#there's dry-humping

[elaine19day]

His heart is pumping blood like crazy, he can feel its beating resonating through his chest up to his throat and ears. Something is stirring in his stomach and if it isn't the flutter of the butterflies – millions of them, rapidly wavering their wings against his insides. It's also a completely new sensation for him to get the hot, stinging flush spreading on his cheeks. He's not sure if his nervousness stems from the fear of rejection or the thrill of the possibility that Guan Shan complies. From what he can see, he's red as a tomato, freckles under his eyes and on the bridge of his nose are popping out despite the grayish darkness surrounding them, ever so often giving space to white lightnings cutting through the window to glow in his pupils when he seems to be considering some unspoken options.

// So there's fic now... for this missing scene. Written by the lovely @rainy19days ♥ Read it all on Ao3: here! An aftershot, written by me, will be posted after this weekend~

[frogchiro]

Maybe an unpopular opinion but a domesticity kink + dry humping is one of the best combos out there EVER

Like imagine this big, strong, burly man like Price or Simon or Graves being absolutely wild and soft for you, the pretty housewife that drives a man crazy♡ All soft curves, nice ample breasts and soft, broad hips with a pretty floral apron tied around your waist as you cook a nice hearty mean for your tired man and greet him with that beautiful smile of yours :((

It honestly would make them soft, desperate, hating the idea of being even a second longer away from you, all pent up and horny so they just cling with their big, rough hands to your hips and they can't helo themselves but thrust their quiclly hardening cocks against you, effectively humping you like an animal in heat but even your soft whines that you need to finish their dinner doesn't stop the man; he needs to fuck, needs to be close to his girl♡

[daisynik7]

Nanami feels guilty having sex while the two of you stay at your parent’s house for the weekend. He claims it’s “utterly disrespectful” to his in-laws, who he respects so much. But this doesn’t make him immune to temptation, especially when you’re just so fucking good at teasing him.

So, he found a loophole. 

While your parents sleep peacefully down the hall, you and Nanami are in your bedroom, dry-humping each other to a point where nothing is dry between you. You’re sitting pretty on his lap in your most delicate panties, already damp with your arousal, leaking onto his briefs. You’ve been riding his shaft for the past thirty minutes, making yourself come again and again from sheer friction as your husband watches you with half-lidded eyes, indulging in the delicious sight before him. His cock is bulging in his underwear, a wet spot forming at the tip where his precum dribbles out. You can tell he’s almost there; he’s been hanging on the edge for a while now, waiting until you’ve had your fill, or until he can’t hold it in any longer. When you reach your climax, he comes with you this time, spilling inside his briefs, cum soaking through the fabric. You look down between you, smiling at the mess you both made, guilt-free and satiated. 

[rumisgf]

“ touch you, tease you ”

you can never sit on denki’s lap peacefully. it starts off innocent, hands rubbing circles on your waist and you sit across his lap while he games. he steal glances at your soft skin glowing in the night with no makeup and freshly done lashes— that he paid for.

then, somehow, you end up straddling him while using his shoulder as phone-rest. his hand finds your thighs. he becomes much less focused on his game, obsessed with the plush skin of your thighs and the plumpness of your butt as you sit on his lap all comfortable with shorts on.

slowly, his hands gravitate towards your one of your asscheeks, slowly rubbing up and down. you subconsciously shift in his lap, making him even more hot and bothered than he already was. his hand squeezes your flesh, not failing to notice your silent reaction.

“all that ass…”

before you know it, you’re making out with your boyfriend as he kneads your soft, plush, asscheeks in his hands. you become completely putty in his hands as he shamelessly feels on you. you instinctively rolls your hips, chasing the friction of his growing bulge against your pulsing core. he squeezes your asscheeks again, harder this time and earning a soft gasp from your lips.

“mmm, this my ass baby…too fuckin’ big”

you can never sit in denki’s lap peacefully because he has a helpless obsession with your ass.

©𝑹𝑼𝑴𝑰𝑺𝑮𝑭

[jesuistrestriste]

frustrated, overworked, sad art donaldson who comes home to you after losing what was supposed to be an ‘easy win’

and when he gets in the door, he doesn’t even take his shoes off before he’s tracking you down in your guys’ apartment; he could’ve been a bloodhound in a past life with the way he’s able to find you just by scent alone

when he does find you, curled up on the bed as you work on your laptop, there’s not a moment of hesitation before he’s crawling up over you and pushing your device aside. he’s got this soft, needy expression on his face, and then you feel his sticky + sweaty body pressing down over yours.

he’s already aching in his athletic shorts, pent up from all the adrenaline and guilt from the loss. he begins rutting down over your clothed hips like a dog in heat; burying his face into the warmth of your neck and murmuring little words and whines and moans.

his palms are pressed down on either side of your body to cage you in, his fingers curled to clutch the sheets as he bucks and rolls his cock against your pelvis. you can feel it too, it’s hot and pulsing and heavy in the confines of the fabric, and he doesn’t seem like’s gonna stop to wait for you to give any sort of protest.

you do try, pushing your hands against his chest and saying things like, “Art— wait—“

but he just shakes his head and lets out a pleading, guttural whine as he fucks your body through the layers of cotton and spandex material. your hesitancy to indulge him right away only riles him up more; heightening the desperation boiling in his core.

he’s not even totally aware of what he’s doing now, just mindlessly and frantically pushing his body down over yours and babbling rushed, whispered phrases.

“oh god, please— please, i wan’ you, need you, need this—“

“need to feel you, need to— i j-just— ohhh— fuuhhcckkk—!”

“can i come? i can’t hold it— im not gonna hold it— can’t— stop— oh shit—! baby, i’m gonna come.. ‘m gonna— about to—!”

he spills into his boxers + his shorts, gushing thick ropes as he shudders and mouths at your neck. his jaw is nearly slack.

art’s usually one to take things slow, so this whole thing is odd, but you start to realize that he’s probably only behaving this way because he’d just lost the match you sent him off to on his own.

you don’t need him to tell you that he lost, you know now.

you hold him as he collapses, panting and gasping, and you kiss the side of his head.

“you’ll do better next time,” you whisper to him.

he won’t.

[vampsickle]

the idea of grinding on jason’s clothed cock and smearing your wetness on his underwear while he just has to lay there and take it. his eyes swirling with lust but his brows are tightly knit, he could flip you over and take you right there, but instead he chooses to take this torture from you, occasionally whining and moaning like a sweet whore :)

[addie-henderson]

dry humping with Jake Peralta x reader + slight somno vibes.

the soft sunlight filters in from the thin curtains in your apartment you sleepily stretch the best you can with Jake's arms pinning your hips close to his body. you wiggle to try and free yourself but you receive the opposite reaction of what you wanted. his grip tights as a soft sleepy whimper comes out of his mouth, the sound shoots right down to your core.

"Jake?"

"mm?" he huffs

"Jake" you shake him softly." I need you please. "

" mm. " you grind your hips down against him again and his grip loosens allowing you to sit up straight, the tip of his dick brushes your clit through his boxers drawing a lazy soft moan out of you you feel Jake's hips shift under you as you keep trying to make yourself cum.

" mm." he groans again to get your attention your eyes flutter open to peek down at him he's staring back with half lidded tired eyes "just put it in, Honey."

[prettyboyedgetoy]

what if a domme shoves her boy onto the bed, turns him over and starts humping him doggystyle? And what if he grips the sheets, sinks his head into the mattress and just... takes it?

[poppy-metal]

art donaldson is such a nuzzler..... hes like a horse in that way just knocking his head into you,,,, always in your neck,,,, just imposing in your space so touchy so needy so big and broad and tall you're minding your business and then hes in it, nose in your neck, hand wandering, warm and possessive and reverent. you could drown in his attention.

[starinthebasement]

Anyone else feral for mutuals? No? Just me? Rude.

[dinsverdika]

Tonight's poolverine thought is just Logan rubbing his beard all over Wade's face to scent him because he's been holding himself back from claiming him for so long and something triggered his possessiveness.

Bonus point if there's some deep chest rumbling happening as he does so. I also wonder if Logan would do biscuits like cats do in these moments with only the very tips of claws coming in and out as to not hurt Wade.

[wickdsk8r]

what if i died rn. what if i saw trapped myself on 1 million needles.

[satyricplotter]

(suggestive, slightly explicit content at the end)

Even though you’ve been expecting the visit for most of the night, the Red Hood knocking at your balcony door at 1 in the morning still catches you off guard. You scramble off the couch in a sleepy daze, book falling off your lap and cracking open on the floor. For one long second, the only thing you can think of is that whoever your last assignment was has managed to find you, that you’ve finally been too sloppy and left a trail with which to track you.

That’s your first thought. Your second thought is, of course, Barbara. But before you can reach your phone to shoot your boss a SOS, or, at the very least, an alert, a second rasp at the window panes freezes you on the spot.

“Will you open the damn door?” Red Hood’s unmistakably robotic voice grits out. “It’s raining cats and dogs out here.”

You trip in your rush to open the doors, limbs loose and clumsy with relief. Hood shoulders past you with a grunt, fingers prodding at the back of his head to get at the latch of his helmet. He takes it off in a smooth motion, his hot breath forming a white cloud against the cold air of your running AC. You lock the balcony back up after him as he goes around your apartment, setting his helmet on your dinner table and shrugging out of his jacket. He means to stay apparently. You could’ve lent him an umbrella if he wanted to go back out there. Probably would’ve been best.

See, you don’t like the Red Hood much.

He invites himself over to your kitchen, opening cabinets here and there until he chances upon the dinnerware and pulls out a glass. The Gotham public infrastructure is in such state you have never once attempted to drink out of the tap, but you don’t stop him when he does. It is, technically, allowed. And he had the pitcher full of filtered water right under his nose, so. You wait impatiently as he downs two whole glasses of tap water and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand (there is a perfectly usable kitchen towel draped over the oven handle).

He glances over, notices you staring. The corner of his lips quirks up. “How obedient,” he mocks. He pats at his sides, pulls a folded envelope from somewhere in his body (the Bats have endless pockets, you’ve come to learn) and tosses it on the table. “There’s your file. You better be fucking thankful. Traipsed through half the city in this shit storm just to get you these.”

“Thank you, Red Hood,” you say politely, picking up the rumpled envelope and eagerly flipping through the files. “Much appreciated.”

Red Hood rolls his eyes at you, eternally put off by your insistence on following the proper channels of conduct. “Whatever. You got anything to eat?”

“Help yourself,” you tell him.

You walk back to the couch with the file in hand and leave him to make himself whatever he will, already too distracted by the information within to care that you’re gonna have to make a second grocery run when he’s done with your fridge. Red Hood rummages through your cabinets, pulling out far more stuff than he should for a midnight snack. At one point, he asks if you’ve had dinner, and you respond him with an absentminded (and truthful) negative. The files he’s brought are the latest Robin’s swiped from the team’s ongoing investigation on a dicey arms exchange deal that may or may not involve three out of four of Gotham’s biggest conglomerates (sans, of course, Wayne Enterprises). It’s your job to process the info—a task too menial and too tedious for Oracle and Red Robin, respectively, to handle. Besides, Tim’s far more useful on the ground.

It must be about twenty minutes of you pouring over the pages scattered over your coffee table when the man speaks up again. “Dinner’s ready,” he says.

You look up to see him setting two plates of steaming stir fry on the table. He’s taken off his gloves, his utility belt, the domino mask and rolled up his sleeves—the whole nine yards. Only missing the apron. The food looks lovely, but of course it does. Cooking is listed as a specialty in Red Hood’s file, right along with marksmanship and hostile takeovers.

Your lips quirk up at the unexpected kindness, but you shake your head. “None for me, thanks.”

“I said,” Red Hood says, placing his gun on the table menacingly. “Dinner’s ready. Come eat.”

Well. So much for kindness. You’re about as dumb as Red Hood’s subtle, which is to say only at your benefit and very much at will, so you only sigh and push the papers aside. He watches you rise and sit, and pick up the fork, before he does the same. You eat in silence.

After a few bites, you stop being disgruntled at his coercion and grateful that he’s got something other than a protein bar in you because you were, in fact, quite hungry. That’s not something you can say—or at least not in any way which he would accept, so you just shut up and eat your meal happily. That seems to be enough for him, as he watches you finish the whole plate with a satisfied expression.

“Good?” He asks.

“Yeah, actually,” you beam.

Even when he stands and brings the dishes over to the sink to wash, you are reluctant to leave your spot at the table. You watch him rinse and sponge the plates and pan, the knife and spoon and cutting board, and your afternoon tea mug. He washes his hands thoroughly and rinses his mouth with the dubious tap water again. A thorough, judicious man. He’s played remarkably nice this evening. You wonder if Oracle’s been pulling his ear to leave you alone.

When he finishes, he walks slowly the remainder of the narrow hallway of your kitchen back to the dinner table and leans against the threshold. The long line of his body catches you off guard, always so unexpectedly graceful despite his musculature, his brutality. You hold his gaze serenely, trying not to cave under his scrutiny.

This is why you don’t like the Red Hood. Every time he looks at you, he sees you wholly. As you are. Not, crucially, as you want. It has been this way since the first time he laid eyes on you—a single glance and he had taken the measure of you. No further explanation, no time to make amends. And what’s worse: he expects you to be honest. He expects you to say what he can read in your face. He doesn’t let it go when you deflect, when you coat your truths in niceties. He wants it raw and open.

You can’t play dumb with Jason Todd.

He breaks the silence first. “Were you expecting Grayson this evening?”

The non-sequitur catches you so off guard you break eye contact accidentally. What’s Nightwing got to do with anything?

“No?” You say, evidently baffled. “Nightwing’s been off-world all week. Why would he be coming around?”

He cocks his head to the side, sucks in the bit of flesh below his lower lip. "So you knew it was me who'd be coming around?"

"Obviously?" What is he going on about? He clearly doesn't believe you, either. It's childish when you stomp your foot and whine, but he always brings out the worst in you. "I'm serious, Hood. I've been waiting for you all evening. Just you."

Jason pushes off the wall and approaches, staring you down with slightly raised eyebrows. “Then, if you knew Dick wasn't coming with, what are you looking so fuckable for?”

Despite how much it bruises your pride, you cannot help but sputter. The staring is one thing, the passing brushes are another—even the stupid pulling at your pigtails like you’re both in kindergarten is… permissible. But this? Coming at you so straightforwardly when all you know how to do is circumvent and hide? Desperately, you respond to the one thing in that sentence you can make sense of: the accusation.

“I don’t like Nightwing,” you whine. Jason fixes you with a look of dry incredulity. You huff. How you despise him. He can’t even let you lie. “And I don’t dress for him either.”

“Hm.” He reaches over to pull at the neckline of your admittedly skimpy top, his knuckle brushing against your chest. “Sure.”

You bat his hand away, and stand up, but that leaves you much closer to him than you expected. Or wanted. “This is not fuckable,” you grit out. “This is… pajamas.”

Jason cranes his neck to take a close look at you, every bit as assessing as the first one had been. One of his large hands comes to play with the hem of your shorts, pushes it up just a smidge, and the pads of his fingers are rough and calloused against your outer thigh. Your eyelids flutter, and he has the nerve to smile.

“That’s a blatant lie, you know,” he says, dipping his head low so the words brush against your lips. “Try a little, huh?”

“This seems like a you problem, my guy,” you snap, so close you might as well be speaking into his mouth. You need to get away. You don’t.

Jason’s smug when you gasp after his hands close around your ass and bring you forward, flush against his body. The hardness in his pants trapped between you, a pressing weight just below where it should be. Should be? What are you—but Jason adjusts before you can scold yourself, lining up your crotch with his and grinding. It feels bigger this way, which is insane because it's already pretty fucking huge, and a hot flash of desire runs through you lightning-quick and just as obliterating. You slump against him, head on his shoulder.

“That’s my problem,” he murmurs against your ear. His thumbs press just under your asscheeks, playful. “You gon’ do anything about it?”

[b1mbodoll]

im sO looking forward to seeing you write again!! something thats been stuck in my head lately is shotgunning w nicholas 🫠🫠 the thought of a friendly little smoking session turning into a heated make out is making me SICK 😵‍💫😵‍💫 need to hump his thigh until im crying out of frustration tbh 🫣🫣 no bc putting into words how badly i want this man would create a new sin in the bible ngl

<🫧3

pairings: nicholas wang x f! reader

warnings: drugs + dryhumping + dacryphilia

💌: ur brain is so yum, i’m sick!!! i love the thought of mean dom nicho so much 😞

okay but smoking for the first time with nicholas 😵‍💫 you’re a little clueless ‘nd coughs wrack your body, feeling embarrassed by how intently he’s watching you and shrinking under his gaze. but he’s not to be mean, it’s because he’s mesmerized by the sight of your lips wrapped around the blunt and how pretty you look, eyes glossy and a dopey little smile on your face as the weed affects you. and yeah, he feels a little bad so he decides to help you out, definitely for your benefit and absolutely not because he wants to kiss you.

“c’mere, pretty girl,” he says, seating you on his lap, placing a knee between your thighs. “let me help you.”

nicho takes the blunt from you, ashing it before taking a hit and placing a hand on your cheek, tapping your bottom lip with his thumb as a sign to get you to open up for him. “be a good girl ‘n make sure to inhale for me sweetheart.” he states, voice low and raspy.

he takes a hit and your eyes widen as his face comes impossibly close, blowing the smoke into your open mouth while you do your best to inhale, squeezing his shoulders in an attempt to ground yourself.

he does it a couple more times, taking pleasure in how flustered you look and the needier you get, biting back a smirk when you subconsciously grind back and forth on his thigh, quiet moans like music to his ears when his jeans catch your clit just right.

you’re so gone n so needy, you can’t stop tears from welling up in your eyes, peering up at nicholas through wet lashes with a sweet little pout adorning your face. he wants to help you out but he’s enjoying the show, flexing his thigh at times just to hear you gasp n moan, so close to reaching your orgasm but ‘s just not enough, unwillingly edging yourself the more you rut against him.

[jesuistrestriste]

art humping the bed when you’re asleep cause he doesn’t want to wake you but the shaking of the bed does but you make him keep going until the puddle under him gets bigger and bigger

urghh and he’s such a nasty lil perv about it:/

he’s biting the collar of his tee shirt while he ruts into the mattress, rocking his hips feverishly in an attempt to soothe the hot ache in his lower stomach, but it’s been an hour since he’s started and there’s no end in sight ! ! he’s come at least three times and he’s still humping the sheets like he’s in heat or something !

when you wake up, you blink your eyes open sleepily and realize what he’s doing immediately (the sounds of the bedframe creaking are enough to fill you in…)

your hand startles him slightly as it slides down his back, and he whimpers as he turns his head to look to you next to him

“.. unghh— ‘m sorry, i’m sorry, baby, it fucking hurts… i gotta cum, i’m still cumminnnghh—“ his eyes rolling back as his pelvis jolts down harshly and he comes undone again.

you lean in and press a tired, open-mouthed kiss to his neck, and whisper against his warm skin, “i don’t care that you’re doing this in general, but you woke me up, babe…”

“i know, i’m s-sorry..”

“keep moving your hips… you’re gonna put on a show for me before i let you stop… gimme two more orgasms…” your lips brush his jaw.

he keens and nods, wanting nothing more than to please you despite the prickling overstimulation wrecking his cock in his wet boxers. “okay.. okay..”

he fucks himself twice more down against the bedding before he creams his underwear full of his spend. by the end of it, he’s gasping for air and writhing, drool pooling over his bottom lip.

you peck a kiss to his cheek, smiling, and then turn back over to go to sleep. “g’night..!”

he can only let out an anguished, shaky moan in return, trying to get the room to stop spinning.

he brought it on himself, really..

[feeshfries]

whatever.. yaoi beam activate !!🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦