#RIPS EVERYTHING APART WITH MY TEETH

[tunastime]

On Bone and Heat

In the aftermath of his unsuccessful fight with Welsknight, Helsknight crawls his way back to the Nether, his sanctum and home, equally unsuccessfully. As stubborn as his counterpart, his twin, his clone, he's reluctant to accept help from anyone, especially someone with a steel toe to his bruised ribs. Against his better judgement, Helsknight lets Evil Xisuma carry him home.

so in lieu of stressing myself out about artfight I instead have written a somewhat standalone mirror piece to On Blood and Metal. I hope y'all enjoy :3c (3480 words) (read it on ao3!)

The wide berth of the Nether stretched out in every direction. This was something, much like the overworld, that every player knew. Every living soul, every entity that chose to make either domain their home, knew that the infinite spread of chalky red cliffs, jagged blackstone walls, and bubbling lava pits made the inhospitable wastes a derelict, and endless, stretch in opposition to the world above. Or in mirror to—there was no real above here, which is what Ex hated the most about the term overworld. The Nether wasn’t ever, had never been under the overworld. It was separate. And that was the way he liked it.

Tucked away in his own tower of sorts, his own house, castle, whatever those who saw it might ascribe names or fears to it, Evil Xisuma made his home, away from any hermit settlements, away from, basically anything. Almost anything. On a good day, when the ash-fall was thin and the fog was clear, he could see the jagged spires and dark parapets of Helsknight’s castle. And a castle that one was, for such a knight that roamed its barren halls. 

Ex was standing, now, in one of the winding tunnels not far from his own tower. It spanned the length between the two bases in curves, branching off in its wide archways to locations marked off by signs that glowed faintly in the lantern light. Tunneling was pretty much the only way to travel through somewhere so inhospitable for something as squishy as a human-like knight and, well, whatever Ex was, and neither had yet bothered with trying to quarantine their own space on the Nether’s bedrock roof. Ex had little interest—it was easier to squirrel away here, to scheme, to plan evil and not be bothered by the hermits and their ilk.

Ex was standing, and he was looking over the body of Helsknight and his angular, blackened armor. He frowned, instinctually, behind the visor of his helmet. Then he gave Hels a weak kick with the toe of his boot, steel clanking against his netherite armor. It sent a small, thorny shock through Ex’s foot. He did it again.

“Hey,” he said dully. “You alive?”

Hels gave a weak grunt. Of course he wasn’t dead . He was lying here, still in his armor, all of his various accouterments still attached to him, with a smear of red-black against the patterned floor, trailing where he’d fallen. But alive didn’t necessarily mean not dead —at least for them. Alive , in this case, meant: are you getting up, you’re causing a tunnel blockage with your ten-tonne armor. Ex kicked him a third time, and Hels’ hand shot up to grab his ankle, clutching it in his gauntleted fist, threatening to dig in the sharp points of his clawed fingers. The grip was weak, but pointed.

“Look at that!” Ex said, with all the annoyance he could muster. And it was a lot. “You’re awake. D’you mind? You’re blockin’ the tunnel.”

“Shut up,” Hels grit. His voice came raspy and wet, like he was talking through a mouthful of his own blood.

“D’you need help getting up? Or are you just gonna lie there and bleed?” Ex cocked his head to the side. He studied what he could see of Hels’ screwed up face through his slotted visor—which was very little of it. His face and neck were off-white in the low light, but the pale-yellow hue wasn’t anything that Ex would consider healthy by any standards, including his own. He squinted. Hels’ eyes were squeezed shut, brow furrowed sharply together. He could faintly hear the way he rasped as he breathed. It was shallow. It was wet . He could see the shredded fabric against his leg, stained deep red, the way he favored his left hand as he attempted to weakly push Ex back and get a hand under himself. He failed, ultimately, falling back into his own blood and armor with a dull thud. Another wheeze came through the helm. 

Ex rolled his eyes through his visor, red eyes that much redder through the tint, before he bent. He pinned Hels’ flailing wrist with one hand and with the other, lifted his shoulder enough to set him upright. Hels let out a brief, but strained groan in protest—his opposite shoulder was slick with blood as Ex pushed him into a sit, and from his new angle, he could see the bent twist of Hels’ knee, right under the gash in the fabric. Ex huffed, restrained another eyeroll, and flung Hels’ arm—his good arm, it seemed, over his shoulder. Then he pulled them both into a stand. Hels made another gurgling noise, longer this time, and spit. Blood coated his mouth, but he didn’t seem to be swallowing any. That was a good sign.

“Can’t even get yourself off the floor,” Ex muttered to himself. He heard Hels laugh and almost felt something stir in the pit of his stomach. “Kind’ve useless, aren’t you?”

“Whatever,” Hels wheezed. Then he fell silent. Ex helped him straighten into a stand and start walking, hobbling beside him. They picked their way through the tunnel in near silence, aside from the wet breaths Hels took in, his huffs in pain, and Ex’s own thunk of armor and plates together as they marched forward. 

The door to Hels’ castle—the arch, portcullis, the whole kit and kaboodle of a creation that was his front gate—was thankfully open when they arrived. They shuffled, stumbled, swayed as Hels leaned hard into Ex’s shoulder with the confidence of someone who clearly didn’t know or didn’t care who was helping him through his foyer and up the steps into the main castle. His wheezing had grown worse with each step, until it was pitchy, uneven, and clearly wet, the blood from his nose trickling down into his throat. He’d be lucky not to get an infection by the time Ex was done with him.

With his good arm, Hels beat at his shoulder, trying to stop their momentum. Ex frowned, still walking. 

“What?”

Hels hit him again, weaker.

“You’re not stopping here. Not when you’ve got a perfectly good bedroom. Or living room.”

“No,” Hels spit out. “Can’t.”

“Not can’t,” Ex complained. “Won’t. Which we won’t be doing. Should I carry you?”

He paused then, and felt all the weight drain out of Hels body as he sagged into him. Ex jolted, his other hand coming under Hels’ bad knee as it buckled. He swung him up, his own legs straining as he lifted him. 

“Fucks sake ,” Ex grit out. “What do you eat?”

Hels said nothing. His head had hit the pauldron on Ex’s shoulder as he’d lifted him and now his helm hung crooked off his face. Ex shifted, let it clatter to the ground, let Hels’ head fall against his shoulder even as it smeared blood across his shoulder pad. 

In silence again, Ex carried him up the short flight of stairs, winding around the tower steps until he reached the landing that spilled out into Hels’ sparse bedroom. It was just as decorated as Ex could expect from someone like Hels—utilitarian: a plain, soft collection of blankets and pillows that made up a bed, an armor stand, some storage, a workbench cluttered with sharpening tools, broken knives, bits of armor he wasn’t wearing, shoulder plates that were dented beyond simple repair. He kicked aside strewn clothes as he set Hels against the closest wall with carpet under him, trying to keep the space padded against cold stone and crimson wood. Hels let out a breathless exhale as he was set against the wall. Ex saw him swallow and creak a dazed, unfocused eye at him. His hands pooled in his lap.

“Ex,” Hels said, frowning.

Ex raised his eyebrows. It was almost inconsequential to keep his helmet on now—maybe seeing his expressions would mean something. Maybe not. He kept it on for now, kept that expression obscured. Ex asked:

“You gonna die on me if I leave you?”

Hels gave a weak snort and shook his head. He was smiling slightly. Faintly delirious, maybe.

“Good,” Ex huffed. He folded his arms and stalked out of the room.

He had no intention of leaving Hels without patching those wounds, but with so little to work with in his bedroom, he searched blindly for a place Hels would actually store things in. He wound his way down the spiral stairs until he spilled out into a small common area, well-lit and padded with soft, plush furniture, carpeting, tables, tapestries. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes—only slightly. It would be hypocritical, despite how much he loved to play the hypocrite. He curved through the room, following the wall until it split into another smaller one: a kitchen, and a small storeroom. Despite its panache, he assumed that the rest of the castle was empty—if this was the space Hels found himself entertaining in. Entertaining Ex, at least. He’d been here countless times.

It took a moment for Ex to find a barrel worth his time. Nudging aside empty bottles and dark potions, Ex found the slightly glittery, deep red of a health potion. He gathered up a stack of cloth bandages, a bottle of water, and the health potion in one careful swoop. Hooking his fingers around the spout of the bottle, he stuck the bandages under his arm, and started back upstairs.

Hels was still in the same place he’d left him, thankfully, meaning he hadn’t tried to crawl his way across the room, or out the window, or something equally stupid. He managed to open one eye as Ex stepped into the room and set the potions beside him. Hels’ hand went to one, knocking it over. It rolled into his knee.

“Don’t spill it,” Ex said, turning from him to unhook the helmet from his suit. The gloves would be fine to navigate, but with such limited view close up, he needed to take the helmet off. He took a small breath of stale, Nether air, and the iron scent of blood struck him. He coughed, growled low in his throat. Fixing his hair behind his neck, he frowned and turned back to Hels. 

He’d successfully gotten his good hand around the potion bottle at his knee, and was now trying to pull the cork out with his teeth. As he did, he sloshed potion down the front of his armor, spat the cork, and drank, quickly and ungracefully. It must’ve hit the back of his throat because he coughed, licked his teeth, and grimaced.

“Fuck,” he managed in a voice slightly more clear than it had been previously. “That hurts .”

“You’re gonna need to stay still so your hand doesn’t heal wrong,” Ex said, raising his eyebrows. Hels shot him a look as Ex moved to crouch in front of him.

“It’s fine ,” he barked. Ex snorted, flashing his sharp teeth at him.

“It’s not fine. Stay still. I’m getting you out of this armor.”

“You are not ,” Hels said, but didn’t move. His voice had only a fraction of the heat it usually did. He eyed Ex, not like he was sizing up an enemy, but warily, like an animal about to eat from an open hand. His pupils were blown wide, eclipsing the normal dark red-brown of his iris. Ex looked him over, his expression fading into neutrality, into pressing his mouth together in a fine line. They watched each other for a long moment. Then, Hels sighed, slightly strained, set his head back against the wall, and shut his eyes.

Ex took that as his cue.

He folded his legs under him and sat, reaching first to remove his gauntlets, prying his gloved fingers beneath the straps of leather that held them in place over chainmail and gambeson. It was a slow and arduous process, especially with his dominant hand, where the wound that had punched through it was already trying to close. He tugged the gauntlet down and reopened it just slightly. Hels grunted, face screwing up. So Ex started working faster. He peeled back the heavy metal chesplace with both hands, slipped his fingers into the ties of his pauldrons, the braces, even down to the epaulets still hooked into the fabric of his gambeson, the chainmail over his midsection, his boots and greaves. All that distracted him was the faint and heavy breathing Hels managed, the way he hadn’t moved except to crane his neck from side to side, and the still paling color of his face. 

Ex flicked his eyes up to watch him as he dampened a cloth. Hels blinked open his eyes, flicked them over his face, and Ex watched his expression visibly soften. He almost bit into his tongue to prevent himself from speaking. Luckily, Hels sighed and weakly held out his hand instead. Ex took it, cradling the back as he began to wipe away dried and drying blood. He worked his way around the wound, careful with the frayed skin, cleaned down the pads of his fingers, along his sword-calloused palm. Every time Hels winced, he paused, let him take a breath, and started again. It felt odd to attempt to soothe him—Hels was a knight, an honorable one, a stupid one, but good at what he did. Good enough. So the idea of patronizing him with niceties while he was in pain just sounded nauseating. He cleaned the wound and dressed it in silence, letting Hels grip his other hand in between the pieces of Ex’s armor at his knee, only pausing to glance up at him once he’d finished.

And once he’d finished, Ex moved immediately to unfasten the heavy, jet-black gambeson. Hels made an immediate, choked sound. Ex blinked.

“What?” he grumbled, more annoyed than upset. Hels huffed.

“D’you have to?”

“Unless you wanna get something nasty happening with that shoulder wound, I suggest it,” Ex shrugged. “Already cut a patch in your pants for your leg, so I saved you that embarrassment .” 

He wasn’t sure if Hels had been flushing before, but it grew darker nonetheless. He huffed again, tightening his jaw.

“Fine,” he grit. He tilted his head up and let Ex unfasten the heavy cloth. He peeled the fabric off his linen and skin, the shirt underneath damp with sweat and sticking to his chest. He took his time to carefully pull it from his shoulder, the same with the off-white tunic underneath. Ex tried not to let his gaze linger on the way his shoulders sloped down into his arms, or how his pale skin was littered with scars, jagged, smooth, winding around his arm, tucked under his ribs, across his collarbone, and the sluggishly bleeding puncture wound in his shoulder. He was softly defined, muscle hiding under padding, much like Ex could only expect of his counterpart. His skin didn’t have the same warm paleness, instead was a washed out white-tan, with his stark black hair, scruff, with dotted marks on his face rather than the spray of sun-set freckles he’d expect on someone getting that kind of sunlight everyday. But he was strong, and his jaw was tight with pain and apprehension, and Ex got to work cleaning the puncture in his shoulder. 

Much like his hand, it had already begun to heal, but he worked the dried and tacky blood from his shoulder and where it had dribbled down the side of his arm. He was lucky he hadn’t broken any of the bones in his collarbone or shoulder, but the wound was deep, only just beginning to knit back together, slow, shallow. Wrapping the wound, Ex looked over to Hels, and surprisingly, met his eyes. Hels blinked. His cheeks were ever so slightly pink.

“Feeling better, are we?” Ex asked, raising his eyebrows. His eyes drew back to his shoulder as he tucked the bandage back under itself.

“No,” Hels laughed—laughed, mouth in a small smile. “Feel like shit.”

Ex sat back on his haunches. His left foot was asleep. He grimaced, lips pulling back against his teeth, and he heard Hels laugh again. He looked him up and down. Didn’t linger on his chest, or neck, or hand balanced on his knee. He raised his eyebrows.

“What?”

Hels shook his head. It fell back against the wall with a dull thud .

“Nothin. Just stupid,” he scrunched his eyebrows together. “Can’t believe I let that idiot do this to me.”

“Did you win?” Ex asked, still studying his expression. Hels hummed.

“ ‘Course I did.”

Ex snorted, then laughed. “ Sure .”

Hels lapsed into a short silence. Ex cleaned his hands in that time, didn’t look up at him, even though he felt his eyes on him. He scrubbed his gloves clean of the blood that had started to go tacky on his fingers, across the lines of his gloves. He left the cloths in a small pile with the empty bottles, Hels having drunk the last of the dark red potion. As Ex began to rise into a stand, he felt Hels grasp his wrist, skin cold and clammy. Even through the fabric and armor, Ex felt all his nerves light up under his skin, took a soft and fast breath to keep from jolting. 

“Can’t,” Hels managed. Ex hummed, frowning. “Can’t stand.”

“Not won’t ?” Ex said, almost amused, under his breath. Hels shut his eyes. 

“Can’t,” Hels said, softer, more pained. Ex felt something twist nauseatingly in his stomach. He swallowed, prying Hels’ fingers free of his wrist. Moving carefully, Ex wrapped Hels’ now-bare arm around his shoulders and helped him stand. He adjusted as they took the short handful of steps over to the soft cushions, pillows, blankets of Hels’ bed. Hels’ head immediately fell to his shoulder, the dried blood there flaking against his cheek, his nose wrinkling at the sensation. Ex chewed the inside of his cheek to keep from speaking, clamped his jaw as Hels exhaled against his neck. When he leaned to help lower him into the nest of blankets, Hels pulled away, peeled away, from him slowly, as if the exhaustion had made him want to linger. He was still pink in the face, warm to the touch, eyes still shut. He wormed away the minute Hels unlatched from his neck, skin unexpectedly crawling, itchy, tingling in every place warmth had been. Ex turned away, retying his hair as Hels sank into his pillows with a small, tired sigh.

In the time Ex had finished winding his hair back into its braid, Hels had fallen asleep.

For a short moment, Ex watched him, brow furrowed, mouth in a small, tight frown. Something inside his chest sat heavy and solid, like he’d swallowed chunks of blackstone, or a baby strider was sitting on his chest, or something equally painful and heavy and something he tried to massage out with the heel of his hand. He blew out a slow breath, shoulders deflating. His eyes were still lingering on Hels’ now softening face, the way the typical lines grew soft, the frown around his mouth fading out, his freckles more pronounced across his face and along his nose, dark hair obscuring part of his forehead. He was less pale than he had been when they’d first stumbled in, the color returning to his normally washed-out pallor. He was sharp in all the places Ex knew Wels wasn’t, from what he remembered under that stupid helm with its stupidly obnoxious plume. Hels’ helmet had horns that made it even stupider, made him look that much more dark and sinister, when he was really just someone who slept on millions of fluffy blankets and was small under the armor in comparison to, well, to Ex, who wasn’t small at all. He was just a knight. Just a knight.

Ex shut his eyes.

Fuck .

He was his knight, in a way, their fate twisted in braids with each other in a way that Ex could not even attempt to separate nor did he want to. He hated him. But his chest hurt something fierce seeing the small shape he made in bed.

Slowly, like he might wake him, Ex unbound the leather straps of his armor, stripped down to the skin-tight clothing underneath, gloveless, bootless, stood quietly scrubbing his eyes. Without another word, Ex lied down beside him, folded his arms, and shut his eyes. He did not move. He didn’t even try to breathe.

He was quiet. And he slept.

(And in the dark, Hels turned, curled his tired and aching body around Ex’s shoulder. He set his head there on the sharp of his collarbone, pinned his arm, breathed a sigh against the skin-tight clothes he wore. Neither moved, and neither made a sound, and both slept.)

[froggydraws]

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[hellishboots]

Gender iz a buffet and im sampling everything on the menu. Fuck staying in the 'right line,' we r commiting gender gluttony 2night boiz

[spiralfucker]

Sorry to anyone at all (the two or three of you) that was hoping I’ll actually release music soon but I just got new headphones that make all of my mixes sound like absolute garbage so I WILL be doing all the EQing again, false animal fans stay strong

[cherry-bomb-ships]

Guys don't let the media lie to you I'm not obsessed with this monkey I'm not I'm nOT FAKE NEWS!!!!! ITS ALL A GODDAMN LIE!!!!!!!!

[theheadlessgroom]

@beatingheart-bride

"Evenin'," Wilhelm smiled warmly, June and Randall echoing these greetings, with the youngest Pace pressing a loving kiss to his bride's cheek as he helped his mother clean and put away the dishes. There was no denying it, they were all very tired. It hadn't exactly been a restful night for anyone under the roof-too much on their minds, to say the least.

And although they didn't say so aloud, they knew Emily's night (day?) hadn't exactly been restful either-perhaps the least restful out of all of them. It brought with it a heavy sense of guilt for the three Pace's, hating to think they were putting so much pressure on the young woman, pressure to make an impossible decision. Their lives literally hung in the balance, and it was all on her shoulders.

"How're you feeling?" Randall asked gently, as he moved to pull out a chair for her to sit at the table and drink her blood-it seemed clear to him that she was just as tired as he was, and a part of him wanted to ask if she might like to sleep in his room this evening, but he withheld that question, for now, instead choosing to make her comfortable, while his parents, having finished cleaning up, tried to ignore their nagging guilt in favor of more pleasant conversation.

"You're staying cool up in your room, aren't you, Emily?" June asked, as she poured herself a glass of water, hoping a little hydration might wake her up a little. "I know the upstairs can get a little warm, so if you need us to put a little fan up there, we certainly can!" Perhaps vampires didn't get warm easily, but she still felt she should check in-it was both the mother and the nurse in her.

[satrs]

Overdrive! ♡

✎A/N; here it is babes!! sowwryyy for the eternal waittt! CALEB'S IS SOOO LONG OMG IDK WHAT HAPPEND Y'ALL!!! Regardless, rlly hope ur enjoying it^^ xoxo

SYNOPSIS. Requested by anon ↳ ❝ [..."YOUR WRITING IS DELECTABLE OMG. I was wondering if you’d ever consider writing the lads men with a reader who is insatiable/has a high sex drive and/or ovulating and has her way with him until he’s completely worn out/begging to take a break 🫠" ] ¡! ❞

FEAT. RAFAYEL. CALEB. SYLUS. XAVIER. ZAYNE. xfem!reader

TAGS. NSFW CONTENT. MDNI! MARATHON S€X!!!! breeding. size k!nk unprotected intercourse. dirty talk. gripping their a$$, oh em gee dirty mouth zayne??!!. prone bone in Xav's. doggy. ur insatiable lmao, overstim, riding, begging. slight dumbification in sum. messyyy s€x. Caleb matching your freak(per usual). lotsss of spit and drool. oral (f & m receiving in caleb's), possessive guys. multiple positions.

ꪆৎ RAFAYEL

Your thighs are soaked and if you could, you'd feel embarrassed right now.

But that thought barely registers over the raw heat twisting in your belly. It's just the way Rafayel's broken moans and his hands trembling on your hips as you ride him that remind you just how much of a mess you are.

"Drippin' alllll over me, cutie," The wrecked gasp makes your pussy only embrace his cock in a snug hug, his grip on your hip tightening. "D-don't ya wanna take a lil break?— F-fuckkkk. M'—"

"N-nooooo, Raf'."

God, you're gonna be the death of him.

He's already at his wit's end, his spent cock barely holding onto the vicious grip of your greedy pussy. But once he heared your protesting whine over the obnonxious wet squelch squelch squelches of your sobbing cunt, he can feel his cock throbbing hard.

Your eyes meet the far back of your skull as you feel his girth swell, streeeetching your walls apart again so good.

"Don't wanna stop. Feels sooooo good, baby." The shy smile twitching up your plump lips is a stark contast to your ruthless hips slamming down onto his pelvis, and even though his dick is sweeling so angry he fears he might explode, he's still going to eat it up like he does every single time.

"Ohh-kay, cutie. G-gonna— gonna give my baby what she wants."

A strangled sound rips from his lungs as your walls clench around him again, cock twitching so frenzied inside you, glistening with your mixed juices, and so spent but still so ravenous to ram into you, deep.

He's flushed deep red now, your hands almost slipping from his sweat-slicked chest, coral locs sticking to his temple where he lies beneath you in a daze.

"Pretty." You spurt out, heat flooding your body as you take his face in hand, running your shaking flinger over his quivering, kiss-bitten lips. "You look so pretty Raf. Want— no need to—"

"F-fuck, baby, yer' gonna milk me dry," he chokes out, voice breaking on a whimper.

Oh, he's not lasting for long.

His eyes roll back as your walls clamp down on him again, fluttering so tight, so wet, it feels like your body's trying to wring every last drop out of him.

And you do.

Your hands slam down on his chest now, grinding down with reckless, mindless need. "Y-yes." you sweet growl, makes the hair on his neck stand up, teeth caging his lip. "Need you to fill me up, Raf. Need it sososo bad— hurts, it hurts!"

You bounce harder, thighs quivering, the obscene squelch of your slick echoing through the room with every punishing slam of your hips. His cock twitches inside you, overstimulated and swollen, flushed an angry red from how many times he's already shot his load into you, but your greedy cunt just won't let him go.

It’s damn near deafening—the relentless thwack, thwack, thwack of your ass slamming down onto his thighs.

The sound is soaked in slick, each impact wetter than the last. His spent, hot and thick cum already spilling out of you from your insatiable hunger, sticking messily to the insides of your thighs and the curve of your ass, smearing with every bounce, making everything sticky and so much worse.

“God, you're—fuck—you're making a mess of me, cutie," he gasps, clutching your waist like a lifeline, trying to slow you down, but your body has other plans. Your selfish walls tighten around him like a vice, milking his angry, flushed tip for every squirting spurt from his slit.

"I need you to cum again. Please," you cry out, grinding down deep, his cockhead kissing your cervix with each brutal drop of yours. "Wan' your cum, Raf! Need ya to fill me up again, wanna be stuffed, baby. Can't—nghhh!—can't stop until you breed me."

"Breed you?"

The sound he lets out is downright animalistic, his hips snapping up with brutal force, matching your pace with a ferocity that makes your eyes roll back. "Fuckin insatiable. Already dripping and it's still not enough, h-hahh?" He's fucking up into you now, ironclap grip on your hips surely leaving marks as your body jolts and falls ontop of his, your restless hips twisting and twitching against his brutal thrusts.

"G-gonna pump your greedy fucking pussy so full— o-ohhh, yeahhh."

You whimper is so high-pitched you barely recognize yourself anymore, body convulsing as your climax rips through you, and even in your haze you don't stop. You keep clenching, desperate to squeeze another load from his overstimulated, twitching cock.

He's babbling now, lost in it, eyes glazed and teeth clenched so tight he might break his jaw. "Ohhh, it's comin, m' cummin' take it take it take—"

"Mhmmm, give it ta me, Raf! Allll of it, one more, pleaseeee!"

At that, his slit spurts one last whispy load of cum into the depth of your pussy, and you grind happily down onto him to make it stay there, deep inside of you, humming in delight at the warmth flooding through you.

And as he feels your fluttering walls clench around him again, your hips slowly grinding down again, his head falls back against the sheets, a raw, desperate whimper escaping his throat.

Your walls clamp around him fiercely, squeezing so tight, demanding more.

He can't. He can't he can't he—

His hands dig into your ass, lifting you higher, up, up, up— until his cum seeps from your spent, dripping heat, a pleased sigh following suit.

But then your eyes meet his, wide and pleading, and your hands wrap around his slick, spent cock, fingers trembling as they stroke him, coated in his own mess.

Well, he can surely take—

"One more, please?"

Right?

ꪆৎ CALEB

Hot.

The only word to describe your feelings right now, because it has you wound up so tight, you're trembling. You think you might explode if you're sweet, teasing boyfriend won't fill you up this very moment.

But the way Caleb's looking at you in the mirror, he might beat you to it.

"You feel it too, don't you, Cay'?" you whisper, rocking your ass back against the bulge straining so painfully in his grey sweats.

They cling to him, snug and low on his hips, almost too tight. His bare chest is fully exposed, every cut of muscle gleaming under the low light of the room, your squirming shadow dancing over his skin and reflecting off the mirror.

His grin is sharp, eyes burning with hunger, preying over you through the mirror, a palm pressing to your lower belly, just below the waistband of your panties.

"Feel it? Baby, I smell it."

His voice is a growl against your skin, lips dragging slow and wet down the curve of your neck. He breathes you in, tongue flicking out to lick a long stripe from your neck all the way to the shell of your ear. "You're soaked."

You whimper as he rolls his hips, grinding his aching cock into you, still hidden beneath the fabric of his boxers. His other hand cups your throat from behind, guiding your gaze back to the mirror.

"Look."

You do.

"O-oh."

It's fucking obscene.

Your panties are halfway down your thighs, your legs shaking as you brace yourself against the dresser, your boyfriend's bare chest pressed to your back, hand tightening against your throat, almost daring you to look away.

Burning. Every fieber of your being is burning up, screaming at every slight touch of him. The faintest brush of his fingers against your skin sends you twitching.

A needy whimper slips out as you feel the thick press of his bulge grinding against your ass. You arch and roll your hips back into him, shamelessly, pleading without words, silently begging him to do something— anything, to ease this ache between your thighs before you actually go insane.

"In all these years together," he murmurs against your ear, voice low and dangerous. "I've never seen you like this, pips'. What's got you so hot and bothered tonight?"

You meet his eyes in the mirror before tearing them down to his fingers tugging at the hem of your panties.

"It's y-your fault. All because of—"

"Me?" His grip tightens, voice a whisper against your ear in surprise.

"Mhmmm."

"Hm. Can't have my baby all pouty now, can I?"

He whirls you around in one fluid motion, effortlessly scooping you up and tossing you onto the bed

Fuck that damned mirror, he wants the real thing.

He rips your panties the rest of the way off, strong biceps pushing your legs apart, groaning low in his throat at the sight of your weeping cunny, screaming for his attention.

"Oh fuckkk," he mutters, eyes wild and flickering between your glisterning pussy up to your flustered face. "T-this is—" he pauses, finger swiping through your folds to collect your slick, dick jumping in his pants as he sees your hole clenching around nothing, juices dripping in the process, "—heaven."

You whimper as he dips down to lick a stripe up your inner thigh, hot breath ghosting over your pussy. You could damn near scream from his endles teasing, damn near crying as your hips buck up towards his face with a frustrated groan. "N-no teasin'! Please, pleasepleaseplease—"

"Hush, baby. It's her turn now."

Before you can even think of quirking your eyebrows in question he's already burying his face between your thighs, and you let out a scream.

His tongue is fucking relentless, flicking the muscle over your clit with cruel precision before loooong drags collect your juices, his adam's apple bobbing as he's slurping up every drop.

It's like he's starving, and well, maybe he actually is.

His hot tongue circles your puffy button slow just to watch you twitch, then sucks it between his lips with so much force that your legs threathen to clamp around his head.

Until you actually do.

Thighs locking his head in place, your hands scrambling through his hair. He groans against your pussy, the sound feral, almost a whimper, sending vibrations straight through your core. Your fingers scramble through his thick brown locs, tangling and twisting until you're yanking them hard from the roots.

"Yeahhh, use me, baby. C'mon."

His rambles dissapear into your pussy, responding moan so filthy and needy. He could get used to this new neediness of yours.

God, he loves this.

He wraps his arms tighter around your thighs, locking you in place, and whining into your pussy like he's gone mad.

"Just like that, Cay'! Nghhh! don't stop, soooo good!"

Yeah, he's gone mad.

And you? You're gone.

Drooling, rutting your hips into his mouth without a shred of shame. Your body moves on instinct now, so lost in the pleasure that your eyes flutter shut, tummy sucking in as you feel yourself nearing your release.

Slurp, slurp, slurps fill the room and it's so messy— your juices coating the lower half of his face, some bleeding into the sheets below.

He glances up, pulling back just enough, and fuck, what a sight.

Your eyes glisten with unshed tears, wide and glassy pupils blown. A firm drip of drool escapes the corner of your mouth, tracing a long line down your chin. You sniffle softly, nose red and a thin sheen of sweat clings to your skin.

"My poor, poor baby."

The soft tone of his voice is a stark betrayal of what his mouth is doing to you.

His tongue is merciless, flicking and lapping at your folds with so much persicion, every lick calculated to push you further towards your limits.

He latches onto your clit with a groan, sucking hard, your thighs seizing up around his head in a headlock. Your fingers claw uselessly at the sheets, legs kicking, entire body coiled tight.

"G-god, Caleb! So good, don't stop, don't—"

Right then, your orgasm crashes over you with so much force, your head digs back into the matress. Your hips buck up wildly, unable to process the sudden pleasure washing over you, and your sweet, loving boyfriend licks you through it.

He just keeps going, keeps tasting you, even as your thighs shake and you try to twist away from from him, his wet hot tongue overwhelming you.

It's so much, too much, but still, you want—

"M-moreee! Wan' more! Need to—"

Smack!

The sharp sudden sting hits your soaked pussy before you can finish the sentence, palm cracking against your sensitive folds with a wet slap. You let out a loud, broken cry, your head twisting against the pillow as your thighs clamp together on instinct.

"No worries. Gonna give it to ya'."

Only then does he spread you open with both hands, thumbs dragging your slick folds apart to admire the way you twitch and throb. And only then does he finally pull back, tongue slipping out to taste you one last time, his chin and lips soaked, glistening with your juices.

He stays like that, lower face shining in your essance, to lazy to even bother wiping it away as his eyes lock onto you, pupils darkening.

And as he sees your hungry gaze he silently thanks the whole damn universe for your sudden neediness today.

Fucking finally a time for his inner freak to shine.

You're already moving before he says a word, scrambling weakly up onto your knees, hands clutching at his waistband like a woman possessed.

And maybe you are.

"Hurryyyyyy," you whimper, dragging the word out through a long sob. "P-please, baby! Pleaseeee, I want— Need you in me right now."

Oh, how impatient you are.

Eagerly, he shoves his sweats down and kicks them off, cock already flushed and leaking from the torture. He doesn't dare to tease, already climbing ontop of you to grab your hips, and drives into you in one deep thrust.

The stretch is so sharp and overwhelming that you scream out, white-hot blaze overcoming you.

Your walls clamp down around him so fiercely he groans, his pre squirting out with urgency, head falling back, eyes rolling shut.

He underestimated you.

"H-holy shit, baby—so damn tight— h-hahhh!"

You're already back into your drunken daze, meeting his thrusts as your heat-addled clit grinds against his faint brown trail of hair.

"Harder," you pant, nails clawing at his shoulders, his strong arms quick to lift your legs onto his shoulders, hitting your g-spot over and over again.

But it's not enough.

"I said hahhh-harder, Caleb—"

He growls, pushing your legs firmly against your shoulders, your legs dangling above your head as he slams into you faster now, rougher. Unrelenting. His hands dig into the flesh of your thighs, the new position causing your muscles to burn from the stretch, and every thrust hits you so deep, fat tip kissing your cervix, your vision blurs.

"Not gonna last," he blurts out, mouth covered in your slick now attacking yours, diving in as if your mouth would grant him air. "You're too fucking—shit! Toooo good—"

He's going to be the death of you.

"C-cum inside, baby." you moan, hands griping his shoulders, biceps, hips, anything to make him ram into your greddy cunny faster, longing for him to prod at your womb. "Need your cum, baby. F-fill me— uhhh! up!"

His balls tighten, almost painfully so, mouth hanging open as drool drips down, right into your awating mouth and he just know this isn't going to be the last load for him tonight.

He knocks the breath out of you with a brutal push of his hips, his girth hauling your walls further apart as his fat mushroomy head throbs, close, soooo close to fill you to the brim.

"A-alright, pips. Anything for my needy princess."

You're going to be the death of him.

ꪆৎ SYLUS

You're trembling, knees straddling Sylus's broad hips, riding him like your entire body burns with desperate need. His hands grip your thighs, trying to ground you, get you to slow down, but it's already to late.

"Gods," he groans, voice hoarse, on the brink of cracking. His dark, ruby eyes in search of yours and you swear he grows even larger inside you as your eyes lock. "You're killing me here, sweetie."

"M' sorry, Sy. Can't stop, can't—"

His lips crash down onto yours, muffling your pleas with a desperate kiss. His strong hands tighten on your hips, pulling you impossibly closer, every thrust deeper and more urgent than the last.

"You don't have to," he murmurs against your mouth, voice thick with lust, ruby eyes eating you alive. "Have me. Use me."

He's done it now.

You grind down harder, hips snapping desperately against him, breath uneven and broken. And every frantic roll of yours pulls a low growl from his throat, his girthy length pulsating inside your gooey walls.

His hefty cock draaags along every sensitive nerve inside you, thick and heavy, stretching your weeping walls to their limit and you swear he gets harder with every needy rut you throw at him.

"Honey, I don't think I can—"

His jaw clenches tightly, teeth grazing his bottom lip as he struggles to maintain his composure. His head sinks into the sheets, gray hair forming a halo around his head as cheery eyes flutter before snapping back to yours, pupils blown wide.

"Y-you're so— sooo"

"Hmm? M' what, Sy'?"

You whimper, grinding down until he's pressed so deep you can feel him bulging inside your lower belly, leaving a visible imprint of himself there.

And It's only driving you further into insanity.

"You're gonna ruin me," he pants, voice thick with lust, a slight crack audible. "Ohhh, gonna fucking ruin me, sweetie. L-look at you."

You press your forehead against his, panting, your walls clench so tight you feel every vein and even the slight right curve of his girth.

Sylus's hands travel up your sides, grip ironclad, his thumbs digging into your ribs. His control is slipping, obvious in the way his dark ruby eyes widen, groan rumbling in his chest when you shift your weight and rock your hips harder against him.

He oggles at your eyes rolling to the back of your head, gripping your nape and pulling you down until his mouth meets yours agar, slamming his mouth against yours with such force, teeth and tongues clash.

"You're everything," he mutters against your lips, saliva connecting you both, voice cracking under the pressure. "So fucking perfect."

Your nails dig into his shoulders, breath hitching in desperate gasps in rythm to the bed creaking under you both as his hips jerk, matching your frantic rhythm.

"Keep going, love." He breaks into a grunt as your head falls into the crook of his neck, painting his ivory skin with bubbling drool.

"Thaaat's my girl."

There's nothing else inside your fucked out mind except for him him and more him.

Sylus. Sylus. Sylus.

Feisty hips bouncing on him, desperate to feel every inch, every frantic pulse, your walls fluttering, dragging Sylus closer to the edge with every desperate thrust.

And you notice from his deep groan, his parted lips aswell as his hands sliding under your arms, pulling you impossibly closer. His breath fans across your skin, heavy and ragged.

"You're driving me mad." He's a drooling mess himself now, thighs clenching as his balls tighten up, so damn close to filling your eager cunt up.

You lift your head before pathetically falling against his lips, saliva messily smearing all across his lower face.

He growls, hips snapping up with brutal force, obscenely loud and wet plap plap plap echoing the room, his grip on your hips tightening, his fingers digging in like you could dissapear if he ever dared to let go.

"I'm close" He moans shamelessly into your mouth now, burrying his cock deeper, reddened tip hitting your cervix with each of his bold jerks up into you. "So close."

"N-ghhh, me t-toooo!" you sob, words barely forming through your moans.

"Gonna cum! Gonna fucking cum, Sy! Pleaseee—"

Then he surges upright, wrapping one strong arm around your waist, the other sliding down to grip your ass with a loud smack! and slam you down on him, over and over until you're voice betrays you, wails and whimpers flooding out from your lips.

His cock drives up into you so deep your toes curl, hitting the same perfect spot again and again, robbing cries from your sobbing pussy.

Plap plap plap.

"Better hold on tight, sweetie."

He grabs your hips, slams up, and fucks you like he hates you. The bed shrieks, holding on for deat life as the headboard rattles against the walls and in these moments you're thankful you live in the N109-Zone with no neighbours.

"Yesyesyes! Js like that, Sy!"

There's a thick white ring of your slick forming at the base of his cock, clinging to him with every brutal thrust, and when he looks down and sees it, something snaps inside him.

He flips you onto your stomach, quickly slipping inside your addicting heat again, as if it pains him to not be inside your for any second longer. His cock slips back inside your dripping heat with a lewd twack! and the both of you groan, breath hitching in sync as he sinks in to the hilt for the nth time tonight.

Your back arches, panting against the pillow as your nails claw at the sheets, loud whail earning a breathless chuckle from man above.

"Please Sy! Need your cum s-so bad— need you to breed me."

He lets out a broken sound, somewhere between a gasp and a growl before burying himself deep with one last snap of his hips.

His body stiffens as his cock twitches and pulses inside you, flooding you with wave after wave of hot white cum. You clench down hard, milking him for what he's worth, moaning his name as your own orgasm hits like a shockwave, body trembling beneath his.

He stays pressed against you, breath harsh against your neck, hand splayed across your lower back to keep you right where he wants you, lewd squelch from your stuffed cunny letting out a broken whine. You twitch under him, drooling into the pillow, body still shaking from how hard you came.

"This heat's not out of you yet, is it?"

You shake your head with a weak cry, drooling against the pillow.

"Then," he muses, kissing the shell of your ear, slow and almost sweet,

"Best start picking out a new bed you want, sweetie."

ꪆৎ XAVIER

"It's little moments like these,"

he pants against your ear, "that remind you just how much more my sweet princess can take."

You're out of breath, slick and shaking from everything he's already wrung out of you, but he couldn't care less. He doesn't even want you to recover and catch your breath.

And he sure as hell doesn't let you.

He spins you around like youre a mere feather-weight, palms branding into your hips as he manhandles you onto the bed, chest down and ass up.

Your hands scramble for purchase, fingers knotting into the sheets just as you feel the blunt heat of his hefty length press between your thighs again, his cock smearing pre over the curve of your ass, coating it in a shining glee.

"Could get used to you being like this, you know," he hums, one slender finger tracing up your stomach before resting on one of your breasts, giving it a tight squeeze, "you loooove getting all cockdrunk and dumb on me, huh?"

"Mhmm! Love you! Love your—"

"Say it right."

His words pierce through just like his dick through past your puffy folds, tip curving right against the spot that has you mewling out, almost like a button being pressed.

A sharp smack! to your ass follows his firm words, soon rubbing soothingly over the reddened globe as his cock slides out, leaving only his tip cramped in your hole.

"L-love it when you fuck me dumb, Xav'! Love getting drunk on your cock! But p-please..."

Your hips jerk back, earning a growl from his as he inspects your greedy pussy engulfing half of his length now, eager to suck him back in whole.

"... Still not enough. Need more."

Your pleading whimpers are muffled against the pillow face first as he fully rams into you again, body firmly pressed against yours. His throbbing girth is fully nestled inside you, his light chuckle hot against your ear.

"Talking outta that greedy pussy again."

You bite your lip in shame or amusement, you don't know. Desperate and wild grinds of your hips move back against his, rutting hard with every agonizingly slow drag of his hips.

He slides in and out of you like butter, your previous squirts of juices and his thick hot cum creating the perfect lubricant.

It's filthy— the kind of slick, nasty glide that sends sparks through your overstimulated nerves. Every time he pulls back, a string of mixed fluids clings between your swollen folds and his soaked cock, glistening, connecting you to him like a leash. The wet schlik schlik schlik of it echoes in the room, punctuated only by your choked moans and the brutal slap of skin on skin.

You're so swollen, so stretched, your body clutching at him like he's your prey.

"Tight fuckin' thing," he snarls, hands gripping your waist, forming half moons with his nails on your skin. "Keep moving those hips for me, angel— o-oh fuckkkk! Don't stop."

You don't. You can't. Rutting back with abandon, desperate and so greedy, your hips roll and slam into his with haste. You can feel every throb of his cock inside you, feel it twitch and pulse as his rhythm grows savage.

Fuck, you could die like this— pressed neatly against the sheets with your beloved boyfriend rutting you deeper into the matress for the nth time tonight.

His pace turns feral, brutal, the whaming of his hips against your ass growing harder, meaner.

"Y-yes! Yes, Xav! Gimmie more baby," you pant, hands reaching back to grip at his ass, thigh, anything to make him plug deeper into you, your stuffed cunny shrieking and squeking with every of his brutal thrusts, "m-more."

"My pillow princess can't even think straight now, hmm?. She's doing the talking for you now, huh?"

You grind faster, rubbing your clit against the curve of his pelvis, breath hitching in shaky gasps. The way he holds you, the weight of him pressing into your back, makes you lose yourself completely— heat spilling over, body shaking with need.

"Greedy little hole doesn't wanna let me go," he hisses, panting harder now, fucking you through the clench, feeling your now god-knows which-one-orgasm aproach. "A-ahhhh, hear that? Oh yeah, so fucking loud, begging me to fill her up again."

No answer, you're just cumming, squirting against the sheets, orgasm hitting you like a punch in the gut and fuck— he surely is digging in it.

His hand wretch your head up by your neck now, ocean eyes drinking up your agape mouth, lolling out tongue and your fluttering eyes, biting his lip to keep him from cummin in you right then and—

Shit.

Xavier's voice catches in his throat. His head tips back, throat bared. His hands try to grip your waist, then fall limp beside you helplessly, falling right ontop of you as now faint whisps of cum spurt out, meekly adding to the previous buckets of cum resting in your flodded pussy.

And he's still hard.

Well, you don't seem to be satisfied either. Not with your desperate arches, trying to get him to move even though he's fully laying ontop of you, barely leaving you air to breathe.

"O-one more." you purr, one hand trailing down to lock his fingers with yours.

He twitches inside you weakly, shaky sigh escaping him and glassy eyes snapping open.

You still want more?

"You're killing me, princess."

You giggle against the pillow, low lidded eyes shooting him a smug grin, spit painted mouth glisterning.

"Good."

ꪆৎ ZAYNE

In what world could he've known that his sweet little wife could get like this?

Sure, he's always pliant to your needs, always does his best to grant your every wish, make you happy. He'd kiss your ankles if you asked, worship the ground you walked on with no shame at all.

You're his wife, after all. His one and only.

But this? This has his mind fucking reeling.

He's never, not once, seen you like this—wild-eyed and sweat-slicked, mouth parted in shameless moans as you grind yourself up into him with no sign of stopping. Your nails drag hot down his spine, then grip tight around his ass, pulling him into you, holding him there like he might even think to leave.

Like he could.

Zayne groans, loud and ragged, hips stuttering as your soaked, greedy cunt sucks him right back in every time he tries to pull out. You're milking him, clenching down; your body refusing to give him a moment's rest—and it's driving him insane.

"Not e-enough," you gasp, lips brushing the shell of his ear, voice so wrecked it makes his cock twitch inside you. "Need more. Wanna feel your cock deeeeep inside."

Well, he can't complain, to be honest.

"More?" he pants, almost incredulous. But the way he smiles, like he's so far gone on you it hurts says everything needed to be said. "Already fucked my darling wife dumb. Doesn't even know what nasty of a mouth she's got on her now."

You just moan, nodding that fucked-out little head of yours frantically, lips dragging across his throat as you rock your hips up again, taking him even deeper. He moans, losing his rhythm completely, slamming back into you with a helpless sound that borders on a whimper.

Your light chuckle sweels his heart—and cock. You kiss his cheek, sweet and breathless. "Yours, Zayne. All yours. Now give it ta' me."

You've done it now. You broke your poor husband's brain.

Before you can blink, he's flipped you over, your knees pressed into the mattress, arms trembling under your weight. You barely register the movement before his leaking tip is already forcing its way back in, sliding through your slick pussy.

He spanks you. Hard.

"You want more?"

"Oh fuckkk yes, I—!"

But he's not talking to you. His gazes falls directly down to your greedy cunny sucking him in, examining the mess that drip drip drips down your legs and onto the sheets.

"Want me to ruin my pretty wife, huh?"

He snarls at your snug cunny and takes the loud squelch! as an answer, bracing his hands on both of your ass cheeks, spreading you wiiiide to get a better view.

"Alright. Then take it, you nasty girl."

Skin slapping skin, his hips driving forward in brutal, punishing thrusts, fucking you with none of that usual sweetness of his. Just raw, filthy. You cry out, over and over, face buried in the sheets, hands clawing for purchase, head spinning with dizziness.

God, you're husband's out of this world. You're not even sure what you did to deserve a man like him.

"I'll take it, all of it!" you sob, hips pushing back to meet his every thrust. "Want it all, Zayne! W-wanna feel all hot and full inside—!"

He actually growls like some beast, ramming his cock damn near into your poor womb, and you scream when his hand snakes down and smacks your clit, a wet slap! followed by furious circles that make your thighs quake.

"You like that, don't you?" he growls, head falling to the crook of your neck to sink his teeth into your shoulder, earning a shriek. "Like me pounding you stupid while your pretty little cunt begs for more?"

You nod frantically, sobbing, helpless to the way your orgasm starts to crest, so tight and fast, your walls spasming around him, trying to milk him again.

"My wife's talking outta her pussy again, huh?" he huffs, snapping his hips harder, tip forming a deep buldge in your tummy. "Sloppy little hole just keeps begging. She's so loud, baby."

Your orgasm slams into you like a wave, shattering you completely. Your arms give out under the weight of it, body collapsing onto the soaked sheets as your cunt gushes around him, spraying down your thighs in a messy rush, soaking his cock and making a lewd, slick sound as he fucks you through it. And he doesn't even slow down, just drives in harder, chasing his own end with vicious rams.

"Want more, Zayne... please,"

Voice wrecked and slurred, your body's still trembling from the last orgasm. You're soaked, dripping, stretched and raw, but that greedy little pulse in your cunt won't stop—you're still needy, still aching.

Zayne's panting above you, face flushed, hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. He’s still buried to the hilt inside you, cock twitching, cum leaking out around the base with every tiny clench of your slick walls.

"W-what about a quick break, darling? Promise I'll—"

"N-noooo," you whine, lip wobbling, eyes stinging as water builds at your lash line, hipsalready back to rutting and arching back into him, his fresh seed spilling from your overflowed hole. “Pleaseee, baby. Want more, my husband's fucking me soooo good."

"Alright then."

His voice is wrecked, but the second he sees the tears in your eyes and the desperate grind of your hips against his, he snaps. Whatever doubt or exhaustion he had left is gone.

He leans in close, presses wet kisses to your cheek as his thrusts get messier and more frantic. "Happy wife," his cock twitches deep inside you, mushroomy head pulsating with fatigue, spurting the last remnats of his whispy cum,

"happy fucking life."

©︎𝙎𝘼𝙏𝙍𝙎 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. Do NOT plagiarize, copy, modify, republish, or translate my work in any way!

[desire-mona]

before i go back to bed, this songs driving me nuts listen gn

[jankwritten]

mmmm. ough.... can't tell if i didn't sleep well, if i'm suffering allergies, if my food wasn't good, or if i'm actually getting sick, but i feel Very Off. that feeling where everything inside of me feels slightly puffy and inflamed yknow. >( not my FRIEND.

[dwaekkicidal]

𝖪𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝖻𝖾𝗋: '𝖫𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝖱𝖾𝖽' ༄࿔ 𝖡.𝖢.

⤷ Size Kink | Stomach Bulge | Teratophilia (Wolf-Hybrid)

♱ word count: 1.8k

♱ warnings: fem!reader, Red Riding Hood reader x Wolf Hybrid Chan, I never specify body type but this has stomach bulge & Chris is described to be bigger than the reader so read at ur own discretion, size kink, teratophilia, knotting, kinda corruption?, bribery/coercing, lowkey kinda mean chris (everyone act surprised. Sian wrote mean dom), rough sex + big dick chris with no mentions of prep, biting, public sex? Its in a forest but nobody is around, 1 use of “good girl’

sorta proofread

Kinktober Schedule

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

“Tsk tsk tsk… You should know better than to be this far out in the woods, Red. You know this is my territory.”

“C-Chris! Listen… I’m really sorry but I need that plant over there. Grandma isn’t doing well and the only remedy that will help needs just a few of those flowers…” The tall man looks over his shoulder, eyeing the purple-colored flowers that you had pointed out.

“Hm… Okay, you can have a few.” The bright smile that grew on your face was almost enough to let you take it for free. Almost.

“Thank-” “On one condition.” 

“C’mon, sweet girl. You know I don’t do things for free~” His rough fingers stroked your cheek and he couldn’t help but grin as your smile dropped. The canines that peeked out from behind his plump lips were enough to bring you back to reality and remind you that he was in fact still a wolf hybrid and not so much your “friendly” neighbor.

“What exactly do you want…?” His grin seemed to get wider before he took his bottom lip between his teeth. A predatory glint took over his eyes as he slowly looked you up and down.

“I have something in mind…”

“Open the fuck up.”

His growl rumbles from deep within his chest and he thrusts his hips forward aggressively, causing you to cry out. Your thighs ache from the action, along with your swollen pussy thanks to the big dick that was currently tearing your insides up. You lost count after the first 5 inches, and now the seemingly never-ending length was quickly becoming too much for you.

He knew this all too well. But that didn’t stop him from forcing you and your little human body to take every last inch of his thick cock inside of you.

“C’mon Little Red, you can take it. You need to, remember?” He chuckles and pushes your thighs further apart. “You need those pretty little flowers, so you need to take my fucking cock.” His smile drops at the end of the sentence and he pulls out just to roughly thrust back inside. You moan out in surprise and his fingers dig further into your thighs, leaving crescent-shaped divots in your skin. 

“P-Please…” He clicks his tongue and leans forward more, shoving his face into your neck with another growl. With this, he manages to push another inch or two into your puffy hole, but your mind is so foggy that you don’t even notice it right away. The feeling of him breaching your walls so aggressively, all while he growls and huffs about how he needs to be all the way in for it to “count as payment” makes your head spin.

Even more so as a sob rips from your throat when he finally bottoms out. Your jaw drops and you squeal as his hips grind against yours, causing him to feel deeper all while he rubs against your G-Spot so perfectly. He throws his head back at the feeling of you completely wrapped around him and groans deeply when you clench subconsciously.

“There we go~ Good job, baby.” He licks a stripe up your neck before placing kisses all over it, letting you take a few seconds to breathe. He wasn’t that much of a brute- he did still care for you after all. Plus, what good is a new toy if you break it so early on!? So he takes a few seconds to himself, backing away and fixing his posture, allowing him to get a good look at you. And God do you look exquisite.

He licks his lips and looks over your body multiple times, doing everything in his power to burn this image of you into his head. He starts with your pretty lips, swollen and shiny with drool, and then your flushed cheeks that are wet from the fat tears that fall down them.

His eyes glance at your arms, smiling to himself at the army of goosebumps that have littered your skin as your body shakes deliciously with what he can’t decipher if it’s pleasure or pain. Your chest catches his eyes next; the way it heaves with each breath you take makes his chest swell with pride. But the thing that took the most of his attention, was the not-so-little bump on your tummy.

His lips were slightly parted and his breath was quickening as he lightly traced the outline of his dick. It’s at this point that he realizes just how large and wide he is compared to you. He’s always noticed- it’s quite hard not to. But when he has you like this, below him and completely at his mercy, he finally realizes just how much bigger he is. The sun only urges him further, casting a giant shadow over you that completely covers you and some of the ground you lay upon.

It makes his instincts go absolutely crazy and he can’t hold himself back from experimentally thrusting, moving at an angle that makes the bulge more prominent. The squeak you let out causes his eyes to flicker back up to your face, essentially snapping him out of the daze he was in. And when he meets your confused face looking up at him, he realizes how long he has been staring.

“Haha… Take a look at this, baby.” He wipes some of your tears and tilts your chin to help you look down. The desperate moan you let out sends his ego to the moon, causing him to twitch against your walls. He huffs out a laugh in disbelief and begins to move his hips, thrusting into you slowly yet roughly.

“I’m so deep… You feel that, baby?” His hand moves from your thigh and pushes down on your lower stomach, right on top of where the bulge popped out each time he bottomed out. “Fffuck.. ‘S my fat cock in your tummy?”

“God- Fuck, shut up Chris-” You clench tightly at his words despite your words and he ignores you in favor of picking up his pace, groaning when your walls flutter around him even more.

“You feel so fucking good. It’s almost like this pretty pussy was meant for me.” You swear you almost see his eyes roll into the back of his head, but he immediately brings your attention away by folding you in half. Pushing your knees to your chest and letting your ass hang in the air as he completely hovers over you, fucking into you with carnal need.

This new position makes you see stars and he uses it to his advantage, pounding into you and not allowing you time to think straight. He chases this brutal pace until your legs begin to ache, the pain of it overpowering the pleasure and making you hurriedly tap on his shoulder and push him back, “Fuck, wait- my legs.”

He huffs in annoyance but responds immediately, sitting up straight and allowing your legs to fall to his sides. His hips continue to thrust shallowly as you breathe deeply and try to rub the ache away, but this break doesn’t last long. You owe him payment, and he wants it now.

So he pulls out, opting to quickly flip you onto your knees and push your chest into the ground. You’re given no time to object before he’s shoving his entire length back inside with a groan. Your body shakes at the feeling of being absolutely filled to the brim. The back of your throat even itches as if his tip was poking it. And god, did it genuinely feel like that.

It’s not hard for him to find his previous pace, especially now that you’re seemingly more pliant for him. The only disobedient action from you is your cries for him to slow down, but he has no plans to. Not when you look absolutely ruined below him.

He shushes you and leans forward, holding you down with his chest against your back as he continues to fuck you as if his life depends on it.

“Shhhhh… It’s ok, it’s ok. You’re gonna be good and take it right? You're gonna let the big bad wolf fuck your brains out? Yea?” Your fingers dig into the ground and you nod as best as you can with your cheek shoved against the floor.

He’s unhappy with the silent answer and bares his teeth, sinking them into your shoulder with a growl to “Use your words.”

“Y-Yes! Please, Chris!”

“Goood girl. Just sit there and take this fucking dick. Let Wolfy use you like the good chew toy you are.” The new name makes you clench tightly around him and he groans as you cum, causing the squelching noises to become even louder. He moans and nuzzles his face into your neck, leaving small kisses before he chomps down again.

The overstimulation is starting to hit and you cry out, desperately pushing against the ground in hopes of pushing your torso up and off the floor. But that’s not what good toys do. So he growls against your neck and pushes you down, wrapping a hand around the back of your neck to keep you in place as he fixes his posture.

“No. You’re gonna sit still. Good toys don’t fucking move. I can’t knot you if you’re misbehaving.” As if to prove his point, his other hand digs into your waist, holding you even more still as he rams into you.

Thanks to his thick tip incessantly knocking into your cervix, you don’t process what he says right away. At least, not until you feel an extra mass pushing against your swollen folds. “W-Wait, your knot?!?”

You hear his earrings jingle as he tilts his head and you can almost hear the shit-eating grin on his face as he mocks you. “Yes, my knot. You’re gonna take it inside of this tight. little. cunt. And you’re going to take every last drop of my cum.” You go to disagree but your body reacts on its own, clenching around him and trying to suck him in impossibly deeper.

“F-Fuck- feels like you do like that idea, baby.” He grits his teeth and starts to focus on sharp thrusts. Once his knot finally breaches your hole, you sob into your arm and bite into it to hold back a scream.

He whines and grinds into you, rubbing against your G-spot roughly as he pushes himself over the edge. You can feel his breath on your neck, heavy and heaving as he pumps you full of his seed. His body shakes with each spurt of cum he releases, and the overwhelming movements are enough to push you over the edge again; the needy grinding from him mixed with the mind-numbing feeling of being overfilled, yet forced to hold every last bit, pushing you towards another orgasm.

“Mmmm… Hold it there, yeah? Keep my pups nice and safe in their new home, and I’ll let you take as many plants as you want. Deal, Little Red?”

Taglists: (red=can't be tagged)

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[y0-yo-yo]

DCxDP: dead tired/brain dead short idea:

Tim: dad, everyone, I want you to meet Danny my boyfriend

Danny: hi sir! Nice to meet you! I promise to treat your son really good and rip apart anything or anyone ever trying to harm him before obliterating them,their family and everything they know and love *flash the biggest brightest smile with too many sharp teeth*

Bruce:....

The bat kids in the room:...

Duke: *turning to Tim putting a firm hand on his shoulder* never break up with him.

Duke: seriously. Never.

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。i know you still think about the times we had

synopsis. satoru will always comes when you call him, he just never thought you’d stop calling

— word count. 5.2k (where did i go wrong)

— contents. college au, rich boy! gojo, break ups and make ups <3, it’s the cliche trope where the rich guy’s parent forces you to leave him aka gojo’s father is the villain, angst with a happy ending—i don’t want my cause of death to be angry rb! gojo stans, emo gojo ft. marvin’s room (iykyk), cliche rain scene—this fic is so cliche i’m sorry, reader is gn! but gojo is mentioned to like pics of girls on instagram (he was being petty)

— notes. well, it finally happened. the long awaited break up. this one’s for you niku 🤞🏽 AND DABITEE ANON

you open the door when satoru knocks—just barely, though. it’s just enough to hand him the bag with the remaining things he’s left at your apartment. it feels familiar, being here, but it feels so different too. it’s always been happy knocking on your door—he never thought he’d dread letting his knuckles meet the cool wood. it’s like taking the last bite of something sweet when you’re too full. when the sugar is too decadent on your tongue and your head spins and your stomach twists and it’s too much even though it used to be so good.

it’s too much being here. it’s too much trying to meet your gaze and get nothing in return. it’s too much being handed back that sweater he basically let you keep. and yet, it’s good to see you. he wants nothing more than to be here with you, wherever you are, even if you don’t want him to stay.

“that should be everything,” you murmur, still looking down. “let me know if there’s anything missing.”

satoru would never tell you if there’s something missing. he’d never come back and demand back something he gave you, he doesn’t think he could ever take back something he gave you—being handed back his heart after pressing it to your palms is hard enough. but then again, maybe he should look for small things you probably missed. just so he can come back. just so he can see you—how else will he see you now?

“no, it’s alright,” he says quietly. he doesn’t miss the way you quickly let go as soon as his hands grab the bag, almost like you’re being careful enough not to let your fingers meet each other. “you can uh…you can just keep them. or…throw them out if you don’t want them,” he mumbles.

you nod, standing there silently. it’s quiet, and then it’s quiet some more. and finally, you look up at him for the first time since he got here, staring at him a little expectantly. oh, right. now would be the part where he leaves.

“can i…can i just know why?” he croaks. fuck. he’s not supposed to cry. you ripped his heart out and threw it at his feet, you didn’t even care to hand it to him even after you tore every artery apart. but he sniffles anyway, lips wobbling as he stares at you. “why are you leaving me?”

your fingers twitch, like you itch to reach over and wipe that tear that rolls down his cheek. in the end, you cross your arms instead. “i already told you, satoru—”

“that’s bullshit,” he clicks his teeth, shaking his head as he stares at you frustratedly, “you gave me some bullshit reason.”

satoru has worked so hard to be here—to be with you. hadn’t he done enough? hadn’t he told you about himself, things he didn’t want to? hadn’t he tried to become something, someone more than just a guy swimming in trust funds? hadn’t he worked for your attention, waited outside classes and walked opposite directions in the hall with you just to seem dedicated? fuck, he even burned his hand trying to learn how to make pancakes to impress you, let the maids laugh at him as he twisted the stove the wrong way to try and turn it on. 

why wasn’t it enough? what more could he give you than everything? how can the guy who has everything not have enough to give? he doesn’t understand.

“satoru, we weren’t gonna work,” you pinch your nose—it’s like you’re the one who doesn’t understand why he’s being like this. “the sooner you accept that the more hurt you’re saving the both of us—”

“we were working just fine,” he says exasperatedly. it’s like you insist he’s crazy when he’s nothing but sane. like he’s trying to tell you the sky is blue, and you’re refusing to believe it’s anything other than green. it’s clear. it’s practically a fact. you were doing just fine—why don’t you see that? “we were happy,” he takes a step forward and cups your cheeks, pressing his forehead to yours, “was it someone? did they tell you something? just tell me who, baby—i’ll fix it. i’ll put them in their place, okay? no one can bother you if i get them to leave you alone—”

“then you leave me alone,” you whisper. he stills. you pull away from his hands. “sator—gojo. please just leave me alone. it’s better that way.”

you close the door, and he stands there. numb. maybe a little shocked. entirely ruined.

gojo. he laughs quietly after a moment at that—it’s a laugh meant for men who’ve lost the last thread to sanity. gojo. it’s like a slap in the face, being called the name he worked so hard to get you to drop. it took him weeks—months, even, to convince you to call him satoru. then he upgraded to toru. then it was baby. sometimes you teased him and called him pumpkin—he called you peaches in return. when you introduced him, you called him your boyfriend. 

not anymore. now he’s back to gojo—that god-forsaken name with everything but what he really wants attached to it. his grandfather’s legacy. his future. business deals. fancy invites. more money than he knows what to do with. the name gojo comes with everything but you.

but he had you for a bit, didn’t he? when he was just satoru—but now he’s gojo again, and you’re gone. the only sign of you left is in the faint traces of your perfume in the sweaters you’ve returned. 

and satoru still isn’t sure what brought the break up on. he thinks it’s the part that stings the most—when everything seems perfect one second, and then it’s not. had he not tried enough? maybe he was too much. maybe he didn’t understand you the way you needed him to. maybe he was too overbearing. maybe he asked for too much too fast. 

he’s not sure. he tried asking when you broke it off—you only shook your head and said it wasn’t going to work out between the two of you, that it was a mistake to try at all. mistake? how could you call this a mistake? things were so perfect, weren’t they?

satoru doesn’t think there was even one second he wasn’t smiling when he was with you, and he used to think the same was true for you too. had you been faking it this long? or was it real at one point—had he really failed you so badly, seen past you so blindly that he didn’t notice when your smiles stopped reaching your eyes?

it’s too late, he figures. you and satoru are broken up. 

you ask him to come over one morning, and he does—because he always comes when you call. he brings your coffee order from that cafe you like, the one you don’t go to often because the coffee is more overpriced than any other coffee shop you’ve ever seen. he’s grinning when you open the door, leans in to kiss your lips excitedly. you turn your head then, and his lips meet your cheeks instead—he supposes he should’ve known it at that moment. he should’ve seen that your lips weren’t smiling. your eyes were tired, a little red. you were hugging yourself in that way you do when you’re nervous. you didn’t let him kiss your lips, you made him kiss your cheek. 

and then you sat him down on that worn-down couch of yours, took off that bracelet his mother gave him to gift you on your anniversary, and pressed it to his palm as you said we should break up. break up. you wanted to leave him—and satoru didn’t understand, still doesn’t understand. 

he’s tried for so long, replayed the last month of your relationship in his head over and over and fucking over. you always smiled. you kissed him first. you held his hand, and even squeezed. you asked to see him. you laughed when he was around. you said i love you. you were happy. but then you weren’t—when did you stop being happy? and how could you have stopped feeling it with him?

—————

breaking up with satoru is the hardest thing you’ve ever done. how long can people live without the sun? you think not longer than a few minutes—that’s what it feels like without satoru’s warmth, anyway. 

gojo satoru has always smiled as long as he’s been with you. he smiled smugly on your first meet, smiled bitterly after every rejection, smiled in pure glee when you finally said yes, and smiled like his fingertips could touch the sky every time he saw you after that. 

satoru has never looked sad for long in your presence—you have that effect on him, you make his lips curl and his eyes brighten in that way that they deserve to shine. but for the first time ever, his eyes dim with you around, his lips curl into a frown at your words, and he cries for you. his eyes glisten with tears instead of wonder, and you think for a moment that you might be making a mistake. 

but then you remember that this is for the best—that if you really love gojo satoru, you’ll let him go instead of clipping his wings.

“he’s picked up his things,” you speak quietly into the phone. you don’t sniffle even as you desperately need to—it’s the last bit of control you have left, and you intend to keep it. “i won’t be seeing him again.”

“good,” his father speaks, “that’s good to hear.” 

satoru’s father is a cold man, you learn that on the first meet. he doesn’t look at his wife with a soft look that tells you there’s any love built between the decades of marriage, and he doesn’t look at his only son with any affection for the boy he raised. instead, he stares at satoru like any businessman would an opportunity—with a calculating gaze that tries to work out the best course of action for the most profit. 

satoru is young, but he’s charming and conniving and knows how to get what he wants when he wants—he’s quick on his feet and rarely lets himself get cornered into a wall. in the last three generations of the family business, no heir has shown as much promise as gojo satoru. that’s what his father tells you, anyway. you believe him—satoru is smart and knows how to play his cards right, you won’t deny that. his future is set to be comfortable, and he’s never known anything outside of that, never built any other plans for himself. 

you can’t rip that away from him—not for your own sake, not for your own happiness. 

“you promised you wouldn’t freeze his trust funds once i ended things,” you remind him, “and that he’d keep his inheritance.” somehow, because the world grants you this one favor, your voice doesn’t shake—it’s steady and firm as it reminds the stone-cold man at the end of the line of your agreement—and he offers a slow chuckle that makes your jaw clench. 

“yes, i do recall,” he hums, “i’m glad we could come to agree. you understand, don’t you? it is my job as his father to do what’s best for him.”

you know what he’s saying—what that means. you’re not what’s best for him. maybe he’s right—maybe satoru needs someone who’s equally as promising to build a successful company into even more success. maybe he needs someone who can take him out for a change to those fancy places he takes you every few weeks. maybe he needs someone who’s heard of half the brands he wears and doesn’t scold him to turn the lights off so the electricity bill isn’t high. maybe he needs someone who can keep up with everything that gojo satoru is—and that someone is not you, no matter how deeply you love him. 

“—the offer still stands, should you change your mind. i’m willing to compensate you for the trouble this must all be.” 

your lips curl into a scowl at his words. that’s the thing about rich people, you think—money is always enough to sugarcoat everything. why worry about the dead grass in your lawn when you can paint it green? but you don’t leave satoru for extra cash on your hands—nothing can be worth auctioning off the only man who’s ever made you feel anything. you leave satoru because he deserves to continue living comfortably, to make a name for himself that isn’t just a ghost of his father’s. if that means being cut from the corner of the picture, you’re willing to pick up the scissors yourself. 

“no thanks,” you hiss, “i don’t need the money.”

“i would disagree,” his father sneers, “but suit yourself.”

the line ends, and for good this time, satoru is no longer yours. was he ever to begin with? 

—————

you try to forget your ex-boyfriend—keyword, try. every hour of your life consists of you using your burner account to refresh his instagram page to see if he’s posted anything new. you unfollow satoru from every social media platform the same day he picks up his belongings—you know he’s noticed within the first thirty minutes because all of his pictures with you are gone, just like all your pictures with him. 

in what you assume is an attempt to be petty, he likes every picture of every girl he sees, and he even blocks you on twitter—you know he picks twitter because twitter is the only social media that blatantly states you’re blocked. but then you’re unblocked in two days, and you know he must be missing you now that the initial anger is faded. 

it makes you laugh a little, even through your tears. satoru is not satoru without petty fits of emotion, and you can’t bring yourself to be mad, not when it’s your fault he’s hurting like this. he’s extra sad today, you gather—if the way marvin’s room is posted to his instagram story on a blank screen is of any hint. it makes you scoff in amusement that in true gojo satoru fashion, he’s effectively told all eight-thousand-something of his followers he’s pathetically in his feelings. 

you scroll through suguru’s story, too—he didn’t unfollow you even after satoru temporarily blocked you, but you figure suguru is the only person satoru really has. you shouldn’t keep yourself close to him, not when it could hurt satoru more, so you remove him too. 

suguru is, as always, drinking at some fancy party with obnoxiously rich college students who have not a care in the world for midterms around the corner. who needs to pass when you’re swimming in money whether or not you have a degree? the first thing you learn about the rich is that most of them are only at college for the experience—they don’t see college as the stepping stone to better opportunities, there’s nothing education could offer that trust funds already don’t. but satoru attends college for himself—he enjoys business classes, you learn, and especially finance ones. for someone who spends money so carelessly, he understands it particularly well. 

there’s no sign of satoru at whatever party it is suguru is at, there’s no trace of strikingly bright white strands anywhere in any corners—you do see naoya in a corner, though, and you crinkle your nose in distaste. if satoru were here, he’d say something bitterly under his breath about the asshole, and you would giggle. but satoru is not here, and even naoya the women-hating jackass makes you miss your obnoxiously whiny ex-boyfriend. 

everything reminds you of satoru. that bear he won you at the fair (after maybe six tries) by your pillows, those polaroids at your desk that you can’t bring yourself to take down, that sticky note on your fridge he left promising to replace the creamer he finished (he’s replaced it more times than he’s needed to by now), that extra big blanket you keep on the couch because the old one barely covered his legs, that pair of silly matching mugs you both had for coffee in the mornings. 

every corner of your apartment has something that reminds you that satoru was here, that he was yours, that for a short while, he was the best thing you ever had. it’s your fault, you think—that satoru and you are here in this mess in the first place. he’s always looked at life through a hopeful lens. having everything does that to you, makes you ignorant to the misfortunes of the world, makes you think everything is within the realm of your reach. you, on the other hand, knew this was bound to happen. the two of you together is like hot oil and cool water—what feels like sparks is just the oil shooting out to burn you. you should’ve known this would have never lasted. 

in a way, you think you did. it’s why you hated him so fiercely at first—maybe deep down, you always knew you wanted him, that he would never be yours. maybe that’s why you were so adamant about rejecting him, that even when he was clearly trying, it would never be enough. satoru has always been enough, has always been what everyone has wanted—you’re not so sure you can say the same for yourself. 

you love gojo satoru. he loves you too—he falls first, and you think maybe, he might have fallen harder too. no one loves like satoru. they say if you press coal hard enough, it turns to diamonds—you think if you gave satoru coal, he would hand you back the sun and all of her stars. it’s just the kind of guy he is, the one that turns everything dull into something bright and warm and worth it. you wish you didn’t have to break his heart, you wish you could’ve walked out of this the only one hurt. but maybe, at the very least, if you break him good enough that he hates you, he’ll move on quicker, maybe have something to look forward to while you continue to work your way up and cheer him on. 

before you can refresh suguru’s page one more time to stalk his story, you’re pulled from your thoughts as someone knocks on your door—correction: pounds on your door. you jolt on your couch, standing up and making your way to the front door quickly and looking through the peephole. 

satoru. of course.

he’s soaked to the bone—it’s raining outside, and of course, just as on brand as always, he must’ve rushed here without an umbrella.

you shouldn’t open it.

but you can’t just leave him in the rain, can you? but he’s not your problem anymore, you agreed to leave him, didn’t you? but how could he not be your problem when he’s all you think about? but this could cause him trouble if his father found out he was here, right? but can you really leave someone, ex-boyfriend or not, in the pouring rain? you can’t be that cruel can you?

before you can make up your mind, he speaks up, “i know you’re standing there. open the door,” he demands. 

“satoru, go home,” you sigh, head pressing against the surface that separates you, “don’t make this anymore difficult than it has to be.”

“if it’s difficult, that means you don’t really want to do this,” he argues. he’s still as good as ever at sweet talk, still as persistent and charming as ever at getting what he wants. “please,” he croaks, “just let me in.”

you know it means more than one thing. you know it means more than just your home. but you shouldn’t, you can’t let him know why you did all this—how can you protect someone from something if they don’t let you? satoru would never let you if he knew, and that’s why you can’t let him know. 

“satoru, if you don’t leave…i’ll…i’ll call the cops,” you warn. 

“no you won’t,” he says instantly. “i’m not leaving until you open the door. and if i get sick, i’ll send you my bill for the emergency room visit.”

“you’re not going to the emergency room for a common cold, you idiot,” you scoff. 

the rain doesn’t slow—in fact, you can hear thunder. satoru is still stubbornly outside, knocking away. 

“i’ll start screaming,” he insists, “your neighbors will complain for noise again. do you want to be kicked out of this apartment? just let your cold, wet, heartbroken ex-boyfriend in if you have a heart.”

and because you are, and always will be, weak to the charms of gojo satoru, you open that damned door—even though you shouldn’t, even though you can’t, even though you said you would never again. but you do. because it’s satoru, and he always comes when you call, and you’ll always let him in when he’s here. 

“you don’t come to your ex’s house less than one week after the break up,” you sigh once you open the door. he takes a step in, shutting the door behind him. 

“why did you leave me?” he asks. 

“satoru, you can’t keep bringing this up—”

“why? just tell me why.”

“i don’t have to—”

“tell me why and i’ll stop bothering you. i just need to know why,” he insists. 

and then you break.

you’re only human. you’ve lost the man you’ve given everything to for over a year in the span of one week. you’ll never see his lovely mother again who spoiled you rotten, you’ll never hang out out with his funny best friend who treats you like family, and you’ll never be enough for gojo satoru, the rich, loud, sheltered, obnoxious, handsome jackass you met and had to do a project with and accidentally fucked over and over again until you fell in love. 

so you shove his chest, once, then twice, then a third time, each time getting weaker and weaker than the last as tears slip down your cheeks as you simply break down. “just leave, satoru,” you sob, “why can’t you just leave? why do you keep coming back?”

you hate seeing him here. you want him gone. you never want to see him again. you hope he never leaves. you’re glad to see him. you hope this isn’t the last time. you hate that he seems to not be getting enough sleep. his eyes are hollow. he must not be eating properly. he probably hasn’t attended class. he has a quiz next week. he most likely forgot about that. his clothes are wrinkly. he definitely hasn’t showered in days. 

“last month you said i was it for you,” he glares at you, his eyes red and swollen and every shade of heartbreak. you miss when they were blue—that beautiful, bright, perfect shade of blue. “last week you said we were a mistake. what the fuck do you mean, huh? what are you playing at?”

“you can realize a lot in a month—”

“not enough to erase over a year,” his voice booms. it makes you flinch and hug yourself tightly. tears slide down your cheeks, your vision is blurry. this might be the last time you see satoru, and even if he’s angry, you want to remember the curves of his features. so you wipe them away. they keep coming back. “so tell me,” he clenches his jaw, “did you string me along for a year or did something happen last week that you’re not telling me?”

“i realized you were bad for me,” you say quietly. 

satoru stares at you. it’s a piercing gaze—his eyes are electrically blue and his lashes are unfairly long and every time he stares at you, you think he almost sees into your soul. they’re tired—there are purplish bags under them on that pale skin of his, and the whites of his eyes are concerningly bloodshot. he stares, and stares, and for a second, you think you’ll die like this. watching him stare at you as your heart bleeds out. 

“i spent weeks,” his voice shakes, “i waited outside your class. i followed you to the next one. i memorized your fucking schedule.”

“satoru, you need to leave—”

“and then you fucked me and left every morning like i was nothing,” he glares, sniffling. you don’t know where the rain drops on his face start and where the teardrops end. “and then i begged you for a chance—begged. i burned my hand, got laughed at by the maids to learn how to make those stupid fucking pancakes for you.”

“i didn’t ask you to—”

“it took you two months to call me baby for the first time. did you know that? i waited two months to hear that. i thought it was the best two months i ever waited.”

“satoru,” you plead. 

you’ve given up on trying to wipe away the tears—he’s given up on crying altogether. you’ve never seen him so hollow, so dead in the eyes and so, so tired.

satoru has never gotten tired—not when he’s fighting for you.

“and then you kept pushing me away, acting like i was some shallow guy who wanted to get in your pants and leave cause i had some money to my name. i took you everywhere, introduced you proudly, let everyone say what they wanted to say about me because i loved you, and…and i thought you loved me too,” he shakes his head. 

his voice breaks, and god, so does your heart right along with it.

“i do love you,” you admit it before you realize what you’re saying. 

“then why did you fucking leave me?” his voice is loud.

satoru never yells, not at you. his voice is always gentle, patient, like he worships the ground you walk on, like he’ll get on his knees if you ask him too. satoru never yells—but he does tonight. 

“because i had to,” you sob, fingers digging into your temples as you shake. the words spill from your lips faster than the tears, like a swarm of angry bees, one following after the other. “or you’d lose everything. the trust funds, the inheritance, the company. i couldn’t let that happen to you—not for me,” you whisper. 

it feels like defeat—in the end, you couldn’t keep satoru, and you couldn’t leave him either. you couldn’t love him like you wanted, and you couldn’t let him go like you should have. what else is there left to fuck up? what more can you ruin in less than a week? the bees feel like maggots in your mouth, swarming a dead carcass.  

“so you left me because my old man threatened you with my trust funds?” he asks in disbelief. you think something in satoru dies at that—something in his shoulders falls and his eyes almost seem gray. 

satoru gets his blue eyes from his mother—they’re bright and kind and deeper than the ocean. but unlike the ocean, they’re not scary to fall into, to lose yourself in no matter how far you are from shore. his father’s eyes are gray—cold and blank and not laced with a single hint of emotion. 

you can’t help but think that blue suits satoru so much better than gray ever could. 

“it wasn’t just that,” you shake your head, “that’s not fair, satoru. what was i supposed to do? know you were about to lose everything and stay?”

“you could have talked to me before you decided for me,” he hisses, “what do you want me to say? thank you? thank you for breaking my heart? thank you for making me feel like a worthless piece of shit who wasted a year for someone who didn’t seem to care? thank you for walking out on me?”

“you know i’d have stayed if i could,” you argue, voice breaking.

“then why didn’t you? why the fuck didn’t you?”

“because i couldn’t!”

“you could!” he screams—you realize, for the first time in your life, you hate when satoru screams. he never screams. “all my life, that old man has been making decisions for me. satoru, wear this. satoru, go here. satoru, don’t do that. satoru, put that away. satoru, stay away from them. satoru, come with me. that’s all he’s ever fucking done—make every choice for me. and now…now you’re just like him,” he breathes, lips wobbling as he stares at you with hurt. 

it’s like that for a bit—you stare at him as he crumbles, and he stares at you like he doesn't know you anymore. you don’t know who leans in first, if it’s your hand or his face, but one second you’re feet apart, and the next second his face is cradled in your hands, thumbs swiping away at his tears. you catch them, one by one, waiting to wipe them away no matter how fast they come. because satoru always comes when you call, and you’ll always be there for him to find you. 

“i don’t want to leave,” you mumble, “i never do. you are it for me, i meant that, you know. who else will melt extra chocolate in my hot chocolate?”

“then don’t leave,” he begs, voice cracking, “i don’t want you to. i’ll handle that old geezer—my grandfather will knock some sense into him. fuck, suguru and i can even hide his body, it’s fine. just don’t leave, okay?”

you let out a watery chuckle, pinching his cheek as you shake your head. “i don’t know if i’m worth homicide, satoru.”

“i think you’re wrong,” he huffs, “you’re wrong about a lot of things, you know. so wrong.”

“i never said i was perfect,” you pout.

he buries his head into your neck, clinging to you tightly—you cling back, because nothing is as safe as satoru’s arms. you’d melt into his skin if you could, live in that spot right where his heart is so you can make sure it’s always beating. 

“you’re still perfect,” he mumbles, “but you’re always mean to me. this was the worst you’ve ever been.”

“i’m sorry,” you murmur, slipping your fingers into his hair—it’s still wet, you realize. he’s soaked, and he could catch a cold but you don’t care. satoru is back. he’s here in your run-down apartment with the mugs and the blanket and that toothbrush you forgot to return and that pair of socks you found in your drawer. satoru is finally home. “i’ll never leave you again.”

“promise?”

“yeah. as long as you don’t block me on twitter again.”

“you deserved that.”

“and for the love of god, toru, delete that marvin’s room story. that was so dumb.”

“are you stalking me?” he pulls away with a grin, making you glare with a huff. he chuckles, kisses your forehead as he murmurs, “missed me that bad, huh? yeah, i would too.”

“well, obviously not enough to post marvin’s room on my story.”

“you can’t be mean to me after you broke my heart!” he whines.

yeah, you think, satoru is home. he’s still that loud, obnoxious, pestering brat that he always was—and he’s still the only love you’ve ever known. 

“i love you,” you press your forehead to his, kissing him slowly. you want to kiss him harder, you want to kiss him desperately like you’ll never kiss him again. like you lost him and miraculously got him back. like you’ll never see the sun again without him. 

but there’s time for that—lots of it, in fact. because satoru is home.

“i love you too,” he whispers, “wanna shower with me? if you really love me, you would.”

read the makeup sex sequel ;) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

if this fic was a person i would want it dead.

[caniscreamintoanabyss]

Okay hold on

[nilla03]

𝒜𝒢𝒪𝑅𝒜 𝐻𝐼𝐿𝐿𝒮 დ 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 : 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒈𝒖𝒓𝒖

𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠: 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑔𝑢𝑟𝑢, 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑚, 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑎, 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑦 𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑧

Geto’s fingers dig into the fat of your thighs, spreading them apart, knocking your knees wide on the plush pink sheets beneath you. He’s sneering already, watching the way you shiver, the way your manicured nails clutch at his wrist like you have a chance of stopping him.

“You gonna cry already?” His voice is low, mocking, laced with amusement as he rubs his thumb over your already-dripping folds. “Fuckin’ pathetic.”

Your room is too sweet, too soft for him—pink walls, plushies lined up on your shelves and piled up on your bed, sparkling vanity lights casting everything in a glow that’s too innocent for what he’s about to do to you.

He spits down onto your cunt, watching the slick mix with the mess you’re already making. “Look at this. Such a needy little hole.” The tip of his cock prods at your entrance, thick and hot and aching to stretch you open, and you gasp, fingers scrambling against his tattooed arms, feeling the muscle shift under inked skin.

“Too big, suguru—” Your voice is high, shaky, but he just shoves your legs back farther, making your breath hitch.

“Yeah?” He grins, a sharp flash of white teeth. “You can take it. You wanted this, didn’t you? Actin’ all innocent, but you spread your legs the second I got my hands on you.”

You shake your head, whining, but he can see the way your pussy clenches around nothing, desperate, waiting. He drags his cock through your slick folds, teasing, coating himself in the mess, before pressing the tip inside.

The stretch burns—too much, too thick, too deep, but Geto just groans, gripping your thighs tighter. “Fuck, this little cunt is greedy,” he mutters, watching the way you struggle to take him. “You cryin’ already?”

Tears pool in your eyes, welling at your lashes as you whimper, your walls fluttering around him as he pushes deeper. “T-too much—”

“Too fuckin’ bad,” he growls, and then he snaps his hips forward, sheathing himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke.

A choked sob rips from your throat, your back arching off the bed as your hands fly to his shoulders, nails digging in—but he doesn’t care. He pulls out just enough before slamming back in, setting a brutal, punishing pace that has the bed shaking beneath you, the plushies beside your head bouncing with every thrust.

“You wanted to be treated like a fuckin’ princess, huh?” His fingers wrap around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your vision blur at the edges. “Thought I was gonna be soft with you?”

Your moans are punched out of you with every thrust, your body bouncing under his weight, your thighs trembling as he forces you open.

“Too bad, baby,” he pants against your cheek, his breath hot, his piercings glinting under the soft glow of your fairy lights

He fucks you deep, brutal, pushing you into the mattress, making you take every inch like you were made for it. The sound of skin slapping fills the too-pink room, your moans muffled against his inked shoulder as you claw at him, sobbing, overwhelmed.

“Shit—look at you,” he groans, pulling back to watch your fucked-out face, your tears spilling over your cheeks. “So pretty when you cry.”

Your plushies are staring—stuffed bears and rabbits and pastel kittens, all watching as he wrecks you, as he forces you to take it, as he ruins the pretty little thing you are.

[baigepueckers]

Nika Mühl X Reader

Prove It

The apartment was quiet…just the low hum of the AC and the occasional creak of the couch beneath you. You were straddling Nika’s lap, breath catching between kisses, but your body refused to relax.

Every time your hips dipped forward, even the slightest grind of pressure, that voice in your head screamed: She’s still healing. You could hurt her.

Nika sensed it.

She pulled back just far enough to see your face, her lips swollen, pupils blown wide with want. “Why are you holding back, ljubavi?” she asked, voice low, breath warm against your jaw.

You bit your lip, gaze flicking to the thick compression sleeve still hugging her right knee. “I don’t want to hurt you. You’ve barely started rehab. I’m not gonna be the reason you…”

She cut you off with a scoff, her tone sharp but hot with hunger. “You think I’m glass now? That I can’t take my girl losing it on me?”

She adjusted her position on the couch, planted her feet wider, and tensed her thigh beneath you…hard.

“Sit” she ordered, patting her flexed leg. “You’re not gonna break me, Y/N. I want this. Let me show you what I can handle.”

You stared at her, throat dry. There was something about the way she said it…like a challenge, like a promise. The muscle under your thighs jumped with tension, powerful and steady, practically begging for you to trust her.

Slowly, you shifted. Let her guide you. Your clothed heat pressed directly onto the firm line of her thigh, and your breath hitched at the contact.

“Good girl,” Nika purred, her hands gripping your hips tightly, dragging you forward once, slow and rough, making sure you felt everything.

The friction made your stomach clench.

“You feel that?” she whispered, nipping your earlobe. “That’s strength, baby. That’s for you.”

You whimpered, the tension of restraint unraveling in your spine. You started to move against her slowly, testing, your clothed center brushing her leg with every pass. She guided you with both hands, setting a rhythm.

“That’s it” she said between gritted teeth, voice husky and accented, every word soaked in arousal. “Take what you need from me.”

You couldn’t hold back anymore. The slow grind became needy, your hips moving faster, your nails digging into her shoulders as pleasure flooded your body.

She leaned back slightly, watching you..watching you come undone on her thigh like it was her favorite view in the world.

“Look at you” she groaned. “Fucking dripping for me. You’re soaking through those little shorts, aren’t you?”

You whimpered, nodding, your face flushed and skin burning. “Nika…”

“Oh, you love this,” she smirked, cocky and breathless. “You love knowing I can still take care of you. Even broken, I’m still the one who gets you like this.”

Her hands trailed under your shirt, gripping your waist, her fingers hot against your skin. She rolled her thigh up once..hard..and you cried out, jerking forward.

“Ride me” she growled. “Come on, baby. Lose yourself. Show me how bad you want it.”

You obeyed.

Your hips rocked with abandon now, chasing every bit of friction her flexed muscle gave you. Her thigh was slick with your arousal, your body trembling against hers. Your moans were growing louder, breath ragged, skin tingling.

“Fuck…Nika…I’m close” you gasped, voice breaking.

“Yeah?” she rasped. “Come on, ljubavi. Use me. Let me feel it.”

She leaned in, licking a stripe up your neck, her teeth grazing the shell of your ear.

“You’re not hurting me. You’re driving me insane.”

That pushed you over.

You clenched…body arching as the orgasm ripped through you, messy and loud, your cries muffled by her hoodie as you collapsed into her chest. She held you, thigh still pressed snug between your legs, letting you ride out every last tremor.

You were panting, dazed, your body limp against hers.

“I fuck” you mumbled, breathless. “You’re insane.”

She chuckled against your neck, cocky but tender, brushing your sweaty hair from your forehead. “Told you,” she whispered. “I’m still strong. Especially for you.”

You smiled against her collarbone, still trembling. “Okay. I believe you.”

Nika tilted your chin up with two fingers and kissed you…slow and deep and sweet.

While your body was still trembling…Nika slid her hands up your thighs coaxing your hips to stillness. Her leg, slick with your arousal, twitched slightly beneath you and her grin was devastatingly satisfied.

She kissed you again…deeper this time. Lazier. Possessive.

“You’re still shaking” she murmured against your lips, breath warm, voice soaked in pride.

You nodded, unable to form words, sinking your forehead against hers as you tried to come down.

But Nika wasn’t done.

She leaned in, kissed your cheek, then your jaw, then your neck…slow and lingering. “You think I was gonna stop there, ljubavi?” she whispered, voice raspier now, fingers trailing beneath the waistband of your shorts. “That was just the warm up.”

Your breath caught as her touch slid lower, teasing the soft fabric between your legs.

“But..your knee”

She pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, her gaze searing.

“I said I can take it.” Her fingers flexed against your hips. “And I’m going to take everything you give me tonight. Starting with that pretty little pussy I’ve been thinking about since rehab started.”

Your entire body flushed. You whimpered, hips lifting into her hand on instinct.

She smirked. “There’s my girl.”

Without another word, she hooked her fingers into your shorts and panties, sliding them down your thighs with care and hunger. You lifted your hips to help, completely bare now, still wet and twitching from your first release.

She stared.

“God, look at you” Nika whispered, voice reverent. She brought her hand to your center and ran two fingers through your folds, groaning when they came back soaked.

“Still dripping,” she said, biting her lip. “I want to see how many times I can make you come before you forget your own name.”

Your hands gripped her shoulders as she slid her fingers back, slowly, teasing your entrance with featherlight circles.

“Nika,” you gasped, rocking toward her.

“I got you,” she said, and then she pushed in two fingers deep, knuckle full, curling instantly against that spot she knew like second nature. Your mouth fell open in a soundless moan, your head falling back.

Her hand moved expertly slow at first, deliberate, then faster, with confidence only she could wield. Her other arm wrapped around your lower back, holding you close as her fingers fucked you hard and deep.

The couch creaked. The room filled with the wet sound of her hand working you open.

“You hear that?” she growled in your ear. “That’s you. That’s how bad you need me.”

You were losing it. Your nails scraped down her back, your hips grinding desperately into her hand, chasing the edge again.

“You’re so tight, baby,” she panted, kissing the corner of your mouth. “So fucking perfect. You feel me?”

“Yes…yes, Nika…don’t stop, please.”

She didn’t.

She curled her fingers hard..once, twice..and your body snapped. You cried out, loud and unfiltered, coming hard for the second time, legs quaking around her as she fucked you through it, fingers still stroking deep inside you until your voice broke into sobs.

And still she didn’t stop.

“You’ve got more” she murmured, tilting you back against the couch, lowering herself between your thighs. Her breath hit your swollen center, and she smirked when she saw your eyes widen in panic pleasure.

“Nika, I can’t..”

“Yes, you can.”

Her tongue met your clit before you could argue again…slow and firm and relentless. She licked you like she was starving, her strong hands locking around your thighs to keep you in place as you squirmed.

You were sobbing her name now, writhing, overstimulated but unable to stop. She moaned against you, loving every twitch and cry you gave her, eating you like it was her life’s purpose.

And when you came a third time…a broken, shattered thing, shaking so hard you thought you might pass out…she didn’t pull away.

She kissed you through it, soft and slow, licking up every drop you gave her.

By the time she finally slid up your body again, your eyes were glassy and your legs refused to close.

She kissed your temple.

“You okay?” she asked gently, brushing your damp hair back from your face.

You nodded weakly, still panting. “You’re… unreal.”

She smiled, kissed you like a thank you. “Told you I’m strong.”

“You’re a fucking problem” you whispered, laughing breathlessly into her mouth.

“Only for you,” she murmured. “And I’m not done yet.”

[lexiputellas]

"Burn the Bridge," from the Broken Vows series.

Today is a beautiful day.

Or at least it would be—if not for your phone blasting through the room.

The curtains are shut, no sun slipping through, the AC humming at the perfect temperature. Freezing. Just the way you like it.

You squint at the screen, groggy, already knowing this can’t be good.

Alexia.

Her name flashes across your phone, demanding attention.

You answer. Because somehow, not answering could be worse.

“Why did you like a picture of Eva?”

You let out a dry laugh, rubbing your eyes. “Oh, hi. Good morning to you too, babe.”

“I’m serious.”

“So you still talk? Good to know.”

“That’s not it.”

You hum, waiting. “So what is it, then?”

“She jumped me at training, saying you were trying to destroy her life. She’s afraid you’ll expose her.”

That wakes you up. Your brows lift, and a laugh escapes before you can stop it—sharp, humorless. "Oh, that's rich. She sleeps with a married woman, helps wreck a family, and now she's the victim?" You lean forward, voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Did you hold her? Wipe her tears? Tell her you’d fix everything?"

Alexia exhales, exasperated. “Will you stop acting like a child?”

“Will you stop lying?”

“I’m not lying.”

“Alexia,” you sigh, turning to lie on your back, staring at the ceiling “I don’t have it in me for this. Either say something that matters or just—stop.”

“For God’s sake—”

“You can go running to poor little Eva and tell her, 'My wife isn’t exposing you, you can live your life to the fullest now, don’t worry. You already destroyed the marriage, the family. There’s really nothing left to ruin.’”

Silence.

Then, a sharp inhale. You can practically hear her grinding her teeth.

“You’re impossible.”

You smile, satisfaction curling in your stomach. “And you’re predictable.”

“You think I don’t regret it?” Alexia snaps, her voice cracking like glass under pressure. “You think this is easy for me? I wake up every day hating myself.”

“Oh please.” You throw your head back against the pillow, amused at the pathetic little performance. “Cry me a fucking river. Regret doesn’t mean anything if you still did it.”

“You’re being ridiculous!”

“And you’re being pathetic,” you shoot back, sitting up now, fully awake. “Calling me first thing in the morning because poor little Eva is scared people will find out she fucks married women? Grow up.”

“I— That’s not the only reason I called.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s not. You just missed me, right?” you sneer. “No one cares enough to ruin Eva’s reputation she’s already done a fantastic job on her own.”

Alexia exhales like she’s about to explode. “You think you’re so perfect? You think you didn’t push me away? You—”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” you cut her off, voice cold, deadly. “Say it. Finish that sentence. Blame me for you crawling into bed with someone else. I’m begging you.”

She goes silent, but you can feel the fury vibrating through the speaker.

“That’s what I thought,” you say, voice dropping, almost amused by how easy it is to rip her apart now.

“You’re impossible,” she hisses.

“And you’re a coward.”

Another beat of silence.

“Fuck you,” Alexia snaps, venomous.

You sigh, shaking your head. “I’m going to tell you one thing, and pay attention. I’m not doing the back and forth with you anymore. I don’t recognize the person you’ve become, and I don’t know if I even want to have something with you. Change, or please leave me the fuck alone.”

You hear a sharp inhale, like she’s about to argue.

You don’t give her the chance. You hang up.

This time, it actually feels good.