hersweetsstrawberry - Tumblr blog

hersweetsstrawberry · 8 days ago

Text

C☆CK SOOOO GUUDDDD

paring : mydei, sunday, phainon, aventurine, blade x fem!reader

tws : nsfw, smut, breeding kink, tit fūcking, creampie (vaginal & anal), sub!mydei, bratty mydei, cow-girl, belly bulge, multiple of rounds, wall fúcking with blade, rough sèx, sloppy sèx and biting

note : not proof read, so sorry for the mistakes.

— MYDEIMOS ★

“You ride like you’re trying to kill me,” Mydei muttered, voice strained, chest rising and falling hard under you.

You just smirked, hands planted firmly on his abs as you bounced on his cock, again and again, letting him hit deep. “Don’t pretend you don’t love it.”

He scoffed, but the way his fingers dug into the sheets said otherwise. His cock was thick, hot, and twitching inside you—stretching you open with every drop of your weight, hitting so deep it left a bulge in your stomach. You pressed your hand over it, and he twitched.

“Fuck,” he hissed, jaw tight. “Don’t do that.”

“Why not?” you teased, grinding down just to make him feel it all over again. “You’re obsessed with how tight I am around you. Look at this bulge, Mydei. That’s you.”

He groaned, low and frustrated, golden eyes narrowing. “I could flip you right now and fuck that smug out of you.”

“Then do it,” you challenged, rolling your hips harder. “But you won’t. Because you like being underneath me. You like getting used.”

He growled, actually growled, hands flexing like he was a second away from grabbing your hips and taking over—but he didn’t. His thighs twitched under you, and his cock throbbed harder.

You leaned down, teeth sinking into the curve of his shoulder. Not soft, not gentle—a real bite. He grunted, hips jerking up into you so rough it knocked the breath out of your lungs.

“That all you got?” he muttered, but it was breathless now, his forehead damp with sweat. “If you’re gonna ride me, ride me.”

You did.

Hard. Fast. Relentless. Your pussy clenched around him like a vice, soaking and messy, his cock disappearing into you again and again with the filthiest sounds. That bulge kept rising, kept pressing out with every slam of your hips, and he couldn’t look away from it now, couldn’t stop twitching inside you.

You were close. You knew he was too.

“You gonna cum inside me, baby?” you asked, voice a little rough now. “Gonna fill me up and make sure it sticks?”

He snarled, hands finally grabbing your waist like he had to. “I’m not pulling out.”

“Good.”

You clenched down around him, grinding down in tight circles that made him swear through his teeth, golden eyes fluttering shut. His grip tightened. His cock throbbed harder, faster—

And then he was spilling inside you. Hot, deep, thick. You felt every pulse of it, your pussy fluttering as you came with him, hips still rocking as he held you down, like if he didn’t you’d ride the soul out of him.

You stayed like that for a moment. His cock still buried in your soaking, stretched pussy, your stomach still showing that curve from how deep he was. And you could feel the warmth dripping out, slowly, messy.

“…You’re a menace,” he muttered finally, voice hoarse.

You smirked. “And you’re full of me.”

His eyes met yours—sharp, a little dazed—and he huffed a laugh.

“Yeah,” he said. “Guess I am.”

You stayed on him, still pulsing, still throbbing—his cock buried to the base inside your cum-filled cunt. It twitched again, thick and hot, still hard even after he’d just filled you. His hands were loose on your waist now, like he didn’t know whether to pull you closer or give up and let you use him until he couldn’t move.

You rolled your hips again—slow, cruel, just enough to feel the stretch—and watched his head fall back, jaw clenched.

“…You done?” he muttered, voice rough and low.

You smiled. “No.”

He exhaled hard through his nose. “Of course not.”

You rocked again, this time lifting your hips just an inch before slamming back down. The lewd squelch of his cum spilling out of you was obscene. He twitched hard under you, biting back a sound in his throat.

“Still so deep,” you murmured, dragging your fingers down the curve of your own belly, tracing the soft bulge that reappeared with every grind of your hips. “You feel that? Right there.”

His eyes flicked down. Locked on the spot. You saw the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed. His cock twitched again.

“You’re fucking filthy,” he muttered, but it came out breathy. Weak. Like he was losing the fight, and fast.

“And you’re the one who came in me.”

You started riding him again, slow and deep, the mess of it dripping down your thighs as your pussy squeezed around him with every thrust. His cum was still leaking out of you, even as you forced it back in again and again.

“You just came,” you said softly. “And you’re already hard again. That’s how bad you want it, huh?”

He gritted his teeth, digging his fingers into your hips again. “You think I care about your stupid little games?”

“I think you want me to ride you until it takes.”

You fucked yourself down on him harder, letting your weight slam onto his cock with a loud, wet slap. Your breath caught—he hit deep, right up against that aching sweet spot—and you knew he felt how tight your pussy clenched around him after that.

“I think you want it to knock you up,” you whispered, leaning close to his ear. “I think you want my pussy full until your cum sticks. Again. And again. And again.”

His hips jerked under you before he could stop them. His breath hitched.

“Fuck you,” he muttered, voice low and dangerous.

You licked the edge of his ear. “You already are.”

He growled, hands flying to your waist again—tight, firm now, nails digging in, but not to stop you. He just held you there, let you use him, let you fuck him like he was yours and nothing else.

“You’re not walking after this,” he muttered.

You just laughed. “Then don’t stop me.”

And he didn’t. He took it. Every bounce, every drag of your pussy down his thick cock, every time you clenched and made a filthy mess all over him. The bulge in your belly rose and fell, rose and fell, getting tighter and fuller with every second, and you felt him start to lose it again.

His body got hot under you. Thighs twitching. Breathing ragged. His grip on your hips went stiff and shaking.

“Don’t,” you said, moaning softly. “You’re not pulling out. I want all of it.”

“Fuck—”

“I want your cum inside me again. You’re not done until I say it’s done.”

He twitched inside you. So close.

You slammed down again and this time didn’t lift back up—just ground your pussy against him in tight, perfect circles, dragging your walls along every inch of that fat cock, milking him from the inside out.

He broke.

He came with a stifled groan, arms locking around you as he emptied himself inside, cock pulsing hard as he filled you again. Thick, hot, relentless. You felt it push up into you, flooding you a second time, and this time it was too much—it leaked past your pussy lips, down his cock, soaking the sheets under you both.

Your body shook as you came right after, grinding down into his lap like you could squeeze every drop out of him. Your pussy fluttered around him, overstimulated and stretched, full of cum and still clenching like you didn’t want to let him go.

And he didn’t try to move. Didn’t say a word.

He just laid there, panting, arms loose around your waist as he throbbed inside you, twitching with the last few pathetic pulses of his cock, still buried deep, still leaking.

You sat back slowly, still connected, looking down at the mess between your thighs. Your stomach was still rounded, still showing that firm little bulge from how deep he was.

“Still not enough,” you said, half-whispered.

His eyes flicked up to you, jaw tight, face flushed.

“…Then fuck me again.”

— SUNDAY ★

“You’re shaking,” Sunday murmured, his breath brushing your neck like silk. “I haven’t even fucked you properly yet.”

His fingers ghosted down your sides, thumbs grazing the stiff peaks of your nipples before he dragged them down—so casual, like he wasn’t making you tremble beneath him. You arched into his touch anyway, shameless, aching.

His lips quirked. “Eager, aren’t we?”

He dragged your wrists up and pinned them above your head, not hard—just enough pressure to remind you you weren’t in charge. His body hovered over yours, still mostly clothed, while you were already spread out and exposed beneath him, legs open, soaked and twitching.

And he hadn’t even put his cock in yet.

“Look at you,” he said, golden eyes lazy and amused. “Messy little thing, already soaking the sheets and I’ve barely touched you.”

His free hand moved down—slow, deliberate—and stopped to roll one of your nipples between his fingers. You gasped, hips jerking, and he smiled like he’d been waiting for that exact sound.

“Oh?” He leaned down and bit the other one—sharp, fast, mean. “Sensitive.”

“Sunday—” you whimpered, your voice breathless and strained.

“Yes, yes,” he murmured, licking the spot he’d just bitten, “you always sound so sweet when you’re like this. Let’s see what you sound like with my cock inside you.”

You didn’t get time to respond.

He let go of your wrists, just for a moment—just long enough to push your thighs open wider and line himself up. His cock pressed against your soaked folds, and when he pushed in, it was all at once.

Thick. Deep. Stretching you wide.

You cried out, head falling back, back arching.

He groaned, low and satisfied, like the feel of your pussy clenching around him was a reward he’d earned. “Tight. That’s good.”

He didn’t start moving yet—he just stayed there, buried to the hilt inside you, feeling you twitch around him.

“You’ll take all of it, won’t you?” he asked, voice low and silken. “I don’t care if you cry. I’m going to fuck you until you can’t remember anything but the shape of me.”

He snapped his hips forward—slow, deep, and devastating.

You moaned helplessly, your hands fisting in the sheets now, clinging to anything as he dragged himself back and slammed in again. His pace was steady but brutal, cock hitting you deep, every stroke forcing little sounds out of you that only made him move harder.

“You feel it?” he asked, dragging a finger along your belly, pressing just enough to feel the bulge he was making. “That’s where I am.”

You whimpered, hips bucking, eyes wide.

He rolled his hips, pushing even deeper. “You’ll take all of it. You were made to take me.”

His hand came up again, thumb grazing your nipple, then pinching it hard as his teeth found your neck.

The bite he gave you this time was worse—hot and sharp and perfect. You gasped, your walls squeezing tight around his cock. He hummed, satisfied.

“You want my cum, don’t you?” he breathed against your throat. “You want me to fill you up. Make you leak with it.”

“Y-Yes—!”

He grinned against your skin. “Then beg for it.”

You sobbed, almost too far gone to speak. He didn’t stop—his cock moved faster, harder, fucking you so deep your thighs were trembling.

“I said beg.”

“Please—please cum in me,” you gasped, desperate. “I want it, I want all of it—Sunday, please—”

That broke him.

He grabbed your hips and slammed into you, again and again, chasing his own climax with that smug, focused look never leaving his face. You clenched around him, your body already so close to breaking—

And then he came. Hot. Deep. A low, controlled groan rumbling in his chest as he buried himself to the hilt and spilled inside you, thick spurts filling your pussy until you could feel it dripping out around his cock.

He stayed like that, one hand sliding up to your chest again, gently brushing your sensitive nipples as you trembled under him.

“See?” he whispered. “Perfect fit.”

You couldn’t answer. You were too full. Too fucked. Too ruined.

He smiled.

“Let’s do that again.”

Your body was still shaking.

You were twitching beneath him, slick with sweat, legs splayed open as his cum slowly leaked out of your pussy—hot, thick, and sticky, dripping messily onto the sheets. You hadn’t even come down from the last orgasm, your body still fluttering around nothing—

—and Sunday was already shifting behind you again.

You flinched when you felt his hand between your cheeks, parting them with calm precision.

“Don’t tense,” he murmured, voice infuriatingly soft. “I didn’t say we were done.”

Your eyes flew open. “W-Wait—”

He ran a slick finger down to your tight rim, slowly circling it. Your whole body jolted.

“Oh? You didn’t think I’d use all of you?” His voice was laced with amusement. “You’re shaking, darling. Is that from the creampie or the anticipation?”

You tried to clench your thighs shut, but he just tsked and pulled them apart again.

“Be still.”

He didn’t give you a chance to protest.

He leaned over you, tongue dragging across your nipple as his finger slowly pressed in—slow, relentless, stretching you open while he bit down gently on your already sore peak.

You gasped, hips twitching.

“Gods, you’re tight,” he murmured, breath hot against your chest. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it fit.”

He pumped his finger slowly, just enough to get you used to it—then added another. Your back arched.

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t move. You were already ruined from the first round, your pussy sore and leaking, your nipples red and overstimulated—and now Sunday was casually opening your ass like he had all the time in the world.

“Breathe,” he said softly. “If you beg, I’ll go slow.”

“Please,” you gasped, “please fu-fuck me there—just—just go slow—”

He smiled, as the wings behind his ear slightly twitched.

“Good girl.”

You felt the head of his cock press against your ass next—still hard, still slick with your own juices and his cum—and then he pushed in.

Slow. Agonizingly slow. He filled you inch by inch, making sure you felt every bit of that thick cock as it stretched your tightest hole.

You whimpered, burying your face in the sheets.

“Too much?” he asked, stroking your side. “You can take it. You always do.”

And gods, you did. You took all of it—let him bottom out in your ass until your breath left your lungs in a sob. The stretch was deep, intense, making your pussy flutter even though it was no longer being touched.

“I can feel you clenching,” he whispered in your ear. “You like being stuffed like this, don’t you?”

He started to move—slow thrusts at first, grinding into you with slow, steady pressure. Your back arched again, the stretch lighting your nerves on fire.

You whimpered something broken and incoherent.

“Still too dumb to talk? How cute.” He grabbed your hips and pulled you back into him, fucking you deeper. “Maybe I’ll finish here next time. Fill this hole until it spills down your thighs.”

Your mouth dropped open in a moan as his pace picked up—his cock fucking deep into your ass now, full and punishing, while his fingers rolled your nipples again, cruel and relentless.

“Look at you,” he breathed, biting your shoulder this time. “Used, stuffed, and still begging for more.”

Your body was trembling—your pussy clenching uselessly, empty but aching as your ass took everything he gave you. You felt ruined. Owned. Full.

And then he growled—low and hungry.

“You’re going to take my cum again,” he said, thrusting harder now. “You’re going to feel it dripping from both holes.”

You came first. The pressure, the fullness, the overstimulation—it was too much. You came with a scream, your whole body clenching down as you shuddered beneath him.

He didn’t stop.

He groaned low and buried himself one last time, cock twitching inside your ass as he spilled hot, thick cum deep inside you. It was so much you felt it leaking around his cock—dripping out and down, sticky and filthy and perfect.

He stayed there a moment, deep inside, panting softly against your back.

And then he pulled out—slowly, letting every drop of his cum leak out of your used ass and down your thighs. You collapsed under him, twitching and gasping.

He brushed your hair back with one hand, gently tweaking your oversensitive nipple with the other.

“Now you’re done,” he murmured, smug and composed as ever.

“But I’m not.”

You collapse into his lap, trembling and utterly fucked out, your pussy still dripping from the last creampie, your ass aching and stretched beyond belief. Sunday’s hands find your hips with that effortless, commanding touch, pulling you flush against him. His cock is still buried deep inside you, the slow aftershocks making you shiver.

His fingers slide between your thighs first, gliding through your slick folds, teasing your soaked pussy with delicate, deliberate strokes. You whimper, biting your lip as his thumb circles your swollen clit, drawing soft moans from your throat.

“Such a perfect mess,” he murmurs, voice low and dangerously calm. “Look at you, dripping all over me like the filthy little thing you are.”

Then, without warning, he slides one finger around to your ass, pressing gently against your rim. Your whole body jerks, but he’s patient, pushing just enough to make you twitch.

“Don’t close up on me now,” he teases, dragging another finger in slow, shallow strokes. “You took me so well—you’re going to take my fingers too.”

You moan, hips rocking involuntarily as he moves his fingers deeper, stretching you open all over again. His other hand finds your nipple, pinching and rolling the already sensitive peak with expert precision. He leans down, biting softly into your neck, marking you with that sharp, delicious sting.

“You’re my perfect slut,” he whispers, voice thick with satisfaction. “So fucking full of me. Can you feel how much you want it? How much you need to be filled again?”

You can’t stop the needy whimper that slips out, your body trembling as he sinks his fingers deeper, curling them just right inside your ass and sliding against your clit. Your back arches, hips grinding against him even though you’re already overflowing.

Sunday chuckles darkly, a hand gripping your hip tighter as he keeps fucking you with his fingers, slow and torturous, making you beg without words.

“You’re going to take everything I give you,” he promises, voice a low growl. “And you’re going to love it.”

— PHAINON ★

You were already soaked before he even touched you—his fingers trailing light and slow over your thighs, making goosebumps rise in their wake. Phainon’s hands were gentle, patient, but there was a teasing smile in his voice when he whispered, “You’re already dripping for me, huh?”

You flushed, biting your lip as you shifted to sit right on his cock, feeling the thick hardness pressing through you—warm, full, and perfectly stretched.

He chuckled low, fingers hooking around your hips to steady you, but never forcing. “Take your time,” he murmured, voice soft but heavy with promise. “Ride me nice and slow. Show me how much you want this.”

You began to move, slow circles, feeling the deep stretch inside you as his cock filled your pussy inch by inch. His hands slid up your waist, resting just below your ribs, thumb teasing your skin as he watched you with those bright eyes—half amusement, half something deeper.

“Look at you,” he said, voice husky, “so perfect around me.” His hand drifted upward, fingers brushing your nipple through your shirt, just the lightest pinch to make you shiver.

You gasped, and his smile deepened. Without breaking eye contact, he leaned in and bit down softly on your collarbone—a quick nip that left you burning in the best way.

“Such a good girl,” he whispered. “Feeling full already?” His fingers tightened on your hips as you pressed down harder, riding him with slow, deliberate movements that had your breath catching every time.

You leaned forward, arms wrapping around his neck, and he pulled you closer. His cock was thick and hot inside you, filling you completely, pushing deep enough to make your belly push out—a visible swell beneath your skin that made you both flush.

Phainon groaned low, hands slipping beneath your shirt to cup your breasts, thumbs rolling over your nipples, teasing them to hardness. He bit his lip, watching your face as you closed your eyes, riding him perfectly, every little movement coaxing more pleasure from both of you.

“You’re mine,” he said quietly, voice thick. “Gonna breed you full tonight. Fill you until you’re dripping.”

Your hips stuttered, pussy clenching hard around him, and he chuckled softly, lips brushing against your ear. “You want me to come inside you?”

“Yes,” you whispered, breathless.

His hands gripped your waist tighter as he thrust upward, slow and sure, cockhead pressing against that perfect spot inside you, making your vision blur.

“Good girl,” he praised, voice low and steady. “Ride me. Show me how much you want it.”

You did—faster now, a steady rhythm as your body started to quake. His teeth grazed your shoulder again, just a teasing nip before he bit down harder, making you gasp.

His cock pulsed inside you, thick and hot, and when he came, it was slow and deep—filling you completely, his warmth spreading low in your belly, making the bulge beneath your skin impossible to hide.

You shivered, your own climax crashing through you as he held you close, whispering, “Mine.”

And even after he pulled out, his hands stayed on you—gentle, loving, and teasing, promising more to come.

You were already slick with him, heat pooling low between your legs, the thick hardness of his cock pressing deep inside you—warm, heavy, and stretching you open just right. Phainon’s hands rested lightly on your hips, steady but gentle, thumbs stroking slow lazy circles, never forcing, just guiding you as you started to move.

“Ride me, baby,” he whispered, voice low but teasing, like he was enjoying every second of watching you take him in. “Slow. Nice and slow.”

You shifted your hips, sinking down fully on him, feeling him fill you completely—the way his cock stretched your pussy deliciously, making your belly push out a little, soft and swollen with him inside you. His length was thick and long, and the way you rode him made you feel full, like you could take all of him, all night.

Phainon’s fingers slid up your sides, tracing along your ribs, tilting your hips just slightly as you moved, matching your rhythm with slow, deep thrusts from below. His thumb found your nipple, rolling it gently between his fingers, teasing it until a sharp gasp slipped from you.

He bit down lightly on your collarbone, just enough to make your skin flush pink, and his voice dropped even lower.

“Good girl,” he said. “So tight around me.”

His hands moved to cup your breasts, thumbs flicking your nipples as you leaned forward, hands braced on his shoulders. His cock twitched inside you, full and thick, pushing deep with every slow, steady grind.

You met his gaze, breath hitching, and he smiled that teasing smile you loved—soft but full of promise.

“You gonna take my cum, huh?” he asked, voice husky. “Wanna breed you full. Feel you dripping all over me.”

You nodded, riding him harder now, hips rolling in lazy circles, wet heat slick between your thighs, cock buried deep inside your pussy, stretching you perfectly, filling you completely.

Phainon’s hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he bit your shoulder this time, teeth grazing your skin just enough to sting, making you shudder.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he murmured. “Take it all.”

Your pussy clenched hard around him, matching every pulse of his cock, and you gasped when his pace sped up—deep, powerful thrusts that made your belly bulge out with every movement.

You cried out, hands clutching his shoulders, overwhelmed by the fullness and pleasure.

“Phainon—” you whimpered, hips trembling.

He growled softly, fingers digging into your hips.

“Come for me,” he commanded, voice thick. “Fill me.”

Your climax crashed through you, body shuddering, pussy clenching tight around his cock as waves of heat rolled over you.

Phainon followed right after, slow and deep, spilling thick, hot cum deep inside your pussy. You felt the warmth spread, filling you completely, making your belly swell visibly beneath your skin.

He stayed buried inside you a moment, heavy and warm, holding you close.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, voice soft but possessive.

You collapsed forward, resting your forehead against his shoulder, breath ragged.

His fingers found your nipples again, rolling and pinching gently as you both caught your breath.

“Perfect,” he said, voice full of pride and something tender beneath it all.

— AVENTURINE ★

Aventurine’s hands were warm and sure, sliding under your shirt with a slow, deliberate ease that made your pulse spike instantly. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense, the kind of look that promised he was taking control—and there was no point in resisting.

You shivered as his fingers wrapped around your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples with a mix of teasing and reverence. They were already hard beneath his touch, swollen from the heat spreading through your body. His lips brushed your collarbone, trailing down with lazy, satisfied breaths, as if savoring the way you quivered under him.

Without breaking eye contact, Aventurine carefully pulled your shirt up, exposing your bare skin to the cool air—and to him. His hands cupped your breasts fully now, lifting and pressing them together just enough to make your chest feel unbearably sensitive.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice low and velvety. “So soft, so ready.”

He shifted, leaning back just enough to free himself from his shirt, revealing the strong, smooth planes of his chest and the firm line of his waist. You could feel the heat radiating off him even now, making your skin flush hotter.

Then, with a casual confidence that sent your breath hitching, he positioned himself between your breasts. His cock, already hard and demanding, pressed against the valley between your tits. You swallowed hard, heart pounding.

“Ready for this?” he asked, the corner of his mouth tugging up in that sly smile you couldn’t resist.

You nodded, barely able to speak, your hands clutching at his broad shoulders.

He lifted your tits with both hands, molding them around his cock like they were made to hold him perfectly. Slow at first, he rocked his hips forward, pressing into the soft flesh, then pulled back, teasing you with the slick friction of your own wetness against his skin.

Your breath hitched, fingers digging into his skin as he began to move with a smooth rhythm. His cock slid between your tits, slick and hot, as he tit-fucked you with effortless grace.

His eyes never left yours—calm, commanding, and so fucking hungry.

You gasped when he quickened, the slick drag of his cock against your nipples and skin driving you wild. His hands tightened their grip, kneading your tits as he fucked you between them, the wet sounds echoing through the room.

“Gods, you’re perfect,” he breathed, biting lightly on your shoulder, marking you as his. “So fucking tight.”

You moaned, hips bucking instinctively, aching for more friction, more contact.

He didn’t slow down. If anything, he got more deliberate, pressing you harder into him, dragging his cock deeper with every thrust. The sensation of being completely enveloped—held, used, worshiped—made your knees weak.

His hands slid lower, fingers teasing the soft curve of your waist, then tracing down your stomach to press just below your belly button. He was so close, the pressure mounting as he rocked his hips in a steady, controlled frenzy.

You felt the coil inside you tighten, your body trembling, breath coming in ragged gasps as you spiraled toward the edge.

“Come for me,” he urged, voice rough with need. “Let me hear you.”

With a shuddering cry, you spilled over, your whole body shaking as your climax hit like a tidal wave. Aventurine kept moving, fucking you through your orgasm, his cock slick and hard between your tits as he pushed you further and further.

He groaned low, hips stuttering as he chased his own release, biting down gently on your neck to keep himself grounded.

Then, with a final, deep thrust, he came, hot and thick, spilling down your chest and between your breasts.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as he collapsed against you, breathing heavy but still completely in control.

“Perfect,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “You’re mine.”

Aventurine’s breath was hot against your skin as he pulled back slightly, his cock slick with your wetness, still resting between your tits. His eyes gleamed with a sharp, teasing light—the kind that made your heart race and your body flush all at once.

“Not done with you yet,” he said quietly, voice edged with that cruel smile you knew so well. “You like being used like this, don’t you? Soft and needy, just begging for more.”

Your pulse hammered as his hands slid from your breasts down to your hips, fingers digging in just enough to remind you who was in control. He tugged you down a little, pressing his chest against yours.

“You’re so fucking vulnerable,” he continued, tracing the curve of your jaw with a finger. “Perfect to break down.”

A shiver ran through you, equal parts anticipation and nerves. You knew he could be merciless when he wanted.

Slowly, he slid off you, his cock slipping free from your breasts with a wet, slick sound that made your stomach twist.

“Stand up,” he commanded, his voice low but firm.

You obeyed, your legs shaky but steady. Aventurine reached behind you, pushing your shirt up again, his hands running down your spine to grip your hips.

He pressed his cockhead against your entrance, just barely teasing you. You bit your lip, craving the full stretch, the full feeling of him inside.

“Not so fast,” he whispered, pulling back and circling your clit with slow, cruel flicks of his tongue and fingers. “You’re going to take your time. I want to watch you lose your mind.”

You whimpered, hips moving instinctively, desperate for friction. But he held you still, gripping you tight.

“Patience,” he said, voice sharp like a whip.

“Please,” you breathed, barely above a whisper. “Please fuck me, Aventurine.”

His smile grew wider—dangerous and wicked. “That’s better.”

Then he pressed in, slow and deliberate, filling you inch by inch as you gasped, clutching his arms for balance.

His hands roamed your body as he began to move, slow thrusts that stretched and filled you completely. The friction of his cock against your sensitive walls, the slick warmth spreading through you—it was overwhelming.

Aventurine’s eyes darkened with hunger as he watched your every reaction, every shudder and moan that escaped your lips.

“You’re mine to ruin,” he said softly, biting your shoulder lightly. “And I’m not stopping until I do.”

His pace increased, deep, powerful thrusts that made your knees weaken, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

His hands gripped your hips harder, holding you tight as he fucked into you like he wanted to mark you, claim you with every stroke.

Your body trembled as you neared the edge again, his voice low and commanding pushing you over.

“Come for me,” he growled, “let me feel you squeeze me.”

You shattered around him, muscles clenching tight, your cry muffled against his chest.

Aventurine’s own breathing grew ragged, his cock pulsing deep inside you as he chased his release.

With a guttural groan, he tensed and spilled inside you—warm, thick, filling you completely, sinking deep into your core with no mercy.

You gasped as his seed flooded you, your body swollen and aching, the delicious fullness making you shudder with overstimulation.

He didn’t pull out, holding you close, letting every drop sink in as he pressed kisses to your neck.

“Such a good girl,” he murmured, his voice soft but filled with that cruel edge you loved. “Completely full. You’re going to carry this with you.”

You melted against him, overwhelmed and utterly his—marked and claimed, exactly how he wanted.

— BLADE ★

Blade didn’t waste time with pleasantries. The moment you showed any hesitation, his cold eyes pierced right through you, as if sizing up a problem that needed to be fixed—immediately. He grabbed your wrist with an iron grip, pulling you close until your breath hitched, chest pressed against the unforgiving wall.

“You’re mine,” he said, voice sharp and low. “And I don’t have time for bullshit.”

No softness, no coaxing—just raw demand. His hands pinned your arms above your head with brutal precision, the coldness in his touch sending a thrill of fear mixed with arousal straight to your core.

His body pressed against yours, taut and unyielding. The hard line of his jaw flexed as he stared down at you, hungry, ruthless.

Without warning, his cock slammed into you, deep and merciless, the harsh thrusts rocking your entire body against the wall. You gasped at the sudden invasion, skin scraping against cold stone, the ache of his cock driving straight through your resistance.

“You think you can hold back?” he sneered, voice cruel. “I’ll break you before you even try.”

His hips slammed harder, faster, pounding into you like a force of nature—unyielding and unforgiving. Each brutal thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure and pain mingling through your body.

Your nails dug into the wall, trying to hold yourself up as he continued his relentless assault. There was no gentleness here—only the cold, hard reality of his dominance.

Blade’s hands were everywhere—gripping your hips, squeezing, dragging you against the wall with violent precision. The sharp scrape of your skin against the surface beneath you only heightened the raw sensation.

His lips brushed your ear, cold breath hissing through his teeth. “You’ll learn your place.”

You whimpered, body trembling under the harsh rhythm, every nerve on fire as he drove deeper, faster, with no sign of mercy.

His cock stretched you wide, filling you completely, a perfect fit that left no room to deny him.

“You like this, don’t you?” he taunted, voice dripping with contemptuous amusement. “Being pushed, used, owned.”

Your breath hitched, overwhelmed by the raw intensity of his words and the physical force he wielded so effortlessly.

He chuckled darkly, the sound low and threatening, as if savoring your helplessness.

Blade’s fingers dug into your hips, gripping tight enough to bruise, anchoring you as he fucked you harder, pounding relentlessly against the unyielding wall.

“You’re nothing without me,” he growled, voice thick with dominance. “I’m the only one who’ll ever want you like this.”

His cock hit every sensitive spot inside you with merciless precision, dragging groans from deep in your throat, breaking down every last shred of control you tried to hold.

Your back arched, body trembling, overwhelmed by the powerful sensations and his cruel dominance.

He leaned down, biting the shell of your ear hard enough to draw a sharp gasp, the sting burning deliciously through the haze of pleasure and pain.

“Beg me,” he commanded, voice cold and commanding. “Show me you’re mine.”

You didn’t hesitate—words spilling out in desperate need, raw and unfiltered.

“Please, Blade… don’t stop… I’m yours.”

His grin was vicious, a predator savoring his prey. “Good girl.”

With a final, ruthless thrust, he slammed into you deeper than before, holding you against the wall as his cock pulsed, spilling hot and thick inside you.

You cried out, body shaking, completely fucked and marked, utterly his.

Blade’s hands tightened on your hips, holding you steady as his breathing slowed, the cruel smirk never leaving his face.

“Remember this,” he said softly, voice dripping with dark promise. “You belong to me.”

Blade didn’t pull out. Instead, he held you flush against the wall, hips pistoning with savage precision, his cock throbbing deep inside your slick heat. Every thrust was a command, every movement designed to own you completely.

His hands moved from your hips up to your sides, fingers digging into your ribs with enough force to leave bruises—but you didn’t care. The sharp pressure sent waves of delicious pain mingled with fire through your skin.

“You’re mine,” he growled again, teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your neck, leaving a harsh, stinging bite. The taste of copper filled your mouth as your own breath hitched, a mix of pain and craving spiraling through you.

Your nails clawed the wall, unable to grip anything but the rough surface, as Blade’s relentless rhythm drove deeper, harder. The tight heat of your pussy clamping down on him only seemed to spur him on, making his strokes more violent, more demanding.

His lips brushed your ear, voice low and rough. “You think you can take this? You want me to ruin you?”

You gasped, words choked out in desperate need. “Yes, Blade… please.”

His grin was cruel and victorious, like a predator savoring his conquest. “Good. I’ll make sure you remember this night forever.”

Suddenly, he shifted, one hand sliding down your body, fingers teasing your clit with harsh, merciless circles as he fucked you mercilessly against the wall. The sensation was overwhelming—a perfect, cruel mix of sharp pain and searing pleasure.

Your back arched involuntarily, breath catching in your throat as the overstimulation pushed you closer to the edge.

Blade leaned in, biting your shoulder hard, the sting sharp and intoxicating. “Come on, show me you’re mine,” he demanded.

You trembled, body shaking, eyes rolling back as the first wave of your orgasm crashed through you—clenching tight around his cock, sucking him deeper with desperate greed.

But Blade wasn’t done. Not yet.

His hips slammed harder, faster, riding out your release while dragging you mercilessly toward his own.

“I’m going to fill you so deep you’ll be dripping for me for days,” he promised, voice a dark growl of possession.

Your body trembled uncontrollably, a delicious burn spreading from your core as he pushed deeper, pounding into you with brutal force, every thrust crushing the air from your lungs.

Then, with a guttural roar, Blade’s cock pulsed inside you, spilling his hot, thick seed deep into your trembling pussy.

You cried out, body slick and swollen, utterly overwhelmed by the overwhelming fullness and his fierce domination.

He held you there, hips still grinding slowly, letting every drop sink in, marking you thoroughly as his.

His breath was heavy in your ear as he whispered, “You’re mine now. Always.”

Your body sagged against the wall, spent but burning with need and the sharp edge of his cruel control.

Blade smirked, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face with brutal tenderness. “Get ready to beg for more.”

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

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hersweetsstrawberry · 8 days ago

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hersweetsstrawberry · 8 days ago

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contrary to popular belief not everyone has an innate sense of internal gender or care to have one or seek a name for it, some people go their whole lives without questioning their occupation in one of two gender roles, but for some people, if pressed, they don’t feel that internal sense of ‘i am a woman’ or ‘i am a man’, and in that case i feel the switch over to transgender vs cisgender relies on active identification of a gender other than the one they were assigned. if someone’s like ‘idk dude I just work here’ then that’s valid

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hersweetsstrawberry · 11 days ago

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Need to cum 3 times in a row and then sleep for 15 hours straight. This would absolutely not fix me but I think the idea's neat.

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hersweetsstrawberry · 15 days ago

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No, babe, it's so hot when you show signs of pure insanity. I was just a bit scared when I woke up to you cutting my hair for your shrine is all.

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hersweetsstrawberry · 17 days ago

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— 「 TOTALITY 」 pt 2

Hugo Vlad x Reader — 3.5k

part 1

summary: He can read through the lines. I'm here. I've been here, waiting. So, of course Hugo slides his hands beneath your shirt. Of course he wedges a knee between your legs. No more ambiguity. No more waiting. He's right here, right where you want him.

content: bottom reader, spit as lube, biting, begging, manhandling, humiliation if you squint, fingering, penetrative sex, gender-neutral reader (use of 'hole', no mention of reader having any specific genitalia)

tags: @hersweetsstrawberry

You're wrist deep in cookie dough when Hugo shatters your world.

“I don't actually like sweets, you know.”

The drag of the wooden spoon against the mixing bowl halts. His ear twitches. He expected more of a reaction, frankly. Hugo had spent the better part of a week catastrophizing this reveal. He spiraled down every way it could go, each one of them ending with your hatred. Even now he expects to hear the spoon clattering to the floor, or whizzing past his head. Your trust shattered, loathing in your eyes, a finger jabbed in his chest as you declared you were done with him and threw him out the door. This was it. The final sugar-spun straw that broke your back.

Instead, you twist at the waist to peer at him. Your eyes narrow - he can place the vitriol there for you, if he tries hard enough, but he knows it's his own.

After a long pause, you condemn him:

“You said macadamia nut was your favorite.”

“No. I only suggested it.” He's not wrong, but now he sees the first flicker of annoyance. Cagey is cute when it's flirty - less so when it's deceitful. “It's Vivian's favorite.”

You set the bowl aside and wipe your hands on the front of your apron.

“Then what's your favorite?”

“I don't care for sweets.”

Hugo gives a limp shrug. Sweeping an arm behind his head, he lets his long hair flow over the arm of the couch. He sinks lower into the cushions. The guilt is less palpable when he can't see all the trouble you've gone to.

You putter in the kitchen, bowls clanging, bag crinkling - a huff of irritation when the wooden spoon clonks back against the bowl. You stir briskly now, aggression beating lumps of butter till creamy. Add one egg, dash of resentment – repeat.

“Scones.”

“Too dry.”

“Shortbread cookies.”

“Bland.”

“Hugo.” A sigh. Your footsteps approaching, your face cresting the back of the couch. There's flour stuck to your cheek. He reaches to swipe it away and you intercept him, capture his wrist in a loose grip. You rattle him. He lets his hand ragdoll.

He slips your grip easily. Trailing his fingers up your palm, he takes your hand for his own. Hugo raises his arm above his head and guides you to the front of the couch.

The truth is trapped behind his lips, choking him. It will never stop feeling like this. Every time he's forced to divulge some truth about his wretched origin, it will feel like detonating a bomb in your living room and standing idly by while you clean up the wreckage. There will be pity in your eyes and exhaustion in your voice. Oh, Hugo, you'll shake your head.

He strokes his thumb against yours. He wants so badly for you to know him. It's too late for Vivian and Lycaon, but there's still time for him to do things right with you. The honest, ugly truth. He wants it so badly that he pushes past the thorns in his throat, kisses your knuckles and starts in with a phrase that you'll grow to dread.

“When I was a boy…”

Evenings at your apartment had become commonplace. He lounges on your couch with increasing frequency, long legs kicked up, hair down and flowing. Divulging the details of his past never quite gets easier, but you give him the space to flounder. He would present it to you in neat little packages. This is why I’m like this, trussed up in a quaint little story. One by one you had picked them open and laid them out before him - never pushing for more, only looking at what had been offered and regarding him with–

Not pity. Not like he had feared. Acceptance, maybe. Something that had felt underwhelming at first. He had expected more. Indignance, a blow up - something more than the gentle nod of your head and a silence that laid over him like a particularly itchy blanket.

But the longer that he sat in that silence, the less prickly it became. The weight of it became a comfort. Oftentimes you wouldn't look up from your task. You flowed about the room while he languished in place. The movement, the little sounds of life, kept him unmoored from bitterness.

Sometimes, though, your puttering drove him mad. You’d share your own stories, casually weaved between your household chores, sweeping up the mess you’d just made. He’d guide you to his lap and press you to the couch, the floor, the bed – wherever, so long as it would keep you from running in place.

“You're like a cat,” you’d yawned one night when both of you were eager for distraction, your fingers carding through his hair. “You keep making passes like you want to brush against my legs. Then you finally do, and it's like you scared yourself.”

He can read through the lines. I'm here. I've been here, waiting. He pushes his head into your hands. Your nails scratch at his scalp and he could purr.

So of course Hugo slides his hands beneath your shirt. Of course he wedges a knee between your legs. No more ambiguity. No more waiting. He's right here, right where you want him.

“Is that what you think?” He huffs. His grip is firm, fingertips greedily squeezing every inch of skin he can reach. “That I'm scared?”

He presses a hand to the curve of your back and you arch off the bed. Pretty. Obedient. He shucks your shirt off quickly. His lips latch to your chest, kissing and nipping at your skin. Your breath catches. “There's nothing wrong with that.”

“I'm not.”

“I kinda am.”

“Of me?”

Your silence freezes him in place. He picks his head up, drops his chin to your chest. His fingers drum expectantly against your hip.

You shake your head. His eyes narrow, grip tightening. You roll your hips against his knee, grind down on him as if your body's reaction is supposed to prove anything.

Hugo draws away. You grip his bicep, try to tug him back.

“Not scared.” You hook your arms beneath his, sit up to drop a kiss against his shoulder. “Nervous.”

He wants to believe that. He wants to think it's not a lie to keep him here, that you aren't bending to him just because it's natural to do so. Your hand tries to smooth the tension from his shoulders in a gentle arc. It sets his teeth on edge. Hugo slides back up your body, thumbs curling into your hips.

"You're just as bad as I am," he mutters, palm cradling your cheek.

You lean into his touch. "Maybe worse."

At least you know it. He kisses your forehead, your nose, your mouth. A sweet peck until you chase after his lips, slot your mouth against his. Your hand lays against his jaw. He presses you back to the couch, his touch tempered to something gentle and cautious.

Your legs fall open, hips wiggling, begging for his knee back between them. His teeth catch your bottom lip - a bite for your impatience. You inhale sharply, mouth falling wider, and he takes the chance to pull back and hear the noises you make for him.

Hugo hums, eyes falling shut. Your desperate little pants are the perfect symphony. His hand slips from your cheek, fingers brushing past your jaw. He lays his palm flat against the side of your neck. Your pulse drives against his palm, hot and hard. He can taste your skin against his tongue without needing to duck his head and try it for himself. He runs his tongue along the back of his teeth, imagines how your heart would quicken when he dragged those sharp points against your delicate throat.

He hooks a thumb into the underside of your jaw. You turn and shift with the slightest pressure. His gut stirs, cock kicking lazily. That familiar haze has blown your pupils wide.

Hugo presses two gloved fingers to your lips. You don't wait for him to tap, mouth dropping open obediently. He clicks his tongue – ah-ah – and stops you just before you can lap against at the leather.

“What a pretty picture you make,” he coos. Your neck extended, jaw dropped to take his fingers, pink tongue waiting. If he kept you there long enough, he was certain you'd start drooling. (Plans for another night, maybe. He’ll need an old camera. A one of one print that he could lock up in the archives of his gallery, first piece in a private collection themed around your pleasure.)

That draws a whine out of you. He shushes you gently. Hugo drums his fingers against the plump of your bottom lip. He flips through his mental catalogue the things he’s dreamed of doing to you, every lurid thought that kept him aching and hard and settles on one with a decisive tap.

“Take it off,” he commands. Poor, dazed thing. You start shucking your shirt off, eyes still trained on his. He coos – “My glove, treasure.”

Without even the sense to show any embarrassment, you nip at his fingertips and tug. If only your teeth were as sharp as his; he needs your bite mark embedded in the leather. His glove dangles between your teeth. So well-behaved, not dropping it without being told first. He cups his hand below your chin and you release it on the word "drop."

He doesn't bother to issue a command; you don’t need verbal instruction for something you’re so practiced at. You part your lips for his fingers at the first intrusion, tongue welcoming them, guiding them to the roof of your mouth. You wet his fingers, obscene wet sounds passing your swollen lips.

He sits back on his haunches, keeps you anchored with his fingers pressing down on your tongue while he shucks the rest of your clothing out of the way. He tugs your pants down to your knees, his impatience straining at his zipper.

It’s unbearable; Hugo fishes himself out of his pants. You hurry to prop yourself up on your elbows at the first clink of his belt, nearly choke yourself on his fingers. He pushes you back down by the point of your shoulder with a snort. The relief of freeing his aching cock was swallowed up by the need that drove straight through his stomach.

He bunches your underwear to the side and strokes the back of his spit-slick fingers against you, prodding, pressing, pushing into you, against you, spreading you wider for him. Hugo mouths along your jawline. He needs to be everywhere, to taste all of you, to be inside of you - consumed, surrounded, cradled. He bites a kiss to the angle of your jaw and drags his tongue lower, finally seeking out your pulse. He kisses you open-mouthed and slow, tongue massaging your skin.

His kiss is soft, but his fingers are insistent, firm, pressing against your hole. Your body pulls him in, one finger pressing into you with a shallow, pulsing little thrust that's quickly joined by another digit. You're too eager for him to be satisfied by just one, and the sloppy rut of your hips guides his fingers into a brutal pace. Pride blazes, melts his stomach into a mess, makes him puff his chest and chase you as you bend back to the bed. Your breath hitches and lengthens into a slow, stuttery moan. He bites harder at your skin, surging forward, pressing you back into the cushions.

“You want me?”

“Yes.” You buck your hips hard. A moan rolls from your lips like thunder, his fingers buried to the knuckle. Your legs twitch around him, begging him closer and trapped his hand.

Hugo batters that spongy spot inside of you that makes you squeeze him again and again. His chest lifts off of you, and you whine. He has half a mind to pop a thumb into your mouth to pacify you. The fingers of his free hand ghost down your chest, caress the curve of your stomach, and smooth around the curve of your hip. His rocks his hips, grinding himself into the bed sheets. Your hole flutters around his fingers. He bites down on a groan, cock aching, twitching against your thigh.

“You need me?”

“Yes – fuck, please,” you whine, head snapping back to the pillow. “Please, please, I can't do this – it’s not enough. I need it.”

Satisfaction erupts in his chest, sends sparks of pleasure fizzling through his veins. He sighs dreamily, his knuckles dragging tenderly across your cheek. How perfectly you'd walked into his trap. How beautifully you begged. His fantasies were more descriptive; he could coach you when he wasn’t starving for your body.

He pulls his fingers free and every part of you protests, squeezing him like a vice to keep him where he is, your whine keening high. Hugo hushes you again, his weight pinning you to the bed. He blankets you with kisses and nips at your skin, reaching between your bodies to stroke himself.

Hugo lines himself up with your hole. He rocks shallowly against you, slick head of his cock slipping into you. His breath catches. Relief fizzles down his limbs; it takes every ounce of effort to pull his tip out of you. Greedy little thing, trying to suck him in before he's ready.

“Hugo,” you whimper, brow furrowed.

He chuckles. He draws his hips away and kisses the pout from your face.

“You'll get what you need when I'm ready.”

If he weren't throbbing, painfully hard and on the verge of dripping all over your sheets, he would enforce that. He would drag this pleasure out. You'd be quaking, kiss-bitten lips parted and pleading for –

“Dick,” you grumble.

His jaw ticks. Maybe there was some brat in you after all. Or maybe, poor thing, you were too hungry for cock to mind your manners.

His hands pinch your hips hard. He flips you onto your stomach in one fluid motion. Readjusting his grip, he drags you to the edge of the bed and kicks your feet apart. You try to lift your head, to turn back and watch. He stops you with his fingers steepled between your shoulder blades, his eyes narrowed to a warning. Hugo rocks his hips against your ass, slow, pointed. His flushed cock slides past where you want him, leaves a sticky trail against your thigh.

Teasing will have to be saved for another time; if he isn’t inside you now then he won’t be able to do anything more than fuck your thighs and cum against your stomach. He presses back to your needy little hole and enters you with a quick thrust.

He buries halfway into you on the first thrust, drives the breath out of you and pulls it into a moan. He pulls back, ruts his tip in and out of you and then presses back in with a slow, deep push. Still not quite ready to take all of him, your hole fluttering and pulsing, his eyes fluttering. Your chest melts to the sheets, your toes curling against the floor. He bends to kiss along your spine, hips driving into you in quick, short bursts.

His hair falls into his face, teeth gritted with the restraint it takes not to plow into you the way he wants. Next time. He will take his time, have you so thoroughly prepared that he'll bottom out on the first thrust, not the fifth.

He reaches a hand beneath you, roughly shucking your hips up to stroke you. You cry his name and his cock jerks inside of your tight heat. “More– please.”

You’re going to be the death of him. He nearly cums then and there. Hugo draws back and props a leg up against the bed. He drives back into you with a sharp thrust, cock pounding deeper. His balls slap against you, hand stroking you harder. You tighten and pulse around him, open-mouthed moans falling every time he drives into you. You whine his name, tense and clench, knuckles turning white against the sheets and he swears, hips stuttering, heat erupting, showers of pleasure sparking through his fingers.

He pulls out and lays himself against the swell of your ass. A few rough strokes and he cums against your back, your ass, rivulets dripping down to your hole. Hugo engraves the mess he's made into his memory. He thumbs your empty, clenching hole, unable to resist. You make a noise low in the back of your throat, shift your head to eye him like a wary dog. He placates you with a gentle tap to your hip and stumbles back to resist the temptation of your body.

"Let's get you cleaned up," he says, breathless. You start to move from the bed and he stops you with a laugh. "You're going to mess the sheets. Stay just like that."

Hugo’s mind drifts as he wipes down your heated skin. Next time, he swears, he will draw you a bath and lay in it with you against his chest. The time after that, maybe, he’ll lay against your chest. And after that, you’ll lay against opposite sides, face to face, legs twined.

With all of these next times, he's going to need more than a few more nights with you.

‘Next time’ gets more convenient with a singular stroke of bad luck.

Your apartment building is getting condemned. Oh no, he had droned over the phone. How devastating. It will all work out, he promises. He’ll help you find somewhere to live.

In fact, he already has somewhere in mind. Cheap rent, good view - the landlord is a little nosy, but he’s nice to look at. You’ll love it, he’s certain. As luck would have it, tours will be available within the month.

Hugo had called in every favor at his disposal, tapping friends-of-friends to hastily convert the space above his gallery into a studio apartment. A month’s time was surely enough for the needed renovations. With the talent he had at his disposal, he could make it work. It had been a lot of late nights and a lot of being told ‘no, that’s not possible in forty-eight hours, I need at least a week’, but it had gotten done. It was livable by the time you had walked through for your tour, and by the time you were officially moving in it was almost up to code.

Structurally, it’s sound. He wouldn’t let you move in if he wasn’t certain of that. When he nudges your front door open, though, he still throws a little extra weight into it - just to really be certain it’s sturdy.

“I don't know how to thank you.”

Hugo chuckles as he lowers the last of your boxes to the floor. He dusts his hands against his thighs and leans against the (sturdy, up to code) door frame.

“There's no need for that,” he declares. If he’s honest with himself, the only reason you’re even paying rent is because he knew you would turn the place down if he offered it for free. He thinks of your monthly payments as a ‘tenants improvements and betterments’ fund, already planning to pour it back into the apartment.

You run your thumb along the edge of a box, gaze pointed down, clearly pretending to be sorting through your belongings. He’s intimately familiar with your discomfort. You had explained it to him before, had told him the story of where that particular anxiety began - you hated to feel indebted.

“You sure?” You drawl, playfully spinning your anxiety into flirtation. “I can think of a couple ways to show how grateful I am.”

Hugo tests the floorboards with a strike of his heel, solid thunk sounding through the room. He shakes his head and checks his watch.

"Not during business hours, I'm afraid. I still have soundproofing to do."

There's that pout, begging to be kissed off your face. "There's barely anyone here."

"There's an exhibition in an hour’s time."

"I'll give you an exhibition."

Hugo laughs, ears twitching. You’d become insatiable. He’d created a monster. He pushes off the wall, weaving between boxes.

“I’ll be back to help you unpack after I close up,” he says, kissing your cheek as he passes by. “There really is an exhibition today.” As he shuts your door behind him and heads downstairs, an unfamiliar warmth fills his chest. His heart feels light, floating along on hot air. Tonight, when he comes to see you, he won’t have to slip through the window. He will come home to you from work. He will almost feel normal. It’s not something he’s ever craved, not in large doses - but this slice of peace, he could get used to.

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hersweetsstrawberry · 17 days ago

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— 「 TOTALITY 」 pt 2

Hugo Vlad x Reader — 3.5k

part 1

tags: @hersweetsstrawberry

You're wrist deep in cookie dough when Hugo shatters your world.

“I don't actually like sweets, you know.”

Instead, you twist at the waist to peer at him. Your eyes narrow - he can place the vitriol there for you, if he tries hard enough, but he knows it's his own.

After a long pause, you condemn him:

“You said macadamia nut was your favorite.”

“No. I only suggested it.” He's not wrong, but now he sees the first flicker of annoyance. Cagey is cute when it's flirty - less so when it's deceitful. “It's Vivian's favorite.”

You set the bowl aside and wipe your hands on the front of your apron.

“Then what's your favorite?”

“I don't care for sweets.”

“Scones.”

“Too dry.”

“Shortbread cookies.”

“Bland.”

He slips your grip easily. Trailing his fingers up your palm, he takes your hand for his own. Hugo raises his arm above his head and guides you to the front of the couch.

“When I was a boy…”

He can read through the lines. I'm here. I've been here, waiting. He pushes his head into your hands. Your nails scratch at his scalp and he could purr.

So of course Hugo slides his hands beneath your shirt. Of course he wedges a knee between your legs. No more ambiguity. No more waiting. He's right here, right where you want him.

“Is that what you think?” He huffs. His grip is firm, fingertips greedily squeezing every inch of skin he can reach. “That I'm scared?”

“I'm not.”

“I kinda am.”

“Of me?”

Your silence freezes him in place. He picks his head up, drops his chin to your chest. His fingers drum expectantly against your hip.

You shake your head. His eyes narrow, grip tightening. You roll your hips against his knee, grind down on him as if your body's reaction is supposed to prove anything.

Hugo draws away. You grip his bicep, try to tug him back.

“Not scared.” You hook your arms beneath his, sit up to drop a kiss against his shoulder. “Nervous.”

"You're just as bad as I am," he mutters, palm cradling your cheek.

You lean into his touch. "Maybe worse."

He hooks a thumb into the underside of your jaw. You turn and shift with the slightest pressure. His gut stirs, cock kicking lazily. That familiar haze has blown your pupils wide.

“Take it off,” he commands. Poor, dazed thing. You start shucking your shirt off, eyes still trained on his. He coos – “My glove, treasure.”

“You want me?”

“Yes.” You buck your hips hard. A moan rolls from your lips like thunder, his fingers buried to the knuckle. Your legs twitch around him, begging him closer and trapped his hand.

“You need me?”

“Yes – fuck, please,” you whine, head snapping back to the pillow. “Please, please, I can't do this – it’s not enough. I need it.”

“Hugo,” you whimper, brow furrowed.

He chuckles. He draws his hips away and kisses the pout from your face.

“You'll get what you need when I'm ready.”

“Dick,” you grumble.

His jaw ticks. Maybe there was some brat in you after all. Or maybe, poor thing, you were too hungry for cock to mind your manners.

He reaches a hand beneath you, roughly shucking your hips up to stroke you. You cry his name and his cock jerks inside of your tight heat. “More– please.”

"Let's get you cleaned up," he says, breathless. You start to move from the bed and he stops you with a laugh. "You're going to mess the sheets. Stay just like that."

With all of these next times, he's going to need more than a few more nights with you.

‘Next time’ gets more convenient with a singular stroke of bad luck.

Your apartment building is getting condemned. Oh no, he had droned over the phone. How devastating. It will all work out, he promises. He’ll help you find somewhere to live.

“I don't know how to thank you.”

Hugo chuckles as he lowers the last of your boxes to the floor. He dusts his hands against his thighs and leans against the (sturdy, up to code) door frame.

“You sure?” You drawl, playfully spinning your anxiety into flirtation. “I can think of a couple ways to show how grateful I am.”

Hugo tests the floorboards with a strike of his heel, solid thunk sounding through the room. He shakes his head and checks his watch.

"Not during business hours, I'm afraid. I still have soundproofing to do."

There's that pout, begging to be kissed off your face. "There's barely anyone here."

"There's an exhibition in an hour’s time."

"I'll give you an exhibition."

Hugo laughs, ears twitching. You’d become insatiable. He’d created a monster. He pushes off the wall, weaving between boxes.

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hersweetsstrawberry · 18 days ago

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MDNI 18+ Smut

———

“C-can we take a break?” You ask breathlessly.

They grip your hips tightly before pile driving their shaft into your throbbing pussy. You immediately arch your back and began moaning as they start pounding your cunt.

They eventually reach their climax and spill their load deep inside your cunt. Before you could get a word in, they smash their lips on top of your and licked your lips.

You tried to shake your head away but they slipped their hand behind your neck to deepen the kiss. When you finally break away, you tried to catch your breath and attempted to wiggle out from underneath them.

The yandere instantly grabbed your hips and pulled you back down underneath him. They tried giving you another passionate kiss but you turned your head away.

In a breathless voice, you said

“Not right now, I need a break.”

They gave you a hard stare as you tried to break yourself free from them. They immediately tightened their grip on you and wrapped your legs around their waist. Before you could protest, they slam their hard cock back into your hole and begin jack hammering your pussy.

You tried to fight it but your toes kept curling and your moans couldn’t be helped. The yandere bent down and began sprinkling kisses on your face as they whispered

“I need more. A lot more.”

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hersweetsstrawberry · 18 days ago

Text

compulsive consumption

character: sunday warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, fem reader, messy sleepy sex, dubcon at the start (somnophilia), extremely codependent relationship, a hint of a daddy kink, size kink/size difference, a lil bit of blood, overstimulation, creampie words: 2.3k

notes: maisie said exhausted almost asleep sex with sunday and somehow, this is what transpired

It’s become a ritual at this point; something special, something sacred, a ceremony you ardently anticipate each and every night, a sumptuous way to conclude the day and enter into sleep.

Because Sunday’s work day is long, tiring and tedious, and too often are there instances where you don’t see him at all—not a flash of silver-blue hair, nor a glimpse of ivory feathers—during your waking hours.

But he always comes back to you in the deep of night, after the moon as passed its highest point in the sky, after you’ve slipped into a fitful dreamland, incomplete without its master.

This you can be sure of. This you can expect eternally, always.

He’s dead on his feet by the time he returns to the sanctuary of your shared bed, linen steeped in your scent, engulfing him in a sweet embrace the moment he burrows between the sheets.

But it’ll never compare to the real thing.

Large hands snake through the fabric, navigating it expertly, as they’ve done every single night before, as they’ll do every single night after.

You’re wearing one of those lace-trimmed silk babydolls that he loves so much, shimmery material pooling around his wrists in bunched waves as eager palms slip beneath the garment. Lithe fingers curl around your hips, nails nipping the skin in a way that’s almost tender, embedding themselves in your flesh as Sunday anchors a good grasp.

No panties—good girl.

Then he’s tugging you toward him, your limp body obeying easily, a soft noise vibrating deep in your throat. Little hands grope instinctually at the air, clawing at nothing in search for him, before you roll toward his heat, a moth to a flame, a bee to honey, an addict to their fix.

Instinctual, automatic, right.

“Sunny?”

“I’m here, darling,” he nuzzles into your cheek, ribcage expanding against your torso as he inhales, deep and hungry. A slow exhale follows, as if he’s savouring the scent, intertwined with a soft hum. “I’m here.”

No other words are spoken as he shoves at his waistband, freeing his incessantly aching cock, one palm splayed on the mattress by your shoulder, keeping him precariously hovering above you, the other curling around the base of his cock, squeezing twice.

He’s been thinking about this. He’s always thinking about this.

It’s an insatiable craving that inevitably (and predictably) begins to flare up a few hours before it’s time for him to retire; an unbearable itch birthed behind his sternum, clawing at his heart, growing, spreading, infecting each limb and organ as time ticks by so that it has enveloped his entire form in torrid yearning for you the moment he’s off the clock.

The blood in his veins prickles, surges with each step that carries him closer to his lover, almost as if it’s attempting to escape, becoming fervent at the thought of being close to you.

The only reprieve to be found is when he sinks into your sweet cunt—ill-prepared, Sunday’s desperation casting a dense haze of lust over his brain; a sick pressure pressing against the walls of his skull, rendering logic incoherent and unnecessary, reducing him to something primal and salivating.

Delicate skin stretches, strains, splits as your body opens itself up for his cock, a soft hiss inhaled through the gaps of your teeth, jaw clenching with the action.

“I know, I know, I’m almost in,” he soothes, voice already gone hoarse from the way your body swallows him down, cunt gorging itself on his cock, cute little hole fluttering around his shaft as he bottoms out, almost as if it’s striving to suck him in further, draw him in deeper.

Greedy little thing.

He always allows himself a moment to bask in the feeling—to bask in the warmth of your body wrapped around his in the most intimate, complete sense: cockhead pressed snuggly to your cervix, your thighs embracing either side of his hips, your ankles instinctually linking behind his back in a possessive grip, heels digging into the dimples cushioning the base of his spine as they try to push him in more.

A sigh decompresses his chest, his body draping itself over yours as all of the trials and tribulations of the day seep from his pores, your cunt an automatic remedy, an instant rhapsody.

You’re drooling all over him, he can feel it—eager slick that pools around the base of his cock and streams down to puddle in the folds of his balls. It’s awe-inspiring, the way your body immediately reacts to his own—you’ve already soaked him, neatly trimmed silver curls dewy and glistening as they sop up your slick, and he’s done nothing more than fill you up with his flesh.

A moan pries its way past his lips, an involuntary reaction, his hips grinding down into you, smearing your arousal across his skin in a thick glaze. It’s slippery, his pelvis gliding against your body with fluid ease, pubic bone rolling over your swollen clit in slow, hard motions.

You’re murmuring something, pleads wadded up between your molars, gurgling on the back of your tongue as you burrow your face into his shoulder.

“Okay, okay, sweet girl,” he’s pacifying, the mattress dipping as his knees dig into it, bare palms running along your thighs in a smooth, tender caress.

Nimble fingers hook behind your knees, gently unlatching your legs from around his waist and pushing them up, up, up, until your thighs are on either side of your torso and your heels are resting on his shoulders.

And then, he begins.

There’s no gradual build up, no anticipation or teasing—neither of you have the patience or restraint for that; not tonight, not ever—and his pace is ruthless right from the start, his thrusts kept quick and deep as his hips piston into you.

The harmony of wet, sticky slaps fills the room, intertwined with your little whines and his husky growls as his balls, thoroughly drenched in your essence, smack against your ass, a sordid metronome.

Sugar-stained breath wafts across your face in dense pants as his body shrouds yours again, crushing your thighs between heaving chests, the tops of your toes curling around the nape of his neck. The mattress dents further beneath his knees, strong muscles flexing as his rutting accelerates, the head of his cock grinding against your g-spot in harsh, shallow jabs.

His name oozes from your lips, thick and lazy and swathed in spit, bastardized by his motions into a single syllable, your tongue never quite able to get the word out. It sounds like you’re drowning in it, almost, a precious garble of Sun-Su-Da-ay collecting at the back of your throat, sliced to pieces by pleasure.

Lashes fluttering against drowsiness, your head raises off the pillow, yearning to string a smattering of sloppy kisses along his jawline. Sunday hums, head quirking to the side and presenting to you his stretched neck, a silent request for more.

And you obey, like the perfect little angel you are, tongue following the curve of his neck in one smooth, flat, fluid brush—from the hinge of his jaw to the protruding knob of his collarbone. It gleams in the dim light and you sigh a little, proud of your work. He looks so pretty painted in strokes of you.

Soft lips follow the path of saliva back up his throat, sealing yourself into his skin and giggling sleepily at the quivery little whine your motions evoke, Sunday nestling clumsily into your kiss.

Silver-blue tufts cling to his temples and his forehead, plastered with sweat into defined points, his sunset eyes gone dark and glimmering, framed by heavy lids drooping beneath the combined weight of exhaustion and ecstasy.

Despite the fatigue of the day, of his duties and obligations, he’s still absolutely ethereal, glowing in the radiance of your combined love, reinvigorated bit by bit with every sound he manages to tug from your throat—precious little moans and broken little gasps that he breathes in, gulps down, devours in time with the pumping of his hips.

They’re traded in exchange for sounds of his own, quiet whimpers and soft grunts exhaled onto your waiting, wanting tongue with every plunge of his cock. The appendage curls, hugging the sounds, melting them in the heat of your mouth and steeping your tastebuds with him before it darts back out again, tip lapping ravenously at his parted lips—tracing along his cupid’s bow, licking at the edges of his teeth, teasingly brushing the point of his own tongue, enticing it to come out and play.

That earns you a chuckle, something wispy and warm spilling down your throat, genuine amusement molding his mouth into an open grin.

He gives you what you want, tongue lolling out from between spit-slicked lips—an offering to you, and one you take gladly, greedily, suckling it into your scorching mouth to wreathe your own tongue around it in a slippery embrace.

A shudder ripples through his flesh, muscles seizing, and he whines low and needy in his throat, the only warning you get before he’s surging forward, front teeth clacking against your own, pinched lips splitting between sharp enamel.

Copper floods his mouth, tangy and pungent, but it does not deter him, his own tongue charging at yours with such force you nearly choke on it. You swear he’s attempting to lick down your throat, tongue jammed at the back of your mouth and sweeping across it, as if it’s desperate to venture deeper.

His breath his hot against your face, ragged pants exhaled through his nostrils beading on your cheeks and upper lip. The snapping of his hips has turned vicious, voracious, fucking into you in time with his tongue, stuffing you full from both ends.

It’s a divine sensation, being so filled up with Sunday—whole, right, one, like you were incomplete before this moment, and will be incomplete after he’s gone, something vital missing—and you keep trying to siphon him in further, throat constricting as it swallows around the tip of his tongue.

He wants to give you more, front lips mashed between sharp incisors as his mouth shoves forward, another spritz of blood—yours, his, doesn’t matter—smearing across chins, sticky and watered down with saliva, a pale pink glaze.

But his lungs are burning, huffs of breath tangling together within your conjoined mouths and scarfing down each other’s air, coughing around your lover’s exhales while oxygen slowly but steadily dissipates.

He breaks apart with a discontented whine of his own, clammy forehead resting against yours as you each gulp down air, stuttered and wheezing. Wrecked, raw little noises spill into the space between your lips, continuously shattering your attempted inhales, fucked from your chests with the wild bucking of his hips.

Rapture has been building within the both of you, brought closer and closer by each drive of his cock, each drag over that swollen spot deep within you, each teasing drift of your clit over his skin, his thrusts turned jerky and desperate as he chases that bliss, as he endeavours to deliver it to you.

“Please,” you’re begging for it, the one thing only he can give you, a single piece of heaven, of him, carved from his soul and gifted to you every night. “Please, Daddy, please, please—”

He’s nodding against you in short, swift motions, forehead grinding into your own, his tongue laving messily at your lips, as if attempting to sop up the remnants of your moans.

“I love you,” he manages to gasp out, rhythm never faltering, each ram into you harder and faster than the last. “I love you, I love you, I—a-ah—”

Hot cream fills your cunt suddenly, his cock throbbing almost viciously as it spurts endless loads of cum into you—so much, too much; your little womb can’t nearly take it all, stuffed and bulging before finally overflowing with his seed, thickly dribbling past the tight seal of his cock to gather in the ridges of the sheets, little rivers of silky white slowly seeping into crisp linen.

He always cums quick during these nightly rituals; you both do, too eager to have one another—a piece of one another—buried within you, or sheathing hard flesh and soaking into it, saturating it with your essence.

But it doesn’t stop there, because you can’t, because it is not and never will be quite enough to satisfy the ravenous craving you each harbour for one another. His hips don’t still, won’t still, not even after he’s emptied his balls into you and milked himself dry, jolting in erratic, juddering motions.

Your own pelvis rolls up in lazy ruts and sloppy circles, half-baked sounds of pleasure drivelling from the corner of your mouth with sleepy spit. Sunday has since collapsed on top of you, his weight pleasant and grounding, his breath a humid constant against your sticky skin. His palms outline the contours of your body as his hips rock, fingers sinking into plush flesh to knead and grope in appreciation. Delicate vessels snap beneath his grip, tissues flooded with navy and violet, leaving a smattering of fingerprints seared into your flesh.

You fuck until you’re both layered in sweat and slick, bodies gliding together effortlessly in smooth, wet movements, skin shimmering with one another beneath beams of silver. You fuck until your cunt is raw and puffy, chafed from the ceaseless rubbing, until you’re both sucking in hisses and jittering out strained whines from the shocks of overstimulation, routinely coursing through your frames in thick electric waves.

You fuck until you’re both too exhausted to continue, pathetic humping slowing to something tender and sporadic before it finally halts completely, Sunday still buried to the hilt, and you fall asleep stained with each other—you in his sweat and his breath and his fractured, hummed out moans; him in your cunt with evidence of your conjoined arousal glazing his pelvis and his thighs and his balls, sticky sweet like syrup.

It is the most blissful heaven either of you could ever dream of, nothing more pure than the ecstasy of entering sweet dreams submerged in one another, saturated with one another, bodies stitched together into a singular, perfect entity, breathing and being as one.

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