#and for him to be humiliated one more time

[pixeld0ll]

Tear you apart

tags: sukuna x fem! reader, nsfw, mdni, trueform!sukuna, degradation, size kink, humiliation, they both freaky idk

an: HIIII this is my first fic in like 4 years so please bear with me!! huge huge shoutout to @cinnamorollcrybaby for inspiring me to start writing again, ur the bomb.com <3 i hope u all enjoy!!

words: 8.4k

It’s your third year at Jujutsu High, and the urge to summon Sukuna gnaws at you day and night. Ever since you first heard about the King of Curses, a part of you has been… intrigued by the four-armed, two-faced legend.

You still remember the day Maki told you about him, after teasing you for knowing so little about the world of curses. Your face flushed in embarrassment as you grabbed a strand of your hair, twisting it in your fingers—a nervous habit.

“Alright, newbie,” Maki had said, her face shifting to something more serious. “Ryomen Sukuna is known as ‘The King of Curses.’ According to dumbass Gojo, he looks mostly human—aside from having four arms, two faces, two sets of eyes. Fucking—seven feet tall or something like that.” She paused, picking up her cursed tool to sharpen it.

“He ruled in the Heian era, like, a thousand years ago. He’s the definition of pure evil. Killed thousands—maybe millions. No one fully understands his technique. He could rival Gojo, honestly.”

Your eyes had gone wide. How had no one ever told you this?

“Eventually, they defeated him—or sealed him or whatever. The story gets fuzzy,” Maki continued, placing her blade down and removing her glasses to clean them with the hem of her shirt.

“His twenty fingers were cut off and scattered. Jujutsu High has a few. Some are used to attract cursed spirits, and of course, some are in the hands of curses themselves.”

You swallowed hard, trying to picture Sukuna in your mind. Would he be grotesque, like the curses you fought on missions? Or would his ‘human’ form make him... a little sexy?

You couldn't lie—seven feet tall made your ears perk.

What the hell? You shook your head. You can’t be thinking like that. A sorcerer shouldn’t wonder if a curse is hot. They’re curses. They must be exorcised.

“…Is it possible for him to come back?” you asked quietly, half-hoping the answer was yes.

“Oh yeah,” Maki said, and your eyes widened further. You weren’t expecting that. She chuckled at your expression. “You’re cute. Your first time fighting a special grade’s gonna be fun. But yeah—two ways Sukuna could come back. First, someone eats his fingers—becomes his vessel. The second? You don’t summon him exactly—you enter his domain. Not sure how that would work, or if it even can. I mean, who the hell would wanna find out?”

You laughed softly with her, opening your mouth to ask more—but were interrupted.

“Maki! Y/N!” Panda called from the top of the staircase. “Come inside! Gojo’s got a mission debrief!”

You and Maki exchanged a glance before standing and heading toward the large cursed corpse that awaited you. But your mind swirled with questions. You made a mental note to check the library after the mission—to learn more about him.

That obsession never left.

It grew. Festered. You tried to ignore it, to suppress the dirty impulses and morbid curiosity—but one day, it became too much. You gave in. Hours turned into weeks, scouring books, blogs, and old scrolls. Your room became a shrine of obsession—papers, texts, ancient diagrams… even a blog written by someone who claimed to have contacted Sukuna before. They said the summoning didn’t fully work, but symbols appeared, questions were answered, and something watched them.

And now… here you are.

Three years later.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor of your dorm, surrounded by red candles and ancient Heian-era symbols scrawled in your own blood. It hurt to collect—but the pain was nothing compared to the hunger to see him. To know him.

It’s well past midnight—close to 2 a.m.—and you've cast a veil to prevent any sorcerers from detecting your energy. You take a shaky breath, reach for the wooden box, and slowly open it. Inside rests a talisman-wrapped finger—one of his.

You bite your lip as you begin unwrapping the paper, whispering the chant you painstakingly pieced together from hundreds of texts:

"I seek the gate carved in sinew and stone, Where curse-born kings reign from bloodied throne. Let flesh wither, let truth distort, I step where the living hold no court."

"With eyes unblinking and heart laid bare, I cross the threshold—if I dare. By tooth, by nail, by cursed design, I enter the Shrine where Sukuna lies."

"Ryomen Sukuna, let the veil be torn. May my soul walk where gods are shorn."

"Open the gate. I offer my name."

"And enter now your cursed domain."

You place the unwrapped finger into a circle of blood and whisper your name into the dark.

Nothing happens.

Minutes pass.

Your eyes flutter open, disappointment filling your chest. Of course it didn’t work.

“I can’t believe I thought this would—”

Suddenly, a wave of nausea slams into you. The room spins. You stumble forward—but instead of grabbing your bedpost, your hand meets something horrifying: a pile of skulls. A river of thick, dark-red liquid flows beneath you.

You scream and jump back, hands clamping over your mouth.

“You dare to enter my domain,” a deep voice growls behind you, “and shriek like a brat—nearly louder than the thousands I’ve sliced in three. Bow before me, insolent fool… or I’ll do the same to you.”

You freeze. Your heart races as you slowly turn, legs trembling.

A figure looms behind a towering column, hidden mostly in shadow.

Four arms. More than seven feet tall. Colossal.

It’s him.

Your breath catches.

You remember something from that blog: Sukuna enjoys disobedience. Your survival instincts scream to kneel, to beg. But a darker part of you whispers: Keep going.

“…And what if I don’t?” you call out.

He steps forward, slow and deliberate, letting the blood-red light reveal his face.

“If you refuse,” he says with a sinister grin, “I’ll break your limbs, tear you apart, and feast on what’s left of your pitiful little body.”

He stands over you now, red eyes gleaming, drinking you in. His voice is cruel—yet somehow intoxicating.

“Don’t even think about running, little human. You’re nothing. A bug. A speck waiting to be crushed.” He leans in, towering above you. “So tell me—will you obey your king?”

You scan his body—your question from three years ago answered in full. Is he sexy? Hell yes.

Towering, muscled, with four arms that could break you in two. His robe clings just enough to reveal the outline of his powerful chest and abs. Four crimson eyes burn into you with heat and hunger.

You suppress every rational thought.

“I never said I wanted to run,” you whisper, locking eyes with him.

His brow raises, amused. “Oh? You have guts, insolent little thing.”

He steps forward again—closer now. So close his heat radiates against your skin. He leans down, lips nearly brushing your ear.

“You’re not afraid of me, eh?”

You gulp, trying not to tremble. “What if… what if I said I am afraid?” You look up. “And what if I said… I like that I’m afraid?”

He freezes for a moment—then smirks. A devilish, dangerous grin.

“Oh really?” he murmurs, voice low and sinful. “You like being afraid of me?”

You bite your lip, breath hitching. His massive body makes your knees weak. You stumble slightly, grabbing his bicep to steady yourself.

He growls at the touch.

“So what if I do?” you breathe, looking up at him through long lashes.

You step onto your toes, rising to meet his face. “What are you gonna do about it?”

Sukuna lets out a low, guttural chuckle—one that vibrates through the stone walls of his domain and sends a tremor down your spine.

“What am I going to do?” he repeats mockingly, his voice silk and poison wrapped into one. “You come crawling into my domain, bleeding for me, begging for my attention... and now you ask me what I’m going to do?”

His four hands move at once—two clasp behind his back again, composed and regal, while the others reach out. One wraps around your chin, lifting your face to meet his eyes, while the second hand trails slowly down your side, ghosting over your waist as if memorizing the shape of you.

“I could tear your soul apart and scatter it across the cursed realm,” he purrs, leaning close enough that you can feel the chill of his breath. “Or—” his eyes flicker, pupils thinning like a predator’s, “—I could reward your... dedication.”

His thumb strokes your lower lip, pressing just enough to make your breath hitch. His eyes scan your face like he's searching for the slightest twitch of fear, the tiniest crack in your bravado.

“You’ve been watching me. Studying me. Craving me.” His voice dips lower with each word. “Why?” It isn’t a request. It’s a command.

You swallow hard, feeling your heart thudding against your ribcage like a drum of war. You should lie. You should apologize. But the part of you that brought you here, that carved your own blood into summoning circles, speaks louder.

“I wanted to see if the stories were true,” you whisper, breathless. “If a curse could be beautiful. If danger could be divine.”

His smirk curves into something more dangerous, more unhinged.

“You think I’m beautiful?” he says with mock surprise. “How quaint. Humans and their need to romanticize their own destruction.”

Then, in one swift movement, he steps even closer. You’re practically caged now—his enormous frame casting a shadow over you, the air around him thick and humming with power.

“Let’s see if your devotion is more than words,” he growls. “Prove it.”

Your lips part, the words stuck in your throat. “How—”

“You summoned me,” he interrupts. “Now submit.”

One of his hands lifts, tracing a symbol in the air that glows briefly before disappearing. You feel your knees weaken again—not from fear this time, but from the raw, oppressive aura that crashes over you like a wave. It's overwhelming, like gravity has tripled in an instant. You nearly collapse again, but his hand steadies you by your hip.

He leans in, his voice a whisper against your skin:

“Worship your king.”

He watches you tremble, your breath shallow, your thighs pressed tight. Your silence only fuels the hunger in his eyes.

Then he angles down, lips grazing the shell of your ear, voice low, guttural, and cruelly sweet:

“God, you’re so fucking pathetic.”

You inhale sharply, body going still.

“Transporting yourself into my domain just to be used,” he growls. “You wanted this. Came crawling into the lion’s den just to be ruined, didn’t you?”

One of his hands snakes behind your neck, yanking you closer until your chest presses against his rock-solid torso. His other hand slides slowly, deliberately down your body—past your waist, to your hip, fingers flexing possessively.

“You want me to destroy you from the inside out. You want to be wrecked so badly that no other man will ever satisfy you again.”

His voice dips darker, each word dripping with venomous promise.

“You want to be fucked so hard you forget your name—but not mine. No. The only name you’ll ever remember is mine.”

He yanks your head back slightly to make you meet his eyes. All four of them burn with sadistic glee.

“Ryomen Sukuna. Say it.”

You do. Weakly. Breathless.

He chuckles.

“You want me to defile you—mark you so deeply you bleed my name. I’ll give it to you. I’ll ruin you.”

He leans in until your lips almost touch, his breath hot against your skin.

“I’ll fuck you until your voice breaks, until you’re sobbing, a drooling, trembling mess who can’t even beg properly. I’ll make you scream. I’ll make you bleed. I’ll own you.”

His hand tightens at your throat—not choking, but enough to make your head spin deliciously.

“When I’m done with you,” he snarls, “you’ll be nothing but flesh. A whimpering, broken toy that exists to please me. You’ll crave my touch like a curse.”

His thumb presses against your bottom lip, forcing it down.

“But you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You nod, barely able to breathe. Every part of you burns—fear, desire, the overwhelming thrill of submission.

“Yeah,” he hisses, grinning like the devil himself. “You would. You dirty, desperate little slut.”

He tilts his head, mock sympathy in his voice.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure it’s worth it. You’ll forget everything you were. Everything you wanted. The only word you’ll know...”

He leans in, brushing his lips against yours—barely.

“...is my name.”

Your breath stutters as his thumb slides down your chin, dragging it open until your lips part with a soft gasp. Sukuna hums, a low, vibrating sound in his throat that’s equal parts cruel and amused.

“So easy to break,” he murmurs, eyes devouring your expression. “And you want it. You want to be reduced to a whimpering little pet in my grasp. Filthy.”

His hand leaves your throat��just long enough to trail down your side, the weight of it scorching through your clothes like a brand. Four hands. Four points of contact. You barely register where he’s touching anymore, only that you're utterly surrounded by him. Caged.

“You’re trembling.” His voice is soft now. Dangerous. A hiss laced with anticipation. “Not from fear. Not entirely.”

You try to speak, but no words come. Sukuna notices. He always notices.

“Look at you,” he grins. “On the edge of reason. You’ve thought about this, haven’t you? For years. Dreamed of what I’d do to you. What it would feel like when I finally touched you.”

One hand grabs your jaw again, forcing you to meet his gaze. All four eyes bore into yours—two mocking, two ravenous.

“Thats right, I was aware every time you thought about me. I saw those dirty little fantasies late at night. Now you’re here. And I’m real. And I promise you this—when I’m done, you won’t want to go back.”

Your knees threaten to give out. His body is so close. Heat rolls off of him like steam from a fresh kill. You can smell the iron in the air, the faintest metallic tang of blood soaked into the stones beneath you. His domain is alive, pulsing—watching.

He steps closer still, and his lips hover a breath away from yours.

“You summoned me,” he whispers darkly. “You walked willingly into the lion’s jaws.”

He leans down, mouth brushing the corner of yours, just enough to make your head spin.

“Now beg,” he growls. “Beg to be devoured.”

And just as his mouth descends toward yours in a twisted parody of a kiss, the world around you goes darker—red lightning crackling through the shadows like veins, the temple stone beneath your feet pulsing with cursed energy. The air thickens, pressing against your skin like a second body. The veil between power and pleasure snaps taut.

Everything is trembling on the edge.

The moment before the storm.

The exact place you’d wanted to be.

You kiss him back with equal ferocity, matching his hunger beat for beat. His lower hands make quick work of your oversized t-shirt, claws slicing through the fabric like it’s nothing more than paper. The sudden tear and the rush of cool air against your bare skin draw a gasp from your lips—but he doesn’t waste the opportunity. His tongue slips into your mouth, skilled and unrelenting, claiming every inch as if he owns it. Which, in this moment, he does.

A helpless whimper escapes you, and the sound earns a guttural, possessive growl from deep in his chest. His upper hands find your breasts, easily engulfing them—his fingers rough, greedy, squeezing with a pressure that borders on painful. You arch into his touch even as you flinch, the sensation overwhelming in the most intoxicating way.

He breaks the kiss only to trail his mouth down the column of your throat, licking and biting with the same cruel precision he likely used to kill a thousand men. When he finds a particularly sensitive spot, you moan, voice hitching—and the smirk that spreads across his lips against your skin is unmistakable. He’s found your weakness, and now he plans to exploit it.

Without warning, sharp pain rips through your neck as his fangs sink into your flesh. Your eyes roll back, the coppery tang of your blood mixing with the heat of his breath. You cry out, instinctively reaching for him, fingers tangling in his hair in a desperate attempt to pull him away.

But Sukuna is far from done.

He growls again, grabbing both your wrists in one hand and forcing them behind your back with humiliating ease. The other hand holds you in place by the waist, and he laps at the blood trailing from your wound, his tongue slow and deliberate. Worshipful, in a twisted, terrifying way.

He doesn’t stop. He dives back in, sucking, biting, marking you over and over until your neck blossoms in deep reds and violent purples. A crown of bruises worn only by the damned.

You’re trembling now, not from fear—but from the unbearable rush of it all.

And Sukuna? He’s only just begun.

He reaches one of his lower hands between your thighs, brushing aside your pajama shorts with an effortless motion. With a flick of his wrist, he hooks a finger into the waistband of both your shorts and panties, tearing them apart like wet paper. The sound of fabric ripping echoes in the chamber, followed by the soft whisper of cloth hitting bone as your clothing falls to the ground in tatters.

With his other lower arm, he lifts you like you're weightless, hands gripping your waist with practiced strength—rough, yet with a frightening kind of care. Like a predator who doesn’t want to break the prey until the right moment. As he ascends the pile of skulls, you instinctively avoid looking down, unwilling to think about who they once were. You focus instead on him—on the sensation of his body pressed to yours, on the terrifying comfort of his grip.

His lips never leave your neck. His fangs, already stained with your blood, drag against your skin in a cruel promise. Your neck, once smooth, now blooms with dark marks—bruises, welts, cuts—a living canvas of his possession.

A sudden wave of shame crashes over you as the reality of what you’re doing sinks in. What would your fellow Jujutsu sorcerers think if they saw you like this? Marked by a curse—the curse. You feel the weight of your choices bearing down.

He feels it too.

Without a word, he hurls you onto his throne—a towering, jagged seat of bone and twisted steel, as brutal and imposing as its master. You hit the seat with a thud, breath stolen from your lungs, your body trembling with a mix of fear, guilt, and something darker.

A strong hand seizes your chin, tilting your face upward. You look into four burning eyes, full of scorn and amusement.

“Tch. Look at you,” he mutters. “Trembling like a leaf, after crawling into my domain on your own. I don’t let just anyone in here, you know.” His other hand cracks against your cheek with a sharp slap, the sting blooming instantly across your skin. “Well you're in luck. I've always wanted to defile a jujutsu sorcerer. Its just my luck a fucked up pretty little whore dropped in my lap.”

Tears spring to your eyes, not just from pain, but from the shame curling deep in your stomach.

“You really are pathetic, aren’t you?” he growls, voice low and dangerous. “Three years you spent digging into my legacy. Feeding your obsession. And here you are—just another filthy human slut desperate to be touched by something monstrous.”

He cages you in, all four arms braced on either side of you, his massive form casting you in shadow. You feel like prey. Trapped. Hunted. Your heart races.

“I can smell it, you know—the guilt,” he sneers. “But I can also smell the truth underneath it.”

He leans in close, his lips brushing your ear.

“You want them to know. All those little sorcerers you call friends—you want them to see the marks I leave on you. You want them to know who you belong to now. Don’t you, little whore?”

You freeze. The thought had crossed your mind once. Maybe more than once. But hearing it said aloud—so crudely, so accurately—makes your throat tighten.

“I asked you a question, whore.” His voice sharpens. “When your king speaks, you answer.”

You gulp, nodding.

He growls softly. “Ah, no. Not enough. I want words, not whimpers. So mouthy before, and now you cant even get a coherent sentence out. I havent even fucked you yet, how pathetic.

You look up into his eyes—terrified and trembling, but unable to lie to yourself anymore.

“Yes,” you whisper, voice cracking. “Yes… I want them to know I’m yours.”

He smiles—a twisted, triumphant expression that sends a chill down your spine.

“Good girl,” he says, lips curling back to bare his fangs. “Because from this moment on, you are.”

Suddenly, his grip tightens, and before you can process what’s happening, you feel a rush of pressure between your thighs — not one, not two, but three of his massive fingers drive into you without warning. The sudden stretch steals the breath from your lungs.

“You want it, do you?” His voice is a low growl, vibrating through your chest like thunder. “Then beg, pet. Beg for your king.”

Your words crumble into gasped half-sentences, muffled moans, and desperate little pleas as your body writhes helplessly in his hold, trying to match his rhythm. Every curl of his fingers makes your vision blur, the relentless pace driving you higher, faster.

“Oh, you can do better than that.” His voice darkens, almost mocking. “Beg for your king like the filthy little whore you are. Say it. Show me.”

His thumb finds your clit, pressing in tight circles that send shocks up your spine. Your back arches against him, mouth falling open with a sobbing moan.

“F-Fuck, please,” you choke out, barely coherent. “Please—please, I need it—need you—Sukuna, please—”

The moment his name falls from your lips, everything changes. He lets out a feral noise that’s somewhere between a snarl and a groan, and before you can even mourn the loss of his fingers, he buries his dick deep inside you with a savage thrust.

You cry out, not just from the stretch, but from the overwhelming sensation that follows — the heat, the fullness, the way your body clenches around him like it was made for this. Made for him.

His breath stutters against your skin. “Tight little thing,” he mutters, almost to himself. “You feel that, don’t you? How you fit around me so perfectly. It’s like you were always meant to be mine. God, you can fucking see my dick in your stomach.” he groans out. Its been so long since hed taken anyone like this; and though he’d never admit it to you, you’re the best pussy he’s ever had. 

You don’t even have time to answer. Your body moves on instinct, spasming around him as your climax hits you in a sudden, overwhelming wave. He holds you steady, one arm wrapping around your waist like a steel band, the other gripping your thigh as he starts to move — deep, slow, brutal.

“Already?” He chuckles darkly. “You must be a virgin Cumming so quickly… How precious.”

He leans forward, forcing you to meet his eyes — those four blazing orbs searing into your soul. “Look at you. Wrecked, ruined, and I’ve barely even started.”

One of his hands slides up, fingers wrapping around your throat — squeezing slightly to constrict your breathing slightly. “You’re mine now,” he says, tone calm but laced with threat. “Every breath you take. Every sound you make. Every time someone even thinks of touching you, they’ll see me in your eyes.”

You can barely think, barely speak, every nerve set alight as he starts to move again — unrelenting and commanding. All that’s left is the sound of your whimpers, the heat of his breath on your skin, and the terrifying, intoxicating truth:

You don’t want to be anywhere else.

“Mmf- s-sukuna-” you moan out, knees falling open as you completely submit, showing just how much he can use you. “Mm… let you do anything..” 

He stops his momentum immediately, making you actually tear up, missing his dick pressing against your cervix, hitting the right spots every time. 

“What the fuck did you just say?” his eyes flash, sadistic smirk forming across his face. One of his hands grips your chin harshly, and he spits, spits, in your face. “Say. that. Again.” 

You gasp, his saliva trailing down your cheek. You gulp before responding quietly. “I’d let you do anything you want to me.” your voice is slurred with pleasure slightly, and you swear his eyes glow red when the words leave your lips. 

He drops your chin and shoves you down, hooking your legs around his waist. 

“You innocent, little thing. You have no idea what you’ve done.” he purrs in your ear. 

“I’m going to fucking tear you apart.” 

Suddenly his mouth is on your breasts, biting and sucking, and he resumes his cruel thrusting pace, making you scream out in surprise. He grabs a nipple into his mouth, biting down on the taut bud just enough to send jolts of pain and pleasure through your body. His hand grips your other breast, rolling your the nipple between his large fingers and pinching. 

He looks up at you, mouth still moving on your breasts, and he actually has to close his eyes to keep himself from cumming. 

Your head is lolled to the side, eyes dazed and rolled back. You’re flushed and sweaty, hair sticking to your forehead, mouth open as actual drool dribbles out. 

His marks completely cover your body, and he absolutely knows there is no way of covering them up. You look like you're in pure ecstasy, and he engranes the image in his mind to use at a later date. 

Another orgasm pours over you, and Sukuna lets out an animalistic growl as you squeeze around his dick. 

“Fuck- tightest little cunt- god, I can’t wait to fucking fill you up.” 

You moan at his words, and he continues fucking into you roughly, finally releasing your neck as finger-shaped bruises begin to form. He holds your hips down, bringing another hand to your clit, flicking at rubbing it harshly.  

A third orgasm crashes over you, catching even you off guard. Sukuna barks out a yell, sinking his teeth back into your neck as he makes four deep thrusts, your constricting walls finally breaking him. He growls and falls against you, spurting load after load of hot, sticky cum deep in your cunt. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream, feeling him fill you to the brim. 

For a moment, the only sound that lingers in the heavy air is the ragged rise and fall of your breathing, tangled with his own. Sukuna releases your wrists, and to your surprise, his movements shift — not harsh, not greedy. He pulls out of you with an almost reverent slowness, your body still trembling from the aftermath.

You whimper instinctively, still aching, still stretched far beyond your limits. His deep, throaty chuckle rumbles through the chamber as he watches you tighten around the emptiness he left behind.

“There, there, little girl,” he murmurs, brushing a damp strand of hair from your cheek with unexpected tenderness. His clawed fingers trail your jaw, soft for the first time. “You got what you wished for.”

Through your half-lidded eyes, you catch the faintest hint of something new tugging at the corners of his mouth. Not smugness. Not triumph. Something quieter. Older.

A single, large hand cups your cheek, his thumb swiping gently beneath your eye. “Sleep now, pet,” he says, voice low and velvety. “Perhaps I’ll grant you another visit.”

The world goes dark not with fear, but with surrender.

Sunlight filters through the narrow cracks in your curtains, speckling your room in faint gold. You blink against the light, breath catching as memories rush in—vivid, violent, visceral.

You jolt upright and immediately regret it, pain flaring through every muscle. So it was real...

Gingerly, you swing your legs off the bed, feeling your thighs protest every movement. Every step toward your vanity is a struggle—your body marked, exhausted, claimed.

And when you catch your reflection, you freeze.

Your neck and chest are a canvas of bruises, deep purples blooming across pale skin like morbid blossoms. Small bandages pepper your body—tucked neatly over teeth marks, scratches, and raw places only he could’ve reached. You stare, wide-eyed, as a blush rises to your cheeks.

Did the King of Curses… bandage you?

Your hand comes up to touch one of them, and something twists in your chest. Not fear. Not shame.

Possession.

A flicker in the mirror draws your attention. For a brief second—too fast to be certain—you swear you see four crimson eyes watching from the shadows behind you. A whisper of heat coils at the base of your spine.

Then it’s gone.

But you know better now.

This isn’t over.

You had opened a door. And Sukuna… would never lets his plaything close it again.

[wonubby]

obsessed - k! bakugo

1. make sure katsuki leaves the house in a questionable state

synopsis - despite knowing you've successfully bagged katsuki bakugou, aka pro hero dynamight, his fans are still shipping him with his ex. so what's a better way to claim him than leaving little trails of your love on him? specifically, his body.

warnings – 17+ only, slightly suggestive, not that much, swearing, kinda humiliation, reports being disgusting

prev - masterlist - next

it wasn't normal for katsuki to be late for work. at only twenty-six years old, he managed to follow a strict schedule every day for the past five years. so yes, it was odd to kirishima when he suddenly decided to be late, especially on the day of an important meeting with well-known news reporters.

unbeknownst to him, katsuki was a little busy.

and by busy, he was making out with his hot fiancée, who had suddenly pounced on him.

"c'mon, baby, you know i need to go," he mumbled between kisses, making no action to move away. in fact, his hands on your waist pulled you even closer.

smirking into the kiss, you pulled away, nudging his collar down slightly to suck and nibble onto his neck. "mm, but katsu." a groan left him at your tone. "you do these meetings every month. just miss it and stay with me." you mumbled against his neck, a dark blotch forming on the sensitive skin.

"ya' know, i can't. fuck- you gotta let me go, doll."

his words only enabled you more, pushing his body onto the couch, straddling his waist. "you, don't need to be anywhere but here. you hear me?" slowly connecting your lips with his again, you push your hips down, clothed clit catching onto his growing bulge.

a whiny moan escaped his lips at the sudden attack, instantly being swallowed with your swollen ones. it didn't take long for him to feed into your persuasions, not that he could resist anyway.

"look at you, being all submissive under me just cause i rubbed myself on your dick a few times. whos the pathetic one now, huh?" you provoked. katsuki knew what you were doing, and those words just egged him on further.

growling into your lips, he flipped you over. your back was now against the soft pillows of the couch, with him on top of you, grinding into you even harder.

bzz!! bzz!!

the sound of his phone buzzing broke his trance. instantly pulling himself away from your compelling body, he turned his attention onto his phone.

kirishima.

his brain had been fogged with kisses and dry sex, and, until now, the meeting was long forgotten. cursing, he quickly fumbled to fix his state, not caring or even realising he had lipstick smudged against his lips and a new hickey proudly forming on his Adam's apple and that his hair was wrecked.

"you fucking minx, you really tried to make me late, didn't ya'?" he groaned, directing his glare from his phone to you.

that sly smirk made its way onto your face once more, leaning up to sit on your knees, your hands resting on his thighs. "well it worked, didn't it? you're still here, and you need to be at the meeting in 15 mins." a hand slowly trailed up, rubbing onto his bulge.

"shut the fuck up; i'll deal with you later." katsuki quickly swatted your hands away, cheeks flushed and brain, once again, slowing. he continued his journey to the door, quickly turning around to give you a pointed look. one that said, 'this aint over,' before walking out.

proud, you sat back onto your heels, a smug look on your face.

'and now we wait.'

it didn't take long for katsuki to reach the hall. he had practically flown himself over, with a few clips and photos of him soaring through the air already posted on social media platforms. some even claiming they saw him come out from amira's house.

absolute bullshit.

izuku was the first one to notice him, gasping at his appearance and nudging shoto to take a look.

"er, kacchan... are you okay?" izuku mumbled, worried by the state of his childhood friend.

raising an eyebrow in a menacing way, he slowly turned towards the green-haired male. "the fuck's that supposed to mean, deku? ya' callin' me ugly?" katsuki gruffed, narrowing his eyes at him.

"no! of course not its just, um–"

before the boy could get his sentence out, the producer called the group forward, nudging them to get out and sit in front of the public.

one by one, the boys and girls were called forward, each getting their own introduction and speech. finally came katsuki's turn. he stepped out into the air, expecting a loud cheer as usual. instead, he was met with quiet gasps and hushed whispers. he couldn't help but be confused but kept his confident facade up, walking to his seat.

you, on the other hand, were grinning like the cheshire cat. not only had you managed to send him out a mess, but he didn't even notice!

there he was, sitting in his chair, manspreading. his hand slightly veiny and twitchy, lips bruised and decorated with light gloss and hair ruffled. oh, and the hickey.

he was beautiful, at least in your eyes. the public were half convinced he'd walked out of a porno and stopped to show up to a live interview. which... was half true!

questions came and went for the heroes, none particularly standing out to katsuki, well, at least until they started asking about his appearance.

"dynamight, this one's for you!" katsuki perked up in his seat, scowl evident on his face.

"go ahead," another grunt.

with a slow gulp, the reporter stood, hands shaking. "so, as you can tell, your appearance isn't quite the best. can you elaborate on maybe what or who you were doing before you got here?" the question made katsuki's head snap, glaring at the reporter.

'the fuck did he just say to me?'

quiet chuckles could be heard from the left side of the room. "what the hell are you two laughing at? huh, dunce face?"

"i mean, sorry, man, but turning up to an interview looking like you just filmed a sex gimmick is insane. you got that afterglow and everything." denki snickerd and katsuki stilled.

'sex gimmick...?'

the scene was so comical, you could almost see the cogs in his head turning. his mind flashed back to 30 minutes prior, the way you were on him, the grinding, the kissing, the – shit.

letting out a scoff, katsuki covered up his shock with a snide remark. "yeah, well, at least you all know how good i'm getting it."

jirou and mina were doubled over laughing, izuku spat out his water, and ochako looked as if she could pass out.

the reporter deadpanned, asking another question straight away. "well, mr dynamight, how do you feel knowing you've outed yourself like this to the public, and who exactly did this to you?" what a stupid fucking question.

"what kinda question is that? tch, of course my fi-" reminding himself that your updated relationship status wasn't known to the public yet, he corrected himself. "my fucking girlfriend did this to me. who else would? and i don't give a fuck about my sex life being outright known to the public," he said, nonchalantly.

"there have been many rumours that you and your ex part-"

"next, i dont have time for this shit. It's a hero interview, not an interview on my personal life." he dismissed the reporter in a second, moving to a new topic, as someone else had asked shoto about his father.

however, you sat there, a small smirk on your face, clenching your thighs at the sight of your man.

'he is totally getting some tonight!'

© 2025 wonubby— All rights reserved. Please don't post my work as your own on any other sites.

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[jinjoohaa]

Room for one more?

Pairing - JJK Men x reader

CW: dubcon themes, degradation, humiliation, group sex, oral (m & f receiving), cum play, overstimulation, orgasm denial,rough language, spanking,multiple penetrations (implied). Reader is submissive, naive, and overwhelmed. Minors DNI. 18+ content.

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Chapter 18

You barely had time to wipe your chin before the next dare came.

“Strip,” Toji said gruffly, eyes narrowed. “Completely. But keep that red slap-marked ass in view. I’m not done lookin’ at it.”

You obeyed shakily—peeling off the remnants of lingerie, already soaked. Your body trembled as you knelt there, nude, thighs glistening. The air felt cold on your flushed skin, but the four of them made it feel even hotter.

“Spin again,” Gojo said casually, twirling the bottle with one lazy finger.

It pointed to himself.

“Oooh,” he smirked. “Guess it’s my lucky night.”

“Truth or dare?” Nanami asked, though his voice was tight. He didn’t like the game anymore. But he wasn’t stopping it, either.

“Dare,” Gojo grinned. “Obviously.”

Geto leaned in with a glint in his eye. “I dare you to hump her. Naked. But no cumming. You stay hard and frustrated till the next round.”

Gojo's cock twitched in his sweats.

“Bet,” he smirked, stripping in seconds. “Get on your back, baby.”

You obeyed, trembling, lying flat with your knees parted. Gojo hovered above you like a tease in a fever dream, his heavy cock dragging between your folds—but never pushing in.

“Let’s make it fun,” he whispered.

He lined himself up… and started grinding.

Not fucking—just rubbing.

His slick tip nudged your clit, slid between your folds, tapped against your entrance again and again without breaching it. You were squirming in seconds, trying to lift your hips, desperate for more.

“Nope,” he grinned. “You take what I give you.”

He rolled his hips slow and deep, pushing his shaft along your soaked slit, cock teasing every nerve ending.

“Feel that?” he murmured. “That’s how close you are to getting fucked… and I’m still not giving it to you.”

You whimpered.

“Beg me."

You blinked up at him, lips trembling. “P-please…”

“Please what?”

“Please—need you—”

“No.”

He leaned down and kissed your cheek sweetly.

“Next dare.”

The bottle spun. Landed on Nanami again.

This time, Geto smirked. “Dare you to lie on your back. And let her ride your face.”

Nanami’s eyes widened. He tried to stand. “This is getting ridiculous—”

Gojo’s hand landed on his shoulder.

“Oh, come on. Don’t act like you’re innocent. You had your cock down her throat not ten minutes ago.”

Nanami’s jaw tightened. But he didn’t leave.

Instead, he lay down. A few buttons of his shirt were already undone. His hands rested at his sides.

Geto guided you over.

You blushed hard, trembling. “I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” Nanami said quietly. “Just sit. Don’t worry.”

You hovered above his face, shaking.

Then slowly—shamefully—you lowered your soaked cunt onto his mouth.

His hands found your thighs immediately.

Then—his tongue.

“Oh god—” you gasped.

He licked with control, with purpose. No teasing. No games. Just slow, intense strokes of his tongue that made your toes curl and your vision go white.

Toji groaned. “She looks good like that.”

Geto leaned over, palming his cock. “Ride him, baby. Grind on his face. Use him.”

You whimpered.

Nanami groaned beneath you—his mouth now locked around your clit. You couldn't help it—your hips started to move on their own. Grinding. Rolling.

You were whining, breathless, humping his face like a needy thing.

“Good girl,” Gojo purred. “Making a mess on our gentleman.”

Nanami sucked your clit harshly. You came. Hard.

Your body seized, thighs clenched around his face. You collapsed off him moments later, gasping, the room spinning.

“She's gonna pass out at this rate,” Toji snorted, but his cock was fully hard, bobbing with every breath.

“Spin again,” Gojo said.

It landed on Toji.

“Truth or dare?” you asked breathlessly.

He grinned. “Dare.”

Geto leaned in. “Sit behind her. Spread her legs. And jerk yourself off while playing with her cunt.”

You gasped. Toji was already moving—settling behind you like a wolf. His broad chest pressed to your back, thick fingers reaching between your thighs.

“Open ‘em,” he growled.

You obeyed.

He spread you open—two fingers rubbing your folds with rough circles, wetting them with your slick. Meanwhile, his other hand stroked his cock, the heavy weight of it brushing your back.

“You hear that?” he murmured into your ear, fingers slicking over your clit.

Wet. Sticky. Lewd.

“That’s the sound of a little slut who loves being passed around.”

You moaned, helpless.

His grip on your clit tightened, pinching.

You choked on a cry. “T-Toji—!”

“Say thank you.”

“Th-thank you—”

His strokes slowed. “You wanna cum?”

You nodded furiously. He let go.

You cried out, trembling.

“Too bad. Next round."

You were still trembling from Toji’s cruel denial when Gojo snapped his fingers.

“Geto. Spin.”

The bottle swirled — stopped on you.

Your stomach flipped.

“Truth,” you whispered shakily.

“Good girl,” Geto cooed. He leaned forward, dark eyes lidded with heat. “Tell us the truth. Whose cock do you think about the most when you’re alone?”

You froze. Mouth dry. Eyes darting between them.

Gojo grinned like the devil. Nanami avoided your gaze. Toji’s jaw ticked.

You swallowed. “…I... Please, another question,”you whined.

Gojo huffed. “Okay. Dare then.”

“I didn’t spin—”

“Too late.” His eyes gleamed. “I dare you to sit on your knees, open your mouth, and let all of us use it. One by one. No breaks. You only stop when you’re full.”

Your breath caught. “G-Gojo—”

"The fuck is wrong with y—” Nanami snapped but gojo counters, "Stop killing the mood Mr. Perfect."

Then he turned to you. “C’mon, sweetheart. Be good. You know how this game works.”

Toji grabbed your hair gently and tugged you forward. “You gonna make us wait?”

You sank to your knees.

Heart hammering. Mouth open.

Toji stepped forward first, cock thick and dripping with pre-cum. He tapped the tip against your lips, then pushed inside — deep, heavy, hot. Your mouth stretched wide.

“That’s it,” he groaned. “Mouth made for cock.”

You moaned around him, tears pricking your eyes as he thrust slowly, filling your throat.

“Look at her,” Geto muttered. “Taking him so well.”

Toji withdrew after a while with a pop, wiping your chin with his thumb.

“Next.”

Nanami came forward, slower. More hesitant.

He cupped your cheek. “You’re okay, baby? Can i?” he asked softly, voice low.

You nodded quickly, tongue out.

He fed you his cock with trembling restraint — not too deep, not too fast. But when your tongue flicked over the underside, he hissed.

“God—she doesn’t even know what she’s doing.”

“She’s learning,” Geto said silkily, palming himself.

Gojo crouched next to you. “She’s not gonna last another round.”

“She doesn’t have to,” Geto said. “I dare her next.”

Gojo’s brows lifted. “You already know what you want?”

Geto leaned in, hand in your hair. “I dare you to lay down and let us take turns eating you out. No breaks. One mouth after another until you beg us to stop.”

You gasped, eyes wide. “B-but—”

He kissed your forehead. “But nothing.”

They laid you back on the couch like a sacrificial offering — legs wide, thighs trembling. Toji came first again, licking you open like he was starving. His stubble burned. His tongue was brutal.

You cried out, writhing, too close too fast.

When he pulled back, you were already begging.

But Nanami replaced him without pause.

His tongue was slower — deliberate — dragging long strokes from your clit to your entrance, tasting everything. He moaned low against you.

“Sweet girl,” he murmured, “you’ve been through so much already.”

Then his mouth locked around your clit and your back arched in shock.

“Ah—ah—please—Nanami, I can’t—S' too good!”

Geto followed.

He held your thighs down, licking your folds like he was mapping every nerve. He teased, dipped his tongue just barely inside, flicked your clit gently while watching you sob.

“You gonna break for me?” he whispered.

“Y-Yes—!”

Gojo ended it.

He didn’t hold you down.

He didn’t tease.

He dove in with obscene slurping sounds and no shame, mouthing you like a man obsessed, tongue fucking you while rubbing your nipples just barely with a slick fingertip.

You screamed.

Your climax shattered you — body locked, toes curled, juices running down your thighs and into Gojo’s mouth. He moaned like he was the one cumming.

“Please—nghh—please—” you sobbed.

But they weren’t done.

Geto pulled you onto his lap.

“You’re gonna warm me,” he said simply. “While the others take turns touching you.”

You blinked. “That's—too—”

He slid in.

You were soaked — wrecked — body shaking. He filled you all the way, held you down on his cock, made you stay.

“Just sit. Stay warm,” he murmured. “That’s it.”

Nanami sat beside you.

Gojo leaned on the other side.

Toji knelt between your legs again.

“Let’s play a game,” Gojo whispered. “We each touch her somewhere.”

He rolled your nipple between two fingers. “I get tits.”

Nanami sighed. "I'll just —just kiss her."

Toji spread your legs. “I get cunt.”

You whined, pinned in every way, Geto’s cock throbbing inside you while three men drove you toward another edge.

“Sensitive?” Nanami asked as you moaned into his kiss.

Toji pinched your clit. You jerked.

Gojo sucked a nipple into his mouth.

Geto flexed his hips just once.

You were a mess.

Eyes rolling.

Crying. Shaking. Clenching around Geto, soaking him.

He groaned. “That’s it, baby. Let them all see how ruined you are.”

Gojo blew cool air over your wet nipples, watching them pebble under his touch. “Not yet.”

“Not yet,” Geto echoed, thrusting up once, his cock massaging your inner walls with slow, punishing pressure.

You whimpered, twitching in his lap, unable to do anything but take it.

Nanami lowered his mouth to your breast, sucking the sensitive skin around your nipple until you keened. His tongue lashed softly before he bit—just enough to leave a mark. You bucked in Geto’s lap, overwhelmed.

“She’s going to cum,” Geto murmured.

“Again?” Gojo said again, cruelly. “She's so frikkin easy.”

Toji moved from between your legs and took your wrists, holding them above your head while Gojo rolled your nipples between his fingers, pinching, teasing. Nanami kissed your ribs, your neck, every soft part of you that shook.

“You’re not allowed to cum,” Gojo whispered against your ear. “You hold it.”

“But—but—I need,” you gasped, thighs twitching as Geto started rolling slow, thick thrusts up into you again.

“No cumming until we say,” Nanami warned.

Geto growled. “Clench like that again and I’ll paint your insides.”

You sobbed. Your whole body was one raw nerve.

Toji kissed you, biting your bottom lip. “You love this.”

“I—I—”

“She loves being our toy,” Gojo hissed. “Can’t say no. Can’t stop. She’ll cum all over us and cry about it.”

Geto thrust up again. You came again. Hard.

Without permission.

You screamed, clenching around him, body locking. A second orgasm, worse than the first, racked through your frame.

“Fuck—she came,” Geto moaned, holding you down.

“She broke the rule,” Gojo sing-songed.

Toji tsked. “You know what that means.”

You blinked through tears. “I-I’m sorry—”

“Uh uh. No mercy now.”

Gojo pulled you off Geto’s lap, ignoring your whimper as his cock slipped out, your pussy leaking down.

“I dare you,” Gojo said, “to take all four of us. One after the other. Every hole.”

Your breath stuttered. “I—”

“She’s going to pass out,” Nanami muttered.

“Then we’ll tuck her in after,” Gojo smiled, stripping the rest of his clothes off. “But not before she gives us every last drop.”

Toji stroked himself slowly. “Who gets her mouth first?”

“I do,” Gojo said.

And they took you.

One by one.

Gojo fed you his cock while Nanami played with your tits. Geto slid inside your ruined pussy again, groaning at the way you tightened despite exhaustion.

Toji watched.

Then took his turn.

Every touch was overwhelming. Every kiss was filthy. Every praise turned into a demand, every moan a command. You sobbed through your third orgasm, your fourth, twitching helplessly in overstimulation.

“Good girl.”

“So fucking pretty when she cries.”

“She’s gonna pass out soon.”

“Let her.”

Your eyes fluttered, mouth full, body trembling, holes stuffed and stretched.

And then you went still.

You collapsed, limp, barely conscious.

You drifted off in someone's arms — you didn't even know whose. They were all touching you. Holding you. Kissing you. Cuddling you.

You woke the next morning in the middle of the bed. Naked. Sore.

Four bodies around you.

Protective. Sprawled. Asleep.

You couldn’t move.

You didn’t want to.

And you didn’t regret a thing.

to be continued in the next chapter. . . .

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[submattsmxmmy]

roughdom!stepbro!chris x brattysub!stepsister!reader

🖤 content warning: 🖤 smut, stepsibling kink, f!masturbation, getting caught, praise, degradation/humiliation, rough fucking, squirting

🖤 summary: 🖤 chris finds out you've been withholding some information from him, and he teaches you a little lesson about what happens when you make him feel emasculated

hiiii it's @ariestrxsh ! dropping this on my second account for the controversial content. if you don't fw stepcest, don't read this !

dividers by @/strangergraphics

holdyourbreath

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | (ongoing)

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It was a late summer night, and Chris had just shuffled through the front door after fiddling with his housekey, his basketball tucked under one arm. He lazily kicked off his Nikes near the entrance, leaving them in an inconvenient spot in the middle of the walkway like he frequently did.

He mindlessly left his keys on the kitchen counter where he'd forget he put them the next morning when he'd go to leave the house. He ran his fingers through his messy, grown out hair as he ascended the stairs, his tank top clinging to his sweat-covered chest.

He made his way down the hall, tossing his basketball into his bedroom before he trailed back down to the other end where the bathroom was. The door was shut, the light was on, and the shower was already running, every indication that it was already in use, but he entered anyway.

You were so busy with your dildo that was suction cupped to the shower wall that you didn't hear him come in, but he definitely heard you. You sank back onto the silicone that filled you to the hilt, your moans spilling out of you as it hit your pleasure spot.

"Hey sis. Havin' fun without me?" Chris' voice startled you, pulling you out of your fantasies that were, coincidentally, all about him.

You quickly threw your hand over your mouth, silencing your whimpers. You paused your movements, leaning back onto the dildo so it was completely hidden inside of you. Chris laughed on the other side of the curtain, pulling off his clothes and stripping down to his boxers. "Hello? Anybody in there?"

"Chris! What the hell are you doing in here?" You frantically asked, freezing like a deer in the headlights.

"You tell me what you're doin' in here first," he smirked, pulling back your shower curtain. His gaze narrowed in suspicion when he saw you nervously standing with your back against the shower wall. "What? You don't want my help?" He asked, giving you a puzzled look.

It wasn't like you to shoo him out of your shower and turn down his offer for sex. "I-I just wasn't expecting you home so soon," you managed to spit out after a moment of hesitation.

"What? Why you actin' weird?" He wondered aloud. You swallowed the lump in your throat, trying to figure out what to say.

It's not necessarily that you were embarrassed or that you didn't want Chris to know you were using a dildo. It was more about the size of it. Chris had casually mentioned a few times that he didn't mind you owning sex toys, but he did mind you owning sex toys that made his dick look small in comparison, and you knew he'd be less than thrilled to see a nine-inch silicone cock sticking to the shower wall.

"Nah, what are you hidin'?" Chris demanded, growing mistrustful of your out-of-character behavior.

"Chris. Please-" you started to say, but he snaked his fingers around your neck and tugged you closer to him, pulling you off of your toy. His eyes widened, and his smile fell when he saw it - veiny, realistic, and bigger than him. You knew you were in trouble.

"What the hell is that thing?" Chris asked, glaring at you before his eyes traveled back to the silicone toy that was bobbing behind you.

"Can we just not make a big deal out of it?" You asked, trying to put yourself between Chris and your toy and praying that he wouldn't notice the one detail about it that would set him off. However, the look on his face, his tightened jaw, his flared nostrils, and his furrowed brow told you that he had already noticed.

"Answer me," he told you through clenched teeth, tightening his grip on you. "What is that?"

"A dildo," you timidly answered.

"That's not just any dildo. That's a fuckin' monster cock. Jesus." He bore through you with his intimidating stare. "How long have you been hidin' that thing from me, hmm?"

Your gaze flicked up to meet his, your cheeks flushed and red. "Not long," you bluffed, shaking your head.

Chris reached into the shower and shut off the water. "You're lying," he replied, his intense blue eyes fixed on you. His lips were contorted in a contemptuous smirk as he awaited your response.

You gave him a half-hearted shrug, looking everywhere except at him with your bottom lip caught between your teeth. You couldn't tell him that you'd had it since before your parents had moved in together. In fact, with how much poking around he'd done in your room in the past year, it was a miracle he hadn't stumbled upon it sooner.

Chris couldn't believe you. First, you'd blackmailed him into being submissive for you. And now this.

You started to shiver, standing in the shower like a wet dog. Chris never took his eyes off of you. "You take it all?" He asked you, his voice dripping with lust.

"What?" You responded, your eyes flicking back up at him, caught off guard by his question.

"You know what I'm askin' ya. Don't play dumb, ya little slut. You take it all?" He repeated himself, which he hated doing. You stared back at him blankly, trembling. "Not gonna gimme an answer, huh?" Chris asked, loosening his grasp on you. "Why don't you show me then?"

Your eyebrows flew up, and your jaw slightly fell open at his order. You expected a lot of reactions from Chris. This wasn't one of them.

"You heard me," he told you, reaching for your face and stroking your cheek. You glanced down and noticed his growing erection that was starting to tent in his underwear.

You dumbly nodded, lining the toy up with your entrance again and sinking back onto it. Chris watched the pleasure wash over your face as you took it all.

"Wow. So all those times you told me I was too big, you were just sayin' it to stroke my ego, huh?" Chris asked, palming his bulge through his boxers. "Lyin' little slut. Seems like you can take a lot more than you let on."

Your face grew warm as he gawked at you, a smirk creeping into his dark expression. You started to bounce on the toy a little, loving the way the silicone filled you and how it pressed against your g-spot with every subtle movement you made. However, Chris thought you were enjoying yourself a little too much, and his smile quickly faded.

"Stop," he ordered you with the kind of tone you'd never dare question. You did as he said, pausing your movements. "You really like that toy, don't you?" He asked you in a soft coo.

You slowly nodded, your eyes locked onto his. "It's my favorite one."

"Well, that's a damn shame, isn't it?" He said, reaching up and gently stroking your face. "I mean, y'don't think I'm gonna let ya keep it, do ya?" He chuckled, shaking his head.

"But Chris," you pouted, batting your eyelashes at him with your big, round eyes.

"Awh. Don't be like that. C'mon. Give it to me," he sternly told you, holding out his hand. You hesitated for a moment, but you obeyed him, unsticking the dildo from the shower wall with a pop. You handed it over reluctantly, parting with your favorite toy, probably forever.

Chris snatched it from you, and he brought it up to your lips. "C'mon, pretty girl. Clean it off for me, first."

You gave him a look of disgust and tilted your head away, but he grabbed you by your jaw and forced you to face him. He gave you an unamused look as he tried to wedge the toy between your lips again.

You slowly parted them, and he slipped the dildo into your mouth, filling your tastebuds with your own flavor. He gave you a sadistic smile, watching your face flush with embarrassment as he pushed the toy in further. "Atta girl. Suck it clean for me, hmm?" He cooed, holding eye contact the entire time.

You nodded, hollowing your cheeks as you suckled on it. He worked the toy in and out of your mouth, eliciting a soft gagging sound from you. "Good girl, choke on it for me," Chris encouraged you.

His dick throbbed as tears started to well in your eyes, your lips stretching around the silicone cock and spit gathering in the corners of your mouth. "Fuckin' take it. Good girl," Chris praised you.

You hummed around the toy, your gaze locked on his as you clenched around nothing. He smirked, pulling it back out after you'd sucked it clean, a string of saliva hanging from the toy as he slipped it out from behind your lips.

"So fuckin' pathetic. You're such a slut, you'd let me do anything to ya," Chris proudly said, chuckling at the humiliating positions you were willing to put yourself in just because your stepbrother said so. He loved that about you.

"I'll be holding onto this for you," Chris smirked down at the toy you'd shamelessly sucked clean. "Finish up your shower. Your ass is mine once you're done," Chris winked at you with a seductive look in his eye, turning the water back on and yanking the curtain closed.

All you could think about as you stood under the warm water was Chris and what he had waiting for you when you were finished. You just knew he wasn't gonna go easy on you.

And he didn't.

No more than ten minutes later, he had you on all fours in his room, fist in your wet hair while he took you roughly from behind. You choked out a moan as Chris' hips rhythmically slammed against you, your ass rippling with every powerful thrust.

"Whats th'matter, hmm? My eight-inch cock not enough for you?" He panted next to your ear in a fake sweet voice.

"N-no, that's not it," you protested.

"Then what is it, hmm? Greedy girl," he purred, following it up with a dark chuckle as he strengthened his grip on your hair.

"I-" You started to say, but you cut yourself off with a squeal as his other hand came down full force, harshly slapping your ass.

"You what?" He teased you, knowing he was fucking you so dumb that you couldn't even form a whole sentence.

"I-" You started again, but your eyes were rolling back into your head, and you couldn't focus on anything besides the pure bliss you felt from Chris driving his cock into your pleasure spot with extreme precision over and over.

He laughed at you. "Well, no matter how big it is, you could never fuck yourself on that fake cock as good as I can fuck you," Chris grunted.

And he was right.

He sped up his deep strokes, his hips jolting forward at a relentless pace. He released your hair from his grip and pushed your head down onto his bed, your left cheek pressed into the mattress as he drilled into you. Hard.

"Say it. Tell me my cock satisfies you better than any toy could," Chris growled, mercilessly pounding into you from behind.

"Y-you f-fuck me b-better," you managed to squeak out in between whimpers.

Chris chuckled. "That's what I thought."

You clenched around him, your moans reaching a crescendo, as did the sound of skin slapping against skin. You couldn't see, talk, or think straight, and you felt yourself getting closer each time he rammed his tip into your gspot.

A smile curled on your lips as you finally reached your climax, but this wasn't just any typical climax. This one, you felt deeper in your core with more force behind it.

Your body writhed beneath Chris, succumbing to the power he had over you. You came undone, squirting onto him and coating his cock in your fluids. Your cunt rhythmically pulsed around his length as he moved in and out of you.

He'd only made you squirt a couple times before, so he couldn't hold back the satisfaction in his voice when he spoke again. "That's it. Good fuckin' girl. I bet your toy's never made you do that before, hmm?" He cooed, glancing down at the mess you made on him with a smug smile.

"Nuh uh. Never," you said breathlessly, shaking your head no.

"That's my girl. C'mon. Lemme use your pretty pussy just a little longer," Chris whispered, holding your hips still and pounding into you while he chased his own orgasm.

After a few more intense thrusts, he was filling you with his hot, sticky seed as he buried his cock completely inside your warm cunt. Profanities and loud moans poured from his lips, his head tipped back and eyes screwed shut as he emptied every last bit into you.

He slowly pulled out, admiring how pretty you looked with your ass sticking in the air and his cum slowly drooling out of your pussy. "Your sweet cunt is all mine. See? I marked it," he softly spoke, taking his two fingers and pushing his cum back into your hole to keep it from spilling out of you any more. You sharply inhaled at the sensation.

He made you feel so dirty in the best possible way.

He devilishly grinned, knowing the effect he had on you. "I will tell you what you get to put in here, sweetheart, and I say no toys that are bigger than me. Got it?"

[lucydixon]

Breaking the Rules of Attraction

Summary: Teenage Dirtbag!Erik meets Brainiac!Reader, who has no choice but to tutor him during after-school detention. These are headcanons, and there will be angst

Erik was one bad grade away from expulsion and seriously considering dropping out altogether to spare himself the humiliation of being exiled from the local high school. Despite his ‘I don’t give a fuck’ attitude, he was just as scared of failure as anyone.

The guidance counsellor had assigned you as his tutor during detention, where you were also supposed to be at the given time after a blowout in the library that morning. 

You didn’t like the way he was staring at you with narrowed eyes from the second the teacher assigned to the room that the two of you would be locked in for the next three hours, had introduced you. As if you were the reason he’d found himself in this predicament. 

Honestly, he thought initially that you were some do-gooder who had volunteered to help tutor the poor, dumb degenerates in after-school detention. Your pressed, pristine white blouse and pleated skirt had thrown him. You looked like you were wearing a private school uniform and not dressed for the low-grade, underfunded public school the two of you were sitting in. 

That is, until you opened your mouth. Every other word out of your mouth was ‘fuck’ as you heatedly explained to him that he’d best stop glaring at you because it wasn’t like you wanted to be stuck in there with him either. As far as you were concerned, you were doing him a favour by agreeing to help, even though it was in exchange for your Friday nights back after an incident with the goalpost in the field out back and a bucket of red paint. 

Erik was so stunned that he couldn’t suppress the startled laugh that spilled from his mouth. You looked like a princess, but cursed like a sailor, and he was completely hooked from that moment on. 

You’d leveled with one another and agreed to start over since you’d very clearly gotten off to a bad start. 

Erik very quickly realised that despite your foul language and bad temper, you were a fucking braniac on a level he’d never seen before in his life. You were actually explaining things to him in a way that made sense, although he spent more time staring at you than he did attempting to retain information. 

You’d found that he was more of a creative soul than an academic, especially after seeing the intricate drawings in the margins of every notebook, homework assignment, and quizes he’d shown you. 

The two of you got on like a housefire, and the tutoring immediately spilled out of detention and into lunch and free periods. Pretty soon, neither of you was frequenting detention as much as before, and Eric was just barely getting a passing grade in most of his classes. 

You’d talk whenever you took breaks while studying, and the back and forth didn’t take long for it to turn flirty. It was playful at first, a little teasing and some crass remarks, but eventually evolved into heated looks and gnawed on lips, trying to suppress the urge to throw yourselves at one another. 

Erik started inviting you over to his house, and sometimes, you didn’t study at all. You’d just sit up chatting in his room, gradually getting closer and closer until you were side by side on his bed, leaning into one another. 

Neither of you was sure who had initiated the first kiss, but it was the first of many. You’d started spending more time rolling around in his bed, making out, then eventually more, than you did studying, and his grades started to slip again. 

You had to get creative to incentivise him to study. The study sessions would start with the two of you sitting across the room from one another, and every time he got an answer right, you’d scoot a little closer until you were through all the questions and sitting in his lap with his tongue down your throat.

When college application season rolled around, Erik started getting flighty. He knew that he didn’t have the grades to go anywhere but the local community college, not that he wanted to anyway, but you were smart enough to have your pick of the Ivy Leagues and he knew that he’d just drag you down if he allowed whatever it was that you were doing to continue. 

He loved you. The words had never come out of his mouth, but he knew them to be true. So, he started to distance himself. He made excuses and dodged your phone calls until you showed up at his door in the middle of the night, furious and demanding to know what the hell it was that you’d done to make him ice you out like this. 

I don’t think he’d outright tell you that he was scared that he wasn’t ever going to be good enough for you. That you deserved the world when all he could give you were hand-drawn birthday cards and value meal dates at the local Dairy Queen. It was easier to just push you away and say something cruel enough to leave you standing there, frozen in disbelief, and slam the door in your face before he could change his mind. 

He’d lost sleep over it. Would lock himself in his room whenever he was home and blare music through the beaten-up old speakers you’d helped him haul over from the local thrift store, feeling sorry for himself. 

His grades had immediately started to slip, and he eventually dropped out while you got on with your life, always wondering in the back of your mind what had gone wrong. You were grieving a relationship that never got far enough to be properly labeled, and carried it with you when you eventually did go to college across the country. 

You would always be the one who got away for Erik. The one who believed in him enough to sit there with him for hours at a time, just to make sure he understood the reading material for a test the following morning. Who cared about him more than anyone outside of his immediate family ever had or ever would. 

Erik would spend the rest of his life hanging onto a shred of hope that you’d cross paths again someday. That you’d come home for Christmas and bump into him on the street. Maybe he’d catch you while you’re single, the perfect storm of small mercies, and maybe it would work out this time. 

Dividers made by @saradika-graphics

[marsdql]

Can you do jake babying reader version pleasee

I’m so embarrassed of this one. hi. If someone tells me “how old is the reader tf” ure getting blocked cuz if someone can eat booty then I can let my myself get babied with my bf ok thank u byebye

Jake x reader — what you crying for?

You don’t even know how it happened.

One second you were straightening up the coffee table, trying to make the apartment look just a little nicer before Jake got back from practice — and the next, his notebook was just… gone.

The little black one. The one with worn edges and tiny doodles on the cover. The one he always carried but never let anyone read.

You didn’t mean to move it. Just nudged it to dust under it. And thenit was gone.

You checked the couch cushions.

The bookshelf.

The kitchen.

The bathroom, even though you knew you hadn’t gone in there with it.

And by the time Jake opens the door, you’re curled up on the floor in the corner of the living room like a kicked puppy, knees hugged to your chest, hands wringing the hem of your hoodie.

“Baby?” his voice is light, casual, until he sees your face.

You look up and your bottom lip is already trembling. Your throat feels tight. Your vision’s blurry.

“I—I lost your notebook…”

Jake freezes, just inside the door. “My… the lyrics one?”

You nod fast, tears already spilling.

“I didn’t mean to—I was just—cleaning—and now I can’t find it and I didn’t open it, I promise I didn’t, and I looked everywhere, and I’m so stupid—”

Your voice breaks hard and you start sobbing — real, wet, gasping cries that shake your whole body. You bury your face in your hands, humiliated, terrified, overwhelmed.

And Jake… he just stares for a second.

And then he lets out a long breath and walks over, squatting down right in front of you.

His voice goes soft. But it’s still stern. Still has that tone that makes your stomach twist like you’re being scolded — not because he’s angry, but because he’s disappointed you thought he would be.

“Baby.”

You flinch a little.

“Hey,” he says again, quieter, tilting his head. “Look at me.”

You peek up at him, lip wobbling harder now that he’s so close.

Jake cups your face in both hands, thumbs brushing your tear-slick cheeks. His voice lowers and goes real gentle. Soft, but firm.

“Why,” he says slowly, “are you cryin’ like I hit you?”

You hiccup, shoulders trembling. “I—I just—”

“No, no,” he cuts in gently, “you listen to me. Did I yell at you?”

You shake your head.

“Did I even look mad at you?”

You sniffle. “No…”

“Then what the heck are you cryin’ like that for, huh?” His tone goes even softer, but tighter too — like he’s trying not to scold too much. “What, baby, you think I’m scary?”

Your eyes fill again and you nod the tiniest bit before crumbling into his chest.

Jake exhales slowly, wrapping his arms around you.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You poor little thing.”

You sob harder, clinging to him like a child, so overwhelmed it hurts.

He rocks you gently, stroking your hair, whispering into it like a lullaby.

“Lost a lil notebook and now you’re actin’ like you’re gonna be punished,” he says softly. “What do you think I am, huh? Your boyfriend or your executioner?”

You sniffle into his hoodie. “I didn’t mean to break anything…”

“You didn’t break anything,” he replies calmly. “You didn’t do anything. ‘Cept cry all over the place like a kicked puppy.”

Your face burns and you try to apologize again, but Jake tightens his arms around you.

“No ‘sorry,’” he murmurs. “Not when I didn’t ask for one.”

You go quiet.

He pulls back just enough to look at your face, still wet with tears. He frowns — but it’s more sad than angry.

“Baby,” he says again, voice all slow and syrupy, “do you cry like this every time you think someone’s gonna be mad?”

You nod slowly, lip still trembling.

Jake sighs through his nose.

“Oh, angel… that’s not okay,” he says, tucking your head under his chin. “I’m gonna have to love you extra til you unlearn that, huh?”

You nod again, this time more like a child being comforted.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I know. We’ll fix it.”

Then, quieter: “You’re not too much. You’re just too scared.”

You cry again but it’s softer this time. Like relief.

He holds you through it all, gently rocking, and whispering over and over:

“You’re okay. I got you. I’m right here.”

[hotwings0203]

Thinking about being the bitchy queen/princess of a small but valuable province, your kingdom miniscule enough to be forgotten on a map but virtually inaccessible from its geographical location. Your land prides itself in its natural resources, and the production of various textiles and sustainable weaponry that comes with the stones etched along the perimeters of your walls.

Tw: noncon

Your subjects love you, love your fierce protectiveness over them as if they were your own flesh and blood, the way you take the time to sincerely listen to the local feudal lords' complaints against the minor skirmishes your occasional militants and them encounter, love the way you stroll through the paved cobblestones among them, ignoring the way your political advisors hiss at you to show some decorum and have some pride in your royal lineage.

You're one of them, yes, but none would be so bold and disrespectful as to think you were weak.

Your back bends to greet children and elderly who can't straighten to bow to you, but you stand tall at the same height as kings and queens whose kingdoms make yours look like a grease stain on the map.

Your pride and confidence in your subjects and kingdom inspire your military to train until callouses replace soft skin, to fight until they bleed from the inside out. The defenses on the perimeter stay low, but alert as to not draw attention to any outsider who wants a taste of the paradise you've created within.

So then why do you tremble against your throne while the walls of this very kingdom come crashing down before you?

Even if half of your land wasn't covered in wildfires set by the foreigners, even if your people didn't scream his name in terror before they were slain in front of their own children, you wouldn't have believed he'd found you.

But he did, decades later, intent on fulfilling a promise he'd uttered when you both bowed to each other in your last time ever meeting.

Until now, it seems.

You lay sprawled on the grand chair in the same position you did when his militia blasted flaming catapault ammunition at your castle walls, knocking you and your advisors backwards. It took near everyone out, if not knocked down on death's doors, but it merely kept you pinned in fear to your throne with a few cuts and burns.

Outside the windows you can see your subjects being slaughtered like animals, more blood than stone splattered on the streets. Women and children scream as the raiders chase after them with glee, their husbands and brothers watching in cuffs as violation after violation occurs before them.

The trees teeming with apples which you always loved to gaze at during particularly boring meetings are now all burnt or on fire, slashed away at for no reason except to ensure that your demise is all the more uneccessary and humiliating.

You sense him before you see him.

It's not the way your blood freezes in your veins, nor the slow sounds of his steps echoing in the corridor gaining proximity to you that screams danger to you.

It's his smile, soft and serene looking at you all the while everything you've ever loved and nurturned falls to ashes at your feet.

But he takes his time with his kill, he's done his worst and now it's time to relish his victory.

You wish you could scramble backwards even further as he leisurely treads one blood and mud-caked boot in front of the other, but the falling stone around you provides more discomfort than safety. All you can do is tremble and tense up as he reaches a few feet from you.

Standing over your crumpled body, simply watching you with a cocked head.

You can hear the blood pounding in your head, the tension palpable to be cut with a knife when he finally breaks the excruciating silence.

"Did I not warn you I'd be back for you, princess?" He speaks as soft as his gaze, and you almost can't hear him over the syncophany of buildings crumbling and screams tearing through the dusk.

"Its queen," you surprise yourself equally as much as him with the lack of warble in your voice, but you still don't meet his eyes fully.

Interest piqued at your misplaced rebellion, he crouches down to your eye level and squints at you in mock disbelief.

"That's funny. Last I heard, a queen has a kingdom. And well, this one..." he trails off, biting back a snicker but it's still a stab to the heart.

You bite your lip and will yourself not to cry, but he sees it anyways through the smoke curling around your destroyed throneroom.

"Look at me."

He places a gloved hand under your chin, firm yet gentle, and forces your head up to look up at him.

Covered in soot and ash, hair falling out of its intricate up-do, nose red and twitching in an attempt not to break down, silky robes now cut with rubble.

He's hard, and you blanch at the realization.

"God, you look just as good as you did years back. I wanted to ravage you then too, but your father-"

"Dont you dare talk about him-" Your head snaps up to snarl at him but his voice doesn't even waver as he cooly overrides you.

"-screamed like a pig when he died, yes, but trust I enjoyed pissing over his grave almost as much as I'll enjoy defiling his little girl and making her my cumslut."

Your previous rage is replaced by fear again, because you know if he's come this far, it's not just to taunt.

He chuckles a bit at your gaping mouth, and playfully sticks a finger inside before you gag and swat him away. He doesn't allow you to move farther back though, because he locks his hand behind your head and shakes it a bit for good measure to ensure you're listening.

When he leans in to croon more filth at you, you see his eyes take on a strange glint that wasn't readable before from the smoke coating your vision. His eyes aren't soft anymore, theyre wild with triumph as his lips curl into a salacious grin.

"I watched you for years," he breathes in right next to your ear, and you can't help but whimper and curl in yourself more. "You stayed here, naive and pure only because I let you have your safety. You belonged to me from the start, whether you wanted it or not."

His hand dips to your stomach, and just as fast as you flinch away he snakes it up to grab your tits and knead them like dough.

"These tits," he moans as he begins to lick and bite at your ear, inhaling the cinders along with the perfume of your hair.

"This neck."

His mouth moves down to suck on your unmarred throat, creating blossoms of blue and purple hues on the expanse of your skin. He pays no mind to your shrieks at him to let you go, at his audacity to touch royalty in such a perverse manner-

"This fucking cunt, and all of you belong to me."

And he finally seals the nail in the coffin by shifting his boot until it nudges up against your clothed mound. You gasp and writhe under his iron grip, but it only agitates his adrenaline further and he quells the fire in you by pressing the toe of his show down hard against you.

He sighs as if a great relief has been lifted from his shoulders as he leans back and watches you arch your back under him, breaking finally and letting your choked cries escape you as he slowly grinds his boot in circles over your cunt, enjoying the way you look up at him with nothing but hate and despair all the while you buck under his ministrations.

"I wonder how your peasants would feel if they saw their beloved queen getting fucked on all fours like an animal right on this very throne," He muses conversationally, as if your writhings meant nothing.

"D-don't you dare," you gasp as he moves his boot up so that his heel catches a particularly delicious cruel stimulation of your abused clit. "This has nothing to do with them, you've done enough-"

"On the contrary, my little princess, you're not getting fucked in every hole by the sword handles from the men in my army, so, no, I haven't done nearly enough yet."

You dare to open your eyes to catch his bluff, but your heart drops when his lock on yours and reflect nothing but cool indifference.

He retreats his foot and lets go of your hair, standing up to his full height now.

"Wait!" You squeak desperately, for you know by now his promises mean nothing but the worst for not only you, but everyone in your proximity.

Silence permeates the air again as you quickly try to catch your breath, your doubled form heaving and fingers curling in the gritty floor at the humiliation of your unbecoming.

He allows you a minute or two, but the longer the silence treads the less patience he has to get to what he'd been waiting years for.

"Speak, or you'll be screaming instead."

Where his voice was lilting and dangerously soft before, it now drops to an octave and holds no room for bullshit.

You shake and squint up at him through the tears cascading down the soot on your cheeks.

"P-please tell your men to retreat. My people have done nothing to warrant this."

"P-p-please suck my dick princess and maybe theyll warrant some mercy instead!" He mocks in a perverse high pitched whine, and all pretenses of you treading carefully are dropped.

He can't be serious, you think.

But he anticipates it, and tries to hide back his smile by masking it with the same low tone he used before

"I'm serious."

"Fuck you," you growl, unable to bite your tongue.

"Oh, I plan to. But not until every remiaining subject of yours is watching you get split apart by me. I imagine my army will want some reward for the very fine damage theyve done to your little hovel, but don't worry- I'm sure keeping you drugged will save part of your sanity when everyone's had a turn with you."

He enjoys the stricken look on your face as he bites his lip ever so slightly and adjusts his slacks as they grow tight from his growing erection, and turns on his heel to walk out of the room.

It takes every fiber of you to kill your ego and swallow down your pride at what you must do to appease him before a new level of wrath befalls you and your people. You call his name out one more time with a new tone of hesitation and softness, trying to make up for your bitchy attitude before.

He hums in question, but hes still not surprised when he looks over his shoulder and watches you crawl a few paces over to him with your head down, your jewelry ringing like tiny bells across the stone floor.

You wince when you hear him whistle low at your state, but you keep your head down all the same.

"I'll listen to you," you utter quielty.

"What was that, slut?" Your arms shake a bit more, but you will yourself to continue for the sake of your kingdom.

He places the same boot that had fucked you earlier under your chin and lifts you up to meet his lecherous gaze. Loving, victorious, knowing, and satisfied.

Bile rises to the back of your throat.

"I'll l-listen to you," and your heart settles ever so slightly when you see his eyebrows relax, and his posture soften.

But it does nothing to quell the goosebumps erupting on your skin as he speaks his turn now.

"Damn straight you are. You're gonna bow to me, I'm gonna be your fucking god if you don't want every last one of your subjects to strung up by their intestines, and your land burned so that your little legacy here will be nothing but a myth for centuries to come."

"Do you understand me?"

"Yes," you whisper as the last tears are blinked out of your burning eyes.

"Yes, what?"

you desperatley search his dark, lust-filled hues for a shred of mercy.

But he lifts his chin and you know you won't get off so easy.

"Yes...sir?"

"Yes, my king," he corrects.

"Yes, my king," you parrot back, and your nails bite your palm as you mutter the poisonous words on your tongue.

He finally pulls back and turns around, letting your head fall down to look at the cracked floor and granting you a moment to collect yourself. You furiously wipe away your tears with shaky wrists when he calls over his shoulder,

"Try not to cry too hard like a bitch. Its either king, or master."

[viviansturns]

player!reader accidentally yells chris' name while matt is fucking her, he decides to fuck the cheating out of her 😌

𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒎𝒚 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆

you accidentally say chris' name during sex, and matt fucks it out of you

cw: roughhhh sex, dom!matt, humiliation, degradation, choking, p in v, creampie, breeding kink?, jealousy, overstimulation, cheating, toxic relationship

You weren’t supposed to feel guilty.

This was what you did. You flirted, you teased, you kept your options open. It wasn’t your fault if Matt wanted more from you than you were ever planning to give. You were just having fun—until he started getting serious. Until his touches got more tender. Until his voice softened when he said your name.

Then Chris kissed you in the kitchen two nights ago.

It hadn’t meant anything. That’s what you told yourself. It was quick, messy, and over before either of you could really react. You hadn’t brought it up since. Neither had he. But it stuck like glass in your chest.

Now, Matt’s hands were gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. His lips were at your neck, whispering things that you were barely processing. You were too focused on keeping your moans low, on pushing away the image of Chris—his lips, his voice, his stupid smirk—out of your head.

And then, as Matt thrusted into you harder, faster, with something closer to frustration than pleasure—

You moaned, loud.

Too loud.

“Chris—”

Silence.

His body stilled behind you. The air went cold, even though your skin was flushed with sweat. Your heart stopped.

“…what did you just say?”

You swallowed hard, eyes wide. “I—I didn’t mean—Matt, I swear—”

He didn’t pull out. Didn’t back off. He laughed.

It wasn’t light or amused. It was sharp. Dark. Dangerous.

“Ohhh,” he muttered, the laugh curling in his throat. “So that’s what we’re doing now. You fuck me, but you think of him?”

You tried to twist to look at him, but he shoved you back down against the mattress. Your breath hitched.

“Matt—”

“Shut the fuck up.” His voice dropped, all trace of warmth gone. “You wanna cheat? Cool. Then I’ll fuck the cheating out of you. Let’s see whose name you scream when I’m done.”

You gasped as he gripped your wrists, pinning them to the bed, his tone venomous with jealousy and possessiveness. His hips rolled again—slow, punishing.

His thrusts were no longer rhythmic—they were rough, erratic, almost angry. Every slam of his hips felt like punishment, like he was trying to fuck your mistake right out of your memory.

“Say it again,” he growled into your ear, breath hot and ragged. “Go on. Say his name again. I fucking dare you.”

You whimpered, face buried in the sheets, unable to form words.

“That’s what I thought.” His hand slipped down, wrapping tight around your throat as he pulled you upright, forcing your back to arch against him. “You don’t get to think about him. Not while I’m inside you.”

He didn’t let up. Every time you tried to speak—an apology, a moan, his name—he upped the pace, the power. One hand on your throat, the other digging into your hip so tight you were sure his nails would leave marks.

“You wanna be a little whore, moaning for my brother?” His voice was bitter, breathless. “Then I’ll treat you like one.”

His other hand slid between your legs, rubbing harsh circles over your clit—not to tease, not to please, but to wreck. To claim. To ruin.

“I want you ruined for him,” Matt snarled. “I want you fucking dripping the next time he looks at you, and I want him to know I did it. That it was me you screamed for.”

You choked on a moan as your body tightened, pressure building fast. He felt it. He loved it.

“Go ahead,” he rasped. “Cum for me. Say my name when you do.”

Your fingers twisted in the sheets as the wave hit you—loud, raw, involuntary.

“Matt—!”

Your whole body arched harshly as you screamed his name, his hands still wrapped around your throat.

Not even a second after you came, Matt continued. Your wrecked body just spurred him on. He pushed you forward again, your face hitting the pillow as he grabbed both your wrists behind your back in one hand, using the leverage to fuck deeper, meaner.

“You think I’m stopping just ‘cause you came?” he panted. “Nah. Not even close.”

His voice was low and feral, his thrusts relentless now. The bed creaked beneath you, the air thick with heat and the sounds of skin on skin.

“Y’think Chris could fuck you like this?” His hand slapped down on your ass, the sharp sting making you yelp. “He ever made you scream like that?”

You couldn’t answer—not with your voice wrecked and your mind fogged over.

“That’s right,” he snarled. “He hasn’t. He never will.”

You felt it—his pace faltering, his grip tightening. He was close. So close. You knew it in the way he started to lose rhythm, in the roughness of his breaths, the way he buried himself deeper every time like he was trying to live inside you.

“I’m gonna fuck you so full of me, you won’t remember how to even spell his name,” he gritted out.

And then—one last thrust, sharp and brutal—and he groaned, low and guttural, collapsing over your back as he came inside you, hot and heavy, his grip still bruising your wrists.

For a few seconds, all you could hear was his heartbeat pounding in your ear, his breath on your neck. Then, slowly, his hold loosened. He stayed buried in you, chest heaving.

He pulled out of you, causing you to let out a barely audible whimper. You could feel his cum leaking out of you and down your leg. With a quick motion, he collected his own cum and shoved it even deeper inside of you.

“…Say his name again,” he muttered darkly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, “and next time, I won’t be this nice.”

i came btw <3

dividers @enchanthings

COMMENT TO BE ADDED 2 MY TAGLIST!!

[elysiasasuya]

Academic rival! Zayne

Headcanons

Academic rival!Zayne grew up as a well-renowned prodigy among his family, peers and all those that surround him. Anyone who interacts with him and even those who do not can already state one thing. He's not just smart, he's incredibly intelligent. His mind is shaped into a vast library full of knowledge. He never truly met anyone who could get along with him and his brain not until he met you.

Academic rival! Zayne was in highschool when he met you. He didn't really pay attention to anyone, he did– not much, barely but also just enough. He didn't even spare you one, until you were stuck in a predicament. Your teacher caught you sleeping in class and reprimanded you, it was supposed to be a long scolding session. Everyone knew that the teacher was a terror one, she'd get you punished if you even failed to answer her question. That is..you didn't.

Academic rival! Zayne should have shrugged it off and studied on his own quietly but quietness wasn't an option. Your voice stole that choice because of its firmness and confidence. You didn't allow yourself to be humiliated, not at all. You were polite when you shut her up with a rebuttal and answered the questions precisely and swiftly. Done. Class silent then class dismissed.

Academic rival! Zayne now felt the shift of his behavior, a change to his attitude. His attention began to slip and unwantedly too, involuntarily finding its way to you. You, who isn't actually the lazy type, just a relaxed one. You who often read her book, indulging in your own world. You who pass work on time then move on to teaching others what they find confusing. That's when he finds himself not just glancing but looking at you. He even knew your routine at this point.

Academic rival! Zayne may have given you many glances, well, too long to be one— but he didn't genuinely expect you to occupy the table hidden in the corner in the library. It was his spot, the only one he'd ever choose, no matter the space of the premises. He didn't leave however, instead he finds his way to you. He didn't greet you nor look at you, he just sat and began his studies.

Academic rival! Zayne felt himself at peace, only to become hyper-aware of you moving closer than you should. He had the right space to not bother you yet he finds himself finally breaking his gaze away from his book to look at you. You're now in front of him. You smiled at him and pointed at the literature he was studying, your eyes shone so bright that he mistook them for Sirius A, a star he is fond of. He wouldn't tell you that though, he didn't plan on letting himself drift away from his studies.

Academic rival! Zayne somehow found himself engaging in a conversation with you about it. He heard your opinion about the book— not a simple one that others would just utter to catch his interest. You actually rambled about your character analysis, the hidden symbolism, connection of plots and more. Some of it, he already knew but for the first time, most of it isn't that known to him. It was like he entered a mysterious place for once. He remains outside, not able to explore it yet. Should he explore more of who you are?

Academic rival! Zayne began to stumble in your direction or was it you that tagged along? None of it mattered because it's always the same, the two flocked like birds. It started with the library sessions wherein the two let their meetings happen and they talked about different books that soon became topics outside of that. It went for hours that both of you almost ended up locked if you didn't dash to the entrance with your hand on his. After that, it extended to study sessions at his house and other places he knew aren't for studying.

Academic rival! Zayne felt this mutual connection between you two that he didn't even consider seeing you as a rival, but then a competition took place and you got the first place. He didn't know you were in the contest in all honesty, that's why surprise hit him. Peculiarly, it was a pleasant and warm surprise. He found himself admiring you with a smile that's more than pride but adoration. When you saw him, your eyes widened just as your smile did. It made him forget that you took his usual spot for a while. If you were to show him that sweet smile and pretty dimples again? I bet he'd let it happen all over again.

Academic rival! Zayne is even more active in class this time. Yes, he participated a lot but it's mostly the teachers calling him for the answer. This time it's voluntary, he actually raises his hand and shows more of his public speaking skills. But it's not just him doing that, someone else is also standing in another spotlight. Right in front of him was you, not just speaking but discussing the lesson. When he recites, you do too. It's been a routine now.

Academic rival! Zayne saw the changes now. His scores are either the highest or the second highest. It's like an up and down scale that cannot seem to be measured. Now, he felt a fire long gone before now igniting. It was an empowered passion. He didn't stop meeting with you still, he kept studying with you, this time more purposeful. He explored many things with you. He explained and even debated topics with you. What was monotone became lively.

Academic rival! Zayne wouldn't admit it outright but he is beginning to like the way you challenge him more. You have become bolder, poking fun at him and teasing him about being the smartest king that fell from grace. He didn't mind it, rather, his lips even quirked up. It twitched, not out of annoyance but amusement and fondness. With that, missions surfaced and the two are now clashing greatly that the room felt more of a battle ground than a classroom. You are against each other's throats, stealing chances to recite and get perfect scores. Sometimes he wins, sometimes he loses. It's unstable, but why does he need to do this? He wants to.

Academic rival! Zayne only agreed because of the rewards. The first one was simple, he has to do something for her if she wins and if he does, then she buys him a pack of sweet cookies. The more it accumulates, the harder it gets however. He had to come out of his comfort zone sometimes because of their deal. He needed to wear your outfits and give you a fashion show. That day onwards, he transformed into a more demanding version of him. This time she also has to do the same, but in his clothes. He doesn't even know why he demanded this but deep inside, a certain reason was lurking. He liked seeing you in his clothes.

Academic rival! Zayne has gotten out of focus since then, the deal nearly forgotten. Good thing she reminded him with a knowing look. Despite him being quiet and more aware, you were there being too carefree.It broke something in him. He thought of an idea that he mustn't entertain, don't you see him as a man? He shouldn't entertain it, he did. He is more at advantage now, winning and sealing deals. He made you do more difficult and embarrassing requests. This time, he made you act as his girlfriend on a date with him at a restaurant where you actually succeeded with flying colors. A situation that gave him a ticklish sensation in his chest.

Academic rival! Zayne now sees unexpected moments unfold that didn't even appear before. He could discern it was because of his last request. Now, his eyes are unraveling more of you, the way you get easily flustered and putty when he's too close. The way your voice gets unnecessarily high and even the way you avoid his gaze. He should be glad you didn't avoid him until you did. It's been a week and he almost wrecked his mind, his nerves pounding because of the stress of thoughts of you. He just finished his class and is on the rooftop now to clear his mind. It was serene and empty, until it wasn't.

Academic rival! Zayne sees you abruptly appear in front of him. He couldn't utter anything. He was awfully and uncharacteristically silent. So you let your nervous voice out to lessen the tension. You cast him a sassy glare and talked about how he didn't even reach out. Then next thing he knows, you put your lips in a thin line before reminding him of their deal. You were victorious when you out-ranked him. And so, she did the one he didn't anticipate the most. You gave him a peck that lasted for a few seconds before turning away, your face was flushed when you said it's what you wanted for the deal.

Academic rival! Zayne was a calm man, full of composure that never cracks. But you really broke him apart and turned him anew, his lips are on yours in a flash. His hand gently snakes at your nape, sliding up to the tangles of your hair. Both of you melted as he hungrily but tenderly devours you, his tongue slips and tastes the sweetness that he knows well– vanilla, kind of like ice cream. He was so lost, absolutely drowned by your taste. His trance stops when you constantly smack his arm. That's when he reluctantly stops and moves away slowly, just a few inches.

Academic rival! Zayne finally sees your diluted eyes and swollen lips, he didn't even miss the furrow of your eyebrows. Your voice shook as you spoke, not something that you do at all. He felt his heart fighting with the sound of your voice, it was half of the noise he was hearing. When his eyes dropped to your lips, he caught on to what you just said. A confession to him. Your words no longer compete with the thump of his heart. He clearly heard how you've been admiring him, how you love simple moments with him, and more things about him that he doesn't even know. If he hadn't kissed you again, you wouldn't have stopped the hilariously anxious ramble. Could he still be considered a fallen king? He doubts he would ever fall if there's an equally powerful queen beside him– you.

© elysiasasuya 2025. Hearts, shares and reblogs are appreciated!

[qoldenskies]

What do they fucking call villain donnie when they bring him home is the real. They literally kidnapped him. They have no basis for who he is, and even if they did he doesn’t even have a name. Both of his parents failed to show up to his birth /ref

well, originally they just called him "that guy" usually in relation to going "ah fuck, it's THAT guy again" (before pretending they forgot who he was when he comes up to them). they brawled for a couple of months semi-regularly, they probably had a designated rude nickname for him (kinda like they did for meat sweats lmfao. maybe he came up with a title of his own and then they bastardized it, and because he only really did it for them that was just what it kinda... ended up being) but obviously if they're trying to get on his good side they're gonna have to drop that.

so at first it's a lot of bro and buddy and dude. anything they'd normally call an acquaintance they dont know the name of. they honestly just thought he was being stubborn about his name, but no, he literally just didn't name himself. shelldon, the only person he's ever spoken to before this point (he made him because he was lonely!), just called him "boss" or "dad". sometime before he gets "adopted" by them he starts hanging around at the junkyard more and working for repo, and he just calls him "kid", usually, in a half-derogatory fashion lmao. he's come up with ideas for his name, but none of them stuck-- and they usually come from when he was much younger, and he's too embarrassed to talk about what he used to call himself because they're silly. he thinks they're gonna make fun of him again.

he also just vehemently denies any suggestions, until splinter finally tells him that he'd named him donatello after he was gone, and they all just start to call him that. even when he denies the name because it comes from someone he's unable to reconcile with. but it still matches with them, so he doesn't actually tell them to stop venomously enough to make them drop it. it's... comforting. he'd never say that out loud, though.

[neilsbeloved]

practice on me

summary: the one where you make excellent use of clark kent’s luscious lashes and incredible fingers

warnings: 18+ pure smut, established relationship, all legal aged characters, fingering, love bites, dirty talk, reader’s kinda a bitch to people aside from clark, semi-public sex (unlocked door), overstimulation, no use of y/n

It all started as a genuine way to let you get off some steam; you called Clark, ranting and raging all the way from the Talon after that one girl in your class came there only to piss you off.

You needed to hear his voice as soon as possible or else you would have thrown the whole coffee machine at her.

The moment he registers that tone of yours, he knows he needed to get you. Thankfully it was just thirty-minutes left 'til the end of your shift so he dashed to the back of the Talon. He couldn't take the truck since his parents were out of town for their anniversary.

Your shift ends and both of you head back to his house. Clark, being the concerned boyfriend he is, kept on pestering you about what happened. Knowing full well that there is something angering you even more considering how you were still brimming with rage.

A little bit of persuasion and bartering, you two finally agreed on something: you'll tell him everything, and he'll let you practice your mascara routine on his eyelashes.

So there you both now, on the couch of the Kent living room. You straddling his lap, only having on his shirt and some random boxers he had thrown you. Barely paying attention to the television playing some random football game at back.

Clark sports an amused smile as you grab his face, slotting his chin on the web between your thumb and pointer finger, tilted his head slightly up to get a better look at his eyelashes. One big hand resting on your hip, while the other was gently rubbing your bare thigh.

He had just gone through the torture of eyelash curling with that medieval tool you call eyelash curler. Inside his head, he's blaming the tool for nearly poking his eye out despite you being the one handling it—of course, he would never blame you for anything.

"See, I wouldn't care if she came by the Talon. Who cares? More money for the business—but get this, she literally kept following me like a damn dog with a bone. Me, I was the bone, Clark! She kept following me!" You let out exasperatedly. Waving your mascara around.

Clark chuckles, "Maybe she just wants to be friends with you."

"I don't want to be friends with her!" You reply back with irritation. The scowl on your face going even deeper as you remembered her bothering you when you were just trying to work.

"You don't want to be friends with anyone, baby." Clark says softly.

You glare at him. He always calls you baby at times like these where you're too heated up to think about anything else aside from picking apart someone until they're basically stripped and humiliated. He knows it flusters you, thus helping you calm down.

"Woah, easy there with the weapon." Clark cautiously holds your wrist. You had just taken out the wand from the tube, the extra product piling on the tip of the wand.

"I have people I want to be friends with, for your information." You say with an attitude. Lips pouting as you begin to swipe the first layer of mascara on his left eye.

Clark raises an eyebrow, "Really?"

You nod. Your forehead creases in concentration, ignoring the way his other hand went up to your hips too. Both of his hands now squeezing the flesh in a loving manner.

"And Jessica isn't one of those people?" The name of that girl from your class rings in your ears. You pull your hands away, making a move to fully withdraw from his lap when he pulls you back in with a teasing laugh.

He grabs the make-up bag from your hand and places it back beside him. "I'm just playin', baby. I know you hate Jessica. I hate her too." He pushes your hips closer to him, your core running against the semi-hard surface of his lap.

"You hate her?" You scoff indignantly. "Can't believe the Clark Kent, Smallville's nicest guy, the one who saved countless of people, hates a girl he hasn't even met."

Clark's hands removes themselves from your hips and moves to the top of your thighs. Moving them up and down, slowly moving closer and closer to the hem of your—his—shorts.

"Yeah, well, my baby hates 'em so I automatically do too." Your breath hitches. His hand sliding in the insides of your shorts to massage your cheeks over your panties.

Heat starts pooling in your core. The sensation hindering you from smoothly applying the same coat on his right eyelashes.

"What else bothers you, baby? Just that girl?" He furrows his eyebrows, the jut of his lips beckoning you to continue.

You swallow down on nothing. Inhaling sharply as you slot the wand back in its component only to swirl it around and get more product. When you pull it out, you feel his hands leave your shorts.

"T-There's this guy in Chemistry," you start. You lick your lips and decide to rest your free hand on his shoulder instead. "Damn know-it-all. He keeps on reciting in class. The teacher doesn't even notice me with how loud he keeps calling—Clark."

His hand daringly slides in the waistband of your shorts. Snaking directly to your panties and cupping your core. His fingers immediately playing with the wetness he's met with.

"What? Go on, baby. Tell me more. I'm listening." He rubs sweet soft circles on your bud. The feeling makes your hips twitch and your hand still. You only continue when he pinches your outer thigh with his other hand.

You let out a low and breathy moan. Doing your best to avoid giving him the satisfaction of not being able to finish your work on his eyes. And so with a steadying breath and will-power to prove him wrong, you continue swiping layers of mascara on his lashes.

"I can't participate in class because of him. He's stealing... steal-stealing my... my credit points," you stammer. Head dropping down to look at his hand inside of your shorts as he has just inserted one thick finger inside of your cunt.

When you look back up, Clark's smirking at you.

"Clark, we're in your living room." You say lividly. Head snapping to glance at the locked—or unlocked, who knows—door.

Clark looks around with faux innocence. "So? Why don't you continue your work baby. C'mon. Keep going." He curls his finger upwards, lips stretching wider when you mewl out deliciously. Your hips involuntarily jerking.

You do the same routine of putting the wand back in and twirling it inside for some product. This time you move to his other eye. Gripping the wand tightly as you try to gather as much control as you can, trying to ignore the pleasure he's giving you with just a singular finger.

Your words of hatred to that guy in Chemistry spills out continuously albeit stopping and stammering at times. Clark inserts another finger, the stretch of his middle and ring finger inside your pussy making you moan out this time. His name leaving your lips like a broken plea.

"Oh shit, you're tightening up on my fingers, baby," he chuckles darkly, "All that anger got you so frustrated huh? My pretty baby's so fucking frustrated?" He moves forward to lick a stripe up your neck. Sucking on your favorite spot

"God—Clark, you're so irritating." You whimper, ryes rolling back. Unable to stop yourself now that you're fully riding his fingers. His other hand rubbing circles on your clit. All the sensations you're feeling at one making your head dizzy.

Clark laughs. "You hate me now too?"

He continues his attack on your neck. Nipping and licking at various spots. Not caring whether or not it'd blossom to a pretty bruise the next day. The pace of his fingers quicken when he hears that hitch in your breath. Curling them at the perfect angle as he hits your spot with practiced precision.

"You-You're not letting me work. I—fuck, right there, please. Clark, don't stop—More!" You cut yourself off mid-way with a wanton gasp. Mouth falling open as your eyes flutter shut. Your hips stuttering as you continue to ride his fingers to your climax.

Clark pulls his head away from your neck to look at the pleasured strain on your face. His canines making an appearance as he takes in the concentrated look on your face, eyes glued on the way your eyebrows furrowed upwards.

"Right here, baby?" He shifts his fingers in the subtlest angle. Your breath quickens. "And more too? Aren't you a greedy little baby." He inserts a third finger and you're done for.

Stars appear in your vision. The thin string holding you together finally snaps and you release all over Clark's hand. Riding out your high on his fingers—and you're sure it's dripping down that veiny forearm of his—as he helps you get through it. Mumbling sweet nothings in your ear as you let out screams and whimpers of his name.

Clark places soft kisses all over the column of your neck as you slowly drift back down onto Smallville. Tired eyes fluttering open only to see him grinning like a little shit.

He keeps his fingers inside of you while his other hand slips out of your shorts to massage your side.

“I didn’t get to finish your eyes!” You complain, glancing at the wand and component on your hands. You place the two together, about to unscrew them again when you feel Clark’s fingers move. again.

Your head shoots up in alarm. Clark licks his lips, the look on your face making his cock even harder than it was before.

You place both hands on his wrist, mascara dropping from your hands. “Clark.” You say as a warning.

“What?” he asks quietly, letting you hear the squelching of his fingers inside you. “You’re still not finished with your story and my make-up, baby.”

A distraught groan leaves your lips, mouth falling open again. Your lower stomach tightening as you clench involuntarily on his fingers. “H-how can I when you’re… you’re…”

“I’m what?” Clark tilts his head.

You close your eyes, finally letting go of his wrist after your feeble attempt at stopping him. You swing your arms around his neck, burying your head on the crook of his neck as he picked up the pace.

“God, just shut up—please.” Clark smiles victoriously as you finally surrender your whole self to him. Head empty with nothing but the pleasure in between your legs and the man in front of you. “Don’t stop.”

He cranes his head to yours, pressing a peck on your cheek. “Atta girl.”

hearts and reblogs are greatly appreciated ✸

[mulloey]

good girls make do

dom!hendery x sub!reader, degradation, praise, shoe grinding, hints of pet play dynamics, dick worship, humiliation etc

part of my 2k event.

for @hencheri

—

“When’s the last time you came?”

It’s been too long since you did this; since you had each other like this. You on your knees—stripped, submissive, worshipping. Him, comfortable and clothed in the chair above you. Dominant, patient, but focused. Focused on you; on this.

“A month ago, sir.” Fuck, it’s painful to even say it.

“One whole month.” He sounds impressed; proud, even. It’s rare for him to let that seep into his voice, but one month is no small feat for you—but Hendery’s been away, off performing here and there and everywhere, and the rules are clear and absolute and without exception.

You don’t cum without him. Without his touch, his permission, his supervision.

At this point, you wouldn’t even know how.

He hums. “You want to cum tonight?”

“Please, sir.”

He’s silent for a moment, face blank; gaze focused. He leans back, foot tapping against the floor. He looks thoughtful for a second, like he’s pondering something, and you wait patiently for him to make up his mind. Not like you’d have any other choice, anyway; nothing ever happens on your terms. Not in these moments, anyway; in these moments, everything—choice, control, you—belongs to Hendery.

“Fine,” he says, finally. “You’ll cum for me, nice and hard and gushing just like I trained you to, until you can't think of anything except me and us. Ever. Is that what you want?”

Your breath hitches, caught in your throat. That’s not what you want—want is far too small a word to convey how desperately and viscerally you need that. Need to let go and unravel the way only he can make you; need to go dumb on it and stay like that until he tells you otherwise. Need to think of nothing and no one but him, him, him.

“Please sir,” you whisper. It comes out as more of a sob. “Dery, please.”

“Fuck,” he breathes. There’s a small, subtle flush creeping up his neck; a momentary lapse in the stern, authoritative persona only you get to see in quite this way. It’s cute—or it would be, were it not for the way his eyes narrow, fists clenching against the armrest like he’s about to snap. “So good for me,” he grunts. “So pretty on your knees, I should keep you there all the time. Pets don’t need to walk, do they?”

“No sir.”

It’s silent for a moment; the air is thick, tense, anticipating. You wait for him to move, to speak; to tell you to stand, or crawl, or get into whatever position he’s chosen for tonight. Whatever position he’s chosen to break you in.

But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t do anything except stare. Finally he raises an eyebrow, head tilting, challenging, like you’ve already fallen short. “Well?” He asks. “Are you waiting for something?”

“You said—”

“Oh, I know exactly what I said.” There’s a smile on his lips now; small but stretching, like he’s trying and failing to hide just how entertaining he finds this all. “Do you know what I said?”

You frown. “You said I can cum,” you mumble. “I thought—”

“Not very much, clearly,” he says. He’s grinning now; small, teasing and a warning sign if there ever was one. “Stupid girl. We’ve been doing this for, what, a few months now? And you’ve already gone that dumb? Such a shame. I thought you were better trained than that.”

You say nothing. He sighs, nudging his foot forward towards you. He taps it against the floor, the heel of his shoe clicking against the wood. “Come,” he orders.

You shuffle forward on your knees until you’re inches away from him, your face level with his lap. He looks impossibly large like this; impossibly imposing and powerful. Like he could crush you, easily. Like everything you do and everything you are is on his terms.

“Jesus, you’re fucking dumb,” he laughs. ”Look at you. Not a single thought in that little head.” The tone is admiring, despite the mockery of his words; proud, even. He’s the only person you know who can make cruelty sound so much like praise. “No wonder you like it when I tell you what to do. You‘re too stupid to know what you want, aren’t you? Can’t make any decisions on your own.”

His foot edges forward, between your parted legs so it’s pressed up against your clothed pussy with just enough pressure to make your entire body pulse with need. “Good puppy,” he croons. “Don’t worry, you don’t need to think anymore. I’ll tell you what’s gonna happen, yeah? You’re gonna mount me, right here on my foot. Go on.”

Your legs are shaking as you obey; thighs clenching and pussy aching with need and with emptiness. This isn’t enough, simply rubbing yourself on him—and at this point in your relationship with Hendery, you’ve realised by now that it isn't meant to be enough. It’s just another way for him to torture you; to keep you on the edge in an iron grip that’s already starting to feel like home.

“Good girl,” he praises. “Good puppy, that’s it. Now you’re gonna ride it, yeah? Back and forth just like when you’re riding my dick. Rub it nice and hard.”

You swallow, dizzied. It’s not like you’ve never done this before—you have, frequently in fact—but it never gets any easier. Any less maddening or humiliating. “Okay, sir.”

He hums, approving, and nods again. “And you’re going to cum like that,” he continues. “All over my shoe like a desperate little runt.”

Oh, that’s cruel—that’s Hendery, really. You’ve learned by now that his favourite sight by far is exactly this; you, kneeling, pathetic, desperate, struggling to get yourself somewhere he knows he can get you with ease but simply chooses not to. Painfully, viscerally aware of exactly how much you need him. How utterly useless you are without him.

You whine, still, despite your lack of surprise; you’d hoped for something in the realms of mercy tonight. You’d even dared to hope for indulgence.

Maybe he really can read your mind, like you’ve sometimes come to suspect; could tell you needed to be knocked down a peg. To be reminded that mercy, let alone indulgence, is earned. And it’s certainly not earned easily. Not from him.

“Is there a problem?” He asks. “I’d have thought you’d have started by now. Can’t you do it?”

“Sir,” you whimper. “I want to—you said I could—”

“I said you had my permission,” he says. “I never said I’d help you.”

“But I can’t,” you whisper. “Not without you.”

He shrugs, unaffected; unmoved. “I guess we’ll be here a while, then. I’ve got time.”

You move slowly, unsuredly, as though this is your first time doing this. The rough leather of his shoe is hard and uncomfortable on your pussy; on the thin piece of fabric, soaked through, that’s the only thing protecting your last flickering speck of modesty. You look up at him; desperate, pathetic, pleading. He’s not swayed, of course; just raises an eyebrow like this is all beneath him.

“You told me you wanted to cum,” he says. “I’m giving you the chance. If you really want to cum, you’ll cum like this. Exactly how I tell you to. Then maybe we can talk about me getting you off.”

You nod, defeated. “Yes sir.” It’s not like you can say anything else, anyway; not like it would do anything except get you in trouble for talking back. As fun as Hendery’s punishments can be—to a masochistic little thing like you, at least—it’s not something you’re particularly eager for tonight. Tonight you want to be good—and you want to cum.

“Go on then,” he says. “Don’t make me wait. Hump, doggy.”

It’s a pathetically small amount of time before you lose your will; collapsing against his leg in a pathetic heap. He keep humping, though, determined at least to not directly fall short, but he scoffs all the same; pulling you off of him with an iron grip in your hair that forces your eyes onto him.

“What?” He sneers. “Not enough? You need my dick?”

You nod, decorum forgotten. He rolls his eyes. “Fine. Have it.”

The hand in your hair tightens and forces you down, pressing your face against his crotch so quickly you don’t even have time to breathe in. He holds you firmly, no room between your face and the fabric of his pants; no room to inhale anything but him; his scent, his cock. The cock you’ve missed you fucking much and is still so fucking out of reach.

He’s painfully hard, straining against the fabric and fuck you can practically taste it through his pants; taste the soft, clean skin, taste the beads of precum dripping from the tip. You know he wants it too, almost as desperately as you—but when it comes to this, Hendery has nerves of steel.

He could deny himself forever if it meant getting to toy with you a single second longer. Getting to see the pain and desperation on your face as you look up at him with wide, pitiful eyes that almost sway him.

“One month without me and it’s like you’ve forgotten all your training,” he sighs. He sounds remarkably casual and unaffected for someone with his girlfriend’s face buried in his crotch; just calmly disappointed, like you’d failed a test or forgotten a chore. “Perhaps I should be stricter in the future. Keep a tighter leash so you don’t regress the moment you’re out of my sight.”

You’d almost forgotten what a mouth Hendery has on him; how good he is at pulling you apart with his words— breaking you without even touching. Almost forgotten, because he hadn’t exactly stopped it while he was away; simply made do with the texts and calls and videos he’d send you at all hours with his hand wrapped around his cock and filthy praises coming from his mouth.

But it’s so much more biting in real life. Hits you so much deeper. Pushes you so much further—closer and closer to the edge. Maybe it’s because it’s been so long since you’ve been anywhere near it, since you’ve even been allowed to try, but tonight everything just feels…more. Words harsher. Praise sweeter. Sensations heightened and your nerves aflame.

You know he knows—know he sees the way it affects you now, saw the way you slipped under so much easier, so much faster, so much harder. Knows you’re putty in his hands and his for the taking, and that you wouldn’t want it any other way.

“That’s it,” he grunts. “Breathe it in.

“You love this dick, don’t you? Can’t live without it. Nasty little cock-crazed slut. Keep grinding. Think you can cum soon?”

You hadn’t thought it possible before, but yes—you do think you can cum. You need to, in fact; need the rush and the release and you need to do it all over his shoe, all over the floor like a dumb, desperate dog. Need to breathe him in, face buried in his crotch, need to use the scent to push you closer and closer to the line—need to hear his voice; the soft, low sneer, the insults that sting and the pretty praises that soothe your wounds. Need it all. Need him all.

He gives it to you, of course, always does; guides you over the edge with a firm hand and words you can hardly pull apart through the haze. Holds you through it, talks you through it, guides and owns and adores you through it.

When you finally collapse, falling limp against his legs, he pulls you upwards into strong arms; steady in his careful hold. Fingers pressing past your panties, through your soaked, sticky folds and into your warmth. Soft praise whispered into your hair, rocking you back and forth; keeping you close, safe, secure as he works you open again. You’re so tight still, despite the wetness that gushes and pools in his lap—it’s been a long, hard month, after all.

“Easy, puppy,” he hums. “You’ll get what you want, pretty. You’ll take it all.”

—

third time trying to post this so sorry i haven’t gone through to italicise etc i am SICK of this app playing w me😭but i hope u love it anyway…this feels pretty rusty but the point of this event is to just Write so !!! here

[rawjutsu]

“sidekick”

pairing: nanami x afabreader

cw: dubcon, power imbalance, rough sex, overstimulation, spanking, dirty talk, breeding kink, degradation, praise kink, “sir” kink, creampie, possessive behavior, implied age gap

you volunteer for the mission before yaga finishes listing the cursed threat level. it’s technically above your paygrade—fresh out of jujutsu high, barely a month into solo assignments—but nanami’s leading it, and you want to prove yourself. maybe even impress him.

not that he’s ever looked twice at you like *that.* not that you’ve been watching the way his sleeves roll up mid-fight, how his veins bulge when he resets his watch. not that your thighs clench every time he gives you quiet praise in that clipped, annoyed voice of his.

he doesn’t even sigh when you tag along. just spares you one flat glance and says, “stay behind me.”

the mission’s bloody. quick. textbook efficient.

you take down a minor cursed spirit, and nanami doesn’t even correct your form. just nods once and says, “decent.”

you're high on adrenaline and praise when he pins you to the concrete wall behind the exorcised building.

“figured you'd jump at the chance to tag along again,” he mutters, breath warm against your ear. “you think just because you graduated, you’re ready to play exorcist?”

you can’t even speak. his hand’s already dragging up your thigh, pushing between your legs like he owns the space there. like he *knows* you’ve been thinking about this. about him.

“you’re wet already.” he says it flat, almost bored. but the way his fingers press, slow and deliberate, has your legs shaking. “what are you expecting from me, exactly?”

“i—just wanted to learn from the best.”

his fingers slide into your underwear, and your breath stutters.

“that right?” his voice lowers. “then let me teach you something useful.”

you’re soaking by the time he bottoms out.

it’s too much. it’s perfect. his cock is thick, stretching you open with an ache that borders on unbearable—but you can’t stop clutching at his shoulders, trying to take more. like you’re starving for it. like it’ll fix the need that's been simmering in your gut since you first watched him split a curse in half without breaking a sweat.

“don’t squirm,” nanami growls, voice tight with restraint. “you wanted this. take it.”

he grinds in deeper like he’s bullying your cervix on purpose, and you whimper, eyes rolling back. your body shudders, already close—humiliated at how quickly he’s unraveling you.

“i—sir, please—”

“oh? you beg now?”

his hand finds your throat—not tight, just holding. owning. his palm is big, veiny, a little bloody from the earlier fight. the contrast of it against your soft, desperate body makes your head spin.

“you get one orgasm,” he mutters, hips pistoning into you now. “don’t waste it.”

“wh—what happens if i do—?”

he smiles but there’s no kindness behind it.

“you don’t want to find out.”

you clench around him and he groans, low and rough, then fucks into you harder.

now it’s just skin on skin, sharp and wet and filthy. every thrust sends a filthy smack echoing off the walls. your moans are getting louder, sloppier, until it’s just gasping sir—sir—sirl ike a prayer. his cursed energy crackles under his skin—it shocks through you every time his hips slam into yours, making your pussy flutter involuntarily.

“god, you’re tight. you clench like a brat who doesn’t know their place.”

he leans in, forehead against yours, sweat dripping onto your lips. “but you do now, don’t you?”

you nod frantically. “yes, yes, i’m yours, i’m—”

he cuts you off by kissing you. hard. not romantic. possessive.

then he pulls out and flips you over like it’s nothing.

face against the concrete. clothes shoved up. you’re bent over and panting, drooling, already shaking before he even slams back in.

you scream.

“stay still.”

his hand slaps your ass, making you jolt, then grips your hips in place as he pounds you. not fast—deep. unforgiving. like he wants to mold your insides to his shape.

you’re crying now. just a little. eyes blurry, thighs twitching, hands scrambling for purchase.

and then—fuck—

his hand slips between your legs, rubbing messy circles into your clit like he wants you to break.

“you gonna cum on my cock like a good little sidekick?” he murmurs.

“yes, i’m—fuck, sir, i’m—!”

“go on. make a mess. show me what kind of student you are.”

you shatter.

full-body clench, sobbing, moaning into the floor as your orgasm rips through you and leaves you *ruined.* you swear you black out for a second.

but nanami’s still going.

still inside.

still fucking you, even as you tremble and twitch, drool pooling on the concrete beneath you.

“pathetic little thing,” he mutters, watching you fall apart. “what would the higher-ups say if they saw how their new sorcerer begs to be fucked like a whore?”

you whine, too overstimulated to respond.

so he grabs your chin and pulls your head back.

“use your words.”

“i’m—your fuckdoll,” you whisper, eyes dazed. “please don’t stop.”

he grunts, jaw tight. “good.”

and then he slams in one last time and cums inside you, groaning through his teeth, fingers digging into your hips so hard you swear he’ll leave bruises.

the air smells like sweat, sex, and cursed energy.

you’re both still shaking when he finally stills, cock twitching deep inside you, his cum seeping out around him.

silence.

then—

“…still want to be my sidekick?”

you nod. barely conscious. probably drooling.

he laughs humorlessly under his breath. “then get ready. i’m not done mentoring you yet.”

[exquisink]

Insatiable (Yandere Geto X Reader)

Part One. Part Two.

Word Count: ~2K

Content Warning: follow up, punishment, angst, cunnilingus, overstimulation, unrequited 'love'

Summary: In Geto's world, anything is possible. Even breaking a monster's heart.

You don’t know what you did this time to set him off. 

By the time the day is over, the first thing Geto does upon dragging you to the bed is diving right into you.

Every time he gets into these moods, it’s like he’s desperately trying to wash his mouth out with your taste.

You can’t pry him off. Even with your hands clutching his head, begging, crying—“I can’t anymore!! I can’t come anymore!”—he doesn’t relent. Pushing past your resistance and latching onto your pussy like a leech. Sucking you for everything you’re worth. His lips and tongue pulsing on your clit and sucking hard and needy. 

And all you can do is wriggle and whimper and keen as another wave of reluctant pleasure takes over you. You have lost count at this point but you know he’s keeping score. A mental tally for each one he’s wrung out of you already. And he hasn’t stopped, only to take a deep inhale before diving back in, showing off his lips and chin as they are glossy with a thick coat of your juices. 

He feasts on you, audible, lewd, groaning at your taste. Absolutely feral and there’s nothing you can do. You can’t even kick him off. You don’t have a choice. He’s too strong for you and resistance is futile. His tongue curls into your folds, lapping at your damp skin.

Insatiable.

He’s completely and wholly and utterly insatiable. 

“Suguru… please…no more…” you pant, heaving, trying to wriggle away even still but failing. 

He responds with a hum which vibrates against your oversensitive pussy and you chew down on your lip. You want to spring free, but his octopus shikigami keeps you in place with one tentacle secured around your waist and one secured around your neck. You can’t get your way. You have to endure. 

The weirdest part is this isn’t a punishment to him. 

He’s killing you with kindness and generosity in his own, unique, twisted fashion. 

Once he nurses three more out of the countless out of you, he pries his lips off of your cunt to finally speak, his mouth full of your juices as he quickly gulps you down. Running his tongue over his lips to catch anything leftover and smacking his lips for emphasis

The air feels staticky (not from chemistry) and thick and oppressing. A glowing, piercing violet gaze meets yours. You try, but he’s exhausted you, rendered you to such a state where you can’t fight back even verbally. This is how he knows he’s accomplished his goal. He may have not been as cruel as he can be with you, but that doesn’t mean he finds other avenues to get a point across to you.

“Say you love me,” he states like it’s the simplest request. 

“I—”

“—mean it,” he interrupts with a sneer, your arousal dripping down the corners of his mouth, but there is desperation laden in his tone. Your eyes well with tears. Blurring your vision which is an improvement since you can no longer handle the humiliation going on between your legs. 

You can’t say what you don’t mean. He knows that. 

“But I…” Don’t, you want to say, but that’s not going to help you. 

“What does it fucking take?” he shouts, and you tremble beneath him and not in the way he would have preferred it. Shrinking visibly as he scowls down at you like he doesn’t know what to do with you. What to do with anything. 

“What does it take for you to love me back?” he elaborates, his voice softening. 

“This kind of thing i-isn’t transactional,” you stammer, boldly. “This kind of thing… you shouldn’t expect anything.” 

“Of course it is. It’s give and take,” he shoots back, “And I’ve done nothing but—”

“—take. That’s all you do,” you interject, again, rather boldly, but you’re not afraid of him. Not necessarily. “There is no give and take. You just take. And take. And take. You claw out everything you want from me whether I say anything about it or not.” 

“That’s not true,” he counters, crawling over your body after dismissing the shikigami from restraining you, caging you with him instead. “Look at this life I’ve given you. Where you can prosper and without needing to be around insignificant monkeys who would only taint your purity.”

“If that’s true, then why did I try to break free from it permanently?”

“Because you don’t understand what you want, my love.”

“Stop saying things like that!” you protest, struggling to sit up. “You don’t know what’s best for me.”

He scoffs like you’re being absurd (which you most certainly aren’t). “Don’t I? Who else has been taking care of you all of this time?”

“It’s not like I’ve been given the choice.”

His eyebrows scrunch together. “That’s not true.”

“You keep me away from everything! How is that good for me?!” you shout. 

“Because the world doesn’t deserve you!” he counters, resting a hand over his heart as if to still it. “I do!”

“And what makes you so sure of that?” you retort, lower lip quivering as the rage simmering just beneath the surface is so visceral for the man above you. 

“Because I am a superior being,” he declares, “And so are you. We balance each other out, don’t we?”

“No,” you answer a bit too quickly. 

“Don’t be absurd,” he gripes, oh so he has no problem airing out all of his grievances huh? “Someone like you should be with someone in your league.”

You tilt your head. “And you’re saying you fit that mold?”

“Precisely.”

Men, you think, no matter what they all think or what kind of life they lead, they’re all the same. 

“I’d like for you to return my affections.”

“Affections?” you almost laugh. “Do you even know what loving someone means?”

“Of course I do!” he grumbles, scanning your face as if searching for something, like a hint that you could return his ‘love’ if that’s truly what he’s deluded himself into believing that’s what he feels for you. Any kind of sign. Even an inkling. A ghost of a chance that you might give him the reciprocity that he craves but you aren’t ever going to give him the satisfaction. In that same fashion he is never giving you the satisfaction of having any true power over anything in your life anymore. You can still hang onto that conviction–you can never love a man who just takes, and takes, and takes again and again. 

“This isn’t it,” you remark, splaying your hands over his chest and trying to push him off of you but he doesn’t budge from his spot, hovering over you. “This isn’t the answer.”

“Then what is?” he demands.

You count backwards from 5 in your head to keep yourself from absolutely losing it. 

“You’re right about one thing,” you bring up, catching his attention, his ears perking up. 

“Which is?”

“I don’t know what I want,” you concede,  “but I know this isn’t it.”

Geto makes a face. 

“How am I supposed to work with that?” he inquires. 

“I thought you were supposed to be smart.”

“Of course I am!” he snaps, making you jolt in place. “Stop insulting me like that.”

“Or what?” you challenge with a defiant glint twinkling in your eyes.

Geto draws back from you a bit.

Or nothing. He’s not going to do anything and you both know it. He actively chooses against being cruel. He chooses not to be cruel to you, but that doesn’t mean he’s selfless.

He finally relents, pulling completely away from you and allowing you to adjust your posture, resting your back against the headboard. Things go silent in the room once more as you both sit with these conflicts. You don’t know what he’s thinking, but you don’t really care about that, grappling with your own conflicts. Your own addled mind. You don’t know what you want. But it isn’t this–it isn’t any of this.

“What would make it better?” he asks after the silence stretches too long for his liking. “What would make the idea of us better?”

“Not this,” you answer, “That’s all I know–not this.”

Something shifts in his eyes. Usually an indigo so intense it rivals the touch of the twilight sky, now dulling like you have broken his spirit. Like an active machine losing power. You almost want to squash that notion–it’s not like what you do carries any weight. Not really. 

“I won’t stop trying,” he declares.

“I can’t say I didn’t expect you to,” you reply. “It doesn’t mean I’ll be appreciative of said efforts.”

“How can I make you happy?”

“I don’t have an answer to that, Geto, but I’m not happy.” And it’s not just because of him, either. It’s become far more complex than that. 

He winces. “Don’t call me that. You don’t get to call me that.”

“I’m sorry, Suguru, but I have to be frank. I don’t feel any kind of closeness toward you.”

“I’ll change your mind about me.”

“I don’t think you can.”

“I told you I won’t stop trying!”

“That doesn’t mean you’ll succeed.”

“You’re talking to me like you’re a fucking robot again.”

“That sounds like a you problem, and nothing of my own concern,” you quip as you shift in your spot, moving to get off of the bed to clean yourself up on your own. Geto grasps your elbow and stills you. 

“Let me.”

“But I can—!”

“—let me.” 

You clamp your mouth shut, surrendering. Disengaging. What he says, goes. So he leads you hand in hand to the bath, where he cleans you up as per the typical ritual. You don’t get back into fresh clothes and are instead carried nude back to the bed, resting you there as if you are delicate porcelain. 

He doesn’t try to take more this time. 

But he stands by, observing you as you shelter yourself beneath the comforter, until it covers over your breasts. 

What would make me happy? you wonder. You don’t even have a threshold for that anymore. But he cannot be your source. He is nothing more than a greedy parasite who has burrowed into your soul and made a home out of it. 

The bed creaks as he settles under the comforter next to you, scooping you into a gentle embrace, resting his forehead into the crook of your neck. Inhaling the faint notes of peony and vanilla. 

You feel his heart hammering. You can practically feel his damn heartbeat through your ears. It’s actually quite the revelation for you. Like you do affect him, you do bring him great turmoil over the fact that you cannot love a monster like him, and yet you still can’t help finding it difficult to believe. Even with the proof being in the pudding. 

He wants you to want him back. He wants you to crave him like he craves you. He wants all of your thoughts, all of your feelings, all of your life to be all of him, him, him. Just like he spends every waking moment of his life appeasing you, catering to you, practically at your beck and call no matter the circumstances. 

But you don’t. All that you can feel when you think of him is deep seated rage that might never wipe itself out. He’s not your lover. He’s nothing to you. Just like how he believes monkeys are insignificant, he is insignificant in your eyes… yet somehow he keeps getting in the way. Somehow he keeps forcing himself into your story. He doesn’t belong in it; he’s never supposed to be part of it. Much like sorcery and curses also aren’t supposed to be a part of your story yet here you are.

Your eyes double in size as he tightens his grip around you, and you almost can’t believe it–you hear him sniffling. Holding back tears like a spoiled, rotten child who doesn’t get what he wants the moment he demands it.

“I thought I lost you that day, but maybe I am right,” he murmurs, his voice losing strength as he fails to contain his disappointment. “I still lost you.”

Or, you think, not daring to speak it out loud, maintaining a blank expression as he expresses his woes like it might move you into some kind of action. Move you into empathizing, maybe, but you still don’t feel a damn thing. He never had me from the start. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him. He does not own me. He does not ‘have’ me. No matter what, I have not belonged to him before and I will never belong to him.

You hold your peace, because that is something you can never drill into his head. He doesn’t want to accept it. That’s fine. That’s what you have to live with, for now.

[mummyemmatojames]

52. Pull-Ups on My Mind: A New Obsession

Hello, dear community! Emma here, your Mummy-in-training, with an update on our MDLB and FLR journey as James’s grounding week continues. I’ve got pull-ups on my mind—honestly, I can’t get enough of my little boy all pampered up in them. It’s become this unexpected thrill for me, and I’m leaning into it, even finding excuses to keep him in them longer. I’d love to unpack this with you and hear if anyone else has felt this pull!

Why Pull-Ups Are Driving Me Nuts

Ever since I tweaked the grounding rule—ensuring James uses his pull-ups by loading him with fluids before bed—I’ve been hooked. Seeing him in the morning, all saggy and wet in his Drynites, waiting for Mummy to change him, is just so cute and vulnerable. His wild hair, his shy little “Morning, Mummy,” the way he stands there letting me peel them off—it’s lit something inside me I can’t shake. I’m finding excuses to stretch it out, like saying, “Mummy will change you after breakfast,” just to keep him in that soggy, pampered state a bit longer. Yesterday, he sat at the table eating his cereal, pull-up sagging under his pajamas, and I couldn’t stop smiling—he’s my little boy, totally dependent on me, and it’s driving me nuts in the best way.

Nursing him while rubbing his pull-up bottom has become my favorite thing. Last night, after his two water bottles, nursing, and formula, I tucked him in at 7:30, but not before a long cuddle on the couch. I had him latched on, my hand patting his padded bum—feeling that slight crinkle and the warmth of it—and it was so satisfying. It’s not just the punishment anymore; it’s this deep, nurturing rush that’s got me hooked. I don’t quite understand why it’s hitting me so hard—maybe it’s the control, the care, the way it makes him so small and mine—but I can’t get enough.

A Trip to the Baby Aisle

Yesterday, I took it a step further. We were low on Drynites—only a few left from the pack—so I took James to the shop, still in his grounding mindset (permission for everything, early bedtime). I led him to the baby aisle and spent about 30 minutes there, browsing with him by my side. I wanted him involved, so I said, “Pick the ones you want, sweetheart—whatever looks fun.” He hesitated, face red as he glanced around, but finally pointed to a pack with Toy Story designs—Buzz and Woody smiling on the front. I could tell he was pretty humiliated, standing there in public picking out pull-ups like a toddler, especially with other shoppers nearby. I grabbed the pack, paid, and got us home quick.

Back at the house, I tried them on him before his nap—slid them up under his pajamas—and realized they didn’t fit. They were too small, bunching awkwardly, and he squirmed, saying, “They’re tight, Mummy.” I laughed it off—“Oops, wrong size!”—but now I know what he needs (a bigger size, hopefully still in cute designs). He was still flushed from the shopping experience, so I reminded him, “This is part of your punishment, little one—you earned it after the other night.” That settled him a bit, and I put him down for a 20-minute nap with a bottle. He woke up perkier—no fussing—though I could tell the trip lingered in his mind.

Leaning Into It

He’s on night three of seven now, and I’m loving this pull-up twist more each day. Tonight, I’ll do the same—two dinosaur bottles of water, nursing, formula—and whisper again that they don’t come off until they’re used. Seeing him soggy in the morning, waiting for me to change him, is my new favorite ritual. I’m even tempted to keep pull-ups in the mix after the grounding ends—not all the time, but maybe as a special “Mummy’s choice” night—because it’s so satisfying for me. He’s vulnerable, cute, and completely mine in them, and it’s deepening our dynamic in this wild, unexpected way.

James is still grumpy about the grounding—hates the 6:30 bedtime, the permission rules, and now the pull-ups being non-negotiable—but he’s complying. The shopping trip humiliated him, sure, but he perked up after that nap, and I think he’s starting to accept this as his consequence. I soften it with cuddles and praise when he’s good—like after he asked permission for a snack today—but I’m holding firm on the punishment. Act like a drunken toddler, get treated like one—that’s still the line.

What Do You Think?

I’d love to hear from the community—have pull-ups ever grabbed you like this, where the caregiving just clicks? Did you find yourself stretching it out too, or adding them beyond a punishment? For those who’ve shopped for them together, how did you handle the public embarrassment—any tricks to keep them steady? And if you’ve got insight on why this soggy nappy thing is driving me so nuts—control, nurturing, something else—I’d love to hear it. I’m obsessed, and I want to keep this special without overdoing it.

Thank you for being here as I revel in this pull-up phase. My little boy in his pampered state is lighting up my Mummy heart, and I can’t get enough.

With all my love, Emma (aka Mummy) 💕

[angel06babysworld]

arranged!marriage!rafe x teddy!reader

Legally Bound, Emotionally Screwed

They say time dulls the sharp edges of memory. I guess they’ve never met Rafe Cameron.

Because it’s been ten years since that goddamn mile in middle school gym class—the one where I lapped him in my muddy pink Sketchers and pigtails, waving like a moron as I passed—and Rafe still looks at me like I’ve personally rewritten the laws of humiliation to haunt him.

“Sign here,” he says, his voice clipped, the contract flat on the desk between us like a trap I already fell into.

I reach for the pen, ignoring the slight shake in my fingers. I don’t ask for clarification. I already know what I’m signing—every page, every clause, every bloodless paragraph. Marriage to Rafe Cameron until one of us dies. Romantic, right? His lawyer says it’s to preserve family assets, lineage, business ties. His father says it’s tradition. Rafe? He hasn’t said anything. Not really. Just glares and chews gum like this is some boardroom acquisition.

“I always thought you were left-handed,” I murmur, scrawling my name anyway. It comes out light, too easy. Like I’m not sentencing myself to a life beside a man who resents me for breathing near him.

“I’m not,” he replies. “But I guess you’d remember it wrong. You’ve never been that observant.”

I don’t flinch. Not this time. The first time he snapped at me like that, I cried in a Chick-fil-A parking lot for forty-five minutes and got a milkshake to feel better. Now, I just make a mental note: still hates me. Cool.

The thing is—I don’t hate him. Never have. Not in sixth grade when he huffed like a sore loser after I beat him in the mile. Not in high school when he ignored me like I was something sticky on his shoe. Not now, when he’s dressed in all black and his office smells like expensive wood and resentment.

I like Rafe Cameron the way you like hurricanes. He’s a disaster, but you can’t look away.

“Done,” I say, sliding the contract back. “Congratulations, Mr. Cameron. You’ve got yourself a wife.”

His eyes flick to mine for half a second. I smile. It’s not fake, exactly—it’s just the kind of smile I wear when people expect me to cry.

We get married the next morning. It’s a blur of ink, photos, and a courthouse that smells like lemon cleaner and bad news. He doesn’t kiss me. Doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t even look at me when we walk out to the car. I don’t blame him.

I move into the house on Cameron property that same week. It’s a cold, elegant thing with marble counters and knives that probably cost more than my entire freshman dorm experience. I bring exactly three boxes—one full of clothes, one full of books, and one full of junk Rafe will probably hate. Stuffed animals. Polaroids. Half-burnt candles that smell like cotton candy. I put them in the guest room I claim as mine. He doesn’t object.

We become ghosts. Polite ones. I cook sometimes, badly. He eats out or skips meals. I leave my shoes in the hallway and he kicks them into the closet. I water his plants. He changes the WiFi password every two weeks like it’s war. We orbit each other in silence.

Then one night, I trip over the damn rug in the hallway and slam straight into him, barefoot and wearing a hoodie I stole from his laundry pile.

“Jesus—what the hell?” His hands close around my arms automatically. His eyes narrow. “Why are you wearing that?”

“I was cold,” I mumble. “And yours are softer than mine.”

He stares. “You could’ve asked.”

“You would’ve said no.”

His grip tightens just for a moment. Then he lets go like I burned him. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I get that a lot.”

I expect him to walk away. Instead, for the first time since we signed that stupid contract, Rafe doesn’t leave. He just…looks at me. The air between us pulls tight, taut like a wire. His jaw flexes.

“I hated you,” he says quietly. “Since the sixth grade. You know that, right?”

“Because I beat you in the mile?”

“Because you laughed when you did.”

I blink. “You held onto that for ten years?”

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “You were this…loud, bright, annoying thing. And I was supposed to be perfect. I couldn’t stand you because you made everything look effortless.”

“I tripped twice and finished with one shoe.”

“Exactly.”

We stand there, suspended in the hallway like a glitch in time. His words echo. I was supposed to be perfect.

“Rafe,” I say softly, “I’m not effortless. I’m a mess. I leave hair in the sink and forget my laundry and cry during insurance commercials.”

“I know.”

That catches me off guard. “You do?”

His voice lowers, rough around the edges. “You hum when you’re making pasta. You cry in the bathtub with the water running so I won’t hear. You have nightmares, and you sleep with a flashlight under your pillow.”

I don’t breathe.

“You’re not effortless,” he says again, slower. “You’re just…you. And I didn’t know what to do with that.”

I look up at him. Really look. His mouth is tight. His hands are fisted at his sides. His eyes—God, his eyes are tired.

And for the first time, I think maybe he doesn’t hate me as much as he’s afraid of what I mean.

So I step closer. Barefoot, in his hoodie, hair a mess. I don’t touch him. I just say, “We’re married, Rafe. Like it or not. So you can keep hating me if that’s easier. But I’m not going anywhere. And I’m not going to stop being me just because it scares you.”

Silence.

Then, almost inaudibly: “It doesn’t scare me.”

I smile, small. “Liar.”

He doesn’t deny it. Just reaches out, hesitant, like I’m some fever-dream he might wake from. His fingers graze my wrist.

“Do you want this to work?” I ask, barely above a whisper.

His thumb brushes my pulse.

“Yes,” he says. “God help me, I think I do.”

tags: @amelialovesrafe