trying to be extra sweet to please Clark, in hopes he would pick you up the way you liked- like a doll, and coo at you as he’d make you cum repeatedly in his bed.

Instead, you were here- desperate for relief as he mocked you.

Your usual schemes had failed, his gaze amused and uninterested as you tried extra hard to do things you knew tended to get him head over heels for you. It was as if he could see right through you.

Those attempts had resulted in failure, as Clark was anything but sweet. No, his demeanour was darker, and he was meaner.

But fuck if you didnt enjoy it, just a little.

He had coaxed you up onto his lap, where he man spread wide across the couch in his room. You straddled his thick thigh, rubbing your hips on your own accord. He refused to help, and it drove you to the point of tears.

“Please Clark, please- I ju-just need your help.” you hiccuped, feeling a tear start to slip down your cheek as your legs started to quiver and shake, just as your lower lip did.

He smirked, hand coming to cup your cheek, thumb stroking your lower lip- forcing its way into your mouth. You sucked, looking up at him with doe eyes.

“You look so pretty when you cry baby. Such a cute lil thing, aren't you?”

He bucked his knee up, bouncing it up and down in rhythm, making you squirm even more as you clung to his t-shirt, bawling the fabric into your fists.

“You really need my help to make you cum, don't you? Pathetic. Can you do anything on your own?”

You shook your head, another tear falling down your cheek, leaving them feeling sticky in its wake as it fell to Clarks hand.

“No, no that's right, you need me to do everything for you. You need me, cause no one can fuck you as good as I can- yeah?”

You frantically nodded, eyes widening as his hand slid down to your hips, guiding them as you grinded on him shamelessly, a wet patch on his pants.

“Yeah, I know baby. Maybe I’ll let you cum.” he said coyley, a smirk on his face, eyebrows raising as you tried to protest, only getting out incoherent mumbles through his thumb in your mouth.

“What's that? You can hold off a little longer? Oh angel..” he cooed as you shook your head, trying desperately to hold off from finishing. You knew if you came without his permission, you’d be in for it.

“I- I cant hold off anymore.” you choked out, drool dripping down your chin as he removed his thumb, shinny with your spit.

“Too bad.” he grinned, a flash of red shining in his eyes.

[evcrmoresworld]

Be Quiet, Baby 𐙚

Brothers best friend!Rafe Cameron x Reader

nsfw [18+] warnings! soft dom Rafe, teasing, female masturbation

You should’ve locked the door. But you didn’t.

Your cheeks heat as your eyes flick over to Rafe Cameron, your brother’s best friend, the guy you’ve crushed on since you were too young to know better. He’s standing in the doorway of your room, eyebrows raised, lips curled into that signature smirk.

You still have a hand between your thighs. Your heart is racing, a deer caught in headlights.

His voice is low, amused when he finally speaks. “Didn’t know you played with yourself thinking about me, sweetheart.”

Your heart stutters violently. “Rafe—what are you doing here?”

He steps in, door clicking shut behind him. “Looking for your brother. He’s not here.” His eyes drop to the shape of your hand beneath the waistband of your panties. “But you are.”

You're scrambling to sit up, yanking your covers over your lap, but he just chuckles and walks closer. “Don’t stop on my account.”

Your voice is a whisper. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

“Maybe not.” His hand braces beside your leg as he leans over you on the bed. “But I saw the way your legs were shaking before you noticed me. You were close, weren’t you?”

Your face is burning. Your thighs press together, instinctive and ashamed, but he tuts softly.

“Don’t hide from me,” he murmurs, fingers tracing the edge of the duvet. “C’mon. Let me help.”

“Rafe…” You want to say. So many years you’ve craved his touch, imagined he was the one brushing his fingers across your skin but this wasn’t a dream. This was real.

“I’ll be good. Won’t even take your panties off.” His voice is soft and coaxing. “Just wanna make you feel better. Let you come like you were trying to before.”

Your lips part in shock, but your hips betray you, shifting slightly toward his touch.

“Sweet girl,” he coos. “You want it, don’t you?”

You nod, just once, like that's all you can manage.

He grins, but it’s not cocky; it’s dark. Like he needs this. His teeth scrape against his bottom lip, eyes trailing over you. A predator eyeing up its prey.

“Lie back,” he says, and you do. Trembling. Anticipating.

He drags the blanket down slowly, exposing the damp spot on your thin cotton panties. He groans quietly at the sight. “Fuck, you’re soaked.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, but his hand cups you gently, palm warm and broad, applying just enough pressure to make your breath hitch.

“Relax, baby. I got you.”

He rubs slow, teasing circles over the wet fabric, not enough friction, just enough to drive you mad.

“Look at how sensitive you are,” he murmurs, eyes locked on your face. “Barely touched you and you’re already squirming.”

“Rafe,” you gasp, lifting your hips.

He presses down more firmly, his fingers rolling over your clit in deliberate, lazy movements, never slipping beneath the fabric.

“That feel good?” he asks, voice low and thick.

You nod desperately, hands clutching your sheets.

“Yeah? My pretty girl likes getting off with her panties on, huh?” He chuckles darkly, thumb circling just a little faster. “Could’ve had this a long time ago if you’d just asked.”

Your thighs start to shake. Your stomach tightens.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he breathes, eyes devouring every twitch of your body. “Let me feel you come for me, baby. Want it so bad.”

You’re panting now, hips moving against his palm shamelessly. His voice is in your head, echoing through your blood.

“Such a good girl for me. So needy. So fucking wet.”

He presses a kiss to your thigh, then another. You cry out softly when his pressure increases. Needing more of him.

“Shhh,” he soothes. “Gotta be quiet, yeah? Don’t want your parents hearing how good I make you feel.”

The thought causes a shiver to run down your spine. The forbiddenness of it all. Your back arches, thighs clamping around his hand. He groans again.

“Jesus, you’re gonna soak right through these,” he whispers, dragging his knuckles over the slick fabric. “Come on, baby. Let go for me.”

You do. As if your body's wired to obey his every word.

The orgasm hits sharp and sudden, tearing through you as he keeps rubbing, cooing softly while your thighs quiver and your breath stutters.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he praises, still stroking gently. “So fucking pretty when you fall apart.”

You’re boneless beneath him, panting, dazed, and he’s just looking at you, like he’s memorizing every second.

“You gonna let me do it without these on next time?” he asks softly, kissing your knee as he traces the band of your panties. “Next time you’re all worked up and lonely?”

You nod, breathless.

“Good girl,” He whispers, his breath fanning against your skin. “That’s my good girl.”

[mrsnegan]

Scratch That Itch

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: Joel catches you taking care of yourself and decides to help you out.

Warnings: age gap, a sprinkle of angst, lots of smut (so 18+ only), f!masturbation (reader is ovulating and horny af), semi-public activities, dirty talk galore, f!oral (Joel is pussy eating king), spitting kink, Joel tries to be responsible, reader may have a tiny breeding kink, mentions of m!oral, fingering, brief mention of fisting, squirting

A/N: Well, this escalated a bit. I reblogged a piture of Pedro with a little Joel drabble and decided to make a oneshot out of it. Have fun reading, feedback is always appreciated!

"What is it with you today?" Joel sits opposite of you, eyeing you over the rim of his glass.The Tipsy Bison is crowded, leaving almost no room to move, leave alone to get a good breath of fresh air. Which is exactly what you need right now. Your skin feels sticky, heated even, and not only because of too many people in one place in the middle of summer.

You're ovulating, you think, because there's no other sane explanation for your sudden need. And of all people you could be lusting over, it's Joel. Grumpy "leave me alone" Joel who currently helps you with fixing the roof of your home because he used to work in constructions and is good with his hands. Joel, older than you by nearly two decades, who you invited for a drink as a thank you for helping you out. Joel who can be equal parts intimidating and caring. Everything about Joel is strength and skill and warmth - the latter if you happen to be one of the few people of his inner circle, those who he cares about. He's private, doesn't take shit and smalltalk, his reputation well-known and sometimes feared. Joel with his greying hair, trimmed beard and those chocolate eyes, manly and capable.

You gulp heavily, taking another sip of your drink, thighs pressing together under the table to get a little bit of friction. What the hell is wrong with you?

"It's nothing. Just...a bit hot in here," you answer, eyes avoiding him.

"You're a bad liar, darlin'," he states and takes a long sip from his Whiskey. You can't help but look at his throat rhythmically swallowing the burning liquid. There's one single bead of sweat travelling down the column of his throat and you're dying to lick it off of him. You feel the need between your legs intensify.

"Excuse me for a sec, will you? Need to...use the bathroom real quick." Without waiting for his answer, you stand up, avoiding to look at him, and head straight for the restrooms at the other end of the Tipsy Bison. Breath quickening with every footstep, you try to make your way through the people chatting and drinking, bumping into various bodies, apologizing quickly and praying nobody wants to chat with you.

When you finally reach the door to the restrooms, you open one and quickly close it behind you, your body hitting its dark wood with a thud. An all-consuming desire for release washes over you, your fingers working faster than your mind. With little effort you slip your hand into the waistband of your shorts and touch yourself over the cotton of your underwear.

"Fuck," you whimper at the contact, realising how soaked the material is. The need for relief is too big to stop now so you yank down your shorts and panties to your knees, upper body leaning against the door again afterwards. Your fingers find your bare folds, slippery and needy to be touched.

You moan, a bit too loud maybe, but you can't help yourself. As depraved as this might be, it's all hormones, you try to reason with yourself. Better get it out of your system now than risk an even bigger mistake.

The pleasure shooting through your body drowns out everything around you. There are footsteps at the other end of the door you don't register until you feel rather than hear a knock.

"Everything alright?"

Shit, fuck. It's Joel outside the door. You panic, torn between finishing your business and pulling your shorts back up, heart hammering uncontrollably. By the time you finally decide to stop touching yourself, it's too late. You feel the door pushing against your back and damn yourself for not locking it proberly.

"No, no, it's...everything's fine," you stammer breathlessly, trying to push back and close the door again, but of course Joel is stronger, making you stumble forward. You catch yourself by gripping one of the nearby sinks, blood turning cold the second you lock eyes with Joel through the mirror who now stands frozen in the doorway.

It takes several heartbeats which feel like an eternity before he closes the door with a bang, instantly locking it without even turning his gaze away from you.

Quickly you look down at your hands, gripping the edge of the sink like a lifeline, coming up with an excuse for all of this.

"Look...it's...hormones, okay? Don't know why you're making me all horny and...fuck...I'm...ovulating or some shit, just wanted to take care...real quick before, you know, I jump you...I'm sorry...," you babble, hands flying to your shorts to pull them up again when you feel his presence right behind you. There's a shift in the energy all around you, you can feel in the air. Frozen with your ass sticking out, Joel's touch burns your skin, his hands grabbing the flesh of your round globes, crowding you from behind.

The low rumble from deep within his chest makes your whole body tingle, your cheeks aflame with embarrassment and arousal alike.

With great effort you haul yourself up into a standing position again, hands resting on the sink, his own still anchored on your flesh. You dread to look in the mirror, afraid what you will find there gazing back at you, but you do it anyway.

Joel's eyes are instantly catching yours in the reflection, his pupils dialated.

You stare at each other, unable to move. The throbbing between your legs intensifies with every passing moment, making it unbearable to stand still any longer. Transfixed with Joel's intense stare and his hands on you, you push back against him, the movement suptle at first. Surely he can smell your desperation for release, the need to be touched and filled. It's plainly written all over your face.

Like in trance you move against him, his scent surrounding you.

"Hurting, ain't ya?" His voice is deep and rich, a mix of Whiskey and sirupy honey combined to the most delicious treat.

You nod, eyes fluttering shut when his hands leave your ass to find a new home on the edge of the sink next to your own, caging you in some more. His hips start grinding against you, driving a whimper out of you.

"Joel," you breathe.

"Want me to help you out?"

Biting your lip, you nod absently, relishing in your shared movements. You can feel him stiffening through his jeans, his breath hot against your neck.

One of his hands finds your hip, fingertips drawing patterns on your heated skin. They keep playing with you, exploring you, drifting to your inner thigh and then back.

"Please," you whimper, mouth slightly agape from just this.

Just when you think he will finally relent and touch you where you need him the most, he bends over slightly to pull your shorts and underwear back up over your ass.

"My place, ten minutes," is all he says before his warmth leaves your body completely and you watch him through the mirror head to the door, turn the lock and leave. Chest heaving, you stare at the now closed door, your arousal dripping into your already soaked panties, ruining them for good.

Ten minutes feel like an eternity. You push yourself through the sea of people, your body vibrating from what just happened and what's about to happen. You step out of the Tipsy Bison into the warm night, heading straight for Joel's home.

You can still feel his hands on you, the ghost of a touch between your thighs. Your underwear clings to your body, sticky with your own juices, the feeling both unpleasent and thrilling alike.

In no time you find yourself in front of Joel's door, knocking urgently.

You don't have to wait long for the door to fly open and Joel pulling you inside with a force you don't expect. Your back lands against the closed door, his tall frame towering over you. At the thought of him surely smelling your need with how close he is, your pulse quickens, heat rising up to your ears.

With a thundering heart, you stare at him staring back at you. His gaze is hungry, intimidating even. There's passion and need. There's hunger, a hunger for you. The realization drives a whimper from deep within your throat.

"If I had known you're this desperate and squirmin' for me to touch you, I would've given it to you already," he breaks the silence, eyes trained on yours. "Young thing like you wants an old man like me...unbelievable," he adds, more to himself than towards you.

"I do," you whisper, your hands touching the weathered skin of his face. "So much."

The magnetic pull between the two of you is undeniable, the kiss finally following sealing your fate. His lips touch yours, tongue seeking entrance into your mouth. Moaning into the kiss, you gladly take him in, pulling him into you with desperation.

His hips seek friction, his own hands roaming your body before one of his hands finds your hair while the other one wanders around to squeeze your ass.

"You've no fuckin' idea how hard your little stunt back there got me." His mouth wanders down your throat, leaving a wet path.

"Please show me, need it."

He sucks on your skin, blinding need rushing through your bloodstream. "Fuck, please touch me."

His hips stop their movements, the hand in your hair tightening. "Touching you already. Not enough?"

Another whimper leaves your mouth, this time because Joel's pulling away again.

"Patience darlin'."

The new sensations cloud your mind, his touch burning hot on your skin, turning you into to puddle of arousal.

You have absolutely no idea how the hell you end up on his sofa. He pushes you down with one gentle hand and you comply without resistance. Then he's back between your legs, finally pulling down your shorts. They land somewhere in the room, carelessly tossed away and you can't care less.

"Fuckin' aching, ain't you? Let's see what I'm workin' with."

Embarrassment slowly creeps up your body. You want do cover your face because you know what he will find down there. Still you look down at him, the need to see him seeing you up close greater than your embarrassment.

Joel pushes your legs apart some more, revealing your soaked cotton underwear to his ravenous gaze.

"Fuckin' hell," he all but growls and dives right in.

A shocked shriek creeps up your throat, not expecting him to put his mouth right there.

But he does, urgently so. He inhales your scent, giving your clothed center an open-mouthed kiss, before he sucks your folds and drenched panties into his mouth.

"Oh sh-shit, Jo-el."

Your head falls back onto the cushion beneath you and you cover your mouth with your hands to suppress the scream threatening to escape.

Joel notices and pulls back.

"No darlin', want to hear you."

There's no time for you to prepare for what's to come, because Joel is fast. He rips your panties with one hard tug and puts his mouth where you need him the most, tongue circling your entrace, licking his way upwards to your clit, sucking it into his mouth.

Words have left your brain, your mind clouded with the sheer pleasure Joel provides with just his tongue.

"Does that scratch that itch, darlin'?" he asks and you nod absently.

"Use your words or did I suck your voice right outta your cunt?"

The bluntness of his words makes you tingle all over. Who knew grumpy Joel was this good at talking dirty?

"So good," you manage to say, the fingers joining his mouth distracting you.

You feel him gently rubbing your already slick folds. And then he spits a good amount of his salvia right onto your clit, spreading your wetness and his spit all over your center. You nearly lose it, arching your back and canting your hips into his hand, the lewd gesture driving you wild.

You hear Joel chuckle, rubbing your clit with his thumb.

"So responsive, so desperate."

He pushes two of his fingers into your tight channel, tongue returning to your clit and you scream at how good it feels.

Loud moans, heavy breathing and the shlick sound of him fingering you fill the air, a perverse symphony of desire.

"Want you, Joel," you mumble, head thrown back in pleasure from his fingers and tongue working on you.

He pulls back slightly, looking at you squirming for him.

"I know, darlin'. But not tonight. Won't be able to pull out, don't want to risk it."

Chest heaving, you pull yourself up a bit, resting on your lower arms while you look down at him.

You know exactly what he means, how desperately he wants you too, but won't risk knocking you up while you're ovulating. His confession not being able to pull out once he's burried himself in your heat drives you mad with lust. You want him there, so badly, want him to pulse and moan and spill inside of you. It's reckless and probably the most stupid thing to fantasize about, all the same your mind won't shut up.

"But what about you?"

Joel stills his fingers inside of you.

"Doesn't matter right now."

"How gentlemanly of you. But it does for me."

He smirks at you, fingers moving again.

"You want to make me feel good or just need my cock inside of you?"

His words drive fresh heat to your cheeks.

"Both?"

Joel laughs at that, bending down again to kiss your clit, making your thighs quiver.

"Oh? Well, darlin', if you insist, there are other holes f'me to use, I guess."

You choke on your own spit at his words and the bastard laughs even more.

"Can lend me a hand too, if y'want. Or watch me. Up to you."

With a thud you let yourself fall back on the sofa, eyes fluttering shut with the pleasure cursing through your veins. His fingers pump in and out of you steadily now.

"I want you in my mouth," you confess, more a whisper than anything else.

He stills between your legs once more, a low rumble leaves his chest at your words.

"Takin' you up on that offer, darlin'," he answers before driving back in.

Moan after moan leaves your lips like a prayer, his name spilling from your lips, tasting so damn delicious.

He laps at you like a starving man, eating you out passionately. His fingers retreat, glistening with your arousal, and are replaced with his tongue, licking into your heat.

You whimper at the stimulation, fingers gripping his hair tightly, rocking your body against his face.

Joel moans, the sound shaking your whole body. If it's even possible, you get wetter, offering him your sweet nectar straight from the source.

Coming up for air, Joel bites lovingly into your inner thigh, smearing your juices all over it.

"Tastin' like sin. Want more?"

Unable to answer him properly, you nod and move your hips.

His fingers enter you again, but this time it's a much tighter fit.

"Oh fuck," you whimper, trying to look at what Joel is up to between your legs.

His eyes are trained on your center, transfixed with the view.

"Shit, look at that. Three fingers and suckin' me right in. Hungry little cunt, droolin' all over the place."

Joel's dirty talk alters your brain cells. Eyes rolling back, you relish in how full you feel, that it's him driving you straight to the edge of oblivion.

He comes up between your legs, fingers still anchored in your tight channel, his thumb finding your slick clit to draw tight circles. His upper body cages you in, his glistening lips taking yours in a desperate kiss. The taste of yourself on his tongue does it for you. You come with a cry, your walls rippling around his fingers, your sounds absorbed by his mouth.

"Fuck, that's it, good girl," Joel praises when he breaks the kiss to watch you come undone. "Beautiful."

You still shake underneath him when he picks up the pace again, driving his fingers into your heat with purpose, stroking your inner walls just right.

"Ahh, Joel..."

"Shh, it's alright. Want to see it happen again, want to see you even fuller."

At his words, you shake your head, mind still hazy from your orgasm.

"I don't think I...it's..."

"C'mon darlin', I know you can take more."

You moan at the thought of taking more than three of his fingers which are currently stretching you so deliciously.

"Want to take my cock, sure as hell can take my fingers then," he mumbles more to himself. "Probably could take my fist too."

"Joel...," you warn him breathlessly.

"Don't worry, sweet thing, not gonna push you too far just yet." He sounds drunk on your pussy, watching his fingers disappear in your sloppy channel.

The squelching sounds heat your cheeks, your body moving with his fingers, seeking more friction, more of him, more, more, always more.

You feel Joel retreat, but only for a second. Four of his fingers return, pushing past your entrace into your heat.

"Fuck, so full," you mumble in bliss, your hands fisting the cushions around you.

"That's it, so beautiful, takin' my fingers like they belong there. Wish you could see y'self right now."

His fingers drive into you, first slowly, then he's picking up the pace, stroking your most sensitive spots.

"Can feel you chokin' my fingers, darlin'. Hear that?" He fucks into you even harder, the stretch burning.

"Going to cum again, ain't ya? Let go f'me, darlin', soak my fingers real good." He presses his thumb right onto your clit and the added stimulation tips you over the edge once more.

There's nothing you can do about it, you take it, white hot pleasure washing all over you. Overpowered by your orgasm, you helplessy shake underneath him, gushing around his fingers.

"There you go," he mutters, voice rough.

Joel fucks you through it, watching more and more of your juices dripping down his hand onto the sofa.

"Oh my god," you whimper, hoarse from moaning his name over and over again.

When Joel finally pulls out of you, you gasp at the loss of his fingers.

"Fuck me," he breathlessly says, "your juicy cunt is absolutely beautiful like this. Drippin' and gapin', just how I like 'em."

"Thank you."

Joel laughs at your words, hands undoing his trousers to free his aching cock.

"You're welcome darlin', was a pleasure. Feelin' better, ain't you? Yeah, just what I thought. Takin' you up on your generous offer though."

You sit up with great effort, feeling the wetness all around your legs, the friction of your movements on the sofa nearly too much to handle for your sensitive and fucked-out cunt.

"Good girl," Joel manages before he steps in front of you, stroking his big cock with the same fingers which you soaked seconds ago. The praise sends fresh new arousal right to your core. You gently roll your hips, eyes fixed on his impressive length, mouth watering.

"Open wide, darlin', eyes up 'ere. Won't pull out of this hole until I'm comin' down that throat."

[kdpartworks]

A few updates...

So, where do I even start? 😂

Since my bike got stolen, it’s been all downhill from there. Every single day something new. After the bike drama, I had another lovely little disaster (which I won’t go into—those who know, know 👀). Let’s just say it really knocked the wind out of me. I mean, I’m a grown woman, but wow… it hit hard and left me feeling like 💩.

Then my phone—because of the heat AND because it was basically ancient—decided to give up on life. So I had to rush out and get a new one. At that point I thought, “Okay, surely the bad luck streak is over now?”

…WRONG. 🙃

I managed to transfer (almost) everything onto the new phone. Got back into my socials (Instagram was being its usual dramatic self, of course 🙄). Everything seemed fine…

Except Discord. Discord took one look at my new phone and said: “Nu-huh”

Long story short: Discord and Google refused to cooperate, and poof—my account was gone. Along with all my friendships, gifs, memories (some of them awkward but hey, memories are memories), and the draft of my server I’d been slowly putting together for the future. I was too scared to launch it because I didn’t feel ready… well, guess what? Now i am.

Moral of the story? I had to start over. From scratch. 😅

Maybe it’s the universe giving me a little push to clean house and start fresh? I like to think so. It’s like when I lose hours of work on a drawing because I forgot to save—at first I scream internally, but then I redo it and… it usually turns out better. So maybe this will too? Fingers crossed. 🤞✨

Anyway… I rebuilt the server! 🎉 But I’m not opening it officially just yet because I have zero moderators and, let’s be real, it would turn into chaos faster than you can say “@everyone” 🤣

When it is ready, I hope you’ll come hang out!

Oh, and side note: today is my son Nicola’s birthday! 🥹 After all this streak of bad luck, I really hope today is a good one.

So yeah… if you don’t see me posting much, now you know why. That and the heat. It’s absolutely draining me—I swear I’m working, but I’m slower and tired. Please be patient with me 💕

Thanks for reading this far—you’re a lovely friend. 🥹❤️

[nonchalantlucy]

Introducing....

LOSER-SUB!CHRIS STURNIOLO X DOM!READER

warnings: smut, edging kink, masturbation, sub male, slight degradition kink, losing NNN, overstimulation, oral sex (male recieving), use of y/n, little to no plot, pet names, NOT PROOF READ

details: DOM!READER will be using SHE/HER pronouns. chris lives with his girlfriend, y/n, who works at the local pet store. one day, she comes home early to find chris in a very compromising situation.

a/n: hi lovelies!! thank you for voting on my poll. as you can see, this story won! if you would still like to see the matt story, let me know!! this is my first time writing in MONTHS, so excuse me if it's bad... ENJOY!!

You walked into your apartment, noticing all the lights out. You know Chris is home, You saw his car outside, and it's only 6:00.

You slide your shoes off and walk deeper into the familiar darkness, placing your purse and jacket on the couch.

You stumble towards the hallway, tripping slightly on a cord. You come to a halt outside of yours and Chris's shared room.

You reach for the handle, turning it to open the door slightly. You stop in your tracks, the door not even halfway open when you hear a quiet whimper.

You peek your head around the door and into the room, seeing Chris lying on the bed. One arm is draped over his face, his head thrown back into the pillows. The other hand is rather low, stroking a quite intimate area very rapidly.

You step into the room fully, slightly mesmerized at the sight. You couldn't help but giggle quietly, which Chris hears.

His arm shoots off his head, grabbing the blanket and throwing it over himself as he sits up. His eyes glued to you.

"Babe, your home early..."

He speaks awkwardly, shying away under the blanket.

"That I am. What were you doing?"

You speak teasingly, walking towards the bed slowly. You know what he was doing, and he knows you know

"Nothing babe."

"Oh, so jerking yourself is nothing?"

"Shut up.."

"Weren't you bragging to Nate about how your gonna win NNN?"

"And I will. Its No NUT November, doesnt mean I can't touch myself."

"Hmm, I think I could make you lose."

You say, sitting down next to him, your hand snaking under the blanket and resting on his thigh.

"As if. I have more self control then that."

Chris speaks in a tone of courage, but the shudder his body gives and the quiet gasp he lets out says otherwise.

"Is that...a challenge?"

You speak, gently lifting the blanket off of him and crawling over him, hovering.

"Maybe."

As soon as the word left his mouth, you wasted no time. Your lips fly down, attacking his, as your hand snakes down his body to his most intimate member.

You wrap your finger around his cock, gently, causing him to gasp into the kiss. When his lips part, your tounge subconsciously shoots into his mouth, exploring it.

You begin to move your hand up and down, slowly. Your long nails, which he had paid for, adding extra sensation.

You slowly pull your lips off his, before moving them down to his neck. Leaving little bruises all over it, being sure to bite his most sensitive spot.

"Y/n.."

He gasps out your name, his hips bucking involuntarily up into your hand.

"Shh, be quiet for me.."

You mumble against his neck.

Your stroking gets faster, and his whimpers get louder.

"Y/n, Im gonna cum!"

Chris cries out, and you immediately stop the movement.

He lets out a whine and looks down at you, giving a questioning look.

You pull away from his neck, looking up at him.

"Wouldnt wanna lose, now would you?"

You smirk, crawling back up and kissing him.

This kiss is long and passionate, as he cups your cheek. Your tounges danced together in a loving fight. The heat between your bodies matching the flame of the sun.

Your hand moves back down, starting the stroking slowly. Teasing the tip of his cock, before speeding up slightly.

You pull away from the kiss, staring down at him. Watching as his eyebrows furrow, and his head tilts back slightly.

His lips pressed into a thin line, a slight sweat on the edges of his mouth. His eyes squeezed shut.

You begin moving your hand faster.

His mouth falls open, groans falling out one after another, and his head jerks back further.

You can tell hes close. So,

You stop your hand movmemt, earning a whine from him. You give him a sharp look, shutting him up before he has a chance to protest.

You climb off the bed, getting on your knees at the edge. You open your mouth to give commands, but before you can Chris is already positioned infront of you, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Little slut."

You mumble, before kissing the tip of his length. He lets out a quiet whimper, before responding. Or atleast, attempting to respond.

"Im not a slu- ahh!"

His words cut off, and blend into a moan as your wrap your lips around his tip. Your tounge flicks the very top as you move your mouth lower.

He throws his head back, a stream of curses, moans, and grunts leave his mouth as your work your magic.

You push your mouth as far down and deep you can go. Taking almost all his length in your mouth. What you cant take, your hand is tightly wrapped around it and twisting.

This throws him over the edge, his head falls back as he attempts to pull away from you.

"Please, im gonna.."

Before he can finish his sentence, you feel a string of warmth fly into your mouth and down your throat. It was a salty taste, but you swallowed it all nonetheless.

You dont pull your mouth way however. You keep going.

Sucking, and bobbing your head up and down.

"To much, to much"

Chris cries out, but his hand that has found its way to your hair eggs you on, pushing your face towards him as his hips buck up into your mouth.

Whimpers upon whimpers leave his mouth, and even faster then the first time he releases in your mouth once again.

You pull away, after swallowing it of course, and look up at him.

"Loser."

"Shut the fuck up."

hope you enjoyed it ! its not the best and kinda short, but its what i got ! let me know if you have any requests !!!

[bigfan-fanfic]

A Real Puzzler (Male!Reader x Leon Kennedy)

@alexanderstarhero Request for Leon taking care of random citizen who is great at puzzle.

"I was supposed to accept an award today."

Leon laughs, and you laugh with him, the sound tinged with just a hint of hysteria.

"Oh yeah? What was the award for?"

You can't help but giggle. "Raccoon City Puzzle Champion."

You both roar with laughter.

"Guess what?" Leon smirks.

"What?"

"Today's my first day on the job with RCPD!"

After a really bad rainy day spent with a cute police officer - which you can't even really appreciate due to the weird monsters and zombies all around here - you two found a moment to rest in a safe room and simply breathed and talked, leading to you laughing about the way today should have been wildly mundane.

With him shooting and you using your experience to handle the increasingly obtuse puzzles, the two of you make a pretty great team.

You finally recover enough to breathe and lean against him.

Automatically, he puts an arm around you.

"I never got the chance to thank you for... you know. Saving my life."

He looks at you. "You don't have to thank me for that."

"But-"

"You've gotten us out of just as many scrapes."

"What, with those riddles?"

"Look, with you focused on that, it lets me be more aware of enemies. We're the perfect team, you and me."

"Still, I kinda think you'd be able to do all this without me, and the reverse isn't true."

Leon raises an eyebrow. "Well, having two people do this together just makes it all go faster. And something tells me if we can get to the bottom of this as quickly as we can, we might save a lot of lives."

You smile at him. "I'm okay with that."

He laughs. "Just okay? Maybe I could sweeten the pot?"

"What?"

"We get out of here before sunrise, I take you out on a date."

You blink several times, and slowly smile. "What about if after?"

"Then you take me out."

"Deal."

He squeezes you against his side. "That huge guy sucks. I think he'd have pummeled my ass into the ground if you weren't so quick on the puzzle."

"Yeah. He SUCKS."

Boom.

"Oh, shit, do you think he heard us?"

"Let's get out of here..."

Much later...

"What is with this town and puzzles?"

"I... actually don't have an answer for that." you mumble, as you hold a strangely shaped statuette in front of a spotlight in order to match an odd-shaped indentation in the landscape painting ahead.

"You haven't ever found it weird?"

The whole wall slides aside to reveal a secret passage downward. "What do you mean?"

"That this place is just loaded with weird secret passages and environmental puzzles?"

"I guess I've never thought about it. It's just... we like our puzzles. I was gonna get to have my picture in City Hall with Mr. Raccoon!"

Leon freezes in the middle of the staircase. "Mr. Raccoon?"

You sigh, face heating up as you realize you're going to have to explain your city's odd mascot that its citizens are so appreciative of.

Well, at least it's better than thinking about the current situation.

Although a date with your dashing companion is ever tempting to be distracted by...

[nottswitch]

Heyyy! Would really appreciate 49 and 71 with Theo, I believe you’ll rock this one

(Make it smutty, sweet thing🫦)

hey babe, thanks for believing in me lmao and like r we flirting cuz… hi 👀🫦

49. "where’re you from?" 71. "your mascara’s ruined."

warnings: 18+ mdni, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, nipple play, cursing

⟡ navigation ; m.lists ; theo m.list ; prompts (closed)

being a new student at hogwarts during your last year was definitely going to be a challenge, you thought this morning as you walked to your first class. however, you quickly found out that maybe, just maybe, your assimilation into the new school would be way easier than you thought – a handsome slytherin curly-head named theo nott was very willing to help you adjust, both to the new atmosphere and the size of his cock inside your pussy as he slowly pounded you into his mattress in the evening of that same day.

"you’re so fucking beautiful, amore," he whispered into your ear as his cool fingers skimmed up and down your waist. the contrast between his cool touch and your heated skin heightened your senses, and each of his thrusts started echoing straight in your fuzzy head, tingles running all over your sensitive body.

"where’re your from, hm?" theo asked, his voice sultry and soft at the same time, much like his warm breath at your ear, adding to the mixture of temperatures on and around you.

in response, you could only let out a moan and the barely coherent name of your country of origin. theo hummed in approval of your pleasure-induced answer, following it up with a harder and deeper thrust that reached your cervix and made you nearly scream, a mixture of slight pain and pleasure going through your spine straight into your (malfunctioning) brain.

"so that’s where they make pretty girls like you, huh," theo murmured with a low chuckle as one of his hands traveled up your waist to cup your breast, your perked up nipple sliding between his index and middle finger. you whimpered at the sensation shooting pleasant sparks into your stomach, and theo got the cue, his lips latching onto your other nipple as he continued his slow, albeit now much deeper pace.

your hand found its way into his hair, tangling in his curls and tugging him a bit closer to your body, even though you were already connected in all possible ways. he moaned against your breast, his tongue swirling around your nipple with more intensity, which made your peak approach a bit faster. a moaned-out curse in your native language made theo go faster inside of you, his cock twitching from anticipation of his own climax.

"sei il mio sogno, cazzo," he murmured, letting go of your nipple only to connect your lips in a slow yet passionate kiss, the heat of the moment making him switch to his native language as well. his lips felt heavenly against yours, your tongues circling each other in a sloppy dance of desire.

your orgasm washed over you in a tidal wave, your teeth sinking into his bottom lip as you let out a louder moan, born deep in your chest and making its way to the surface. it didn’t take long for theo to follow, spilling his load into you as he rode out your shared high.

"your mascara’s ruined," he whispered with a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, his tender gaze studying your pretty, blissed out face. his thumb softly traced the outline of your cheekbones, wiping away some of the residue of your ruined makeup. you smiled back at him, thinking that getting used to the new school’s environment wasn’t that bad, after all.

[badgers-and-cats]

Can you do a George Weasley smut with innocent reader?🥹

Such a good girl. (George Weasley x fem!reader)

Masterlist

18+ MDNI

AFAB reader

Warnings; fem reader. smut under the cut. Innocent reader. Oral (fem receiving. Mentions Masc receiving but doesn’t go into detail). Unprotected P in V (wrap it before you tap it!!!). Pet names; sweetheart, baby, princess, darling, good girl. Brief mention of breeding kink. Alludes to further smut

A/N: love an innocent reader fic, but lowkey struggled with the innocence part, this is my first time writing for an innocent reader… so apologies if it isn’t so good💕

“So wet for me already?” He smirks once you’re naked and he is face to face with your pussy. You blush, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks at his words. That is soon forgotten though, with the sensation of his wet lips kissing your pussy, and then your clit; until he is sloppily making out with your heat.

He alternates between licking your juices and fucking you with his tongue: becoming harder with every breathy moan that leaves your lips; swollen from your previous make out session. Oh how he was obsessed with you. He felt as if he had barely touched you, and here you were. Almost completely fucked out just from his tongue.

“George I’m so close… feels so good,” you moan softly, gently tugging at his hair. This only makes him work harder, eagerly wanting to taste your sweet juices. To feel them soak his mouth. And you do just that. He groans at the taste of your cum, it turning him on somehow even more than he already was.

He moves to now make out with your lips; earning a small moan from you, at the taste of yourself on his wet, swollen lips, something you never expected to get aroused by.

“Can you relax for me, sweetheart? Don’t wanna hurt you.” He asks, kissing your soft lips, as he moves his thumb to gently rub circles your throbbing clit. He can feel you’re relaxed - but without the prep work of his fingers, he worries.

You hadn’t heard him - your focus being on his thumb slowly moving against your bundle of nerves. Something you had never done yourself - too scared of getting it wrong. Of not doing it quite as well as he does.

Every time, he worried about hurting you. His precious girl. These are the moments the outside world will never get to witness. You, the innocent girl, with her legs spread for one of the Weasley twins; who is being so slow and so patient with her; without a hint of trickery in sight. Everything he says and does in these moments are just for her. His girl.

“Baby? Did you hear me? Wanna be inside you,” his mouth has now made its way to your neck; carefully placing kisses and bites all over. His hips involuntarily thrust forward; seeking out any kind of friction to ease his painfully hard erection.

“Mhm, yes George, I’m ready,” you relax under his touch as you speak. He will never get enough of you. The way you look up at him eagerly as you suck his cock, seeking his praise. The way you trusted him to be your first everything. The way you continue to trust him.

The one thing he will never get enough of is sinking his aching cock into your wet heat, feeling the warmth grip his length; inviting him in. It was like a drug. And he was addicted. If he didn’t control himself: he could cum there and then, filling you up nice and full. Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad idea, he thought, thinking of filling you up with his babies.

There were many things you did he couldn’t get enough of. The look on your face as he stretches you out only encourages him to move his hips, the moans leaving your mouth as he does somehow turn him on even more as he thrusts into your tight hole with the most perfect rhythm; one that he knows you love. He’d love to go faster and harder, but that can be saved for next time.

His thumb continues his assault on your clit, only now it’s much harder, your hips thrusting up slightly at the sensation- he just smirks at your eagerness.

“Mm Georgie… I think I’m gonna…” you moan, almost pathetically, as the knot in your stomach threatens to release. No matter how often you do this with George; no matter how many times he makes you cum, there’s something about saying it out loud that makes you feel somewhat shy. But he loves it.

“I’m close too baby… god you’re gripping me so much… cum for me princess…” he groans, his thrusts now becoming slower, yet slightly harder. With one final thrust; he cums, as he is balls deep inside you; painting your soft walls white. Your 2nd orgasm of the night comes at the same time, hitting you hard as your juices soak his balls and his sheets.

“Fuck… that’s it darling did so well for me, such a good girl for me. My good girl,” he groans, before pulling out gently, kissing your forehead and wrapping you up in his arms.

Oh how he was excited for next time. You have no idea what he has planned, but he is certain that you will enjoy it, no matter how much rougher it will be. Because you trust him.

[haveihitanerve]

I've Got You

Steph just wanted one day. One day. To feel shitty about herself. To sit alone at home in silence and wallow. Watch crappy pirated movies from her phone because she can’t afford a TV and eat junk food that's probably months old because she doesn't really have time to get a real job right now.

She had, preferably, wanted a relaxing day. Being sick wasn't optimal for staying home, but at least it gave her a decent excuse.

So there she was, hunched underneath the covers of her crappy twin bed, on her phone, old bags of chips and tissues littering the floor and bed.

The window slides open and Steph's hand is under her pillow in a second, gripping the small dagger Tim had gifted her.

“I’m fine Tim. Go away.” She calls out in direction of the window as a shadow slips into the room. The shadow straightens to its full height and she curses, quickly dropping her phone.

“I’m not Tim.” Batman rumbles, and Steph drops the knife, twisting her body slightly to face him.

“I see that.” She shoves her phone away, just so that he doesn’t see her pirated movie selections. The last thing she needs is to deal with the fucking Bat. But of course, the Gods hate her.

“You missed patrol.” Steph’s cheeks heat up. She didn’t think it was that noticeable that she’d missed today. Much less that he’d notice.

“Yeah I uh… day off.” She chuckles awkwardly, hand rubbing the back of her neck. “Even my crappy manager Dave at Batburger gave me them from time to time. No point in being your own manage if it doesn't have benefits right?” To punctate the brilliance of her sentence she throws some finger guns his way.

Batman is unamused, white lenses unmoving. “Tim told me you jumped in Gotham harbor yesterday. To save a boy.” he murmurs instead, eyes scanning her apartment, taking in the empty cabinets, mold, and littering of stuff.

“Yeah.” Steph sniffs, grabbing another tissue to blow her nose. “Uh, is he okay?” She hasn’t had a chance to check, and she curses innerly at the lack of care it shows.

But Bruce doesn't comment, maybe because its what he expected, or because… something else, and just nods. “Yes. He’s fine. Minor cold, nothing too terrible. He wasn’t in the harbor for too long, thanks to you.”

Steph frowns at little at that, because it almost sounds like a compliment. Pride. “Uh, yeah well.” She shrugs, unsure of how to play this. “It’s just what we do right?”

Bruce hums his affirmative, eyes now scanning her. “But you..” Steph stiffens at that, and his eyes track the movement, no outward shift visible, but Steph can almost feel him flinch innerly at it.

Its for that reason alone that she forces her body to relax. “You were in it for longer.” He continues, pretending like nothing happened, like he's not bothered. Steph frowns, unsure of the direction he's taking.

“Yeah, I mean, I had to go in, find him, push him out, make sure he was out, and then patrol.” She shrugs. “No biggie.” Bruce frowns, and Steph squints at him, uncertain of what caused the reaction.

“You patrolled afterwards? Without changing?” Steph jerks one shoulder.

“I mean… yeah?” His eyes scan more intently now, taking in the littering of tissues, the large, thick blanket wrapped around her shoulders in the middle of summer, the redness of her nose.

“You’re sick.” The words are flat. Emotionless.

Steph rolls her eyes. “Great work Sherlock. Yes. I’m sick.” She sparkles her hands around herself in a bad display of joy. “Day off work. Sick day.”

Bruce frowns again, and before she knows it, he's crossed the room to her side. Steph stiffens again without meaning to, but he’s so close and he hasn't been this close since she was Robin and-

He kneels, tugging off his gloves as he presses a hand to her forehead, frown deepening. “You're burning up.” He mumbles, hands now moving faster, checking against her throat and moving to her sides and back, prodding and pushing with a firmness that is both professional and gentle and Steph doesn't know how to feel about it.

She wonders, idly, as his fingers settle on either side of her ribs, just resting there gently, how often he’s done this to Tim. To Dick. And Jason. And Damian and Cass. She wonders if even Duke has already gotten this treatment. If she's the last one. The one he hoped he’d never do it to, after he fired her from Robin.

“I’m taking you home.” Bruce announces without much fanfare, fingers finally slipping away from her sides as he stands, and Steph cant help but feel like she's lost something as he puts distance between them.

She glances around her apartment. “I am-”

“The Manor.” He corrects, and if Steph didn't know better she would swear his throat bobs, cheeks red. “You need medicine and food and- I don't know what else but you wont get it here. I’m calling Leslie.”

Steph frowns up at him. “But- I- okay…” She uncurls her legs from underneath her, moving to stand. But she must have moved too fast because suddenly the ground is moving closer and her legs have given out-

But Bruce is there, strong and gentle as he swings her into his arms like she weighs nothing, tucking her head against his chest like he does it daily, cradling her close.

“I can walk.” She mumbles as he moves to the window. “I can do it.”

Bruce hums his agreement, grappling away from her tiny, musty apartment. “I don't doubt it.” His breath ruffles her hair, warm against her ear. “But you don’t have to. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Steph's hand contracts on his suit, bunching the fabric, and if a tear slips out of her eye, well... its just the wind. 

[rosyjn]

Dilf!Jake catching you in your first heat MDNI

You nock the arrow, keeping the bow string stretched as you aim for a nearby bird. It is a colorful animal, resting on a branch. Your chest, adorned with flowers that barely cover your plump breasts, rises and falls with your breath.

You have been trying to ignore it. The tsahik told you this would come soon. The onset of your heat, you’ve been noticing since this morning. When you woke up, there was this strange hot feeling and an eager wetness between your legs. You should not have ignored it.

All you want to do is focus on hunting. This isn’t fair. Your head floods with bothersome thoughts. You release the arrow from the bow, the tense string making a snapping noise. Your sharp weapon flies through the air, striking the bird and knocking it off of its perch.

A relieved exhale leaves your mouth. You lower your bow. A prayer leaves your lips. May Eywa bless this soul.

You also need help from Eywa. Your legs are starting to tremble. Your clit is starting to throb. Your body is showing an unfamiliar neediness. You sigh, removing your hunting gear from your body and setting it aside. The weight feels good when it is off of your back.

Your ears perk to the sound of feet rustling through the forest. You quickly spin around, your eyes widening.

“Jeez, don’t worry doll. It’s just me.” It is the Olo’eyktan. Jake Sully. Your gut fills with butterflies. Your brain is telling you, that maybe you should ask him to give you a ride home on his direhorse. But no, there’s something else that your cunt wants.

“Oh, ma’Olo’eyktan..” you greet him, lowering your head and making an I see you gesture. “Can I ask for your help with something?”

He knows. He knows already. He could almost smell it. You sweet, innocent thing. You need to be guided to Mo’at, maybe a boyfriend. But, he think he’s so lucky he caught you first. He gets the privilege, now- of showing you how it’s done. He gets to show you how good his cock is.

“Of course.” He dismounts his direhorse, walking over to you. You awkwardly step back, lowering your body to the forest floor. He nods. “Lean back against that rock, hon.” You do what he says, shifting your position for him.

“I- I think I’m in-“ you stutter. You’re laying down now. He calmly strides over to you and his mouth falls gently agape.

“Relax,” he chuckles, kneeling to your level. “Why don’t ya, y’know, show me?” He suggests. His hand comes to your knee and he taps it lightly with his thumb.

“I want you to, make me feel better..” you spread your legs open for him. His breath grows faster. “Help me with my problem, sir. Please.” Jake swallows and clears his throat.

“I gotta take this off, alright? Daddy’ll make ya feel real good. No more heat pains.” He assures you, now grabbing the strings of your loincloth and fiddling with them until they fall loose and untied. You wince at the fresh breeze on your engorged clit. “Shh, relax.”

“Need it, need it so bad..” you’re already dripping wet, now squirming desperately. “Please touch me.” Jake almost chokes the at request.

“You sure?” He didn’t think you’d give in this quickly. When you give him puppy dog eyes and wince from the sensitivity down there, he agrees to help you out. He starts to buck his hips against his tewng. You whine, reaching forward for the strings of his garment. He shushes you and once again asks you to relax. “I can undress myself, hon. Don’t worry.”

He shuffles his hands around his waistband until the thin fabric is removed from his body.

He’s huge. Throbbing. He gulps, his hands reaching to touch your body. Your face turns a shade of purple. You spread your legs far and wide for him.

“Please, sir.” You cannot wait any longer. He shushes you, getting into position as the leaves rustle on the ground.

“Alright, I’m gonna go in, tell me if you want me to stop.” He coos, pushing his hips forward. His cock sinks into your tight pussy, giving it the stretch it needed. His mushroom tip probes your walls immediately. You gasp, tightening around him. You needed this so bad. Jake grunts, baring his teeth as he continues to buck his hips all the way until he’s balls deep.

You whine, like a desperate animal. Your back arches. You’re so goddamn tight. When he bottoms out in you, you squeal.

“Thank you, mmph! Thank you, sir.” You moan. You start to get flustered, hot, needy. “Faster, faster, please..” you whisper, wrapping your legs around his waist. He is surprised. Pleasantly surprised. He shakes his head and smiles.

“Sure you can take it?” He teases, accepting the challenge. You beg. You beg for him to fuck you harder. You want him to fill you with cum, so that your heat will never bother you again. You don’t know how it works. All you know is that you want him to ruin you and paint you white. Breed you.

He growls, picking up the pace and fucking you harder. Your body shakes. Every thrust of his makes you wetter and wetter. You clench around his cock. He starts to notice your pleasure, challenging it by slamming into you. You yelp, arching your back as you feel his thick cock stretch you.

“Mmmph, sir!” Your eyes clench shut, your breasts bouncing with each rut.

“Too much?” He asks, his skin beginning to glisten with sweat. He hisses with every time you clench and pulse around his girth. The space fills up with the noises of arousal- moaning, panting, skin slapping, and the ground rustling.

“Feels good-“ you whimper.

“I’ll fill ya up, I’ll cum inside of you. Your tight little cunt, fuck.” He grabs your breasts, slamming into you harder and harder.

You squeal again, a primal need filling your heat as you feel Jake’s precum dribble out of his tip and towards your cervix. He fucks his seed deeper into you. You grip onto his shoulders, pulling him towards you. He pants and leans down until his chest touches yours. You love the feeling of his weight on top of you and his cum inside of you.

“Yes! Yes, Jake!” You feel your climax approaching you rapidly. An electric pleasure pulses through your body. Your clit is swollen with pure pleasure. He grunts above you, bottoming out, and holding himself there.

His tip presses into your cervix, his orgasm washing over him as his thick cum sprays into your womb. You let out a cry, your nails digging into Jake’s back.

You try to catch your breath. Jake clicks his tongue a few times before pulling out of you. A trail of cum leaks down your folds. Your eyes flutter.

“You okay?” He takes a look at your sore pussy and reaches for your loincloth. You nod. What will you tell the village?

[idrawweirdstuffnominors]

Zombie bull x human f reader?

(I LOVE THIS IDEA

"What was i supposed to do."

(Zombie Epilogue Bill Dickey x Human!F Reader — angst, undead transformation, selfish love)

---

You woke up in a damp basement, throat dry as ash, tongue heavy with rot. Your chest didn’t rise. Your heart didn’t beat. And when you tried to scream, it came out a hoarse, cracked rasp.

And there was Bill — crouched in the corner like some kind of feral thing —Same thick glasses, cracked now. Same orange flannel, stiff with dried blood. Messy ginger-brown hair stuck to his hollowed-out face, jaw clenched so hard it looked like it hurt.

Bill Dickey.

Rotting. Watching. Smiling like a guilty child.

"...You're awake," he said, like you’d just come out of a nap.

Like you hadn’t died.

"Bill." Your voice was a croak, shaking with horror. "What the fuck did you do to me?"

He blinked, slow and careless. "Saved your life."

"I'm not alive!"

You pushed yourself up — dizzy, your limbs wrong — and felt your nails scrape the floor. Blunt. Dirty. Familiar and not.

"You turned me?" you hissed, stumbling to your feet. "You didn’t even ask me?"

Bill shrugged, arms crossed tight, eyes darting. "Yeah, well. You weren’t exactly in the position to give permission, sweetheart."

"You were bleeding out," he said, arms crossing like a shield. "You think I had time for paperwork?"

"You could’ve—!" You shook your head, tried to swallow down the sob clawing its way up your ruined throat. “I would’ve rather died, Bill!”

That made something flicker behind his glasses.

Not regret. Not guilt.

Fear.

“You were gonna leave,” he said quietly. “You were packin’ your shit. You were gonna go. I saw.”

Your stomach dropped.

“You followed me?”

He didn’t deny it.

"I was gonna wait till you left. Just… watch. Say goodbye, maybe. But then I saw him."

You stared.

"Him?"

Bill’s lips curled. Not in a smile. In something uglier.

“The guy that hit you and stole the rest of your apocalypse supplies-Saw him knock you down by the deli. Saw you fall and split your head on the curb.” His voice cracked. “And I just—fuck. I couldn’t do it. Watch you go like that. Watch you disappear.”

“So you followed me, waited till I was vulnerable, and turned me into a corpse?” You shook, horror pouring in faster than your frozen blood could catch it.

“I didn’t wait for that to happen,” he snapped, suddenly vicious. “But I sure as hell wasn’t gonna let it end like that. Not with you dying and me just—sitting here while your fuckin’ body gets cold.”

You looked down at your hands.

Skin gray. Joints stiff. No heat left in them.

"...You stalked me."

Bill looked away.

"And now you’re not dead." He leaned back against the wall, rotted denim clinging to his frame. "You're welcome."

"You’re welcome?! Bill, I’m a corpse! My skin is gray, I can’t breathe, I—" Your voice broke. “I didn’t even get a choice.”

He flinched at that. Just barely.

Then covered it with a scowl.

“Oh, get over it. You act like it’s so bad. You still got me, don’t you?”

You stared at him.

This gangly, mean-mouthed, undead asshole with empty eyes and dried blood under his nails.

You wanted to hit him.

You wanted to cry.

But more than that—

You wanted to understand.

"...Why?" you whispered. "Why would you do this? Really."

He scoffed. “I told you. You were bleeding out. What was I supposed to do, let you die?”

“Yes. If I wanted to—yes! You should’ve let me go—”

“No!” he snapped, and the word echoed in the room like a slap.

You froze.

He rubbed a hand down his face, muttering under his breath. Then, lower:

“I wasn’t gonna be alone again.”

You stared at him.

“What?”

He turned away. “You heard me.”

Something cracked open in your chest. Something ugly.

You stepped toward him.

"You turned me just because you were lonely?"

He said nothing.

You grabbed his shirt — not hard, not rough. Just... needing him to look at you.

"You turned me, Bill."

He still wouldn’t meet your eyes.

His voice, when it came, was small. Bitter. Twisted up with something like fear.

“I didn’t wanna rot by myself.”

You didn’t speak.

And neither did he.

The silence stretched.

Then finally, you said, softer:

"...I didn't want to be a zombie

His lip twitched — like he hated the truth in that.

But all he said was,

“Yeah. Well. Didn’t think you would.”

And that was the most honest thing Bill Dickey ever told you.

You stared at him.

The way his jaw twitched. The way he wouldn’t look at you, like he was afraid you’d see something real under all that bile.

I didn’t wanna rot by myself.

It was the most vulnerable thing he’d ever said — and he spat it like it hurt to admit it.

Your grip on his shirt stayed tight.

"You’re such a fucking coward," you whispered. "You could’ve told me. Before. When I was—"

"Alive?" he said, and it came out sharper than he meant it to. "Yeah, well. You didn’t exactly stick around long enough for that, did you?"

You shoved him, hard.

He stumbled back, hitting the wall with a thud, and for a second, the mask cracked. His glasses slid down his nose. His mouth opened, then shut.

"You don’t get to make this my fault," you said, voice shaking. "You followed me. You turned me. You made me into—into this."

Bill was quiet.

But then he said, "And yet, you're still here. You could've torn my throat out the second you woke up. Could’ve walked out that fuckin’ door and never come back."

You didn’t move.

His eyes found yours.

"So what’s stopping you?"

You swallowed.

Your throat was dry. Your chest still didn’t rise. But something inside you twisted — something worse than hunger.

"You’re all I have left," you admitted.

And fuck, that broke something in him. You saw it — the way his posture dropped, the way his sneer faltered, like you’d hit a nerve he didn’t even know was exposed.

"...Yeah?" he asked, voice rough. "That why you’re still holdin’ onto me like this?"

You looked down.

Your hands were still gripping his shirt — tight, knotted in the fabric like you didn’t know how to let go.

"I should hate you," you said.

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. You should.”

“I don’t.”

Silence.

Then: “You’re a freak.”

"So are you."

He looked at you then.

Really looked — not with that usual glint of derision, but something sharp, scared, too human for his rotted frame.

You didn’t mean to step closer. Didn’t mean to breathe his name.

But it came out soft. Broken.

"...Bill."

And then he kissed you.

Like it was a punishment.

Like it hurt him to want it.

His mouth was cold and dry, but insistent — teeth scraping your bottom lip, fingers digging into the sides of your neck like he needed to feel something, anything, to prove this was real.

You gasped against him, and he swallowed it, greedy, bitter, like every awful thing he’d ever said was an apology he didn’t know how to make.

When he pulled back, his forehead pressed against yours. You were both shaking.

"Tell me to stop," he muttered. "Tell me you hate me. I’ll back off. I swear. Just—say it."

You didn’t.

You just touched his jaw. Rough, with rot-scabbed knuckles. Tender, even in the ruin of what you both were.

“I’m already dead, Bill,” you whispered. “You think I’ve got anything left to lose?”

His breath hitched.

"...You got me."

And for once, he didn’t say it like a threat.

---

[alexthetrashyracoon]

CW// Smut (It’s probably real bad and sucks) Age Gap (Price is 40, Reader is 25-30) Cheating (Readers’s partner is an asshole and deserves it) MDNI 18+

Price who is hearing you having a fight with your partner about him barely having time for you and probably sleeping with his secretary which they doesn’t actually deny.

So when he hears your scream that they should never come back again, followed by the banging of a door, Price knows, it’s time to make a move, even if it was wrong.

The heart wants what the heart wants.

He knocks, three quick rasps against your front door and a second later, as if you were waiting for someone, probably that loser you call your partner, you rip the door almost out of its hinges. When you see him instead of someone else, you’re visibly disappointed.

“Brought wine and a shoulder to cry on, luv.” He grinned and held the bottle up. You chuckle and step aside. “Thanks, John.”

You sit down on your worn couch, you talk most of the time, Price listens. And he looks, he looks how your lips move with every word you say, how your nose crinkles when you get angry. Or how the disappointment in your eyes was bigger than ever since he met you.

“I could make you forget all about them, luv. Can make you think about nothing else but me for a while or forever, however you like.” Price said and squeezes your thigh.

You both know you shouldn’t go down that way, because Price knows, despite your partner being an asshole with an ego the size of Mars, you’re loyal. But also desperate to be treated like you deserved it.

It’s not long after that he has you riding his cock on the worn couch, Price had worked his way into your pants, gentle touches to your shoulder down to your chest over the swell of your belly and to the waistband of your pants. He has a hand in them the second you nod and give him permission to move on, hand slipping in and playing your most sensitive parts, rubbing, tugging, everything to make you a sensitive mess in his arms.

But Price isn’t a cruel lover, far from it, he makes sure you cum at least twice before he thinks about himself and his pleasure and removes his hard, straining cock from his pants and boxers, strokes it a few times before nudging its red, leaking cock against you winking entrance, Price makes you feel every inch of heated meat he pushes into you, your walls clenching around him, making it hard to move, while he sucks and licks around your pebbled nipples, playing with them until even the smallest hit of cold air makes your eyes turn inwards.

Price will definitely remember all the special spots that make you scream for more, for the next time you and him are together, he’s a simple man who loves to hear more of your sexy noises.

“Shit, so good, taking my cock so well…” He grunts into your ear while plunging into your hole, short cut nails digging into the fat of your thighs, pulling you down at the same time to make it even more delicious for the both of you.

He grins when he feels you clenching around his thick meaty dick a third time, another orgasm building, squeezing harder than before, making it almost impossible for him to keep control. You moan and whine, nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, biting his skin as if to lay claim and Price can’t say he’s against it. “God, I’m close…” He says, squeezing your ass hard enough to bruise, not that you mind.

You cum before him. A choked up, broken moan spilling your lips before he crashes his against yours to swallow every single sound you make while pounding even faster into your hole and seconds later spilling himself inside you.

“Fuck…” You pant when the adrenaline starts to wear off.

“That we did indeed.” Price grins and squeezes your hips, bucking his hips to drive the point home with his softening cock still inside you.

He helps you clean yourself, a real gentleman this one, wiping away the sweat that gathered on your body, massaging your calves and thighs until you’re groaning again, but no (maybe a small amount) sexual tension between them right now.

“Thanks.” You smile, dressed in your oversized sweater, voice still a bit hoarse from your previous activities.

“What for, dear? Fucking you so well or for listening to you?” He asks while sipping his wine.

“Both I guess… I needed that. Think I picked my self-worth back up again thanks to you.” You sound much better now, voice still slightly wrecked but less sad about this loser you call a partner.

Ex-Partner, John thinks to himself.

“Mhm, glad I could help, sweets. Now, let me take you out on a real date, so I’ve got an excuse to fuck you again.” Price grins before catching your lips in another kiss, swallowing your giggles before glancing over to the open apartment door, hiding the grin in that kiss. Price was glad he made you forget about that dick of a partner and he was even gladder to make your partner see how well Price could treat you.