Stop putting that fucking ballerina mom on my fyp I don't careeeee white women were sooooo quick to cry over her— like snot bubble, runny nose sobbing, over the choice she made to marry wealthy and have kids, but if you tell them about the sexual violence women and kids are suffering in Congo watch them turn stone face so quick, they couldn't give less of a fuck about black and brown women. They feel more for a wealthy white ballerina who gave up her dreams for a MAN than they do about Women using tent lining as menstrual pads in Palestine I don't careeeeeeeeee about the fucking ballerina she'll live get off the floor stop crying
Immigrant women give up their dreams every day, refugee women give up their dreams every day, Palestinian women give up their dreams every day, women in Congo give up their dreams every day, Bangladeshi women give up their dreams every day and they're dreaming about safety and security. We should all be so fucking lucky to give up being a ballerina to be a rich man's wife I DON'T CAREEEEEEEE AND I HATE Y'ALL
can we discuss the feeling of disappointment when u find a fic with a black plus size reader but she’s sad through out most the fic and absolutely hates herself? like can plus size black women not be happy??? can plus size people in general not be happy and love their body??? i’ll wait for an answer…
It's a shame overwatch sucks now :( I loved getting so many overwatch requests
🌙 He never allowed himself to have any sort of relationship, let alone romance, since he had been turned years ago. He always felt as though he didn't deserve to be loved, and the fact that he was now a demon cemented that feeling inside of him.
🌙 He was turned about a few weeks after he had killed Genji. Madness and grief overtook him and he decided to tempt fate to bring his bother back. He performed a ritual that had started to show some promise only for things to sour rather quickly. He woke up with a start, nor realizing he passed out during the whole debacle to find himself no longer human.
🌙 When he first met you, he shrugged you off as yet another Overwatch agent from the recall. It wasn't until you saved him on a mission in Prague did you both start to talk a bit. He only meant to stay and thank you, but you had somehow compelled him into staying for coffee.
🌙 He caught feelings for you after a while. It didn't help that he knew you liked him in ways you didn't like others. He could hear your heart flutter and race a bit in your chest when you would see him or start talking, and he could smell the desire rolling off of you in waves that hypnotized him.
🌙 It took a while of courting on both sides before you both had shared your first kiss. It was outside, the two of you somehow broke from the crowd of drunk and rowdy soldiers, both of you flushed at the cheeks with the faint taste of alcohol on your breaths. Hanzo loves how you taste, but fuck, he hated himself for falling for a human.
🌙 He tries to play things cool. Hell, there are days where you make him feel human again with all of the tender loving and sweet words. But then there are days where life really beats the shit out him to the point where he feels himself slipping only for you to help him feel grounded.
🌙 There had been times when you almost saw what he was. Whether it was on the field or on base as you both tried to live as domestically as you could. He feels so guilty for even letting it out as much as he has in the past. He's more so worried about you being terrified of him, of thinking of him as a horrible monster. He couldn't bear the thoughts of you being so scared and disgusted of him.
🌙 When you did eventually see him, it was by pure accident. He doesn't even remember what had gotten him so angry and so distracted, but it slipped. He didn't hear the door slide open but he heard your heartbeat quicken. The look of shock on your face made him want to vomit as he just stood there like a deer in headlights, but then you asked him if he was okay like nothing was wrong.
🌙 He's cautious at first to let his demon side slip out behind closed doors between the two of you. At first it was a rare treat, but with time passing and his nerves easing, he found it rather comfortable to lounge with you even though the bed you both shared could barely handle the size of him.
🌙 His tattoo changes when he turns, from the beautiful dual blue dragons to the red oni mask as swirls of red and black ink scatter down his arm. His dragons also change as well, the two normally calm dragons now act like pissy little cats that only you can calm with gentle petting and scratches behind their little ears.
🌙 He likes it when you take the time to look at him when he's turned. Looking at his sharp pearly fangs, holding his hands to get a nice look at his ebony claws, crouching down to look at his hooves. He finds it adorable with how interested in this you are.
🌙 He runs so fucking warm. There's no need for blankets or pillows, use him instead. Just lay on top of him like he's the bed with his arms wrapped around you, careful of where he puts the claws, and you'll fall asleep faster than anyone ever could.
🌙 Hanzo's sense of smell is something else. He can smell you from across the base, his nose cutting through all of the sweat and blood and canteen food the base holds just so he can sniff you out to calm his nerves. He can also sniff out how you're feeling, too. It's pretty helpful after a long day of bullshit.
🌙 His hearing is also impeccable. Normally he uses his supernatural hearing to help him scope out whatever target out on the field, but he also uses it to listen to your heart. Any difference and Hanzo is on top of it whether you're in need of comfort or a fist to whatever fucker's face that's bothering you.
🌙 He loves it when you stroke his horns and trace the grooves and curves. He loves the feeling of your fingers running through his raven black hair, twirling his locks, soothing him from the thoughts that haunt him.
🌙 His voice changes too when he shifts. It gets even deeper and scratchier, almost like there's a slight echo to his satiny voice. Some of his words can get a little awkward to the sharp fangs in his mouth. You could listen to him talk for hours, and sometimes, he indulges you.
🌙 The last thing Hanzo would to even dream of is hurt you. It's almost happened a few times by accident where Hanzo would try to grab you or protect you on the field only for you both to somehow be spared. Just thoughts of what he could do to you haunt his nightmares.
🌙 Hanzo isn't afraid to use his heightened strength around you. Whether it's lifting something up for you to get under or even hoisting you up into his burly arms. He won't admit it, but he loves to show off just for you.
🌙 Hanzo's eyes are pretty different when he's a demon compared to his human form. The whites of his eyes are blacked out and his pupils are no longer visible in the sea of amber that make up his irises. He loves it when they reflect off of your eyes.
🌙 He's pretty tall when he's like that. Often times he uses his powers for good like getting the annoying shit off of the top shelves. Other times, he likes to be a little asshole and puts shit on the top shelf.
🌙 He's had a few incidents where he would turn and ruin his clothes. He usually wears baggier clothes like what he uses to train in, but there would be times when he would be wearing a tight t-shirt or pants only for the damn things to tear. You would always find him muttering curses in Japanese as he peeled off the poor torn fabrics.
🌙 There have been a couple of times where you walked in to find him with something stuck in his horns or wrapped around his tail or hooves. The funniest time was when you walked in on him trying to re-string his bow while he was lounging in his demon form. The poor string was somehow wrapped around his claws and both horns.
🌙 It can be pretty awkward for him to kiss you with his fangs, but damn it all if he doesn't try! He loves it when you kiss him though, pushing past the feeling of his fangs pressing against you as his clawed fingers gracefully touch you.
🌙 If you want his attention to snap to you immediately, tug on his horns. A good tug shuts him up and has his eyes pinning you in place as a faint blush pinkens his grayish cheeks. He especially loves it when you tug on his horn to make it easier to kiss him.
🌙 You had bought him larger clothes so they would be baggy on his person when he would turn and he fucking loves them. They swallow him when he's human but they're fucking perfect when he's a demon. He's going to love them to absolute death.
Reblog if you’re a Black woman, love Black women, are friends with a Black woman, are in love with a Black woman, are dating a Black woman, support Black women, or just really love flowers.
each night that gaza experiences is deadlier than the last, as idf soldiers record propaganda tiktoks, make rave parties and grwms and fit checks, gloat over having food and water, and film themselves deriving sadistic pleasure from torturing their hostages and victims and desecrating the dead.
Palestinians have to display their martyred before the camera for you to believe the atrocities that the zionist entity has subjected them to. they cannot even mourn in private. the apartheid entity murders them in cold blood, and you deliver the killing blow by doubting them.
babies whose families have been killed will never get to know their own name.
i can't reshare a tenth of the videos and photos that cross my timeline. i have seen more dead children in the past month than i have known death my entire life.
israeli settlers burn olive trees, bomb bakeries and fishing boats, shower white phosphorus and earthquake bombs on the captive civilians of gaza. you already know about the disastrous effects of white phosphorus, but earthquake bombs were last used during ww2 to wipe out entire cities.
how holy is the land that seeks to be built over the mass graves of thousands of children? is it holier than the miracle of a child being born in this hypocritical world?
all 11 universities in gaza have been bombed. academics should be agitating right now, especially those who call themselves "decolonial thinkers." destruction of universities is a sinisterly deliberate act to sabotage the Palestinians who will survive this great catastrophe.
the act of cleansing your hands before prayer is extremely important to muslims. no part of us can remotely comprehend the grief of the mother who refused to wash her hands from the blood of her children after losing them in a zionist airstrike over gaza. "I swear I won't wash them, I won't wash my hands, how else am I supposed to sleep near my kids."
it is only both moral and right when one side defends itself. the other side are the price of war, no better than insects and cattle and sheep left to die within the four walls of the slaughterhouse.
this situation should not be up for debate, but let me finish with one final thing : do your research about Palestine. HOWEVER. you do not need a degree in middle east studies to object to an ongoing genocide. if someone outwits you in a debate about historical details and every nuance of a subject, you were and will remain entirely correct in objecting to a genocide.
may those martyred rest in peace and be reunited again with their loved ones in heaven's eternal vastness.
DO NOT STOP TALKING ABOUT PALESTINE.
glory to Palestinian resistance. from the river to the sea, Palestine will be free.
Can you imagine her looking at you like that when you’re on your knees about to suck her strap and she holds her hand on the back of you head I’m melting I’m exploding I’m not sane
Bertholdt being shy about how big his dick is has me kicking my feet n twirling my hair <33
He would 100% roll his hips against yours when you’re making out with him n then get shy when you’re surprised because you can feel how big n heavy his cock is sjfjakcnkand
— ( gentle giant. )
༉‧₊˚. — pairing: (aged up!) bertholdt hoover x fem!reader
༉‧₊˚. — synopsis: based on this post! a teensy-tiny drabble for bertl! my sweet big boy 💘
༉‧₊˚. — contains: 700+ word count! … nsfw/smut, bertl has a mega size kink, handjob, oral (m!receiving), penetrative sex, mention of bertl’s big bawls, lowercase intended, all characters are of age (19+), fem!reader (black coded), minors shoo!
omfg sandie!!! now this is everything to me! there’s nothin’ like a giant man who can’t truly grasp just how large he is.
bertholdt is well aware of his height— since his earliest memories he’s towered over others, standing head and shoulder above them. but when it comes to size-size? bertl doesn’t fully register how big he is. this bashful man don’t got a clue in the world!
your reaction to bertl discarding his underwear is what gets him to finally understand. to you, he already looked fairly large when wearing his boxers, but witnessing the real thing proves to be a stark difference. you unashamedly observe your boyfriend’s fat dick as it throbs lewdly, free of any confines. he can feel your keen eyes fixate on him.
“you’re fuckin’ huge.” you release the airiest whisper.
to that, bertholdt’s breath catches in his throat, adam’s apple bobbing. he gets self-conscious, even more so than usual. a stream of questions swirl about in his head. is he too big? will you be able to handle him? are there even condoms in his size?
his worries quickly dissipate once you begin to wrap your dainty fingers around his cock. you stroke whatever you can manage to reach, touching down his shaft and twirling your hand over the precum-smeared tip. you gaze at his endowment with lust-blown eyes, seemingly appreciative of what he has to offer.
“how big are you, baby?” he doesn’t know. hell, he’s never cared to check or measure before now. your assumption is nine whole inches, maybe ten.
“i— fuck,” he lets a foul whine slip past, bringing a hand to cover his mouth. he shyly speaks through his slender fingers, “i-i’m not sure...” with a stammer, bertholdt instinctively rolls his hips, bucking against your hand. his pale-green eyes stay trained on how you can barely close your fingers around the base of his girthy dick. in that very moment, within the depths of his mind, he can practically hear a switch flicking— that’s the size kink he never knew he had, officially turning on.
following that experience, bertholdt’s shyness considering his length doesn’t get any better. he’s easily flustered, but also more self-aware than he’s ever been. bertl starts to notice how wide your plush lips stretch around his cockhead when taking him into your wet, pliant mouth. he finds it amusing; how you can’t mutter a word when he fills up your throat, weighty and pulsing against your tongue.
he admittedly likes to give himself a rush during sex, by sizing you up— placing his rigid cock onto your tummy, just to make an estimate of how far he’ll reach. before long, he brushes past your folds and pushes into your velvety cunt. you clamp down fervidly, eager to take all of him.
he’s settled in your womb. you’re so fucking full. “it’s big,” you brainlessly mewl. bertl interlocks his fingers with yours, cheeks dusted red. he makes slow, impassioned thrusts forward, swiveling his hips to plunge into you just right.
“is it too much, love?” bertholdt’s words spill out shakily, wavering breaths dropping from his agape mouth. dark shaggy bangs fall across his forehead. you thread your hand through his hair to help him brush it back. faint traces of sweat trail down his forehead. “uh-uh. it’s perfect, baby,” you reassure with a soothing smile, pressing your lips to his. he returns the haphazard kisses, immodestly groaning into your mouth.
you’re always given generously thick loads when he finishes, because his balls are fat and heavy, too. bertholdt is slowly, but surely, learning how to use his imposing size for your benefit.
Pairing: Ghostface x Black!Fem!Shy!reader / Plus Size reader
Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Smut, PWP, cursing, protected PIV, oral (male receiving), size kink, degradation kink, toxic smut, stranger smut (but implied relationship), praise kink, mocking, minor knife play, use of pet names, all consensual. Mention of drinking and tipsy sex. Implied relationship.
Summary: At a Halloween party, you lure a sexy Ghostface down to the basement for a little bit of naughty fun.
Word Count: 2,231k
A/N: I am feral. I've been feening for Ghostface smut, so I wrote some for a little Friday the 13th fun. Wish I got this out sooner, but well. Listen, a time was had writing this! I hope you enjoy. Because I definitely did! Please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers!
You couldn’t take your eyes off of the tall man wearing a black tank, black jeans, and a Ghostface mask. The party raged on all around you, but you were only concerned with getting next to him.
He wore the mask so you weren’t sure what he looked like. He could be ugly. But there was no way that he had a body like that, tattoos covering his muscled arms, and he was ugly. But that wasn’t the point. He exuded a type of indifference that made you want to flock to him.
You weren’t that thirsty though. You adjusted the suspenders on your school girl outfit. The skirt was completely inappropriate. It stopped mid thigh and if you coughed too hard, you’d flash anyone behind you. The sweater was a size too big so that it hung down past the skirt. Your dress shirt was a size too small and half buttoned up anyway. You wore a sexy bra underneath but the sides of the shirt were just long enough to cover it. All anyone saw was your exposed chest.
It was meant to be lewd. Filthy. To conjure up all those thoughts of first crushes in high school. The type of crush that you still think about to this day, even when you’re kissing your significant other. The type of crush that burned from the inside out.
Ghostface stood still in the living room, surrounded by gyrating bodies to music. Everyone was dressed in costumes for the Friday the 13th party. There were a few Jason’s and Freddy Krueger’s walking around.
You crooked your finger. If he was looking at you behind that mask, he’d follow you. You turned and went through the exact replica of Stu’s house from the movie. You went down the stairs that led to the basement.
You looked around the dingy garage. A moment later, the door opened. Ghostface walked down the steps slowly, his heavy boots echoing off of the wooden steps. His dark skin blended with the shadows in the garage and it only turned you on more.
You were dripping already. The aura this man had was intoxicating all on its own. The mask was a stark contrast, showing the fake sympathetic visage of a ghost. You squeezed your thick thighs together, trying to get some kind of attention between your legs.
“What’s your favorite scary movie?” He asked, with a voicebox from the movie. If you were dripping before, you were a sopping mess. The movie voice always strangely turned you on. He always sounded so condescending and mocking. Smug.
“Too obvious to say Scream?”
“Maybe. Why do you like that fucked up movie?” He asked. He walked closer. No, he stalked closer. His body was fluid, with a little hood lean that made you lick your lips.
Had you died and gone to heaven? If so, you definitely didn’t want to go back to Earth.
“It’s more psychological horror. The killer could be anybody,” you said.
Ghostface flexed and unflexed his gloved fingers. The leather stretched tight over big, grown man’s hands.
“Even you?” He asked.
“Even you,” you said and grinned. You backed away from him, but then his hand shot out and wrapped around your neck. You gasped at the pressure. It was just right. Not too hard and not too soft.
“You shouldn’t follow strange men down in the basement. That’s a certified way to get killed.”
Ghostface produced a knife. It was long and slightly curved. He ran it over your skin. The coldness of the knife made you gasp. It was real. You knew it was. The thought made your heart speed up. You looked up into expressionless eyes.
“You followed me. Maybe you’re the one in danger,” you said.
“I really hope so. Why don’t you pull down those panties and let me see what we got,” he said.
You followed his command. Your eyes never left the mask as you wiggled out of your panties. They were damp anyway. He pushed you backwards. Your legs connected with something solid behind you, a little too tall for you to hop onto.
He forced you down anyway, hiking your butt onto the edge of whatever it was. It felt solid and cold. The coldness seeped onto your ass, chilling you further from the frigid garage.
Ghostface dropped the knife on the object you were leaning on. He removed his hand from your throat so he could take his time removing his gloves. He ran one hand down the middle of your chest. His warm, big hands played with the edges of your bra. His other hand coasted down your outfit until he reached the end of the skirt.
“I like easy little sluts,” he said.
He lifted your skirt and ran his hands around your wet curls. “The easiest one,” you said.
“You want to be fucked, Princess?” He asked.
You nodded and bit your lip. Fuck yes, you want to be fucked. “Yes, right now,” you said. You weren’t sure what was wrong with you. You hadn’t taken anything and you weren’t drunk off your ass for once. You were a little tipsy though, the alcohol you consumed gave you a pleasant tingle. You wanted him so badly you were aching with it.
“I can’t hear you, Princess,” he said. He tilted his head, maintaining that calm and cool demeanor.
You felt like you were ready to burst at any minute. Your clit started throbbing in tune with your heartbeat. It paced at a steady tempo, building higher the longer your stood there.
“Yes, I want to be fucked. So badly,” you begged.
Ghostface laughed at you. It was cruel. It was hot as hell. “Turn around,” he said. His laughter died. The raspy sound was like its own caress over your sensitive brown skin.
You turned around and faced some type of freezer that lay horizontally. You placed your hands on the fridge and giggled at the cold top.
You could only rely on your other senses. You smelled the spiciness of his scent. His cologne passed through your nose and you inhaled deeply, committing it to memory. You heard him rustling, pulling down his jeans. His methods were concise and controlled. There was a sound of a package ripping and then more rustling.
Finally, he scooted up behind you and pushed on your lower back. Your chest hit the top of the freezer. He lifted up your skirt and slammed inside.
“Oh fuck,” you moaned. You were so wet that he went in easily, slipping nearly out already. But his was thick and long and as he really started hitting it, your eyes were already rolling into the back of your head.
He leaned forward and placed one hand on top of the freeze next to yours. The other gripped your waist, slamming you up and down on his dick.
“Fuck, this pussy feel so good,” he rasped right next to your ear. You moaned loudly, letting him know that you were thoroughly enjoying this. The feel of him. The anonymous nature of it.
You started to slam back on him on his own steam. You matched his tempo so that he was hitting you harder and harder. You felt him so deep inside of you that the tip of him hit your G spot and you cried out.
Your orgasm rocked through you and you shook from the sheer force of it. Ghostface didn’t give you a moment of reprieve. He kept up his punishing strokes, shoving you into the fridge.
The wet slap of your thighs bounced off of the walls. Ghostface slapped your ass and you tensed up, breaking your concentration. “Relax Princess,” he cooed. The tinny voicebox was just hotter this up close and personal.
You took quick, shallow breaths trying to calm down from your orgasm and still take his brutal thrusts.
You slumped against the fridge and took the delicious pleasure. You were riding a unique high and it was bliss. Ecstasy. Your cheek touched the cool metal and it was just what you needed to cool your overheated skin. Sweat clung to you. You probably looked like a proper mess but you didn’t care. That was easily one of the best orgasms you ever had.
Ghostface slowed his thrusts and tapped your cheek a few times, enough to hurt.
“Aw, is my Princess tapping out?” He asked.
He slid out slowly, so slowly to make you feel every inch of him. His mushroom head stretched your pussy and you whined, ready to jump out of your skin. He pushed back in with as much carefulness as the way out.
“Fuck you,” you groaned out. You panted, needing more. Ghostface dropped his head to your shoulder and chuckled.
“Already got that part covered,” he said. To emphasize his point, he shoved in with a quick thrust and you cried out. Banging your fists on top of the fridge.
“I want to be fucked. If you can’t handle that, maybe I’ll find someone who will,” you said.
Ghostface dug his fingers into your hair and yanked, pulling you backwards with a painful tug.
“I’ll kill anyone who touches you,” he said.
You were almost tempted to test that theory. You wiggled, trying to gauge how much room you had. Ghostface had an iron grip on you. There was no room to wiggle. If you wanted to move, it was only if he let you.
You clenched around his dick and he chuckled. “What ya thinkin’ about Princess? Me murdering someone for you turn you on?”
You tried to shake your head. It wasn’t that. But your pussy betrayed you, clenching around him again.
He chuckled again and began moving. His strokes were deep and slow. “Don’t lie to me, Princess. I don’t like it,” he whispered. He moved his hand from your waist down to you pussy. His fingers moved between your folds, searching out your throbbing clit.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” you said. You stood on tiptoes, leaning away from him. He kept going, rolling your dripping arousal all around your swollen nub.
“I said I’m sorry!” You cried and stomped your foot. This was too much sensation. Too much stimulation. Between him working inside of you, trying to imprint there, and his expert fingers on your pussy, you were nearing another orgasm.
“Oh, please, I’m sorry,” you said. Your orgasm crested anyway. Your legs turned to jelly as your orgasm rushed over you like an avalanche. Covering you in a blanket of bliss. He picked up his pace, bringing your hips down faster and faster.
“Act like a brat, this is what fuckin’ sluts get,” he said. He slapped your ass and each consecutive one hurt worse than the last.
He finally slammed in one final time and released a string of curses. There were a mix of platitudes and you were almost certain that he asked you to marry him. You felt him twitch and flex inside of you and you were only sorry that you couldn’t feel him leak out after.
He groaned and slapped your ass one more time for good measure. He slipped from inside you and groaned as he took off the condom.
“Come lick this shit up,” he demanded. You turned and dropped to your knees. You couldn’t support your own weight anyway.
Cum dripped slowly from this tip of his dick. He stroked himself and moved closer, slapping it against your lips. “Open up,” he said.
You opened your mouth and looked into his ghost mask. His dick slipped in and he moaned. He threw his head back and released a deep sigh.
“Need this,” he said. He began to fuck your mouth. He grabbed the sides of your head and thrust in as far as he could. You slobbered and coated his dick in saliva. He leaked into your mouth, the salty flavor of him turning you on.
His head was still thrown back. His hips stuttered every so often as if your mouth felt too good on him. It was a heady feeling. Knowing that you affected him just as much. That you turned him on this much.
That the sweet curves of your body and the sweet nectar of your body was enough to make him crazy. Possessive. Feral. Fresh arousal gushed from you and you moaned around his dick.
“Like the way I taste, Princess?” He asked. His fingers petted your cheek. You smelled your arousal on him faintly.
Spit dribbled down your chin and down his dick. You nodded and moaned again. You would never get sick of this. Of being his little toy that he constantly fucked with.
He moaned and kept pumping into your mouth. “Sweet fuck,” he moaned and released himself inside your mouth. Hot splashes of cum danced on your tongue and then you swallowed him all down.
“Such a good little slut for me, Princess,” he said.
You whimpered. You popped his dick out with a loud pop and grinned at him. He nodded for you to get up. He watched you struggle to your feet, your legs feeling like noodles.
“Don’t test me again, Princess,” he said. He pulled his pants up and zipped himself back up.
“Yes, Sir,” you said with a grin. Knowing damn well that you were on your way to do just that.
Literally me because the way Andre immediately came for them like he didn’t just get exposed IN 4KKK for fucking Cate WHILE she’s dating LUKE SENT ME INTO A PRIMAL RAGE I AM NOT OKAY!
hazel fucking you in doggy w/the strap while her hand is clamped over your mouth to keep you from moaning out loudly like the whore you are, bc you’re actually supposed to be studying. 🙇🏽♀️🙇🏽♀️
yall r sooooo 😵💫
its not even like her efforts to silence you are doing much, and not just because your sounds are slipping through the cracks between her fingers. the squelch of the strap, lubed up, slipping in and out of your walls, equally as lubed up from a more organic source, is nearly as loud as your moans were.
hazel swears under her breath, commenting on the way both of your lips can't stay shut, and she's cockily laughing about her crude (and slightly lame) joke.
you shift a little, and your hand brushes against the papers hazel was supposed to be helping you work through. she thoroughly explained two problems, and then suddenly she's fucking you doggy style, short nails digging into the skin of your hips as she pounds into you like it's the last time she'll get the chance to.
her phone dings off to the side of you, both of you looking over at the message.
mother
going to get groceries. let me know if you need anything for you studying ❤️
hazel peels her hand away from your mouth, your sounds instantly multiplying in volume. she uses her now free hand to spank you, the clap ringing throughout her room.
WANNA RIDE STILES WHILE I WEAR HIS LACROSSE JERSEY MHM YEAH
WHYYYY WOULD U SAY THIS TO ME
just thinking abt like ... the way stiles would go absolutely feral. like he would go slightly insane. mouth open, lips still glistening from the messy kiss you'd shared with him a few moments prior, but his face has been frozen like this ever since he'd walked into his room to see you laid on his bed, wearing nothing but his lacrosse jersey, scrolling through your phone like it's the most casual thing that's ever happened.
the only thing that's changed is his eyes, consistently roaming over your body, flicking between your face which is scrunched up in pleasure, and your chest that he's forced out of the jersey, the material lifted up on one side, bunched over your shoulder. he's watching you through lidded eyes, similar to when he's tired, that same scrunch between his eyebrows, too.
his hands roam over your body, taking in as much as he can. calloused palms against the soft skin of your torso, running along your back, sliding down to your hips and around to press along your lower abdomen, making their way down to your cunt where he flattens his thumb along your clit, lifting the hood to gain better access.
he can't get enough, wanting more, wanting to do this again even when it's still happening in front of his face. he's trying to commit this to memory, he realizes when he's giving you possibly the hundredth full-body scan of the night. from your messy hair down to where you repeatedly sink yourself onto his cock.
his eyes get stuck there for a bit, not breaking away until he hears your breathless giggle.
"fillin' me up so well, stiles," you tell him, voice sounding pretty like it always does when you're like this.
the sweet sound of you – both your words and your cunt squelching around him – breaks him out of his stupor. he licks his lips, runs his thumbs along your skin, head spinning when you mewl as he rubs slow circles along your clit.
"yeah?" he asks you, even though he knows you're telling the truth, he can feel it. but he likes to see your almost pained nod, it fills his chest with pride, bolsters his ego. "feels good, honey?" another nod from you that makes him smile.
"'s that why you put that on? knew it would get you here?" his hands slide to your hips, his heels digging into the mattress as he slams up into you once, repeating the action at the sound you make. you don't answer him, it's not like you could, the breath taken from you just like the control was.
"hm? is that why you put my jersey on, laid in my bed in nothing else, waiting for me to get home." your hands press into his chest, fingers curling and your nails start to scratch at his skin. he takes a second, head tilting, eyes blinking innocently as he looks at you.
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