#Steamy

[newblvotg]

[peachyvibesworld]

Hot tubs 🛁 get me

[hanwiore]

eren is such a perv

Grey sweatpants down to his nike socks where his toes curled on his carpeted bedroom floor. Ethika boxers squeezing his tensing thighs as the bottom of his hoodie was held between his straight white teeth. One of his hands holding his phone which held a video of your two-toned fat, wet pussy lips being separated with you classic french sets, and goddamn. His promise ring his gave you shining against the dim light in your bedroom. But his other hand?

Stroking his thick long veiny dick, the dick thats so sensitive and sporting major pre-cum that he knows you’ll suck up out of him. “Oh shit.” He moaned, muffled by his thick cotton hoodie, stroking his shit faster while you started rubbing ridiculous circles on your puffy clit, wetness dripping out of your pulsing hole. “O-oh my god mama- shit!” Eren eyes close but opened just as fast, squeezing his thick dick in his hands, clear pre cum sliding down his shaky fingers.

He just started but the way his stomach tensed and the way his balls pulled forward he knew he was finna nut.

All it took was a “ohhh daddy!” And squirt coming through your fingers and sliding down on your fluffy pink blanket did his hips stuttered up and whines of pleasure fall from his lips when his cum shoots out and slides down his abdomen. “Fuck- fuckk baby.”

Still so horny, he couldn’t help but press the FaceTime logo.

[scoutingthetrooper]

tater tot bacon grilled cheese waffle

[e-vay]

4 - “Neck kisses” from this prompt.

Threw in some Human!Sonamy to mix things up. And it’s easier to draw neck kisses that way hehe

I’m no longer accepting any more prompts at this time, sorry!

[little-star-library]

*Tav and Astarion are cuddling under the stars after his nightly feeding*

Tav: Well, don’t you look so cute with your cheeks all flushed like that?

Astarion: I think I’d look even cuter with you on top of me, my dear.

Tav: *blushes as their heart skips a beat* You would look very cute like that.

[4theluvofsapphos]

Shiver - NSFW (18+)

Melissa Schemmenti x Neighbour!Reader

a/n & etc: porn w/o plot realness! fingering, begging, cunnilingus, dommy reader, subby melissa, fwb type deal, fucking w/feelings!! this was lots of fun to write eek! lmk thoughts x

————————————————

The air was cold against Melissa’s skin. Sudden, cold, and sobering. The three glasses of wine seemed to leave her cloudy conscience in seconds. What with the wild haired woman sinking down to the floor— having hiked Mel’s dress up over those delicious hips.

“Mmm…I can smell the soothing oil you used. Coconut and Pomegranate? Must’ve waxed…” You hummed to yourself, lacy red panties were swiftly pulled to the side, exposing the redhead to you.

“Y..yeah I- I uh- waxed for you. Thought you’d appreciate it..” manicured nails raked affectionately through your hair. “Seems like you do…” the nerves that Melissa was having began to ease, thinking of all the places the night might go.

Gentle, slender fingers swiped over puffy lips, drooling with want and desire. You hummed in amusement, savouring the way that Mel trembled at the touch. Like it was second nature, you laid your tongue flat against your plaything’s folds, pulling a heavy groan from the redhead above.

“I-inside…” Melissa murmured through light breaths.

“Hmm?” You quirked an eyebrow, piercing eyes stirring with question at the redhead’s remarks.

“I need you inside- fuck..”

You grabbed both of Melissa’s thighs, nails creating half moon craters in their wake. Spreading them further, you quietly obliged, parting the redhead’s lips with two fingers, pulling away to spit in your hand and firmly slapping Mel’s cunt.

“A-ah fuck…fuck!” A high pitched squeal ripped from Melissa- to both your surprise.

“Of course a slut like you would like that. Again~”

Two more smacks followed, and before Mel could voice any complaints, she buckled at the sensation of two strong fingers curling into her. Her mouth fell open, eyes squeezing shut in ecstasy.

You chuckled, deep and low. It made Melissa’s thighs twitch. You always enjoyed the power you had, seeing your whorish neighbour crumble to dust in your hands. You brought your lips back to Mel’s cunt, focusing in on her clit with firm sucks and licks that left your chin dripping with juices.

“Y-Y/n! Jesus fucking- f-ffuck!” Melissa cried, her head tossing back and hitting the wall. Mel’s head span with pain and pleasure, the whole ordeal making her dizzy with need.

Another curl of your fingers sent the redhead careening over the edge, brought on and prolonged by your mouth enveloping her entire cunt. Her back arched, body going taught like a bow— before violent waves of overstimulation hit her. Melissa allowed the pleasure to fade into overstimulation, coming a second time shortly after the ravenette added a third finger.

“y/n— y-y/n…y/n..y/n…” She breathed, pulling your head away from her cunt. She saw how smug your face was, making her scowl in mock annoyance.

“Was it good? Better than your loser guy lackies?” you teased, chin dripping and shiny in the late night light.

“Mmh..I may need a larger sample to make any substantial determinations…how about you take me upstairs..?”

“…of course, my dear.” You hummed, sweeping Melissa off of her feet, the two of you giggling the entire way upstairs…

[draculasfavoritewife]

Touch Me Please

Summary: Aftereffects can be painful to work through by yourself, and a little help from your partner can be a godsend.

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Warnings: Unwanted touch from a gross man, initial lack of communication, suggestions of a panic attack. Extended sequence of getting handsy in the shower. Possessive! Din.

I will never tire of writing shower scenes ❤️‍🔥. I love the thought of Mando's partner sometimes going undercover to flush out particularly oily bounties. And I really don't know what came over me for this one's ending...I have to blame my senselessness on the utter chokehold this man has on me hehe.

*Translations of less common words/phrases in Mando'a at the end

"I had it handled."

Din gives no response to your annoyed statement, simply lowers himself on one knee to yank his vibroblade from deep in the throat of the male Twi'lek on the floor, whose body has just barely ceased twitching.

You angrily stalk towards him, wrenching your chain along in one hand, your own knife still humming loudly in the other. "Don't you tune me out, Mando," you warn, using his professional alias as much out of displeasure as necessity. "I. Had it. Handled. But no, you just HAD to have things done your way. And now he's dead and we have to make a run for it."

"Warm or cold, makes no difference," he says gruffly, still not looking at you. He's a little too focused on the prone body of the asset, and you briefly wonder what's bothering him.

He doesn't usually act so impulsively when you're undercover.

With an exasperated snort, you shake your head and turn your attention to your modified slave collar, pressing the hidden release so it falls away, leaving you unchained once more. "This was a waste."

"We got what we came for." He rises and hefts the dead man across his wide shoulders with breathtaking ease, indicating the doorway with a sharp jerk of his head. "Let's get out of here before too many of his lackeys come looking for him."

You sheathe your knife and pull his pulse rifle from its holster on his back. He doesn't object.

He can tell you might need to disintegrate a few lowlifes before it's safe to hold a conversation with you again.

Your escape goes smoothly, more so than the actual mission, ironically, and soon the two of you are standing in the ship's hold, watching the carbonite seal over your latest asset. Din is acutely aware of how close you are to him, all his senses on high alert as his religiously conditioned mind struggles to process how you can just STAND THERE so exposed. Your slave dancer disguise is perfect, as far as it can be called a disguise.

As much as the pair of you shares under cover of darkness, he's never really seen so much of your skin before, bared between little more than straps of leather and the drape of filmy netting. He has to remind himself repeatedly that you consider yourself dar'manda.

He wonders too, if you'd done jobs like this before your partnership. Not once did he see anything in your stride that betrayed your discomfort. Images flash through his head unbidden, of the way you moved before your new "master", of how you remained still and silent even as that crime lord TOUCHED you....

Din Djarin is a controlled man. So his admittedly violent and perhaps unnecessary reaction to seeing that filth's hands straying -- too close to areas of you that belong only to him -- has him slightly shaken, though he'd never say so.

Does he regret having buried his blade in that scum's neck for his sins, for trying to take what's his?

No.

He doesn't.

He finally emerges from his brooding at the sound of your voice beside him. "I'm not angry at you, Din." Everything from this mission has finally caught up with you, drowning the adrenaline in exhaustion. "I just wish you trusted me more. I know I don't look dangerous like this --" you gesture down your mostly unclad form, not seeing the Mandalorian's gaze subtly follow, "-- but I can take care of myself. I had to, for a long time. I was in control, not him."

"I know." His voice comes out cold; he's struggling to keep himself from unloading all his confusion and dismay on you at once. "I do trust you, Cyar'ika. I just...."

You wait, but it's like waiting for a stone wall to open up for you.

Nothing gives.

Normally you would gently cajole that stone wall into eventually breaking down, but you just don't have the capacity to do so at the moment.

"I'll be in the 'fresher if you need me," you sigh, turning away. "I need a shower and a change of clothes."

He says nothing, and you don't invite him along.

For the first time in a while, the silence that falls between you two is taut, barely stretched over spiking emotions that are too rampant to reach the air.

The feeling of hot water pounding into your skin clears your head as it always does, letting your patience recharge and your frustrations bleed away down the drain. Sense slowly begins to reclaim your thoughts, and you let your mind drift as you wash away the scent of smoke and spice, your fingertips trailing absently across your body as new questions rise of their own accord.

You can't understand why you feel disappointed.

The job went well. It doesn't matter in the wider scheme of things whether you were the one to acquire the asset or Din, not really. You both get paid the same.

Were you simply hoping for more of a reaction to your dancer outfit from your laconic partner?

Your hand slips in the water, brushes over your ribcage. It's one of your favorite places to find Din's hands lingering when the two of you are half-awake in bed, your skin sensitive enough there that the calluses on his fingertips still raise shivers from you every time.

But to your disgust, this time it isn't his hand you feel on your body, but the memory of a much different hand, one with overlong nails searching for something that isn't meant for it. A hand that's been dead for over an hour now, but the sensation is still there, and not only there, but trailing down your neck, slithering around your waist, loitering a moment too long atop your thigh, and you can't keep back the sound of horror that forces its way up your throat.

You feel disgusting and helpless with the mere idea of those hands crawling your body.

And all you know is you need it gone now.

Desperately.

So as the sensations continue to heighten unpleasantly, you do the only thing you can think of.

"...Din?"

His footsteps are swift, and he's in the 'fresher before you even need to call for him a second time. You can see his hulking dark form outlined through the frosted door panel.

"What's wrong?" He sounds concerned.

"I...." You pause and take a deep breath. "I need you, Din. Please."

He doesn't protest, doesn't question you. The lights go out and you hear the clack of the beskar as he strips and sets it aside. Scant moments later, he's under the water with you, solid and familiar and radiating heat, and you're suddenly so needy for his touch it's all you can do to keep from throwing yourself at him.

"What do you want from me?" he breathes, water dripping from his hair down to your face.

"You." Most times you're a playful flirt, but this time you have no room left for games. You just want him to remind you who you really belong to. There will be time for other things later. "I want to feel your hands on me, Din. I need to get the feeling of that miserable scum off of me. Touch me, please."

He pulls you into him, a tad more roughly than usual. "Where, Cyar'ika?"

You melt into the welcome haven of his chest, your hands immediately finding their way to some of the more distinctive scars that ridge his skin. "Anywhere you want, my Love."

He's ravenous in his compliance, all but devouring you with his touch, lips joining his hands as he focuses first on your throat and shoulders.

It's as if he's as desperate for the contact as you are, and suddenly his strange actions become clear to you, as his hands flawlessly overrun all of the places where the other man had been.

He took note of every single unwelcome caress, each one still burning in his mind's eye, each movement of foreign hands a wrong against you and him that cries out to be righted.

And so he follows that path diligently, his heated touch obliterating any claim that vermin tried to make on his sacred space, reconquering everything you offer him like the Mandalorians of old.

You're surrounded by him, blind in the dark and the steadily falling water, held flush against his body, your senses reduced to purely touch and hearing as he growls broken phrases in Mando'a into your skin.

"I've never seen you so territorial," you huff out in a laugh.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs against your lips, as his pause in their journey across the landscape of you.

"Why?" you ask the well-loved chamber of his mouth.

"For my actions. I let my jealousy rule me in the moment and I offended you." He lifts you in his arms, your back resting against the 'fresher wall and your arms wrapping around his neck. You settle into the new position with a happy hum, letting your hips kiss his and feeling his hands slide down the backs of your thighs in reply.

"But seeing that son of a Hutt with his hands all over you like that --" his forehead comes to rest against yours. "That did something to me I can't explain."

One of your hands finds its way into his hair as the other gently scratches across his muscular back, making him sigh.

"Thank you, Din."

You can FEEL the curious eyebrow raise.

"For caring so much. For coming to my rescue when I need you -- every time. Next time," you add, mischief creeping back into your tone, "we can reverse the roles, if you'd rather. I can think of a lot of people who'd pay an exorbitant amount for a dancing Mandalorian. Think of that -- you, dressed in that get-up, but with the helmet still on, of course -- that would intrigue any crime lord, all right."

"You sound like you've imagined that more times than you should have," he chides teasingly.

Your only response is a soft laugh, though you do press yourself more insistently against him and give his hair a suggestive tug.

"Hmm. Someone's still not satisfied." He lets you slide from his embrace back to the floor, and you whine with disappointment, though to your relief all echoes of unwanted hands have dissipated.

Now you're just left hungry for more of HIM.

"Hush, Mesh'la, I'm not refusing you." The extra grit in his lowered voice suggests he wants more as well. His thumb brushes across your lips, rough and sensual. "I just think it would be more...pleasant to finish this in my quarters, don't you? Cold water and romance don't always go so well together if the heat runs out."

You nip at his thumb and smirk. "Thinking as always, Djarin."

"About you, at any rate." He falls quiet abruptly as he pulls away, as if abashed that such a flippant admission actually left his lips.

You laugh and duck back under the water. "Go. Get your hair dry and whatever else you need so I don't see your face. I'll get out when I hear you leave."

He starts to open the door, then suddenly thinks twice and is upon you once again, his fingers digging into the softness of your hips and his lips grazing your collarbone.

"You're beautiful," he grates out in a rush. "And I can't stop thinking about you in that costume. I just thought you should know that."

You sigh into his firm hold, a sinful idea taking delightful shape in your mind.

"How about I dance for you then, Din Djarin? Would you like to see that, ner'alor?"

The breath leaves his lungs all at once in a sharp exhale. "Yes, Mesh'la. Dance for me."

When he finally goes, you're left to finish your shower with an overwhelming ache for him and some very tempting plans turning over in your head.

Dar'manda = Not Mandalorian; separated from one's heritage

Ner'alor = My leader/boss

[theaestheticmodels]

[natalievoncatte]

“Careful with that! We have to assume everything here is dangerous.”

Lena would have preferred to be anywhere else. The last thing she wanted to occupy her afternoon was dealing with yet another reminder of her brother’s sprawling insanity. Every one of these weapons caches -he probably would have melodramatically called them “hideouts” or “secret bases”- was like a tombstone marking the grave of the only truly sincere, loving relationship she’d ever had in her life.

He hadn’t always been the slavering maniac with an incoherent obsession with killing a superhero. He’d been a protector and a benefactor, a chess opponent and a confidant, the only person in her life who presented an uncomplicated human connection, without any ulterior motives or conditions.

Everyone else wanted something from her. Money. Power. A competitive advantage. Technological secrets. Or just sex. Lena resented that most of all, the gray old men who saw nothing of her achievements or her intellect and regarded her as just another piece of ass with blue enough blood that they had to ask permission rather than simply grope.

Watching her crew load up the equipment in this sweltering heat made her physically ill, and she was glad she’d skipped breakfast. Kara would be upset if she knew.

She’s had to text Kara and let her know that she’d be out of the office and would have to skip their lunch plans. Kara was…

Kara was becoming a complication, because Kara was doing the one thing Lena wished she wouldn’t: She was giving Lena hope. She’d barreled into Lena’s life with an earnest intensity that had been bewildering at first and intriguing afterwards, with her insistence that they be friends, and constant reminders that they were friends, even as her eyes wandered to Lena’s cleavage or she unconsciously bit her lip and stared that smoldering stare just to look away at the last second.

Lena shook her head, clearing her thoughts of yet another Straight Best Friend taking her down that well-worn path of sapphic suffering. She had bigger fish to fry right now.

It was too bad that her relationship with Supergirl had been so chilly lately. It might have been easier to simply tip off the hero and the government agency she worked with and let them handle the clean up.

Lena was deep in reverie when one of the crates, a bulky reinforced one, dropped a good two feet from a forklift and the wood splintered as the locks burst free.

“Idiot!” Lena shouted at the driver. “This equipment is sensitive and potentially dangerous, and…”

“STARTUP SEQUENCE INITIATED.”

A metallic voice ground out of the crate and it shifted as something vast and bulky moved around inside. Lena stumbled back, glad she’d opted for a sensible set of flats for this, and turned to run.

A metallic claw crashed out of the crate, followed by an arm-mounted rotary cannon. The older model Lexosuit, one of the originals that Lex had planned to illegally smuggle out of the country in a fake theft scheme and sell to the Kasnians, stood up in its shaky, clanking way and took a few steps, shaking off planks and nylon straps the way a baby bird might shake off pieces of shell.

There was nowhere to go. The machine scanned the room, moving jerkily as it zeroed in on her.

Lex’s voice, a recording, boomed from its loudspeakers.

“Ah, dear sister, I see you’ve found another of my hidden fastnesses.”

You melodramatic-

“Oh well. I should thank you for setting off the security system. I won’t have to waste my precious time killing you myself. Au revoir, Lena!”

The suit spun its arm cannon and aimed at her. The barrels assembly made a half turn, the electric motor charging up as it cycled the first 32mm mass-reactive exploding shell into the chamber. Lex had once called it a masterpiece in the art of violating the Geneva Conventions. It was about to blow Lena inside out, and the subsequent shots reduce her to a the chunky consistency of a good bolognése.

But then there was a wind that was not a wind, and SHE was there.

Supergirl seized Lena with precision and grace, hands that could crush diamonds pressed just so over Lena’s ears to protect her from the roar of the guns. Lena wasn’t sure who screamed louder, her or Supergirl, as the revolving barrels ripped out their entire supply of ammunition in a few seconds, pummeling Supergirl’s back with explosions that could have shredded a tank, as the hero cradled Lena, sheltering her with her superhuman body.

When the hellstorm was over, the machine charged at them.

Supergirl did scream now, and fell upon the machine in a berserk rage. Lena had seen her in a fight before and knew she could be terrible to behold, but this was different. The empty suit was struck with such unending fury that she reduced it to shreds of metal and oil-spitting chunks of machinery in moments, spreading it halfway across the floor of warehouse.

When Supergirl rounded on her, Lena’s heart skipped. The hero’s chest was heaving, straining at the crest on her chest even as the bunching muscles on her arms and stomach pulled at the material, her perfect hair swirling around as she turned, that angelic face marred by a streak of oil and a sheen of sweat.

How dare she just look like that. It was incredibly unfair.

Before Lena knew it what was happening, Supergirl was lifting her into a heart-skipping bridal carry, pulling her much too close as she took off. On instinct, Lena pressed her eyes shut and buried her face in the Kryptonian’s neck, to hide from the heights.

Moments later they landed, and Supergirl threw Lena’s balcony door back and deposited her on her feet, leaving her stumbling back against her kitchen island in a daze. Supergirl stared at her, looming over Lena with the height difference increased by her stacked heels and Lena having lost her shoes at some point, so her stocking toes were left curling on the cold floor.

“That thing almost killed you,” Supergirl snapped. “If Is been a millisecond later you’d be dead.”

Her voice was tight with emotion, somewhere between anger, exasperation, and terror, and it felt like a fist closed in Lena’s chest.

“Are you sure you just weren’t there to make sure I wasn’t taking Lex’s old suit for a spin myself?” Lena spat, though her voice trembled. “You don’t seem to trust a thing I say lately. If I tell you the sky is blue you’ll go check.”

Supergirl’s face flushed and Lena braced for another booming, self righteous speech about trust or safety or the meaning of teamwork or some such heroic nonsense, but then her voice shattered into a million pieces and tears welled wet in her eyes.

“All I want is for you to be okay.”

A thousand thoughts danced in Lena’s mind. To ask her why, to defy her, to taunt her, to demand what exactly it was that made Lena so damned important that this woman was so intense about her safety one moment and so angry the next.

In the dance of all those thoughts, the more base instinct won out. Lena grabbed Supergirl by the neck of her suit, just below those delightful collarbones of hers, and used it as a handle to pull herself into a hard, aggressive kiss.

The world hung still for a moment, and Lena felt it all pivot around her. Something big was happening here. Something huge, something…

Something forgotten entirely as Supergirl’s tongue roughly claimed Lena’s mouth and her hands raked over Lena’s ass, dragging her skirt up.

Oh God, she thought, this is actually happening.

Lips pressed to her skin, the words burning hot into her flesh like an invocation.

“Is this okay?” Supergirl whispered.

“Yes,” Lena moaned, without hesitation.

To be continued…

[thatgirlsstory]

tp

[vizzzashley]

Indeed it's a Good Morning

Warning: fluff in the beginning, implied smut, make out session, being possesive, reader x imaginary boyfriend

"Hey", I said gently as I ran my hands over his face. He just grunted and shoved his face further into the pillow. I laughed, " You will suffocate", I tried to pull the blanket off of him but he just pulled me and had me caged under him, spooning me. "Sleep", he mumbled directly in my ear as if he thought that would make me stop from my mission.

I turned around , still in his arms, mind you he had me in a death grip. I rubbed his nose with mine, whispering, " Wake up, sleepy head", my breath hitting his mouth and his mine and his was stinky. Well, I would not be disturbing his sleep if it had not be urgent, and enjoy being in his arms, so warm, which made me feel things that I would never be able to describe. He himself told me before bed to wake him up. Apparently, he has some urgent stuff to do before he had to go to work. I never thought I would be someone's alarm clock.

Okay, now he was officially ignoring me. But I know how to wake him up. With a smirk on my face, I inched my face closer to his and if possible I shifted my body closer to him. I slowly captured his lips with mine and kissed him just the way that, he always said, drove him crazy. I felt him groan in the kiss. Yup, he woke up. Fully awake, no trace of sleep, none, nada.

How I knew that? You might say, "duh he opened his eyes, he groaned", but no. That's not how I knew. I was aware he was fully awake, when he flipped me on my back and started kissing me back with an intensity that made my toes curl.

One of his hand on my cheek, cupping it and the other holding him up. Our tongues entwined, him tilting my head just to kiss me deeper. He bought his body closer, his knees between by thighs, his hand that was cupping my cheek traveled down to my neck, his other hand landing on my left hip. Finally, breaking the kiss to breathe, I opened my eyes, which were shut tight the moment he flipped me on my back. And I was met with a pair of gray eyes gazing into mine with a hunger that almost made me whimper. His eyes were clouded, dazed and I was the reason. As I realized I was the reason behind the emotion swirling inside his eyes, something fluttered in my heart.

He placed his forehead against mine, his voice low, husky, deep and hoarse, "You drive me crazy, mi Amor", there it was agin, the flutter in my chest. " So, damn crazy", with his lips smashed on to me again, kissing me like I would vanish any second and this were his last moments with me. His hands travelling all over me like he was accessing his property. His hands were leaving tingles, a burning sensation behind. And I could very well feel the heat between my thighs. His lips slowly worked towards my jaw, my neck, nipping at my sensitive skin. I couldn't help but let out a moan. "That sound", he groaned into my neck, his lips making it's way to my collarbone.

I felt him adjust his hips against me. I could feel him throbbing even with all our clothes on, through his shorts. And I was the reason. It was all because of me. I was the one who made him go crazy and loose control. He moved his hips against my core, once. The movement alone enough to loose my sanity. My mouth hung open, no sound coming through even though I wanted to moan, moan so loud at the pleasure I just felt by him touching me.

He was watching my reaction intently, drinking everything up. His eyes holding a promise, a promise that he's going to fuck me till I loose my brains. He looked like he was hunting me and is going to consume me whole, as he took of his tshirt that hid all his muscles. All mine. All mine to touch, to kiss, to roam my hands around. But he didn't need to chase me, I was already his, crazy for his love, his touch, his muscles, those strong arms, his eyes, the symmetry of his face, his black hair which were never not a mess, most of all the way he cared and made me feel all fuzzy and giddy and behave like a attention crazy freak around him.

His lips came to me again. But before they could touch mine, he muttered, "Good morning, 𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮". Yeah, good morning indeed. And a long one too.

[skogs-frun]

Gröna I.

Photo taken by me during this summer.